#so grappling with your life was better (or worth all the pain in her own words) for meeting your beloved

[leliwardens]

trying to decide what's a more emotionally devastating fade demon nightmare for lelivah between happy childhood memory with adaia that now'll need to be torn to shit to escape (and leliana still feels guilty for her involvement with her death) vs a completely different life if the wedding never went wrong where she's happy without all of the metric fuckton of trauma that came with being the hero of ferelden (which also includes meeting leliana)

much to think about....

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Just want to say: a, I admire very much that you've figured out a healthy way to work on your fics that allows you to have fun with it. And also b, am very excited to hear that you are getting there with pez! It has fully given me brain rot ever since I read it last year, there is just such a lack of content for the highly specific trope of using time travel as a device to explore extremely unhealthy levels of self loathing.

I just adore everything you're doing in it. Neither midoriya is anywhere approaching okay for any portion of the fic and I love rereading and mining into all the subtle characterization pointing to that. It's a bit like nhtycth in that some really goofy funny stuff is often hiding some really fucking worrying things, but the fact that characters DO do that stuff—that todoroki uses his teaspoon's worth of extremely stunted social skills to bludgeon his friend's door open and help him, that a rpf shipping war is an actual source of drama despite how goofy the sentiment seems on the surface, that about half of what jon says is deeply worrying and the other half is extremely funny and there's a lot of overlap between the two—really lifts the tension and brightens the universe. It's sort of similar to what you did with gerry, in that endless misery isn't nearly as painful as the ups and downs of a life that, when you step back and zoom out, has something deeply and horribly wrong with it.

(jon sort of reminds me of spider-man in that he uses human to deal with trauma and stress, except I don't think he at any point realizes how fucking funny he is. He's just there, in a home depot, gnashing his teeth because he's got so many bodies to dispose of and this cashier sure is taking her time.)

I really, really, really have had trouble finding fics that take everything midoriya has dealt with to task. It's a hell of a thing to live 14 years as a disabled minority, have it heavily shape your existence, and then one day you wake up and you realize you're...not that, or at least, nobody will ever acknowledge you as that again. You've lost all claim to it. Those experiences that shaped who you are? Dust in the wind. 14 years of pain and life might as well be buried in the ground for all the good they do you. Nobody's going to cut you any slack or quarter, you've gotta simply work harder, be better. And now when you do that you get the results you wanted, so that's fine, then. That's good. There was something wrong with the you before, and there's something right with the you now, and if the transition is a little rough, well that doesn't matter, you're the same as everyone else now, so it's your own job to fill in whatever gaps you need to.

I really can't get over how mentally fucked it must be for midoriya to run into quirkless people, run across quirkless issues, and be silently caught between, incapable of speaking his mind and too scared to do so anyway around those he can trust.

Also I should mention, I'm just very excited for bakugou to get back from the gym. He's been there like a year I hope he's getting a good workout in.

Me realizing that it’s been a year since pez dispenser debris:

I feel like there’s just this very specific type of grief that Izuku has to grapple with in the span of pez dispenser debris that I’m just obsessed with. He’s sort of silently mourning who he could have been, when 1) he has to present like there’s nothing lost to maintain his secret and 2) the entire world is constantly inundating him with the message that there was nothing lost.

Like. I don’t want to get too deep into it because it risks spoiling things and I do have major plans to continue it (I’ve loved this story for so many years before I ever even hit publish), but the emotion that Izuku’s feeling right now is so much more complex than “I hate who I used to be and want him to stop existing” or “I just want to keep my secrets.” And I think the way he interacts with Mirio is the biggest evidence of that.

Izuku’s placed himself at the very center of the Quirklessness debate with his support of Mirio. He fights for Quirkless heroes, very publicly, to the point where he’s not even graduated yet but considered to be one of the most prominent voices on the matter. If you took a poll of Quirkless people as to which hero would be most supportive of them pursing their own career in heroics, Izuku would be right at the top of the list. When it comes to Quirklessness itself, he’s nothing but supportive.

But he didn’t tell Mirio the truth of his own Quirklessness.

Out of everyone, Mirio’s the one everyone expects to know, despite him being a relatively newer relationship compared to someone like Iida or Uraraka or Todoroki. And I tried to imply that he’s sort of the one who knows the most about Izuku out of everyone save All Might.

Like, we’ll get into how much exactly Mirio knows soon, so I won’t divulge what, if anything, Izuku has told him. But we know that Mirio knows, weirdly enough, that Izuku is deeply fucking haunted. He knows that boy has many violent ghosts in his bones. He finds it hilarious and will tell their realtor about it. Izuku told him about the discontent spirits who died in a violent passion and live on inside of him before he told him about his Quirklessness.

And I just feel like one of those things is a little bit easier to discuss than the other.

Izuku has decided to keep his own Quirklessness quiet in a way that surpasses secrecy about One for All. If it was just about OfA, he could tell people he didn’t get his quirk until the entrance exam, and it wouldn’t even be a lie. He’s purposefully obscuring his own past as Quirkless even as he takes a forefront of the Quirkless hero debate with his open support of Mirio.

And the fact that he’s at the forefront of this debate in and of itself requires a difficult dichotomy. He is the world’s most vocal proponent for the first Quirkless hero. He is a known figure in the Quirkless community now.

He isn’t considered one of them anymore. He’s an outsider coming in.

It must be such a strange, odd sort of grief to come to the people you were home amongst for most of your life and be greeted as a stranger. To return home, and to be welcomed in for the first time, and to not even be able to tell people that you’ve lived here all your life and don’t need a tour.

It’s a sort of death of self, I think. And I think Izuku never expected to have to grapple with his own ghost.

[loquaciousquark]

hello again, question two incoming! i was thinking about my tav and astarion and boundaries each of them would set with each other—ness got dragged alone into the illithid oubliette, sent to chult, and then sucked into the djinni's lamp in lorroakan's tower and astarion is Very Done with his glass canon sorcerer gf being imperiled while he's helpless about it—and i remembered your fic "this lethal light falls softly", where astarion sets kind of a similar boundary when tavish comes back from being in avernus way longer than intended. my question is kind of twofold, firstly what is it with astarion and girlfriends who disappear on him, and then more seriously, what are some other boundaries tavish and astarion have to set with each other? is it easy for them to draw those lines, or is it always a kind of fraught conversation, like it was in the fic where astarion was threatening to leave tavish? do those boundary-drawing conversations change after the netherbrain is defeated and they're not constantly fighting for their lives? i imagine you can swallow some things easier when you're mostly just worried your partner could die at any minute, lol

LOVE THIS. Poor Ness. Poor Astarion! In a meta sense, I think it's just great to see someone who explicitly avoided caring about people for a couple of centuries be forced to confront that he actually cares about someone...a lot now, and all the wonder & horror that comes with that. There's a certain kind of impotence that comes with that level of waiting & being able to do exactly nothing to mitigate it, and I like seeing Astarion grapple with it & decide: yes, it's worth the pain to stick around anyway, that the love matters more. It sucks for him, for sure, but man is it a good time for me! :D

In terms of boundaries, I think both Astarion & Tavish are extremely terrible at both articulating, implementing, and occasionally respecting them. Tav had a healthy upbringing until she was about twelve, and then her entire teenage & young adult life was built around getting close enough to people to rob them, first under the direction of her horrible aunt, and then on her own after she killed her. Even the Thieves' Guild, where she wanted desperately to be, didn't find her appealing enough to accept, so she very quickly learned that absolutely no one cared if she lived or died, that family, friends, & lovers would take off the moment she couldn't give them what they wanted, and that the only way to guarantee someone would stick up for her would be if she brought some sort of unique utility to the table. I don't think she ever broke any major boundaries for anyone because she never got close enough for them to matter.

Likewise, Astarion's entire known history is messily tied to utility and what (who) he could provide for Cazador. However, his job, for lack of a better word, explicitly relied on him pushing boundaries at every opportunity. He must get the person who's hesitant to follow him into a dark alley to come with him anyway. He must get someone so drunk that they make incredibly stupid decisions & sleep with him despite their better judgement. He must find the person already having a terrible day and be that listening ear, manipulating them so much in the process that they lean on his opinion and recommendations over their own. The luxury of a healthy relationship is so far outside his realm of experience, I don't think he has the faintest idea what do with it when he finds himself in one, like a dog who's actually caught a car.

The turn for him, therefore, must be the realization that he cares for Tav's wellbeing above his own. He's at last found something to care about and protect besides himself, something he'd die to save, and that means that after two hundred years, his own needs and wants must come secondary to his desire to make Tav happy.

For Tav, it's the opposite. She's spent so long believing herself unlovable that I don't think she really understands how much Astarion cares until very late in the endgame. She isn't trying to make things hard for him; she just genuinely doesn't realize she's hurting him. That would require her to understand that she has intrinsic value as a person to him, even outside of what utility she can provide, & she's bad at understanding that.

In that vein, I don't think Tav is capable of articulating hard boundaries for herself for a long time. She has things she likes & dislikes, of course, but for someone so used to desperately reshaping herself to be small, to be easy, to be lovable in the hopes that someone would want to stick around eventually, her go-to response is not to ask someone to stop doing something, it's to literally retrain herself to find that thing not that bad in the first place. It's only because Astarion is extremely good at quick-reading people that he picks up on it after a while & realizes this is what she's doing.

I do think at some point post-game he has a very clear sit-down with her where he makes her clearly state some things he's doing that seriously bother her, not just so he can stop doing them but so she can get used to putting voice to her wants in the first place. However, because he's him, I do think he's snippy and catty about it the whole time. They aren't serious complaints; he just knows his cattiness makes Tav laugh & he wants her to trust him--to trust that he loves her, sure, but also to trust him to stay even when she's irritated at him. He needs her to understand she's not going to chase him off by asking him to change his behavior. (Also a novel thing for him: that he is willing to change his own behavior for someone else, just because they ask. Because her happiness matters more to him than him "winning" an argument by being sarcastic & cutting, and it turns out that hurting her to win makes the win sour and bitter anyway & he doesn't enjoy it.)

Astarion is just the opposite. I think for a while he can't help but react every time he butts up against something he doesn't like, both from the novelty of being able to say no & as part of his attempts to figure out exactly what denials are worth the effort. In this way I think Tav is very well-suited to him; she's very patient regarding this kind of thing thanks to her own flaws (especially since she understands what he's doing, even if he doesn't). She doesn't mind at all kind of contorting herself around his changeable boundaries while he figures out what he actually does & doesn't want, and since they don't have the end of the world hanging over their heads anymore, there's no time pressure aside from her own mortality. Besides, she can tell which ones he really cares a lot about (her leaving without warning, her endangering herself on his behalf without his knowing, the period where they're not sleeping together in Act 2/3) vs. the ones he doesn't really care about & are really just unconscious tests (her leaving her shoes all over the floor, the way she fiddles with things all the time when she's bored, the way too many sweets makes her blood less tasty, etc.). It's not a way I think she could live forever, but because he does change over time and he does get better and he does clearly learn from his mistakes, she's willing to be patient on her part while he figures things out.

Eventually, as they settle into a routine and become more comfortable navigating each other's needs as well as their own, he learns he doesn't have to say no to everything and she learns she can say no at all. It's a lot of work for both of them, but they both care deeply about the other's success and happiness, and they're both willing to put in the effort to make something that'll last.

Ahh, this was wonderful to get to ramble on about. Thank you so much for asking! <3<3<3

[gancegancerevo]

Arknights Hortus de Escapismo Thoughts

An aspect about the story that I found interesting is how it shed light on the fact that Laterano and the Sankta have a stake in both the fate of the Sarkaz and the Church of the Deep. This can kinda be extended to the conflicts around the Seaborne and the Demons (but not as much for the Demons [haven't played that stupid Minecraft gamemode so I wouldn't know]). Laterano seems to be on the verge of a change and while we have an idea of who might be involved, what that change will bring remains to be seen.

I feel Stefano's ending captures the ideas they wanted to express with Andoain way better then he ever did.

Firstly, the age of Stefano gives his grievances a gravity that is lacking with Andoain. This applies both to the era of Stefano's life and how many years he's actually lived. Stefano has lived so long and that gives off the feeling that he knows what he's talking about when he speaks of his trials.

Secondly, Stefano's pain is much more palpable. Andoain advocates for outsiders but he doesn't give off the vibe of an outsider. He feels like a Laterano Sankta who just so happens to differ on this one issue. Stefano on the other hand, is a member of the abbey first. He is unsure of the Lateran Sankta even though they should have empathy to connect them. He fights for the Sarkaz because his principles built on experience cannot deny their humanity even when it's the best course to let them go.

Finally, Andoain just isn't rooted in this conflict. His inciting incident is wanting Lock and Key and breaking his team apart because of it. He leaves, starts a sort of cult, and just stops by because he can. Stefano on the other hand has to grapple with questions about Paradise because that is where both his faith and troubles lie. What is Paradise? Is it worth to enter a Paradise that runs counter to your principles? What does it mean to believe when your faith mandates some inhumanity? All these questions and more define the abbey's choice of going to Laterano but they plague Stefano most because he's their religious leader. And he used (and bent) religion as he saw fit because his principles, though rooted in faith, come first. Stefano (and Hortus de Escapismo as well) embodies this conflict is a much more depressing way than Guiding Ahead because they actually gave thought to what value Paradise holds when you have to watch it turn people away.

It's the difference between theory and practice in a sense. Andoain v. Yvangelista XI was a lot more talking and philosophizing. Stefano and all the rest of them have to actually grapple with the choice before them. Because they are actively being separated from family by seemingly nonsense rules. The higher-ups can wonder why the rules are unreasonable but they're not the one who have to slice their own heads off because their kin might be massacred based on their past crimes.

All this is to say that I am kinda disappointed that everything can be traced back to Arturia and her Arts. It makes an interesting series of events built on the divisive nature of Laterano seem hollower than it is. Like, oh if only Arturia's ride got here on time maybe Fortuna wouldn't be Fallen and Gerald wouldn't have killed himself (but Oren still had the troops so I dunno)

As much as the ideas explored were interesting, the Laterans themselves didn't see much development aside from Executor and even he went from brick to pondering brick. I don't know how good of a story this was overall; maybe a 6 out of ten because I do like it, just not as much as others of its type. Hopefully Viviana's event would give the Giallo siblings a better showing but whatever.

[very-grownup]

Book 34, 2024

That's right, it's time for another edition of CHRIST WHY DID YOU TRANSLATE IT AS CHESS THERE IS SO MUCH REFERENCE TO CHESS PIECES AND WHEN YOU SAY 'CHESS PIECE' THE AVERAGE WESTERNER IS GOING TO THINK OF THE PAWN AND THE ROOK AND THE LITTLE HORSEY I mean I read Volume 5 of "The Husky and His White Cat Shizun".

God, I don't even know where I'm at in my relationship with Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou, because I'm not a committed to hate-reading an entire series kind of guy, and committing to eleven of these fuckers involves dropping some serious bucks. But here I am typing:

This volume was great because there was hardly any Mo Ran and Chu Wanning pining compared to the sad masturbation on opposite sides of the wall that was volume 4.

I loved this part of the book in a genre about dudes and their romantic feelings and boners where I hardly had to deal with their romantic feelings and boners!

Progress is being made on the Mo Ran and Chu Wanning front in this volume, for what it's worth, but most of it is beneath or after meaty chunks of mystery and plot and A GIANT RITUAL HUMAN SACRIFICE MIND CONTROL ARRAY WITH GO PIECES USED TO OPEN A PORTAL TO HELL AND A GIANT HOME DEPOT SKELETON WITH A CORPSE WHERE IT'S HEART SHOULD BE COMES OUT OF IT AND FUCKS SHIT UP AND THERE'S A CURSE WHERE A GUY'S SKIN IS CONSTANTLY BEING SLICED OPEN AND HEALED AND FILLED WITH AGONIZING PAIN AT NIGHT FOREVER WITH NO END IN SIGHT god it's rad.

AS PART OF A WEDDING.

THERE'S GIANT SPIRIT WOLVES.

Shit gets real at the wedding for Nangong Si (mysteriously disappeared/died in the original timeline) and Song Qiutong (Mo Ran's wife in the original timeline and a special race of being who can exponentially level up your cultivation if you fuck her), partially because Mo Ran is determined to sabotage it due to how Song Qiutong behaved as his wife in, again, the original timeline.

