#through the act of allowing himself to fully experience the joy he has always found in the way lifesteal functions

[myrmica]

s5 zam ending makes me want to cry for joyous happy reasons i love it sooooooo much i love it so much. thanks for proving me right also

[malereader-inserts]

You’re My Dad (Boogie Woogie)

Fandom: Avengers Pairing: Peter Parker & Male!Reader Summary: You are my dad! You’re my dad (boogie woogie woogie) Word Count: 1,507 Request:  hello! how are you? can i request a platonic peter parker x male reader where reader likes to take care of peter, like cook him meals, give him snacks when he's studying or just give him snacks when he sees peter lounging. and maybe reader and tony are dating A/n: You sent a hefty request, hopefully I got everything in - I really hope that your cousin will enjoy this though!

Peter Parker was no stranger to death. 

His parents were killed when he was a young boy and his uncle was shot when he was only a teenager. He only had his Aunt May until he didn’t. She was driving back from work and got in an unfortunate accident. 

Peter Parker was no stranger to death, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have a family. 

Tony and you took him when you heard about the accident. Peter was still a kid, he’s still a teenager and you wouldn’t stand for him to go to foster care. You have known Peter since Tony asked him to join him in Germany. How Tony asked if Peter if he wanted to intern under him. 

After all, you were Tony’s boyfriend for quite a while so when Peter slept over at Tony’s house, you were there. You would cook meals for your two science boys and remind them to take a break from their long science experience. Peter saw you and Tony as father figures, the men he really looked up after his Uncle Ben had passed away. 

Tony didn’t have the greatest childhood, he vowed to himself and you if you happen to adopt that he will be the best father any child could as for and you’ve seen him pick up calls from a lovely boy called Harley, which you have met a few times, and will always drop anything to have a conversation. You saw how Tony acted with Peter, to see pride and joy, you couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

You had a great childhood, you grew up with loving parents and loving yet bratty siblings. Your childhood wasn’t quiet and always fun - your parents valued making memories with their children, so your parents took you and your siblings to sporting events, festivals (age-appropriate), holidays. They were strict, but you could recall how they let you sleepover with friends and bring friends over, you can remember how they let you go to concerts with your friends and/or siblings.

You kept that family love in your heart and Peter really felt it.

Peter wasn’t much of a sports person, but when he was in the presence of you and Tony, he doesn’t mind much. 

“Listen, kid,” You say, ruffling his hair, “You’re part of the Avenger family and you’re a superhero with wicked abilities - you know for the fact that Rogers and Romanov will not go easy on you in training.”

“He’s right,” Tony calls from behind, not looking up from his work as Peter groans.

“But, you could totally avoid intense training if you told them that you do sports with me, nothing too heavy,” You smiled, as Peter thinks it over.

“Like what?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, we could play baseball? The good all hit and run style. Or maybe volleyball, you pick the sport that week and we’ll do it.”

“Do you even have the equipment?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Peter, honey, you’re currently in the home of a Stark - you think Tony doesn’t have these things on standby.”

“I don’t know, he doesn’t seem to be an athletic type.”

“I heard that!” Tony exclaimed as the two of you laugh. 

When Peter moved in for the final time, Peter felt like he was somewhat out of place. He had a room at the Stark-(L/n) residence and he would spend nights, if not weekends, at theirs but he felt like he was intruding. It was a sudden change in Peter’s environment.

And yet, he felt warm in the house, whilst it really messed with his head for the past few days - you and Tony were slow with the process. You never pushed him out of his comfort zone. You helped him put up the stuff of his family around the house to allow him to heal.

You weren’t in The Avengers, so you had a lot of free time. Instead of working in an office, you created things to sell on the internet, it was a hobby because Tony insist you live a lavish life. But, that doesn’t stop you from working around the house. Peter was often met with delicious smelling food, whilst you had a rule that he would cook his own lunch if he didn’t have school and you would cook dinner for everyone. 

You, Tony and Peter, would sit down together with each other, talking about Peter’s day at school and how Tony is dealing with things with Avengers and Stark Enterprise despite Pepper being in charge of that. Even after eating, sometimes you’ll dig into some dessert and talk about shared interest such as music and shows.

If you guys are watching a series together, you’ll update them on lore or when the next episode is being dropped out. If it’s about a shared interest in music, you would happily indulge in what music has been released recently. 

Peter and Tony will happily clean after dinner, one will washing up and the other doing drying.

“You know we have a dishwasher right?” Tony called through as he hands Peter a soaked plate.

“And?” You called back, “It’s called responsibilities, I will not have lazy boys in my house!”

Peter chuckled as he put the plate down and takes the wet glass, he doesn’t mind the chores you ask him to do. You teach him lessons in life because sometimes just hanging around with you felt like home to him.

“You know how to work the washing machine, right Pete?” You asked, standing in the doorway of his room looking at the floor of dirty clothes.

“I’ll pick it up - I promise, but, um not really? Aunt May usually go to the laundrette.”

“Alright, when your laundry basket gets full, I’ll show you how to work the washing machine and dryer. I don’t mind doing your washing but every now and then, you can do it.”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine!”

When Peter fully settles into the house, he found himself loving his life. He loves watching you bicker with Tony about the stupidest things - mostly over characters in a show or film. In which, most of the time, he backs you up because the two of you are major geeks over shows and movies. 

Peter noticed how much you care for him, knocking on his door and reminding him to drink water and always coming to his room to deliver snacks ranging from a healthy plate of the juiciest fruits to unhealthy sweets.

Whilst both of you were in Peter’s life, he saw you more as comfort - it was taking a while for Peter to adjust with Tony, he still see it as a mentor and student sort relationship. But, with you, he sees someone who he could come to for any troubles with school and relationships. 

Peter walked into the living room, hearing how you and Tony were bickering over which character was better in Game of Thrones in each house. Peter couldn’t help but laugh about it.

“Hey, kid! Tony greeted with a wave, placing the hand back on your shoulder.

You smiled at Peter, “Heya Pete!”

“Hi Mr Stark, hi dad!”

Silence.

The only thing that was playing was the show in the background as Peter stood in his spot in utter fear. Tony sat there in silence as he looks over at you, you slowly got up from your seat without saying a word and made your way to Peter.

Peter looked at you with wide eyes, “I- I mean...!”

You engulfed him into the biggest hug you could muster. One hand on his back and the other in his hair, Peter found himself relaxing as he immediately wrapped his arms around you and grip you tight. You brushed his hair as he buried his face into your shoulder.

You release him, in fear that you might suffocate him, “I’m really honoured.”

“I-” Peter turns red, looking down for a moment before looking at you, “You are my dad, to me.”

You smiled widely at him, “Okay, celebration time, let’s bake cookies!”

You lead the way as Peter offers to help, the two of you pull your sleeves up as you bring the ingredients onto the counter. Tony followed, silently watching with a fond smile upon his face. He ruffles Peter’s hair with a smile as Peter beams at him.

“Alright, what can I help with?” Tony asked as you asked him to bring out the kitchen utensils, “Oh and Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“What about me?” Tony pouts as Peter widen his eyes as you laugh loudly.

“Tough luck baby, it looks like Pete favours me,” You teased as Tony scoffed.

“No, unacceptable, I’m taking Peter for a week out, I’ll be the favourite parent.”

You roll your eyes as you look over to Peter whilst Tony rant, shaking your head and nodding your head towards your boyfriend, as you mouthed to Peter “Get a load of this guy.”

Peter smiles.

Peter knows death, but he’s well acquainted with family.

[roz-ani]

This whole scene tells us so much about Oscar. He and Oz were probably “playing” this guessing game for a while to kill time. It might be a callback to times when books were Oscar’s only entertainment when he lived on a farm with his aunt. This previous life was a bit boring but definitely easier. And what he quotes is terrifyingly accurate to his current situation.

She brushed off her bumps and bruises for nothing hurt worse than the loneliness in her chest.

Oscar admits he never understood why the main heroine wasn’t happy after she finally found a way home. We have very little information about the character and her story, that line is probably referring to some point of her travel, but the ending is what matters the most. She reached her goal, she came back, but not as the same person. Since she was trying to find a way back, we can assume she didn’t really want to travel in the first place... Or maybe she did, but not in this way. A way that caused her pain, both physical and mental. Maybe she imagined travelling would be something exciting, that she could experience certain things on her own, stay true to herself in a way. Just like Oscar.

I started to feel like me. Not the same me I was before all of this, but the me I always wanted to be. I felt like I was actually part of the team.

I was never truly gone. Our two souls are still on the inevitable path to becoming one.

This clearly shows how Oscar has been feeling this whole time. He might be doing what he always wanted - having adventures, learning about the world, making new friends... but not as himself. Not only he feels like he’s losing parts of his soul, the people who are around him care more about Ozpin. They may provide support from time to time, but that doesn’t protect him from being harmed, even by those people. Part of Oscar is what separates him from fully experiencing what he always dreamed of. Ozpin is the reason why he’s there in the first place.

Who would ask for this?

And he suddenly disappears. It causes Oscar a lot of pain, but he still has a goal, a responsibility. The situation seems hopeless, but there are still things that need to be seen through the end. Ozpin’s absence allows Oscar to finally be himself, make his own decisions, prove he’s something more. The group accepts him. They don’t ignore Oscar, they see his growth and are there for him and him only in the time of need. And even when his plan fails...

They find a new goal. There’s no way of changing the past after all. That gives Oscar a new chance. But, as we all know, there’s always something, always someone... Ozpin comes back and Oscar knows he'll have to reveal that to his team - the same people that hurt him because of that man. They won’t do that again, won’t push him away, but it won’t be just Oscar anymore. The merge is still in progress. That break, the return to once held freedom is gone. Most likely for good. 

I know you don’t always know what to do, but that’s never stopped you from doing something.

Words addressed to Ruby, yet describe Oscar so well. These two share many similarities and it seems like Ruby’s upcoming fall is the opposite of Oscar’s apparent rise... He doesn’t give up after being kidnapped. It’s certainly part of Ozma’s experience, but Oscar became a host because of the similarities between him and the ancient hero. It’s painful, it results in incredible pain, but there’s also hope, a goal to reach. He agrees to endure the pain for the sake of the greater good and hope that his enemy’s mind can be changed. It all comes from Oscar. But just because he seems to deal with it better than expected, it doesn’t mean he feels the same about the reason he’s in this situation.

I don’t like what happens when we use magic. Every time we use it, I can feel us merging faster. I’m... not ready for that.

Honestly, I think you’re doing just fine on your own.

Oscar has embraced the role of the next host, but he knows that was his responsibility. He’s scared of the inevitable. The last time someone told him he’s his own person didn’t seem to matter. Ozpin is the only one who can support him in that situation. After all, there’s no one who could understand him better...

But wouldn’t it be better if his friends were here to protect him, just like the last time? So he wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded about the things he didn’t do, about the inevitable end of his individuality. He’s slowly coming back to times when everyone wanted to talk to the man inside his head. That’s why Salem kidnapped him. Everything is about Ozpin. It’s his muscle memory that Oscar is presenting, because of the merge rules people see their old friend/enemy in Oscar - nothing more than a communication tool. When Oz was gone, Oscar finally experienced how it feels to be wanted. The group was there for him, not their old headmaster. And all that he had left inside the Whale was loneliness.

But they are here. They came for him. Not for Ozpin, for Oscar. His plan worked and all that matters now is getting to safety.

That, obviously, doesn’t end well. Salem can’t be reasoned with, she doesn’t hesitate - she will kill his friends. The only way of fighting is with magic. The same thing that, in Oscar’s mind, will make him lose what he has gained faster. But he doesn’t hesitate. And when the time comes, he chooses to stay there - for his friends.

The thing about Oscar is that he has to make his destiny his own. He knows that's necessary, and he will do it, but will also sacrifice everything that he holds dear. Delaying the merge is the only thing left for him, but magic is sometimes the only way of fighting, protecting the people he loves. Oscar's actions are truly admirable. He doesn't lament about the unfair destiny - he acts.

But where's the joy in reaching your goal if you're not the same person anymore?

[im-going-to-cryo-bust]

heyy,may i request with diluc and kaeya, s/o who gets hurt but like doesn't tell them till someone slips it up.Thank you!!

Diluc and Kaeya on: fem!s/o getting hurt

WARNING: angst/hurt with comfort

You end up in the hospital after a series of rookie mistakes. It's not your first time, so you reassure your teammates and plead them to keep quiet about it. It only takes a few weeks or only one day, considering that elemental healing will speed up the process. All you have to do is lie down and pray that no one spills the beans until things are better or confirmed...

Kaeya is in the center of Mondstadt so it’s impossible to avoid him, he did suspect that your mission is going on longer than usual

Ah, but what was the point of secrecy? Kaeya is too good at sweet talking that he found out in an hour - majority of that hour spent hunting down your party members.

He'll most likely "accidentally" stumble into your party members and bait them to a willing, subtle interrogation

He'll tease out little hints and piece everything together without even needing a direct answer

If you had a minor injury

He would take some time on the way to buy you a snack or gift to make you feel better. He spends a little longer more than he would like, cursing a bit and choosing one of the three presents he thought you might like. You hear rhythmic knocks on your door and the door swings open, Kaeya dramatically walking in with a smug smirk on his face. "How are you doing?"

You roll your eyes as Kaeya saunters in, sitting next to you and holding a gift in his hands. He laughs, but he looks nervous. His leg shakes erratically despite him pushing down on it, knuckles white. Then you remember the way his eyes flickering around the room, averted by his vexing smirk. Before you can talk about it, he interrupts with a distraction, the gift. He observes you with a smile as you brighten up at the sight of it, feeling a lot more better at the sight of you. 

Kaeya continues to distract you with teases that get you all riled up (adorable and hilarious in his opinion) and discussing the nervous nature of your encountered party member. You take the opportunity to retort about his nervousness. He looks stunned for a second, but he chuckles, “I knew I couldn’t get anything past you..” He hesitates. “I was worried when your friends looked so anxious, I was preparing myself for...” ‘The worst.’ Kaeya leaves it as it is, bitter smile in the pensive atmosphere. You clutch his hand tighter and Kaeya lightens up, reciprocating and knitting your hands together.

“When they said it was minor and you would recover soon, it was like a boulder was lifted off my chest.” He pats your head, his touch lingering longer and his gaze fond. “I’m glad, glad that you’re okay.”

If you had a major injury

"What?" His charming smile disappears, words slipping through a frown of gritted teeth, daring (even hopeful) for the person to say it's a joke. The answer doesn't matter, he can tell from their expression. He only allows a flash of pure terror to be seen by them, pushing through the crowds of people to reach the hospital.

When he bursts into the room to see you, his eyes fixated on yours. He freezes at the door, processing everything now while you are there, alive, in front of him. He refuses the voice in his head feeding into his fears, making him scared to come closer for a confirmation. He might have to face it: a loss and an emptiness.

But then you weakly smile and reach out for him; and he can finally breathe again. He is so urgent that he stumbles to get there, to give you comfort. Finally, when he sits next to you, you can see closer the joy but weariness in his expression. He has a smile unlike Kaeya, ridden with anxieties and unable to fool even a domestic dog. He pecks your hand and sandwiches it between his, familiar warmth wrapping around your hand. You start to fall asleep, exhausted by the events of today, and Kaeya overlooks worryingly. These injuries happen all the time, it's part of the job, but it doesn't make it any better to see - especially when it involves you. He swears and curses under his breath, not wanting to wake you up. 'It's best for her to get some rest', he tries to assure himself from his concerns, but he can't stop his stupid leg from shaking. He hangs his head, still clutching your hand, and he allows a few tears to fall despite himself. He closes his eyes and focuses on the touch of you, calming down and slowing down his breaths knowing that you are here, alive and well, next to him.

When you wake up, Kaeya's head lies uncomfortably asleep with a disturbed expression on his face. Your hand is intertwined with his while you both were sleeping, seeking that familiar heat that made you feel ever better. He mumbles in his sleep, his grip tightening on your hand as often as his eyebrows furrow. Your touch soothes him, the tension and wrinkles on his face vanishes when you lovingly stroke his hair or gently caress his cheek. As long as he can feel your warmth, he can sleep much better.

He would either find it through his acquaintance in Mondstadt’s hospital or be told at the winery. 

It’s not pleasant either way, especially since there would be a period of unsettling silence after the metaphorical beans have been spilt

His interrogating is less subtle than Kaeya, very straight forward and to the point so he can get to where you are faster with preparation

Diluc uses the classic, intimidation method that is amplified by his resolve to see you and assure himself that you are safe

If you had a minor injury

You hear soft knocks on your door and a tentative voice asking from your lover, giving you a forewarning before he comes in. He doesn’t waste a second to be by your side, assessing your injury in closer detail then lightly scolding you out of the worry. It might take 2-6 minutes just for him to calm down and get it all out. Diluc is sensitive to your injuries, fearing the worst when anything happens, and he finds it childish; always trying to hide it with his lectures. This grumpy façade falls quickly, like always, after reassurance from you and inspecting your wellbeing with his own eyes. 

Diluc sighs, "...but it's a minor injury, and you’re Y/n L/n.” He smiles assuredly and it encourages you because of how confident he is of you.

He’ll cling to you, self-aware of his behaviour and evidently embarrassed about it, but does it nonetheless with pink cheeks. You pretend not to see when he hesitantly leans on you or when his hand lingers on yours while you both chat about everything else. Soon you’ll find him pecking your cheek or kissing you more than usual

“It’s to make you feel better.” He mumbles going in for another after you tease him about it. Kisses are one of the things he uses to be expressive for his love for you, so he becomes generous when you get hurt like this and gets more affectionate to hopefully “love” the pain away.

If you had a major injury

Diluc is shell shocked; colour draining from his face in favour of raw fear. He is reminded of the dreadful past and it toys with his heart, stringing it along to his vulnerability of you. He fails to fully grasp his thoughts but his legs move on their own to see you, to feel you and to know for sure that you're okay. He pushes and shoves through people in his way, silent to anyone that approaches. He finds it hard to breathe, maybe it's how he ran to the hospital or the tight cinching in his chest.

When he enters your room, he'll take in your form and process the injuries you've sustained. He looks more horrified and panicked the longer he looks. He beats himself over it and swallowing the growing shame in his throat. ‘How could I have let this happen?’ Past buried memories come alive and it gets harder for him to stay grounded. These things don’t go away easily, he knows from experience, and he’s afraid of the unknown future and of what will happen next. What if you don’t recover and... Bad thoughts choke him up and he wallows deeper into it.

