#she just stays quiet and despairs on her own

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

it's really funny rereading the early chapters of s-class heroine because ailette calls tesilid all sorts of names and it's such a far cry from her round 17 attitude

[abuhamdasblog]

“Hope Amid Despair: A Family’s Struggle to Stay Safe”

My name is Mai. I’m 28 years old, from Gaza. My life was full of simple dreams and ambitions. We were a small family living a quiet life despite the challenges around us. But the war took everything from us… it took our home, our safety, and our health.

My mother, who was always the pillar of our family, suffers from heart disease. Two weeks before the war, she underwent a major surgery to implant a heart device. She needed rest and care, but the war didn’t give her a chance to recover. Now, her condition worsens day by day. Her heart is weak, her body is frail, and the medications she desperately needs are either unavailable or unaffordable for us.

My brother has a severe hand injury and needs treatment to regain full function. As for me… I am living with hepatitis, my body is weak, and even the simplest things feel like an impossible dream.

My father has been in Egypt for 4 years, far from us, struggling with his own health after several heart surgeries. And we? We fight every day just to find clean water to drink or a small piece of food to survive. The war has left us with nothing, but even so, I still have hope… hope in the hearts of people who care and understand.

If my voice reaches you, I beg for your help. My mother urgently needs treatment, my family needs safety, and I just wish for one day without pain. Every bit of support from you is a lifeline for my family. donate what you're able to or 5$ AT LEAST to my gofundme or my paypal is also available and they accept any transfer amount. and i know you all afford to give away at least 1$ !

my campaing vetted by : @90-ghost @bilal-salah0 @gaza-evacuation-funds The ButterflyEffect Project number : 1197 @a-shade-of-blue

@irangp @tamamita @hiiihaiiihiii @magic-can @myceliacrochet @lavendercoded @lavenderr-starrs @victormcdicktor @sweetsweethate @lesbianslasherfilm @dlxxv-vetted-donations @andreakalfas @butchniqabi @appsa @nabulsi @irhabiya

[greatestexpectationss]

Cherry Lip Gloss- Luke Castellan

Luke Castellan x Fem!Aphrodite Reader

You don’t feel like a daughter of Aphrodite today. Your hair won’t cooperate with you, it feels like none of your clothes fit right, and you’d somehow lost your favorite cherry lip gloss and had to borrow your sisters which tasted distinctly nonfruity, some vanilla something that left way too much of a taste in your mouth.

You just don’t feel like you. There's some sort of despair deep in your bones, you ignore the cause of it and trudge through the day in a haze, by them time you make it to lunch all you want to do is go back to bed and pray to the gods tomorrow is better.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Silena, your sister, asks you from her seat at lunch beside you. The rest of your siblings, true children of Aphrodite, turn their eyes and ears to listen in. Across from you and Silena is Drew, whose perfectly plucked brows furrow, “You haven’t touched your cherries,”

“You love cherries,” Jake, your brother, chimes in.

“I’m fine,” you tell them, forcing a smile. You pop a cherry in your mouth, “See?”

“No you’re not, you’ve been off all day,” Drew retorts, arms crossing as she turns to look at you. “Is this about that fight you had with Luke?”

Under the table Silena kicks her, and above it Jake elbows her.

“Drew,” he hisses, gesturing toward the rest of your siblings who all promptly turn back to their meals. 

“Sorry, but are we not gonna talk about it, seriously?”

You, in fact, weren’t gonna talk about it. Luke had been your best friend for most of your time at Camp Half-Blood, you’d met him in the Hermes Cabin before your mother had claimed you. You’d only stayed there for 3 days, but by the time you were headed to Cabin 10 and away from him, Luke was already ready to help you carry your stuff and remind you if you needed anything he was still right next door. 

You hadn’t really needed anything,. It was no shock to anyone you were Aphrodite's daughter, with your pretty smile and long shiny (y/h/c) hair. You had always had this way about you, something that lay between perfection and humanity. Confidence radiated off of you in waves, and you always smelt of fruit and cherry lipgloss.

You were fine on your own, perfectly capable of making your own life and friends for yourself in camp.

But Luke was charming, and maybe a little persistent. When you struggled to find a weapon you could actually wield, he knew your siblings would be no help, he’d approached you with two daggers in hand and told you to follow him. You were good with daggers but with Luke’s help, you were a damn force to be reckoned with. From there your friendship had blossomed and as you’d both grown up something more bubbled beneath the surface. A sort of "Will they?Might they?"

You never did, but you desperately wanted to. 

At least you did, before your fight

A few days ago, Luke had been pretty worked up about Capture the Flag. Normally, you liked him like this, all argumentative and technical, jaw and fists clenched. Mainly because you're never on the receiving end and also because a small part of you prides yourself on the ability to calm him down afterward. He's always soft with you, but when he confides in you, truly, you think he’s the best person you’ve ever met.

But this time he’s just pissing you off.

Luke, Annabeth, and a few other children of Athena worked tirelessly on a strategy for your team to beat Ares. Ares was on a winning streak and it was putting damage in all of your egos. Annabeth’s idea to put you in front of the flag had bode well with the rest of the group, everyone always underestimates you as a daughter of Aphrodite. You'd told Luke how much this irks you, in quiet moments alone, there's this stereotype, a mold Aphrodite kids are "supposed" to fit into, and you don't fit it, you just wish other people would realize it too.

Maybe that's why when Luke didn’t like the idea, when he openly protested it, it stung so much. When he Annabeth that putting you, a child of Aphrodite (he didn’t say it in so many words but still) as the last line of defense for the flag was "fatal strategic error" you'd blinked at him. Luke had talked Annabeth out of it or at least talked her into him and Chris waiting behind the tree line out of site “just in case”. 

After the meeting when it was just you and Luke, you’d fought, or more so Luke had tried to explain while you yelled at him.

“C’mon Y/N, this isn’t personal,” he’d told you after you’d ignored him the 3 minutes it took to get back to your respective cabins, he halted you in front of the Aphrodite cabin, coming to stand in front of you and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “leaving you there by yourself wasn’t a good idea, what if you needed back up?”

You’d slapped his hand away from your face. 

“No but if Annabeth had wanted to leave you there, or herself there it wouldn’t have been a doubt in your mind you’d both be fine right?” He says nothing but you know what he’s thinking, and you scoff in disbelief. 

“Don’t be like that,” Luke begged, eyes sad and soft, you almost wanted to cave when he lowered his voice and stepped closer to you, “Will you just let me explain?”

You take a step back, “What? You wanna explain that because I’m in Aphrodite I’m somehow less than you and Annabeth? Like I can’t look like this,” you gesture to your black mini skirt, camp half-blood tee, altered to be shorter and tighter, and your dainty jewelry, “and kick your ass at the same time?”

“I’m not saying–”

“Just forget it, Luke,” you’d said bitterly, “you know for the record I’m used to everyone treating me like some dizzy Aphrodite kid without a clue, I just never thought you’d be the one doing it.”

And then in the greatest storm off in Camp Half-Blood history you’d bumped his shoulder, stomped up the steps of your cabin, and slammed the door right in his cute puppy dog face. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you told your siblings. Silena scoffs while Drew and Jake roll their eyes. “Y/N, you haven’t talked to him in almost a week.”

You pop another cherry in your mouth, “Look its fine, I’m fine, everything is fine, I’m just tired and this morning was rough”

They share an unconvinced look. “You know he keeps asking about you,” Jake tells you after a moment of silence, “I think he’s worried about losing you.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say bitterly, you take your fork and stab it into your salad.

“Hmm, I don’t know because he’s totally in love with you??” Drew deadpans, she’s kicked and nudged again. She throws her hands up in the air and sighs loudly before she grabs her trey and stands up. “Look Y/N I love you, and if you want us to totally ignore your problems we will, again because we love you. But we just want you to be happy, and I think for the most part Castellan makes you happy.”

She smiles and then leaves. Jake stands too, “Plus he’s super hot, you are not gonna find better arm candy in this camp. Trust me I’ve looked.”

That draws a laugh out of you, “I’ll keep that in mind Jake, thanks.”

Silena goes to stand up too, “Are you gonna come to archery practice today? I heard Lee and the Apollo kids are gonna show off, might be kind of cool.”

“You go ahead I think maybe I just don’t feel well,” she looks unsure, and double-checks again. You just wave her off, tell her to have fun before retreating to your cabin.

You don’t feel well, you repeated, you must be coming down with a cold, your feeling of despair and lessthanness has nothing to do with Luke, with missing him, with wanting him.

You curl up in your empty cabin, in your bunk. Your siblings call it your nook, a bunk in the corner of the cabin, the top unclaimed, but the bottom bunk is yours. It's covered in pretty floral sheets, a fuzzy blanket, and a fluffy pillow. You had hung up (or had Luke hang them up for you) a long curtain rod across the bed frame with light pink curtains, the inside of your bunk lined with pretty fairy lights. Usually, your nook is comforting, today it just makes you miss your best friend. 

The door to the Aphrodite Cabin opens and closes, you close your eyes, hoping desperately to fall asleep, and that whichever sibling walked in doesn’t realize you’re hiding in here. 

A shadow appears outside your curtains, you internally groan and bury your face deeper in your pillow,

“Y/N?” the voice asks, you recognize it right away. You think you’d know him anywhere. It’s Luke, you let him peek into your curtain, and he gives you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. His curly hair looks stupidly good, in a way that makes you wanna run your fingers through it. It's unfair really.

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” you try to say voice muffle by the pillow, his smile grows. 

“Mind if I come in?” You hesitate, you’re still reeling from his rejection of the idea that you could be of value as the last line of defense for the flag like you're some damsel that needs him to rescue her. Your ego isn’t the only thing that's wounded though. Luke hurt your feelings, all this time you thought he was the only person who saw you, all of you, and loved you for it and despite it. Never in a million years would you have imagined that your one episode of self-loathing would be triggered by his words. But, still, you miss him, and you're sad, so against your better judgment, you mutter a quiet sure and scoot over. 

He crawls in with you and lays down on his back beside you, side by side the two of you stare up at your twinkle lights. 

“You’ve kind of got it made in here don’t you?” he asks in order to break the terribly awkward silence. You mumble a quite yeah, and then you’re both silent again. It’s incredibly painful. You turn your head to look at him, and find he’s already staring at you. 

“Hey,” you say.

“Hi,” he replies. He reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, you savor the feeling of his touch, leaning into his hand. He smiles at you something sweet and sad all at once.

“I miss you,” Luke tells you, “and I’m sorry.”

“Luke–” he turns all the way to face you on his side, you follow suit even when he cuts you off.

“Just listen okay?” he pleads. 

You nod once. 

“I was worried about you,” he starts running a tired hand through his hair, your brows furrow in confusion, you open your mouth to protest, but he puts a finger to your lips, “You promised you’d listen remember?” 

You glare at him but relent as he pulls his finger away from your lips and down your arm. “Peter from Ares, all week had been talking about how he’s leading the charge for our flag, and how he couldn’t wait to get his hand on the pretty Aphrodite girl who always takes all the cherries,” it doesn’t take a genius to realize that Peter had been talking about you. He’d flirted up a wild storm with you a few weeks prior and you’d turned him down, Peter, a true Ares kid at heart, didn’t take it well. “I didn’t want you out there all alone if he came looking for you and actually found you.”

Luke’s always had a hero complex, the desire to prove himself worthy of being called a hero, no matter the cost, the pink scar on his face is a testament to that. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. “I can take care of myself, Luke.”

“I know that,” he says earnestly, and you think he means it. Luke reaches for your hands and holds both of them close to his chest, he brings one to his lips and kisses your wrist. “The thing is you don’t have to. And I guess I just wanted to protect you and I went about it all wrong, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him and before you know it Luke is pulling you to his chest hugging you and kissing the top of your head. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I know you could kick anyones ass and look gorgeous doing it, you always do.” Another kiss to your head, before you’re looking up at him grinning. 

“You think I’m gorgeous?” you can’t help teasing him. Your self consciousness is melting away under his gaze, how can it not when he’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon?

This is that something else that bubbles under the surface of your friendship.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs, moving his arm from your waist to place a hand on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, “Look at you, of course I do.”

“Even when I’m mad at you?” You tilt your face upwards and closer to his

Luke grins, “I don’t know are you still mad at me?” You smile right back, bringing one of your hands between your faces, and pinch your index finger and thumb together only a tiny sliver of space between them. Luke knows you’re kidding by the glint in your eyes.

“Well then especially when you’re mad at me.”

You laugh and it does something funny to Luke’s chest. He looks at your lips, and the air changes. 

“Luke?”

“Yeah?” 

“Would you really have protected me if I needed it? From Paul?” you ask quietly, eyes darting to his lips drawn between his teeth. 

“From anything,” Luke swears, thumb still caressing your cheek, you want him closer, you need him closer. You could just reach up and kiss him but first you have to know, you have to make sure.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

And then he’s kissing you, like you’ve never been kissed before. You let out a squeak of surprise by the sudden pull at the back of your neck, toward him, then he’s shifting you on your back and hovering over you all the while never breaking your lips apart. 

You’re glad for that, when he slips his tongue in your mouth, you think you’d die if he stopped kissing you. You reach one perfectly manicured hand at the base of his neck and thread your fingers through the shorter strands, Luke lets out a little groan, and you grin into your kiss. Your grin is cut short by his hand on the skin of your waist where your shirt had ridden up, he caresses it there and you absolutely melt. 

This is it, you think, no one else will ever be able to kiss me again, you know you’re completely and totally screwed before you even pull away to catch your breath. 

“You taste like vanilla,” Luke says, grinning at you with the sheen of borrowed lip gloss on his lips, he brings his thumb up to wipe the reminisce of the lip gloss off of yours, “I thought you use cherry.”

“I do,” you pout, reaching up to wipe his lips the way he did yours, he kisses the inside of your lips, “I lost mine.”

Luke reaches into his shorts, and appears with not one but two new, not yet opened, cherry lipglosses, her grins as you sit up and greedily grab them from him, “I brought them as a peace offering, you know in case you didn’t want to make out.”

You laugh before pulling the little handheld mirror off the window ledge next to your bed, you apply it and already you feel more like yourself. 

You fling yourself back on top of Luke and cling to him like a Koala.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest. He laughs, and you can feel it in your cheek.

“Anytime sweetheart.”

You kiss him again, and this time when you pull away, it's your lips gloss that smeared on his mouth. You think you like him best like this, shiny swollen lips, tousled hair, and grinning.

[lordofdestructionm]

Viktor and Elsa

A secret passion?

Viktor Vasko and Elsa Bastion (formerly Arbogast) clearly share a connection. This has been clear since the Defiance flashback

This perhaps shouldn't be that much of a surprise. They are both veterans of the Great War, they have both experienced and still bear the inner scars that come with the tragedy and brutality of war and the suffering it brings.

Elsa in her capacity as a nurse, who no doubt saw all manner of mangled and broken men, and Viktor the muddy, bloody, living hell that was the front line of the trenches. It only makes sense that such people would be able to understand each other in ways others wouldn't.

Elsa has no doubt spent plenty of time treating wounded soldiers and seen the emotional anguish, and so would be able to see through that sour intimidating facade that keeps most people at arms length. While Viktor could find reassurance in the company of a kind and compasionate woman like Elsa

But many fans have found themselves wondering if there could be more to it than that.

Viktor spent some time staying at the arbogast household, and it seems in that time Elsa got to know Viktor very well, learning more about his life than even Ivy, someone that can approach Viktor much easier than most as a stand in daughter to him, and even to the extent she knows Viktor would never have agreed to let her put herself in danger

Viktor for his part may also feel more than just friendly towards her, if the face he makes when she is finally able to get through to him by phone to inform him about Ivy putting herself in danger is anything to go by.

Having been in a pit of deep despair over the memory of his far away daughter, plus the poor state of his health with compromised knees and a hole in his chest, hearing from her seems to make that normally scowling face soften

But before we all jump on that bandwagon and "Viktor x Elsa" become our new Lackadaisy otp, we have to consider the jolly British elephant in the room.

Bobby Bastion

Bobby is another war veteran and it was though their service that they met just after the war and later married.

He appears to be a very jolly and affable chap (relative to most bootleggers anyway), which may well be what drew Elsa to him in the first place. Someone who could counter her melancholy from the dark times they went through

He seems to be very aware and considerate of his wife's relative melancholy, by Elsa's own admission leaving a very lucrative funeral trade in the big city to move too a small quiet community that offered little business but gave Elsa the peace and quiet she needed (like Viktor it seems she hates "noise, noise, noise" thanks to the war).

Their involvement in bootlegging in the first place it seems was to compensate for this and provide the income to sustain this relative isolation

But despite this, perhaps their diffent mindset has become more of a barrier between them rather than something that compliments each other?

As the family illustration suggests, Bobby is relatively content and able to smell the flowers, while Elsa remains haunted. Bobby's humour also seems to have little effect on Elas's mood

Could it be that Elsa would be drawn to someone like Viktor, someone who suffers from the same trauma as her and may be more willing to admit to the pain, than a husband who despite the best of intentions is trying to just smooth over the problem? Quite possible

But even with that strong connection and bond between them, even if there is a mutual spark, does that suggest an actual affair? That's the big question here.

While arguably not handling his wife's troubles in the best way, Bobby seems to be a loving husband doing his best for his wife who he cares for deeply. Is Elsa the type of person who would cheat on her kind husband for helping in the "wrong way"?

Plus Bobby not only shows no sign of concern about Viktor staying with them and being around his wife, but, (despite his brother in laws interuption) mentions that he was very grateful for Viktor's help and actually saw him as almost "part of the family"

Is this a case of "ignorance is bliss"? Does he simply blindly trust his wife so much that the possibility doesn't even occur to him, or does he know her well enough to be certain that infidelity is something she simply would not do?

But this is all speculation at this point. What do you think?

Is poor Bobby blind to what happened under his own roof? Is it a matter of two people feeling an attraction but tragically unable to act on it due to circumstances? Or is it just an innocent matter of two wounded souls with shells and screams still ringing in their ears recognizing the scars on each other and offering some understanding?

Thanks to @ursiday whose Viktor and Elsa art got my over analysing brain juices flowing again ;)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter nineteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 14.5K (It's a behemoth and oh my stars I didn't mean to do this)

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Angst, Drinking, ANGST, Sexual References, Talks of Pregnancy/Abortion, Some steaminess (barely), Family Problems, Self-deprecating thoughts, Awkward Situation, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Not going to lie, this one is ANGSTY and it's dramatic... ENJOY!

Soldier Boy POV

Ben couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The words you'd said still hovered between the two of you like an anchor sinking from a ship and lodging itself in his heart to tug him under. At first he thought that he'd imagined you saying it, that he was still reeling from using his newfound powers, but the ringing in his ears was not a side effect of that.

It had been exactly 37 seconds since you said it, and in those 37 seconds Ben couldn't do anything but stare into your beautiful wide eyes and try to remember how to breathe. The look on your face was identical to the first time you told him you loved him, hands gently cupping his cheeks and making him feel like the boy who used to climb up the tree outside your window just to glimpse your smile.

But now what you said was different. What you said didn't bring warmth, it brought destruction, it broke through everything he was.

 As soon as you said it a wave of shock crashed over him, followed by another more powerful wave of guilt. It wasn't guilt for getting you pregnant or guilt because the two of you weren't careful. Ben was not upset about that. He would have loved to see you pregnant, see you glow as you wore those cute overalls and prepared for a child that he gave you. To see you smile at him every day and let him make love to you, show you how excited he was to share this with you. Show you how you were the only person he wanted a family with, the only person he ever wanted to be bound to. He had wanted to give that to you and that wasn't a lie. When you first spoke those words to him so long ago about wanting to have a family, wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you, Ben had wanted to be the one to give you those things.

He would have done anything to make you happy, still would. But now he was upset with himself. Guilty that he wasn't there for you when you needed him the most, guilty that he allowed himself to stay away as long as he had, and guilty that he hadn't fought harder to get back to you.

He imagined those years without him raising a child on your own, the sleepless nights you must have had, the way you must have never had a moment of quiet-.

Ben felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair when he thought of the years you must have spent alone raising his child, loving his child even though he threw you away.

She loves me that much? How can I ever deserve her?

Ben still didn't breathe, noting the way Legend, Butcher, and Hughie have fallen silent where they stand behind the two of you. Even Legend had stopped smoking his blunt, something that Ben wished he could take a hit from.

I'm a dad and I-

Ben's memories of his own father came up like the rising tide, the shit his father said to him, the way his father pushed him away, the way his father was never there when he needed him to be and the way that his father always made him feel like he wasn't enough, just as your mother made you feel.

Even after all this time, I did become him, I abandoned her and then I abandoned my kid. I wasn't there when they needed me the most, I am a fuck up I- Ben swallows, the overwhelming thoughts dragging him further and further beneath the waves. How could she still want me? How can she say that I've never disappointed her when I did this?

You drop your hands from his cheeks and he misses the warmth they brought, but worse is the look in your eyes. You look scared. It was the same look you'd had on your face this morning when he woke up with you in his arms.