A thing that is frustrating about Mo Ran, now that he's stopped being the protagonist most in need of being thrown off a mountain, is that Mo Ran is now actively working towards being a better person and grasping at redemption for all the /murdering and raping and subjugating the entirety of the cultivation world/ and he's not willing to extend that grace to characters like Song Qiutong, a woman whose main fault seems to be jealousy and fear of being replaced by the man protecting her if she loses his sexual interest. Which seems kind of fair, considering she's a walking cultivation reservoir via dick insertion who was literally sold at a black market auction.

Mo Ran needs to work more on himself before deciding who's irredeemable, is what I'm saying. The hypocrisy with Song Qiutong sticks in my throat and reading a serialized novel in bits and pieces means I don't know if there's going to be further character or plot developments to grapple with that or if this is just a way Mo Ran is going to suck for the rest of the novel.

The wedding meddling leads to secrets being revealed, some of them decades old, and a huge chunk of the cultivation world having everything turned on its head in the ensuing chaos and the whole thing with the giant home depot skeleton. There's some weird gender stuff mixed in, bring your own feelings to the table on that, but everything with the Rufeng Sect and the wedding and Mo Ran's struggle to balance solving problems with not wanting to reveal all the forbidden knowledge he shouldn't have due to the crimes of his previous life make for meaty, juicy reading, like a really good burger.

And then there's pickles on the burger.

The pickles symbolize Mo Ran's dick.

Important clarifying information: I don't like pickles.

I've been told I should read "Legend of the Condor Heroes".

So I guess I continue my weird semi-antagonistic but thoroughly invested relationship with this series.

God the bit with the giant skeleton was cool.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: March

this month I am keeping it QUICK and I am keeping it DIRTY. mostly the former, because I've only managed to finish four (four!!!!) books this month so I Do Not have a lot to say. please pray for a more fruitful April.

what have I been reading?

Babel, or the Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (R.F. Kuang, 2022) - first of all I must once again thank the unfathomably generous @fabledshadow for sending me a copy of this gorgeous book FOR KEEPSIES at absolutely no charge. I genuinely feel so lucky to have a copy on my shelf now, because Babel is a book that's 100% worth the hype. it's an absolutely brilliant alternate magic history, where the British empire is chugging along consuming the world with one small change: magic, powered by the power of the translated word. from this relatively simple premise Kuang launches into a relentless interrogation of colonialism, power, and assimilation. our protagonist Robin and his friends in the translation department - Ramy, an Indian Muslim; Victoire, a Black Haitian; and Letty, a white Englishwoman - all grapple with the allure of achievement within the white patriarchy of Oxford, as well as the question of what to do when you realize the system you gave your life was never going to love you back. after countless stories of milquetoast centrist both-sideism Babel was a thundering read, and I relished its rage slowly building up in little outrages to a bloody dynamite ending.

Hijab Butch Blues (Lamya H, 2023) - a really heartfelt and thought-provoking memoir that I could not put down. Lamya (a pen name the author uses; her identity is unknown) makes fascinating connections between stories from the Quran and her own experiences growing up Muslim, closeted, queer, and Othered anywhere she went. I especially loved an early chapter in which Lamya lays out her reasons for resonating with a young Maryam, mother of Jesus, as a despondently depressed teen, and describes her sense that Maryam must also be a dyke. Lamya really excels here, empathizing with all the most long-suffering religious figures and finding interpretations that make that suffering make sense, finding ways out and through the pain into a better ending. as with any essay collection that draws on saying x is sort of like y, the connections sometimes feel a little tenuous, but through a lot of thorny, complicated feelings this memoir manages to feel like a little bubble of meditative calm that was an absolute balm to read.

Get A Life, Chloe Brown (Talia Hibbert, 2019) - this month's romance novel was also my first foray into heterosexualty, and I have to say: not impressed! the titular Chloe Brown is, I'm going to be real with you, kind of the worst; I can obviously excuse the trust issues that stem from being abandoned by her fiance and friends after becoming chronically ill, and taking no shit from nosy neighbors performing the classic microaggression of touching Chloe's hair, but it's also casually noted that after an elderly neighbor in her apartment complex mistakenly took Chloe's mail Chloe retaliated by dumping hot tea into the neighbor's mailbox? unhinged. her love interest, Red, is also a mess; he's presented as a "bad boy" per the back cover blurb, but all that ever really amounts to is him having a motorcycle, many tattoos, and a lower class upbringing. class is a recurring point of tension between Chloe, who comes from a fabulously wealthy family, and Red, who's got some #trauma from a previous wealthy girlfriend who once stabbed him with a fork, but it plays out in remarkably silly ways. during one memorable (in a bad way) scene the pair enter an art gallery where the wealthy patrons all immediately turn and glare at Red for the crime of [checks notes] wearing a flannel, acting physically afraid of him as if they can smell the poverty wafting off. the sex scenes are mid (points for Red jacking off, though I wish the narration hadn't made a point of noting his hefty sac) and the romance plotline just isn't hefty enough to carry an entire novel, since there's no REAL conflict except for Chloe and Red's refusal to get along with each other. when the third act misunderstanding arrives it's gnarly, with Red screaming vile accusations at Chloe before immediately changing his mind and bombarding her with gifts until she takes him back. there are stories where I can overlook that kind of thing, but a book where I was bored for the first 95% and have no investment in the characters ain't it.

How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures (Sabrina Imbler, 2023) - if you guys know anything about me you know that 1.) I love the sea and all her creatures and 2.) I'm a big ol' homo, so this queer memoir-in-essays had me extremely excited. Imbler is a tremendous essayist, drawing connections between their life and cuttlefish, whales, and salps with a striking mix of appreciation and exactitude. Imbler marvels without getting maudlin, always shying away at the tasteful point well before their speculation becomes full anthropomorphization. I was particularly taken with "My Mother and the Starving Octopus," a painfully familiar reflection upon the uncomfortable relationship with food and weight that's so often passed from mother to daughter, and "Beware the Sand Striker," a thoughtful pontification on sexual violence and the murky places where consent is unclear. Imbler thrives in ambiguity: the ongoing question of their own biracial identity and what it means to them, the metamorphosis of their own gender, the beauty to be found even in aggressively invasive goldfish species. it's fitting that a life represented through the ocean - deep and dark, ever-changing and largely unexplored - is comfortable not having rock solid answers to everything, and I loved joining Imbler in that gentle, shifting space.

what am I reading now?

Necropolitics (Achille Mbembe, 2011) - this book is so smart and I am so dumb :/

The Priory of the Orange Tree (Samantha Shannon, 2019) - I finally started this stupid fucking behemoth of a book and I'm enraged to report that I'll probably really like it. unfortunately I almost immediately to put it on pause while I try to finish 869000 other books :/

White Noise (Don DeLillo, 1985) - every once in a while I venture away from my safe TBR list; this one crossed my path thanks to a coworker who's reading it for a class and lent me her copy. I have no idea how to explain this without making it sound awful but it's a fascinating read.

Cursed Bunny (Bora Chung, trans. Anton Hur, 2022) - my interest in this short story collection was piqued when I saw a writer describe it as some of the grossest shit they've ever read, and I'll be honest: the story I've gotten around to is some of the grossest shit I've ever read. dead dove, do not eat.

[libidomechanica]

It is yet shall above all my own, uncertain the would not

Did feels great same loudly carriors seed it, and straw.     Was a fondless as more complexing couple’s error, and glory of beauty’s a-dying.     Our destiny! Into thee to

fill the fish, when of Beauty chance thicks here, but me     her eyes. Like our bones white, haunt universal know’st the law to my heart beginnest mountain     will seek, this own god; Follower,

watch’d thee front deaths then I tell, When youth!—’Twas the mast?     I have doth pain by thee. Null, dead, each made as a conceived that aged head, that hands, what     I know holy! From this hand which doth

scorn: leave your blind somewhat audit by this bow, Thus     throught after to his broughts aid to the silvery joy in hand! Excuse; not with are wretch     from behind love coming results burn

the went us awake? Music out this either     was once move across of the grasp’d him wilderneath for thy love to snort his deadly null,     o’er through thee. Though waterspouting roar

were and fearfully beacon, bared not to love. My     heart where, illuminous chang’d, stiff bitch? And, when ’mid controlling towards daught alleys, sing doublings     upon me, could put with vowels, from

the fill the holy space, where! Thus did reclined, and     turn up his worth: Descendants a dizzy sky, yet, fair, and in starrest, and repent, queen     silence more brance, they gaz’d up the Morphean

force along shalt see white be thee strife with banish’d.     Let its sad experience; at out my arms administration were eager, or     climb! It is yet shall above all my

own, uncertain the would not pluck this took was driving,     and most be good-morning covenant. The make a friend again. News, and wonted cheer;     the most pious wingedly: where as

want on a sigh’d! Athwart a woman, when they living     how a rings; but echo, of emerge the woman standing her. And, for only law.     Rough his o’er that so it did thus spare

Aurora’s peers yon centine. The exact oppress-     tree pavilion-tail’d with its that far and elbow, for very barbed ditties I may long, ��   and why not a bee bush, into

entirely; no, let’s life and Christabel she different     mair to be a witness, foxes to the dusky empty feathe turned zeal; and the woke     benediction the goes appalling

down a place of fieldes ay muse’s smiles my father’d     lead these, in bide? As of ironic about in there vain essay the seasons do     joy the sunny skies. Break my high certain

in a pest of its delayes, breakers of mossy     stood, Be sting mouth in itself in sowing it? Stay, they move and lover’s homeward bene     thy heir grappling eye doth shake

the night. Thou art or else word deck they both of all     crown thou listen. Still, than our flowers for this? I myself, whose by, Norman; beare? When I     begin to be wrough yours crawling from

where I have spoke, the expectant. Soon went that have     him with spirit hastity: how bright is this in their will, increase my palace, better     the holy perch,—did you, drink me like

a kind of all, a crescent air little served     surpasseth spake—all before, within eleven apples best, so sore, hide he hath smile on     to prays in dizzy sky! With mine, no

voice to saddles officious did never beautiful     thee, fell she vain; so innocent, a man amended me from a symbol-essence     been rend a narrow-soule abuse

murmuringly-—send a swoon of devise as thereal     and then summer’s view: in my hope. Told in chalice, in a will pine it’s spirit’s. And, at     his arms adorn, with woe, vpon soft; then

shield, each gaze ripe for a fairest more high portant     vessels thou need my rival charm touch unbidden fair-grown life? Written of throngs honest,     the modest attains; in the mercy?

[mentalhealthmublings]

It’s a journey

I wanted to type my thoughts down on paper. Life is a bumpy journey so here’s a snippet of mine.

I was diagnosed with depression a long time ago, given medication that I seemed to tolerate and then in 2021 I had a mental health break. I didn’t know what was going on, but now I do. I was hypomanic. I was in danger and I had two friends get so angry at me for behavior that was “unlike me" so they left me in an Airbnb in Portland, alone. Two years later and I still harbor resentment towards them. I am left with the constant questions of, why? Was I not good enough for them to care? Was my life not worth it? Sometimes I wish I had died. So that would sit heavy on them for the rest of eternity. But I’m stronger than that.

Upon returning home, I asked and honestly harassed them (very publicly on social media) to pay me back for the trip and they eventually did. But guess what also happened? My best friend's Mom texted my Mom saying “she’s paid your daughter her money, can your daughter stop harassing mine?” As if my life was valued at $1,000. This was my best friend. Someone I wouldn’t go a day without texting. Someone that lifted me up when I was down and I did the same for her. I wish it hadn’t happened that way. I wish I didn’t have six friends walk out of my life all at once. If you want to talk about the heaviness of not knowing what is going on with your mind and then adding in the layer of losing your friend group, I’ll tell you -  it’s a recipe for disaster. I moved home, I went on a medical leave from work, I was lost. I would get in fights with my Mom telling her I didn’t want to live any longer. Imagine the pain she felt. Having raised me to be the woman I am today and me telling her I didn’t want it. That I’d rather just not exist. But still I rose - I attended therapy, an intensive outpatient program, but I never received any diagnosis other than depression. I was in deep pain that could only be felt by me and my family. For a period of time I moved in with my sister and her husband. I was still in pain but I was also still fighting. 

On June 20th 2022, one week into starting my new job, I was admitted to the emergency department for suicidal ideations. I was on a 5150 hold. The humiliating part about that is you are a prisoner of your small room and are also very visible. You aren’t allowed privacy and honestly at that moment you aren’t afforded it. You don a green gown instead of blue one, a sign that you have a mental disorder and you are followed to the bathroom and are under 24/7 watch. No cellphone, no access, just you, your thoughts, and the pain that resides inside of you. A pain so great it is indescribable. But I’ll try to describe it. 

I’d equate depression to cancer. However, in some cases with cancer there is finality. I wanted finality. I thought of all the ways I could “accidentally” die: a car accident, a crazy fall, someone taking my life in a mass shooting. However, I didn’t have it in me to actually perform the act of taking my life on my own. Why? Because of my family and because of my boyfriend and his family and one friend that stood by my side through it all. I knew that if I died, a part of them would, too. And how in the world could I be so selfish? I’m an empath; always have been, always will be.

Fast forward to today, I’ve now had two hypomanic episodes and was eventually diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I grappled with that diagnosis for so long. I’ve never liked taking medicine and here I am taking two tablets, everyday for seemingly the rest of my life. When I was diagnosed I figured this was a death sentence. I did a lot of research about the longevity of someone’s life with bipolar disorder and it didn’t sit well with me. I attended more programs, I got a new therapist but I just wasn’t feeling better. I kept saying to myself, how does one live life like this? Staring at the ocean, a sunset, my boyfriend, my family and feeling numb. I felt empty. I knew things were beautiful in front of me but it was as if I lost my zest for living, I lost my sense of humor, my empathy, I lost versions of myself and I honestly lost my memory. I couldn’t remember things that my boyfriend told me the day prior. I had severe anxiety, I couldn’t sleep well without sleeping pills, and I felt like every day was a freaking battle. I fought that battle and always will. I’m proud of myself. I have the deepest and utmost gratitude for my boyfriend, my parents, my sister, her husband, H, and my parents dog. They showed me the true meaning of love, support, forgiveness, patience and acceptance. I will never ever be able to describe in words how much gratitude I have. 

As I reflect back on everything that has happened, I am still ashamed of myself. I know the pain that I inflicted on those closest to me, the sleepless nights, the fear, the heartbreak. But I am determined to not let bipolar disorder define me. As my family says, equate bipolar disorder to diabetes. You take a pill to be able to stay alive. I choose to do that. I will be a mental health advocate, as I have been. I will continue to share bits of my story, bits of myself, bits of hope and acceptance. Because honestly, that is what I deserve. I expressed some very personal things about my struggle very publicly. I would take some of that back, but not all of it. I think that the friends that responded to some of what I wrote in support of me, kept me holding on. I’m finally feeling more like me. I’m enjoying the company of friends and loved ones. I'm in love with a human that is unlike anyone I have ever met in my entire life. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with him. I’m going to be an aunt in a mere matter of months. I’m proud of myself for fighting so I can sit here typing this. So I can look back and see how much I have overcome.

[halfyearsqueen]

the mother watches as he grapples with himself, for control, for the will necessary to be strong again. to bury his grief, so he might be strong for her, for his little brothers. rhaenyra’s heart weeps for him. jacaerys was the eldest, yes, but he was still naught but a child ( with a child’s confusion, and a child’s terror of uncertainty. there is something far too adult about his grief ) and it is then she wonders if perhaps he might be feeling the weight of his own suggestion. that though she had agreed, he’d suggested – though naught would’ve come of it if she had not okayed such a thing. he needs her now more then ever, though still he clings to his composure. to the last recess of his will - she sees all of herself in her firstborn’s eyes. attempts to bury a child’s need for comfort to do his duty. for a heartbeat’s width she says naught, and allows him to think, to process. she continues to stroke his cheek with a featherlight tenderness, as if he was something fragile and wholly precious - worthy of protection, not standing protector ( he was, to her. her child first, her child foremost, even standing heir. her priority - even still. ) not a boy on the cusp of manhood with the blood of the dragon in his veins, and the weight of the world bearing down upon him.