But then you smile, like nothing is wrong; even though that small action took so much energy and you end up wincing in pain. Diluc looks heartbroken.

No moment is spared when he is next to you, he'll even fall on his knees and just, cry. It's like all this tension in his chest is released at once. It's scary, worrying even, and you start to wonder who's supposed to worry over who. You stroke his hair and mumble comforting words, his sobbing dissolves into embarrassed sniffles. He remarks on it, but you reassure him that it's endearing.

You both might fall asleep like that; your hand on his nest of hair and his head on the hospital bed. There are some times you wake up and see Diluc awake in cold sweats, tightly gripping on the covers of your bed, pale as a ghost in the night. He tells you to go back to sleep and rest, but you wait until he does. He guilty stares at you as you stay up, half-awake at 2am, about how it’s fine and how it’s going to be okay. He shakes his head and looks pitifully at you, flinching at your injuries - more effected than you are. It makes you upset and a little frustrated, so you sigh and reach out to him. He leans close and you kiss him on the forehead, expressing a passionate-believe me glare. Then he remembers that he trusts you, you are the Y/n he loves. He smiles gratefully, and when you wake up in the morning he is still snoring asleep. 

🌼💫 Hello, sorry for the inactivity, it’s just that I got quite stuck. But now it’s over and this is the result :) This is a very very long post, so I had to put a “keep reading” or else people uninterested would have to keep scrolling for 5 minutes. A reminder is that this is what I hc Diluc and Kaeya to act, it’s not definite and it’s fine if you disagree because this is imaginary and based on subjective perceptions. If you do enjoy these hcs, do check out my blog for more and tell me if you do!

[danteinthedevildom]

A Royal Pajama Party “Analysis” - Part 1 (of 7)

I mentioned (a while ago, oops) that I had a lot of thoughts on Diavolo’s character as revealed in the A Royal Pajama Party Devilgram. I ended up with so many screenshots, I couldn’t contain them all to a single post - so I’ve had to split it up into seven parts (ironically). 

For this first part, I’m focusing on the free chapter. Spoilers under the cut, of course! 

To start off with, I’m going to focus on this one, single screenshot. Despite how short it is, there’s a lot that’s revealed in just six words. 

My main point of focus? Diavolo is so genuinely excited to spend time with you - actual time, not time he’s tried to slot in with some pretend event to trick you into hanging out with him - that he’s been actively waiting for you to turn up. 

This is something I’ve noted before, but we know from previous Devilgrams that Diavolo doesn’t often get to spend time with other beings simply because nobody really wants to. He openly admits that he has to trick his friends into it by planning parties - as seen in the Concealed in Colour Devilgram - and that he struggles to get out of that habit now that he’s found someone (you) willing to visit the castle just to see him. No other alterior motives required. 

And here he is, finally setting something up without trying to trick you into it! He doesn’t feel as unsure about your friendship with him anymore; he’s aware - and accepted - that you are there for him, to see him, and that he really can just ask for your time and have you willingly show up. So he’s created this little, private sleepover just to hang out with you. That shows a heck of a lot of improvement in his confidence with you and the strength of your friendship (or relationship, depending).

It also just shows the sheer excitement he has towards it. He’s anticipating the moment you arrive with such ferver that he’s been actively waiting for you. I’ll go over this a little more beneath another screenshot, but this really does highlight A) just how much it means to him that you’re coming over for a hangout and nothing more, and B) how rarely this happens for him that it’s an event worth waiting for. 

This is, mostly, just exceedingly cute, in my eyes. 

Firstly, the onesies are canonically a gift from Diavolo due to his enthusiasm for the concept of sleepovers and his enjoyment at having everyone wear one (which he believes makes it feel like a festivity). He’s so into the idea of everyone doing something together that, even if they aren’t specifically there with him, he’s had these outfits made for the beings he considers friends to unify them in fun and merriment. 

These are things he’s never been able to do before. With his isolated and sheltered childhood, the experience of sleepovers with friends - something more than normal for most (if not all) of us - would have been something he completely missed out on due to the impossibility. He couldn’t get anyone close enough to him to even make friends, let alone have them spend the night with him playing games and having fun. 

So, this act of making onesies and sending them out? This is probably his own way of replicating that experience. He’s aware that a lot of the demons - and possibly the angels - won’t be too enthused with the events he has planned, and might begrudge even showing up. Doing this instead - letting them have their own sleepovers but with his gift - is like giving them that freedom and distance from him while still being involved. 

It also shows the sort of relationship he wants to have with them. Yes, he canonically needs to send everyone an outfit since that’s how outfits in these events work - but the devs could have just as easily come up with some other reason for them all having onesies. Considering the main event, it could’ve literally just been “these are outfits forced on them as part of the curse, and are retained afterwards as a reminder of the experience”. 

To state, then, that Diavolo had these made for everyone - and combined with another screenshot I’ll show later, where Diavolo announces that he believes onesies to be part of the sleepover experience - shows that he wants the other main characters to be the kind of friends comfortable and happy enough in his company to willingly spend extended time with him. 

(It also shows, I think, that they’re the friends he always hoped for as a child. You often find that people who were isolated as children or forced to grow up too quickly try to recreate moments they never got to experience in their childhood once they’re adults. I fully believe Diavolo is doing this. He’s always doing this; it’s why he can be so immature at times. He wasn’t allowed to be a normal kid, so he’s being a big kid now to make up for lost time. It’s why it’s so important to him that he does this sort of thing with others.)

Secondly, I love the wording of the second screenshot: “I’ve had yours specially tailored”. 

This is a way around not showing MC with a onesie, and allowing all of us to create our own, sure. However, it’s also Diavolo openly admitting that he’s put extra work (and no doubt time and money) into having MC’s outfit created. After all, it’s not likely due to us being human; Solomon’s a human too, and he got his onesie without issue (Simeon explains that Purgatory Hall get theirs at the same time in his SSR Devilgram, Purgatory’s Pajama Party).

The implication? Diavolo didn’t just want to give us a onesie; he wanted to give us the perfect onesie. 

Do you recall that I said I’d come back to Diavolo’s waiting later? This is why. (Please excuse the shoddy editing to remove my own MC’s name-)

This exchange says so much about Diavolo’s relationship with you. Not only is he anticipating your arrival, he’s anticipating it with such unrestrained glee that he - the Prince of the Devildom; most powerful demon in his entire kingdom - ignored typical royal protocol and sat down in front of the castle entrance, impatiently waiting for your arrival, so he could be the first person you saw as you entered. 

The way he words it, you can imagine him bubbling with excitement, eyes constantly flickering over to the clock, shifting in his seat until the need to pace drew him to his feet, counting down the minutes until your scheduled arrival. Then, maybe fifteen minutes early - or thirty, or an hour - he can’t contain himself anymore. The sheer excitement - the knowledge that you’ll be there soon, there of your own free will, there to spend time with him - finally gets the better of him, and he sneaks away to stand before the grand front doors, eagerly awaiting the moment they open to reveal your much-loved form. 

I’d definitely say it was a substantial amount of time, too. Fifteen minutes at the least, and maybe an hour at the most; Barbatos seems genuinely shocked, and the fact he says “all this time” implies Diavolo’s been guarding the door for a while. Longer than any reasonable demon - let alone a royal one - should have been. 

This childish excitement really does show just how much of that lost youth Diavolo is getting back through MC. You let him experience things he never got to; things that were utterly normal for everyone else. He gets to replace those memories of loneliness and isolation with these moments of exhilaration and unrepentant joy - all because you treat him like someone normal. Someone worthy of care.   

Additionally, the extent to his feelings towards you? Fully encompassed in that screenshot: “For [MC], no amount of time is too long.”

He cares about you and enjoys your company to such a degree, he’ll wait however long it takes just to see you. Every moment spent counting the minutes and seconds is worth it if, at the end, he gets to spend time with you. You - the one being he’s fully confident enjoys his presence as much as he enjoys yours - mean so much to him, you’re fully capable of making the Prince of the Devildom wait for hours, and he’ll be perfectly content to just sit there until you arrive.

What other being in all the Three Realms can claim the same thing? That they made the Prince wait for their arrival, and rather than be met with annoyance and disregard, they walked in to a veritable man-puppy so overwhelmingly enthused to see them he had to be scolded by his butler for breaking protocol?

The best part, of course, is Barbatos’ response. He sounds so resigned, so disbelieving; like a mother sighing over their child’s ridiculous behaviour. 

This isn’t the first time Diavolo’s done something like this. This isn’t the first time Barbatos has had to reprimand Diavolo for acting in an un-princely manner over you. It’s something we’ve seen before, of course - in the aforementioned Concealed in Colour Devilgram, Barbatos teases Diavolo for constantly inviting MC over just to see you - but in this instance? When it’s not just Diavolo making up some scheme to lure you to the castle? It implies something else.

Firstly, it implies Diavolo’s behaviour regarding you is completely different to his behaviour regarding anyone else. That sort of childish, gleeful, almost puppyish excitement? The enthusiasm that makes him lose his poise and authority, and drives him to do such expressive things as wait to greet you at the front door? That’s very likely reserved only for you. It’s only you that he so wholly loses his shit over, to be absolutely blunt about it. It’s only you he feels so strongly for as to make such a bold declaration over. 

Secondly, though? It implies this sort of... length, I think, is the best way to word it; the lengths Diavolo will go for you, even in really small, insignificant ways. “Whenever anything concerns [you] in the slightest”, Diavolo will forego all set boundries and standards. That feeling of resignation is Barbatos chastising Diavolo’s utter willingness to do... pretty much anything for you. 

He’s just so excited that you’re there, he overreacts. From the tone, the sprite, and the wording used, I could fully imagine that, when it comes to you, Diavolo isn’t above diving out windows just to keep good on a promise. He isn’t above going the extra mile for your sake, whether asked for or not. 

And though it’s done in a humorous way here - really just implying that Barbatos is a bit done with Diavolo’s sillier antics when it comes to you - it does make me wonder just how far that goes. It’s when anything concerns you “in the slightest”. Not just directly, but anything that has you in it even tangentially. 

How much has Diavolo done, or planned, or changed, solely because it might have a glancing side-effect that makes you smile? How many times has Barbatos had to mention your name in something to get Diavolo to take an active interest in it? How many times has, “I believe MC would benefit from this...” actually worked to get Diavolo to consider a proposed deal? 

More than that, however; if these are the lengths Diavolo goes to when you’re only slightly involved... what lengths would he go to if you’re more directly involved? What lengths would he go to if your involvement was something dangerous? Something that could have a rippling effect across the Three Realms?

You’re the only true friend Diavolo really has. He’s admitted before, more than once - both in the main game and in Devilgrams - that he’s aware both Lucifer and Barbatos don’t consider him as much of a friend as he considers them, and although we know of someone like Queen Rose, we don’t actually know the full extent of their friendship. Certainly not all too close, if the Dame event was anything to go by; it still felt stiff and formal, and Diavolo was still putting on airs. 

You’re the only friend he can really let loose with; can laugh and play and spend time with, without having to do so through a veneer of formality. 

He can be himself around you. Not the Prince, but Diavolo.

How far would Diavolo go to preserve the only friend he’s ever had?

+++

This post is the longest one of the lot, so if you made it this far - thank you! Hopefully it’s been an enjoyable and easy read. 

The next set of screenshots are a bit more clear and don’t require so much in-depth thinking, but still provide plenty food for thought regarding Diavolo and his relationship with MC. They also go into content that you have to use Story Keys to unlock, so if you’re unwilling to see spoilers, you’ll have to end your reading here.

That said, if you’ve already unlocked the Devilgram (or are curious about what happens next/how much we learn about Diavolo in the next chapter), you can hop right over to part 2!

[sepublic]

Isaac’s Coming-of-Age Moment

           I find Isaac’s talk with the Captain in Season 3 weirdly… sweet, in a sense?

           Like… I kind of get this vibe from Isaac during their conversation that he’s basically some hot-headed, emotional youth, who is confused in a lot of ways, basically a teenager, and he just really needs some actual guidance, a positive adult/parental figure in his life that he can actually count on! Which, I don’t want to infantilize Isaac, but then again he does refer to himself and Hector as children who need to grow up in Season 4, so maybe I’m not too far off.

           I dunno, I just get the feel that as someone who’s been alone for a LONG while, without any real positive interactions with people or older figures… Isaac’s just in a kind of generally moody, angsty sort of headspace akin to an angsty teenager, obviously unreasonable in some regards, but not truly, his feelings are valid and you can tell that by the end of the day, he just wants to be left alone and in peace.

           So it feels really sweet to have Isaac actually like- Talk to an older figure who for once is acting as a mentor, passing on some real wisdom and guidance. The Captain can tell that Isaac needs someone to help him through what is a VERY confusing part of his life, a part that will decide a lot for him –again, like a teenager- and he’s very patiently and considerately advising Isaac; But at the same time, he’s not condescendingly lecturing him either. The Captain shows Isaac a lot of respect and consideration, and is both talking to him as an equal, but also as a mentor if that makes sense.

           And to me, that’s just really nice and heartwarming to watch, because with Dracula also in mind, I’m lowkey getting the impression of Isaac as this like; Jaded youth who secretly yearns for approval by someone for once, we can kind of see this from his abuser in the flashback. 

          Isaac hasn’t quite completely gotten over this, but with the Captain, Isaac can finally get that validation and support that he really needs and craves from an older figure, in a way that isn’t toxic and unhealthy. And I love Dracula and I will always applaud his decision to save Isaac’s life at the end of Season 2, how THAT led to Isaac learning to live for himself, I will forever love that moment even more from now on;

           But I think Dracula and I can both agree that he’s not, like. The healthiest role model nor person for Isaac to look up to, nor dedicate himself towards. Really, nobody is the healthiest person for Isaac to dedicate himself towards, he needs to live for himself after all! So it really was for the best that Isaac had himself cut off from that sort of toxic dependency; Dracula is an ENORMOUS step-up from Isaac’s abuser, sure, but he still represented Isaac’s refusal to really value himself, only just in relation to others.

           Anyhow, I really appreciate that talk where Isaac low-key finds a bit of a Father Figure in the Captain. Maybe I’m just protecting a little, but I found it very endearing how the Captain talks directly to Isaac as a person, in many ways he’s kind of firm and fair, but in a way that shows that he actually CARES about Isaac, and not that he’s just trying to get his own way. 

          Like, the Captain is interested in seeing Isaac prosper, but he’s not toxically dedicating himself to Isaac, the way Isaac would’ve done to Dracula’s memory; And that ability to help others and invest in them, while still being yourself, was no doubt enlightening for Isaac.

           Just… that side-eye glance of Isaac’s bear the end, actually stopping to think and consider, when the Captain tells him that hey, you can be a ruler! An almost endearing kind of immature desire to deny this in a rather “It’s not a PHASE” type of way, but it is in fact clearly getting to him, whether he likes to admit or not, and it’s kind of flustering Isaac. When the Captain gives him no shit but still treats him like a person. In general, all of Isaac’s interactions in Season 3 came from older figures who were a lot more experienced than him, which I think just adds to this idea that… 

          He really is kind of young and inexperienced in a lot of ways. And he really needs some second opinions to surround himself with, perspectives that are at times differing; Which I think is a neat contrast with Carmilla, who mostly relies on an echo chamber of her sisters and isn’t very receptive to different opinions.

           But yeah, Isaac is an utter mood, basically a moody, edgy teenager, who just needs some love and cherishing, some real mentorship and guidance, provided with actual respect and consideration, so he can get through what is an incredibly confusing AND formative period of his life. 

          It makes me all the more happy that it turns out for the best for him, and I really want to see a fic where like; Him and Hector encounter Dracula and Lisa, with all four on healthier terms, and Dracula’s sort of joy at seeing his other two sons being happy and living for themselves like he’d hoped- While Hector and Isaac are lowkey like, “See Dad! See how we’ve really become our own person, isn’t that really cool?” In that sort of excited, endearing way where they show a lot of respect and admiration, and place a lot of faith and trust in Vlad’s opinion. 

          Because even if they aren’t dependent on Dracula’s opinion, it’s still nice to see him validated and swell with pride, to actually see his Forge Masters get along as he’d always hoped. Like a sort of Coming of Age moment where they happily reflect on how much they’ve grown, to people who’d really respect and appreciate it, telling them that hey, your love for me, it paid off- It really meant a lot and I’m happy to tell the both of us that it wasn’t for nothing, it really meant SO much to me and helped, thank you!

           It’s just… Really endearing how we can see Isaac comfortably, in a safe space and level of interaction that isn’t plagued by threat nor violence; Afford to get snappy with someone else, like he can actually express his feelings at the Captain, but he doesn’t have to worry about holding himself to a subordinate level like with Dracula. Isaac can just be himself without having to constantly brace himself for the possibility of conflict or bloodshed, he can just comfortably exist in this space with a stranger and actually, fully, talk with someone who he feels actually gets and understands him on some level.

          Isaac is in a good environment where he can just let himself out, and it’s incredibly refreshing to watch- It was no doubt extremely cathartic to Isaac, I imagine. And it really stands to show that just as Lisa advised Dracula, traveling around the world really can be good for your health, for opening your mind and worldview; So it’s sweet to see that Dracula ended up passing on and applying Lisa’s wisdom to his low-key son, and that wisdom DID end up working out for him in the end! Thanks, Lisa.

         Now I can only imagine Isaac talking to Lisa about this and feeling really grateful, because she ended up inspiring HIM as well… And Lisa just looks wryly at Dracula like, Oh so you DID take my advice, and not only that, passed it onto others as well?

         And THAT just makes me imagine an older Isaac who continues the cycle of not abuse, but growth and guidance, who sees himself later on in another angry youth who reminds him a lot of himself, and then guides them to be more constructive- Because believe it or not, this wise King DOES understand what it’s like.

         He chuckles to himself when he realizes how the tables have turned, how HE’s the one giving The Talk to some kid, and he kindly, nostalgically, gratefully reflects on the Captain’s wisdom, and how it lives on through him and now this youth. Isaac and the kid are not so different and this realization of similarity and common ground just helps Isaac with accepting that human part of himself, and reaching out compassionately.