Ben hated that, because he knew why. He knew that you were scared to tell him this because you thought he would leave you again, that you still didn't completely believe that he was never going to leave you again, and it broke something deep inside of him that he tried to hide away for decades. He wished that he had never done those things to you, wished that he had earned back your trust already, wished that you would let him make love to you to show you how much you meant to him, but deep down he knew that he was willing to wait for you even if it took the rest of his life, he would make you trust him again.

At least she's touching me and looking me in the eye now.

But he knew that he still had a long way to go.

“Right.” Butcher clears his throat awkwardly. “Don’t forget to fill up the tank.” He tosses his keys towards you and you catch them in your hand while Ben continues to stand there.

Honestly he still wasn't sure what to say. He was stuck somewhere between guilt and shock and he wasn't sure how to make his body move. Pretty soon he would die from asphyxiation. He hadn’t taken a breath since you said it.

Butcher, Legend, and Hughie walk into the house behind them each wearing a bewildered expression. Ben had been to Legend's summer house many times in the past. He had memories of orgies and parties that went on for days, both of which you never went to, and Ben always ended up at your apartment trying to sleep it off while you sketched quietly beside him. He still couldn't understand that, how you were able to sit there with him and act like your heart wasn't breaking each time he did that.

The silence grows between you and Ben can't find the words to fill it, because he has no idea what to say, no idea how you can look at him when he did this to you, when he got you pregnant and then abandoned you like you didn't matter.

"Look I-" You stammer, looking down at the ground for a minute to take a breath before you raise your eyes to look at him. "I didn't want to tell you like this, but I can't leave her. We have the same last name and the first thing Homelander's going to do is make that connection. I mean, Legend and I made up the story about Indigo being my mom, but Rosemary she-"

Ben's entire body explodes again with emotion and shock as you utter the name Rosemary. He hadn't heard it in over eighty years, the last time was at his mother's funeral. The day that you crossed the gravesite, pulling away from your family, swaddled in another ridiculous dress that your mother picked out, and took his hand, refusing to let it go.  You were always there for him.

And then I wasn't fucking there for her.

“I just can’t leave her, not with him.” You whisper, glancing up into Ben's impassive face but he can't say anything.

How can I when she named our daughter after my mother?

“I know it’s a lot to take in. I tried to tell you this morning, but then Butcher walked in and I didn’t want to do this in front of him and- and-“ You were babbling now, a nervous habit that Ben hadn't seen you do in ages, but was now rearing its ugly head all over again. “And you don’t have to come with me-“

You were mistaking his silence for fear, mistaking his silence as him pulling away all over again. He could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice as it trembled.

“Rosemary.” Ben whispers, your daughter's name, his daughter's name, interrupting you.  He barely breathes it, so low that he's not sure you heard him, saying the name with a reverence that he'd never used before. It was the first thing he'd said since you told him that he was a dad.

“Yes?" You look confused.

“You named her after my mom?” Ben’s eyes catch yours, deep green and open. He could feel his own heart flutter when he asked you that, heating in his chest so hot that he thinks it might melt out of it, through the bones and sinew. If that happened he would catch it and give it to you as if you already didn’t have it.

Ben can hear your heartbeat stutter when he asks you that. It was surprising, surprising that after everything that happened you still did that for him, did that to remember him.

He watches the end of your lips twitch in a smile.

“Yeah. You loved your mom. And did you think I was going to name her after my mom? Really?” You smile faintly at him with the joke.

Ben almost smiles at the thought. There wasn't any way that you wanted to remember your mother. Hell, all Ben wanted was to help you forget her, to undo the damage that she'd done to you all those years ago, because he saw how her influence still weighed on you, how everything that happened in the past still sat on your shoulders.

And he wanted to relieve that.

“I did try to tell you.” You repeat, but your smile drops.  “Honestly I also want to stop and get some clothes from my apartment  so I’m not covered in blood or rubble when I see her. It's going to be hard to explain all of this to her.”

Ben drags his eyes down your outfit again. Although this morning all he wanted was to rip it off you and study your curves with his hands, the outfit looked weathered. There was a prominent hole through the jacket and shirt, just under your left breast that Ben couldn't look away from. He knew what it meant. It was from you pushing him out of the way of Homelander. He could still feel the anger prickling beneath his skin when you again did the thing that he told you not to do. You were just so stubborn sometimes and never wanted to listen to him. Ben didn't give a single fuck that Homelander had punched him and practically choked him, the only thing he cared about was that Homelander had killed  you. There were many things that Ben fantasized about doing to Homelander when he had killed you, many he wished that he had been able to accomplish before Homelander tucked his tail and flew away like a little pussy.

He cannot be what passes for a hero these days.

Then again another side of him was incredibly turned on when you faced Homelander. He'd never admit that to you, but there was something sexy about the way you threw Homelander around like he was nothing. It had taken an extreme amount of effort for Ben not to kiss you after Homelander flew away, to take you back into the ruined house and show you just how much he liked your outfit and how much he enjoyed watching you kick Homelander's ass. Of course he'd let the anger win in the moments that followed the fight.

"Okay." Ben replies.

He sees you hesitate. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.” You reply, with a tight smile, disappointment flashing in your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow together. He was confused. “I’m coming with you.”

“Really?" He watches your eyes widen in surprise.

 Did she really think I'd let her go alone to do this?

"Yes? I told you that I didn't want you to go alone. Especially with that asshole flying around." Ben could feel himself frown.

"Okay."

Reader POV

The first ten minutes of the drive is deathly quiet. Ben doesn’t say anything and you fight to keep your mouth shut. The urge to fill the silence bristled beneath your skin, but you clamp your lips together.

Even when he said he wanted to come with me, he didn't acknowledge anything I said about Rosemary and-

“Are you sure she’s mine?” Ben finally asks interrupting your internal monologue.

You can’t help but laugh, gripping the steering wheel as you snort.  “Why is that the reaction all men have when a woman tells them that they’re pregnant? Is it because all men believe that women go around plotting ways to force them into a relationship? Is that a legitimate fear that you guys have? Or is it because all men think women go jumping from bed to bed having unprotected sex with whoever they can get their hands on?”

“No I just-“ Ben sighs and doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s been staring out through the windshield, watching the outside world fade into blurred colors, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” You hadn’t meant to laugh at him, but this was all just extremely awkward.

But it shouldn’t be. You can’t help but think to yourself. If Ben had ever asked me to have a kid with him before any of this I would have agreed to it no questions asked. But now I guess it's different.

“Yes she’s yours.” You sigh, but you can’t look at him.

“But how?”

“Do you really want me to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

“Y/n.” He sighs.

“Because of all the people in the world, you probably have enough experience to know exactly how babies are made and I hate to break it to you, it has nothing to do with a stork.”

 “Please don’t make a joke right now.”

“I can’t help it.” You mutter butterflies dancing the conga in your stomach. “You know how I get when I get nervous.” You could practically feel your neurons sending electrical impulses through your body, making your anxiety grow.

I really should have had that coffee this morning. Then again it might go right to my anxiety.

“Why are you nervous?” Ben asks you incredulous. He sounds surprised, like he can't understand you.

“Huh?”

“Why are you nervous? You should be fucking furious with me!"

"Ben what are you talking about?" You turn to look over at him. He looks wrecked. He's hunched in the seat, hands clenched tightly over his thighs, jaw tight.

Is he mad at me? Really? Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach to be devoured by the swarm of butterflies. I knew it. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle this-

"I did this to you and then I fucking left you. I left you when you needed me and was with those Russian fucks for forty-“ Ben’s voice breaks.

You suddenly understand. Ben wasn’t angry with you, he wasn’t pulling away, he was angry with himself. Guilty and angry because he wasn't there, because he believed that he disappointed you again.

“Ben wait a minute-“

“I should have been there every second.” He seethes, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists on top of his thighs. “I should have- FUCK.” Ben’s fist goes through the roof of the car, making the entire frame shudder.

Shit Butcher might kill us for that.

"Oh Ben-" You whisper.

“I-“ His chest begins to glow. “I said all those things, pushed you away, fucked Countess. I put you through all that shit and you still wanted to have my fucking kid? And you named her after my mom? I-"

Butcher will definitely kill us if Ben blows up his car.

You pull the car over to the side of the road, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for Ben. "Ben please it's okay." You breathe, hands finding the sides of his face. "It's okay."

"No it's not." His chest dulls, but he turns his head away from you ashamed. "You told me that you wanted a family, that you wanted someone to come home to, someone who loved you. I wanted to give you those things, but not like this. I-" Ben's voice cracks. "I'm so sorry. I-"

"Ben." You whisper, turning his face back to yours so he's looking at you. His green eyes are dim, eyebrows pushed together, mouth turned down in a frown. And you can't help but kiss him. It's the first kiss you'd had in years. Life always seemed to get in the way of that. Whether it was Rosemary or Lou, you hadn't had a lasting relationship with someone in decades, not since Ben. The most you’d done is gone out with another artist and had dinner. It had ended in an awkward kiss that felt completely wrong to you. It didn't feel anything like this.

Kissing Ben was even more wonderful than you remember. The way he softly sighs into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, the way his hands find your waist to pull you over the center console into his lap, the way your hands automatically tangle in his thick dark hair on the back of his head, and the way your entire body melted into him. Warm tingles trace down your spine as your lips move against his, every synapse in your body electrifying, as you try your hardest to tell him how much he means to you with the kiss.

"Don't you understand." You say against his lips, stroking your fingers through his hair. "You did. You gave me a family. You gave me someone to come home to, someone who loves me. And now that she’s all grown up it gets to be you. You didn’t ruin my life. I don’t regret a single moment, even with everything that happened. I don't regret having Rosemary. You gave me what I wanted. It might not have looked the way I thought it would, but it doesn't make it any less special.”

"But I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I-" Ben sighs leaning his forehead against yours and you kiss him again, his tongue tangling with yours so devastatingly languid it seems to take your next breath.

Why did I ever deny myself this?

"Ben, you're here now, and that's all that matters to me."

"But-"

"You don't need to apologize for this Ben. What happened to you was not your fault. You couldn't control being away as long as you were-"

"I could have tried harder to escape. I could have-" He swallows, eyes wide and filled with pain. "I would have tried harder if I knew that I left you with-"

"Ben." You breathe, extracting your fingers from his hair and cupping his cheeks. "Please. I don't blame you for not being there. It was out of your control. And if-" You clear your throat with a sigh. "If you really love me as much as you say, if you've really loved me all this time, then I know you would have been there every second."

"I do. I love you." He kisses you again, breathing you in, holding you so tight against his chest as if he believes that you'll fade away in his arms. "I would have been, even if you hated having me there."

"I might have at the beginning, but now I can't imagine losing you. I can't imagine you leaving me. I don't think that I'll be able to survive this time-"

"I won't leave. I promise."

"I'm starting to believe you." Your thumbs stroke against Ben's cheeks, smiling softly at him, trying to fight the urge to cry, because your emotions are getting the best of you all over again. "Now can we please go? Or are you going to blow up Butcher's car?"

"One more Sweetheart." Ben murmurs, dragging your face back to his. "I've waited forty years for this."

"Does she know about me?" Ben says from your bedroom, over the sound of the sink.

You were standing in your bathroom, washing ash and blood from your face and picking rubble out of your hair. Honestly, you looked… weathered. The revenge outfit had a large irreparable hole that went through the blouse, not to mention you'd lost another favorite jacket and you were starting to get pissed.

Two down in a week. Maybe the vintage shop across the street from Rosemary's will have a nice selection. You reconsider. Or maybe Legend will have some clothes that he doesn't want. You smile to yourself. He certainly looks the same, must have some nice vintage clothes from the "good old days". Maybe I should be more worried about the fact that I’m more upset about ruining another jacket rather than the fact that we killed two people today.

Of course, you also needed to consider getting Ben some more clothes as well. Butcher's minimal selection was dismal, then again Ben could probably wear a garbage bag and be drop dead gorgeous.

He's the worst.

"Yeah. I told her who you were." You pull off the jacket, stroking your finger around the hole in the back of it, noticing the way the singed leather melted away from the laser. "She also knows you're back. It was-um- it was Rosemary who was texting me this morning." You momentarily feel guilty again. Rosemary was not excited to see Ben, the text messages this morning were a testament to that. And you were afraid that Ben was going to get his hopes up about seeing her.

Personally you weren't sure how he was going to approach this. Your heart just about broke when he almost exploded in the car from guilt about getting you pregnant. That was shocking, but at the same time the look of anguish on his face made you feel guilty all over again for not trying to get him sooner, for not asking more questions about his death. You knew that he was more indestructible than you. Why didn't I question that?

You reach for the bottom of the blouse, pulling it from your skin, but you look at your reflection in the mirror. There were two prominent scars, each about the size of a nickel, just under the left side of your bra. The only thing left behind from your fight with Homelander.

Ben's hand against the small of your bare back, makes you jump. It was rough and familiar, brushing against your soft skin in a way that makes you want to push back into his touch, to soak up the warmth like a cat in the sun. Proving again that your body still responded to his touch the same way it had your entire life. "Let me see." He rumbles.

"What?"

Ben turns you towards him, eyes dark as they meet yours, but then they drop to the collection of scars on your torso. "This one?" He strokes the golf-ball sized, almost perfect circle on the right lower part of your abdomen.

"Countess."

Ben's jaw tightens, but then raises his hand to the scars Homelander left then to the bullet scar just over your heart. "I hate that so many of these have to do with me."

"Well you didn't do them so you should see that as a win." You joke trying to make Ben smile, but he doesn't. "Ben we talked about this."

"I know." He pauses stroking his finger on a thin line just over your left collarbone.  It was new to him. "What’s this one?"

"Rosemary." A ghost of a smile is on my lips. "Didn't want to eat her broccoli when she was a kid, telekinetically threw a knife at me by accident."

 "She's a supe?"

"Yeah she's like us a bit. Doesn't age, she's strong, and more invulnerable, but she doesn't have any other powers unless she touches you."

"She has to touch you?"

"Yeah skin to skin contact only and only 24 hours, that's how she got telekinesis. She touched me and, well, really didn’t want to eat that broccoli-" You shrug. You were used to her powers, happy that you didn't have to watch her age, but worried about Lou. You were always worried about Lou. “But she's not a hero, she didn't want to be one. She's a nurse, works downtown in the emergency room. Though I think she's thinking about being a doctor."

"A doctor? A female doctor?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow.

Right. He basically missed the feminist movement. Note to self, make Ben watch the Barbie movie.

"Yes a female doctor. Nowadays it happens more often than you’d think.” You laugh. “She wanted to go back to school, but then her husband died and she was taking care of Lou-"

"Lou?"

You take his hand stroking your thumb over the back. “It’s not just Rosemary-“

“Please do not tell me you had fucking twins.” Ben tenses.

“No.” You snort. “Lou is our granddaughter. It's short for Louisa, though Rosie never calls her that unless she's done something crazy.  She’s four, and most of the time she calls me aunty. She doesn’t know I’m her grandmother. Rosie and I, we thought it would be better if I introduced her as my cousin, not as my daughter."

“What happened to her husband?”

“Car accident. Just a few weeks after Lou was born.” Your smile drops remembering. “He was a good guy. Rosemary was head over heels for such a long time, and when he died she just crumbled completely shut down. He wasn't a supe and when she started to have a life with him I was worried about him dying. He wasn't going to live forever and he certainly wasn't indestructible. But after it happened I moved in with them for a while, helped her get through it, but it was hard."

"What about Lou?"

"What about her?"

"Is she a supe?" Ben's palm was still resting on the thin line over your collar bone and it was difficult to think with his bare skin pressed against yours.

"Not that we've noticed. Though I worry every day she will be."

"Why?"

"She's a third generation supe from our bloodline. If that gets out, who knows what'll happen. Same with Rosemary. She’s powerful and she’s only second generation from us. I’m hoping it skipped Lou.” You sigh leaning forward into his hand. "When I first found out that I was pregnant with Rosemary I was afraid that Vought would come take her away. And then when Lou was born I was so happy for Rosie, but everyday I'm scared that-" The words catch in your throat. Nothing really scared you anymore, but the thought of losing Rosie or Lou broke your heart, it was the same fear you had at the thought of losing Ben all over again.

He slides his hand up the column of your throat to cup your cheek.  “Nothing will happen to them.” Ben promises. “I won’t let it.” His gaze was locked on yours, eyes filled with steely determination. It made your heart warm to know that Ben already cares about them, that he understood how important they were to you. It also made you all the more guilty for telling Rosemary everything about Ben, afraid that it turned her against him.

But I told her the bad and the good. I told her how much he meant to me, how he touched my life, our childhoods-

Images of the moments with Ben over your lifetime, the good and the bad, the moments you loved him, the moments you hated him, the simple moments that you longed for more, and the moments where Ben gave you everything you wanted, when he was exactly what you needed, as if he understood every part of you, even the parts that you tired to hide from everyone else. The moments before you were supes when Ben and you were together and he made you forget about your mother, when he walked you home as you sang drunkenly off key, and the moments where he cheered you up when everything seemed hopeless. Ben was always there for you.

You tried to tell her that, but maybe you were too jaded to tell her, maybe you focused too much on the bad. And now that meant she might not listen to his side of the story.

He drags his finger over the scar just over your heart, the one he can't seem to forget, trailing goosebumps in it's wake, while his other hand wraps around your waist tugging you forward against his chest.

By now he was wearing the pair of jeans and dark shirt he came to your apartment in, looking just as devastatingly handsome as he always did. Probably a good thing that he didn't go to her apartment in his supe suit, you didn't want Rosemary to ask him why he was wearing it and then have to tell her that he torched the TNT Twins.

Because telling her that you personally kicked Homelander's ass and that he was now going to hunt down Rosemary and Lou seemed so much easier. Not.

Why is my life like this?

"I can't put a shirt on if you keep doing that." You whisper. Honestly you couldn't think straight either.

"Maybe that's my plan all along."

"Well see, if I never put a shirt on that means that I'll be walking around in public with everyone seeing me without one and-"

Ben's eyes narrow at the thought.

“Oh do you not like that?” You smirk.

He pins you back against the counter, the marble biting into your lower back, but you don’t have time to think about it because Ben’s lips are against yours, supple and urgent, driving every thought from your mind.

Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, fastening him tighter against you while his mouth drags over your skin down your throat to your collarbone.

“Ben we have to go-“ you whisper.

“Let me do this first.” He mutters against your skin.

“Do what?” You sigh, feeling him begin to suck a mark directly over your collarbone. “Ben-“ You try to say his name to make him stop. Showing up to Rosemary’s apartment with a hickey was the last thing you wanted. But instead of his name coming out in the harsh whisper you intended, it comes out as a moan.

Ben’s body tightens around you, gaze meeting yours. His eyes are dark pools filled with promises that make a shiver travel down your spine. “I’ve waited forty years to hear you say my name like that again.” His lips fall back to the same spot. “And I look forward to hearing it like that in the future.”

Part of you is screaming too soon! But there’s another part rattling the bars of her cage that screams more! At the top of its lungs.

Ben continues to kiss along your neck, beard scratching against the soft skin in a way that makes you sigh and move your hands up to tangle in his hair.

You can feel Ben’s smile. “That’s my girl.”

“Only yours.” You whisper before you can stop yourself causing Ben to raise his head from your collarbone.

“Damn right.”He growls.

And there goes my last shred of willpower. Fuck.

Rosemary’s apartment building sends a deep feeling of dread through your system. You were happy that you got to change, happy that Ben got to change, but now thanks to the man sitting in the front seat across from you there was a large purple mark just on your collarbone that was barely covered by the long sleeved sweater you had on.

Please let Rosemary not see it.

Ben wasn’t helping. Since your apartment he hadn’t let go of your hand. The entire ride to Rosemary’s he held it over the center console of Butcher’s car, slowly stroking the back of it with his thumb making warm tendrils creep up your arm and settle in your heart. It was just like the night after the restaurant when Ben drove you home and he showed a softer side of himself that you hadn’t seen in forty years.

In the past 48 hours Ben had been more attentive and loving than he ever had and it made you hopeful for the future, hopeful that this really was going to work.

But you  were still afraid that this was happening so fast. You weren’t expecting yourself to be so open to forgiving him, to be so ready to let him back in, to let him pick up the pieces of your heart but there he was holding duct tape with his piercing eyes and annoyingly gorgeous face.

“This is a nice apartment building.” Ben says looking up at the towering behemoth.

“She really likes it.” You shrug. “It’s close to a lot of schools and Rosie’s job. I kinda thought it was too uppity.”

“Neighborhood looks safe.” Ben gets out of the car.

“Yeah it-“ You begin to say trying to open your door but as soon as you do Ben is there opening it for you. “Oh thanks.”

“You look surprised.” He smiles.

“It’s just been a while since someone has opened a door for me.”

Ben’s smile twitches for a second. “Y/n?”

“Yes Ben.” You smooth the front of his shirt.

“How many others have there been?” He asks quietly.

You pause for a second hand still on his chest.   As ridiculous as it might seem to some people, the truth was there hadn’t been anyone else.