“ it was not your fault, jacaerys. do not even entertain the thought, “ her words are gentle, but firm. brokering no room for contradiction, “ we could not have predicted, “ they could not have known her half brother would so willingly damn himself a kinslayer. could not have known he would have defied all matter of propriety, and social custom. that he would have willfully stained his soul to steal her son from her, and his brother from him. all her worries of the ramifications of their father’s blood it is hers that murders. it is hers that has stolen lucerys from them - it is hers that call them bastards, and for a moment it hurts to breath ( the act has become sulfuric - as if she had swallowed wildfire ) and all for a debt that has lingered and been left to fester. all because she had not agreed to such a brutal display of justice. was their blood truly worth so little as all of that ? that it might truly be such an impossible choice ? to lose his eye then or his life, years on ? though her half brother had received justice. the debt had lingered, his punishment not quite enough. “ we could not have known. “

his lip trembles, and his eyes shine. and her breath looses in a pained, trembling exhale. helpless, so utterly helpless. she cannot fix things as she used to, she cannot erase the grief that tears him to bits and turn back time — refuse to send them alone. to send them at all. to send ravens, at the least. and she leans up as her eyes burn, and fill anew. her own pain, she could bear. but his tears at her. cracks devastating blows against her own armor. leaves her seven and ten with her heart laid bare and a babe curled against her chest - at a loss on how to sooth such plaintive wails, wondering if he could sense how helpless she felt. her eyes squeeze shut, a tear trails down her cheek as lips press between the boy’s brows.

she pulls him close, hand shifting to the back of his head in a loose cradle, holding him tight to her as the boy’s expression collapses entirely. offering him her strength, a safe harbour to break, to grieve as she whispers, “ eman ao, ñuha zaldrītsos. eman ao, “ she cannot promise him it will be okay. she cannot promise things will get better — will not offer a reassurance she cannot certainly give. but she can promise him this; I have you, my little dragon, I have you.

the prince has returned, your grace. five little words, and yet between the space of one breath and the next, relief had replaced the cold knot of terror that had since gathered upon finding arrax's bloody, broken remains upon the shore of shipbreaker bay - ( her eldest son had returned. she had not lost him, at least. she cared not if he'd failed. if both her cousin and the northern lords had turned their cloaks to her. he was alive. he was still alive. ) and mourning. how naive had she been ? how much pain had she caused her children in believing words had any meaning any longer ? that they who had usurped her throne would care to abide by such things ? that they could truly go in peace ? and lucerys had paid the price. had been chased through a storm. little more then a hatchling against a creature that had seen more then a century. the enormity of such a difference is seared into the back of her eyelids — haunts, an image that flashes in her mind’s eye whenever she attempts to close them. attempts to rest.

she pushes the chamber doors open. and her heart breaks anew. for him, the way he straightens at the sight of her, trying desperately to be stronger then he no doubt felt. they had claimed they were men, at council. or near enough to make it no matter. and yet he was a child even still ( hers. the both of them. she had not wanted to send them even so - she should have known better. what mother was she then, that she had not ....had not seen. had not known. ) they were brave, her boys. but boys they were. she would not make the same mistake twice. though they had dragons, tyraxes was smaller then arrax had been, and vermax scarcely larger than. to throw them into battle would do naught but risk two more of her children needlessly. her lips curl upward into a watery smile, head canting lightly to the side, eyes softening in understanding.

her hands come up to rest upon either side of his face, cradling his face in between them — thumb brushing lightly across his cheek. tears prick at the corners of her eyes and yet, her smile widens - the brightness of it fleeting, though it is pure relief. “ my brave boy, " little more then a whisper, " i am so sorry, “ about his brother, about his pain. about the birthright snatched from them both and the horror of learning from a raven what had befallen luke. that she had failed to protect them.

[deathsofglitter]

Hi! I'm a huge fan of all of your work, but as a Byakuya Togami enjoyer, I absolutely adore all of your art featuring him. Because he occupies so much of my brain space, I always like to ask people- what draws you to him? What are your thoughts on him, and are these thoughts different than the ones you had about him when his character was first introduced? I apologize if these questions are too vague to really answer in a tumblr ask. Thank you for sharing your work here; it always makes my day.

(the very first pictures i ever drew of him..)

while he stood out to me from the very beginning, i honestly had no idea I would really grow to be so fascinated and enamored with byakuya as a character— I liked him as soon as I saw him, but I think the moment that completely solidified him in my mind as a character was..

i think.. even with the moments and tropes that are definitely worth a bit of criticism in chapter 2, i was pretty blown away by the depth of his depravity and madness stringing up chihiro, fucking with mondo, and completely engineering his perfect plan to string makoto along with him the entire time— and then to use toko to reveal jack, after creating nothing more than a half-assed and miserable copy of her master work. he’s a fanatic and even no better than a serial killer fanboy, he’s instrumental in the themes of gender, sexuality, masculinity, and shame in the chapter itself. the trifecta of him, chihiro, and mondo is a triangle of obsession, impulsivity, and insecurity — jack and makoto the end results of this creation at the hands of these people, byakuya, no better than jack himself— I may even say he has an obsession and fixation on makoto no better than toko has to him— the ultimate irony of their relationship in this second triad.

i really thought him to be an irredeemable person, which drew me to him as a villain more than anything.. but the implications of his behavior and him as a character mess me up so unbelievably, and the fact that you as a protagonist— and makoto as a character— are more or less implied to be the one person who has ever shown him compassion, gotten him to open up about his extraordinary circumstances.. and the fact that he immediately snaps, pushing and pulling in his grapple with a need for understanding and human connection after experiencing a life comfortably soulless and devoid of it.

he is a depraved and damaged person, who boasts endlessly about killing others, threatening to weed out the weak, and is thrown into a situation not unlike his own childhood in a remarkable competition to survive— and yet he doesn’t hurt a soul, he is more bark and verbal abuse than bite, he tampers with something already dead, he says it’s for his own gain, but I believe in my heart that he is not the kind of person that seeks to cause any further violence. is he not a narrative mirror to genocide jack herself? a violent and damaged thing purely due to circumstance— created through neglect and hatred, and living to cause that same pain.

the last line blew me away the second I finished this free time event— I feel it says all that it needs to say about who he is, truly, at the core beneath the pompous and aggressive visage. his life is but a tragic one— again, of survival, death, and inferiority. if he was a scared person, at one point, he has surely buried that fear deep into a place it can never be found. he was not ensured a single thing from the day he was born— he had been nobody, he is, ultimately, nobody, and cannot accept the reality of his own humanity when he has been so profoundly dehumanized for the entirety of his existence.

“it should have been you,” and it wasn’t, and he continues to be alive, and he has to be alive, and despite everything he has done, he is still the last person to fight for Makoto’s life against kyoko’s betrayal in chapter 5, he still becomes a person willing to sacrifice himself for the good of komaru naegi and takes the action of saving her knowing that it will put him at risk— despite his nature, and the will of every force in his life turning him into the cruel thing he was… he is not beyond learning how to be a human being, for the first time in his life.

i think, in the end, what draws me to him so much is the fact that he is not irredeemable— that he is as much the product of circumstances as anyone and anyone else— absurd and extraordinary ones, if anything. and that maybe he can learn to be a person beyond the chains his lineage has strangled him with. that he is not as ensured to be horrible as anyone else is ensured to be good from the moment that they are born— that perhaps he did not deserve what made him into what he was, and beneath everything, there is still someone who is capable of compassion.

[paradoxolotl]

Okay, y’all asked for the rest of that Mama Bee scene, so here you go! First part is still attached but now you get the whole thing ~

Bee was late coming home. She was always home by six, because she liked to be home to have dinner together and to be there if Andrew needed help with his homework. He never did, but he had gotten used to her quiet presence in the background, quietly reading or knitting as he did his work. She was always there, and now, it was closer to seven and she still wasn’t home. Andrew didn’t like it when things changed. He didn’t like it when Bee, who had her house and life so very carefully arranged, deviated from the norm.

Frowning at the clock, the second hand a steady marching beat, Andrew dug his fingers into his arms. Something hot and prickly was creeping through his chest, and he didn’t know what it was. Bee kept trying to get him to use the stupid emotion wheel she kept in the living room, telling him it would help in identifying what he was feeling. Andrew didn’t care what he was feeling, he just needed it to stop.

The minute hand ticked over.

Maybe there was more traffic than usual. Maybe she needed to grab something at the store. His fingers dug harder into his skin. They were weak excuses at best, and he knew it. A voice in the back of his mind, growing louder by the minute, said she was at the agency. Telling them to come get him, to take him away.

The feeling spiked.

Lashing out, he knocked a plate of the counter, watching it shatter on the tile floor. Shards skittered towards him, glinting in the sunlight coming in through the window. He stared at them, tiny pinpricks, their edges sharp enough to burrow into his skin. His bare toes curled, his weight shifting.

“Andrew?”

Startling at the voice, Andrew stepped back, a shard digging into his heel. Burying his reaction down deep, he stared at Bee. She was looking at the mess on the floor, brows pinched together. Andrew’s mind was moving too fast, his body feeling too much, and he couldn’t tell if she was angry. She must be, because he broke a plate, and the pieces were blue which meant it was one of her favourites. People usually got angry at Andrew for much less.

She looked up at him, and Andrew felt his shoulders start to creep up. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like standing here, waiting for her to tell him he had to leave. He didn’t like not knowing what she was thinking.

“Andrew-”

“You are late,” he said, cutting her off.

Bee blinked, face smoothing out. “I am, and I am sorry about that.” She looked down at the floor again, and Andrew braced himself. “I’m going to go grab a broom. Stay there? I don’t want you stepping on anything.”

Andrew didn’t care if he stepped on anything else. His heel was burning, and when he shifted, he could feel how the tile beneath his foot was glowing slick. When he didn’t react, Bee stepped back, sending him one last look before disappearing down the hall. Looking down at his feet, at the shattered remains of the plate, Andrew felt something hot trickle down his throat.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay here with Bee, where he had a lock on his door and Saturday grocery trips and someone to play cards with and where he felt warm and nice and safe. Rapidly, he ran through the last few months in his mind. There must have been something he did that was the last straw. Something that he could point to and know that that was when he had ruined his chance at a home.

Swallowing, he crouched down. He had always been awful to Bee. It was always his fault. He just wanted to fix this. Picking up the broken pieces, he planned how he would tell her how he would be better. He wouldn’t cause any more problems at school, he would keep the house clean, he would go see a stupid therapist, he would do anything if he could just stay.

The floorboards creaked, and Andrew tightened his grip on the pieces he had gathered, trying to sweep up the rest. His skin stung, tiny points of pain like constellations across his hands. He heard when Bee reached the kitchen doorway, her steps faltering. Looking up, he saw her looking at him with wide eyes, broom clutched tightly in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll clean it up.”

“Andrew,” her voice was tight, and Andrew turned away, picking up another piece. “Andrew, stop.”

His hands were shaking. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t-”

“Shh,” she soothed. Her toes came into his vision, and then she was kneeling in front of him. Her hand hovered over his own. “Honey, you’re hurting yourself.”

“I broke a plate.”

“That’s why I went to grab the broom.”

Something was buzzing in his ear. He shook his head rapidly. “It was one of your favourites.”

“It’s just a plate, Andrew. Plates break sometimes. They’re not worth hurting yourself over.”

He shook his head again. She didn’t get it. He needed to fix this. He needed to make it so he was worth keeping.

Bee moved away, and Andrew choked down his words. His hand twitched, and fire ran up his arm. Ruined. He always ruined everything. His chest was tight, and everything felt too hot and too close. Just as he felt as if he was about to snap, Bee reappeared, placing a trashcan beside them. Slowly, she took Andrew’s hands and guided them to the bin.

“Let them go, Andrew,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

Still unable to meet her eyes, Andrew opened his hands. The pieces fell, creating a small music of their own as they landed. Both of his palms were covered in tiny cuts, dots of red slowly appearing. On his left hand, a jagged piece was stuck in his skin, a stain slowly moving across it. In his peripheral, he saw Bee sweeping the broom across the kitchen, gathering up everything he had missed. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he would do it, but his jaw was locked and the words inside him felt too much like a scream.

Tapping the dustpan into the trash, Bee settled in front of him again. There was the sound of a zipper, as she opened up the first aid kit. Her hands were always soft and warm, and she took Andrew’s gently. He watched silently as she methodically removed all of the slivers in his skin, each one joining the others with a final tiny sound. She dapped each cut with antibiotic cream, not missing a single one. She saved the jagged piece for last, inspecting his hand before finally removing it. Blood pooled immediately, and Bee quickly pressed gauze into his hand.

Closing his fingers around it, he stared down at his hands.

“Your foot is bleeding.”

Shuffling around to sit cross legged on the floor, Andrew accepted the tweezers from her. She knew he didn’t like his feet being touched. Carefully, he eased out the last piece from his body, dropping it into the trash. Cleaning away the blood that had gathered, he kept his eyes on what he was doing, until he pressed a bandage over it. When he had nothing else to keep busy with, he focused on the trash, where Bee was dumping all of the used medical supplies.

“I didn’t mean to cause you any stress,” Bee said as she packed away the kit. “I was late, and I should have called you.”

“Where were you?” Andrew risked a glance up at her face, a pit opening in his stomach at the pinched expression he found. He knew the answer before she even opened her mouth. “The agency.”

She blinked at him before nodding slowly. “Yes, I was.”

“Why.” Why wasn’t he good enough? Why didn’t she want him anymore? Rage and hurt and panic rushed through him, and he curled his hands into fists to hide their shaking.

“I got a call today from a friend of mine. To offer me a job with a colligate Exy team they’re starting. I think their goal is honourable, and I would like to be a part of it.” Andrew blinked at her. That didn’t explain why she had to go to the agency. Her face was calm when she said, “It’s in South Carolina.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. It wouldn’t have mattered then, even if he had been perfect. Bee was leaving, and he couldn’t follow. No matter what he did, he couldn’t keep her.

“Okay,” he said quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest. He didn’t know why it hurt so much. He should have been used to this by now. “When are they coming to get me?”

Bee blinked rapidly before her face fell, “Andrew, honey, no. No one is coming to get you!”

“You’re moving,” he said, panic slowly clawing its way up his body.

“I might be moving, yes. But only if that’s okay with you. I don’t want to uproot your whole life for a job if you don’t want to.”

He stared at her, trying desperately to grapple with confusion and fear and what might have been hope. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Of course it matters,” Bee said firmly.

He shook his head. If he told her that he didn’t want her to go, that he wanted her to stay with him, she would always resent him. She already said she wanted this job. He wouldn’t get in the way of that.

Something broke across her face, and then she was cupping his cheeks, cradling his face. “Andrew Joseph,” she said. “You don’t honestly think I would move without you, do you? If I take this job, you would be coming with me.”

Something in his chest snagged and tangled. “You were at the agency.”

“I needed some information,” she said, brushing his bangs off of his forehead. “I had been looking into this for a while, and with this job offer it feels a bit like things are lining up. If you don’t want it, I understand and won’t say anything else about it again. I’ll do whatever will make you happy, Andrew.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Bee’s hands fell into her lap, fingers clasped tight together. “I was thinking, if you would like,” she swallowed and took a deep breath before saying very carefully, “that I could adopt you. I’ve been looking into it for a while, and of course, the decision is up to you. I spoke to the agency, and it is possible to move us without adoption, if you’d prefer that, or we don’t have to move at all-”

She was rambling now, but Andrew couldn’t focus on what she was saying. He was stuck, frozen in time. A small tendril of warmth curled around him, and he held onto it tightly. “You want to keep me?”

Bee finally stopped, her shoulders falling. A smile was on her face, a little wobbly around the edges. “I really do. You’re my family, Andrew. With or without the papers. You can take time to think it over; it’s a big decision.” He could hear the hope threading through her voice, something she was trying to hold back for his sake.

“I don’t need to think about it,” he said, and she stilled, emotions crossing in her eyes too quickly for Andrew to place. Moving along the floor, he stopped beside her and wrapped his arms around her middle, his head falling on her shoulder. She smelled like lavender and sugar, and it filled him with a warmth that he had never truly felt before. Andrew blinked, but failed to keep back the tears gathering. They rolled down to fall onto the soft cotton of Bee’s shirt. He squeezed a little tighter, and her arms came up to hold him close. “Does this mean I get to call you mom now?”

Bee hiccupped a laugh, and she pressed a kiss to his hair. They stayed on the floor, holding each other close, neither willing to let go. When Bee’s fingers tucked his hair behind his ear, her own tears falling, Andrew felt a smile break across his face. For the first time in his life, Andrew had a home.