         Isaac is joked with and given much-needed fun and levity, while still taken seriously and respected as an individual; And I’m sure it means a lot to him, not that he fully realizes it yet. The Captain really expresses faith and belief in Isaac to grow up and support others through his own wisdom, the Captain sees himself in Isaac and that’s really fascinating- How this stranger is acting on this empathy to talk to Isaac and relate to him, to humanize him as a person for once. And it’s kind of shocking for Isaac to realize that others can actually relate to and see themselves in him, this alleged ‘monster’ and ‘thing’.

         It’s just neat to see an older figure express belief and expectation in Isaac to be something good because he thinks the best of him, rather than Isaac dedicating his belief to someone else, and it kind of inspires and incentivizes Isaac to do better with his life. That maybe he CAN grow and this isn’t the end for him, and one day teach others- Because maybe he DOES have something valuable to offer! The Captain recognizes Isaac as someone with potential and growth, and the ability to nurture and be positive, and I love that. 

         Especially with how Isaac dedicates himself to Dracula and his ‘wisdom of ages’, only for the Captain to turn around and suggest that Isaac himself has his own knowledge worth passing on, and that’s more than enough reason for Isaac to live for himself, then. It’s very nice to see Isaac lowkey latch onto a positive authority figure and actually be emotionally rewarded for it like he needs and deserves. And it’s even sweeter how Isaac leaves the Captain with an amicable farewell wave, and even AFTER an immediate negative experience, Isaac still decides to do better, showing that his lessons really can apply and retain underneath hardship.

         Isaac is challenged but in a healthy way that he can actually engage with and really apply himself towards, because he is a very clever person, he’s allowed to think and be rewarded for it. And it makes it all the more interesting how Isaac in Season 4 does see himself as a holy figure in a sense, not necessarily out of arrogance I feel, but from a real understanding that he’s worth a lot himself. And now Isaac can embrace happily his own self-value and what he has to offer, and his ability to do good, that maybe he ISN’T a monster but in some ways a hero, imagine that!

           (Actually, maybe Castlevania really IS a Coming-of-Age tale in a sense. Hector and Isaac’s growth are obvious, we know Trevor and Alucard is admittedly kind of emotionally stunted teenagers who learn to open up and trust, and even Sypha has her moments where she sees how the world can really suck –like the end of Season 3- before deciding for herself to have agency and initiative, and not be a bit player in someone else’s story regardless, in addition to openly defying some Speaker traditions like a rebellious teenager, because good for her! A narrative about really learning to take initiative and control of your own story, to live life for yourself, DOES seem very Coming-of-Age now does it?)

[orsuliya]

This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

[soukokuwu]

This is a bit particular, but can I get a scenario on Dazai when his (female) s/o, whom he's been with for a while, tells him that she was has a terminal condition and she'll only live a few more years? He's bitter that she has to die so early and expects her to feel the same way, but he's surprised when she explains that she's gotten past her resentment of the situation and is only grateful that she was able to experience the world as long as she had? Tysm!

Dazai Osamu

➢ angst, a hint of fluff (dazai x reader)

➢ warnings, suicidal thoughts, death

➢ word count: 2.1k

➢ ah i always love a good angst theme! i hope you don’t mind that i made this a full story i just got so absorbed writing this that i kept going 🥺 i really hope you’ll like this anon! 🌻🤍

Life & You

Pain and loss.

They followed him everywhere, wherever he went, in every crevice he thought he could hide in. They were the only thing that reminded him he was even remotely human, of the fact that he had a beating heart. The heartache was the only thing to serve as proof that he was alive, since he had never truly felt the kind of joy that made his heart soar or the kind of excitement that made it sing.

The cuts that littered his skin, under all the wraps that he used to shield them from the world, were a small yet painful reminder that somehow he still longed to find something to ignite his desire for life. If he had wanted to die right then and there - if he was really, truly hopeless, the razor would have cut its way deeper into his skin instead of settling for shallow gashes on its surface.

Nothing else made Dazai Osamu human. He was a clump of negativity and sorrow, a disdainful mess that should eventually be discarded by everyone and everything he held dear. Someone undeserving of feeling any sort of human connection.

Or so he thought, until he met you.

You were a strange little thing. The most infectious kind of love bug he thought he would never get himself involved with. Yet there was something pulling him to you, like you were opposite poles of a magnet, likewise spurring an intrigue in you that drew you to him even though you hated his initially pessimistic outlook on life.

Neither of you were ever able to pinpoint why the attraction existed in the first place. And neither of you tried to explore it either. The both of you had sought something in the world that you had somehow found in each other. Neither of you questioned the nature of your love for fear that deeper probing might lead to proof that the two of you weren’t meant to be.

For Dazai found a reason to live in you. And for you found in him something to be thankful to have lived for.

But it was funny how a dream can be right there in front of you, so attainable, yet it can be as fleeting as it came, taken away from you just like that.

The doctor profusely apologised and the nurses looked away out of pity. You kept your silence, disappointed that it turned out this way yet you weren’t surprised in the least. Life had a knack for bringing you down when you were up, and this was just another one of those moments. Although this takes the kick.

It had taken a while for you to process the news. ‘A while’, which of course meant a few months. And each day you spent with Dazai, the guilt that you shouldn’t have felt grew and grew. None of this was anyone’s fault, you were pretty sure it wasn’t even genetic. There was no one to blame but the cruel hands of fate. But fate doesn’t exist in a tangible form for you to take your hate out on. The only thing you could do was accept it. You knew that, but you knew Dazai didn’t.

This insecurity that built up inside you had caused you to put off breaking the news to him. But if you had learned anything throughout your own journey of acceptance, it was that faith could tide you through the darkest of times and the bleakest of moments, even if it had to be blind.

You had to trust in him. You had to believe that Dazai would continue loving you, even in death, and carry your wish for him to keep on living, no matter how selfish it seemed.

It was painful; to be able to see the pain flashing in his eyes even as he was trying his hardest not to show it. But you weren’t his lover for nothing. You could notice these tiny, subtle movements and twitches. Only most of the time you acted like you didn’t, if only to ease the possible worry Dazai would harbor about making you feel bad.

Throughout your relationship he had been calm and collected, his comedic facáde never once fading. Not even when he had to explain to you about his old scars, not even when you spotted him nearly committing suicide that one time. Which was why you were surprised at his sudden outburst upon hearing of your future, or lack thereof.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” was the first thing he shouted. You could see the anger, the upset in his face, this being the first time he’s ever worn his heart on his sleeve. “Why do you sound so calm telling me this? And how do you expect me to be fucking okay with this?”

Dazai was bitter, oh so bitter. Tears made tracks down his face as he continued lashing out. His wild hand gestures and uncouth words only served to show just how angry he was at the world for, yet again, wanting to take away that with which he held most dear. He uttered a string of hopeless wishes, thinking of any possible ways to hold onto hope that you would be able to properly grow old with him.

Of course it was all futile. Your future was already set in stone. There was no changing the fucked-up ways of fate. It took a while for him to calm down, and out on the balcony the sunlight was fading, the colours of the day soon to disappear. The orange hue brought a calm that was missing throughout his rampage.

The two of you were sitting out on the patio chairs, with Dazai still hanging his head down, both hands tugging at his hair, body rocking back and forth as though it would wake him from the cruel dream he wished it was. You had to say your piece anyway, no matter how much he didn’t want to hear it. He was angry you didn’t tell him about this sooner, yes, but what made him more upset was because he didn’t understand how you’ve accepted all this, and why you’re taking this lying down.

“Because I found you, Osamu.”

Dazai swallowed the lump in his throat upon hearing your words, a feeling of utter confusion washing over him. He forced himself to turn to look at you, and he met you with his brown, desolate eyes, only serving to magnify the ache in your heart. But you steeled your resolve. This conversation still had to happen.

“You asked me why I’m not mad, right?” you reminded him, giving him the strongest smile you could manage. “I am not terrified of dying. Am I afraid? Maybe a smidge. Much less so if there’s nothing I can do about it. But Osamu?” As you focused on your lover’s beautiful face in front of you, you feel your smile growing more and more genuine by the second. “I was only able to be this happy because I met you. You are the reason why I’ve finally been able to be grateful for living.”

Dazai processed your words with suppressed joy rather than his earlier anger, the former growing as he listened further. These were words you thought but could never bring yourself to admit. And even in this situation, he reveled in hearing it. Someone like him, who could only have dreamt of what happiness felt like, actually instilled the feeling in you? The most beautiful human being he’s ever known?

“If death is going to consume me in the next few years, all I’m worried about is not when it happens. All I want to think about is how do we make our next few years together count, Osamu,” you told him, your voice strong with conviction.

You weren’t done, but Dazai couldn’t wait to pull you into a hug, stifling his sobs as he did, arms gradually wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around you. It was a simple message he was conveying: an apology for the unnecessarily long outburst and the assurance that he understood completely what you meant.

When he pulled away, you realised the tear tracks had dried, and he had a visibly calmer ambience to him. It was as though you could see the love in his eyes as he stared into yours, which was something considering Dazai never thought he could convey any love without having to explicitly do or say anything.

And as the last rays of the sun found its way below the horizon, he uttered to you the most loving words he had ever said.

“My precious belladonna, I will be together with you until your time comes, and I promise not to make you worry even after you leave.”

And Dazai Osamu kept his word. While you were still able to take your place beside him, and even after you ceased to exist. He had poured his heart and soul into loving you, something that he would never tolerate you arguing with him over. You would always tell him to do a little something for himself, not to keep prioritising you above everything.

“I will always put my belladonna first,” he would always say. “You’re going to take a whole other journey without me, could you just allow me this honour of treating you like my princess, while I can?”

You couldn’t argue with him then. After all, it was all thanks to the brunette that you were able to fully enjoy every second of your last few years in this world. Never once did he fuck up, never once did he make you feel bad about your terminal illness, never once did he show himself breaking down just thinking about life after you.

All the memories you carried on your deathbed were full of Dazai and the happiness throughout your relationship. How he had always made sure you got everything you wanted, be it simple things like food or even an overseas trip to Europe like you’ve always dreamed of. How he had treated you gentler than he thought he could ever handle anything at all. How he had proposed to you despite knowing your circumstances. How he had made sure you had the wedding of your dreams.

Even when the illness took a toll for the worst, Dazai had never let himself falter. He understood you needed him to be as strong as possible, even though you wouldn’t admit it. Showing how utterly despondent he actually was would only make things worse. So he didn’t. He continued giving you his endless care, feeding you when you were too weak to move your fingers, massaging your legs when you felt sore, and showering you with kisses no matter how frail and repulsive you thought you looked.

And now the memories were his and his alone.

As Dazai sat on your side of the bed and looked at your wedding picture, framed up and hung on the wall, he finally allowed his tears to flow. It had been a long, painful week since your passing. He had had to arrange everything, the funeral, the catering— everything.

Dazai did not have a care in the world for the expensive pressed suit he was currently wearing. He collapsed onto the bed - he swore it still smelled like you - and all anyone else could hear in the dark of the night was the painful cries of a man who had lost his wife.

A man who found something he thought didn’t exist at all and lost it to the void. A man who remembered his lover’s smile, the memories of how happy she had been on their wedding night, saying their vows, and every night after that. A man who wanted so desperately to follow her in the afterlife, only to look at his old razors and remember his promise to her. A man who wanted so badly for none of this to be real, and to wake up seeing her peaceful face on the pillow next to his. A man who thought he was a monster, finding his savior in the world he had lost hope in, an angel who brought him up from the depths of his own hell, and had to watch helplessly as she slowly fell into the abyss herself. And now a man who couldn’t find anything else to live for, save for the hopeless promise of staying alive for you, no matter how empty it made him feel.

He screamed out your name one last time before letting it drown in his sobbing, the light that appeared and stayed in his life the moment you came gradually fading away, leaving Dazai alone in the dark once more.

tags: @yokelish @gogolparadise

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. A bit of an emotional chapter this time, but Bickslow is involved so there’s also some relief. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Nine - Some Time Later

One Week Later

Before the memories hit him, Freed felt a horrible sense of deja vu.

He was in the guildhall infirmary, with almost all of his energy sapped away from him, just as he had when he had first been taken to Fairy Tail. He had a feeling that there was something changed inside of him that would shape the rest of his life, just as he had after the demon had invaded his soul. He had a feeling of yearning, hoping to see someone who was destined to be a part of his life, only to be disappointed to see he was alone again. Everything was so reflective of how it had been when he'd first woken up after his first instance of possession, and it was horrible.

Of course, the memories did eventually come to him. The tournament. The twisted feeling of power that had slowly been seeping into him through the day. The lack of control that had overwhelmed him. The sudden inability to control his body. The feeling of trying to pour his magic into the demon to overwhelm it.

And then, there was Gajeel.

Gajeel had broken down every wall of defence that the demon had in place as if it were nothing. Even with the overwhelming power emanating from the fully unleashed demon, Gajeel had been able to walk towards him, and reach out to Freed. Like a light in the darkness, Gajeel had managed to drag him out of the demon's control and allowed him his autonomy again. He had managed to do something Freed had thought impossible.

The demon was gone. Gajeel had somehow burned the thing from his soul, removing it entirely. They had killed what remained of the demon together in a unison raid moments before Freed had passed out in his arms.

But, despite the importance of it all, that wasn't what Freed was thinking about.

I'm yours and yer mine.

That demon aint got a fucking claim on you.

Yer fuckin' mine.

It ain't ever hurtin' you again, y'hear me. Never

The words weren't subtle. They weren't something you could misunderstand. They weren't anything but a claim on Freed. Gajeel was stating loudly, in front of everybody in the guild - everyone that mattered to them both - that he and Freed belonged to one another.

Perhaps if it was coming from any other man than Gajeel, Freed might have felt fury. He might have felt some level of anger that Gajeel had proclaimed such a thing so publicly without so much as asking Freed, but he only felt a sense of rightness at what Gajeel had said. Of course he and Gajeel belonged to each other. How had that been in any doubt? The moment they had first laid eyes on each other, the motions were put in place to bring them into each other's arms. It was destiny.

Had Freed always been so romantic? Perhaps he had needed the right man to bring it out of him.

"Ah, you're awake," A grouchy, haggard voice cut through the silence. "You certainly took your time, didn't you?"

Freed looked towards the door of the infirmary, to see Porlyusica walking towards him. This too was how he remembered his first experience of living in Magnolia, with the impatient and impetuous woman acting as though his life was an inconvenience for her to deal with. That was something that was familiar, if nothing else.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Freed asked, and found his voice hoarse.

"Nine days," Porlyusica said, picking something up from the small table beside Freed's bed. He didn't know what it was, but it began to glow with healing magic. She turned to Freed and sighed. "Lower your covers and hold still."

Doing as instructed, Freed blushed a little when he realised he was without any clothing. The woman didn't seem bothered, and slowly began to lower the magical item over his body. It was scanning him, and he let out a gasp when the device passed over his heart. There was a sudden flood of warmth through his body, unlike anything he could ever remember feeling before. It was pleasant, but so foreign to him that he didn't know what to feel.

"Ah, good," Porlyusica said, placing the device down again.

"What was that," Freed demanded, pulling up the sheets to protect his modesty.

"I stimulated you, that magic was intended to induce a feeling of comfort and delight," She shrugged, picking up a small piece of paper that Freed assumed had his details on. "You've had that demon eating away at you from the inside for years, so you probably grew used to its influence. It has been slowly dulling your emotions for ten years. You just felt joy like the rest of us do for the first time since your possession."

What?

His emotions had been dulled?

Surely he would have noticed that. The ability to feel how he felt was something that he had always taken for granted, and he never expected it could leave him. Perhaps he had become jaded, but he had dismissed that as growing up and working in a profession where you often saw the worst of people. The demon had been responsible for that, too?

Fuck. Fuck his damn parents and the damn demon and the damn priest who had gotten him into this position. How the hell had he lost so much control of who he was without knowing it? Why had the people he loved allowed this to happen to him. His parents were meant to protect him, not to allow this.

Was this what anger felt like when not influenced by a demon? Uneducated and bitter?

"You'll acclimate," Porlyusica said, as if knowing what he was feeling. "Those friends of yours have wanted to see you since the incident. Annoying brats. I'm going to put you to sleep again, they'll no doubt be here before you wake."

"What?" Freed asked. "No, I don't intended to-"

"Quiet," Porlusica said firmly, and tapped her cane on the floor. "Sleep."

And Freed slipped away before he could protest.

——

"Hey baby," Bickslow's voice woke Freed up before his eyes were open. "Are you feeling okay?"

He didn't know how long it had been since Porlyuscia had put him to sleep, but he woke up in the same bed with the sun higher in the sky. He blinked away the light and saw that Bickslow, Evergreen and Laxus were all sitting around his bed, looking at him with expressions of mingled happiness and concern. He pushed himself off the mattress so he could sit up, wincing at the feeling of aching muscles.

With a quick glance around, he saw that Gajeel wasn't there. That didn't feel good.

"Erm, yes," Freed said in answer to Bickslow's question, his mind not working as fast as he would have liked. "I believe I am. Are you three unharmed?"

"We're not the priority, Freed," Evergreen scoffed a little at the thought, but her expression turned to one of sympathy. It was almost motherly, which was a concern coming from her. Even worse, she took his hand and squoze it as if he needed consoling. "We all saw what happened, now be honest and tell us how you're feeling."

Freed hadn't thought of that. Everyone had seen him weakened and out of control. On the brink of death…

Fairy Tail maged had seen a lot of bad things - it came with the job - but he knew that they always were more affected when it was one of their own being hurt. This could have been terrifying to watch, and he supposed that he owed them some honesty.

"I feel… drained," Freed admitted. "As if I got into the worst fight of my life. Everything is aching, my flesh feels like it's burning from the inside, but no more than normal after a difficult mission," He thought for a moment, moving his arm as if testing that he still could. Of course he could, and the feeling spread warmth though him. It reminded him of what Porlyusica said to him, and he smiled a little. "I'm lighter now. As if a burden has been lifted."

"Well that's good," Evergreen smiled. "And you're not hiding anything from us?"

"Not knowingly," Freed assured them.

"So we can start teasing you about the fact your demon ripped off your clothes and when you transformed back we all saw you naked," Bickslow grinned, and it was a clear attempt to lighten the mood. Evergreen whacked him on the arm, but he just laughed. "Because we all saw your dick, and I gotta say baby, I'm impressed with what you've got going on down there. Don't know how I went so long without seeing it."

Freed chuckled, slightly weakly. "I'd rather not be teased about it, if possible. And I was under the impression that you've started seeing someone."