At first it was difficult to find time for anything eat alone that in particular. Chasing a toddler around that occasionally picked up the couch and threw it across the room with her mind was enough to keep anybody busy, not to mention that you didn’t want to leave Rosemary alone with anyone for a night. And when Rosemary finally went off the college and you started to sell your paintings you started to get more comfortable being on your own again. You’d gone out to dinner with a few men who asked you after your show shared a kiss, but nothing ever felt right.

Finally came the one night that you thought things could be different. Max was a colleague that had flirted with you every chance he got. He wasn’t bad looking, reminded you a bit of Ben and your friend Adam Winthrop growing up. Max was also an artist who came to each of your shows, talked you down from the ledge whenever you thought the work wasn’t good enough and always took you out to get a drink after a show to make you feel better. He was sweet, funny, but when you were with him something always felt different.

But one night you figured why not? So you gave in, went back with Max to his apartment, but you couldn’t go all the way. It felt wrong. You could tell how much he liked you, how much he wanted you, but you didn’t want him. And it felt wrong to use someone. To make them believe you had feelings for them only to push them away.

So you told Max the truth and he respected you, didn’t make anything weird between the two of you, acted like nothing happened.

But now standing here in front of Ben with him asking you that question apart of you wished you had found someone else.

“Why?” You ask slowly.

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know you just haven’t- I mean we haven’t talked about that and-“

“I have never asked you how many people you’ve slept with. And I really don't think this is the best time?"

“I know that you've never asked but the last time I saw you I mean-" Ben's hand gently touches your waist, stroking against the top of your favorite worn pair of jeans.

You knew exactly what he was thinking about, he was thinking about the night you shared together, when he was everything you wanted, and he made you feel special loved, when he was gentle and made love to you the way you always imagined.

And yes maybe sex was off the table for a while, but it would come up again, eventually.

"Ben, can we talk about this after we get Rosemary and Lou back to Legend's?" You whisper placing a hand on his chest before you can stop yourself. You weren't sure if you'd ever be able to stop touching him, if you'd ever be able to stand in his presence and not feel warm or happy. You never expected it to be like this again, and certainly not so soon.

Ben looks disappointed for a moment, his green eyes flashing in the brilliant sunlight as it begins to sink behind the buildings. The wind carried the smells of summer, ice cream, beer, sunscreen, and just a hint of rain, rustling through the trees on the edge of Central Park. There would be a storm soon and you hoped that you were on the road before it hit. You hated driving in the rain.

"Okay." He releases your waist and takes your hand once more. "But we are going to talk about it right?"

"I don't see why it's so important." You steer him towards the front double doors where the doorman, Rodger, stands in a green and gold suit.

"Welcome back miss." Rodger smiles and opens one of the heavy glass doors for Ben and you.

"Thank you Rodger. How's the wife?" You flash a winning smile at him, still holding on tight to Ben who walks silently next to you.

"She's doing a lot better. The treatments are going well. She seems more like herself each day." Rodger smiles wider, eyes misting a little bit.

"That's wonderful to hear. Tell her I say hello." You say continuing to the gilded elevator that sits on the other side of the large marble lobby of the apartment building.

The truth was you knew that his wife was doing better, just as you knew she was receiving her treatments. Last Christmas Rodger had broken down when he was letting you up to see Lou and Rosemary and told you that his wife was diagnosed with lung cancer and because they didn’t have the money for treatment, it would probably be her last Christmas. Rodger was one of the kindest people you knew, and you didn't want him to lose his wife, so Rosemary and you both decided to shift around the generous funds that her grandfather left you, to send an anonymous donation so Rodger's wife could get treatment.

"Of course miss."

The elevator door closes, leaving Ben and you alone again, playing a cover of "Don't Stop Believing" on the piano.

 Ben tugs you close and kisses you softly, so soft that it makes your eyes flutter while he smiles down at you. "I love you."

"What did you do?" You joke, nerves of Rosemary seeing Ben gone for a moment.

"You have such a big heart." He strokes his finger down your cheek, eyes soft as he gazes at you.

"He was going to lose his wife." You murmur. Ben was doing it again, seeing through you, understanding you even without knowing the whole story. It was like he always had a way of laying you bare, able to see your thoughts and secrets even though he wasn't a mind reader. "He loves her so much and for him to lose her like that-"

Ben hugs you closer to his chest. "I understand what that's like."

You see where his mind is, see that it's on a beach overseas, with blood soaked sand and your body lying in his arms as you draw your last breath. It hurt you to see the pain in his eyes, the loss even when you were standing right in front of him, even when you were in his arms, pressed against him in the way that always made you think that he was made for you just as the way you were made for him.

How could I ever forget how he made me feel? How wonderful it was to be with him when all you could see was the boy you grew up with?

"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise." You kiss him gently on the tip of his nose. It was more to reassure yourself than anything else. Rosemary was not going to react well to seeing him.

Might as well rip the band aid off right now.

The hallway is quiet, carpet plush and thick beneath your shoes and Ben and you make your way to the door at the end of the hallway. The blue paint is supposed to be calming, but your anxiety spikes as you raise your free hand to knock against the front door.

Please let her be here and not be kidnapped by Homelander.

The door opens.

Rosemary is dressed for work. Her maroon scrubs are clean and neat, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, her make up soft. She looks calm, but you can see the coming storm, just as you felt the coming storm outside the building, feel the electricity against your skin before the thunderclouds rose on the horizon. As soon as her eyes meet yours they narrow.

She's pissed.

"What are you doing here? I told you that I didn't need you to watch Lou tonight. Her babysitter is coming." Rosemary glances at Ben once, frown deepening as she notices his hand holding yours. You knew she was still holding back what she wished to say, choosing rather to ignore his presence rather than tear him apart here.

"I know. I'm not here for that. We have to go." You say, not wanting to discuss the full gravity of the situation in the hallway, but Rosemary shifts to block the doorway.

"You're not coming in. Not with him." She spits the word 'him' like it's a curse and you feel Ben's body tense in surprise.

I should have prepared him for this.

"Hi I’m-" Ben begins to say, trying to smooth things over.

"I know who you are." Rosemarys eyes narrow and flick back to you. “I can’t believe you fucking forgave him.”

"I-"

"Before you say you didn't that fucking hickey on your neck says otherwise."

Your cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment, shifting the sweater to hide it again. “Rosie-“

“No no no. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Rosie-“ Ben tries to say.

"Don't you dare call me that." She snarls, face contorting in rage, burning so hot that you could practically feel the air around her raising in temperature. "You don't know me. We're not friends. And I don't care what she says, you're not my dad. You're just the asshole that fucked my mom, got her pregnant and then ripped her heart out." Rosemary spits. “Do you have any idea what you put my mother through? Do you have any idea?"

Ben's body is still tense beside you, pulled so taunt that you don't know how he hasn’t snapped "I know and I apolo-“

“You think one measly apology makes that okay? MAKES ANY OF THIS OKAY?”

“Can we please not do this in the hallway?” You sigh. The last thing you wanted was Mrs. Norbert, Rosemary's prehistoric nosy neighbor coming out into the hall with her yappy French poodle, the same one that always snapped at your ankles and at Lou when you ran into her in the lobby.

“He’s not coming in here.” Rosemary stands her ground in the doorway.

"I know that you’re angry, but I need you to put that aside right now because there are more pressing things we have to worry about.” 

"Like what?" Her eyes narrow at you. "Oh let me guess, you guys fucked again, you're pregnant and now you're going to-"

"Don't you dare speak to her that way." Ben roars trying to step in front of you,  but you put your hand up to stop him.

Rosemary might be your daughter, but to Ben she was someone who insulted you, family or no, he wasn't going to sit back and let her treat you that way.

"Ben." You say once to calm him down. The last thing you wanted was for him to go nuclear right now. "Rosemary please. I know that you're angry, but we're not here for some big reunion. This is more important than any of this. This is about keeping Lou safe."

At the mention of her daughter's name, you see Rosemary's resolve waver. Her eyes flick to Ben again, once more sizing him up. "Fine." She opens the door wider, so Ben and you can come inside the apartment.

The creative chaos of the living room soothes some of your nerves, but not all. This was going poorly. Well, worse than poorly. Rosemary could barely look at Ben let alone speak to him without looking like she'd smelled something rancid.

You knew it would be bad, but you didn't think that it would be like this.

Apart of your heart broke for Ben. You saw how he acted in the car when you told him he was a father, how upset he'd been at the thought of getting you pregnant and then abandoning you. And now Rosemary was basically making him feel like a deadbeat probably wasn't helped either.

All you hoped was that Ben wasn't focusing on what his father used to say to him about being a disappointment, hoped that he wasn't reliving the memories of everything his father shouted at him at night before Ben fled to the solace of your bedroom.

Because the truth was you weren't disappointed and certainly were not disappointed when you got pregnant. Heartbroken yes. Scared shitless, again yes. But not disappointed, you'd never say that about him or to him, not as long as you lived. You knew exactly what those words would do to him, exactly where they would transport him. And you refused to be the reason Ben was reminded of his father.

"Aunty y/n!" Lou crows as she weaves through the apartment, leaping off the teal colored couch and into your open arms. She squeezes you tightly, burying her face in your neck. To see her safe brings relief washing over you, the same feeling you felt when Rosemary opened the door, but tenfold now knowing that Homelander has not taken either or them.

And he won't ever.

"I missed you." She whispers.

"I missed you too honey." You smile down at your granddaughter. She leans back to glance at her mother who still stands at the front door, holding on to the handle like it's her last nerve. Ben is standing close to you, looking at the little girl in your arms, face impassive, but his eyes betray him, caught somewhere between shock, anger, and just a twinge of guilt.

Please don't be guilty Ben. You think to yourself, trying hard not to reach out and touch him.

"Mommy why were you yelling at aunty y/n?"  Lou looks at where Rosemary stands awkwardly by the door glaring at Ben.

"Because I didn’t tell her my friend Ben was coming." You say rubbing her back softly.

"Him?" She points at Ben.

"Yes. And don't point honey it's rude."

"Hi." Lou gives him a toothless smile and waves her chubby hand at him, her dark hair flopping away from her face as she does so.

Ben blinks at her for a moment, before his mouth begins to quirk in a half smile, shoulders still tense. But you could see that he was trying, and it meant something that he was despite Rosemary practically tearing him a new one in the hallway.

"He looks like mommy." Lou giggles cuddling into your neck to look at him.

It was the one thing that you hadn't prepared Ben for, how much he looked like Rosemary, how similar they were. You knew that somewhere deep down he was probably thinking the same thing.

Rosemary's eyes skate to Ben who stares back at her with the same intensity, but something passes in the air between them, something that you can't place.

"Yes. Yes he does sweetie. Now why don’t you go get your art kit for me, and we’ll go." You put her on the ground and Lou scampers off to her bedroom while the three of you stand there in awkward silence.

"Why do we have to go? I thought you didn’t expose yourself because you didn't go to Russia to get him." Rosemary asks. She still wouldn’t say his name. Then again you weren't expecting her to call him dad.

HA. Like that would ever happen.

Ben scoots closer to you reaching for your hand, but when Rosemary narrows her eyes at him, he pauses halfway. So you take his hand instead. "I did expose myself."

"How? Because of him?"

"Look I get that you're pissed, but I'm asking you to put it aside for one second so we can talk about this."

"Fine." Rosemary crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm listening." She still looks angry.

And you know what you're about to say is going to make her even angrier.

"We went to talk to the TNT Twins and things went south." You begin, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Why?"

"I'll explain that later. But all you need to know is that things went badly and Homelander showed up."

Rosemary's hands tighten on her biceps so tight that her knuckles turn white at the mention of Homelander. Like you Rosemary didn't have any experience with him, only that she also knew there was something off about him.

"What did you do?" She whispers.

"It's not what she did, it's more what that fucker did." Ben almost spits, his skin heating where it rests in your hand.

"Ben." You say squeezing his hand softly as a warning. He gains control. "There wasn't a choice. We got into a fight-"

Rosemary's eyes widen, inhaling sharply. And before she can stop herself, she touches your shoulder, eyes tracing your body as if looking for injuries. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Yes Rosie I'm fine, but he knows who I am and that means-"

"He knows who we are." Her eyes flick in the direction Lou went to grab her bag. "Shit."

"You can say that again." Ben mutters.

"Give me five minutes." Rosemary looks from Ben to you for a moment. "But this doesn't change anything."

"I know. Just go. We'll wait here." You reply with a tight lipped smile.

You hoped that one day this would get easier, that Rosemary would be able to look at Ben or have a conversation with him without killing him. The three of you seemed to be practically immortal, that was a long time to hold a grudge. And you didn't want there to be a division in your family. You'd lived with one before and you didn't want to go back through that, the awkward holidays, passive aggressive letters, and tense conversations. You didn't want that for your new family.

Maybe if I show her how much Ben has changed she'll warm up to him.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

Ben was looking around the living room with an unreadable expression, flicking through the photos on the back of the couch of Rosemary, You, and Lou to the hand drawn pictures on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"Ben?"

"Yeah." He mutters. "I'm fine."

But you could tell he wasn't. He wasn't really focusing on anything, and even his tone of voice was strange, hollow, but before you could press him further Rosemary and Lou come back into the room.

"Here let me-" Ben steps forward to take one of the large duffle bags from Rosemary, attempting to help, but Rosemary yanks the bag out of his reach.

"No I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you."

"Rosemary-" You sigh.

"And she doesn’t either." Rosemary gestures to you with the bag. "Do you have any idea what you did to her? How much you hurt her? And now you think you can just waltz back in here and say 'oh I’ll fix it' like you didn’t fuck up her life?"

"Rosemary!" You shout eyes flicking to where Lou was standing with her TMNT  backpack on with wide eyes.

"No. You might not be able to say it to him. But I will. We don’t need you here. We've survived the past forty fucking years without you and we'll survive the next million!"

"Rosemary stop." You step forward this time to move between them, but Rosemary doesn't back down.

"Stop what?" She shouts. "Stop reminding you of what he did? I'm sorry, but I'm not going to just look into his eyes and forgive him like you did-"

"I DID NOT LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND FORGIVE HIM.” You snap, but then stop to take a breath. “We are working through it-"

"Uh-huh sure." Rosemary rolls her eyes. "Just stay away from Lou and from me." She moves around Ben with Lou in tow, storming through the front door of the apartment and leaving you and Ben in the living room.

Oh yeah… This is really working out for the best.

The ride to Legend's is dead silent, all three hours, broken up only once when you stop for gas, but even then Rosemary won't speak to you. She barely makes eye contact as she takes Lou to the bathroom, leaving Ben and you to stand at the car, watching the rain soak through the cracked pavement outside. But even Ben has been more quiet than usual, staring through the windshield of the car lost in thought, and you didn't ask him to fill the silence. You figured that with everything that happened over the past few hours, Ben deserved some silence.

When Lou and Rosemary got back to the car, Ben had silently taken the car keys from you and slid behind the wheel. He knew how much you hated driving in the rain.

Legend didn't require an introduction to your daughter, but it had been an awkward meeting for Butcher and Hughie who breezed through the front hallway on the way up the stairs to their bedrooms.

And finally when it was just Ben, Rosemary, Lou, and you standing at the foot of the stairs, you still had no idea what to say, or if there really was anything to say. You knew that Rosemary didn't want to talk out everything in front of Lou.

By now it was past midnight and you could see that Lou was already starting to sway on her feet. It was hours past her bedtime, but she was still in good spirits. Lou never seemed to stop smiling, she was happy all the time, excited to try new things, and it always reminded you of the way Rosemary used to be when she was a child and as an adult before she lost her husband.

"Rosemary-" You begin to say, throat tightening.

"I'm going to take Lou to bed. We can talk in the morning." She doesn't look at Ben or you, but you could tell that she was tired. She was still wearing her maroon scrubs, hadn’t changed out of them, too worried about Homelander, but her hair had pulled free of the bun and her makeup was a little more smudged under her eyes now. "Say goodnight Lou."

"Goodnight aunty y/n." Lou says tottering over to you, and you stoop down on the ground to hug her close to your chest the anxiety about Homelander prickling under your skin once more.

“Tomorrow can we paint some?” She gives you a wide toothless smile.

She'd lost one of her front teeth a few days ago, and was particularly proud of the hole it left behind. She'd been excited to meet the tooth fairy, even wrote a thank you note and drew a picture of her holding her tooth out for the fairy.

“Whatever you want sweetie.” You smile as she pulls away, brushing her dark hair from her wide eyes.

But instead of going back to where Rosie is holding out her hand for Lou, she turns and hugs Ben’s leg where he stands next to you. Her head barely reaches the top of his knee, but it doesn't dissuade her from hugging him with all her might.

Ben stiffens, unsure what to do.

“Goodnight Ben.” Lou looks up at him with the same smile she had for you.

You feel your own lips begin to pull up at the edges to see how much Lou wanted Ben to like her, how much she was trying to make him feel at home. It warmed you heart.

Ben looks stunned for a minute, eyes flicking to yours wide, and Rosie looks angry, but slowly, Ben begins to smile. “Goodnight honey.” He rumbles giving her a pat on the head, because he's still not sure exactly how to handle this.

Lou smiles pleased with herself then lets Rosemary take her away waving once from over Rosemary's shoulder at Ben as Rosemary climbs the stairs in the direction of the room that Legend saved for them.

Ben stands there watching them go for a minute, lost in thought. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Lou? She loves you. Of course there’s a lot to love.” You smile, trying to take his hand, but Ben pulls away. His rejection pricks at your heart, you couldn't tell why he was doing that, why he was pulling away from you again.

Is he angry? At me? At Rosemary? Or Is this him being angry at himself all over again?

You thought that he was doing better up until you went to Rosemary’s apartment, thought that he wasn’t as upset about leaving you in the past. But now you weren’t sure.

“There’s a lot to hate.” He mutters, his eyes won't quite meet yours and the fear of him leaving begins to creep back, shuddering through your bones like the chill of a winter wind.

“As there is with anybody-“ You try to recover from his rejection, searching his face to understand why he was acting so different.

“I want Rosie to like me. I’m her father-“ He turns to stare at you, green eyes dark, filled with an clouding of emotions that strike you straight in the heart. It wasn't happiness, it wasn't love, it was something different, something that made a lump lodge itself in the back of your throat.

“I know Ben. She just needs some time-" You begin to say, reaching for him, but Ben steps away from you again, refusing to let you comfort him.

"Why did you tell her all those things about me? Did you really hate me that much?” Ben shouts, voice reverberating up the staircase, so loud that you're sure other people can hear you.

"What are you talking about-"

"All the shit that happened between us. Everything that happened that night. Everything I did-“

"She asked me for the truth and I didn't want to lie to her-" You try to explain.

You hadn't. You wanted her to know the truth about her father, just as she knew that truth about you. You thought that she deserved that. And it wasn't like you told Rosemary when she was three. You told her everything that happened when she was twenty three and she had just started seriously dating her future husband, when she was scared because she’d never felt that way about anyone before. And it reminded you of how you felt about the boy Ben used to be.

"I wish you had. Damnit y/n I'm her father, she should like me!" He seethes, fists clenched. Ben towers over you green eyes blazing in the soft light coming from the lights that line the hallway.

And somewhere deep down you start to feel angry. It comes surging up like the roar of a crowd pricking at the back of your spine until you can’t take it anymore.

"It's been 4 fucking hours since you met her, GIVE HER TIME."

"I can't believe you did this." Ben spits glaring at you.

"Are you serious right now?" Your mouth opens in shock.

Was this just some kind of joke? Is he really mad at me for this? Does he really think that I would do something like this purposely?!

"Did you really hate me that much? Did you really feel the need to turn her against me? Make her not love me?"

"I didn't turn her against you Ben. And I didn’t make her not love you." You snap back. "Yes I was angry with you, but that didn't mean that I didn't want you with me every single second in Rosemary's life.  I didn’t want to do that alone. I shouldn’t have had to but I don't blame you for that. I’ve told you that-“

“Yeah you’re really showing that. You turned her against me. Made me some villain. Made me some monster who fucked you and then left-“

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT YOU DID DIPSHIT!” You poke your finger into his chest. “Just because I’ve chosen to begin to forgive you does not mean I forgot what you did and what you said to me that night. But I’ll say this.”

He tries to open his mouth to retort, but you speak first.

“Every time something happened with Rosemary I turned to tell you and you weren’t there.

When I went into labor I wished you were there to hold my hand and tell me that everything was going to be okay, I wished that you were there smiling down at her when you held her for the first time. When she took her first steps and fell on her butt I wished you were there to swing her around and make her laugh. When I showed her how to paint for the first time I wished that you were there to see how she was covered in paint from head to toe. And I only told her those things about you because she asked and I don’t lie to my family. I’ve never lied to Rosemary and I’ve never lied to you. Ever.”

Ben stands there stuck straight each muscle clenched, wether it be in frustration or anger you don’t care. Your own anger was coming back, unlocking from the place you shoved it down when you thought you needed to be the perfect person you wanted others to see you as and not the broken girl who lived with a hole in her heart for so long.