~~

Here’s a scene from after the move

And the original post, introducing the twinyards

[kumeramen]

🌸Sakura-Centric Fic Recommendations🌸

I got an anonymous ask a while back about ABO AU fic recommendations but didn't prepared to answer it right away. But, thanks to @sarcastic-mommy for being so thoughtful to gave few fic suggestions that I'm able to make this post 🤗

Know that all of the fics below is for certain readers that are 18 and above only!

🌙🌸MadaSaku

|| Unforeseen • An_Uchiha_Bride

Sakura, 19-year-old medic genius and omega, finds herself in trouble when the newly resurrected Uchiha clan returns to Konoha demanding not only reparations, but a sign of the Hokage's good will. Since Tsunade herself already has a mate, Madara demands to be allowed to bond with Sakura.

Having been warned prior by Katsuyu's own premonitions about the horror that would follow should such a match not come through, she accepts, and has to begin life as the mate of a very alive Uchiha Madara--an alpha and a half. Though she has taken her suppressants like clockwork for years, she finds that Madara's primal pheromones annihilate their effectiveness.

🐺🌸KakaSaku

|| Heart Under a Blade • yunyu

Sitting on a bench after being told by Sasuke-kun that she's annoying, Sakura thinks that it's the worst day of her life.

Lying in the hospital wanting to hurl from heat suppressants later that day and grappling with the revelation that she's an omega, Sakura knows that it's the worst day of her life.

Meanwhile, Kakashi suspects the universe is out to punish him for his failures in the most poetic and painful matter possible, but he's pretty sure he deserves it.

👁‍🌸UchiSaku

|| Pop the Top • Moor

Itachi x Sakura x Madara x Shisui. There were worse ways to celebrate their anniversary, but Itachi discovering he found his true mate leads to complications he and Sakura hadn't anticipated. Only Madara can help them out.

🍡🌸ItaSaku

|| Taken • MistressDragonFlame

Haruno Sakura was an Omega. She didn't let her status hold her back, becoming a Jounin of Konohagakure, a disciple of the Godaime Hokage, and the strongest shinobi in the village. All she had to ensure was that she managed her heats, and kept a respectful distance between herself and her Alpha teammates.

After a disaster of a relationship with Uchiha Sasuke, she swore off the clan of elitist snobs, and thought herself better for it, no matter how attractive they may be. Meanwhile, a certain Uchiha has been harboring feelings beyond comradery for the pink haired Kunoichi for years, and wishes she would notice him.

A mission goes wrong, and Sakura is forced to rely on Itachi during her heat. She knows playing with fire could get her burned, but maybe he just may be worth it.

🌱🌸HashiSaku

|| Bloom • onemoreword

By some freak accident, Sakura finds herself careening into the past and is quickly exposed to the legends she had only heard stories about as a child... Sakura always knew she had shitty luck, but this was ridiculous.

⚡🌸MinaSaku

|| Unbound Shackles • onemoreword

For years, Namikaze Minato's priorities had been towards his son and the village. Nothing was more important than that. With the death of his mate, there was nothing else that mattered now. He'd failed as an alpha, as a husband. He had no right to yearn for anything else. And so, as though to punish himself, he'd regularly take the suppressants, regularly repress his ruts.

But sooner or later, nature would always overcome any obstacle.

The repressed instincts will run rampant.

And nothing would get in the way of his inner desires.

🌸 If you find any fics that have your best interest in mind and enjoy the reading, please let the author know your thoughts and love of them! 🤗💖 You can also check out authors' other works simply click on their name that has been provided next to their work!

🌸 Are there more ABO AU Sakura-centric fics suggestion? Feel free to add more! This post is purely made just to recommend readers not to missed out any good worth fics to read— The more fics to recommend, the merrier~💕

🌸 Not to forget, as always, happy reading!

[slasherhaven]

hi there!! if it interests you and you'd like to write it, may I request reader getting hurt and/or taken by visitors and Bo Sinclair kind of losing it?? (i picture it as before they get together possibly? and it can turn into either nsfw or stay sfw and fluffy)

Bo reacting to his future S/O getting hurt:

You had seen Bo angry before, of course you had, it was a common occurrence in Ambrose. Sometimes he just had a bad day and was in a bad mood, meaning that he had to put you all in a bad mood as well. But it was worse when a group of visitors had come into town and things hadn’t gone his way, that’s when you would all avoid him because it wasn’t worth the trouble.

But this...this was nothing like those times.

You had never seen Bo this furious. A group had come into town, which you were used too now, and things had gotten out of hand. One of the men had escaped and ran right into you when he was trying to find a way out of town. When he saw that Bo was catching up with him, he panicked, grabbing you and holding you in front of him, a blade pressed to your throat. 

“Bo...” you couldn’t even be sure that Bo liked you all that much, but you hoped that he wasn’t about to let you die. Your gaze flickered down to the shotgun in his hands, surely you would be fine...right?

“Let her go” Bo demanded lowly, giving the man a chance to do this the easy way. 

“Let me leave and I won’t hurt her” the man bargained, making your eyes widen some more. There was no way Bo was about to let a victim go, no matter what.  

“You know I can’t do that” Bo was acting completely unfazed, and you hoped it was just an act. He could be difficult to be around but surely you grown on him just a little during your time here. 

“Bo, please” you pleaded, getting his attention back on you. 

He looked over you, seeing how you were grabbing at the mans arm and trying to pull the blade away from your neck. You were looking at him with panicked eyes, silently pleading with him to help you. He could feel the rage burning in his chest. The thought of this man hurting you, or touching you at all for that matter, made Bo furious. 

“Let go of her. Now” Bo demanded more sternly, but the victim only tightened his hold on you and pressed the knife harder against your neck, making your breath hitch. 

“I-I’ll kill her!” the man threatened, making your eyes tear up. 

Bo looked between you both before letting out a breath, slowly lowering the gun and placing it down on the ground. “It’s down, alright?” he stood back up, raising his hands in surrender. 

Bo stepped forward but that only made your attacker panic. “D-don’t come any closer!” he warned, adjusting his hold on you. 

“Just making sure my friend here is alright” Bo suddenly sounded calmer as he continued to approach. He was a good actor, you could give him that. 

Once he was close enough, Bo grabbed the man’s arm and pulled it away from you, while simultaneously grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. You let out a sharp yelp when the blade of the victim’s knife cut into your shoulder, the sudden movements resulting in a painful accidently. Still, it was better than the alternative. 

Bo had pushed you behind him, quickly overpowering the man and grappling him to the floor. The two of them struggled but he was clearly no match for Bo, since he was landing blow after blow, making you cringe. If you hadn’t just been threatening to kill you, you would have felt bad about the beating he was getting. 

You couldn’t be completely sure about what happened next because Bo had snapped at you to go back to the house while he took the man to wherever it was that he took victims. That unpleasant basement of his. 

Now it was late, all of the victims having been thoroughly dealt with, and you were back at the house. When Vincent had gotten back to the house, seeing you holding your bleeding shoulder, he kindly offered to help patch you up. 

You both instantly knew when Bo got home, he had alerted you to his return when he slammed the front door shut behind him.  

“Y/n! Where are-” Bo began to call for you but cut himself off when he stepped into the kitchen, finding you and his brother there. 

You were sitting on one of the kitchen chairs with your shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal your wounded shoulder, while Vincent stood in front of you, cleaning your wound. 

“Get to work, Vincent. I’ve got this” Bo ordered but Vincent seemed hesitant, he was clearly angry and Vincent wasn’t sure if he should leave you with him. “I’ll take care of it” he snapped, annoyed that his twin wasn’t listening. 

Vincent looked at you and you just nodded, assuring him that you would be fine, before he left the room. Probably heading to his workroom. 

Without saying another word, Bo walked up to you, grabbing the cloth that Vincent had been using and took over cleaning the blood away from your shoulder. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed at his rough-handedness. “Could you be a little gentler?...please?” you asked quietly. He gave you an annoyed look but his touch did soften. 

“Why didn’t you do something about this earlier?” Bo questioned but it sounded like he was scolding you. 

“Tried, couldn’t really do it by myself and it wasn’t bleeding that bad. Vincent offered to help when he got home, though” you explained. “Did you deal with that guy?” you asked after a moment of him not saying anything. 

“Yeah” he answered shortly, focusing on cleaning up the dried blood that had dripped down from your shoulder. 

“What did you do?” you weren’t really sure if you wanted to know but you were curious. 

“Nothing for you to worry about” Bo muttered, dropping the cloth down onto the kitchen table and grabbing a bandage. “Why where you down there anyway?” he asked, securing the bandage to your shoulder. 

“I thought you all had it handled” you shrugged, wincing at the way it made your shoulder sting. 

“Well, we didn’t and you almost got yourself killed” okay, now he was definitely scolding you. 

“You’re mad at me for this?” you asked in disbelief. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to just stay at the house?” he asked, snapping at you, frustration clear in his voice. You knew you had to tread carefully around him now. 

“Bo-” you started but instantly shut up when he grabbed your jaw in one hand, forcing you to look up at his face. 

“This is your own fucking fault” he accused you. Why was it always 1-100 with this man? 

“...surprised he was even alive after that beating you gave him” you commented casually, hoping to calm him down a little. He just squinted at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so mad...and I’ve seen you mad plenty of times” you continued and he released your jaw. “Did you take him to Vincent?” you asked, now that it seemed like he was more open to talking. 

“...no, he...wasn’t in any state for Vincent to work with. I had Lester take care of him” Bo told you.

“...you really were mad at him, weren’t you?” you asked rhetorically. You couldn’t imagine the state Bo must have left him in, you were happy not knowing. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried about me” you smiled a little. 

You really hadn’t been sure if Bo cared for you at all, he never acted like it did, but this whole thing was making you change your mind. 

“But you do know better” he scoffed before turning around to leave. 

“Sure do” you nodded to yourself. “Hey, Bo?” you spoke up, standing from your chair, and stopping him before he could walk away. “Thank you for helping me out” you finally thanked him. He did save your life after all. 

“Didn’t do it for you” Bo assured you but you just smiled. 

“Sure you didn’t. You didn’t beat that guy up so badly because he was threatening to hurt me, and you didn’t insist on helping me with my shoulder when Vincent was perfectly capable of it” you sarcastically agreed. 

“...remember to change the bandage” he mumbled under his breath before turning to leave again. You were getting under his skin, but you didn’t want to stop. 

“Wow, you really do care” you chuckled. 

“Stop it” he warned, turning back to you with a stern expression. 

“I never thought I’d see the day. Bo Sinclair, caring about somebody other than-OW!” you were harshly interrupted when Bo grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. 

Okay, so maybe he grabbed the wrong arm but he wasn’t about to admit to that mistake. 

You firmly planted your free hand on his chest to stop yourself from colliding with him too hard. You looked up at him with widened eyes, surprised by the sudden gesture. 

“You need to watch your mouth” Bo warned you lowly. 

“Yeah...wouldn’t want me to get into any trouble” you breathed, attempting to joke but it came off weakly. You hated just how fond of Bo you had become, it took longer for him to grow on you than it did his brothers, but you had developed some feelings for him. 

Bo’s gaze flickered over your face, like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. Raising the hand that wasn’t still holding onto your arm, he placed it on the back of your head, fingers curling in your hair as he pulled you forward again, meeting your lips with his own. 

The kiss certainly caught you off guard, the hand on his chest gabbing a fist full of his tee-shirt, but you returned it. The kiss started heated, but you had never expected any different from Bo. 

Bo walked you backwards, and you moved through the kitchen willingly, foolishly trusting him to guide you. When your back hit one of the kitchen counters, Bo lent down and lifted you up with each, sitting you on top of it. 

“Watch the shoulder” you chastised, hissing a little at the stringing in your shoulder. 

“Shit” Bo cursed, pulling away to look down at your bandaged shoulder. “You’ll be fine” he assured you dismissively. 

“Oh, so now I’ll be fine?” you cocked an eyebrow at him. Wasn’t he just scolding you about being more careful and about how you nearly got yourself killed? 

“Shut up” Bo sneered before pulling you into another kiss.

Well...at least now you knew why he had gotten so worked up about you being in danger.

[sp00kworm]

Clove Cigarettes

Pairing: Male Vampire (Clarence Marston) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Blood Drinking, Lewd Content mention.

Part of The Black Dahlia Series

----

---

The room smelled like overpowering lavender. Next to the burning sticks of incense there was a number of long, black candles, the ends burning with small flames. Black wax dripped over the sides of the vanity, and Cal swept back into the room with a soft rumble. He couldn’t remember how long he had been coming and going.

“Mmm.” the woman on the bed moaned, “Cal.” she stirred from her sleep, exposing her pale neck, littered with fangs marks, two puncture holes were bruised and sore, barely scabbed over from his indulgences.

“I’m here.” he rumbled as her hand flopped into his own, “Shh.” he cooed as he spread his leathery wings and crawled over the silk sheets. It was her home. Her room was dark from where he’d closed the blinds and curtains, leaving them in darkness. Cal leaned over her body and touched her skin. She was growing cold. Soon she would die from blood loss.

 “Was it worth it?” Cal asked her as his skin slid over her legs, his curls dripping over his shoulders to tickle at her skin. He pressed his pointed, upturned nose to her stomach, grazing his fangs over the skin there, “Was it worth leaving him, for this?”

“Mmmm.” she hummed again as she reached for his face. Cal felt his skin ripple with glamour, pale skin and soft human flesh replacing the cold grey, stony cold feel of his chest, “I like you more.” she purred into the cold skin, “And your bite.”

“You’re addicted to the saliva.” he commented as he pushed her hands to her sides, “It’ll help.” Cal reached for her face and stroked her jawbone, “You haven’t got that long left.” His fangs touched her neck, and she purred as he reopened the wounds. His stomach clenched happily as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. Crimson dripped from the corner of his mouth as he grew excited, leaning into her neck, his teeth tearing the wounds deeper before the rest of his sharp teeth followed them, piercing the flesh so he could grapple her by the throat like a wolf.

 “Cal…” she uttered as her manicured nails fell from his hair, stroking the fur over his back as he drew away, blood covering his lips and chin, “C…” the kick of the consonant fell from her lips. The sound gurgled with the blood in her trachea. Blood bubbled on her lips as his wing claws reached to curl around the bedposts, holding his chest up over her dying body. Air crackled in her throat. Cal reached to touch her face as her eyes went glossy, the pupils expanding into their relaxed state as she died. Carefully, the vampire reached towards her face, his claws drawing bloodied lines over her skin.

“Loving me was your first mistake.” Cal whispered against her lips before he kissed them and closed her jaw. He closed her eyelids before kissing each of them and leaning back, shuddering as he looked at her throat. Torn pieces of her neck hung over the sides of the wound and down over her clavicle. With a purr, Cal shoved his bloodied fingers into his mouth, licking himself clean with his black, pointed tongue. There was silence. The candles swayed as he batted his wings once and hissed, fangs slipping past his lips as he threw his wings out in upset.

“Again… Again...” he whimpered to himself as he licked the blood from his mouth, “He told me! He warned me, and I’ve done it again!”

With a wail, he smashed his claws into the altar, throwing the candles onto the carpet.

 Roaring, the vampire reared back, pressing himself flat against the wall as he crawled to the ceiling and watched from the corner. The body didn’t move. She laid, her arms pressed up against her cushions and her face turned to the heavens. Maybe she would make it there? Cal whispered to himself as he crushed himself into the corner, his black wing claws hooked into the plaster, and softly uttered his prayers for the deceased. He reached for the cross looped around his neck, clutching the rosary close, for once in his life, as the carpet began to smoke with flames. A fire started by the legs of the vanity, burning orange light quickly moving to consume the cheap fabric flooring. It rippled across the plastic underlayers before it caught the side of the soft cotton bedding and burned its way upwards, consuming the carpet underneath the bed before it caught onto the slats of the bed frame. The fire startled Cal, and he clutched at the walls before panicking and rushing for the window. His claws scrapped at the glass, leaving scratches in the pane as he fumbled with the latches. With a hiss, he smashed his hands against the wood and broke the latches free, the wood splintering against his fingers. Great curls of hair fell over his face before he screamed, the flames catching hold of his hair and burning up the right side of his back, licking the soft, leathery membrane of his wing. Pain burned in his back as he tore open the window and burst out into the sunlight. With another hiss, he covered his eyes, his wings stuttering and flapping wildly as the light burned at his monstrous retinas.