"I am," Bickslow sighed dreamily, in an overly exaggerated sense of course. "And he's the most handsome man in the world. And he's better than you because he's always getting naked in public and I love it."

Freed laughed. It was good to have Bickslow in moments like this.

Evergreen and Bickslow, as they so often did, started to playfully squabble between themselves. Evergreen had said something about how the PDA between Bickslow and Gray was revolting and far too graphic for the guildhall, and Bickslow argued back saying that Ever only thought that because she didn't have the chance to do it with Elfman because they were still being secretive about their very obvious relationship. The arguments spiralled from there, and Freed watched with amusement.

His gaze drifted from the two squabbling idiots to Laxus, who was looking at him with a quiet expression of concern. When he noticed Freed looking, he curled an eyebrow as if asking if he really was feeling okay. Freed nodded, with a small smile, and Laxus seemed to deflate a little.

"Really gone, huh?" Laxus murmured.

"It seems so," Freed nodded, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter of the demon. For a moment, Freed remained quiet, but there was one thing he needed to know. "Where is he?"

Laxus sighed, ran a hand over his face, and spoke. "You not waking up was getting to him."

"That's not an answer to my question," Freed said firmly. "Where is he?"

"He needed some time away, to deal with everything," Laxus explained. "I'll find him, he'll wanna know you're okay."

"Thank you," Freed whispered, smiling a little.

"No problem," Laxus nodded, standing up.

He walked out of the infirmary without speaking to Bickslow or Evergreen, who clearly hadn't been following their conversation as they both looked perplexed. When Laxus was outside of the building, they could all see an explosion of lightning as Laxus shot off into the sky, apparently having a good idea as to where Gajeel was. Freed certainly hoped so, he needed to see Gajeel as soon as he could.

What was he going to say to him, though? Thank you for ridding me of my curse? Everything you said about belonging together I fully agree with? When you weren't here when I woke up, I realised I always want to wake up beside you?

"Wonder what that was about?" Evergreen commented, speaking about Laxus' departure and bringing Freed's focus back to the room.

"Maybe he's still pissy becuase he and Loke were the losers of the tournament," Bickslow grinned, again trying to keep the mood light. Freed looked at him with a raised eyebrow, because that was something that would certainly distract him. "Shit, you didn't know, huh? Yeah, they didn't work well together at all. It was funny. Lost by a landslide. Laxus wasn't happy about it when I reminded him he has to do a forfeit."

"I expect so," Freed smiled. "Who will be giving him the forfeit, might I ask. I assume you, since I passed out during the fight."

"Me and Gray were deemed the winners, after we were sure you were okay of course," Bickslow assured him. "But we felt it was kinda bullshit. So we thought you and Gajeel could take the money from the prize, and me and Gray get to have fun with the forfeit. That okay?"

"I suppose," Freed chuckled slightly, because almost any other person would want the money. "What have you planned for them?"

Maybe it wasn't the most relevant thing to think about at the time, but Freed wanted the distraction. The lightness of his soul, the revelation that he could truly feel his emotions to their fullness again, and the fact that Gajeel hadn't been there when he woke were all starting to pile up on top of him. A distraction, even a ridiculous one like this, was exactly what he needed. Bickslow seemed to sense this, as he spoke with gusto and joy.

"Well, I wanna have them dress up like old-timey jesters and perform shows every night of a week where they make total asses out of themselves in front of everyone," Bickslow grinned. "And my darling baby wants them to be our butlers for a week and then they have to do everything we say. We haven't decided yet."

"Surely, if you have them as your butlers, you could make them dress like jesters and perform shows as well as anything else you wish," Freed suggested, and Bickslow grinned.

"You're a genius," He exclaimed. "And instead of suits, I'll make sure they're only wearing really tight black briefs and bowties. Really give me something to look at."

Freed chuckled. This was normal, at least.

——

Gajeel needed to keep moving. He needed to keep himself moving and active and his mind away from Freed because the moment his mind did fall onto Freed it would inevitably linger on the fact that Freed wasn't awake and that Freed might not wake up and that something Gajeel had done might have ended up killing the man that had so quickly intertwined their lives together. That was a thought too awful to even consider, so Gajeel had to keep moving.

After three days of waiting for Freed to wake, Gajeel had left Magnolia. Maybe he was a coward to do so, but he didn't care. He found himself walking, and hours later he was in the forest where he trained. The same forest where he had first gotten to know Freed.

It hadn't been a good idea.

He'd been sleeping under the stars ever since. He had exercised and forced his body to the brink of exhaustion every night, because the idea of lying down and letting sleep overcome him was nauseating. He couldn't let his mind wonder because that would mean letting himself think about Freed and he couldn't do that.

Every day, his body ached. He had pushed himself further than he ever had before. He'd ran more laps of the forest than ever, swam across the lake faster and with more purpose than he could remember doing, and he had pushed the dead tree trunk further up the hill than he thought he ever could. It was all in vain, because even in the split seconds his mind might wander from the exercise to Freed, it felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and horror flowed through him.

He couldn't take any more. Today, his body was beyond moving more than necessary, protesting against the slightest attempt to exercise. That was how he found himself sitting in the shallowest part of the river, cross legged, with his hand turned to a small blade as he whittled away at a piece of wood.

His intention had been to meditate, something he often did. But today, confronting his mind has not been possible, because they made him feel sick to his damn stomach. And so he'd reached for a nearby bit of wood, and started to carve away at it. First it had been to occupy his hands with something to stop himself from fidgeting, but the more he carved the more he got into the rhythm of it, and he quickly realised that he was carving it into something. Something for a very specific person.

A crown. A crown fit for a prince.

And fuck it, when Freed woke up - becuase he would wake up dammit - Gajeel was gonna treat him like a prince. Two weeks ago he'd given Freed shit for being pampered, but now Gajeel would give anything to be the person pampering his spoiled ass that moment. He'd bring him hot tea, make him dinner, massage his damn feet if he had to. Anything to get his prince back to him.

But for now, he had to make the crown. Because once the crown was complete, then Freed would be awake and everything would be fine. It just had to be fine. Yes, it was a ridiculous claim to make, but he had to cling onto something for hope.

He'd make Freed a real crown one day. Metal, infused with gemstones.

Freed would like that. He'd call Gajeel an idiot, but he'd enjoy it really.

Gods dammit, this was so stupid. Gajeel growled and stood up, but kept the half-made wooden crown in his hand. His body protested from the small amount of movement, but he stormed towards a nearby upturned tree that he had been resting on and slammed his fist into the bark. He did it again, and again, not turning his skin to iron so that he could feel the coarseness of the wood grazing his knuckles. He needed to feel something dammit!

"That helping you?" Laxus' voice came from behind him, and Gajeel nearly jumped at the sudden sound as he turned. Fuck, how had he missed the man approaching. "It doesn't look healthy."

"The hell are you doin' here?" Gajeel grunted. He wasn't in the mood for company. "Needed to think."

"I get that, I've been there," Laxus shrugged, leaning against the tree that Gajeel had punched and looking unwilling to move. "But he woke up, asked where you were. Thought you might get pissed off if someone didn't tell ya."

Gajeel paused.

Freed was awake.

Awake, and asking for him.

For a week, Gajeel hadn't allowed himself to think about Freed at all, and the few moments that resolve had slipped he had gone to the worst case scenario. Maybe it was some kind of bullshit defence mechanism, where if he thought only about the bad outcome then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when it happened, but he suddenly realised that he hadn't entertained the possibility that it might be okay.

He wanted to storm back to Magnolia as quickly as he could, but stumbled a little under his feet. His legs were aching and his body objecting to any movement whatsoever. He tried to fight through it, because dammit he could make it through some pain if he got to see Freed, but he nearly fell to the ground. The only thing stopping him was Laxus.

"He's not gonna be happy if you nearly kill yourself getting to him," Laxus said, hooking Gajeel's arm over his shoulder. "The two of you are fucking idiots, you know that. You love each other to the point of self destruction."

"Love?" Gajeel muttered. "He said that?"

"He looked pretty damn heartbroken when he realised you weren't there," Laxus said, slowly walking while helping Gajeel. "It means he loves you."

"Y' think so?" Gajeel asked.

"Of course," Laxus scoffed, helping the aching man traverse the woodlands. "He's not gonna admit it yet, probably convinced himself it's too soon to say it, but it's pretty damn clear. He doesn't show his emotions very well, so the fact he's showing them about you is a big deal. And if any guy could affect him so much to make him fall in love within a week, it's you."

"Really?"

"In a week, you managed to turn hatred into a special bond, you managed to nail a unison raide, you got rid of the fucking demon that's been ruining his life," Laxus laughed. "You're it for Freed. You're the last guy he's ever gonna love because who the fuck could compare to that?"

Gajeel blushed a little. Was Sparky always this complimentary?

"Aint this the point where you say yer gonna kick my ass if I fuck around with him?" Gajeel asked, because he wasn't particularly good with his feelings and Laxus had just said a lot of things that could overwhelm Gajeel if he lingered on them for too long. "Give me the shovel talk or whatever?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Laxus asked. "I saw how you look at him, I know you're not gonna be a dick or hurt him. And if you do, he'd deal with you himself."

Gajeel certainly agreed with that, his prince by no means needed anyone to fight his battles for him.

He found himself a little happy that he had gotten Laxus' blessing, even if he didn't think he particularly needed it. Laxus was an important part of Freed's life, and Gajeel didn't want to be the reason for any kind of rift between them. He also wouldn't have been surprised if Freed was firmly the type of man who might choose his friends over a new lover, and Gajeel respected that. So to have Laxus approve of them felt good.

"Just be good to him, okay?" Laxus said quietly, helping Gajeel pass over a branch that had fallen. "A lot of people have been shitty to him - more than he realsies - so be in his corner, okay?"

"Of course," Gajeel nodded, because he didn't need to be told that.

"But don't take any shit from him either," Laxus said with renewed volume, and apparently the seriousness of their conversation was over. "He's a cocky son of a bitch and he can pull some shit when you least expect it. If you're gonna be his boyfriend then it's your responsibility to knock him down a peg when he's being an ass."

"Kinda contradictory, don't y' think," Gajeel laughed a little.

"Trust me, you'll see just how much of an ass he can be, and you'll see what I mean," Laxus grinned at Gajeel, and Gajeel felt as though this was Laxus' way of offering Gajeel a way into his life, as well as Freed's. Gajeel grinned back, and they continued walking. After a little while, Laxus spoke again. "Now, you're gonna have to test how much you care for him now. We can either walk back like this, and get there past midnight, or go to the train station and risk a fucking train without his runes to settle our stomachs? It'll be faster, but feel shitty as hell."

"Train," Gajeel said immediately, despite his stomach groaning at the thought. "He's worth it."

——

When Gajeel saw Freed, he almost wanted to cry.

He stormed across the infirmary, and Freed looked towards him with an expression just as relieved as Gajeel was feeling. He didn't stop moving, and wrapped his arms around Freed as tightly as he could in a hug. Freed did the same, apparently his body recovered enough to deal with Gajeel's full strength. For a moment, they both clung to each other as tightly as they could, and Gajeel found solace in the scent of his lover's embrace.

Freed was alive, awake, and here. Everything was okay.

"I'm sorry," Gajeel mumbled into the crook of Freed's neck. "I should've been here when you woke up. I'm sorry."

"You're here now, that's all that matters," Freed whispered, and the hoarseness of his voice made Gajeel feel like shit. Freed seemed to notice, as he pulled away and cupped Gajeel's chin firmly. "I've been tortured by a demon for all of my adult life, and you have gotten rid of that. Not being at my side the moment I woke up is entirely forgivable."

"Should've been here," Gajeel argued, pressing his forehead against Freed's.

"I don't mind," Freed whispered again, leaning up and pressing his lips against Gajeel's in a chaste kiss. "So long as you're here now, I don't mind."

Gajeel leant down further, and pressed their lips together again. He pushed into Freed slightly to deepen the kiss, and his inner dragon purred at the feeling of Freed kissing him again. One night with the man had been enough for Gajeel to know that Freed was special, and that no kiss would be as good as a kiss from Freed. He had been wanting nothing but to feel the man against him again, and to have it finally happen was euphoria.

When they pulled apart, Freed was smiling at Gajeel with a lovestruck expression that looked so good on him. Gajeel would have loved to keep Freed in that moment, because such an expression could only be achieved when someone was feeling bliss. Freed was blissful looking at Gajeel!

"Lie with me," Freed requested. Gajeel didn't need to be told twice.

He maneuvered his tired body into the bed - resisting the urge to make a comment about Freed's nude state - and rested against the headboard. Freed shifted slightly, and leant against Gajeel, nuzzling into his chest with a yawn. So fucking cute.

For what seemed like forever, they stayed like this. Just the two of them, together again and breathing and alive and happy. Gajeel would happily live the rest of his life in that moment, with Freed in his arms and with comfort filling his soul. This was a level of contentment that Gajeel had never felt before, and he was unwilling to let it go. Freed was going to be his for as long as Gajeel could fight for him.

"I meant it, y'know," Gajeel murmured, pressing his lips to Freed's ear. "I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. I meant everything I said."

"I know you did," Freed smiled, looking up. "I want to be yours too. I want to wake up beside you every morning, and kiss you goodnight every night."

Gajeel couldn't help but grin, lean forward and press their lips together again. Freed was his. He was Freed. In each other's arms, they fell asleep. Content, happy, and in love.

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

secret baby ch8

Chapter 8

It's midnight when he’s woken up by a noise in his hospital room and he starts snarling before he is even fully awake. His first thought is that Enji or Hawks have found him. That they waited until he was vulnerable and unable to run to approach him. It's Enji coming to take his baby away. Coming to take him home and drag him into the training room. He fights against the drugs trying to drag him back into the dark of sleep and into awareness. He is not leaving, he will wake the whole hospital before he is taken. There will be witnesses and there will be no covering up what Enji will try to do. Dabi will not allow him to take his baby..

“Gesh way om ush” He slurs the words out. The drugs holding tight despite his alarm. Making him struggle to keep his eyes open and focused as his fingers twitch. The result of him trying to move his arm and hold his baby protectively. Even that small movement takes everything he has.

It's just a nurse. Making no attempt to be quiet and frowning when she looks up and sees him. It’s not one he knows and paranoia that she is a plant for Hawks or Enji grips him.

“Whs snt yu” he pushes harder against the promise of rest to get the words out and the sound slightly clearer.

“Your baby girl is going to tug all that foolish metal right out. '' she remarks gesturing to his piercings and takes Kiyako from Dabi’s arms as he fights off his sluggish movements. Was the medication from surgery still affecting him? He makes a bigger effort to intimidate her with a snarl. A whimper comes out instead as the nurse takes his baby and sets her on the changing table in the corner.Her bright red lacquered nails gleam as she takes his baby from the crook of his arm.They remind Dabi of blood in the darkened room and he uses the bed rail to force himself to sit up. The pain causes another whimper to escape him through his gritten teeth as he pushes past it and sits up. He has plenty of experience ignoring pain and it's just a matter of focusing on his baby for him to push it to the back of his mind. Unimportant for now, he can hurt later, like when his Kiyako is back safe in his arms.

Kiyako follows his example as she wakes up. Whimpering loudly in her tiny infant pitch as she is woken up. 

Dabi growls in warning. It came out small and weak but grows louder as he finally shakes off the drugs and exhaustion. 

 “She’s so cute, I could just eat her up” She coo’s at his baby ignoring him.

Dabi activates his quirk despite how much it usually hurts him, it's flashy and a good threat. He doesn't keep it on, having no idea if his baby is immune to his fire and not being willing to find out.

“No quirk use, I don't care how young and impulsive you are. It's against the law and you are old enough to have better control than that.” she pats at her silver hair,cut in a bob.

She has some wrinkles, she's probably somebody's grandmother. She smells strongly of omega, baby powder and lavender.

Other omega scents usually comfort each other but Dabi does not feel calm or comforted as she continues to poke at his baby’s cheeks after her diaper is changed. She continues to completely ignore Dabi as he uses the railing to remain sitting upright.

“You don't know jack shit about me or how impulsive I can be you fucking hag, “ He starts climbing out of his hospital bed, ignoring the shaking of his legs and pain of his sticthes pulling.  He has to protect his baby himself from whoever has sent this witch to take her away from him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to stand yet.” the elderly nurse looks at him in alarm, picking his baby up off the table and holding her close as she backs away from Dabi. The noise they’ve been making attracts the attention of another nurse who enters the room to see what’s going on.

“Dabi? Karen is right you shouldn’t be standing, your baby is fine but you're going to hurt yourself.“  She carefully enters the room. Her scent helps Dabi relax a little and he tries to wrangle his protective instincts under control. He hates the nosy ass bitch holding his baby girl. She’s crushing her wings against her back and he just knows that can’t be comfortable for her.

“Hey joy, is your coworker always such a bitch?” he grunts out as he limps back to the hospital bed. He sits on it but doesn't lay back down, ready to get up and protect his daughter at the smallest sign of danger.

“You can go Karen, I've got this one.'' She takes the baby carefully from Karen and holds her just below her wings. Kiyako’s whimpering dies down almost immediately. Joy hands her back to Dabi and raises the bed a little.

“There, now you can see her while we finish up weighing her and taking her vitals.” Joy supports him as he lays back against the pillows.

“Whore should have kept his legs closed if he’s too young to be decent and respect his elders. He needs to learn to control his instincts better. Parents don’t know how to raise their children with any respect these days.'' Karen mutters, glaring at Dabi as she marks something down on a whiteboard on his door and walks out.

“I'm sorry.” Dabi grits out in between the pain and anger and shame of being called out for being so young and having a baby. He knows he knows he’s doing the right thing. Even though he’s young and alone. He knows exactly what he looks like, Karen isn’t far off in her assumption of calling him a whore. He doesn't even know if Hawks was Kiyako’s father's real name, hadn’t asked in an attempt to make what they had less real.

“Dabi listen to me. Don’t let Karen or anyone like her get you down. You pulled yourself out of whatever happened to you. You just had a baby at 19 by yourself. Away from whatever has scared you enough that you won’t even give your real name to a  hospital.” Joy grasped his hand and gently squeezed it before taking his baby over to be weighed.

“I love her so much already. I'm not giving her up. I do want this, want her. She's so small and i can’t do this.” Dabi stares at her as she carefully weighs Kiyako and writes her numbers down. Unable to take his eyes off her. Instinct demanding that he keeps Kiyako in his eyesight.