“And yeah maybe you can be in here and pout and fucking blame me for her hating you. And maybe I shouldn’t have told her those things but I did.  I told her the good and the bad about you just as she knows the good and the bad about me. She can make her own decisions because she’s a damn adult. And don’t you dare say that I didn’t want you there every second.  Because I did. Even though you fucking ripped my heart out and stomped all over it I still wished that you could have been there for her, could have filled her life with love as much as I did.”

"But you still did it." Ben growls.

And you realize that maybe this is it, maybe that this is the one thing that pushes him away from you.

"Fine. Hate me if you want. I'm going to get a drink. Don’t  follow me." You snap before turning and stomping towards the kitchen, away from him, all the while hoping that he’ll follow after you.

But he doesn’t.

Despite wanting to grab one of the bottles of whiskey in Legend's kitchen, you restrain yourself and instead turn to the coffeemaker. It was fancier than yours, but you supposed that coffee would taste the same. You busy yourself with the steps of making the coffee to stop going over what you and Ben just yelled at one another, but your hands were still shaking.

Did he really think I didn't want him there? I mean yeah I was pissed from everything that happened, but I didn't want Rosemary to grow up without a father. I would have told him eventually that I was pregnant, I didn't want to do that alone.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and lean back against the counter as you take a sip remembering the day you took the pregnancy test. It was more obvious than anything else, not the lack of your period but the morning sickness. You never got sick. You remembered being afraid at first, the thought of raising a child alone scared you. You weren't sure you even wanted to be a mother, because of everything yours put you through. But then you thought of Ben. Yes you hated him, but the baby might be the last part of him that existed anywhere. If you decided not to have it, Ben would really be gone and you would be alone all over again. So you decided to have Rosemary and you never regretted that decision. Especially now that she had Lou.

You roll the cup in your hands, feeling the warmth of the mug transfer into your palms.

Maybe I shouldn't have told her everything I did. But she knows everything about me. She knows that I killed Countess. She knows the good and bad about me. It felt unfair to only tell her the good about Ben, she deserves to know the truth. She's just upset. Honestly, she's also a upset with me as well for forgiving him or partially forgiving him.

You move to the kitchen table, stretching out in the worn wooden chair and place your mug down on the circular dark wood table. You wanted Rosemary to warm up to him, but at the same time you didn't want to get in between them. She needed to do this for herself and you didn't want to force them together.

You hear someone enter the kitchen. Probably Ben. But when you look up you realize that it's Butcher.

He stands just on the edge as if he's debating whether or not he wants to come in.

"Didn't realize you were still up." He raises an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise love?"

"You realize that the V is completely out of your system right now right? And I could slowly peel your skin from your body with my mind if I wanted to?" You mirror his eyebrow raise while taking a sip of coffee.

"Eh. Worse ways to go." Butcher shrugs. "Anything stronger in here than coffee?"

"Top cabinet above the refrigerator. The good stuff is in the back. Legend usually tries to hide it from himself."

“Why?”

“Because he thinks it’s a waste to drink the good stuff when he’s really drunk and can’t appreciate it.”

“Seems fair.” Butcher finds the bottle of whiskey easily, moving to the cabinets to find a glass. “You want a cuppa?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to-“ You pause for a moment thinking of how wonderful it would be if you could just forget for a few minutes. “But sure.”

“Coffee not working?”

“It never has.” You take the cup gratefully from his outstretched hand as Butcher folds himself into the chair next to you. It was weird to say the least. The only thing he had done was act hostile to you and now him being nice was enough to give you whiplash.

The rest of the house was completely silent, except the soft turn of pages. You figured that meant Rosie was reading one of her books to distract herself from everything that happened earlier.

I should be in there talking to her. Trying to explain all this.

But you were tired and still reeling from your fight with Ben and didn’t feel like getting into it with Rosemary for the second time today.

“So why’d you do it?” Butcher takes a big swig from the glass in front of him.

“What?”

“You lied about your powers to Vought for years. Why?”

You roll the glass between your fingers, watching the amber colored liquid slosh against the sides. “I’ll answer that if you answer my question.”

Butcher pauses. “Fine.”

“What did Homelander do to your wife?”

Butcher freezes, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his thigh curling into a fist.

"Legend told me that you had this thing for him because of it-" You continue cocking your head to the side examining Butcher's sudden tense stance.

“Not important.”

“Then I guess you won’t find out more about me.” You shrug.

After the past few days you didn't understand how you were here drinking with Butcher of all people. You still didn't completely trust him and you didn't like that he wanted to use Ben like he was his own personal nuclear bomb.

You both sit in the silence for a few minutes waiting for the other to break.

“He raped her.”

The words are heavy, expelled in a breath after Butcher drains his glass. For a minute you see his tough exterior crack, see the vulnerability in his stature, but then it's gone again. You feel your heart thud once in your chest, jaw locking. It only proved again how messed up Homelander was.

“Is she-"

"She's dead." He pours himself another full glass from the bottle of whiskey.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, starting to understand why he hated Homelander so much. Honestly if Homelander did something like that to my family I would rip him limb from limb.

For the first time since you met Butcher, you feel sorry for him, you understand where the sadness in his gaze comes from and where the tough exterior seems to mask the vulnerability underneath.

But at the same time, you refused to underestimate him.

Butcher nods once then glances over at you expectantly as if re-asking his question with only a look.

“It’s never been about the power for me. Or about proving how powerful I was to other people. I got the injection because Ben asked me to. It wasn't because I wanted to be superhuman or god-like or special. Plus I figured as soon as Vought or the government found out what I could really do then I’d never see the light of day again.”

"But how did you keep it a secret from Vought? They have so many fucking connections." He presses.

"Honestly Ben and I didn't figure it out until the 60s."

"Why is that?"

"The first time I died it wasn't a supe that killed me so there wasn't a change. But later when more supes started coming out of the woodwork, that's when we realized it. And I didn't care."

"Somehow you had to care." Butcher leans forward in his chair, looking at you like you're crazy.

"I didn't have a reason to. Ben liked the spotlight and I didn't."

“Is that why you stopped being Indigo?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question cowboy.” You tap your glass with a smile. “Who’s Ryan?” You had heard Hughie and Butcher whisper the name a few times, figured that it was another supe they were planning to merc.

He hesitates. “Homelander’s kid.”

“He has a kid?” Your mouth drops open in shock.

How does Butcher know that? Is it because he's so obsessed with Homelander that he's going to ask Ben to go after Homelander's son? No. No way. Like hell I'm gonna let this guy kill a kid.

You try to think of a reason why Vought would keep Homelander's son out of the media, a reason why they wouldn't show that the golden boy had a perfect son.

“But how I mean-“ You stop tracing Butcher's face, watching the way his eyes harden, and how his jaw locks together and you realize why Butcher knows about Homelander's kid. “Your wife.”

Butcher doesn’t answer, doesn't confirm what you've said, instead he pours more from the bottle into his glass.

Wow that’s fucked up.

“I’d say I'm sorry again, but I don’t think it’s going to help and honestly I thought my life was way more fucked up than yours. Guess not.” You take a sip from the glass in front of you. It burns pleasantly as it travels down you throat reminding you how much you missed it. “It got old quick.”

“What did?” Butcher looks up from the wooden table.

“Being a hero dealing with all that Vought shit. Plastering a smile on my face, flaunting in front of the cameras, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Ben liked it. He was always in the spotlight, the golden boy and I was too, but we’d been doing it for years and I always- I don’t know- wanted a family.”

Your mind suddenly goes back to the night you told Ben that, the night that you told him what you wanted and how today Ben professed that he wanted to be the one to give you those things, always had wanted to give you those things.

The fight you just had resurfaces in your mind, thinking of how angry he was at you for telling Rosemary the truth about him.

I made my choice. She made hers. One day I think she'll warm up to him, but until then he's just going to have to get through this.

Just because you believed that did not make it any easier. Your heart was tearing in two. You wanted Rosemary to love him the way you did, but at the same time you were scared all over again that this would all be too much for Ben, too dramatic. He didn't like drama, never seemed to.

“Really?” Butcher doesn’t look convinced by your confession.

“Yeah. Plus I was pregnant with Soldier Boy's kid. Vought was obsessed with Ben and I know that if they knew about Rosemary they wouldn't hesitate to take her away. It would have been worse if they knew what my power was. I doubt they would have let either of us vanish into thin air. But even before that I was seriously thinking about getting out-“

“And Soldier Boy fucking Countess was the final nail in the coffin eh?” Butcher's smirk makes your stomach flip flop.

You were still trying to forget that. Really trying to forget that.

“Yeah.” You grumble into the glass momentarily remembering the night at the premiere, but this time seeing them together doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. And instead it’s replaced by Ben the past few days, the one that continued to reassure you of his love, the one who continued to hold you close to him, the one that kissed you whenever he could, the one who patiently waited for you, and the one who reminded you of the boy you lost all those years ago.

Butcher watches you for a moment. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

You look at him surprised. It was the first time that Butcher seemed to actually, well, give a shit.

“Thanks. It was.” You wait a second. “So how did you meet Hughie?”

“Why is that important?”

“Because he’s nothing like you. He’s a good kid.”

“You sayin I ain’t a good person love?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Butcher has the audacity to smile. “You know what I think? I think you pretend to be a good person but you’re really just a bitch who probably didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.”

You lean back in your chair feigning shock. “Is it that obvious?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don’t see how you got mixed up with Soldier Boy in the first place.”

“I did tell you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t lie about some of the things I said to you the first time we met. Ben and I grew up together. We were friends before all of this.”

“And you what? Followed him?”

“Something like that.”

Butcher sits there for a second tapping his finger on the crystal glass in his hand. Everything in Legend's home was vintage or old, the glasses included. You could remember drinking out of these same glasses years ago, on the porch behind Legend's house the day you realized you were pregnant and you told him you were leaving.

Legend didn't know, but you think deep down he did. Anyone who knew Ben couldn't dismiss how much Rosemary looked like him. Not to mention Legend knew what happened that night between the two of you.

Butcher opens his mouth, but as he does, Ben appears in the kitchen doorway. He still looks a little angry, frown prominent on his face, but his green eyes look from the glass to Butcher to you.

"That's my cue." Butcher grunts. "See you in the morning poppet." He vanishes down the hallway behind Ben leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. It seems smaller with him standing there in the door, blocking most of it with his broad shoulders and wide stance.

"Are you going to come to bed?" He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway.

"Are you going to start yelling at me again?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I wasn’t fucking yelling." Ben grumbles. "And even if I was, you weren't exactly whispering."

"Sounded like yelling to me." You frown at him, before looking down at your glass again.

So much for an apology. Then again I probably owe him one too.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Please come to bed.” His voice is composed, but you can still hear the tinge of his anger  seep through.

"Surprised you said please. Finally using those manners I've heard so much about." You snark before you can stop yourself.

That is not helping anything.

"Come to bed." His teeth are gritted together.

“Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You are not my dad Ben. You can't just order me around."

"Just fucking come to bed!" He snaps straightening from the door, eyes blazing.

"Why is it so important I come to bed Ben? You need me to read you a bedtime story or something? Or is it because you want to have sex? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t really feel like having sex with you right now. And I don't think I will anytime soon if we keep fucking fighting about stupid-“

“Because I can’t sleep without you there damnit! I never have been able to even when we were fucking kids!"

You pause shocked. Ben had never admitted that before. You were still trying to get used to when he admitted that he loved you how open and vulnerable he’d been, but this-

He’s frowning at you waiting for you to say something, but when you don’t. He turns and stalks back towards the stairs to descend into the basement where the bedroom the two of you were sharing was.

Guilt breaks something in your chest, because now sitting out here felt like a punishment for him and you didn't think that was right.

Damn it.

You wash out the mug in the sink  followed by the glass, but you look at the half-full bottle on the table.

Maybe I should bring it with me?

It swings from your hand as you walk down the dimly lit hallway descending into the fully furnished basement. You weren't thrilled with the room, had insisted that Legend change the sheets and spray down the room before you could sleep in there. You knew him, and knew exactly what had happened Legend's house since he had it custom built years ago.

Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a blunt that he probably got from Butcher, who seemed to have an endless supply for Ben, much to your annoyance.

"I'm such a fucking pussy. I shouldn't have said that." He mutters more to himself than to you. His gaze is lowered on the shag carpet.

It was the first time that you'd heard him say something like that since he came back to you, something that sounded more like Soldier Boy than the boy you grew up with, sounded more like Ben's father.

"Ben." You sigh, putting the bottle on the bedside table, before you tilt his head back to look at you, hand cupping his chin. "You're not a pussy. I can't sleep without you either and there’s nothing wrong with that.  I don't want you to feel like you can't say stuff like that to me. I love you and I won't judge you for that or think less of you. I will judge you for saying stupid shit like you did earlier."

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out a breath of smoke. “I just hate that she doesn’t like me. I’m her father she should like me-“ He repeats the same idea from earlier.

“She just needs to warm up to you."

“Maybe.” Ben mutters. "Or maybe she won't."

He looks upset. But not his usually angry upset, more disappointed and you decide that’s worse. Ben was so strong and didn’t allow himself to give in to his emotions the same way everyone else did. You hated that about him, but you were the only person who knew why. Ben's father had made him believe that showing emotion made you weak, you were there a few times that he yelled at Ben, heard the horrible things that he shouted at his only son, and it broke your heart. If it was your lot in life to bring him peace, to show him love, and to teach him that it was okay to be vulnerable, you happily would bear that cross.

You gently push back on his shoulder so he’ll move his forearms where they rest on his thighs and so you can sit on his lap. Ben’s arm comes around your waist to hold you to him, while the other continues to rest between you when he takes another drag from the blunt. “Ben, I promise she will.” Your knees rest on either side of his hips as you balance on him, ignoring the urge to wrinkle your nose at the smell.

“Your family never seems to like me.”

“She’s your family too and Lou loves you.” You brush his hair back from his face and he leans forward into your touch. "She's an excellent judge of character. Pretty soon she's gonna be drawing you in the family portraits and once that happens you're in, there's nothing stopping you."

Ben's mouth twitches but he doesn’t smile. "She's cute."

“She is. And if she likes you, you’re doing something right.” You smile at him. “And my family liked you it was just my mom who thought you were the devil. My brother thought that you were okay and my dad liked you plenty. Remember he never ratted you out when you slept in my room?”

“He was a good man. We would talk sometimes.” Ben blows out a lungful of smoke and this time your nose wrinkles at the offensive smell, before you realize what he’s just admitted.

Ben notices your discomfort and flicks the blunt into the ashtray shaped like a naked woman on the bedside table.

“About what?” Your father had never mentioned any conversation with Ben or at least you didn't remember him saying anything about Ben, beside your father's usual questions as to what Ben and you were going to do that day.

“You.” Ben whispers, not meeting your eye.

“When?”

“Sometimes I’d come try to see you when you were out with Howard." Ben sighs his name. "Ended up talking with your dad.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods hands gently stroking along your waist.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you came by?”

“Didn’t think it was important Sweetheart.” Ben pauses eyes flicking up sheepishly to look at you. "I didn't want you to think that I was hanging around waiting for you to get back. I was but-" You can tell that it pains him to say it, like he didn't want to admit he cared, but the thought that he came by to check on you made you happy.

“What did you say about me?”

Ben presses his lips together.

“Ben?”

“He wanted to know how your artwork was coming along, what we had done in the past week. Stuff like that. One time he said he didn’t like Howard either.”

“What?" Your hands tighten on Ben's shoulders in shock.

“He said that he hated the way you looked whenever Howard came around and then he said if he was gonna give his permission for anyone to marry you it was going to be me.” Ben shrugs it off as if he hasn’t said the most shocking thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

Your father would ask you about Ben occasionally and only when your mother left the room. He always seemed pleased when Ben would come pick you up, one time he gave Ben some money so he could buy tickets when you both went to a carnival, but you had no idea that they had talked about Ben marrying you.

“Hold on. Did you-" You pause for a second. "Did you ask my father if you could marry me?”

“No.” Ben answers quickly.

“Well then did he say why he didn't like Howard?"

“He said he liked how happy I made you. Said that you would always be singing in your room after you saw me.” Ben smiles one of his hands curving around your hip to hold you steady on his lap. “I told him I was sorry he had to hear that. You have many talents y/n, but singing is not one of them.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. There’s about a million tapes of you trying to sing, not to mention you trying to dance. I wanted to jump out the window when you dragged me to that Solid Gold Music Video shoot.“ You roll your eyes at him.

Ben presses a hand to his chest as if offended. “You don’t like the way I dance? Because I happen to remember a few times that we’ve danced together and you certainly seemed to be having a good time.”

“I’m a good actress.”

“Sure.” Ben snorts. “Then again I think I’m good a few other things too. Things that I wouldn’t mind showing you sometime.” His arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you into his chest, lips catching along the shadow of your jaw.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself I’ll say that.”  You laugh.

"Mhmm." The rumble of his answer seems to vibrate down your spine spreading warmth in its wake.

"Ben." You warn, as his hands begin to play with the bottom of your shirt.

"I know." He whispers raising his eyes again to look at your face with a soft smile, but you can still see a flicker of disappointment behind them.

Deep down you knew that you were getting closer to forgiving him, but it had only been two days, and everything between the two of you was still a little rocky. You wanted things to calm down again before you took that big step with Ben again. You didn't want to rush it, and you could see that Ben didn't want to either.

"How about tonight, we do something a little different." You trace your index finger over his lips, loving the soft curve beneath the pad of your fingertip.

"What do you mean?" He looks confused.

"You'll see." You murmur against his lips as you drop your mouth down to his, losing yourself in him all over again.

A/N: I know it's been a while guys and I know it's crazy to end it on another cliffhanger but... I'm sorry, not sorry? I hope y'all enjoyed this one. I'm sorry it took me a while to get it out, the writer's block is turning into a soul sucking abyss, but honestly, what's new? 😂 Hope that y'all enjoyed this one and I'm excited to hear what y'all think!

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for the series let me know:)

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[blackenedsnow]

Hey! Could I request a Shadow the hedgehog x fem reader where she’s super depressed and always has been, but she means everything to Shadow? He’s constantly trying to protect her, even from herself (self harm), because he sees so much of Maria in her. It makes him a bit obsessive, like he can’t bear to lose her. Lots of angst but maybe a hopeful ending?"

is this what i have become?

WARNING: Depression, mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, obsessive tendencies

PAIRING: Shadow The Hedgehog x (Fem) Depressed! Reader

NOTE: Please read with care. I hope you can find some catharsis in the story, and remember that help is always available if you need it. Take care of yourselves.

SUMMARY: Shadow the Hedgehog has always been by your side, a silent protector. But the more he tries to shield you, the deeper you fall into your own despair.

It was another late evening, the room dim and quiet except for the soft hum of the outside world, which felt too far away to reach. You sat on the edge of your bed, an open book in your lap, though the words were just a blur at this point. It was hard to focus. Your mind was always drifting, weighed down by the ever-present heaviness that never seemed to lift.

Shadow was nearby, as he often was. His presence was constant, lingering like a dark guardian at the edge of your thoughts, protective yet heavy with unspoken tension. You knew why. He saw something in you—something that reminded him of her. Maria.

You’d never brought it up. You didn’t need to. It was clear in the way he looked at you, the way he stayed by your side, never leaving for too long, as though he was afraid that if he did, you’d disappear, just like she had. He wasn’t just trying to protect you; he was trying to save you.

But that was the problem. You didn’t feel like you could be saved.

The book in your lap was one you’d picked up in a vain attempt to distract yourself, to focus on something other than the numbness that had become your constant companion. You flipped another page, not really reading. One passage caught your eye, though, standing out in the blur of words:

The fragility of the species was not just a testament to evolution but a symbol of overdevelopment to the point of self-destruction.

When you closed the book, your gaze drifted toward Shadow. He stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable expression he always wore. You wondered if he thought the same of you. You often feel like those creatures—too fragile for this world, collapsing under the slightest pressure. Your body, your mind—both seem to be breaking down, unable to withstand the forces around you, yet here you were, still standing, much like the last surviving member of an endangered species, teetering on the edge of extinction.

Shadow didn’t say anything. His silence was telling. He didn’t need to speak to make his point. He was there to protect you, not to offer philosophical musings. But it made you wonder if, one day, he would see that his protection was futile—that, like those fragile creatures, you were destined to break, no matter how hard he tried to save you.

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. You looked away, the weight of everything pressing harder against your chest. How could you explain to him that you weren’t strong like him? That the very act of existing felt like too much sometimes?

“You’re quiet tonight.” His voice cut through the stillness, low and controlled, like always. Shadow rarely broke his calm demeanor, even when the situation called for it. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“I’m just tired,” you replied, though that was only half the truth.

Shadow didn’t move, his red eyes piercing through the dimness, watching you closely. “You’re always tired,” he murmured, his voice soft but edged with concern. He knew, of course. He always knew when you were struggling more than usual, but tonight, the weight was unbearable.

You stood abruptly, the book falling off your lap as you moved toward the window, needing space, needing air, but finding none. The room felt too small. You felt too trapped. It had been like this for days now—no, for years, ever since you could remember. The depression had always been there, gnawing at you from the inside, and despite Shadow’s constant presence, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were slowly crumbling away.