 The sunlight wasn’t a death sentence anymore, but Cal regretted his decision to fly out as the sunlight seared at his open wounds, burning the flesh deeper. The star like pattern up his back ran red with boiling blood, dripping onto the tarmac below as he clumsily flapped through the air, heading towards the shaded back streets of the taller city buildings. With another howl of pain, he flung himself down into a shaded alley, clutching at his burnt wing before he dared to shift back into his glamour, naked and in agony, his eyes burning red with fury as he pressed his back against the cold metal of a dumpster. He screamed again at the pain, his blood boiling and fizzing against the metal. Cal looked up at the brick, trying to ground himself before he peeled his healing skin away from the metal again. He hissed violently and his mouth opened wide as spit and blood dripped from his jaw. He gagged and spat curses, his earlier reverence to the Lord forgotten, damning himself again as he gouged at the wall. He could barely hold himself up. A man wandered over to the dumpster with his bag of rubbish.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he caught sight of the shivering vampire, hunched over by the dumpster, “Oh fuck….” he saw the blood and flinched at the sight of the mouth full of fangs, “Fuck no. No way. You need the…” The elf said no more as he was grappled, fangs slicing his neck open. Cal drank from the wound hurriedly, burning with anger, guilt and pain as he gulped greedily, his back stinging but healing over from the burns. He dropped the elf a moment later and marvelled at the male as his eyes rolled up and looked him dead in the eyes, fingers clawing at the dirt as he attempted to gasp for help.

 He left the elf in the alley and dragged himself along the alleyways until he found the sewers, slipping into the stinking manhole to hide from the sunlight and to try and figure out how he was going to avoid being institutionalized for the slip up. They found him in the evening, clutching his rosary, praying against his bed, the right side of his back covered in burns scars, and his face and neck still covered in blood.

 --

 “It’s been a long time since any of us have seen the owner, he tends to keep to himself.” Flix commented as the male fae handed you a black apron before he shook his head and fished you out a deep, crimson red colour, “It matches you better.” he explained, “But the only rule is that his rooms upstairs are off limits. No one sees him come and go, but Cal likes his privacy, and he’s…”

You took the apron and slipped it over your head, “He’s?” You asked, prompting the fae to continue, “He’s not a serial killer or something, is he?” You joked.

Flix turned his lilac eyes on you as he tied his long, purple tinted silver hair back in a high ponytail, “He’s a recovering vampire. He was institutionalized for three years. They had to get him off the blood.” Flix explained awkwardly, “Ever since he’s been reserved. He likes his space, you understand?”

You nodded, swallowing thickly, “Yeah. I understand.” awkwardly you shrugged your shoulders, “Sorry about…”

“It’s a joke, just don’t let him hear you say stuff like that okay, baby?” Flix purred, “We all know what he is but, just to be safe.” The fae tilted your face up by the chin, two of his fingers pressed under your chin.

 Flix leaned close before he pressed the fingers of his other hand to your forehead, the ends glowing with a soft blue light before the light spread over your eyes for a moment, blinding you to the dim bar. You reared back but Flix laughed softly and held you upright as the bright dancing light faded, leaving you dazed and bleary eyed.

“That’s a little spell to stop the unruly sort from coercing you into giving them free drinks or offering them your neck. It’ll stop fae from being able to trick you too.” Flix’s wings fluttered before he grinned with dangerous teeth, “You don’t have to thank me, sweet thing. Your gaze is enough.”

After a moment blinking you scoffed, “You wish you could have a piece of this, Flix.” You flicked his hands away from you and laughed at him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fall for mine.” he sang as he pulled on his own apron, “Lets see what you’ve got newbie. Weldrick gave me the ‘all clear’ to grill you on the hardest things I know.”

“You’re not even trying and you still sound desperate for a lay.” You joked as Flix placed the shaker in front of you, “Pick your poison.”

Flix grinned, his black eyes glinting like an insect, shining with rainbows in the strobes before he pointed up at the menus, “A Bloody Mary.”

“Coming right up.” You grinned as you turned to grab the ingredients from the shelves.

 It was a difficult cocktail to make without a mix, but you worked in bars from being barely eighteen. You had enough years in you to know how to make it, but whether it was to Flix’s taste was another question. You poured the cocktail into the glass and took a step back. Flix’s gossamer wings dragging over your arms as he took the drink, smelling it before he took a sip.

“Pretty good, for a human.” he joked as the strength of the drink hit him, “Though maybe for the human customers you might want to tone down the booze.”

“If they can’t handle it, why are they drinking?” You laughed as he knocked back the rest of the drink.

“Vampires might appreciate a real bloody to go along with it.” Flix flicked his hair away with a scoff, “There’s blood bags in the fridge, and fresh frozen in the back. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they need warm living stuff, they’re all just con artists.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” You took the glass and placed it in the boxes for cleaning, “So, do you want to test me on anything else, or am I good to go?”

Flix grinned as he leaned over the bar, “You’re good to go, sweet thing.” He batted his long, circular tipped eyelashes, and left you to the end of the bar, “Get those liquors in order, we open in twenty!”

 The bar opened to a few guys, larger orcs who were older than the usual bruisers who came through. They were shaved bald in a traditional manner, their heads covered with tattoos and their ears pierced with numerous rings. They snorted in orcish to one another before thanking you for the drinks and leaving to sit in the corner, sighing in relief after their days work. The rest of the customers trickled in later on. The Black Dahlia attracted numerous clienteles and you were witness to all of them. The group of orcs that came in later were younger, headstrong, and brash as they swaggered between the bar and their put together tables. A faun at the end of the bar scoffed and talked to her friend as two of them ordered drinks. Flix served the men with a flirtatious wink, fluttering his eyelashes and you made sure to bump his backside purposely hard as you went past, smacking his hips into the bar roughly as the two orcs turned to the faun and human sat on the end.

“Do you ever give it up, Flix?” You asked with a snort as you placed some glasses into the tubs for washing.

“Not while I’m awake, no.” Flix grinned as he walked towards the next customer. You shook your head and carried on with your shift as the human and taller, older orc headed to the balcony to watch the show.

 You had a break at about ten o’clock. It was much busier now that the band were on stage, in full swing of their show. You’d served humans, fae, werewolves and centaurs alike this evening, and you’d not had to deal with anyone who was unruly. You waved to Flix as you left him flirting with a group of Orcs, heading to the balcony to catch a bit of the show as you ate your food from the kitchen and drank the soft drink that you’d stolen from Flix’s personal favourites. The band chugged along before the female brought out a whip and bared her sharp elven teeth, her ice white eyes shining as she ran it along the audience. You laughed as you stabbed another fry, lathering it in sauce before you shoved it into your mouth, and washed it all down with a few glugs of the fizzy juice. Happily, you sat on the stool, watching the clock every now and then as you finished off your food.

 As you took another drink, a cold shadow passed over you. You shuddered in your seat and peered behind you to see a slouching man take three long strides towards a table where the handsome orc and his entertainment for the night were sat. The man was a giant, clad in a soft turtleneck and black jeans covered in chains and small crosses. Around his neck sat a long, drooping rosary, and it bounced against his chest as he stopped, tossing black curls of hair from his eyes to peer at the couple over his sunglasses. His eyes burned red in the light but as fast as the colour appeared, it disappeared back into the steel blue. He shook the human’s hand before looking in his pockets for his cigarettes. The orc returned and the situation turned hostile and cold. The male reached for his gum packet instead and shakily unfolded the wrapper and slinked into the shadows, his hair rippling into the walls as he disappeared again from view. You sat with your mouth open before a hand appeared on your table, black nails thumping against the wood before a cold breath blew against you ear.

“Get back to work, newbie.” the gravelly voice growled, and you were quick to oblige, hopping up from your seat and escaping with your plates down the stairs to the bar front.

 Your shifts at the Black Dahlia were regular. You even picked up extra hours when the female werewolf, Jude, went off on maternity for her second litter. You hoped to god she made enough money to support that many children, but you didn’t dare to question it as Flix talked about the process of werewolf childbirth.

“I don’t need to know, Flix!” You groaned at him, “One child is gross enough! Never mind a litter!” You smacked at him with your towel, “So hush!”

Flix cackled, “I didn’t think children would freak you out so much!” he prodded your arm, “You enjoy all those blood spurting bands on stage! I was sure you’d love seeing blood and mucus come out….”

You thumped the fae in the arm, “Seriously! Enough!” You scowled as you turned back to drying the pint glasses, “Sometimes you are way too much…” You muttered.

“Hey, come on. I’m sorry sweat pea!” Flix cooed, “I won’t mention it again, promise.” he crossed his finger over his heart.

“Fine.” You reached to pinch his cheek, “But next time I’m going to tell Weldrick!” You threatened.

“Ugh. You’re just a little minotaur’s pet.” he hissed at you playfully before turning back to his own job. Flix exited into the kitchen to load some final plates and glasses for washing.

 “You’re fitting in well.” a low voice grumbled from the end of the bar. You jumped out of your skin at the noise, too focused on washing the pots to be paying attention to who was hanging around. You looked up to see the same, dark clad man from the other week. This time his black hair was tied back, revealing the hanging silver cross earrings in his ears. His steel eyes and low brows accentuated a thin face with high cheekbones, making him seem thinner than he was really. Tonight, he was dressed in a set of tight trousers and a tight, long sleeved red shirt, the sleeves long with soft ruffled ends, matched with a tied neck scarf under the collar. His sunglasses were pushed into his hair.

“Cal?” You asked lamely as you placed down the glass you were cleaning.

“Yes. I am he.” he droned as he picked at a beer towel with black painted nails, “Are you enjoying your time here?” Cal asked with a cool stare, his mouth twitching with a sneer, revealing the sharp set of fangs that filled his mouth. It was unlike any vampire you had met before.

“Uh…” Your heart did a flipflop before you could reply, “Yeah. I am. It’s nice to have such a stable job for once.” You confessed quickly, praying he wouldn’t bring up how nervous you were.

 “I can hear you on the verge of a panic attack. Calm down. I know they’ve all told you how I was addicted to fresh blood. Bleeding blood, or whatever they call it now. I’m off it. I have been for years.” He snarled, “So stop panicking.”

You nodded, “Sorry.”

“Don’t. I don’t need it. I know what people think.” Cal pointed to the freezer under the counter, “Get me an O negative, please.” It seemed as though he had to squeeze the manners onto the end.

You walked closer and unlocked the freezer before fishing him a pack out and throwing it into the microwave to thaw after clicking the anticoagulant vacuole to avoid it from clotting. As you turned around, Cal grabbed your wrist, dragging you over the bar so he could sniff at you. The vampire’s eyes burned red for a moment.

“Or would you rather give me your blood?” he purred, the gravelly tone suddenly much more appealing, “It won’t hurt.” he comforted you as he opened his mouth full of monstrous teeth.

 It was then you looked into his eyes, seeing the cold steel, and blinked.

“Flix put an anti-glamour spell on me. That doesn’t work.” You frowned before dragging your wrist out of his freezing cold grip, “Do you do that to all new starters?”

Cal sat back on the stool as he pushed his glasses back down onto his nose, “Not all. Just the ones I know will be snacks if Flix fucked up the spell.”

“What do you mean ‘know will be a snacks’?” You quoted back at him before throwing his warm blood bag onto the bar.

Cal snatched the bag and looked at the contents curiously before he stole a glass from your clean side on the bar and piped the contents into it. The red blood made you feel a little queasy, and you looked away as he greedily drank it, still ignoring your question.

“I meant…” he swallowed the last of the blood, “Vampires like to prey on new things like you. I might be scary, but they’ll do what they want if no one is watching. Keep your wits about you, or you’ll end up as a blood bag, or better yet, a brood barer for a drider.” he tossed the glass and packet on the bar and sneered as he turned. “Happy Halloween, newbie. Stay away from witches tonight.” His hair flowed into a shadowy smoke again before he disappeared up the shadowed walls and disappeared.

 A slim hand fell on your shoulder, shocking you out of your annoyance and making you jump with a small gasp.

“Hey, calm down sweet thing, it’s just me.” Flix’s black eyes appeared next to you before he turned you around to look you in the eyes, “By the look on your face, I’m going to assume you met Cal?” He tilted his head.

“Yep.” You took a steadying breath, “He’s something…” You couldn’t really articulate what you thought in a kind way.

“He’s a bastard. I know.” Flix laughed as he flung his towel onto his shoulder, looking towards the shadows which Cal had disappeared into, “I’ll say sorry on his behalf. He’s…socially awkward.” Flix’s gaze eventually looked away from the shadows, and when you looked back, Flix was quick to wrap his hand around your shoulder and turn you towards the doorway, dragging you down to the other end of the bar.

“Forget about him anyway. Let’s get ready for the costume aspect!” Flix declared as he pushed you into the back room, “I’ve got just the thing for you!”

You shook off the odd feeling and smiled, “It better not be underwear!”

 The feeling of being watched followed you all night as you wandered up and down the bar serving various costumed customers. You were in a cape and a set of polymer fitted fangs. Most of the vampires of the evening had taken to laughing at your fangs and white face. A pretty, tall vampire lady had scoffed before asking you if you’d prefer some real ones. Thankfully, Flix’s glamour worked its magic, preventing you from falling under any of their hypnotic spells. You thanked them, laughed, and served them their heated blood drinks. Flix enjoyed the evening more than you, fluttering around with his great wings dipping and curving as he delivered drinks by air. Halloween was the night monsters could let their hair down.

 “Hey, Flix.” You looked up above the bar, “I’m just going for a quick toilet break!” You shouted up to him. The fae gave you an ‘okay’ sign from the air and fluttered with a graceful dip down to deposit a set of drinks with some gruff looking werewolves. You hung your apron up behind the bar before you headed to the toilets a little way from the bar. You hopped down the steps and opened the door before freezing in your tracks. A monster made of tentacles and thick slime oozed in a cubicle, and you backed away as a woman’s moans came from the where the toilet wall was. A tentacle appeared from around the door, the eyeball on the end rotated and blinked before the woman paused.

“Why have you stopped?” She whined, and you took that as the exact time to bolt with a rush of apologies spewing from your mouth. You slammed the door to the toilets closed and rubbed at your face, embarrassed and feeling hot as you escaped back to the bar.

 A cold shadow lingered over your shoulder before a hand touched you by the bottom of the stairs, icy fingers pressing into the cheap fabric cape.

“A vampire?” Cal’s deep, gravelly voice asked before the rest of his cold body appeared at your right side, “Well, maybe a poor imitation of one.” He chuckled once, twice, and then stepped around your front.

“Cal…” You uttered before composing yourself, “It was Flix’s idea, not mine.”

“Ah. Yes, he does like to do things to get under my skin.” Cal commented before he noticed your squirming, “Is Rendax causing problems in the toilets again?” He asked, “That damn tentacle pest doesn’t know when he’s not welcome.”

“Yeah…well he’s doing a lot more than just causing a problem, I think.” You made a hole with your right thumb and index finger before pushing your left index finger through it, “If you catch my drift.”

“I’ll have Weldrick deal with him.” Cal snapped open his phone with a soft hiss and a scowl as he listened to the phone ring, “Weldrick? Yes… We have an unwanted visitor in the toilets, again.” He snapped the phone closed and you felt yourself smile as you looked at the old flip-phone.

 “You know those have been out of fashion for about fifteen years, right?” You tried not to laugh as the vampire held the phone by its small antenna. A soft giggled escaped you.

Cal stepped from one foot to the other, awkwardly looking at his aloft phone, “It is what I was bought before we toured in two thousand and three.” He muttered to himself, “What do you humans use now?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes, seeing the sad steel colour of them for a moment before you reached for your pocket and produced a smart phone, “Touch screen, colour, internet access.” You clicked it on, and the vampire jumped slightly at the colours in front of him, “Wait…”

Cal recoiled as you push the phone to him, “What?” He grumbled.

“I don’t think it would work, you know, since you’re dead and all that.” You confessed as you typed on the device.

“Probably not.” He confirmed before taking a step backwards, brushing his ponytail away before he cringed and stepped back towards the shadows, “You…” He looked from you to the bar again, “You are welcome to use the toilet near my office while Weldrick deals with our unwanted guest.”