“You already love her Dabi. You're going to do just fine with her.” Joy carefully hands Kiyako back to Dabi and helps him fully lay back down.

“ Honestly Karen would set even the most controlled omega off, the way she was acting in here. One who’s running from someone like you are? With a newborn baby? I'm surprised you controlled your instincts as well as you did. I'll make sure to file a complaint against her, she shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

Now that he was holding Kiyako again and laying down he realized how standing had tugged at his stitches and ran a hand over them. No blood thankfully but they hurt.

His baby girl blinks her bright gold eyes up at him. So much like Hawks already. Her bright red wings are a dead give away to her other father. The black and white ultrasound hadn’t shown the bright red she had inherited. He strokes them carefully. They are just small fluffy feathers. Small and delicate like she is.

Her wings are soft, fully fluffy red.

Kiyako finishes eating as Joy takes his vitals. She coo’s up at him before falling asleep. It's slightly warbled and Dabi just knows that when she is older she’s going to be able to chip and clack just like Hawks did. Hawks had always been embarrassed when Dabi wrung those sounds from him though. Like it was something to hide. He had even asked Dabi the first time he got hawks to make those sounds to keep the information to himself.

“See she already feels safe around you and will fall right asleep as long as she can smell you nearby.” Joy writes down the vitals she took from Dabi.

“So if i stop wearing my scent blockers she will know I'm me?” Dabi knew most parents scented their kids but he had no idea they could smell immediately.

“Your actually going to have to either stop wearing your scent blockers actually or wear ones that 

“Can she already smell me?” Dabi asked in awe and stared at Kiyako’s tuft of white hair.

“She can! And she will actually base her understanding of scents on you!” Dabi had heard that in one of the parenting books he read but it felt different to hear it. To hear that his daughter already drew comfort from him and his scent.

“She’ll have issues learning other people's scents and separating the emotions in them if you don’t leave them off often enough.” Joy finishes up on her clipboard and reattaches it to the end of the bed.

“Thank you Joy, you’ve helped me so much” Dabi gave her a small smile as she exited his room and he laid back and went back to sleep.

Nurse Joy ends up being the nurse who takes his and Kiyako’s vitals for the rest of the stay in the hospital.

@ruelukas22

[ninjakasuga]

Sonal Celebration Week Submission: Reunion

In case Tumblr ate my direct submission to @boundforfreedomsonsal I’m also posting my submission myself with the Tumblr tagged. So finally the celebration is here, and here’s my first submission. Taking place around issue 50 of the Archie-series, this is my take on when Sonic woke Sally up. As well as my own fanfic head-canon injection where I personally feel after all the kerfuffle with Endgame, Sonic and Sally got their confessions out and started the road to being a couple there. Instead of the long, convoluted delayed process, we fans had to wait nearly ten years to see to fruition. 

REUNION:

 The only sound was the crunching of leaves under Sonic’s shoes after he slowed down upon reaching the memorial. His heart instantly ached at the sight of it, despite knowing from Doctor Quack that Sally wasn’t dead. However, the sight of her ‘viewing’ memorial and her body resting in the clear-view casket, just hammered home what was his reality until a few minutes ago. His heart was hammering in his chest. The closer he got, his brain reminding him of the water-fowl doctor’s words. ‘She’s alive, but in a coma. Her tenacious will-power probably saved her life as much as her getting medical attention quickly. However, while Sally’s body has mended, I have no clue if and when she will wake up.’ 

Sonic himself had been advised to stay in bed given how utterly fatigued he had been through the entire ‘Endgame’ fiasco as everyone was calling Sally’s seeming death, his frame-job, and Robotnik’s near victory which ended in his defeat. Shuddering Sonic looked at his hands, they still tingled from impacting on the fatso’s face, and by God, if the Ultimate Annihilator hadn’t taken out Robuttnik; he was ready to end him himself. A thought that scared him to the core, especially on how he still felt okay with the act if had taken Robotnik’s life.

Guess luck was looking out for him, and maybe, just maybe luck would hold out again.

As he reached the see-through casket, a disguised medical pod, his mind snapped back to the here and now. Sally looked so peaceful, so, very dead. He knew she wasn’t, but the brief flicker of thought made his heart jump, and his breathing increase for a moment. All the pent up emotions were wanting to spill out, but he held them in. Focusing back on his task, Sonic found the latches sealing the casket and input the combination code into the five buttons Doctor Quack had given him. After the code was inputted, a soft but potent ‘hiss’ sound could be heard as the casket was unsealed and could now be opened as he wished. Grasping the edge of the container, he pulls open the clear-top, which flipped open from the bottom before automatic hinges locked the canopy into place.

Looking down upon Sally’s form, he could now see clearly, she was breathing, but very shallowly. His gaze briefly went up to the clear-canopy of her viewing casket. He had to give kudos to Doctor Quack for installing some weird, trick into the thing that hid the fact Sally was breathing from anyone who came to pay their respects. If he hadn’t pulled out all the stops, Robotnik would have undoubted discovered the ruse and finished the job Snively set into motion through Drago and Hershey. Kneeling down, he reached out, softly touching her auburn hair, and gently began to caress it. Sally always had such soft hair, even when the humidity of the summer would frizzle it to heck, somehow she still kept it silky soft. Smiling Sonic trailed his hand down to her face, feeling those adorable cheek tufts, and very, very happy he could feel the warmth of her body under her fur. Another much-needed indicator she was alive, which helped set his still hammer-beating heart at ease to some degree.

As a soft breeze blew past him, the blue hedgehog stared at the Princess’ sleeping face, wishing her eyes would open. The last few days of thinking she had died weighed on him all the things he never got to say to her, the regrets of not having gotten to say such things to her. The denial of things to come, things he at the time felt he’d taken for granted that they would come in due time, only there was no time. Now, she was alive, but would she even wake up so he could make good on doing all those things he should have already said and made clear.

Life was too short, and thankfully he’d be given another chance, and if she’d only wake up, he’d make good on telling her everything he’d always felt. With a long sigh exhaling from his lips he looks down upon Sally’s peacefully, sleeping figure again as a stray thought crossed his mind.

“No way it’d work, just stupid story-book mumbo-jumbo…” He muttered to himself, but yet at the same time, what else did he have to lose? Stranger things have come true in his short life. Grasping the edges of the casket, Sonic leaned over, planting a soft kiss to Sally’s cheek, murmuring softly, almost pleadingly, hoping it might awaken her. “I love you, Sally, please come back to us, to me.” Pulling back from the kiss, he sat on his knees at her side, watching her, and unsurprised nothing happened. That’s what you get for putting hope in fairytale nonsense.

Just as Sonic was about to pick up Sally to take her back to the hospital, someplace less out in the open, he saw her eyebrows furrow and twitch. His breath caught in his throat as he saw more signs of Sally stirring awake. “Sal?” He asked quietly, hope slowly blooming into his tone. Her mouth opened and a low groan escaped, followed by her mouth smacking together as if she was trying to get rid of morning dry-ness of the throat. The cute ears on top of her head twitched, and her fingers began to move, unclasping from the pose she was placed in, and resting on the bottom of the casket. With a smooth, if slow motion, Sally pushed herself up into a sitting position; flinching as if the motion caused her a brief bout of pain. 

“Ahh…” Her voice was scratchy and parched, but clearly hers. Finally, her eyelids managed to force themselves open, and Sonic soon found those beautiful blue peepers looking into his own as Sally craned her head causing their gazes to meet at last. Her gaze turned to one of concern as she saw Sonic’s expression along with big-wet tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Sonic? Is that you? What’s wrong, are you okay-?” Sally’s words of confusion turned to concern and were soon interrupted as she found herself caught up in a big hug that threatened to expel the contents of her lungs as she found herself gasping for air.

“YOU’RE AWAKE!” Sonic cried, standing up fully with Sally in his arms, swinging her around as he both laughed and cried happily in pure, unadulterated joy.

“S-Sonic! A-air, can’t breathe!” Gasped the squirrel-munk as the blue hedgehog spun her around, adding a bit of dizziness to her lack of oxygen.

Realizing this, Sonic quickly sets her on her feet and lets go of her, but his hands instantly snatch hers and hold on. As if afraid letting go would allow her to disappear. “Sorry Sal! I just-I just…” His words trailed off as his voice broke. Unable to really say anything he just smiled at her. “J-just glad you’re back.”

Shaking her head, she gently pulls her hands from his and cups his face, looking concerned. “What happened Sonic? You never cry unless something big happened.”

Sniffling the hedgehog wiped his eyes, trying to dry his tears. “We all thought you were dead.”

Staring at him blankly, Sally couldn’t speak as it felt like a lump was in her throat, but she somehow managed after a few beats. “Dead?!” Her tone started off incredulous but as she looked about, one look at the memorial site told her Sonic wasn’t blowing things out of proportion. Putting a hand to her head, Sally wracked her brain and slowly recalled falling down the cut rope. “I fell, that’s right I fell, my rope was cut.”

With a nod, Sonic explained everything. Her near-death experience, his being framed for her murder, Robotnik’s plans, and all the little bits and pieces that fit into each puzzle-piece slot to make up the entire affair. Once Sonic finished, Sally stood staring briefly before moving closer and hugging him tightly.

“I’m so sorry Sonic, that you went through all that.”

Accepting the hug, Sonic fought the urge to squeeze her again and nuzzled against her face, unable to help himself. Luckily for him, Sally didn’t see to mind. “I’m just glad you’re alive, that’s all that matters.” Being able to hold her again alone made what he went through worth it alone. “We’ll catch ya’ up to speed. Gonna have lots to do especially as Buttnik’s gone for good.”

A soft smile formed on her beautiful face, as Sally exhaled gently. “I still can scarcely believe it. It-it’s really over isn’t it?” It was like a dream, and she prayed to whatever deity was listening this wasn’t the case. In fact, Sally reached down to her own wrist and pinched the skin under her fur. After a brief flash of pain, followed by a wince. Once nothing seemed to have changed, she let out a sound of relief. “I’m not dreaming am I?” “Not at all,” Sonic replied all smiles. “So the war’s over, we can stop fighting, well mostly.” With a nod and a shrug Sonic quipped. “Minus whatever under-bosses Buttnik left lying around Snotly, yeah we’re good.”

Both enjoy a much-needed chuckle, breaking the hug and just staring at one another. Recalling his earlier despair and regret for not ‘saying’ things to Sally, Sonic swallowed a hard lump in his throat and took her hands into his again. “Sally I gotta say something to you.”

Curious and intrigued, Sally grasped his hands, giving a friendly and assuring squeeze back. “Oh? What is it Sonic?”

It was now or never, he’d thought of this moment often. Of the various lines he could say, maybe even whip out his guitar and sing a rock-ballad; any and every avenue he’d entertained this moment in his brain for some time. Yet now; he couldn’t find any of his prior ideas truly worth their salt in conveying this moment.

So Sonic did what he did best, and improvised. “Sally I love you, I always have and I want you to know that!!” His words came out fast, yet were clear enough to be heard clearly despite the nervous-tick in his tone. Almost as soon as his confession came out, Sonic began to sweat and panic internally. Did he screw up by not being flowery, and all that mushy stuff girls were supposed to like? As this internal panic began to wreak his mind; he almost failed to take notice of Sally’s response.

The Princess’ eyes first went wide as her jaw began slack, staring at Sonic, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Did she hear Sonic correctly? “Say it again Sonic, please.” She begged, her own heart beating loudly in her ears.

Sally’s words snapped Sonic out of his initial panic, and upon seeing those beautiful baby-blues looking at him inquiringly, he nodded as he mustered his courage and confidence. “I love you Sally Acorn, I always have.” Lifting her hands he placed both on his chest, allowing her to feel his widely beating heart. He felt her fingers curl in his chest fur, a sensation that almost distracted him from talking it felt so nice. “I don’t know when, but...I just knew it, we’ve been together since we were in diapers. You’re my best friend and without you in my life, it would suck a lot.” Licking his lips, he fought back any nervous lumps trying to make talking difficult. “I love you, and I need you in my life Sal-I, I thought I lost you and I can’t… I can’t let a day go by without letting you know.”

Sonic again found himself worried he screwed up as Sally’s eyes misted over and Tears began to leak from them. “Sal? D-did I say something-MMMPH?!” Now it was his turn to be interrupted, as Sally pulled him close, her arms now firmly around his neck and her lips over his. Soon Sonic’s eyes slowly close and he returned the kiss; his own arms wrapping around her waist and held her close as their bodies almost seemed to shift and rub together perfectly. Slowly the kiss evolved, becoming much more explicit as each opened their mouths, letting their tongues intertwine as a surging heat-formed between them. Not a sexual one, that was there but not prominently, this was the heat between two hearts that had found their way to one another.

Soon the kiss ended, and both parted, staring at one another as they tried to catch their breath. Sally recovered first, smiling warmly at Sonic as she brought a hand up to cup his cheek. “I love you too Sonic Hedgehog, always since I can remember.” Like him, she kept her words simple, any prior ‘showy’ confession was pushed aside in lieu of simple, direct but heartfelt. “Whatever is coming over the horizon I want to meet it with you at my side.”

“And you mine.” He smiled widely, like her he now had tears of joy in his eye. The two lean forward, resting their foreheads together as they basked at the moment. Robotnik might be gone, but the war was not yet over; and who knows what threats may lay over the next hill or around the bend.

Whatever was to come, they would face it together, now and forever.

[jackidy]

If You Let Me: Chapter 3

Rating: T Pairings: Demyx/Zexion, Demyx/Ienzo (Eventual/Slowburn) Characters: Various, Zexion/Ienzo Centric Setting: BBS to KH3, Canon compliant mostly

Warnings: Canon Character Death (Temporary)

Summary: “It’s almost a shame really, that you probably won’t survive this.” Only he did. Spending the prelude to adulthood as a nobody, a supposed empty husk of a being was never an option any of them considered, least of all a newly named Zexion who would be living every last one of them.

Note: And we are back!! Moving was made a lot more stressful by unforeseen circumstances both personal and nationwide. Short chapter as writers block raised her head but hopefully things will be better by next chapter. 

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 

---

Year 3

It’s hard to not become lost within the world of Crescentia, the sight of space igniting excitement in his bones as the heavy smell of industry, stale and fuel heavy, settled in his lungs like a welcome hug. His second visit to this world, to observe and record its people, its status and the spread of darkness but none of that mattered, his orders pushed to the back of his mind as black coats melded into those of the world: soft browns, comfortable and easy to move in, soft fabrics, loose clothes and tight boots.

Zexion adores it here.

“I do wish you’d stop running off as soon as we land.” Despite Vexen’s sour remark, the excitement Zexion feels is not quenched, only half listening to the scientist’s complaint as a ship flies overhead, sails seemingly made of shimmering gold, sailing straight for the abyss of space. “Are you listening to me, child?” He’s jerked out of his amazement, hand firmly on his shoulder as if to tether him to reality, finally looking up to Vexen who not annoyed but understanding.

“Not a word.” Perhaps its cheeky, a comment too far but he finds himself not caring, breathless with exhilaration and the closest he’s felt to human in near three years. To his credit, Vexen says nothing, simply sighing and shaking his head before letting go of Zexion’s shoulder, gesturing forward with his hands with the smallest of smiles on his lips.

“Don’t go too far.” The scientist sighs, allowing Zexion to run off, his gaze never straying to far from where the child was. Any other time he’d be annoyed, slip away with an illusion and then deal with wrathful consequences later but in this world, in this world the pressure of his expectations was merely a blip in the background, muffled by the wonder at every marvel he saw.

Radiant Garden and the advancements in technology, now laying dormant in the castle’s bowels, had never felt less important to him. What was the power of the heart in comparison to the lure of adventure? The appeal of flying galleons soaring through the night sky to endless discoveries a sirens call?

Vexen is, as always, easily distracted by oddities, the market littered with both curiosities the scientists could barely fathom to the more familiar and mundane. Baked goods sold alongside livestock, monsters of the deep space that almost resembled the shadow creatures that dwelled outside the marble walls in The World That Never Was, missing only the symbol to denote their true nature.

But then, the Shadow Heartless also never had them.

Perhaps that’s why Vexen is observing them so closely, listening fully enraptured as the salesman spills their pitch. From the abyss of space, found on some remote planet that was begging to be colonised, docile and somewhat clingy, would make an excellent pet for his young son. These worlds were fully of strange beings, Zexion knows this, Vexen knows this, but the hauntingly yellow eyes and jittering movements seem out of place even in this bazaar of galactic wonders.

“Do you have any other creatures like this?”  It’s hard to miss the way the other’s eyes light up, fully trusting a sale was to be made, scaled and clawed hands rubbing together in either excitement or from the cold, both Nobodies assuming it to be the former. “Would there be anywhere my son could go whilst we discuss? Children can be rather talkative and the end outcome is, well, to be a surprise for my wife.”

Zexion refrains from snorting, his humour brought to life by the mere thought of who the mystery wife back at the castle was. Xaldin? No, Lexaeus? Perhaps. Xigbar and Xemnas were just laughable, Zexion acting ever the innocent and unsuspecting child as he was led to a nearby stall. Manned only by an elderly woman, strangely tortoise like in appearance, a stall full of an all manner of delicacies, baked, golden and still warm, as claws deftly wove wool together.

“Stay here and don’t cause any trouble for, Ms Bones.”

Is it Vexen or the seller who speaks? Zexion doesn’t know, nervous as he takes the seat next to the creature, her large yellow eyes watching him all the way. She had pupils, she’s not one of the heartless monsters, but, then again, she wouldn’t be the first heartless creature he had met with pupiled yellow eyes. Xehanort held firmly onto that title, even if Zexion was a greater monster than even he. It was his fault the lab had been built in the first place.

Without that lab, none of this would have ever happened.

“Do you like stories, young master?” Her voice creaks as she speaks, like old wood in a storm, pausing her knitting to offer him a pasty from the table before continuing. It’s still warm, the heat welcome in both his finger tips and mouth as he cautiously took a bite, nervous as to what he might taste only to find the warmth of a homemade meal wrapped in layers of flaky, buttery pastry.

He nods, both in enjoyment of the food and to encourage her on, the monster of an elder not so much scary now as she was inviting, sharing in the same curse Lexaeus had. Intimidating yet warm. Perhaps all the best people were, for Zexion himself was neither of these and, by no means, one of the better people.