And then, before you realized what you were doing, your fingers found the cold handle of the blade you kept tucked away in a drawer. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of an end to the pain that had haunted you for so long. You were going to bring it to the other room with you, but before you could do anything, Shadow was there. He moved like a shadow himself, quick and deliberate, positioning himself between you and the door, blocking any way out.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he was sizing up the situation. Maybe he is, you thought. Maybe he’s calculating the precise force it would take to disarm you without causing injury, or the fastest way to get the blade out of your hand.

You looked at him, tears threatening to spill, and for a moment, you wondered if Shadow—this strong, quiet being who had been through more than most could even comprehend—could understand desperation.

“Put it down,” he said, his voice calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t need that.”

Your knuckles are changing color as you grip the handle, the steel biting into your skin as if it too understands the pain clawing inside you. Shadow’s crimson eyes don’t waver. His gaze is a heavy, constant pressure—he’s assessing, strategizing, always in control. And yet... something flickers in those eyes. Fear? No, not fear. Desperation.

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he says, voice as calm and measured as ever, but there’s an underlying current, a tension he can’t quite mask. He’s trying to stay composed, but you know him better than that. He’s scared.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought clearly,” you whisper, your voice sounding alien to your own ears. The room feels too small, like the walls are closing in. You can feel the air between you both, thick and suffocating.

You hesitated. The ache inside you screamed for release, for a way out, but Shadow’s presence, his unwavering strength, kept you grounded. He was always there, always watching, always ready to intervene. And in this moment, he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

“I’m not… like you,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I’m not strong. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He stepped closer, his movements careful, deliberate. “You are strong,” he said quietly. “You’ve survived this long. That’s more strength than you realize.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks now. “But I’m not. I’m nothing. You… You’re strong, Shadow. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still standing. I can barely make it through a day.”

Shadow’s eyes softened in a way that made your heart ache. He didn’t often show vulnerability, but here, now, you could see the cracks beneath his stoic facade.

“I’m not as strong as you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I’m not invincible. I’ve lost people I care about. I’ve failed before… But I won’t fail you. I won’t lose you.”

When you’d first met Shadow, you hadn’t understood why he was drawn to you, why he stayed, despite the darkness that clung to you. But over time, you’d realized it wasn’t about you, not really. It was about something deeper in him, something broken. You reminded him of her—Maria.

You hated that. Hated that you were a stand-in for a ghost, someone he could never save. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to you.

But that didn’t stop the connection from forming, binding you two in ways neither of you could explain. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t right. But it was real, and that’s all you had.

“I’m not her,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m not Maria.”

Shadow’s eyes softened, the faintest flicker of pain crossing his features. He knew that, of course he did. But knowing didn’t change the way he looked at you sometimes, like you were his last chance to fix something broken deep inside himself.

You could see the pain in his eyes, the weight of his past bearing down on him just as much as your own struggles weighed on you. He wasn’t just trying to protect you from the world—he was trying to protect you from yourself, from the darkness that had consumed so much of his life.

“Shadow… I…” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence, how to explain the turmoil inside you. It wasn’t just the depression. It was the constant feeling of being not enough, of being broken beyond repair.

“I don’t want to lose you.” he says finally, the words almost a growl, like they’re ripped from him against his will. He doesn’t say things like this—he doesn’t need to. His actions have always spoken louder than words. But now, faced with the possibility of losing you, he’s breaking his own rules.

“You don’t even like me,” you retort, your voice shaking, barely more than a whisper. “You don’t like yourself.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you can tell the words hit him. They hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. He’s never been good at hiding his disdain for himself, for the creature he believes himself to be. He knows he’s broken too, and maybe he is. But he’s strong. So much stronger than you.

“You’re wrong.” His voice is lower now, almost pleading. “You mean everything to me.”

He reached out, gently taking the blade from your hand, his touch firm but careful, never letting go of you. He tossed the knife aside and pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his grip strong but not suffocating. He’s not just trying to protect you—he’s holding on, desperately. Like if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll slip away, just like Maria did.

You swallow hard, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t.

You buried your face in his fluffy chest, the tears coming harder now, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to cry. Allowed yourself to feel the pain that had been building up for so long.

“I won’t let you break,” he whispered, his voice low and fierce. “Not like this. You mean everything to me.” He repeated.

His words hung heavy in the air, and despite the darkness inside you, there was something in his voice that made you believe him, even if just for a moment. Maybe you weren’t as strong as him, but in his arms, you felt like you could be. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[asvterias]

𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

part 1 || clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of nyx)

summary: overwhelmed with her girlfriend's having a near-death experience, clarisse breakdowns in front of y/n.

word count: 1.9k+

author's note: also tysm for 1,680 followers, i appreciate every single one of you! i kinda thought this song related to this fic, lmk what you guys think in the comments! the song lyrics are bold and italics!

song playing — my love mine all mine by mitski

requested by an anonymous! (pairing ONLY!!)

TAGS BELOW:

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moon, a hole of light

through the big top tent high up

here before and after me

“you know what happens if you extort your powers too much.” she hastily reminded you. from her tone, you knew that she hesitated to remind you of that incident, and it was shaky leaving from her mouth.

“that was one time.” you sighed heavily.

by now, your existing abilities become stronger as you grow older. you managed to control your current powers, and clarisse encouraged you to discover your hidden powers.

shining down on me

moon, tell me if i could

however it’s not encouraged to extort your powers to full extent, liable enough to render you unconscious for weeks, not even days. as a result of your persistent stubbornness, unfortunately, it happened to you and clarisse was an emotional wreck without your comforting presence beside her.

she became more easily irritated and annoyed by anyone who even dared to look her way, almost threatening to kick their ass, surprisingly she’d just rough them up a bit, and stormed off afterward. spending hours at the sparring center, clarisse released all of her anger onto the sparring dummies, using her trust-worthy spear and being completely ruthless with it, rage consuming both her stability and mentality. everyone stayed out of clarisse’s way for their own safety.

all those times you kept her grounded felt like a big waste to her right now. she felt loved, and truly loved by someone blessed to cherish her until your last breath gave out. all of a sudden, you were harshly ripped away from her, without any type of warning, permanently leaving an invisible scar on her heart.

despite being stuck in a temporarily induced coma, clarisse still had a guilty conscience of unawareness, possibly having a chance to rescue you and prevent this from occurring. in other words, she wished that you didn’t intentionally overwork your powers to the core, but you did, and now you’re currently suffering the consequences of it.

send up my heart to you?

so, when i die, which i must do

for the two weeks, you were unconscious, clarisse visited you, kept quiet most of the time, muttered small incoherent words, barely even sentences. she held your hands tightly, they were lukewarm, temporarily not providing the warmth they usually do. she missed everything about you, your presence, your touch, and your love.

and when she’s staring at your face, a small smile litters her face, reminiscing on your wholesome shared memories. sadly, all of the radiation that your face once held was drained and a firm line took its place.

despite the large pit of despair in her stomach, clarisse felt you slipping away from reality with every passing day. your girlfriend was persistent, knowing that you can handle yourself, and often proud of your capability in those sorts of skills.

she couldn’t fathom what it was even like for you to endure the 2-week coma, forced into a dream-like state, hearing and sensing everything going on around you but unable to respond. it must have been torture for you, stuck with your thoughts endlessly on repeat, with no interruption at all. just you and your thoughts there all alone. nothing but you and your thoughts.

she prayed that you would somehow non-verbally assure her, confirming your well-being, not like that would have made a difference regardless, but still, your reassuring words would’ve lessened her worries, even if it was for such a short amount of time.

but the ares girl remained strong, at least for the both of you. clarisse mentally promised for her own sake, desperately clutching onto the small yet meaningful words of encouragement.

could it shine down here with you?

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

with a devastated sigh, she’d depart with a forehead kiss before heading to her cabin for some rest, sometimes she’d forget to eat and one of her siblings had to remind her. at this point, it was a common routine for clarisse; wake up, teleport to visit you, complete her daily tasks, and train. and when she’s finished her task of the day, best believe that she’s with you, nursing you back to consciousness.

“yeah, and we both know how that ended!”

“clarisse…”

“no, please let me finish.” she shushed you with a shake of her head, “and i hope it doesn’t happen again, it doesn’t need to happen again!” clarisse whisper-yelled at you, “i almost lost you, and i refused to experience that wretched feeling again. you were unconscious for almost two weeks and we weren’t even in the same place. your mom teleported me to you almost every day since you were in that coma. i refuse to experience that again because i love you and seeing you there made me feel useless for once in my life.” her tone became shaky yet she proceeded on, wanting you to understand, needing you to understand what it was like for her, witnessing you in that comatose state. “i couldn’t stand the thought of you dying, of you leaving me here all alone. you only truly understand me, you love me despite all of my flaws, rather accepting them than ignoring them…nobody else but you…i didn’t think i could love anyone as much as i love you. and that terrified me before but now it doesn’t anymore, knowing you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. sometimes i wonder if i’m ever worth loving…” a sob escapes her, continued by many heartbreaking sobs. that gut-wrenching feeling in your heart returned, growing larger when clarisse attempted to restrict any more sobs, terribly failing, allowing her emotions to run wild for once.

it’ll probably be the only time she can freely express her emotions without feeling judged within your presence. this was one of the many reasons why clarisse fell in love with you, your compassionate soul, a trait she strongly lacked but adored from you.

she loved that you made her feel comfortable, enough to express her emotions without having to look over her shoulder.

nothing in the world belongs to me

but my love mine, all mine, all mine

your girlfriend didn’t realize the tears freely falling down her face until you wiped the tears away from her eyes. clarisse seems betrayed by her own emotions once she realizes that she’s crying, expressing her vulnerability towards you. the curly-haired girl began to stammer out some words, attempting to defend herself but you kissed her temple and pulled her in for a hug. going off on instinct, she buried her head into your neck, harboring her labored breaths as she tightened her grip on you as if she was too scared to let go and lose you all over again.

“never again…never again…” clarisse mutters, repeating it like a mantra. “i don’t wanna lose you ever again…”

catching on to her rapid muttering, you cupped her face, steadying to your face level.

“i won’t leave you again, i promise babe,” you reassure her. your eyes connect easily, gazing into her glossy eyes.

clarisse looks up at you, a swirl of emotions flowing across her eyes. you pout at your girlfriend, reaching out a hand to gently touch her face, watching her melt by the simple touch.

her glistening eyes made you swoon at her gentleness and vulnerability, “you promise?” her voice was low, similar to a whimper of pain.

my baby, here on earth

showed me what my heart was worth

“i promise,” you clarify, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “do you wanna stay here for a while, with just me?”

hiding her face back into your shirt, she nodded against the fabric, tightening her grip on you whenever you slightly shuffled in her embrace. your touch was required for her peace, and clarisse made sure that you weren’t escaping from her grasp. too much time was wasted, and clarisse needed to make up for lost time.

at times, clarisse felt extremely weak, exhausted, and defenseless which according to her father, any sign of vulnerability is also perceived as useless in his eyes. ares engraved that motto within his daughter, and you hated that it stuck with her that much! wanting to please her dad, her personality changed over time, and the lingering thought of displaying an ounce of vulnerability vanished. no surprise that you rekindled that thought during your relationship when she started opening up to you.

every time clarisse received surprise visits from her dad, you were always there, listening about him degrading her great abilities because of her gender. all those nights of her crying on your shoulder, wondering why she couldn’t be good enough for her father. from that moment, your hatred for your girlfriend’s father fueled with each passing day.

you taught her that being vulnerable wasn’t weak and that it was actually strong. to be honest, clarisse was skeptical because her girlfriend said the opposite of what she learned from her father. eventually, she got used to the idea, accepting only being vulnerable around you. that was good enough for her so it was good enough for you.

so, when it comes to be my turn

could you shine it down here for her?

clarisse laid on top of you, her head snuggled softly against your breasts with her arms around your waist. one of your hands held onto her head, scratching on her head softly as the other drew imaginary stars on her lower back.

“my beautiful beautiful, brave girl…” you cooed as you heard tiny sniffles from her, “you certainly are worth loving and you’re my entire world.

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

“am i?” her lower lip trembles as she innocently stares up at you.

“you are my entire world,” you gently kiss her forehead as she places her head down onto your chest.

“you’re my whole world too,” she murmurs against your chest, either it was her sweet tone or that you were naturally ticklish which made you laugh wholeheartedly. clarisse’s face lights up, feeling the rumble from your chest as a smile erupts on her lips.

“nothing in the world belongs to me...” you sing softly into her ears, massaging her head, soothing her into a peaceful sleep alongside your peaceful embrace. “but my love mine, all mine...”

you lullabied her to sleep with your gentle singing, finally feeling at ease when you heard the light snores, smiling fondly at her. gods, clarisse was adorable. too adorable to disrupt her out of her sleep, resting comfortably on you, partially skin-to-skin.

“good night, my love.” you kissed her forehead, glimpsing at her small smile from the loving touch. turning off the lamp before refocusing onto clarisse, wrapping your arms around her waist and her head gently nuzzling into your neck, requiring very much close contact. soon enough, you drifted into sleep just as your beloved girlfriend did a few minutes ago, both content in each other’s arms, wishing to remain like that forever.

nothing in the world is mine for free

but my love mine, all mine, all mine…

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost or translate onto any other platforms without my permission.

[silhouetteonpaper]

The Cycle of Grief

Summary: When your brother passed away, the only person you could blame was yourself. Now that the grief has consumed you, there’s only one thing left to do. But what happens when a certain someone threatens to spoil your plans? Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 1,462 Warnings: Running away, grief, mentions of sibling death, veryyy angsty

Under the dark cover of night, you slip through the tall glass doors of the compound with quiet footsteps. Your heart is full of grief; there’s not a thought in your mind making you want to stay any longer. You don’t want to be a burden, and it’s always easier to isolate yourself than to ask for help. How is anyone supposed to help you anyways?

The deep blue night sky is freckled with stars, and you can’t help but take a moment to admire them. It reminds you of the time when you and your brother would sit out in an empty field and point out constellations. You never thought much of it at the time, but now everything inside you yearns for just one more moment with him—one more chance to sit and stargaze with the person you loved most.

But he’s gone now, killed in battle after you begged him to fight alongside you and the rest of the team. It’s all your fault. So, the only thing left to do now is to run; far away from the compound, far away from the life you once shared with your other half. Because now it’s too empty without him.

The backpack slung over your shoulder contains anything you might need for the journey ahead; from snacks, to clothes, to a pistol you stole from the training room—just in case. You don’t know where you’re headed, but you don’t care as long as it’s far away from the shattered pieces that now linger here at the compound.

All those days spent training alongside your brother, all those times he kept you motivated to be the Avenger you so desperately wanted to be. And for what? To kill him in return? There’s blood on your hands, and you can’t just wash it off.

The soft sound of your sneakers on the concrete fill the silence of dusk. The distant view of the city skyline makes you swallow thickly; you don’t hate many things—but you won’t hesitate to feel hatred toward this city. Towards the Avengers. Towards yourself.

The dark silhouettes of oak trees tower over you as you near the edge of the driveway. Several jets sit unattended on the small tarmac, but you know better than to take one. Not only would the loud engine wake everyone up, but each one has a tracking device. Your exact path pinned up for everyone to see doesn’t really support the whole ‘disappear’ part of your plan.

As you begin to trek down the long road ahead, it’s hard to stop your mind from wandering. A cacophony of what if’s steal your attention. Maybe, if you weren’t such a try-hard, he wouldn’t have died. How did you ever believe you could be a superhero? Superheroes don’t kill their own. If you had just agreed to let him stay home, he’d still be alive. It’s all your fault.

You’re so lost in your despair that a sudden noise makes you flinch. “You have ten seconds to explain what you’re doing here.” A voice appears behind you, the dissonant thoughts now scrambling away. You turn abruptly, a scowling face with red hair greeting you. It’s Natasha.

“Going for a walk, leave me alone.” You brush her off, turning back on your charted path. The last thing you need right now is for another Avenger to give you some speech about how great you are, how you’re destined to be a hero. Last time they said that, you ended up killing your brother. Those words are just empty lies now.

A part of you expected Natasha to relent, but you know better than to doubt the most headstrong woman you’ve ever met. She doesn’t speak, but instead walks alongside you in silence. You eye her with furrowed brows, and she seems unbothered while gazing at the tall trees and starry sky.

“What are you doing?” You question, slightly picking up the pace. She matches your speed easily.

“You said you’re going for a walk,” Natasha shrugs. “Am I not allowed to join?” Now you understand, the Widow knows something’s up. It was naive of you to believe you could fool her. Everyone knew how close you were with your brother, it’s only natural that when he died you’d be beside yourself. But what you hoped no one saw was the undying urge to run. Maybe if you ran far enough, you could forget any of this ever happened.

“I just want to be alone, please Nat.” You breathe, using everything in your power to stay calm. You can’t show your anger, that would only make her even more suspicious of your plans for tonight.

She’s silent for a moment. “Why, so you can sit in self pity?” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. Natasha’s always been blunt, valuing tough love instead of coddling. But right now it stings even more than usual.

“So I can think. Just get some air and clear my head.” You partially lie. That’s practically why you’re running away, to fully clear your head of this nightmare. You just left out the ‘never coming back’ part.

“No, you’re running from your problems.” Natasha states without even looking your way. Your heart skips a beat, does she know? You don’t want to give yourself away, so you opt to dance around the subject.

“I’ll deal with my problems how I want. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of night air and some alone time.”

She chuckles, which makes the anger rise inside you. How is any of this funny to her? “There’s a difference between dealing with your problems and locking them away forever. There’s a difference between alone time and full isolation. You can’t live like this.” She stops walking, turning to face you.

You slow down, avoiding eye contact. You try to speak, but she’s not done yet. “I know you lost someone extremely important, but you can’t let yourself suffer just because he had to.”

“If you’re going to tell me that this isn’t what he’d want, I don’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to fight that day and I made him!” You cry out, the tears brimming in your eyes. For a split second, you can almost see a matching glint of mist in Natasha’s eyes under the moonlight.

“You blame yourself.” She says softly. You can hear the pang of heartache in her voice.

“I do,” You admit with tears now rolling down your cheeks. “I know you do too, for everything in your past. But you can’t use that as a reason now, not for this.”

“I’m not saying it’s the same, I’m saying that you don’t have to confine yourself to a life of misery. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean you have to be too.” All the air in your lungs suddenly disappears. The anger, the grief, the overwhelming-never ending terror—it all washes over you at once.

Sobs escape your lips as your knees buckle beneath you. Natasha’s right there, grabbing your arms as you both lower to the ground. He’s dead, but that doesn’t mean you are too.

As your world continues to crash down, you see the reality of what you were planning to do. Running away to some far off city, to do what? To sulk, to isolate yourself, to sit in sorrow for the rest of your life? That’s as close to dead as someone can get while still being alive.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the initial tsunami of emotions finally subsides, but you find yourself buried into Natasha’s chest, her arms wrapped around you tightly as her hand caresses the back of your head.

Sniffing away the remaining tears, you think about moving—standing up and walking farther and farther away from any sign of support or love. But you don’t. It feels too good. After weeks without it, you long for it. You didn’t even know that what you truly needed was right in front of you this whole time.

So, you sit in silence. You let Natasha hold you. And you let yourself stay stationary, feeling the emotions you’ve suppressed for days on end. Because you don’t need to run when all you need is right here with you.

After a while, Natasha shifts. “Why don’t we get into bed?” She proposes, still refusing to be the one to pull back first. The idea of laying down and turning your mind off sounds wonderful, so you nod. 

As you stand up with Nat’s help, she looks at you with a saddened smile. “I’m glad you’re choosing to stay. I don’t know what I’d do if you ever left.”

She’s known this whole time, and you’re not even surprised.

[leth-writes]

I'm so happy to see someone writing for twilight it really doesn't get the love it deserves.

This is weirdly specific, so bear with me.

Can I request Paul (twilight) x reader who's Jacob's ex-girlfriend, and they had like a really messy brake up so they REALLY don't like each other and so Paul and jacob get onto a fight about it.

Thanks for your time I've really been enjoying reading your work❤️❤️❤️

hello, lovely anon!

Usually I do shorter pieces for requests, but I kinda blacked out and wrote 2000 words for this... Sorry?

Please enjoy!

It was quiet, without Jacob. The two of you had been dating for over a year, before suddenly all he could think of was Bella, Bella, Bella. She was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. You didn’t mind the two of them being friends, you weren’t jealous and you didn’t believe the rumors spreading at school, but you still wanted to SEE him! You loved him, for god’s sake! But no, Bella was sad or Bella was tired or Bella wanted to go exploring and suddenly, he had no time for you. 

It had been weeks since you’d last truly spoken beyond a quick 20 minute phone call every time you tried to hang out. In fact, you decided, today was the last day. It was the last day you would grovel and beg for his attention. This was it; if he didn’t agree today, you were done. He could go date Bella for all you cared.

You stomped down the stairs, your socked feet hitting against the soft white carpet, and skidded into the tiled kitchen. The grey light streamed in, illuminating the phone like a halo. It was fitting for something that would determine the fate of your relationship.