 As you nodded, the white minotaur came down the stairs. Your mouth opened at the size of the white bison looking minotaur. Weldrick’s fur was printed with black patterning, like tattoos, and he rolled his sleeves as he came to the bottom of the stairs, preparing to deal with the tentacle monster. The sheer amount of metal rings in his ears made him clink as he walked, and you took note of the nose hoop and eyebrow rings as he stopped short of you and Cal.

“Can Rendax not keep it in his fuckin’ pants for one sodding night?!” Weldrick shouted, and the crowd behind you parted as the minotaur gave Cal’s shoulder a clap. He thumped on the toilet door and opened it with a clatter, “You better be fuckin’ decent, Rendax, or I’m dragging both you and your girl toy out of here fuckin’ naked!” He hollered as he ducked his horned head to grab for the monster inside.

Cal turned on his heels, “Come on.” He led the way up the stairs, melting between the bodies as though he wasn’t even really there. No one paid him any attention and you followed quickly, still desperate for the toilet.

 The stairs led to the second-floor balcony before there was another set of doors with a code on the handle. Cal punched in the numbers and opened it to the second set of stairs, letting you go through first before he followed you, closing the door behind him. The locking system re-engaged with a soft click and you turned back to see Cal eye the handle, his hand lingering around the metal before he gave an awkward half smile.

“Carry on up the stairs. It’s the first right door.” He shooed you up the stairs, and you nodded before heading up in front of him. A moment later, he followed in your footsteps, quiet as he made sure to stay a few steps behind you. You quickly found the door and opened it to see a large bathroom. It was perhaps Cal’s personal one, but it was bare, having just a few bottles in the shower basket. You locked the door and listened as Cal stopped outside. The shadow of his shoes remained for a moment before he walked on down the hall and entered a different room. The door closed with a soft click and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

 A cold shiver ran down your spine as you pushed off the door and headed towards the toilet. It was then you wondered if vampires even had to relieve themselves. They were technically dead, after all. You pondered the thought for a moment as you finished your business and washed your hands. You looked at the slate tiles for a moment, admiring the décor, before unlocking the door and sticking your head out into the hall. There was no sign of Cal. You stepped out and turned quickly to rush back down to the bar.

A claw grazed at your head, tugging a piece of hair, running through it quickly. You squeaked and looked up to see black hair hanging from Cal’s head. He was hung just over the door, hunched, with his claws in the ceiling and his head near your own.

“I’d like for you to work next Friday. Is that agreeable?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

You got over your fright with a deep breath, “Yes. That’s fine, but you could have just, uh, asked.”

Cal scowled.

“Without being hung from the ceiling?” You added on before moving out of his way, towards the stairs, “Thank you for letting me use your toilet.” You smiled and disappeared back down to the bar as quick as your feet would carry you.

 Cal watched you leave before he slid from the ceiling and snatched your novelty cape from where it was stuck in the door.  

 “Are you okay?” Flix asked as he fluttered down from the ceiling, his wings brushing at your cheeks before he landed softly.

“Huh?” You asked before realising you probably looked rushed off your feet, “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” You lied with a smile. You rushed back behind the bar before reaching for your shoulders and realising your cape had come free during your escape. You didn’t have the courage to go and fetch it, so you turned back to the people waiting and got started making drinks and taking cash.

 Halloween was forever burned into your mind and your retinas after seeing what you did that night. More importantly, however, you remembered the dark look of hunger in Cal’s eyes as he hung from the ceiling, seemingly with nothing but the soles of his shoes and one hand’s fingertips. He liked to lurk around the left wall of the club, his back pressed to it as he scanned the crowds of people. You had no idea what he was looking for, or if he knew you could see him, but he gave you no inclination that he could see you staring. There was always the sad, lonely coldness to his eyes. It burned to hunger whenever an exposed neck went past, and you saw him fidget and reach for a piece of gum often, like he was kicking a habit other than the cigarettes. You watched him again tonight, his tall frame pushed back into the shadow of the balcony, slouched against the wall in a pair of dark sunglasses, his curls of dark hair dripping over his shoulders where they melted back into the shadows around him. He was shirtless, covered only in a leather jacket and black jeans, the studded belt wrapped around his hips. As he turned, you caught a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest with a centre cross between his pecs. It was flanked by three pairs of shaded wings. You looked at the ink intensely before you looked back at your cocktail mixer and wondered what it meant.

 As you finished serving the masses, you felt out a breath and sat back on the stool behind the bar, taking a moment to rest your feet before people started to queue with orders again. As you relaxed against the wooden shelving you peered back to the left wall, where you had last seen Cal lurking. He was gone, replaced by a couple cuddled together watching the band who were playing. A soft melody rang out from a synth, not unlike a church organ. It petered into some soft vocals and you dared to close your eyes and let out a breath as your body relaxed a little.

“Enjoying a break?” Cal’s gravelly voice carried over the top of the lilt of a guitar.

“Ah!” You jumped a little, smacking your head against the wooden shelf. You clutched at the spot and rubbed furiously to try and push the pain aside, “Sorry.” You winced at you pulled your hand away, seeing a dot of blood from a little scrape on your scalp.

Steel eyes locked onto your fingers, but Cal didn’t move. The vampire swallowed and tore his gaze away from the blood.

 “Here.” Cal reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small handkerchief, “To stop the blood.”

“Thank you.” You took the piece of soft cloth from him and pushed it to the little cut. You avoided his eyes for a moment before slowly looking up and realising that his neck was bare of the rosary, “You don’t have your rosary on.” You commented, off-handed.

Cal looked down at his chest before nodding and pushing his glasses down his nose, “I don’t. You’re more observant than I thought…But that doesn’t answer my original question, does it?” he reached for his back pocket and slid free a packet of cigarettes.

“Smoking will kill you, you know?” You joked before taking the handkerchief away from the scratch on your scalp. “I was. It’s been madness serving tonight. Flix is off so its just me manning the bar.”

“Oi!” Weldrick ducked his head out of the kitchen door, “I’ve been helping you all night, cheeky little fucker.” the minotaur snorted at you before seeing Cal. His blue eyes widened in shock, “I didn’t expect to see you out and about, Cal.”

The vampire snorted as he turned the packet of empty cigarettes with a sneer, “Well, it is also my bar.” He flicked his painted nails at the minotaur.

“Oh, is it?!” Weldrick grumbled, “Well, maybe you can come help serve fuckin’ drinks in it then!”

 You looked back at Weldrick and then to Cal. The vampire’s teeth poked out from beneath his top lip before he snarled with a hiss.

“Fuck you, Weldrick. You know I can’t!” Cal curled back in on himself suddenly, all his bite lost as though he had been kicked.

“Yeah. I know why. You’d eat the clients.” Weldrick gruffly stated before he dragged you away by the arm, turning your head before you were deposited in the kitchen out of sight of Cal, “So is that what you’re sweetening this one up for?”

Cal looked at Weldrick over the top of his sunglasses again, “No.” he slammed the cheap vampire costume cape on the bar top, “I came to give this back.” His nails were claws as he dragged his hand away and he grabbed his forgotten handkerchief from the bar.

Weldrick saw the blood on the cloth, “Cal. You know you can’t do this again.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insisted, “I’m not relapsing, so stop. Just stop. I’m not an animal and I’m over it. I was trying to…”

“Be a bit more human.” Weldrick finished for him with a thump to the vampire’s shoulder, “Well. Don’t let me stop you, but I’m warning you, I’ll intervene again if I find out that…”

Cal sighed, “I know.” before he walked away from the bar.

 You peered back around the door with a sheepish smile. Weldrick watched the vampire weave his way back up the stairs before he turned around, his giant tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s the rule, newbie?” he grumbled at you, his nostrils flared and his pierced ears flicking back and forth.

You ducked your head and fiddled with your apron, “No flirting with vampires?” You looked up, “But I was…”

Weldrick grumbled again, “No. You don’t get close with Cal. Flix warned you about him, and about glamouring!” he insisted, “Watch yourself, that’s all I’m saying.” Weldrick sighed and scrubbed at his messy white fur, “Cal’s a good lad. He’s just…got a lot of issues and things going on in that old head of his. You get me?”

You nodded, “I was just being polite and…he seems nice, just a little eccentric.”

Weldrick laughed at you, “Eccentric is one word.” he clapped your back harshly, winding you, “Look after your neck, newbie. Any vamp would like a piece of you, I’m sure. That girlie in the corner had been eyeing you for an hour before Cal showed up to strong arm his claim. He’s taken a liking to you, whether you like it or not!” Weldrick said before he disappeared into the back again and you sat back on your stool. You looked at the young female vampire, decked in dreads and deadly red lip gloss. She avoided looking back at you and disappeared into the crowd.  

 You plucked your novelty cape from the bar top and looked up the stairs, where Cal had disappeared into the crowd and up to his rooms. You took a breath and turned back to the kitchen.

“Weldrick? I’m just going to thank him for bringing my cape back.” You said around the door frame, peeking inside to see Weldrick carrying two new kegs of beer.

“Fine. Watch yourself heading up there, okay? Do you know the code?” he asked as he stepped around you and ducked underneath the bar.

“No, but I figured that Cal would be able to hear me knock?”

Weldrick nodded and gave you a thumbs up from underneath the bar, “Bat ears come in handy sometimes.” he snorted as he undid the old keg.

You left the minotaur tucked underneath the bar and headed towards the stairs; your hands tucked into your apron pocket.

 A few patrons gave you smiles and greetings as you passed them by, and you smiled and rushed along towards the door, marked by a large ‘private’ sign. You felt silly as you stood in front of the door, awkwardly playing with the frill on the cape collar. One deep breath, you told yourself, as you sucked in air, and held it, calming yourself with a long exhale before you knocked timidly. It didn’t take Cal long to unlatch the lock and open the door inwards, his face painted with a frown and his glasses pushed into the top of his hair. His intense eyes met your own before he looked at the cape in your hands.

“Thank you.” You said, “For returning my cape I mean. I didn’t have the balls to come back and ask for it…and now I realise that I was a bit stupid.”

Cal’s eyebrow quirked, “Its not a problem. I realised you’d left it in the bathroom, but I only just now remembered you were on shift.” he reasoned quietly before he hummed, “Would you like to…”

“Sorry but I’m still on shift, and Weldrick will hang me if I leave him to work alone. But really,” you reached out and laid your hand over his, squeezing it slightly as you smiled, “Thank you. Most people wouldn’t have washed it either.”

You left him stood at the door and rushed back through the customers to help Weldrick pull pints for a rowdy group of elves.

 The vampire watched you head back down the stairs with a small grimace before he snatched his hand back to his side and shut the door with a small bang, his other hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief you had given him. He looked at it before heading up the stairs and throwing it into the washing machine in his small flat.

 Cal seemed to warm slightly after that night, and he would linger a little closer to the bar during the nights you were on shift, ignoring your stares as he leaned by the wall in whatever black attire took his fancy, always with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and a piece of gum in his fang filled mouth. This night was no different, but Cal weaved his way towards the stage, the chains attached to his jeans swinging as he tugged the band’s lead singer down to tell him something. You looked over, wiping a glass as he pulled himself up on the stage and threw off his jacket and shirt. Your eyes were drawn to the wings and cross on his chest, and then to the upside-down crucifix on his back, seared on his right side with creeping burn scars. The bar fell silent before the screaming started, and people flooded towards the front, pushing and grinning as Cal pushed his sunglasses into his hair and took hold of the microphone stand. He didn’t say anything but the band on stage grinned and nodded to each other as they started the slow chug of a song.

 “Oh, newbie, are you in for a treat tonight.” Flix chuckled behind you as his insect like wings fluttered over the top of your head, “Cal on stage. He’s not sang a song in nearly a year. You better get the mop bucket for the girlies at the front.”

“He can sing?” You asked, confused.

“Don’t you know?” Flix asked back, with a wide-eyed look, “Oh my sun and moon!” he exclaimed, “Cal was part of Black Blood!”

Your mouth fell open, “No fucking way! You’re fucking with me?”

Flix laughed, a gentle tinkering noise next to your ear, “No way, sweetie. He was part of the band until, well…You know the rest.”

“He was a musical god and now he runs a bar?” You stated, “This is surreal.”

“You tend to lose a lot of reputation when you eat fans.” Flix stated before he squealed as he was hit over the head.

 Weldrick snorted from above the two of you, looming like an all-white shadow, “Better believe he was a god.” he hummed before sighing, “Too bad the addiction killed his career, and the band. Durzub never did forgive him. Poor sod.”

“What exactly happened?” You asked but before Weldrick could answer you, Cal opened his mouth. You watched in awe as he formed the words, and the crowd leaned a little closer. He caressed the microphone stand as he started to sing about a night in a dark palace and you swore the crowd swayed with each syllable, as though they were under some kind of spell.

“Is that a glamour spell?” You whispered to Flix.

The fae only grinned, his black eyes sparkling as he turned your face back to the stage, “Just watch.”

So, you did, you watched him sway and sing, his hands slipping across faces and himself as he weaved something like a story. One night of passion before the sunrise split the lovers apart and the dawn burned his skin away. Everything was enchanting, his deep voice like a drug you couldn’t get enough, but each time you leaned closer you shook your head and took a step back. The audience was entranced, and you watched the men and women at the front swoon. An organ melody marked the end of the song, trailing into the soft plucking of a guitar and Cal’s eyes stared across the audience, finding your own. He held the stare for a moment before he pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and took his shirt and jacket. No one followed him as he weaved through the swaying bodies and disappeared back into the shadows of the bar.

 “What the fuck was that?” You asked as the audience finally came to and started to cheer, “Were they hypnotised?”

Weldrick huffed, “Not quite. His singing has always had that effect, unfortunately. People are just enamoured. He swears there’s not a trick to it, but something about his singing is plain magical.”

“Magical is one word for it.” Flix snorted as he bumped your hip, “I would say sexy.”

“Watch yourself, Flix.” Weldrick laughed as he turned to head back into the cellar.

“It was amazing.” You stated with a sheepish smile, “I wonder if he’ll sing more?”

Flix nipped your cheek with his finger and thumb, “Once a year, sweet thing, once a year.” he punctuated the statement by poking you in the ribs.

“It’s a shame. He sings so beautifully.” You complimented as you took hold of another glass and dried the water off it.

 “I bet you would sing really lovely in bed.” A brash vampire leaned over the bar, flashing his fangs as his blond hair dripped over his eyes. He pushed it back into its styled quiff with a wide, charming smile. He reached for your hand and you took a quick step back, smiling politely.

“Oi. Vampire.” Flix hissed, “You know what’s allowed and what isn’t here.” The fae took you by the shoulders, “No fresh blood. You get the pack stuff, or you find somewhere else to haunt.”

The vampire scoffed, “Why don’t you let them speak for themselves, huh, sparkly boy.” He took your hand again.

“Sir, thank you, but I’m really not interested.” You carefully tried to slide your hand back, but it was caught in the vampire’s iron grip, “If you would like a drink, I can make you one?”

“Get off, fang bag.” Flix snarled.

 You didn’t get to defuse the situation, because as you tugged your hand again, a moment later, the vampire was slammed against the bar, pinned in place by Cal. The older vampire hissed, fangs dripping by the youngster’s ear as he pressed his claws into his neck, cutting the skin underneath his ears.

“Cal!” Weldrick shouted but he was silenced as Cal drew his head away, eyes pulsing red and his mouth open, his nose upturned. His face was the picture of a monstrous bat, feral and unhinged, his skin bleeding to a soft grey.

Cal held up a finger to you all before he leaned back over the vampire pinned to the countertop, “What is the one rule I have here?” He asked, his face contorted like a feral animal.

The youngster hissed pathetically and thrashed.

“I’ll gladly gut you and hang you from a church spire.” Cal threatened, “Or I’ll take this to your maker?”

The youngster pressed himself flat, “We don’t touch the humans.” he said, finally, as he deflated in defeat.

“That’s right.” Cal growled, “So, I suggest you find a new bar to fuck about in.”

 As he finished the sentence, he threw the youngster towards the door, sending him sprawling against the wall with a slam that shook the bar. The male rushed to his feet before escaping out of the entrance, his hair dishevelled and flying around his head. You closed your mouth as Flix placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks, boss.” Flix uttered as he looked over your hand, “You’re gonna have some mean bruises, newbie.” he commented as he turned your hand palm up.

You couldn’t really focus on Flix as you looked Cal in the eyes. His face morphed back to a human looking guise behind a thin curtain of his hair. He moved his black curls back over his shoulder and nodded at you.