“I have many stories, let’s see…” She frowns as she ponders, knitting paused as she stares at a spot in the market stall roof before something seems to sparkle in her eye, an excitement seeming to burn through her. “Have you heard of the great Captain Nathaniel Flint?” He shakes his head this time, mouth still filled with food, old lessons from both Dilan and Ansem on the rudeness of speaking with a full mouth as clear as ever. Ms Bones grins, or so Zexion supposes, crooked teeth exposed as she swoops in, a little too close for comfort, knitting abandoned on her lap before leaning away, becoming more expressive as she recalls the tale of her choosing. “There are nights when the Etherium is as calm and peaceful as a pond of the planet Pelasnor…”

As the months have passed since his initial request, Zexion has grown to dread the one on one meetings with Xemnas. By no means frequent but always end the same, with a look of disdain and contempt every single time he failed to achieve what Xemnas wanted him to, something easier said than done when the only thing the other had given him to work with was a girl with blue hair. None resided in his memories, none of any significance at least, the only memories of blue hair belonging to the old Saix, Isa.

Zexion has his doubts that the girl Xemnas wants to remember was Isa.

The whole process of helping his superior to remember would be easier if he allowed him to use his book to it’s full potential, Zexion tensing with annoyance as his elder once again admonished him. “Your lack of improvement with your abilities is disappointing, VI.” Never one to mince his words, was he? Zexion inhaling slowly to try and temper down the remark clawing at his throat. “Try again.”

“The result will be the same, sir, I need more information to work from.” Vexen would be proud of the civility, he thinks, unclenching his hands as he studied Xemnas’ face, waiting for a reaction. Nothing. It doesn’t even move. A blank canvas of a face just looking back at him, as if he hadn’t even registered what the child had even said. “If you make contact with my Lexicon, things will be easier.”

That garners a reaction, both a frown and glare marring Xemnas’ features and Zexion feels every bit the child he was, something akin to fear creeping down his spine. “Disappointing.” Xemnas repeats, the dismissal clear in his voice, Zexion not bothering for it to be vocal before standing to leave. A shake in his hands, he takes a breath, a shallow bid to calm the anger curling within him as he offered his superior both a mock bow and an ever so ingenuine apology.

“My apologies, sir. I’ll aim to be less disappointing to you next time.”

If Xemnas notices the contempt in his voice, the older nobody says nothing, a lazy wave of the hand the only indication Zexion gets that the other heard a word he said. Good, he thinks, opening a portal to his own quarters on the off chance Xigbar would bother him for secrets once more, he’d rather the superior think of him as beneath his expectations of the child.

Would make proving him wrong later all the more satisfying.  

The lab is cold, freezing even, Zexion curious as always as to if Vexen made it that way or if he was simply unaware of the chill, a curious side glance to the redhead exuding heat near by causing Zexion to conclude that maybe, just maybe, it was intentional. His lack of respect and joy for Axel, both as a Somebody and a Nobody, would be humorous if Zexion wasn’t concerned he’d become an unforeseen casualty in the process.

Vexen’s experiments on the creatures from Crescentia seemed to have been going well then, newer creatures than the ones they initially brought back blinking back at the trio with curiosity, though some cowered whilst others prowled, clearly hostile. Was that why Axel was here? Make shift security in case something went wrong? He wasn’t usual present for this but he’d been ushered into the lab by an almost excited Vexen, energized ramblings of needing a witness to his hypothesis spilling from his lips.

And that’s how he finds himself sat here, clipboard in hand, looking between Vexen, still muttering to himself as he bent over a lab report, and Axel, finger poised and ready to tap on the glass of the nearest enclosure. “Confirming my earlier thoughts, the samples we collected from Crescentia have proven to be heartless. Whilst this world holds no known keyblade wielder, theorized to be the only thing to truly destroy a heartless and free the heart within, this world has show resilience in that they have not only managed to subdue the creatures but also cage and transport them without the means of darkness.”

“Would it be ridiculous to suggest that perhaps they were waiting for a place with more prey? Crescentia is a bustling port.” Zexion pipes up, the lab falling into silence bar the tap of a finger on glass, Vexen’s face seeming to go through the motions of denial and acceptance of Zexion’s concept, clapping his hands together before rubbing them together as yet another wave of giddy energy washed over his mentor.

“That would suggest a level of intelligence not exhibited in the others, something for further research and development. Would you be willing to- “He cuts himself off, both scientists turning to the red head as he continued to tap, the heartless inside growling as it once again lashed out against the glass. “Continue to tap that tank, VIII, and I will tap you with the spiked edge of my shield.”

Axel pauses midtap and Zexion bites back a laugh, the red head clearly not bothered by the withering glare sent in his direction, something that only added to the hilarity of the situation. “You’re the one ignoring me here, doc, you said there was a reason you forced me down here.” Axel straightens and shrugs, an illusion of cocksure grandeur upon him as he smirks at the blonde. “Gotta entertain myself somehow.”

“You’re here to assist in taking down a specimen should it escape and attack.” His voice is firm, Zexion recognising it as the one he frequently used upon Xigbar whenever the other lurked around the labs, his gaze now reserved for the file in his hand. As if the younger nobody wasn’t worth the effort of looking at. “Frankly, I’d have asked for anyone else but it seems the Superior deemed it required everyone else be mission bound.”

A splutter of indignation, Zexion taking a shaky breath in as the laughter threatened to overflow, Axel’s protests over Vexen’s remark seeming falling on deaf ears as the elder Nobody simply ignored him in favour for his research.

---

Its difficult to not look at Saix.

The wound is new, still fresh but it fails to look it, a faint swelling around the eyes and the red hue that came with it the only thing that gave away any hint to the recent wound. Cauterised, a giant cross to mar his face stretching from brow to cheek, Zexion can only wonder when looking at it won’t bring a cold feeling of unease to his stomach. ‘You know who did that to him.’ A voice whispers in the back of his head, a voice that suspiciously sounds like his whole self, cloaking himself on instinct as the smell of moonshine and cinders permeated the library.

“We should have been more careful.” Saix’s voice is hushed but all noises carry in an otherwise silent library, Zexion’s grip on the book tightening as the teenaged pair walk past, two pairs of eyes scanning the alleyways between shelves for any sign of life in an almost paranoid fashion. Illusions only work if you’re silent, Xaldin had lectured as much months ago and he’d committed it to memory ever since, regulating his breathing to something more silent and shallow as he listened in.

“We were careful.” His voice is soft, Zexion peering through the bookcase to find Axel reaching for Saix’s face, hand quivering before a cheek before the preteen moves away, grimacing both over the act and the sight of the scar. It was bad enough he was eavesdropping in on the clearly private conversation, why add further discomfort by bearing visual witness to it. “He hurt you, Isa.”

The silence returns, Zexion ready to make his escape, planning to summon a clone outside the door to open it only to hesitate as he hears a drawn-out sigh. “We should stop this, Axel, at least until we know his suspicions have been dropped.”

“Do you not care about finding her anymore? I thought the whole reason we joined was for her!”

“We got careless and now her name, his brand, is across my face.”

Calm and collect verses a heat and fury, a contrast in tones but both spoken with underlining meanings that Zexion was not privy to knowing. The stench of acrid smoke is almost suffocating, steadily building as the exchange continues, the illusionist taking a deeper breath to launch his escape when the argument comes to a head. Acrid smoke simmers away into almost nothing, the hostility in the air evaporating, leaving the young nobody curious as to what Saix did to both calm and soothe Axels temper.

“He hurt her. He hurt me. I won’t let him hurt you.”

It’s been a while since his last lesson with Lexaeus, the gentle giant almost always off world recently due to missions now assigned by Saix, leaving much of Zexion’s explorations within the science of food in his own hands. He’d missed it, though he hesitates to admit it, a sense of normality in their otherwise abnormal non-lives, the sound of a knife against a chopping board more soothing than it had any real reason to be.

“Where were you sent this time?” Zexion enquires, hair meticulously pinned out of his eyes as he worked his way through the potatoes for today’s lesson. There’s no response at first, the child wondering if the other had even heard him, opening his mouth with every intention of repeating the question when he finally gets his response.

“Atlantica.”

“How was it?”

The knife pauses, accompanied by a thoughtful hum.

“Wet.”

A choked laugh, the mixture of a dry delivery and little to no change in expression, if Lexaeus hadn’t intended the comment as a joke then he had failed in delivery. Taking the next potato, he grimaces, placing it to the side before reaching to the next, the duality of his sense of smell, both a blessing and a curse, never more apparent.

“Spoilt?” Zexion nods, setting about his work again, counting each of prepared tubers before continuing. One per person. It’s what the recipe called for but it was doubtful everyone would eat the food they provided, they hadn’t before now and Zexion has difficulty believing that would change now. “You’re getting better at recognising the differences.”

“I’ve had time to practise, I wasn’t trusting Vexen to cook for me.” Vexen was many things. A brilliant, if not slightly mad, scientist who strove the test the limits of what was thought possible. His most prominent father figure. Somewhat paranoid in most matters involving the Superior, though, Zexion can only surmise this was in response to the events that lead to this hollow existence in the first place. But he was, in any shape or form, a cook, his reservoir of culinary knowledge extending little beyond the simplest of dishes and, whilst delicious, the pallet can only withstand scrambled eggs and toast for so long.

This gains him a chuckle, Zexion wiping peelings and the rejected vegetable into the bin, turning back to his work station only to be presented with a small knife and the instruction to cut into one-inch cubes. “What if I cut myself?” He feels ridiculous asking, he’s more than old enough to use a knife to prepare food and had done whilst Lexaeus was gone, his gloves hiding the evidence of misadventure with knife skills whilst alone in the kitchen.

“Then you’ll learn not to do it again.”

He wants to take off his gloves, to exhibit the plethora of small nicks in his fingers and prove the giant wrong, staring at his hands a little too intently before taking the knife from Lexaeus and sighing. There was no point in worrying him, he thinks, the momentary satisfaction of proving him wrong wouldn’t be worth the aftermath like it was with the rest of his peers, tongue poking out from lips as Zexion set about completing his task.

They’ve recorded details of the heartless brought from Crescentia, from size to attack style, the only thing lacking in their basic research of the creatures to be if they would release a heart upon perishing. Nobody within the world was a keyblade wielder, at least to their knowledge, and it seemed unlikely they would find one to complete this aspect of their notes anytime soon.

Researching the intelligence of the heartless had proved fruitless beyond proving that, despite the evidence to the contrary in Crescentia, they didn’t hold a higher semblance of intelligence. Slouching over the desk, a task easier said than done when it was built for Vexen, Zexion pinches his pen in the middle, sending the heartless tank opposite him an intense stare as he rapidly tapped the ends of the pen in tandem.

Something was bothering him, something he couldn’t yet put his finger on, counting down the five minutes Vexen said he’d be absent for in mumbles as his thoughts ran wild with potential theories and hypotheses. Most encountered held a lower level of intelligence, some attacked in pack formation like feral wolves, they all had bright yet hollow yellow eyes and some had symbols on them whilst others had none.

There was something here they were overlooking, something obvious and it infuriated him, no doubt it bothered Vexen too. One hundred and sixty-four seconds. Two minutes and fourteen seconds. That’s how long he had to come up with even a slither of an idea of what this all meant in the grand scheme of things, pen flying from his fingers after his grip slackens and a tap too hard.

A lesser nobody brings it back, a Scholar, one of Vexen’s own personal type, all points and stiff lines. They were more pleasant to look at than the lowest of them, the dusks, boneless creatures that would drag themselves hip forward when Zexion imagines it would be better to slither on the floor like a snake. The opposite of heartless, the small shadows at least, who juddered and quaked with every movement, seemingly as stiff as rusted iron whilst the dusks were as fluid as water at times.

He’s still looking at the Nobody when Vexen returns, tea in hand and countdown forgotten, a clearing of the throat snapping Zexion from his thoughts as he jolts up, clearly startled as his eyes settle on his mentor and fellow researcher. “Surely I wasn’t gone so long, child, that you felt the need to daydream.”

“Not daydream, but observe and think.” Zexion corrects, accepting the cup of deep red tea as it was handed to him, refraining from slouching as he nursed the hot porcelain in his hands. Anything to warm his hands in this lab without vocally asking Vexen to do something about the cold, knowing full well the elder would either ignore him or admonish him for something that was apparently the cause of his poor circulation. The past three months as assistant on Vexen’s mission to catalogue and code the different heartless had confirmed that Vexen was not only immune to the chill of his lab but likely also the cause.

“Did your observations lead you to any conclusions of interest?” A loaded question, by all means, their goals the same but what qualified as a point of interest between the two did not always coincide. Zexion takes a large swig of his tea, still too hot to count as fully drinkable but would aid in the next few moments should Vexen dismiss his idea as something not worth thinking about, his throat burning as warmth spread through his system.

“We’re two sides of the same coin, the result of what happens when a human or being loses its heart. If they follow a similar ranking and classification as we do in terms of power then…”

“Then it would not be out of the question if the higher ranks have the power to control the lesser heartless.” Vexen finishes, no cold dismissal in the air as it appeared the blonde was not only taken with the concept but on board with it. Within the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t overly important, not really, thoughts of the heartless only stretching as far as an annoyance and a tool to be used to gain access to Kingdom Hearts within the Organisation. Xemnas might know more but, as with most things, he was too tight lipped to spill any secret knowledge he may have.

“You know this all serves no purpose, right, Child?”

“Yes.” Zexion nods, thought for a moment before the faintest of smiles tugs at his lips. He wonders if Vexen can still recall the small, nonsensical experiments they would do as somebodies, when he’d walk up with the confidence only a small child could muster and slide a crude drawing over a wooden desk of what he wanted to do and the results he wanted.

They were always simple. How to make flames burn in different colours, how different things contort and change under extreme temperatures, or if they even did, and, more often than not, how to cause the most amount of damage in the smallest amount of time. Childish in nature and, yet, Even still approached them with all the seriousness of a man on the brink of a new scientific discovery. It’s what initially inspired him to delves into the sciences, the desire to be just like Even.

“You’ve left a feeling of nostalgia in me, young one, a fleeting joy.” His voice is oddly soft, Vexen not looking at him but Zexion knows him to be smiling, no matter how faint it may be. How long has it been since they shared a moment like this, without a hint of resentment addled disappointment towards each other? As what they were regardless of form, a father and son both overly invested in a shared topic. “You’re swaying me onto a dangerous trajectory, the day is not ours to waste."

The silence stretches on, cobalt meets acid green and a grin brimming with unrestrained mischief stretches the child’s lips. “And yet I see your body turning towards the cabinets filled with the potential for mischief, old man.” A manic smile returns his and Zexion can barely contain the excitement coursing through his veins.

[nutty1005]

Portrait Magazine, a Different Xiao Zhan

Original Article:https://www.weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404482696049983787 Original Author: 花非花2218 

(TN: There is an electronic version of the magazine available to subscribers. The author had already read the electronic version and was giving her thoughts on the hardcopy version.)

I finally received my Portrait Magazine yesterday. After a short nap in the afternoon, I set down my cup of tea and carefully read it from front to back, spending almost 2 hours on it. Although the contents are the same as the electronic version, the feeling you get when you flip through paper is different.

“Print means a slowed down mind… the written and then the printed word brought a new kind of social organization to civilization. It brought logic, science, education, civilité.”

- Niel Postman in “The Disappearance of Childhood”

The above quote was proven right every time I experience print media – truly, your heart will quieten down when you read print media.

I had read the electronic version countless times and almost memorized every single anecdote. When re-reading it from the magazine itself, it amazed me to realize that I was attracted by the understatements inside and outside of these anecdotes. The words leaped at me playfully and astonished me.

I actually do not quite agree with this conclusion. When he entered the entertainment business, his social experiences were probably the same as those who were of the same age, i.e. a newcomer who has worked for about 1 or 2 years. However, it was astonishing that he was able to absorb the precious essence of work life despite the short period of time, and had come to a realization that not even some of those who had worked half their lifetimes would understand.

Also, as fan of his interviews, I always enjoy his words, and his words are always mature beyond his age. This made me wonder where he found this amount of clarity in his life.

There are people who are able to understand and relate to the world without having to travel there personally; there are those who traveled everywhere but yet unable to call themselves a traveler. I once read a review about “Venice Diary” (a Chinese short story by Mr. Ah Cheng) – “When we read another person’s travelogue, we see his thoughts and his feelings, almost as though we went there ourselves. If the author had greater sensitivity and analysis skills than me, it might even be more interesting than visiting there myself.”

These people are more commonly found among artists and writers. For example, Eileen Chang, who wrote countless classic love novels despite having a calm love life. Han Shaogong also had ability to draw complexity from simplicity, “You can find a thousand miles of lands and ten thousand miles of plains from just a fallen leaf.” Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa said it even better, “The wise man makes his life monotonous, for then, even the tiniest accident becomes imbued with great significance.”

A man with a childlike curiosity, a strong hunger for knowledge, an acute sensitivity and the intuitive perception to see beyond what is before him – Xiao Zhan is someone who is able to see the world from just a flower.

The word “only” is like the orange highlighter he used to mark out his lines in his scripts – bright and vivid in my mind. After repeatedly analyzing this line, I realized that Xiao Zhan has a stubborn persistence with “excellence”. This was not just his desire to win – his opponent was none other than himself, and fulfilling his potential to the maximum.

To go from outstanding to excellent, the deciding factor does not lie in the doer’s ability but rather whether the doer wants it. With such extreme desire for excellence, the universe may just align itself for you, and you can move the world with just your thoughts.

I realized that I was too simplistic when understanding sensitivity. Previously, I thought this was related to the senses, for example, how he was sensitive to the changes of the Seasons; being sensitive to other people’s emotions and hence being able to invoke empathy in his audiences. After reading this, however, I realized this was more with regards to his observational skills – his interviewers, the sound engineer in his shoot, the deliveryman in the lift and the hawkers by the roadside.

To Xiao Zhan, this kind of observational skills are as natural as breathing. This also meant that he had already imbued acting as an instinctive part of him – he had already identified himself as an actor.

Director Sun Hao from the “Joy of Life” also said that during a group fight scene, Xiao Zhan continued to stay in character even though the focus was not on him, he would not just strike a pose and wait it out, but still remained in focus and in the character’s emotions.

When I read this part, I suddenly thought about the flow in psychology – when a person is fully immersed in something he loves doing, he will be giving it his full focus and enjoy the process entirely. This allowed me to understand from a different angle as to why Xiao Zhan said he was obsessed with acting, why he was “high” from performing. This was because acting made him full of energy and a great sense of satisfaction. This realization also calmed my mind and brought my heart down-to-earth – He truly embraced his identity as an actor, and if he continues with this attitude, he will soon be known as “Actor Xiao Zhan” instead of “Celebrity Xiao Zhan”.