Angry, yet hopeful, you strode forward and picked up the phone, resolutely dialing Jacob’s number and waiting as it rang.

Finally, someone picked up. “Hello?” Jacob called, sounding groggy.

“Hey, Jake! I was thinking, we should spend some time together! It’s been a hard couple of weeks, and I haven’t seen you at all!” You said, anger draining and hope filling your chest, suddenly feeling weak at the knees. God, you’d missed his voice. “Can’t, Bella and I are going to try and build the motorcycles. You know she’s been having a hard time recently, and I think I’m really helping!” He responded, sounding distracted and far from the phone. 

The hope shattered like ice, cutting up your insides. “Jake, we haven’t hung out in 3 weeks. I could really use my boyfriend today,”. Even to your own ears, your voice was pleading. It sounded weak and brittle, like you were fragile, not the strong front you’d tried to put on for him.

He sighed, voice crackly through the receiver. “Listen, you know Bella hasn’t been doing so well, and I’m the only thing that makes her feel better. You can’t expect me not to go out with her, just because you’re feeling a bit lonely…” His voice was exasperated and distant, like he was already done with the conversation.

Suddenly, that anger came roaring back, licking up the sides of your chest and burning away at your heart. You felt yourself trembling with rage, with despair, at the way he was talking to you.

“No, you listen, Jacob! I’m done! If you aren’t going to see me, if you’re going to prioritize Bella, then you can go stay with her! I never want to see your stupid, selfish face ever again, you fucking asshole!” You practically shouted, slamming the phone down. You whirled around, nose practically bellowed steam, and stomped to the couch, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it. You’d show him, you’d go out and have fun all by yourself and prove you didn’t need such a shitty boyfriend anyways!

It’d been a month since you last talked to Jacob, and while the breakup hurt, you were glad you’d ended the relationship when you had. Looking back, the thought of hanging on was depressing; you’d reconnected with your friends in the past month, going out practically every day and hanging out anytime it got too rainy to go to La Push. You hadn’t seen Jacob or Bella around, and you could honestly say you were happy to not have to so much as think about them anymore. It wasn’t your business.

It was the perfect day to go La Push, and your friends were already there when you pulled into the parking lot. It was overcast, no real sign of rain, and a gentle, cool breeze was drifting through. The beach was covered in large rocks, not really meant for swimming, but perfect for drinking and just listening to music and gossiping, and that’s exactly what you did. 

Until, of course, they arrived. Jacob had been sure they were a blossoming gang, but you hadn’t been so sure. You’d never really spoken to them but Billy had thought they were good kids, just a bit… odd. Yet, now, seeing them on the beach, you could understand where Jacob would’ve gotten that misconception. Sam and his friends were massive, Sam himself standing at almost 6’6” by the looks of it and the shortest member, the boy with the dimpled chin, cleared 6’0” easily. They were heavily muscled, each wearing cargo shorts and shirtless, and were rough-housing as they walked, bumping into each other and shoving each other as they approached your small group. The loudest of the boys, the one with the intense expression and the loud voice, shoved the smallest and laughed boisterously. Then, he looked over. And he made eye contact with you.

And he stared.

And stared.

Eventually, you grew uncomfortable, shifting uneasily on the small picnic blanket you were sitting on as you looked away, toward Sam. He was pulling the loud boy to the side, harshly whispering as the boy kept eye contact. You leant over to your friend, quietly asking which boy was which. You listened as she pointed them out; the one staring at you was Paul, and he was dangerous. You gulped, once again looking away and out toward the shoreline.

“Hey, mind if we join you guys?” Sam asked, approaching with his group and staring at you. The others also looked exclusively at you, though not as intensely as Paul, as though your answer was the only one that mattered. Shivering, suddenly cold, you nodded and looked down. “Hey, at least they’re hot,”one of the girls in your group muttered, and the tension was broken. You burst into laughter, snorting as you held your sides. At least you weren’t feeling uncomfortable anymore, even if you did feel a little dorky. You glanced up through your lashes and Paul was still staring, though less intensely, a soft gleam in his eyes and a small, genuine smile on his lips.

That was the beginning of your relationship with Paul.

You woke up to loud pounding on your front door. Racing down the stairs, you skidded to a stop in the front hall, making eye contact with Bella. Fucking Bella Swan was at your door at 6 in the morning, pounding furiously and looking like death warmed over. You sighed, resigned to not getting to sleep in on a Saturday, and opened the door slowly.

“There’s something wrong with Jacob!” Bella exclaimed. She looked haggard, eyes ringed with deep purple bags and pale skin looking almost translucent. Her hair was ragged and greasy, hanging limply around her wan face, clothes baggy and dirty. She looked like shit. Maybe Jacob broke up with her?

“Okay, and why does that involve me?” You said, leaning against the door jamb and staring off into the distance, squinting at the pale morning light.

“You’re his girlfriend, he’s bound to listen to you!” She cried, thin clammy hand clutching at your wrist as she tried to tug you toward her red rustbucket of a truck.

You remained unmoved, now glaring at her. “No, Bella, I’m not his girlfriend, we haven’t been together for over a month, and I haven’t seen him in over a month and a half. He spent all his time with you; why would he listen to me now?”

She paused, hearing the hurt hidden in your voice and glancing up into your eyes for the first time all morning.

“Wait… you broke up? But Jacob loves you!” She said, voice weaker than before, almost a whisper.

“Yeah, well, he cared about you more. But, I guess if he’s in trouble, fine. What do you need me to do?”

Jacob’s yard looked exactly the same as you remembered it. That made you feel oddly sad, like you’d subconsciously expected it to reflect Jacob’s sadness at you leaving. Yet, it remained the same, just as it was before you’d ever come into his life. Had you really had such a small impact?

Bella was already out of the truck, running toward Paul and the others as they sauntered toward the house from the tree line. You sprinted to keep up, knowing she was going to say something and futilely trying to prevent it. When you reached them, she had shoved Paul and was accusing the boys of hurting Jacob, whatever that meant. Paul was shaking, literally trembling, as his muscles jumped and leapt under his skin. It looked like his skin was… moving as he puffed in effort. “Paul?” you tentatively approached, drawing closer as he leant over, panting as his shoulders jerked. “Shit!” Sam cursed, leaping forward to pull you back and away from Paul. You kicked and struggled as he picked you up, trying to get back to Paul. Couldn’t they see he was sick?!

Suddenly, Paul was gone, and in his place was… a giant wolf. It was like he’d been cut out of the world and replaced. What had happened to Paul?

“Bella!” Jacob shouted, vaulting over the porch fence. His skin seemed to split open, replacing by rapidly growing fur, and his face elongated as his nose broke and became discolored. By the time he hit the ground, he was a wolf. Were you hallucinating? You felt faint, leaning heavily against Sam, who shifted to support your weight and drag you away from the fight. Both wolves were now circling each other, growling and barking, trying to nip at each other's flanks. You felt like you were receding from your body, like you weren’t real. Everything felt far away, and your ears rang. Then, you passed out and went limp.

You jerked awake with a gasp almost as soon as Sam caught your full weight, shifting to lift you up into his arms.

“Paul!” he called, and the wolf who had replaced Paul looked over, eyes wide and sad as he saw your trembling form. Then, the wolf was gone and Paul was standing in its place, quickly pulling on clothes as Embry passed a pair of shorts to him. He cursed lowly and jogged over, grabbing you from Sam’s arms and holding you close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer.

He sent you down gently, still holding you close to his chest, enveloping you in his soft warmth as his arms wrapped around your shoulders. The world went quiet and all was right, until Jacob interrupted the two of you by shoving Paul.

“Get the fuck away from her, you piece of shit!” He yelled out, punching Paul hard in the nose and causing a spurt of blood to leak out. Paul cursed again and spat out a mouthful of blood, growling lowly. “You don’t get to say that, asshole! You broke her heart, you have no right to tell her what to do!” Paul returned, standing his ground as Embry and Jared tried frantically to stop the fight from continuing. 

“That doesn’t mean you can put her in danger!”

“I didn’t! She didn’t know until your little girlfriend came along and started shit!” Paul bellowed, gesturing at Bella, who was shrinking into herself behind Jake.

“Don’t bring her into this! This is about your shitty control, Paul! Don’t blame Bella for you not being able to handle a little pressure!”

“Stop!” Sam said, getting in between the two. “Jacob, you go blow off some steam. Don’t come back until you’re calm. And Paul…” Sam continued, trailing off as everyone looked at you. “Just… Just explain everything, okay?” He said, sighing and rubbing his forehead to fight away the growing headache.

Paul turned to you, opening his mouth to speak. 

And that was the day you learned about shifters.

[imthebadguyyy]

i can fix him, no really i can.

Pairing : charles leclerc x reader

Fandom : formula 1

Series : the tortured poets department

Synopsis : they tell say God help her when I tell em he's my man...

warnings : angst.

the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud...

The Monaco Grand Prix had been spectacular. Charles Leclerc, the golden boy of Formula 1, had won in his home country, and the celebrations were grand. The streets of Monte Carlo were alive with excitement, and the night was still young when you found yourself at a cozy bar with Charles and your friends, including Alex and Lily.

Charles was in high spirits, the euphoria of his victory coursing through him. You couldn't help but feel proud of him, but a knot of anxiety had formed in your stomach. You brushed it off, attributing it to the intensity of the day. The bar was crowded, the laughter loud, and the drinks flowing.

You sat beside Charles, trying to engage in the celebratory mood, but the jokes he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud. You could see the discomfort in Lily’s eyes, and Alex’s attempt to diffuse the tension with his own humor only partially succeeded.

“And then there was my ex, remember her?” Charles roared with laughter, slapping the table. “She was always so organized, never made a fuss about anything. I swear, sometimes I think she had everything more together than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

The laughter that followed was forced, a thin veneer over the awkwardness. Your heart sank. Charles had a few too many drinks, and his filter was gone. The way he talked about his exes, and sometimes even you, made you feel small and insignificant. Tonight, it stung more than usual.

Lily gave you a sympathetic look, and you tried to muster a smile. Alex changed the subject to racing, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. But Charles was on a roll.

“And you, love, you’ve got your quirks too,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. His voice was louder than necessary, drawing the attention of those around you. “Remember that time you tried to cook us dinner and nearly burned the kitchen down? Classic.”

The laughter was scattered, and you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment. You wanted to disappear, but you stayed, for Charles. The night dragged on, each joke more painful than the last, until finally, it was time to leave.

Back at the hotel, the atmosphere was heavy with the unspoken words that lingered in the air. Charles, still basking in his victory, seemed oblivious to your discomfort. He collapsed onto the bed, eyes half-closed, a contented smile on his face.

You changed into your pajamas quietly, the tension building within you. Charles didn’t notice. He didn’t kiss you goodnight or tell you he loved you. He just lay there, lost in his own world.

As you slipped into bed beside him, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The silence was deafening. You turned away, facing the wall, the weight of your doubts pressing down on you. Was this what love felt like? Was this the future you had envisioned with him?

Sleep was elusive, your mind racing with questions and insecurities. You felt a chasm growing between you, one that his victory and the night’s revelry couldn’t bridge. Charles had won a race, but you felt like you had lost something precious.

In the quiet darkness of the hotel room, you lay awake, wondering if Charles would ever see the pain behind your forced smiles, the hurt beneath your laughter. The night that had started with joy ended in silent despair, leaving you unsure about the road ahead.

they shake their heads, saying god help her, when i, tell em he's my man...

The living room buzzed with nostalgia and laughter as you mingled with Charles' childhood friends. Marta, Riccardo, and a few others caught up animatedly near the fireplace, while Lily and your closest girlfriends gathered near the kitchen, sharing stories and memories.

Charles slipped his arm around your waist, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Hey everyone," you announced, your voice trembling slightly. "There's something we want to share."

The room quieted, and curious eyes turned towards you. You felt Charles' supportive presence beside you, which gave you a measure of reassurance.

"We're dating," Charles declared with a bright smile, his eyes searching for signs of approval or happiness.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, Marta and Riccardo exchanged concerned glances. Lily's expression softened with worry, but she quickly composed herself.

Without saying a word, Lily motioned for the other girls to follow her. You gathered in a nearby room, and they enveloped you in a supportive hug.

"We just want you to be careful," Lily whispered, her voice filled with concern. "You know how Charles can be sometimes."

The other girls nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of sympathy and caution. "We're here for you no matter what," one of them added, squeezing your hand gently.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt their unconditional support. These were the friends who had always been by your side, through thick and thin. Their concern was palpable, a reflection of your deep bond and shared history.

"I appreciate your concern," you managed to say, your voice trembling with emotion. "But I really care about Charles. I hope you can see that."

They nodded understandingly, their embrace tightening around you. "Just promise us you'll look out for yourself," Lily said softly.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. Despite the doubts lingering in the back of your mind, you knew you had their support. With them standing beside you, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.

Back in the living room, Charles was chatting animatedly with his friends, oblivious to the heartfelt conversation happening just a few rooms away. You took a deep breath, wiping away your tears. Whatever happened next, you knew you weren't alone.

his hand so calloused from his pistol, softly traces hearts on my face...

The day had been a disaster. Charles had been so sure of his win, so confident in his abilities. But the race had ended in bitter disappointment. You could see the frustration radiating off him as he stormed out of the pit, his face a mask of barely contained rage.

You followed him quietly, giving him space as he retreated to the trailer. He slammed the door behind him, and you hesitated before opening it slowly and stepping inside. The tension in the small space was palpable.

"Charles," you said softly, hoping to calm him down. "It's just one race. There will be more."

He whirled around, his eyes blazing. "You don’t get it!" he shouted, the force of his anger making you flinch. "I needed this win. Everything was riding on this."

You took a step back, feeling a mix of fear and sorrow. "I'm sorry," you whispered, unsure of what else to say.

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, and then turned away from you. "Just...leave me alone," he muttered, his voice still edged with anger.

Your heart ached at the distance between you. You wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but his fury made you hesitant. You stood there, torn between giving him the space he demanded and wanting to bridge the gap his disappointment had created.

Minutes passed in tense silence. Eventually, his shoulders sagged, and he turned back to you, the anger in his eyes replaced by regret. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now, though it still carried the weight of his frustration.

You nodded, but the hurt lingered. "I know," you replied quietly, not sure if you believed it yet.

He stepped closer, his calloused hands reaching for you. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words earlier. He softly traced hearts on your face, the roughness of his fingers a reminder of the man he was — strong, yet capable of such tenderness.

You closed your eyes, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions swirling within you. His anger had scared you, but his apology and the softness of his touch made you question your feelings. Could you forgive him so easily? Did his regret outweigh the sting of his outburst?

He continued to caress your face, his fingers moving in soothing patterns. "I hate that I took it out on you," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. There was genuine remorse there, but also a desperation for your forgiveness. You wanted to trust him, to believe that this was just a moment of weakness, not a glimpse into a darker side of him.

"I don't know what to feel," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You scared me, Charles."

His face crumpled with guilt, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry. Please, just give me a chance to make it right."

You stayed in his arms, your heart heavy with uncertainty. His touch was soothing, but the memory of his anger lingered. You wanted to forgive him, to move past this moment, but a part of you wondered if this was a sign of things to come.

As he traced another heart on your cheek, you closed your eyes again, trying to find clarity in the midst of the chaos. You loved him, but love alone couldn't erase the hurt. Only time would tell if his actions matched his words, if his tenderness could outweigh his anger.

For now, you held onto the hope that he could change, that the man who traced hearts on your face was the real Charles, not the one who lashed out in anger. And as you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you silently prayed that your hope wasn't misplaced.

i can fix him, no really i can..

The evening had started off so well. Charles had invited you to a family dinner at his mother's house. Pascale, Arthur, Lorenzo, their girlfriends, and a few of the drivers were all there. The atmosphere was lively, filled with laughter and warmth. You felt a sense of belonging, surrounded by the people Charles loved most.

But as the night wore on, a seemingly innocuous comment about a minor mistake Charles made during a recent race triggered something in him. What began as light-hearted teasing quickly escalated into a heated argument. Charles' temper flared, his frustration from the season bubbling to the surface.

"You don't understand the pressure I'm under!" Charles shouted, his face flushed with anger. "It's not just a game to me!"

You tried to calm him down, to remind him that everyone was just joking, but he was too far gone. "Charles, it's just a silly mistake. Everyone makes them," you said gently, hoping to diffuse the situation.

But your words only seemed to fuel his rage. "You always take their side!" he snapped. "You never support me!"

The room fell silent. Pascale and the others exchanged uneasy glances, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the evening had taken. Arthur stepped forward, trying to intervene. "Come on, Charles, she’s just trying to help."

Charles whirled around to face his brother, his eyes blazing. "Stay out of it, Arthur. This is between me and her."

You felt a pang of hurt at his words, but also a rising determination to stand your ground. "I'm on your side, Charles. I always am," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He shook his head, his expression a mix of anger and frustration. "No, you're not. You never are."

With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Pascale sighed deeply, her face etched with worry. "Let him go, dear. He needs time to cool down."

Arthur put a comforting hand on your shoulder. "He’s being unreasonable. It's not your fault."

But you shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I can fix him. No, really, I can," you insisted, your voice breaking. "He’s just under so much pressure. He doesn't mean it."

Lorenzo's girlfriend, Charlotte, gave you a sympathetic look. "We know he doesn't mean it, but you can't keep taking the brunt of his frustration. It's not fair to you."

You looked around the room, seeing the concern in everyone's eyes. They cared for you, and they cared for Charles, but they didn't understand. They didn't see the Charles you saw — the one who was vulnerable and scared, hiding behind his anger.

"I love him," you said quietly, more to yourself than anyone else. "And I know he loves me. I just have to be patient."

Pascale walked over and took your hands in hers, her eyes filled with motherly compassion. "Love is important, but it shouldn't hurt this much. Sometimes, it's okay to step back and let him come to terms with his own issues."

You nodded, but your heart was heavy with resolve. You knew they were right, but you couldn't give up on him. You had seen glimpses of the man he could be, the man he was when he wasn't weighed down by his own demons.

"I have to try," you whispered, more determined than ever. "I have to."

You slipped away from the group and found Charles outside, pacing back and forth, his hands clenched into fists. He looked up as you approached, his expression softening slightly. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice raw with regret. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm. "I know you're under a lot of pressure, Charles. But you can't keep taking it out on me. We need to find a way to handle this together."

He nodded, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I know. I’m sorry," he repeated, his voice breaking. "I just...I feel like I'm drowning sometimes."

You held him close, your heart aching for him. "We'll figure it out," you promised. "But you have to let me in. You have to trust that I'm on your side."

He nodded against your shoulder, his grip tightening. "I do. I will."

As you stood there in the darkness, holding each other, you knew the road ahead would be difficult. But you were determined to help him, to fix what was broken. Because despite everything, you loved him. And you believed that love was worth fighting for, even when it hurt

trust me, i can handle a dangerous man..

The car ride home was supposed to be peaceful. The two of you had spent a pleasant evening with friends, but as you drove back, a comment about his racing performance earlier in the week had sparked an argument. The tension between you and Charles had been simmering for days, and now it was boiling over.

"You're always criticizing me," Charles snapped, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "You think it's easy out there? You have no idea what it's like!"

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "I'm not criticizing you, Charles. I'm just saying you need to be more careful. It's not just about you—there are other drivers, the team, and me."

His jaw clenched, and he pressed harder on the gas pedal. The car surged forward, the speedometer climbing rapidly. "You don't get to tell me how to drive," he growled.

Your heart started pounding, but you kept your voice steady. "Charles, slow down. This isn't the track."

He ignored you, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white against the wheel. The car continued to pick up speed, the scenery outside blurring into a streak of lights and shadows. Fear tightened your chest, but you refused to let it show.

"Charles, this is dangerous," you said firmly. "You're not thinking straight."

He shot you a fierce glare. "Stop trying to control me!"

You met his gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to keep us safe. You're being reckless."

He let out a bitter laugh, his anger palpable. "You think you can handle everything, don't you? That you know better than me?"

Your patience snapped. "I can handle a dangerous man," you shot back, your voice rising. "But I'm not going to sit here and let you put our lives at risk because you're too stubborn to listen!"

Charles flinched as if you'd struck him. For a moment, the car seemed to hover on the edge of something catastrophic. Then, slowly, he eased off the gas, the car's speed gradually decreasing until you were traveling at a more reasonable pace. The silence that followed was thick with unresolved tension and unspoken words.

You both stared ahead, the only sound the hum of the engine and the faint whir of the tires against the asphalt. The anger and fear churned inside you, but you kept your composure, refusing to give in to the chaos.

Finally, you reached home. Charles parked the car and turned off the engine, but neither of you moved to get out. The weight of the argument hung heavy in the air.

"I don't want to fight," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You turned to look at him, your expression softening just a fraction. "Neither do I. But you need to understand that your actions have consequences. It's not just about you anymore."

He nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and exhaustion. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away. "We need to communicate better, Charles. We can't keep having these explosive arguments."