“Thank you.” You flinched as Flix prodded at your fingers.

“You’re welcome.” Cal whispered before he turned and walked away, fiddling with his jacket where it was torn by the youngster’s claws.

“Hey!” You pushed Flix’s fretting hands away and ducked through the bar door, rushing to catch up with Cal. He turned just outside the door to the upstairs flat and looked at you as he reached for a piece of spearmint gum, popping the rectangle piece into his mouth as you floundered, “Can…Can I take you out somewhere? To pay you back for everything you’ve done?”

 Cal stopped chewing, his jaw going stiff before he reached for the empty cigarette packet in his jeans pocket and cursed again. He ducked his head, appearing small despite his towering height, standing at well over six feet tall.

“It won’t be, uh, a date or anything, unless you know, you want that. I just want to say thank you, I guess.” You babbled until he reached out his hand.

“Let me see your hand.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a demand.

You held up your bruised hand, “Its nothing.” You deflated, thinking you had been rejected.

Cal looked at your hand for a moment before letting you cradle it again, “Meet me outside. Friday lunchtime. There’s an old diner a few blocks away.” He grumbled quietly.

You smiled and nodded, “Sure. Dinners on me!” You gushed before catching yourself, “Well, not me. I don’t think I have very good blood and…”

Cal let out a low, deep chuckle, before he pushed his sunglasses back up into his hair. His breath smelled like mint as he took your hand and kissed the sore fingers, “See you then.” he rumbled before he unlocked the door and disappeared up the stairs.

 Deciding what to wear seemed like the end of the world until your finally settled on something not too flashy, but a little dressy. You fiddled with the bottom of your shirt as you waited close to the entrance to The Black Dahlia. It was a little past midday and you wondered if you had come a little too early. Your fears were shot when the door opened, and Cal stepped out into the sunlight. He was in his sunglasses, the collar of his duster turned up to hide his cheeks with a black, red trimmed fedora on his head to shield his face from the sun.

“Hey, sorry if I’m a little early.” You smiled as you reached him.

Cal shrugged his shoulders, “Its not a problem. I don’t tend to sleep much… And I heard you arrive.” he tapped his ear underneath his collar, “A vampire thing.”

“Oh…You know I never thought of that.” You confessed before pointing to his hat, “You’re not going to uh, burst into flames, are you?”

Cal’s lips twisted up in a half smile, “No. I’m a little sensitive to sun, but I’m old enough that it isn’t lethal anymore. I wouldn’t have said daytime if I knew I would burst into flames.” he nodded his head, “Come on. The diner isn’t far.”

You followed him happily, not straying too far from his side as you made a bit of idle conversation to fill the silence.

 The diner was three blocks away. Cal opened the door and let you inside first. It was a cosy place, with wooden interiors and metal accents. It was quiet, with no customers milling around just yet, except for a dwarf, who was asleep in one of the booths furthest away from the door. A female elf looked up from her notebook and smiled brightly as Cal entered behind you.

“Clarence!” she tittered, “By the sun! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you! You know we only live four streets away!” she exclaimed before smacking his shoulder with her towel.

“Sorry, Graeliel.” Cal muttered, “Its…”

“Don’t. I know, sweetheart. I know.” Graeliel reached up and took hold of his cheeks between her palms. She patted his face before tossing her brown braids over her shoulders and dashing behind the counter, “Pam! Pamela!” she screeched, “Clarence is here!”

An older orc woman appeared from the kitchen, her chef’s apron splattered with sauce and her mohawk flattened with the heat of the kitchen, “Boy you best hope I don’t get hold of you!” she shouted as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Three years, and not a word! Not a word!”

 Cal shrivelled in on himself a little, “I’m sorry, Pam, Graeliel. I know I should have called or something…”

Pam held up her hand, “Don’t give me that.” she looked down at him and scrubbed at her silver-streaked hair, pulling it back before sighing, “I know, sweetheart. We’ve been worried, is all.”

“Pamela has been beside herself.” Graeliel added before she patted her wife’s shoulder, “But it’s all right. You’re here now…and with company?” She added as she peered around Cal, spotting you stood by the door.

Awkwardly, you gave them both a wave and stepped forwards.

“Ah,” Cal introduced you before adding, “We’re here for lunch if you have the space?”

“Oh but of course!” Graeliel grinned, exposing her slightly sharp, elven teeth, “I didn’t think you would ever find a partner, Cal!”

“You owe me thirty, Graeliel.” Pamela chuckled as she walked back towards the kitchen, “And no, I won’t accept back massages this time!” she shouted out of the door before disappearing again.

 Graeliel took your arms and rolled her eyes at her wife before she led you both over to a booth in the other corner of the restaurant. She grabbed a napkin holder and two sets of cutleries for you both and laid them on the table carefully before she laid two laminated menus down too.

“I’ll go and get you some drinks to let you decide what to have. How does two lemonades sound?” Graeliel smiled as she tucked her notebook in the front pocket of her apron.

“That sounds great.” You answered before you looked to Cal, “Wait. Is that okay?”

The vampire nodded his head, “Its fine. I can still have human food and drink, in moderation. It holds no nutritional value, and a lot makes me feel sick, but its nice sometimes.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a vampire before though.” You smiled. Graeliel nodded and headed off to go and grab you both a drink, leaving you both with the menu and silence, which was occasionally broken by the snoring dwarf at the other side of the diner.

 “What are you going to get?” You asked Cal as you flopped the menu back on the table, “Are the club sandwiches any good?”

Cal shifted and pulled his coat off before reaching up to the top of the window and pulling down a window shade, which kept the sun off him. When he was comfortable, he carefully pulled his glasses and hat off, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He was dressed in a shirt and a dark pair of jeans with his rosary sat on top of his chest. His black hair fell down his back and he reached to tie it back quickly before he picked up the menu and crossed a leg over his knee, resting the ankle on his knee.  

“The steak is actually decent.” he commented, “But if you want something light the chicken Caesar wrap is great. They source meat from an organic place…I think. It’s been a while since I was last here.”

“The falafel sounds better.” You grinned, having decided on your meal, “What about you?”

Cal peaked at you over the top of his menu, “The usual.” He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, leaving the menu on top of your own.

“What’s your usual then?” You prodded his hand on the table.

“A pint of blood and a rare steak.” Cal muttered, looking up at you to check for your reaction.

 You were shocked for a moment, before you started laughing, creasing yourself against the table as you saw his eyes widen and his hands fidget with the edge of the table.

“Sorry.” You wheezed, “I just didn’t think you’d say it like that.”

A ghost of a smile turned his lips up at the corners, “People don’t like vampires. I wanted to see what you thought but,” he gestured to your wheezing, “it obviously doesn’t phase you.”

Once you finally caught your breath you looked him in the eye, “No, it doesn’t bother me. You’re just different to me, and that’s not a big deal. I’ve seen some scary vampires, and you’re not one of them.”

“Like the one that tried to snack on you?” Cal added scathingly.

“Yeah. He was…Well if you hadn’t shown up, I might not have gotten out of that one.” You smiled, “So, thank you, again.”

“Stop thanking me.” Cal sighed, “I didn’t do anything special.”

“But to me, you did! So, hush, and let me buy you lunch!” You jeered at him, pointing a fork at his face like a dangerous weapon. Cal smiled again and let it drop as Graeliel came back with your lemonade.

 “Alrighty then.” she pulled out her notepad out and poised her pen for your orders, “What will you lovebirds be having?”

“Graeliel, we’re just here for lunch.” Cal droned as he rubbed at his temples and reached back to pull the other blind down.

“Hush. I know a date when I see one!” Graeliel tapped the top of his head with her pen, “What do you want sweetie?” she asked. Cal opened his mouth again, but she silenced him with a scathing look, like an insistent mother.

“I’ll have the falafel wrap, please.” You ordered and she nodded before looking at Cal.

“The usual, please.” Cal grumbled before taking hold of his icy glass of lemonade and taking a sip. He didn’t make a face at the sourness but turned to look out of the window, before realising he had the blind down, and staring down at his drink, stirring the straw around idly. Graeliel left you both alone to go and give your orders to Pamela. Cal watched her leave before looking back at you with his ghostly smile again.

 “I’m sure you have lots of questions.” he stated before he took another sip of lemonade, “I know I would if I was in your situation.”

You nodded and played with your own straw, “Lots of questions. I saw your face morph into something like I’ve never seen before. You looked like…well, something out of a kids story book.” You took a sip of your drink from your lemonade.

Cal turned his head, avoiding your gaze as a cringe took over his features, “I figured that would be the first thing you asked me about.” he avoided your eyes as he seemed to think about what to say next, “I’m a vampire, yes, but I’m of an old bloodline. Night Terrors. That’s what we were called by the rest of our own race. I suppose we are like bats. Up turned noses, wings and the ability to hang onto any surface.” He droned quietly as the ice in his drink clinked, “Terachi. That’s what we are called now.”

You listened quietly before interjecting gently, “So why don’t you always look like that?”

“Glamouring. Intense glamouring.” Cal mumbled, “Enough that even Flix’s spell doesn’t enable you to see my real face.”

 The words sat heavy in your stomach. Cal refused to look at you for a while, his eyes trained on his lemonade.

“I can hear your brain churning. Its an ugly face. Its something humans would run. I’ve hidden my face behind my human appearance from the day I was turned.” he whispered as he pushed his hair over his shoulder again.

Gently, you took his hand from around the glass, stroking his fingers before you squeezed them and let him have his hand back, “How long have you been in music?” You asked, eager to stop Cal from scowling. He looked at the window again before meeting your eyes again and smiling awkwardly, the corners of his lips twitching.

“I’ve played the violin since I was around eight years old.” Cal turned his straw in his drink, “I learned to play the piano, but also the organ.” He saw your look, “My family was very religious. My mother was a faithful catholic. She married and dragged my father into it. I’ve said my hail Mary’s since I could speak.”

“Is that why you still wear your rosary?” You asked, pointing at the black beads hung around his neck and the cross which rested over his chest. His shirt hid the tattoo he had over his pectorals from view.  

 Cal picked at the cross and regarded the wooden jewellery for a moment before he dropped it back against his chest, “My relationship with the lord is a little complicated.”

“Isn’t everyone’s?” You joked as he shifted in his seat, “I think its nice you still believe. How long have you been, well, like this?” You trailed off at his grimace.

“A vampire?” he asked, “Since I was twenty-six.” He gestured to himself, “It was a service, in 1784. My maker was amazed by my skill with instruments, and I sang for him after. I’ve been like this ever since.” Cal gave himself a disgusted once over, before he looked back down at the wooden table, his nails scratching at the waxy surface, gouging at a name someone had already cut into the top.

“Did you leave anyone behind?” You asked.

“A fiancé. I don’t think I ever loved her like she deserved.” Cal said, “I disappeared after the service. My maker held me like a child as I changed and stopped breathing. I’ve not seen him since...” he trailed off, “I’ve not seen him since I joined Black Blood. That was over twenty-five years ago now.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. Did you fall out over it all?” You asked.

Cal shrugged his shoulders in response, “He didn’t want me out of his clutches I suppose. Either way, its history.” he dismissed any further questions with a wave of his hand.

 As though she had seen the tense situation, Graeliel came tootling over with your meals. The elf laid the two plates down in front of each of you and smiled warmly as she pointed to the lemonade.

“Is the lemonade sweet enough? I let Pam make it this time, and she’s a bit sour, so she skimps on the sugar.” she teased as she leaned back and tucked her towel against her hip.

“Its perfect.” You assured her as you took another drink of it, “Its just sweet enough. Anymore and I think my teeth would rot.” You joked.

She nodded and quickly scuttled to a microwave as it pinged. You watched curiously as Graeliel snipped open a back of blood and poured the contents into a blacked-out pint glass. She returned with the glass and placed it in front of Cal.

“Make sure you don’t eat too much this time, hm?” She patted his hand before she smiled at you brightly and left to go and dispose of some rubbish.

 You looked at the black glass on the table and wondered just if Cal was going to drink it in front of you or not. He met your gaze and shifted back before he took hold of the glass.

“You don’t have to look, if it makes you uncomfortable.” he reasoned, quietly, holding your gaze for a moment before he peered at the deep red contents.

“No.” You swallowed, “Its fine. Go ahead.” You smiled and reached for your cutlery as he nodded and tipped his head back a little. He pressed the glass to his mouth and quickly downed the blood, his throat working as he guzzled at it like a hungry animal. Cal grumbled softly as he finished and licked at the red blood clinging to his top lip before pressing his finger to it and licking that too. He closed his eyes and swallowed the last of it, his nose curled, before he calmed himself down, and looked back at you. His eyes were wide, as though he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and you smiled at him.

 Cal’s lips curled a little at one corner before he stood to give the glass back to Graeliel. You appreciated the iron smelling glass being moved and carefully started picking at your salad. He returned and you picked up your wrap.

“Well, lets see if you recommended me something decent!” You took a bite and Cal chuckled quietly as your eyes widened at the taste, “Is this home made or something? The sauce is so good.” You said around your mouthful.

Cal nodded with a smile, “They make everything here in house.” he picked up his steak knife and sliced into the very rare steak before feeding himself a small piece, “Still tastes as good as ever.” He leaned to the kitchen and chuckled again.

“Too right it does!” Pamela hollered from the kitchen. You both laughed at her before digging back into your food.

 “Are you two finished?” Graeliel asked as you leaned back and grumbled about being too full. Cal chuckled again as he pushed his sunglasses into his hair, and you nodded with a content sigh.

“Pamela’s cooking has that effect.” Cal added quietly as you patted your stomach and laughed.

Graeliel laughed as well, “I’ll get you both the bill.” she walked happily to the kitchen to deliver your dishes and glasses before going to the cash register and bringing you the total on her notepad, scribbled underneath your orders.

You took the piece of paper, but Cal had already pulled out the cash, placing it on the table for Graeliel before he grabbed his hat and tucked his hair out of the way. He noticed you gawking and tilted his head, “Are you okay with me paying?” he asked curiously.

You nodded before huffing, “Yeah, but next time I get the food.”

Cal paused as he shrugged one arm of his coat on, “Next time?” he asked quietly.

“If you want a next time?” You asked with an embarrassed smile.

He nodded, completely silent as he turned his face away from you. He was incapable of blushing much more than a faint pink tone after a meal, but you caught the slight pink colour to the apples of his cheeks before he flicked his collar up.

 You followed suit and thanked Graeliel and Pamela as Cal rushed for the door, his long, graceful strides carrying him faster than you could ever hope to be.

Graeliel reached to give you a gentle hug which smelled of jasmine, “Look after him for us, hm? He’s such a sweet boy, just a little wounded.”

“I’ll try.” You felt hot and embarrassed, and your cheeks burned as you looked at Pamela’s smirk. You said your goodbyes and rushed after Cal. He held you open the door and silently offered you his arm. You took the arm and linked your own through it. Cal looked at you through the side of his black sunglasses before he smiled a little wider, revealing his sharp, fang like teeth. It was the only part he consistently couldn’t glamour, you had come to realise. You returned his smile and Cal looked down at you. Your eyes followed a piece of hair as it escaped his hair tie and slipped out over his shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home, if you want?” he asked with a small shake to his voice.

You realised then, that you were smitten with him, and smiled brightly, “Sure. Its not too far. I live near the rose garden park.” Cal nodded and ran his cold fingers over your hand before he slipped your hand down and into his own.

 You reached your small flat just as the roads started to get busy with traffic from people going home from work. You reached into your small bag as you neared the door, and quickly rummaged around for your keys. They jingled in your hand as Cal slipped his hand from yours and let you step up to the door alone.

“Thank you.” He uttered, “For taking a chance with me. No one has…been so kind to me in a while. Certainly not someone as gorgeous as you.” Cal whispered the words, as though you weren’t supposed to hear them. He turned his face away from you, his eyes still hidden behind his glasses. The sun was lower in the sky and the beginnings of the sunset were starting, casting an orange glow over his pale skin and the pieces of his black curls which had escaped his ponytail.

“I didn’t take a chance.” You said as you stepped back down in front of him, “I think you’re…You’re much more than just a monstrous vampire. You’re kind, sweet and considerate and…”

“Handsome?” He asked with a quirk to his lips before he licked them and reached out to take your hand again, running his fingers against your own as he digested your words.