When Chen Yu Shan spoke to Xiao Zhan then, he was still a newcomer with zero experience in acting, a young man confused about his future. However, if you read this, you would realize that this is still applicable today.

The best part about print media magazine would be having plenty of accompanying photographs in the article of over 20 pages. I find myself attracted to the series of photographs by Mei Yuan Gui, because he did not attempt to showcase Xiao Zhan’s good looks, such as his beautiful eyes or prominent facial structure, but instead, focused on capturing his inner essence – unyielding, relentless, ambitious and real.

On the cover, the sun shines through the thin shutters onto his face from the right. The shadows from the thicker shutters catches my eyes, and from my initial glance, he seemed rough, highlighting the values and direction of this interview – strength and authenticity.

The cover of Portrait

This is my favorite picture, reminds me of the lyrics “Let me sleep, like flowers falling”

Innocence, stay forever passionate and innocent

His desire to win

Actually, when I received the magazine, I read the preface “From a name to another name, defy labels and prejudice” first. When reading the electronic version, the world was still at peace; now, the world had been upturned, my state of mind had changed drastically. As such, the preface had a lot of passages that resonated with me:

The internet created this era where reality seems suspended and what lies above appear to be fantasy. Public figures need to fill in the space in this fantasy as material to be spied and watched upon, and become the carriers of entertainment and commentary. Outside of this chaos, the reality has less of this hypocritical sympathy, but this also meant that it will never become the state whereby everything could be judged morally.

This issue’s cover person is Xiao Zhan, and from this boy who rose to fame overnight, it was hard for us to find any joy from his fame. In what he said, the vague moments of joy and happiness, those had nothing to do with fame, spotlight and the overwhelming adoration.

Behind Xiao Zhan’s symbol as the top celebrity, we can see a sensitive and disciplined young man, in the middle of the gigantic whirlpool of the entertainment business, quietly examining his journey from the depths of his memories.

The charm of literature or novels comes from the ability to recreate and capture what people may overlook or forget, despite the bustling chaos, despite the humble or even mean labels attached. A young man who is placed in the middle of a stage, but he loved the greenery and fields in between his shoots; A lady who was a sex symbol but decided to shed that label, and her current greatest joy was to go home for dinner. These appeared to be insignificant, but to these celebrities, and perhaps those who are reading their stories, these were moments to be cherished and revisited.

[alpha-centari27]

“Robotnik Hates Christmas”

Title: “Robotnik Hates Christmas“  -- I know not very creative, but I can change it later.  The important part is just to write.

Characters: Stone & Robotnik and some other filler characters.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm behaviors and mental breakdowns so be advised.

Plot Summary:  It’s almost Christmas and Robotnik’s work has come to a grinding halt because of the miserable and detestable holiday.  Stone learns more about Robotnik’s past and Robotnik as a person.  Hopefully, they can both survive the holiday.

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It was a chilly and overcast day at the research facility and military base Agent Stone called home for the time being--or at least that is what his phone said a few minutes ago.  He wouldn’t know what the atmosphere outside looked like being cooped up in the air hanger like structure that housed Robotnik’s mobile lab, prototypes and other assorted works in progress, spare parts, tools and testing equipment.

Agent Stone mentally went through his to do list.  He had already stocked up on food for Robotnik’s fridge, freezer and pantry.  He would need to consider making a grocery run to pick up some fresh produce in the near future, but otherwise they were in good shape.  The drones were fully charged and had earlier been inspected for any wear and tear that required maintenance and repair.  The mobile lab itself was in tip top condition.  Tool boxes and spare parts bins had been inventoried and he had already given his list to the Dr. for his approval and given permission to make the necessary orders.  Everything seemed to be running smoothly.  The trash, recycle and hazardous materials bins had been emptied.  After disposing of the waste and recycle there was cleaning and tidying up to do, which was also complete.

“Huh...“  Agent Stone hummed to himself as he patrolled the aisles and open spaces for anything out of place, anything he might have missed that required a little tender loving care.

“I think I really have done everything that I can do for the time being.  Better check in with Robotnik to see if he needs anything.“  He whispered, setting his course for the mobile lab where he was sure he would find the man at his work station.

Agent Stone climbed the stairs of the mobile lab, being careful to tread lightly on the steps.  Stone couldn’t help but smile seeing Robotnik at his computer, flicking and thumbing through the visual displays.  It still amazed him that he got to be a part of this.  It was like he was the sorcerer’s apprentice--watching the raw act of creation from nothing but an abstract, intangible thought that was turned into an idea, translated into a testable hypothesis or experiment and then given physical form.

“Good afternoon Dr.“  Stone announced as he made his approach.  Lazily Robotnik paused and turned over his wrist.

“So, it is afternoon already.“  Robotnik said with an edge to his voice.  Stone guessed that the Dr. was not in the mood for chit chat and instead focused his eyes on what Robotnik was reading.  It seemed like the Dr. was refreshing his pages and menus just waiting for something to happen or a new message to pop into his inbox.  Sure enough, Robotnik refreshed one of the pages again and a new unread message appeared.  Robotnik opened it immediately.  Stone could make out Robotnik’s expression reflected off the screen, he was not pleased at all.

“I hate Christmas!  I hate the whole holiday season!“  The Dr. decried.  “Why?”  From what Stone could make out the message was an automatic reply message stating they were out of town for the holiday and would return a week after the New Year’s.  He knew all too well Robotnik could be moody, but did this really warrant such a dramatic reaction?

“Christmas isn’t so bad Dr. the lights and presents and food.  It’s a chance to take a break from work to be with family.“  Stone immediately regretted saying that.  This was the worse possible thing he could have said.

“Not so bad...  Agent Stone.”  Robotnik said rising to his feet in a way that was slow and menacing.  “I cannot progress my work because everyone is on vacation and unavailable!  Don’t even get me started on the forced sentimentality of being nice to the people you can’t stand all year.  Santa isn’t real and the story of Jesus is an exaggeration at best.  Good will to all men for this holiday season, but every other time of the year--who cares?”  Robotnik said flippantly, baring his teeth.  “The expectation of always being happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy--joy, joy, joy, joy.”  The Dr. said clapping and speaking in a parody of an upbeat cartoon character.  “It all makes me sick.“  Stone just stood as stiff as a board and took it.  He should have known better.

“Is there anything I can do for you Robotnik?”  He asked trying to steer the conversation in a more constructive direction.  “By my assessment everything is in good repair, we have adequate supplies of spare parts and what we are running low on has been put on order.“

“No.”  Robotnik said while shaking his head.  “If everything has been tended to and cleaned up then, no.“  Robotnik faced his screen again and shut it down.  For a while he just stood in place without saying a word.  “Why don’t you take some time off Stone?“

“Time off?“  Stone repeated.  He never expected to hear those words pass through Robotnik’s tight lips.  This coming from the man who was the definition of a workaholic. 

“I insist you take some time off.  If I have nothing to do than you have even less to do.“  Stone was lost for words and didn’t know what to say.  He wouldn’t mind having a break for a few days, but he wasn’t sure if that would be allowed.

“I think I need to check with my contacts first.“  Robotnik frowned, but said nothing at first.

“Of course.“  He muttered.

Stone excused himself to step outside and find a place to make a phone call out of earshot of Robotnik or anyone else who could over hear.

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A segway was useful for getting from one end of the base to the other, but it still took a while. It took a ridiculous amount of time to find a private spot for a phone call, but there was little sense in whining now that he found what he was looking for.  He had seen it numerous times by now, but never ventured outside the base to look at it more closely.

Not far from the installation there was an old phone booth.  The phone had been removed, but for some reason the glass and metal case remained standing.  Maybe it was left in tact for this exact purpose.

Agent Stone thumbed through his list of important contacts and stopped on Lance Bringum.  He tapped the name and gave a second tap for the call icon before raising the cell phone to his ear.  Hopefully, his contact had not skipped town for the holidays too.

“Hello?“  A voice answered on the first ring.

“Ugh, hi.  Mr. Bringum, it’s agent Stone calling.“  A deep sigh was Mr. Bringum’s immediate reply to Stone’s greeting.

“What can I help you with today Mr. Stone?“

“The reason I am calling is to find out if I can get some time off--that’s all.”  He said with a shrug, not that Bringum could see that he was shrugging nonchalantly.  “Christmas is almost right around the corner and it seems as though Robotnik’s work has ground to a halt.  He even suggested that I take some time away from him.“  There was a prolonged pause that dragged on for more than a minute.  Stone began to wonder if maybe he hung up or they got disconnected.  “Sir, are you still there?“

“Agent Stone, the answer is no!  As I have said before this is a 24/7 assignment and your assignment is Robotnik.  We considered you for this post in part because you have said you have no close family to visit around the holidays.  If he has no work for you to assist him with than kick your feet up, read a magazine, watch some TV, while still keeping an eye on him and tending to his needs as he sees fit.  The only way you are cashing out your PTO is if you quit.  At this point I am amazed you have stuck this out for so long.  Are you sure you don’t want to quit right now?“

“I am not quitting Sir.“  Stone answered firmly and politely.

“Good, good because I wouldn’t let you quit your assignment at this time of the year anyway.  You would have to wait till the beginning of January at the earliest.“

“Why is that Sir?“  Stone asked out of curiosity.

“I have said too much...  But maybe you should know so you can be prepared.  You have never been around Robotnik at this time of the year.”  Now Stone was even more curious.  What did Mr. Bringum know that he did not?  He had been told repeatedly not to ask questions to leave well enough alone and not to trouble Robotnik’s mind with personal questions.  This was also a lesson he had quickly learned the hard way early on when he first started working alongside Robotnik.  Stone steadied himself before speaking again.

“Prepared for what Mr. Bringum?“  Silence, then a deep sigh.

“You didn’t hear this from me, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” 

“This is just what I have heard.  I cannot verify this for myself because it’s--“

“Classified.“  Stone said finished the sentence for him.

“Right.  A number of years ago Robotnik had some sort of breakdown around Christmas.  He locked himself inside some sort of solitary confinement cell or high security storage area.  It’s believed that he did this intentionally and there was no foul play involved.  Why he would do this to himself is beyond me.”  Stones eyes widened in shock and he had to brace himself to maintain his balance.  “Anyway...”  Mr. Bringhum drawled.  “When they found him he was almost dead.  He was unconscious, badly dehydrated and malnourished, some bottles of liquor were found close to him.  He had probably been in there for at least two days before he was found.  From what I heard he made a quick enough recovery physically...  Mentally, I suspect he always has and always will have a few loose screws.  I think they tried to evaluate him psychologically, but he refused to cooperate.  You know what they say about leading a horse to water.“  Stone nodded.  His mind was racing.  This changed everything, this one sliver of information into Robotnik’s past was re-writing everything he thought he knew about him, which admittedly was not much.   

“You’re not pulling my leg are you?”

“No, Agent Stone--I’m not.  But like I said I cannot view the files myself.  Something happened and it was serious enough to make us re-think how we handle him.“  Stone paused again.  He didn’t like the phrase ‘handle him’ as if Robotnik was some kind of animal snatched from the wild and coerced and conditioned to perform.  Stone always wanted to know more about the Dr. and now was his chance to get some answers.  May as well make the most of it and push for as much as Bringum is willing to share.

“Ok, so he refused a psych evaluation.  What happened next?“

“Well, despite his insubordination--it’s not like we could let someone with his talents and expertise slip through our fingers.  If he wouldn’t submit to a psych evaluation and a treatment plan then we had to think of something else that would at least be tolerable for him.“

“Wait, this is why the Dr. has an assistant assigned to him isn’t it?“

“You’re right on the money Stone.  They made some adjustment to his workload, made it more manageable for him, or so I heard.  Although he was never evaluated by a psychologist after that incident they suggested that he might benefit from having an assistant.  Someone to talk to, someone to help him relax and curb any self-destructive tendencies just by having another person constantly around him.”

“It sounds like what you are describing is a friend.”  

“I suppose in a way, yes.  At first we gave him a small group of assistants to help him out.  Turns out that didn’t work.  I think it’s just too challenging for him to handle a small group of people.  All he needs is one person he can trust and rely on to be a buffer between him and everyone else.  That and he found it a source of amusement to pit the assistants against each other.“  A smile came to Stone’s face.  He would need to keep this in mind when he was on missions with the Dr. and they were assigned a team of government agents to make the job easier and more efficient.  Though from what he could remember the Dr. seemed content to let Stone boss them around.  His smile faded when he returned to what Bringum had confided in him.

“Hmmmm....  What do you propose I do with Robotnik?“

“Huh...find a way to keep his mind occupied that doesn’t lead to trouble.  I wish I could tell ya something more than that.  You should get back to your post and I should shut up now.  Good day and good luck Stone.“

“Thank you, Mr. Bringum.  I won’t let you down.“  Stone heard the sound of a click.  The call was over and he had so many unanswered questions.

The government wrote his paycheck, but Robotnik was the boss calling the shots and telling him what to do.  If he made a suggestion would Robotnik actually listen to him?

“Well, I guess there is only one way to find out.“

Stone hopped on his segway and passed through the entry gate after showing his government ID and hauled ass back to the hanger where he assumed Robotnik would be.

Stone wondered and worried if Robotnik asking him to take time off was intended to be a diversion or distraction for the Dr. to do something stupid.

He parked and dismounted the segway outside the mobile laboratory.  Tracing his earlier steps up the stairs.  The Dr. was no where in sight.

Stone was stricken with a sense of panic.  Where could he be?  Standing in the middle of the lab, Stone’s phone began to vibrate.  Robotnik was calling him.

“Hello.“  Stone said, trying to sound natural.

“Where the hell have you been?  I got tired of waiting so I tossed together some lunch.“

“Oh...  Sorry, about that.“

“Did you go all the way to the moon to make your call?“

“No.  Ugh, where are you right now?  I’m by the mobile lab.”

“My personal quarters.“

“Ok, that’s not too far.  Just give me a few minutes.  Oh, and one more thing.  I’m staying with you whether you have work or not.  I’m not going on vacation.“  Stone ended the call and put his phone away.

The Dr. had what amounted to his own house on the premises that was in close proximity to the hanger.  “I wonder what he made for lunch.“

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Author notes:

Yay, it’s done for now!

I want to continue this, but I am not entirely sure how.  I got some ideas, but I need to think about how this fanfic is going to progress and how it’s going to end.  If I know how this ends then I can work my way backwards to build up to the ending I have outlined.

If this does get a few more chapters I probably will change up the POV and have some stuff from Robonik’s POV.

I don’t imagine this turning into sexy times or Stone trying to be anything more than a friend and someone Robotnik can confide in.

This happens before the events of the movie.

[crowleyellestair]

Part 3 - Jaskier and The Healer

AN// I didn’t realize people liked the story this much. Here’s part 3. I know it’s shorter than the other two, but there have been a lot of pregnancy fics, so here’s what I got

If anyone wants other fics in this series, like PT or the adventures I alluded to that take place in the South, HMU

Masterlist

I also have a Geralt fic in progress, so keep your eyes peeled!

 Light shone through the window, illuminating Jaskier. He had been awake for a while now, just taking in the view of his wife. Her back was to the window, brows furrowed as if she had woken up, but fell asleep again, trying to keep out the light. She had been tucked into his side when he had first woken, but he shifted to his side to get a better view. The light had given her a glow that he had thought wasn’t enough.

Gods had deserved better lighting, and she was a goddess in his eyes. Jaskier had gently held her hand, rubbing small circles into it. It was a selfish act, he thought, as it brought him to serenity, but Y/n was sleeping. Her presence always relaxed him. When they had first started courting, he had felt guilty.

Jaskier felt like a vulture, trying to snack on her optimism and joy. She had been the one to help with physical therapy, and when it was time to part ways, he stayed by her side. They had shared some adventures, the bard following her to towns as her healing abilities were needed, and always finding trouble. There were many nights where he thought that it was a Geralt situation all over again- maybe Jaskier was convincing himself that his personal gain and fulfillment was love, in actuality it was something much darker. Y/n convinced him that it wasn’t true, and she knew that he did truly love her. Though, she would usually follow up by saying that nothing could compare for the love she had for him.

One day, the two had gotten separated during a toll area. The war had gotten bad enough were Y/n needed to head south to help heal. Jaskier had followed, but his reputation allowed him a pass, whereas Y/n had to go through regulation trials. When the two eventually found each other later, he held her as she bawled. She told him that she had a panic attack, thinking that guards had taken him. She had admitted that she was guilty as she had thought of her future was lost without him rather than his own fate.

In a twisted way, the two were perfect together in that aspect. Their love was so strong that they would crumble if their destiny had written the other out.

When Y/n opened her eyes, they immediately met his blue ones. They were a hard blue, as he was hyper focused on her. In the past, he would have a thousand songs written by now at the sight of a maiden next to him. He had noticed that he had never finished a song about her in their first year of courting. Jaskier was so focused on her, that he couldn’t think of anything else but the love swelling in his chest.

She smiled at him, flicking her eyes closed, and letting out a long breath. She opened them to meet his gaze again, but her smile fell fast. The gentle smile on Jaskier dropped too, as an unknown look crossed her.

They had been married for a year now, and he thought he knew every expression. This undiscovered territory gripped his heart, making his whole chest hurt.

He squeezed her hand as her brows furrowed and his mouth opened to ask what was wrong. Before he could ask, she shot up, trying to quickly climb over him. A leg made it off the bed, but her other foot got caught on his hip, and she tripped. Jaskier flinched at the sound of her knee hitting the wood floor, but tried to follow. Y/n quickly regained her footing as she all but sprinted into the bathroom. She couldn’t make it to the chamber pot, dropping onto the floor in front of the smaller bucket they use as a trash bin.

Jaskier was on her in seconds as the first wave of puke flowed from her. His hands were quick in grabbing her hair, holding it to the side. Y/n let out wave after wave of coughs, Jaskier’s free hand rubbing her back.