He reached for your hand, his touch tentative. "I'll try," he promised. "I don't want to lose you."

You squeezed his hand, offering a small, tentative smile. "I don't want to lose you either. But we have to work on this together."

With that, you both stepped out of the car and walked into the house in silence, the echoes of your argument lingering in the night air. The road ahead would be challenging, but you were determined to face it together, one step at a time.

Come close I'll show you heaven, if you'll be an angel all night.. 

The argument had been intense, but now the storm had seemingly passed. You and Charles found yourselves in the dimly lit living room, the atmosphere heavy with unresolved tension. He reached for you, his touch tentative at first, but quickly growing more insistent as he pulled you closer.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with regret. "I don't want to fight anymore."

You responded to his kiss, your anger melting away into a fervent need to reconnect. Your hands roamed over each other, the intensity of the make-out session escalating quickly. Lips met with a desperate passion, tongues intertwined, and the world outside ceased to exist.

"Come close," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "I'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night."

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, really?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

His lips trailed to your neck, kissing the delicate skin there, taking it between his teeth and sucking it to leave a mark, making you gasp and moan at the sting, letting your head roll back.

You nodded, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Yes, but you have to promise not to bring up the argument again. Let's just enjoy the night."

He chuckled, the sound dark and sardonic. "And if I don't behave? What happens then?"

You pulled back slightly, studying his face. "Then the deal's off. No more fighting, Charles. I mean it."

His expression hardened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a familiar edge of defiance. "You think you can control everything, don't you?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Always trying to manage me, like I'm some child."

Your heart sank, the heat of the moment dissipating in an instant. "That's not what I meant," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "I just want us to have a good night together."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Sure, whatever you say. As long as I'm your perfect little angel, right?"

The insult stung, cutting through the fragile peace you'd managed to build. Without another word, you pushed away from him, the anger and hurt flooding back. "You know what, Charles? Forget it. I thought we could move past this, but clearly, you're not interested."

You turned on your heel, heading for the door. Behind you, Charles called out, his voice tinged with frustration and regret. "Wait, don't go. I didn't mean it like that."

But you didn't stop. You couldnt. The promise of a passionate night had been shattered by his careless words, and you needed space to cool down and collect your thoughts.

As you walked away, you heard him sigh deeply, the sound filled with the weight of unspoken apologies and missed opportunities. The night that could have been spent in each other's arms was now tainted by lingering resentment and unresolved tension.

In the quiet of your room, you let the tears fall, mourning not just the lost night, but the growing distance between you. It would take more than apologies and promises to mend the rift, but for now, you needed to be alone.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: you couldn't keep going on like this. Something had to change, and it had to start with him.

but your, good lord didn't need to lift a finger, i can fix him, no really i can....

The vacation had been a welcome escape from the relentless pressure of the racing season. You and Charles had joined a few of the drivers, including Lewis and Pierre, at a luxurious beachfront villa. The days were spent basking in the sun, enjoying the ocean, and indulging in rare moments of relaxation.

But even here, away from the track, the shadow of Charles' recent bad streak loomed large. It was a warm evening, the group gathered around a bonfire, laughter and conversation filling the air. Charles, however, seemed distant, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames.

"I feel like I need to pray," Charles said suddenly, breaking the jovial mood. "I need something to break this bad streak."

You squeezed his hand, trying to offer some comfort. "You know, you've always said I'm your good luck charm," you joked lightly. "You’ve got pole, fastest lap, and wins when I’m around. Maybe I’m the one you should be praying to."

There was a moment of silence. You expected a laugh, or at least a smile, but instead, Charles' expression darkened. He pulled his hand away, his eyes narrowing. "You think you're like God? That’s incredibly arrogant."

The words hit you like a slap. The laughter around the fire died instantly, replaced by stunned silence. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift. "Charles, I was just joking," you said quietly, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on you.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden deck. "You don't get it," he snapped. "You think everything revolves around you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you fought them back. "I was just trying to lighten the mood," you said, your voice trembling. "I’m always here for you, trying to support you."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I don’t need your kind of support."

The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. Lewis and Pierre exchanged concerned glances, clearly uncomfortable with the unfolding drama.

"Charles, that’s enough," Lewis said gently, stepping in to diffuse the situation. "We’re all friends here."

But Charles ignored him, turning on his heel and walking away, disappearing into the darkness. You stood there, feeling the sting of his words, the hurt cutting deep.

Pierre got up and walked over to you, his expression filled with empathy. "Hey," he said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, but the tears finally spilled over. "I can fix him," you insisted, your voice breaking. "No, really, I can."

Pierre sighed, his eyes sad. "You can't fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed."

Lewis stepped closer, his gaze steady and compassionate. "You're better off without him if he keeps treating you like this. You deserve someone who appreciates you, not someone who lashes out."

You shook your head, the conviction in your voice wavering. "He’s just under so much pressure. He doesn’t mean it."

Lewis and Pierre exchanged another look. "Pressure or not, there’s no excuse for treating you this way," Lewis said firmly. "You need to think about yourself, too."

You wiped your tears, the reality of their words sinking in. But despite everything, you still loved Charles, still believed in the man you knew he could be. "I just need to talk to him," you said, more to yourself than to them.

Pierre gave you a small, sad smile. "Just be careful, okay? We’re here for you."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. The night that had started with so much promise was now marred by tension and hurt. As you walked away from the fire, your heart heavy, you knew you needed to find Charles, to try and reach him one more time.

You found him by the shoreline, the sound of the waves crashing against the sand echoing your turbulent emotions. He stood with his back to you, his posture rigid.

"Charles," you called softly, stepping closer.

He turned, his face illuminated by the moonlight, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath his anger. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice raw. "I didn’t mean to snap at you."

You reached out, taking his hand. "I know," you whispered. "But we can’t keep going on like this. We need to find a way to deal with this pressure without hurting each other."

He nodded, pulling you into an embrace. "I don’t want to lose you," he murmured into your hair.

You held him tightly, hoping that this time, things would be different. But a part of you couldn’t shake the fear that this cycle would continue, that the man you loved would keep lashing out in his moments of weakness.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the waves crashing at your feet, you silently prayed for strength—for both of you. Because love was worth fighting for, but you couldn’t do it alone. Charles needed to fight too, for himself and for you.

WOAH- maybe, i can't... 

The villa was supposed to be a retreat, a place where you and Charles could escape the relentless pressure of the racing season and find some peace. But the calm had been shattered by yet another argument. The drivers who had joined you—Lewis, Pierre, and a few others—had made themselves scarce, sensing the brewing storm.

You were in the kitchen, the words flying between you and Charles like daggers. "You’re always on my back, always criticizing me," he shouted, his face red with anger. "Do you think I don’t feel the pressure already?"

"I’m not criticizing you, Charles," you replied, your voice shaking with frustration. "I’m trying to help you, to support you. But you keep pushing me away."

He scoffed, turning away from you. "Support me? By constantly nagging? That’s not support, that’s control."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "I’m not trying to control you. I just want you to be your best, and that means sometimes you need to listen."

He whirled back around, his eyes blazing. "Listen to you? You think you know better than me? That you can fix all my problems?"

The words hit you hard. You had spent so much time believing that you could help him, that your love and support could make a difference. But now, standing there, the reality crashed down on you. He didn’t want to be fixed, didn’t want to change. He wanted to wallow in his frustration and drag you down with him.

"I thought I could fix you," you said, your voice breaking. "No, really, I did. I thought if I loved you enough, supported you enough, you’d see that you don’t have to go through this alone."

He rolled his eyes, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "That’s your problem. You think you’re some sort of savior."

The anger flared inside you, hot and fierce. "And you think you can treat me like this and I’ll just keep coming back? You’re the one with the problem, Charles. You’re so caught up in your own misery that you can’t see what’s right in front of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, your voice rising. "You know what? I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending that I can fix you when you’re not willing to fix yourself. I’m done."

Charles looked taken aback, his bravado faltering. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying that I’m leaving," you said, the words steady and resolute. "I deserve better than this. Better than you."

You saw the shock in his eyes, the realization that you were serious. "You’re not serious," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"I am," you replied, turning to grab your bag. "I’m done being your punching bag. I’m done trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved."

You walked past him, heading for the door. As you reached for the handle, you felt a sense of clarity, of strength. "I can fix him, no, really, I can," you muttered to yourself, then shook your head. "Woah, maybe I can’t."

You opened the door and stepped outside, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. As you walked down the path, away from the villa and from Charles, you heard the door slam behind you. He didn’t follow, didn’t call out to you.

The drivers who had been waiting outside looked up, concern in their eyes. Pierre stepped forward, his expression gentle. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I will be."

Lewis came over, his hand resting on your shoulder. "You did the right thing. You deserve someone who values you."

You felt the tears well up, but they were tears of relief, of release. "Thank you," you said, your voice steady. "I needed to hear that."

As you walked away with your friends, leaving Charles and his toxicity behind, you felt a newfound sense of freedom. You had tried to fix him, but in the end, you had fixed yourself by walking away. And that was the greatest victory of all.

a/n : it appears I've given allll the angsty ttpd songs to charles 🥲 this one was painful to write. as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

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[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.7

ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫'𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔈𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 ℑ 𝔱𝔯𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬~ 𝔚𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 ℜ𝔲𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢

Description: Battles of the heart ensue out of battles between warring houses. Following a misunderstanding, The Blackwood Knight attempts to convince his lady of the depth of his feelings.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: female reader, angst.

Benjicot stared after his lady love's retreating skirts, horror struck at his own culpability in precipitating her despair. Torn between his desire to acquiese to her urgent entreaty for him to leave her and his pressing desparation to comfort her, she had disappeared from the clearing before he began to stride in the direction he had seen her flee. The fact that by following her he would be crossing from Blackwood firmly into Bracken land, exposing him to the threat of combat and perhaps death, did not enter his mind at that moment. Foremost in his mind was her tear stained face and look of betrayal, and the painful thought that he had caused both. Gaining speed now, despite the uneven downward route the forest had now taken, he held the hilt of his sword as he flew through the forest, his burgundy cloak flying behind him over his shoulder. 

His height advantage and lack of sartorial hinderance meant that he caught up with Y/N in minutes, and was further panicked to see that she was stumbling unevenly down the forest path, favouring one ankle over the other. Concern for her welfare and the pressing need to acertain whether she was hurt had him running to her and holding her left arm in his as he lifted her right hand, raising it around his neck.

Letting out a high cry of surprise, he moved himself quickly so that he was in front of her, bending so that he could examine her face.

"Are you hurt, darling?! Tell me where." He said urgently, holding her arms gently in his hands as he examined her for signs of injury. 

Pushing back with an effort that had her leaning against a tree, a pained expression on her face, she cried, "stay away from me, I don’t want your help."

Raising his arms towards her placatingly, as if approaching a startled deer, his face crumpling as if her words had been a blow, he took two wary steps towards her.

"I understand you're hurt and no one reproaches myself more than I for the misunderstanding that has caused it."

Snapping her head upwards from where she had nestled it in the crook of her arms against a tree, she retorted, "the only misunderstanding was my foolish belief that you could actually love me, not just what I could do for your territorial gain." 

Inexpressibly pained by her words and the thought that he had augmented her anxieties, rather than assuaged them, as he had hoped to do, he stepped forward quickly, ready to profess his love over and over again and to prove it in anway he could, bending before her in supplication, as he urgently took her hands in his. 

He paused, his expression growing panicked when she emited a cry when his sudden movement forced her to take a step back.

Her face growing pale, Benjicot immediately ascertained that it was her ankle she had injured. 

His concern for her pain taking precedence over all others he rose in one fluid movement, taking her left arm gently in his before she could protest and wrapping it around his neck, he lowered his neck slowly, reaching for her legs, which he swept carefully into his arms. 

Realising what he was doing, Y/N swatted weakly at Benjicot's chest, "let me down."

The demand was so quiet, he grew even more concerned at how much pain she was in. Lowering them both to a sitting position in a nearby tree trunk, so as not to hurt her further, he held her across his lap, looking down penitently into her pained face.

Speaking gently to her, he said: "I know you are angry with me, my love, and I am very sorry for it. I will explain all but for now I must determined how much damage there is to your ankle. Do I have your permission to examine it."

"I would rather you didn't, just put me down."

With a shuddering sigh, he briefly held his forehead onto hers before speaking even more gently.

"I know, and I would not impose my presence on you when it causes you pain, but I need to know how much damage there is. Let me help you."

Turning her head away from him, she closed her eyes and nodded sharply. 

Using his free hand, not holding her across him by her torso, he carefuly raised her skirt an inch, only as far as was needed to reveal her bruised, twisted ankle. 

Taking a deep breath, Benjicot delicately lowered her skirt back over the ankle and wrapped his arm underneath her legs once again, rising with her in his arms. 

"I am going to bring you home, but you must tell me of I move too quickly and it causes you pain, and I will stop immediately." 

Not receiving a response, he began to walk with measured steps in the direction of what he believed to be the path to Bracken Hall. 

Y/N's hand coming to press on his shoulder, he immediately stopped, for fear that he had caused her pain.

"You cant go any further, these are Bracken lands, you'll be killed."

Affecting a sly grin and jovial tone which was at odds with the deep pit of concern at her condition within him, he winked, "I'd like to see them try."

Seeing that his attempt at distracting her with humour was not well received, he dropped the pretence and looked down at her with all the gentle concern and desperation he really felt.

"In truth, my love, I do not care. My only concern is for you. I would encounter Bracken swords any day if it would mean I could keep you safe." Pausing to gaze into her eyes as he said this, hoping against hope that he could make her believe him if he willed it enough with his eyes. 

His words did not have the desired affect, as her lip wobbled and she turned her head away before whispering in an undertone. "I don't believe you."

Nodding dejectedly, he continued to walk. 

At some point, whether from the pain or not, Y/N had nestled her head onto Benjicot's shoulder as they made their way back to her ancestral halls, and he took comfort in the sensation, that she herself might still look to him for comfort and protection, even if she was angry at him.

A fork in the path led them into the line of four Bracken knights, all of whom drew their swords in recognition of the Blackwood house colours and insignia of Benjicot's tunic and cloak. Pausing, Benjicot addressed himself to the knights.

"I mean no insult. The young Lady Bracken has injured her ankle and was in need of assistance."

"More likely you were the cause of her injury, release the Lady at once."

Stunned by the veracity of their accusation, he nonethless responded equitably. 

"I will, as soon as I have delivered her to the safety of her halls."

Stalking closer, his sword still raised, the Bracken knight scoffed.

"And you think we will just let you pass? Deliver the lady to us at once and withdraw!"

Gazing down at Y/N, quickly taking in her distressed expression and the tightening grip of her small hand on his tunic, he determined his next course of action.

"I will withdraw only once I am sure that the lady is safe. How dare you point your sword in the direction of the Lady. Once I have delievered her to safety, I dare you to draw it upon me." His gaze darkended as he said this, and the tension radiating from both knights became palpable.

A voice entering the clearing broke through it.

"What is amiss?"

Turning to face the young future Lord Bracken, Aeron, the Bracken Knight nodded his head in deference before responding. 

"The bloody Blackwood has injured Lady Y/N and will not release her to us."

Turning with anger towards Benjicot, Aeron strode towards him. 

"If this be true, and you have injured my cousin, there shall be violence."

Benjicot gazed at Aeron steadfastly, relying upon his care for his cousin and good sense. 

"I would rather die than hurt the Lady. I mean no offence by crossing the border, I only meant to see her safe. If there must be violence, let it be so, but let me first deliver the Lady to safety."

Meeting Benjicot's gaze with his own quizzical one, he bent his head in the direction of his cousin when he heard her quiet voice.

"Don't hurt him, he was only helping me."

Nodding once in deference to her Aeron opened his arms in her direction before turning again to Benjicot.

"You may deliver her to me, I will return her safely to Bracken Hall."

Pausing only to gaze down at Y/N to gain her permission, Benjicot reluctantly and ever so gently delivered her across to Aeron's waiting arms." 

"Be careful with her" Benjicot stuttered out, making Aeron pause in the act of turning with his cousin.

"You can be assured of that."

"What shall we do with him?" Cried one of the Bracken knights.

"Nothing," Aeron returned, let him pass back to his own lands. 

Benjicot nodded respectfully towards Aeron, watching until Y/N had completely disappeared with him down the path, all the time wishing that she would look back at him, if only for the last time.

@lovebabe18-blog @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess @dancingbaek @aemondslove

[thursdayinspace]

This moment. This kiss. The amount of things going on here. It packs such a punch. This is a turning point, and this is an instance where they are not communicating their true feelings and know about it. Because what they need to say is simply too difficult. They are well aware of the cracks in their relationship, but they love each other too damned much to deal with them. Which is so human. I mean, do I like the fact that they're heading towards separation? Of course not. Do I buy it? Absolutely.

They have been through so much. Trauma heaped upon trauma. Death, death scares, abductions, the loss of their child, everything they've seen and done. On top of that now, there is his isolation. Nobody can carry somebody else's happiness on their shoulders all on their own. It breaks you. It's too much. But those two have always been there for each other. Always. And the very fact that they only have each other means they can't acknowledge the fragility of what they have, not even their own fragility, because they're aware of the other one's wounds and don't want to burden them with theirs, for fear of breaking the only thing they have.

And at this point, they know they have been quiet for too long. They have arrived at a point where talking simply won't fix it anymore. And what is so painful about that is that they love each other more than ever. All of that is in this moment. He tells her they can go away, just the two of them. He's begging her to stay, to turn their backs on everything and start over. She looks at him like she wants to believe him so badly, wants to believe that they can run from the darkness.

That kiss is so heartbreaking and beautiful because it's hope and despair at the same time. He's telling her that he knows things are broken between them, but they're still them, they've always made it through everything together. And she's telling him that this isn't them anymore. She wants to stay, but she just can't see how. The one thing they agree on: they don't want this to end.

The way she's crying into the kiss. The way he is so gentle with her. It looks like a kiss goodbye from her, and from him it looks almost like a wedding kiss, as if he'd just promised her forever. And in a way, he has. And in a way, she has too. It's an affirmation of love, of undying devotion, and of clinging with all their strength to something that they can feel slipping away.

They are still so desperately in love with each other, and they can't imagine being apart for even just a day. But the sad truth is that love is not always enough. They have taken terrible care of themselves. Just like you're supposed to put on your own oxygen mask first in the event of a loss of cabin pressure, you have to take care of your own well-being if you want to be able to take care of somebody else. They need each other like they need air. But they also can't go on like this.

I firmly believe that post-revival, they will be together forever. They will get their happy ending. But after everything they've been through and after years of pretending like they can take care of themselves and each other, it makes sense for them to arrive at this point. And still it is heartbreaking to see. They are it for each other. They're each other's person. But sometimes, that is not enough. (And sometimes, you still find your way back to each other and finally find a way to make it work. And they will.)

[iichfilwypj]

why, why, why | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: ANGST (shocking tbh we know it is not gonna last) ღ wc: 646 pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 7 - pt 8

He carefully opened the door, trying not to make a sound. As he stepped further into the room, his eyes immediately found her, lying asleep so peacefully. She was curled up in the bed, the blanket draped over only half of her body, and the lamp beside her illuminated her face brightly.

Oh God, this was agony. The worst kind of pain he had ever felt.

She was so close, yet so far away. He knew she didn’t like him; the past few days, she had been distant, pulling away. A part of him, the selfish part, wished it was something else, like her damn period or something like that.

He stared at her; it became more difficult with each passing moment. He approached slowly, avoiding the mattress where he slept on the floor, and sat on the bed beside her waist. 

He thought it was impossible, but up close, she was even more beautiful. 

But she wasn’t his.

He quietly switched off the lamp and glanced at her once more. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet.

He noticed something in her hand, clenched against her side. The moonlight revealed it—a locket. He smiled faintly as he recognized it. He had given it to her a few months ago on her birthday. She had never worn it, and Percy found himself wondering if she didn’t like it.

"I really loved this gift, Percy." Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was sitting on the bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She looked at him with bloodshot eyes, and in his gaze, she saw only despair. She frowned. “Are you okay-?”

"Tell me why," he said abruptly, his voice rough and shaking. She looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and concern. Her hand reached out toward his face, but the moment her fingers came close, he intercepted it and pressed it tightly against his chest. "Why don't you see it? Why don't you feel the same? Why?"

The words hung in the air, raw and desperate. 

She had no idea what to say. Should she apologize for not being able to express her emotions? For closing herself off and distancing from him? For fearing that he wouldn’t love her the way she loved him?

That was no excuse. The boy standing before her looked like he was on the verge of falling apart, like he might shatter if she stayed silent for another second. 

She began to bite her nail, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. But she couldn’t for long, as she suddenly felt a gentle hand on her chin, lifting her face so her eyes met his. "Dreamy, I—"

He seemed to be in pain, his eyes filled with an emotion so raw that it made her heart skip a beat. She could see it in the way his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as if the simple act of speaking was causing him distress. 

He was close to losing it. He wanted to tell her everything inside him. He wanted to say that he liked her –no, that he loved her. That he was in love with her, obsessed, whatever the word was. That he couldn't live without her. 