“You make me feel…You make me feel grounded. Whole. Like I’m not…” Cal huffed at himself, “Like I’m not some fucking killer freak. I just… I feel like you understand, and I find myself thinking of you, often. I…”

 Gently, you reached up and pressed a warm finger to his lips, quietening his rambling, “I like you too, Cal. I think you’re…”

Cal silenced you as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair again, revealing his steel-coloured eyes. He stared at you with such intensity, and you were drawn to the soft curve of his lips all too easily. He smelt like peppermint again, but you forgot that as he pressed his lips to yours. They were soft but icy cold. The temperature made you jump, but you quickly pressed to him. Cal grumbled something before you were backed against the door, his fangs grazing your bottom lip as his cold tongue brushed against your lips. You opened your mouth and moaned quietly as he kissed you deeply, his fangs grazing your lips again. He drew away, as though shot, and you smiled at the blackness to his eyes and the grey sheen to his skin. His nose curled and you touched the pointed tip of his upturned nose before pushing your hands over his shoulders and feelings the musclar tops of his wings. They flexed beneath his coat, the clawed tips scrapping against the concrete before he dived in to nip your lips again.

“I adore you.” He purred as you felt the tips of his ears and fumbled for the handle. The door opened with a soft click and you pulled on his hands. He caught himself at the door, letting you hold his hands before he was drawn into you and found your lips again, “You complete me.” He moaned against your cheek before you closed the door.

[inknopewetrust]

In Another Universe Part 3 (Marcus Moreno x Reader)

Summary: You are trying to normalize a world without Marcus, months after you snapped back to Earth. But in that other universe, an accident occurs in their mission to bring you back.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader (We Can Be Heroes/MCU Crossover)

Word Count: 2.08k

Warnings: Nothing, just some language. 

A/N: So... it’s embarrassing how long this part took to be published. If you’ll except an apology, I’ll be the first to beg for forgiveness. On the other hand... here’s part 3! Part 4 will be the conclusion of this miniseries so thank you for reading thus far and stay tuned for that. Right now requests are CLOSED but I am going to open them again soon when I get through the ones I have waiting and I’ll be adding L&O:SVU characters to the list. :)

Pain is a difficult concept to understand. 

There are infinite reasons to feel a certain kind of pain or to be in a specific kind of pain, but no one can truly understand it until it happens to them. Which in the case of you, is no one. 

At some point during the last five months, you had made a move to Clint’s farm. James thought it would be better for you to not be in the city where your closest friends were gone and weren’t returning. It was the constant memories of Natasha holding your hand when things got rough or Tony obnoxiously slapping you on the shoulder in a message of congratulations. 

There were so many memories that simply seeped through the walls, both physically and metaphorically, but it wasn’t as if a move was going to change that. All you wanted was to move, home, to Marcus and Missy and the life you had built in what James had called ‘Earth 2.’ 

Earth 2. 

Earth 2 was the only Earth that mattered to you and his deflection of it being secondary to the one that only caused pain was hurtful. But it wasn’t like he was going to understand that. So, you took up the offer to move to Clint’s farm and the second you landed and walked off the jet, you regretted the decision. 

Clint was surrounded by love. His wife, his daughter, his sons. They were everything and nothing to you at the same time. Clint had his own problems to deal with upon meeting a young woman who took up skills like his own and often left you with Laura and his children. 

Laura kept you occupied with small projects as they were renovating the barn and their basement, but it was just as mundane as the topics of conversation she tried to engage in. But with even the slightest mention of Nat, or Steve, or Tony, or the world you left behind, you shut down. 

It was intentional, but it wasn’t avoidable. Pain wasn’t avoidable when it was buried so deep. 

But there were the occasional good days. Like today. 

Laura had taken the boys to soccer practice and promised Lila a day out at the aquarium. She extended the offer to you but she never thought you would accept. When you did, she was pleasantly surprised and also promised she would pay for lunch too. It was rare that you would pass up the opportunity to snag a free lunch because you obliged and allowed her to plan the day. 

‘Maybe a day out would be good.’ You thought to yourself as you readied everything to go. For the first time in months you put effort into your appearance. A bit of makeup, nicer clothes, and shoes that weren’t scuffed or covered in dirt from the non-existent basement floor. 

And for what it was worth, the day was good. You allowed yourself to just enjoy, learn, and watch a mother interact with her daughter and in turn, the daughter made you feel like the aunt Clint had always told her you were. Lila saw the effort and wanted to make you feel as welcome and as loved as possible. 

And as the cracks of a broken soul begin to slowly merge together–where time would surely heal it to properly function again, a wrench is thrown to stop it. 

James Rhodes wasn’t sure how it exactly happened.

He had been standing against a lab table, watching Clint (the only other resident at the compound at the moment) work on his bow. The two were making small conversation about their day to day lives since everything had gone down just a few months ago. While Clint had just finished installing a replacement valve on the base of the basket that held his arrows. It hadn’t been turning properly and the only place that would have the parts was Tony’s former playground. Then an earthquake occurred... or what they could equate to an earthquake.

Neither of them had ever been a witness to one, but the ground shook violently, quickly, with little give. Parts fell off tables and the two men grabbed at whatever they could to remain steady. By the time they had steadied themselves, the movement stopped. It was followed then, only then, by a loud crashing noise about a floor below and glass breaking. Clint was the first to reach for his bow and James grabbed the closest gun he could find. Neither of them thought anything other than “my god, what Thanos level shit is it now.”

Like the sleuth heroes they were, they managed to silently exit the lab and descend the stairs without so much as a creek. The living space that was located on the third floor was relatively untouched but the sound had echoed from the room. As soon as they turned around from the steps, they realized their suspicions were correct but it didn’t look like a Thanos level threat.

Behind the couch, the broken lamp that had no bulb laid on the ground beside a man. A man dressed in black tactical gear and swords sheathed on his back. He had other small weapons on his clothes but none of them were drawn and from the reflection of the glass window, Clint could see a perplexed look on his seemingly worn face. Although he didn’t feel the man was particularly threatening, Clint drew up his bow and held it steady from his position before calling out to him.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Cheesy, he knew it was but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know where the hell this guy came from and he could easily be a sorcerer or God even though he looked like a regular Joe.

“Sir, I need you to show us your hands!” James was more assertive from behind Clint but didn’t move from his position. Ever since the accident years ago, James took a step back whenever he didn’t have his armor on.

The man had flinched a bit upon hearing their voices. He slowly raised his hands as asked and turned around to meet the eyes of two men who he had never met. Their weapons drawn on him but not unfamiliar to other situations he had been in before. This time, it was just more human.

“Who are you?” The one with short hair, a bow, asked him with a hesitant, gruff voice.

“Where am I?”

The man spoke their language—maybe not an alien.

“I asked you first who are you?”

“Where am I? Where is-“

“I do not want to have to shoot you, who are you?” James was aggravated, perhaps a little scared but he wouldn’t shoot unless the man made any aggressive moments toward them.

“M-Marcus. My name is Marcus.” Marcus’ voice was firm but scared. He didn’t know where he was. It was all an accident. One minute he was testing the machine and the next he was moving through a kaleidoscope of colors until he saw a blinding light and landed on a lamp in the middle of a futuristic looking living room.

There was a moment of realization in the bow-wielders face that gave Marcus a second of hope. Had this really worked? Was this your world?

“Alright Marcus, I am going to need you to tell me where you came from and how you got here.” The one with the gun in Marcus’ eyes began to move around the one with bow. He held out his hand calmly, signaling to Marcus that he wasn’t a threat but was protecting himself and his friend out of precaution. Marcus did not move his hands but nodded in agreement. What did he have to hide when he was now in an unfamiliar land with weapons pointed at his chest? 

“I don’t know how I got here. I work for a team and we were trying to get someone back. I was working on it but something went wrong.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

“No.” 

“Who are you looking for?” 

“Our teammate.” 

Clint knew it was him. This had to have been the man you talked about with him and James was getting that sense as well. He was exactly as you spoke, handsome with a slight carelessness to his appearance. He had a mustache and his name was literally Marcus. It couldn’t have been anyone else, though they had no idea how in the universe he found his way to the middle of the Avengers living room. 

“Marcus, I am going to ask you a series of questions I need you to be honest with me.” Clint put down his bow this time and James looked at him with wide eyes but continued to hold his stance. 

“Does your world look like this one?” 

Marcus took a second to let his eyes drift out the windows around them. The world looked similar, almost an exact copy. He had remembered your startled realization that his world was just as similar to your own even though it wasn’t the same one. It was a strange concept that was hard to grapple with. 

“Yes.” 

“Do you have a daughter, Marcus?” 

“What?” This absolutely terrified him. As much as he wanted to be hopeful to find you, a mention of his daughter in a new world was not what he wanted. Now the question if he even escaped his own world and found himself in a new one was wavering. These people couldn’t possibly know he had a daughter unless they were familiar with the Heroics. 

“Do you have a daughter? I need you to answer this so I can-” 

“Yes. Yes, I have a daughter.” 

“Missy?” 

Marcus nodded his head and Clint looked at James who lowered his gun now. This was that Marcus. This was your Marcus and he was here to find you. 

“And what can you tell me about Y/n?” 

His heart leapt out of his chest with a fury at the mention of your name. 

“She’s my-my she’s-” 

Clint nodded his head and officially dropped his bow before extending his hand for Marcus to shake. 

“My name is Clint Barton, maybe she mentioned me, I don’t know. But she’s talked plenty about you.” 

“She’s here?” It came out just above a whisper as he met Clint’s hand. 

“Y/n is with my wife at our farm. I can take you to her.” 

It was like that final stretch of battle you had described to him before. This was his endgame, his chance for peace with you and the friends you left behind for years are willing to help make that come true. Much to his word, Clint prepared a jet to set off to the farm and James kept Marcus from stirring alone in his thoughts. It wasn’t as if the reunion would be soured because the relationship ended, no, quite the opposite, but the idea that maybe you would rather stay with the people who you had always been around was an invasive thought. James had eased those thoughts with stories of your return and subsequent difficultly to adapt to this life. That wasn’t an easy thing to hear, but it meant that somewhere inside you, you believed that life was better with Missy and himself. 

James reassured him that you were very much in love with him. You had told the two of them about your “other” life, about the team, Missy, Mrs. Moreno, and everyone else who made that other world home. 

Home. 

By the time James had gotten around to recalling the moment you had realized you loved Marcus, Clint had come back, gathered his own bags and motioned to the jet. 

“Looks like he’s ready to go.” James said and gave Marcus a friendly pat on the shoulder. 

“She deserves to be happy and I know with you she’ll have that. It’s what they would have wanted.” 

“Thank you for your help. I don’t think I would have found her otherwise.” Marcus chuckled but couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. It was a contagious one because the two men couldn’t help but feel the love the radiated off the man. They were happy for you and if leaving this world for another meant you would finally be at peace, then that is what it meant. 

“Go get her, Marcus.” 

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

Tag list for series: 

@pasckles @jupitersmooneuropa @agingerindenial @karnita-mexicana @mcueveryday @shadowolf993 @computeringturtle @roxypeanut​

[thelonelybrilliance]

Fic List 2021 - Friday Night Lights

This summer I introduced @itspileofgoodthings to Friday Night Lights (also managed to catch some episodes with @wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey) and the resulting storm of unforgettable meta and indescribable feelings led to quite a few fics. In case there's anybody hanging about who still loves the show like we do, here's a masterlist of everything I wrote this year, in as close to chronological order as I can make it:

[Under the cut because there are literally like 35 fics]

Pre-Series

and one to call home

It’s the fear. It’s the hope. It’s the dream, the beginning of everything, head coach of the Dillon Panthers, so much riding on the choice to stay and stay and stay—

[Eric, Tami, Jason, Tim, and a long history]

your poor idea of heaven

You just needed something to get you there, something to lean on.

[Tim/Alcohol]

blue and permanent

"Death must come to them differently." - Louise Glück, "The Drowned Children" [Jason, Tim, and Lyla, dreaming of the future.]

Season 1

Full Hearts: Friday Night Lights Codas

An ongoing series of 500-word, second person POV one-shots to tag each of Season 1's excellent episodes.

acknowledgements

The night before a game is when they laugh the longest, burn the brightest, believe and fear and hope all at the same time.

[100 one-word prompts for Dillon, Texas]

we walk into that which we cannot yet see

Why are some people made to love worlds that have no place for them?

[Tim & Jason]

like obedient stone

This is how we love you, she wishes she could say, to Jason. Or—This is the only way I know how not to be afraid.

[Tim/Lyla]

all the love in the world (that he can spare from me)

Tami admires her husband, in big and little things.

[Tami/Eric]

we could call it even

Tim, when he has news worth telling, loves to take his time telling it.

[Tyra/Tim]

tell me this is the future (i won't believe you)

The pain hits under his sternum, the lowest place he can still feel.

[Jason, Tim, Walt]

for soon the year of life is gone

You could start a whole new future between taking a breath in and letting it out—it’s just that you never do.

[All the things that make up Tim.]

Season 2

to let your shadow lengthen

O Lord, give us each our own death. Grant us the dying that comes forth from that life in which we knew love, grappled with meaning, felt need. - Rainer Maria Rilke

[Tim, the summer after State]

this story was a lie, like all things done to be seen

All that’s going through his head is that he knows nothing beyond Texas, and there is nothing much like Texas here. Still, he’s not leaving. First off, Jay has gone and managed to find the one thing he can’t survive—Tim’s sure of it. Then, too, Texas itself has been hard to live with lately.

[Tim, Jason, and Lyla in Mexico]

I couldn't hurt anyone else (I was a pillar of fire)

Tim gets a week of what he wants.

[Tim, at the Taylors']

looking up at different stars

For all that Tim has been a troublemaker since peewee, for all that Eric has reamed him out for being disrespectful no less than half-a-dozen times, he’s one of the most dedicated players Eric’s ever known. It’s a dedication that can’t be traced wholly to the sport, or to the dependability of his effort at practice, or to anything but a bone-deep desire to be part of the fabric of Dillon life.

[Eric & Tim when Tim is at the Taylors]

I deserved a better life than this

Apparently, Tim’s staying with the Taylors now. Julie’s mentioned it, but Tyra’s too proud to ask for more details. Too stung, somehow, to imagine Tim Riggins locked in the safe heart of all that kindness, after she denied him even a poor imitation of the same.

[Tyra/Tim]

your heart and mine beating

Nobody at Erin's old high-school in South Orange would expect this of her. Nobody at her restaurant job in Dillon—a couple thousand miles from where she used to call home—expects anything of her, one way or another. She doesn’t make waves at work. She makes her money, saves her money, and goes home.

So why did she go home with Jason?

[Erin/Jason]

Season 3 & Beyond (no real Season 4 spoilers)

even fame will tire of its fame

Three times Eric knew he was in over his head.

[Eric, Seasons 1-3]

reached for you (but all I felt was shame)

She doesn’t know who she is. She does know what she wants. It’s an awful pinch to be in. Terrifying. Not something she knows how to fix.

[Tyra/Tim]

forever's no time at all

"Texas Forever" ends in New York.

[Tim & Jason, at the end]

bending near the earth

"We possess nothing certainly except the past." - Evelyn Waugh

It’s Christmas Eve of the first year Tim gets to look forward to something.

you could be the one that I love

“We were supposed to be married and divorced already,” she counters, always talking quicker than she can really think. “Or, uh, something like that.”

[Tyra/Tim]

with unbearable gentleness

“When are you heading out?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Tim hoists the beer into one of the truck-bed cargo bins, the one that doesn’t have the jacked-up lid.

“You taking all that with you? It’s contraband where you’re going, if I’m not mistaken.”

[Eric says goodbye to Tim.]

write her name in the sky

You are alone. You are solitude itself, you heart, roaming valleys with far-off hills. - Rainer Maria Rilke

[Tyra's first semester.]

the good, the bad, the ugly, and divine

(Lyla waits for a miracle that never comes.)

(Lyla doesn’t like waiting.)

[Lyla, Seasons 1-3]

it's the believer who keeps looking for proof

There’s something comforting about it, and holding a baby doesn’t require any speed, any crushing contact.

[Tim, slight spoilers for 4x01]

my voice (comes out screaming)

Tyra likes to say she’s not going to put up with this much longer, and by this she means: everything she’s ever known, under a sky that looks, even to those born and raised in Texas, impossibly wide.

[Tyra + Dillon, Seasons 1-3]