Percy loved her, deeply loved her, in a way that made her feel whole. But she wanted more.

And she waited, her breath caught in her chest, thinking that in this very moment, the thing she wanted was going to happen.

But instead, she only received an embrace, a soft kiss on her forehead, and a final look from him. He stood there for a moment, his eyes filled with a sorrow she couldn’t quite understand, and then he spoke, his voice quiet, distant. “I’m going to sleep.”

And with those words, he turned away, leaving her in the silence, alone with her own aching heart.

hi :) do i like this? NO I HATE IT NO ME GUSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i want them to kiss and love and all that but i don't want to rush it! anyways stay tune ;) ahre ni se si se dice así JAJAJA

[lemonidae]

Coming-of-age BL Manga

Koimonogatari by Tagura Tohru

When Yuiji accidentally overhears his classmate Yamato confessing to another friend that he's gay, his perspective shifts. Seeing Yamato in a new light, Yuiji does his best not to let prejudice color his view, but he still finds himself overthinking his classmates' interactions now. He especially notices the way Yamato looks at one particular boy: Yuiji's own best friend. Even though he tells himself he shouldn't get involved, Yuiji finds he just can't help it; watching Yamato's one-sided love draws him in a way he never expected. At first, it's empathy, knowing that the boy Yamato has his sights on is definitely straight and has no idea. But as his own friendship with Yamato develops and the two of them grow closer through a mutual study group, Yuiji comes to truly care about Yamato as a person, regardless of his sexuality. He only wants Yamato to be happy, and to be able to express his true self.

Status: 2 Volumes (Ongoing)

Tagged: Drama, School Life, Slice of Life, Coming Out, Friendship, Insecurity, Unrequited Love, Romance

Kieta Hatsukoi by Hinekure Wataru

“Aoki, I didn’t know you thought about me that way.” Aoki has a crush on Hashimoto, the girl in the seat next to him in class. But he despairs when he borrows her eraser and sees she’s written the name of another boy—Ida—on it. To make matters more confusing, Ida sees Aoki holding that very eraser and thinks Aoki has a crush on him!

Status: 9 Volumes (Complete)

Tagged: Comedy, Romance, School Life, Bisexual, Misunderstanding, Romance

Hatsukoi Note by Amekiri

Shouya, a high school boy whose heart has never known romance, comes across an internet diary filled with wistful whispers of love toward the writer's same-sex crush. A photo posted to the page provides a hint as to the blog's owner: Tsubame, a fellow classmate known for being a lone wolf. Shouya realizes that his friend Ryuu is the object of the diary writer's affections, so he attempts to play matchmaker…but where will his own feelings take him in the process?

Status: 1 Volume (Complete)

Tagged: Drama, Romance, School Life, Yaoi, First Love, Misunderstanding

Smells Like Green Spirit by Nagai Saburou

Mishima, a student at a school in the countryside, is bullied by his classmates. The reason is because he's seemingly gay. In reality, Mishima does like guys so he doesn't resist their bullying, and instead, finds solace in secretly cross-dressing. One day on the rooftop, Mishima finds the lipstick he'd lost before in the hands of Kirino, one of the bullies… and Kirino was about to put on the lipstick that Mishima used on his own lips. This is the story of young boys looking for a place they can really be themselves…

Status: 2 Volumes (Complete)

Tagged: Drama, Psychological, School Life, Coming Out of the Closet, Countryside, Cross-dressing, Enemies to Friends

CW: Attempted Rape, Bullying, Homophobia

Doukyuusei by Nakamura Asumiko

Hikaru always thought his classmate Rihito was kind of a snob, until he stumbles across Rihito secretly practicing a song in an empty classroom. Hikaru agrees to become Rihito’s music tutor, and with each lesson the two boys grow closer. But when Hikaru realizes that he’s fallen for Rihito, will they stay classmates or become something more?

Status: 1 Volume (Complete) Has multiple sequels

Tagged: Drama, Romance, School Life, First Love, Opposites Attract

Monotone Blue by Nagabe

Hachi the cat finds most things monotonous, but at the top of his list is high school and all that comes with it. But when Aoi the lizard--a quiet, high-achieving transfer student--arrives, Hachi catches a glimpse of a brighter, more colorful life. If Hachi can help Aoi open up, unlocking new feelings in the process, maybe his life won't be so bland, after all.

Status: 1 Volume (Complete)

Tagged: Romance, School Life, Slice of Life, Anthropomorphism, Romance

Kagakubu no Megane by Arai Niboshiko

"Are you really fine with me?" "If I wasn't fine with you, I wouldn't have asked in the first place." "But isn't that the same as what we've already been doing?" "Yeah, so we can also add kissing." Two members of the chemistry club promised each other that they would go from friends to lovers at the summer’s end of their sophomore year. Akui is not quite sure what a “boyfriend” is, while Sako seems cheerful, even though he insists it’s just an experiment. The four-eyes of the chemistry club are clumsy but sincere in their first experience of experimenting with love.

Status: 1 Volume (Complete)

Tagged: Romance, School Life, Slice of Life, First Love, Friends to Lovers

Hikyoumono da to Waratte Kure by Mitsuko

Kakeru, a socially awkward exchange student. Yuudai, who is always the center of attention. And Ryou, Yuudai's childhood friend. Under other circumstances, these three would never have gotten along, but before they knew it, they'd become a group of best friends. However, when Ryou starts dating a girl, Kakeru finds out that Yuudai harbors feelings for Ryou...

Status: 1 Volume (Complete)

Tagged: Drama, Romance, School Life, Love Triangle, Unrequited Love

CW: Bullying, Homophobia

Bokurano Tsuzuki by Amamiya

Yousuke and Shuu became estranged after a small accident during their childhood. Years later, due to some circumstances, Shuu moves into his grandmother’s house which is located at the shopping district where Yousuke also lived! Things were awkward at first as Yousuke tries to mend their relationship because Shuu was always so cold to him, but as Shuu begins to express his feelings more openly, Yousuke can’t help but notice the squeezing sensation in his chest!

Status: 1 Volume (Complete)

Tagged: Comedy, Romance, School Life, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers

more manga recommendations

last edited 03/oct/2024

Recommendations are always appreciated ^^

[opal-owl-flight]

Ooh boy, so, how do all the agents feel about the 70mil quota? And the fact it's at 90 mil last I checked....

Also, agents favorite grizzco weapons?

(They dont have fave grizzco weapons bc they dont want to associate with this sleazeball corporation KWJWKJ

More stuff abt the feelings below, though!)

Watching the decimation happening before her, Neo3 can only lay on the ground and cry. Thats everyone. Everything shes done. Shes known. Stolen away in a single night. All her power is nothing before the might of the eternal hunger of this banal evil.

What else can be done?

Her captain comes over, carrying a single egg. She starts, theyre not supposed to be on the field.

Is...it over?

They held the egg close, their voice, barely above a whisper. An apology.

"Im sorry."

She smells the devastation in their scent. Their mask hid nothing. And at that moment, they didnt even try. The marks of dried tears glowed on their face. Their voice is hoarse. Their form slumped, exhausted.

She knows theyve been trying to negotiate peace between the surrounding nations for several years, at this point. Alongside everything else.

Theyre fighting her fight.

What a dishonorable salmonid she is. Laying herself down like this, sneaking around - but she knew better than to do anything rash, now. She knew that will get her killed, or captured, or worse. She cant...she cant risk her captain getting injured again. They just got better.

"Really, I am."

At their soft words, she moves closer to them. Gentle, yet calloused hands, pick her up into a gentle hug. In this hug she can smell their guilt. In this hug she can smell their despair, their powerlessness. And yet...the scent of quiet fury simmers beneath.

They were just like her, in ways she didnt know yet. They too, ran away from their clan, after believing themself a dishonor to them. To save themself. They too, were dragged into a war their ancestors waged. Forced to carry the hopes and dreams of an age long gone.

The dream has changed, but they fight on, all the same.

She hugs them back, feeling the scars under their gear, the oldness of their body. Theyve been fighting longer than she has. With what she can only imagine is a spirit that can rival an elder survivor.

Shes a survivor, too, even if her means were more dishonorable than she wants it to be -- this over-reliance on others to fight her fights instead of doing it all herself, especially an elder survivor -- Has she stooped that low? Elders were meant to stay back, to watch over everyone. This one can barely fight for long anymore. What kind of salmon is she? (Just like 3, shes yet to fully realize the value of accepting help.)

And yet theyre here.

A squid who smelled of yearning, haunted by a past that they drag the dead weight of, ever forward.

Haunted by the specter of what they couldve been. Haunted by their mistakes. Yearning to be a squid that theyre not, anymore. To take the harm their entire nation has done and carry its consequences, all on their own. Be that hero, just like before.

...

And despite all that, their painful joints and trembling form, memories that drown them in yearning, theyre here. Still here. Fighting for their future. Her future. Everyones future.

"...Rest...now." they whisper. "Even one...saved...is still a life."

Their hands trembled, too. Maybe thats why theyre not signing. She held the egg they saved, gingerly, in her hands.

It reflected her face. It reflected her captain.

Its so fragile. All of it.

[closetcasefabray]

i found this in my drafts, & i don’t remember when i started to write this, but ta-da! finally wrote something. this is not a cohesive whole (nor is grief so we can pretend it’s intentional).

also this phone business is awful—almost threw it when tripling the length of this (what was supposed to be) drabble 😒 forgive wonky formatting &/or typos. (laptopless life sucks)

this drabble-ficlet thing is for @snowandwolves bc our friendship is based in wrecking each other emotionally with avatrice au’s & headcanons. also some of this was inspired by sixth to the ninth hour, from which i will never recover. but this isn’t complete despair!

—

summary: beatrice returns to switzerland and tries to live her life. (canon compliant, s3, grief)

—

a thing that carries itself

—

It is when you are asking about something that you realize you yourself have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself.

(nox, anne carson)

—

beatrice knows hans could close the bar down on his own while blindfolded on a night like tonight—not much money to be made mid-week with dwindling tourists and seasonal stays—but beatrice doesn’t suggest it, and hans doesn’t offer. he’s come to recognize when beatrice needs some company, even if it’s just a couple hours and they exchange few words.

—

beatrice returned to switzerland a few days after camila found her asleep at the arc for the fourth time.

(jillian is moving it back to her lab to rebuild, camila offered with a gentle smile—one that expressed she too was hopeful, but not so much she wished to give beatrice too high of expectations.

beatrice knew, even with every scientific expert working on the arc, it would take over a year to repair the arc and source enough power within their earthly limitations for it to open even briefly. beatrice also knew it would likely require a decade of research before someone could go through the arc, let alone explore the alien realm beyond it.

as of a month ago, the arc team is still a few brilliant nuns led by a genius scientist, but when beatrice looks at them, she only sees young women—too young to be willing to die in a holy war—and a mother mourning the loss of her son for a second time.)

before she left, beatrice said goodbye through the arc—if only for the smallest chance a loving god would take pity on her and split open the barrier between realms just briefly enough for her words to reach through to ava:

see you at home. (i love you.)

—

when beatrice first arrived back to town, she became overwhelmed as she took in the remarkably unchanged neighborhoods, all the same buildings standing as they had when she and ava left in the night.

(the ache in her chest turned bitter, so much so she had to refrain from shaking the couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company in the sunshine—ava is gone. do you understand? don’t you feel it too? the absence of her?)

their old flat sat untouched as well; beatrice knew the elderly couple who owned the building weren’t eager to put much work into clearing it out to show it to young university kids who would be far too loud for their liking. (not that ava would ever be considered quiet—she had charmed them like she does everyone.) they warmly welcomed beatrice back and handed her the keys within the hour.

(she found a crumpled tank top of ava’s in the back of the closet and, holding it in her hands, pressed to her chest, she let herself cry for the first time in weeks, sitting on the dusty floor, counting the pieces of furniture in the room that ava once touched.)

the usually absent bar owner also returned the keys and beatrice’s managerial position before she even finished asking if they were hiring.

(what about hans?

he likes being head bartender.

there’s really no one else?

i’ve had two different managers and three different bartenders come and go since you and ava left. i can’t find a replacement half as good as either of you.

beatrice isn’t sure what expression he read on her face, but he didn’t say ava’s name again after that.)

—

throughout the next few weeks, beatrice thought returning to a place so full of memories of ava was possibly some misguided, catholic-guilt-induced self-flagellation—to wake up in their bed alone, to drink tea across from an empty chair, to walk the familiar paths to their favorite places without her—the lack ached in the hollow of beatrice’s core like penance.

maybe i’m meant to feel like this, she thought, and still thinks at times, but then she remembers ava in the gold room—the only thing holy in a temple devoted to a false prophet—telling beatrice to live her life. (gospel, she thinks.)

when ava kissed her, beatrice didn’t think of sin or hell. she thought only of the truth of ava’s lips, her body—capable of flight and phasing through stone—standing before beatrice and choosing love, a tenderness the world had never offered her. it was the opposite of sin—it was sacrament, a baptism that tasted of salt as they kissed, bathed in light.

so beatrice stays and tries each day.

(we are all just trying to be holy.)

—

in the months of staying, of trying to live her life, her friendship with hans has grown into something quieter and gentler than beatrice would have expected from the same bartender who had taught ava german curses and euphemisms. (beatrice would pretend she couldn’t hear as they whispered conspiratorially, knowing ava was familiar with more than half of the swears, but ava was still delighted by every cautiously murmured phrase hans offered her.)

it surprised beatrice at first, to find that hans actually likes her as she is—his overly organized manager-turned-friend who drinks tea out of the same mug every afternoon she comes into work and almost never drinks alcohol but will sip the occasional “virgin cuba libre” when he asks her to hang out with him after work for a shift drink. hans is even familiar enough with beatrice to occasionally tease her in german, her fluency allowing her to respond with a quick-witted retort. she smiles at his amusement, and he is thrilled by each new detail he learns of her.

beatrice is grateful to be closer to someone who doesn’t owe god his life, who remembers ava as ava—not the warrior nun or the halo-bearer.

(instead, hans remembers training ava at the bar, her focus when he taught her classic cocktail specs, and her enthusiasm that breathed life and vibrancy back into the bar job he had begun to find tedious. he remembers making ava laugh so hard her cuba libre came out of her nose, the little snort in her laugh when something amusing surprised her, the pout she’d use before asking for a favor—always far less effective on hans than beatrice. he remembers ava beaming when she mastered a new skill, her eyes finding beatrice to check if she saw—beatrice always saw and always smiled back; how could she not? beatrice was a moon in ava’s orbit, and she had no other option but to glow in her light.)

mostly beatrice is grateful that their friendship doesn’t try to fill the space and silence ava used to occupy; instead they fashion it into a kind of shared insulation for them to keep warm in the cold of grief. so when beatrice daydreams over the books at the bar and something startles her back into this realm without ava, she appreciates that hans doesn’t say anything to draw attention to the way her eyes shine with the sorrow of reality, like they did the first time hans said ava’s name months ago and all at once beatrice felt the air leave her lungs and her eyes burn. hans will stay nearby in those moments, offering an ear if she does wish to talk, but far enough she doesn’t feel obligated to explain it. sometimes it’s just the comfort of someone nearby who misses ava too.

(occasionally beatrice lets her mind project ava across the bar, watching her move from table to table, turning to beatrice and giving her a wink, hips swaying to a german pop song, sometimes accompanied by a little spin as if she wasn’t carrying a precariously balanced tray of glassware. but when the reel in beatrice’s mind starts to fade and flicker, she blinks and the shining sadness of her eyes dims into a melancholy others often mistake for stolidness—when the vision of ava smiling and making drinks beside hans blurs, it’s too ghostly for beatrice because ava is alive.

beatrice doesn’t find much comfort in god these days, but she still has faith.)

—

beatrice steps outside with hans, takes a deep breath, looks up at the unpolluted skies, and finds the constellations ava drew when they would sneak onto the roof of their flat when the nights were clear. beatrice has taken to writing the mythology of each one in her head as she walks home at night. she often considers writing some kind of scripture based less in fear and shame and more in love and forgiveness. maybe if she tells the stories enough, ava will return a new testament.

(but beatrice promised herself that once ava returns, she won’t share ava with the world—no temples, no saviors, no holy wars. beatrice wants to watch the sun set on the ocean, casting ava in golden light that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. she wants ava to press her lips to hers again but as a greeting, as a stay here with me. she wants to watch the sunrise spill across ava’s face like a promise beatrice will keep. she wants ava, and she is learning to forgive herself for this—the selfishness, not her love—beatrice’s love does not apologize.)

“are you off work tomorrow?” hans asks as they start walking the several blocks toward their respective apartments.

“yes, but if you need—”

hans shakes his head vigorously, and beatrice gives him a small half-smile.

“you should go to the library, get a couple books. if you come by, i’ll make you tea but you absolutely cannot work,” he says, pointing his finger at beatrice with an exaggerated sternness.

beatrice smiles a little wider, “i won’t.”

when they reach the cross streets where they part ways, hans wraps his arms around beatrice’s shoulders, and she wraps hers around his waist—a strange arrangement of limbs both of them had grown up unfamiliar with, something that ava taught them to appreciate—touch, closeness, a human intimacy too many would never admit they needed. so they make a point to hug each other for brief moments to carry that part of ava with them.

—

her nighttime routine unfolds as muscle memory so her mind wanders to work, hans, and always ava. she climbs into bed and imagines ava teasing her for keeping her shirt under her pillow, where she rubs the fabric between her fingers.

you always liked being close to me when we slept, ava would say.

i always liked being close to you when we were awake, beatrice would confess.

she savors the moments just before sleep, when those minutes are hers alone without obligations or the weight of the outside world—her mind in a free fall. (when beatrice was a child and her mother was kinder, she would soothe beatrice after a nightmare by telling her to think of all the exciting things tomorrow would bring.) as if directing the trajectory of her plummet, she chooses ava every time.

she closes her eyes and plays the memories against the back if her eyelids, setting her unconscious mind on a path toward a kind of imagined heaven, so maybe—just maybe—beatrice will see ava again in her dreams.

tonight she is walking into work, and ava looks up and smiles at her from behind the bar.

hey, bea.

hi. she feels something joyous swell inside her, and the glassware behind the bar starts to glimmer as she walks toward ava. i missed you.

we had breakfast together this morning, ava says with a laugh, but once beatrice is beside her, ava leans close and whispers, i miss you too, bea. everyday.

when ava pulls back slightly, beatrice sees it—the melancholy half-smile on ava’s lips, her dark, shining eyes. the shimmering light grows, and beatrice feels ava’s hands take hers and pull her closer.

i’ll see you at home soon. ava tucks a strand of bea’s hair behind her ear, and she feels herself lean into her touch.

ava—

it’s okay, bea. just wake up.

when beatrice opens her eyes, she can see the night sky outside her window, but the flickering light of her ocs necklace on her bedside table seems to light the entire room. she cradles it in her hands and decodes it on the first pass, but to be sure, she watches it flash three more times—ava is alive.

—

fin

—

thanks for reading!

some rambles/notes:

i almost never write from bea’s perspective bc she’s v smart—i’m decidedly not bea-smart (nor am i ava-smart but i am ava-eager-&-a-little-reckless, so that’s what i typically lean toward). so i think i did a rewatch & felt a little heartbroken. also p sure i drank half a bottle of wine during the rewatch so that may have been why this is [gestures vaguely] like this.

but anne carson and richard siken are my roman empires, so i named this after the opening anne carson quote from nox. and i will always think of avatrice when i remember we were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want . . . we are all just trying to be holy.

also what i didn’t include & is in my head:

- hans & bea’s talk about what happened with ava. basically “she had to leave, and i don’t know if… i don’t know when she’ll come back” & hans isn’t sure what it means but he never tells beatrice to move on bc he knows he couldn’t understand what happened. mostly he saw them together and he’s never seen beatrice smile the way she did with ava. also i said beatrice rarely drinks but she & hans have this conversation with wine involved. the drunk cry bar staff bond is real.

- the day beatrice realizes she’s been without ava longer than she was with her—she’s marking the date in the inventory book, then she just stops as her brain does the math against her will. hans sees her hands are trembling & he just knows. he takes bea up to the office & gives her some water. he asks, “do you think your home will help or make this harder right now?” so he has beatrice over to his small, neat apartment and he makes some food for her. he asks if it’s about ava & whether or not bea wants to talk about it. she doesn’t want to talk, but she says hans can talk about her. so hans tells bea some of his memories with ava. thus some of the memories included.

anyway, sorry? i guess?

also if you haven’t—read @snowandwolves fics if you want coherent & complete(ly devastating & healing) fics:

sixth to the ninth hour is canon compliant s3 & basically ava walks through hell to get back to bea. 😭 i cried. my heart ached. but also there’s plenty of spice 😏 [ava eyebrow wiggle]. all my favorite things heh…

leave the light on (i'll find my way home) is lighthouse au. our babes are so soft and in love 🥹 i went on a trip to see puffins & lighthouses bc of this. the whole fic is incredible, but there’s this one part in the lighthouse… i think it altered my brain chemistry in the best way.