He rushed to grab a glass of water when there was a pause in her dry heaving. She gratefully took the glass, downing its contents. When Y/n’s stomach calmed down, they remained on the floor just as a security that she was truly okay. Jaskier’s mind was running rampant, hoping that someone she helped didn’t infect her. His mind immediately went to dark places, thinking about life without her. His stomach did flips as she left his grip to walk to the desk, the timing of her leaving his arms being unfortunate as it lined up with his thoughts of her passing. She rifled through the drawer to find a bottle filled with small pills, and she let out a breathy laugh. He was quick to join her side, hands finding her hips from behind, not wanting to fully assert himself in her space. His gaze found the bottle, but he couldn’t make any sense of it.

Looking back, he quickly realized that he has seen her take them every day since they started courting, but he couldn’t place what they were. She slowly turned in his arms, her hands laying on his chest. His worried gaze set upon her nervous yet joyful one, his quickly morphing into confusion.

“I forgot to take some in the last week, with life being so hectic.” Her sentence coming out shaking, but with a sense of urgency behind it. When she realized he still hadn’t a clue as to what she was alluding, she held up the bottle. “Contraception.” She shook it a little, as to give emphasis on the subject of her statement.

Y/n just watched as Jaskier’s eyes flicked between her own and the small herbal balls resting in the vial. There was a moment where he turned a little, looking at the place on the floor where they just inhabited, before looking back with a shocked look. She simply nodded with a hopeful smile, and he looked as if he was having an out of body experience. A worry line set in above her brow, and after a moment, he flew into action.

Jaskier’s arms captured her waist, lifting her off of the ground. He propelled them into a spin, while laughing. She joined in on the laughter before leaning down to kiss him. He broke the kiss, rapidly firing off questions and suggestions.

“When? How long does it take again? It wouldn’t matter, because I’m the best at waiting, but it would be wonderful to have them now. Is it a boy or a girl? No, you probably wouldn’t know that. When will we know? I will warn you; I already have the names picked out- of course, I am always open for suggestions.” Y/n just smiled and shook her head. Her feet found the ground again, so she needed to stand on her toes for her lips to meet his.

[moodforanime]

Runaway| Sherlock×Daughter!Reader

Requested: Nope! The idea popped in my minded and I wanted to write it.

Word count: 5.4K

Warnings: This is an A/U where the apartment is spread on to the floor above, where the bedrooms and Sherlock's office is. Maybe a little angst, but nothing too big.

Summary: You hated the place you grew up in and the relationship with your father. People expected you to be smart, and you were. It was just that you wanted a better relationship with you father, which felt like it wouldn't happen. So you try to find your way and see if he cares.

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The words he told you that day had the consequences of an excruciating pain. Maybe he didn't mean them to have this effect on you, but they did. Not like he cares about your feelings., you thought.

It’s been a few hours since the incident, yet his words still rang through your ears crystal clear. Sometimes, you act so stupid you make me wonder if you’re ever going to become a detective. With that attitude of yours, you’ll definitely fail any hope I had for your future. That’s what h. wanted .to make your father proud. Your deepest wish was to get even the smallest crumb of attention and emotion from your father to you, any emotion that wasn’t anger or disappointment.

He’s been sitting in his office, at his desk, ever since. He’s probably forgotten about this incident and the words he said, and occupied himself with a new case. You couldn’t say you were so lucky. Having arguments with a high-functioning sociopath who happened to be your father always ended up that way- he always returned to his office and focus on a case, forgetting about the incident within minutes, while you returned to your room and tried to bring yourself back on track, even when you felt like crying your eyes out.

You slid yourself out of your bed, walked down the stairs and walked towards the kitchen. As you passed by the living room, you heard the front door creaking. You watched how the door opened, allowing the familiar face of a man with short grey hair and a black jacket- your father’s colleague and only friend. At first, he smiled, but seeing your red cheeks and wet eyes, any spark of joy on his face disappeared, replaced by worry.

‘Y/N,’ he said, as he entered the house, closing the door slowly behind him. 'What happened?’

You’ve known each other for a few months now, and he’s seen you upset every now and then -as it turned out, you were much more capable of empathy and feeling emotions than your father-, but he’s never asked you until now. In a way, it made him feel like it wasn’t appropriate for him to ask, but he knew the feeling of being alone and far from the reach of help. If he could, he wanted to help you.

'Hello, Mr. Watson,’ you greeted as you wiped off the tears lingering in your eyes, 'Nothing out of the ordinary. I had an argument with my father, he said some things to me that might’ve hurt me a little too much and… yeah. I don’t know how to cope with it.’

John’s face hardened. He was very much aware that Sherlock was an insensitive person. It was annoying, but he never felt personally attacked by the man’s words. He was used to harsh words in the war, words all coming from his superiors and comrades, but a girl of fifteen with no obligations to the country and in a stable situation should not experience such thing. It was a family thing, he knew, but at the same time, this was the first time he’s seen you this upset by your father’s words.

'What did you father say?’ He asked.

You explained shortly what the argument was about, and you repeated the exact words your father told you. John didn’t seem to relax any bit.

'That’s terrible. Where is he now? In his office?’ You nodded. 'I’d like to talk with him about this. This is unacceptable.’

As he said that, he turned around and began walking up the stairs.

'Oh, it’s not necessary, Mr. Watson,’ you said, as he reached the middle of the stairs, 'He won’t listen.’

John turned around and shot you a confused look. ’This is about you. You’re his daughter. Of course he’ll listen.’

'Honestly, Mr. Watson, I would be surprised if he felt the smallest crumb of love or care towards me.’

The ex-soldier frowned as he walked the stairs back down. 'What do you mean?’

'He’s a sociopath, and a damn strong one. He most likely didn’t tell you about this, but my mother was killed when I was very little. She was a detective, too, but was shot three times to death by accident by my father while on a case. He mistook her for the enemy, and shot. The jury let him go under the pretext of self defense. If it wasn’t the few photos Mrs. Hudson has of my parents, I probably wouldn’t even know what my mother looks like anymore. Other than those photos and Mrs. Hudson's’ stories, I can’t say I have any kind of memory of her.’

John smiled softly. He knew very well how children were made, but Sherlock never confessed about what kind of relationship he was in when his daughter appeared and how you came into his custody while his wife was gone.

'What did Mrs. Hudson say about her?’ He asked.

You relaxed your shoulders. 'She said that my mother was incredibly sharp and intelligent, yet so caring and lovely, whatever that means. She said how it was a match made in heaven, as she’s never seen my father so happy before. He smiled whenever he was with my mother and would do anything to make her happy. She said I was a wanted child, but I think that after my mother’s death, while he would not give up on me, I was nothing but a grim reminder of his neglection in that case. I know he would never send me away, but I don’t think he cares about me in the real sense.’

A bittersweet feeling caught onto John. Sherlock smiling genuinely and dedicating himself on to making people happy? Sherlock… feeling? It was an odd idea, but not impossible. He’s lost people before. He knew the feeling. Yet… the idea of having a child that feels unloved because of an incident they couldn’t control still made him feel even more pain. John nodded lightly.

'Thank you for telling me. I’ll talk to your father, and see what we can do, okay?’

You nodded. It wasn’t okay, but you appreciated his genuine feelings of worry. It wasn’t something you got often. Knowing your father, you didn’t know how much that John’s words would affect him, but the attempt to fix something was still something you were grateful for. After multiple failed attempts, you gave up on trying to truly communicate with him.

John went upstairs as you took a glass of water from the kitchen and carried it to your room. As you passed by your father’s office, you felt a certain argument going on. You stopped walking.

'John, she’s fifteen, she gets food, she has water, a place to sleep, she has good grades, what’s the problem?’ Your father’s voice said, in a slightly angered tone.

’Communication, Sherlock. She wants a father, not someone who’s there to make sure she’s remaining alive.’

You felt how your lungs refused to get the full amount of air they normally would as something stopped in your neck, when heating the doctor’s words.

'How do you know what she needs?’ Sherlock shot back, 'You didn’t raise her, I did.’

'It’s not rocket science, Sherlock. Just try to more open with her. Be there for her. Please.’

Silence fell between the two for a few moments, before hearing your father getting up from the office chair he was sitting in with a creak.

'It’s not rocket science, huh? I certainly believe so but,’ anxiety pumped in your veins as you heard his footsteps come closer to the door. 'If she isn’t capable of doing the smallest task of doing well in school, I may as well think more seriously about how much of my genetics went onto her.’

‘Sherlock!’ John exclaimed.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took a step away from the door. How dare he! He’s said many painful and insensitive things towards you, but this! It put all those things i the past to shame. It crossed every line and limit you put to his insults, by far. He could be ashamed of his daughter, but to the point to even wonder if you were his? You couldn’t stand and watch that. It would only get worse if you didn't do anything. 

You walked down the grey hallway and entered your bedroom. It wasn’t a big bedroom and was originally fairly modest, but after your father gave you the ok to decorate it as you wished, it became more colourful and welcoming. Various posters hanged on your wall that presented various series you loved and people you admired. 

Your father needed to learn the consequences of his actions, and you had a plan. Before you started the search for the things you needed, you took your phone and connected it to your charger, along with a powerbank. You needed a phone that would last, and a backup for when it’ll run out of battery. You looked through your room until you found the first thing you needed for your plan- a spacious, black backpack you once got from your uncle Mycroft. You don’t remember the exact context through which you got it, but you knew it was from him.

You grabbed a half empty plastic bottle you had in your room and filled it with the water that you carried to your room. You placed the bottle of water in the corner of your backpack, before proceeding to fill up half your backpack with some spare clothing. You made a quick trip to the kitchen again, from which you returned with a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in an aluminium foil you brought home that day from school. As you passed by your father’s office, the two men inside now talked much quieter and calmer, on a topic far from you. You took your wallet and put it in one of your jacket’s pockets,before eventually checking your phone’s battery. You looked at your phone’s screen, which now showed you that the battery was 80% full. Good enough, you thought. The powerbank appeared to be fully charged. You stuffed thepowerban and charger inside your backpack, before closing it, and put your phone in your jacket pocket. Taking your jacket on, you looked at the clock hanging on your wall. 8:40 PM.

Taking your current plan, your luck was that today was a Friday, which happened to be the last day before the winter break. You had two weeks to settle things with your father. If he wanted to do things his way, so would you. You threw your backpack on your back, and walked quietly down the stairs. Taking how focused your father and his partner in crime were on their current case, they probably wouldn’t notice your disappearance. Not immediately. You took your shoes on, opened the front door and left without looking back. Just as you put your hand on the apartment building’s exit door, you felt a presence creep behind you.

‘Y/N dear, where are you going this late?’

You cursed on the inside. You turned your head around and looked at the old woman with a smile.

‘I’m going to Madeleine’s house, Mrs. Hudson. We’re having a sleepover tonight.’

Madeleine was your cousin, Mycroft’s daughter. You were born a couple of months apart so it wasn’t like there was a large age gap between you two. You took a little of your fathers’ rivalry upon yourselves, but the coldness between those two didn’t stop you from forming a strong, close bond.

The woman seemed relieved when hearing your words. ‘Your father knows about this, I suppose?’

‘Of course.’

Before you could let the woman say anything else, you exited the building and began wandering the dark, wet streets of London. In truth, you didn’t know where to go. In the end, Mycroft’s house was the best place to end at. You could wander the streets for a while and then… You froze as you felt a cold hand press against your shoulder. You could only walk two streets away. Could’ve they already…? You turned your head around, ready to see your father or Mr. Watson, but it was neither. It was a woman in her early twenties with long, dark hair. Her face reminded you a lot of your own father. Odd, but it can happen. You squinted your eyes at her for a moment, as you analysed her. One thing you inherited from your father was, although seemingly weak, his observation skills. 

She was too clean to be a homeless, but she was below the average ordinary people’s life. A lower class person.The hair was brushed thoroughly, but not washed properly in two or three weeks, masked with some shampoo spray to look decent.The clothes on her wear casual and practical to keep warm, but not well kept and old looking- giving you the feeling that she wore them for along time without washing them. Low class with money problems, probably struggling to pay rent and bills.Tries to be as economical as possible.

‘Y/N?’ She asked, ‘Are you Y/N Holmes?

You nodded lightly. You made an appearance on TV and the newspapers a couple of times, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if people heard of you.

‘You’re not safe on the streets at night. Please go back home.’

You shook your head. ‘Thank you, but… please leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.’

She let go of you, allowing you to go further, minding your own business. Whoever that woman was, it was an odd conversation. She was well-meaning, you knew that, but you couldn’t go home. Not now. Not so soon.

In the meantime, it seemed like a case was one step closer to be solved in the 221b Baker Street apartment.

‘Can you ask Y/N if she’s hungry?’ Sherlock asked, as he arranged some papers on his desk. ‘I didn’t make any food, and neither did she.’

‘I’m not her father.’ John said, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock raised his head to look at the man with a blank stare. ‘You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of…’

‘Sherlock, just go talk with her!’ John exploded, ‘You had an argument with her. She’s upset. You can’t keep silent for forever!’

Sherlock sighed as he stood up. ‘If you insist…’

He walked to your room and felt his face wrinkle in confusion as no light passed through the crack under your door. There was no way you were asleep so early. You never went to bed before 10 PM, and it was just 10 minutes before 9. He knocked on the door.

‘Y/N? Open the door please.’

No answer came.

‘Y/N?’ Sherlock tried again. ‘I just want to know if you’re hungry.’

No answer.

‘If you don’t open the door now, I’m going to come in.’

It seemed like luck wasn’t by his side that evening. He opened the door slowly, only to be met by a dark room. He reached for the light switch and turned the lights on. No one was in the room, and various objects were scattered around the floor. Sherlock felt how his heart missed a beat. 

'Y/N! Where are you?' He yelled, as he hurried down the hall. He walked down the stairs, his eyes scanning the rooms. You weren't there either. 'John!'

It didn't take long for John to come. Hearing the man's yelling, he was already up. 

'What's wrong? Where's Y/N?' John asked, worryingly.

'I… I don't know! I thought she was in her room, goddammit!

The front door opened slowly, as Mrs. Hudson came in, looking at Sherlock questioningly.

'What's with this noise, Sherlock?' She asked, 'It's 9 PM, for God's sake!'

'I don't know where Y/N is. Have you seen her?'

The woman frowned. 'She left about 20 minutes ago, I think. She said that she went to Madeleine's house for a sleepover. I asked her if you knew about it, and she said that you did.'

For a moment, Sherlock and John made eye contact.

'Mycroft's place.' John said.

Sherlock paused, as he looked at the front door. 'She took her black shoes. The Adidas ones, for better mobility. They're more comfortable, allowing the user to walk longer distances without a discomfort. Assuming she took her new jacket,' Sherlock paused for a moment as he walked up the stairs, 'She'll be able to walk a long distance without discomfort because of the coldness or her feet.'

He entered your room, opened your wardrobe and all your drawers, followed by John and Mrs. Hudson who couldn't do anything but look at him.

'She's taken the backpack Mycroft gave her, her phone, charger and a power bank,' he said agitated as he walked around the room, looking for clues, 'She wouldn't need a power bank if she went to Mycroft's, and if that's the case, she probably didn't plan to come back anytime this evening. Empty glass, bottle… she also took a bottle of water with her and some spare clothes, so she wouldn't dehydrate and be dirty if anything happened. She probably took some food with her too.'

For a moment, Sherlock stopped from walking and talking as he thought of a conclusion. As they sat at the door, John was frozen in the shock, while Mrs. Hudson was trembling, inches away from sobbing.

'If I would've known, maybe… She didn't give any sign that there might be anything wrong.' She said.

'Of course not.' Sherlock said, calmly. 'She's a good liar. Conclusion: Y/N  ran away.'

That short sentence was enough to bring Mrs. Hudson to such emotions that made her tears fall, along with wails of pain and worry as John tried to call her down.

'This is all your fault, you know?' John said, looking at Sherlock, 'Not yours, Mrs. Hudson, it's Sherlock's. How insensitive can you be?'

'John, I-'

'She's your daughter! High functioning sociopath or not, you're supposed to love and to protect her! Did you even bother to ever ask her about how she's coping with the loss of her mother?'

'She was very young when her mother died.' Sherlock said, coldly.

'Y/N's told me how she died. Whatever happened there is not my business but please, be compassionate with her, even if it hurts. If I had a daughter, I would go through Hell and back just so she would be happy. Why don't you? Do you even know what she thinks-'

'I don't know how!' Sherlock exploded, making Mrs. Hudson stop from crying for a moment, 'She's my daughter. Do you think I'm so heartless to hate her? I can assure you, John, I loved my wife with all my heart. Y/N's all I have left of her. I could never hate her. She's my only real family.'

John's eyes widened. This man…

'Sherlock, that's beautiful.' Mrs. Hudson commented, as she wiped off her tears.

'Then why…?' John asked, his voice trailing off.

'I don't know how to communicate with her, okay? She's so different from me and so sensible that I always get the feeling that if I say anything, it might hurt her. That… bringing to the lack of communication. Then, she asks me why I don't talk to her and… I just can't. We always get in arguments, do you think I like it?'

'Just tell her. Ask her to sit down and try to word out everything.'

'If it only was that simple,'Sherlock said as he walked out of the room, 'but if we don't make a single attempt to find her, I'll never get the chance to do the impossible.'

He took his coat on and stormed out of the apartment, not waiting for his colleague. He got outside the apartment and stopped for a moment. Think, Sherlock, think. Where would Y/N go? It was already some time after 9 PM, so most places would already be closed. 

'Did you call Mycroft?' John said as he catches up to him.

'Why should I? He'll know nothing more than me.'

'He works with the police, doesn't he? He can easily send some people after her to help.'

For a moment, Sherlock considered

'I'll call my brother only we truly can't find her.'

And with that, Sherlock began to talk down the streets of London aimlessly. It was almost as if he was hoping to see you any corner. He did, in a way,  it he was aware it wouldn't be so simple.

You were smart. He didn't even know why he said those words to you that day. He didn't even know why he even consider you any less that worthy. He wished you to be like him, but as it seemed, you were in the same position he once was. Parents often wish the best for the kids, but forget what's truly best for the child itself. In that moment, he wasn't Sherlock Holmes anymore. He wasn't the famous particular detective every detective envied. At that moment, he was nothing more than a desperate fool trying to find his daughter.

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the cold on the stairs of someone's front door. What were you even doing there? You could've easily called Mycroft and go to a safe, warm space. But he'd call your dad, and he'd come to get you. You were in no mood to do that. You didn't have the energy for another argument.

'Y/N.'

The voice came to you so unexpectedly that you jumped straight up, your senses now sharp and alert. Next to you was the same woman that stopped you earlier that evening, with a curious, worried look. In that moment, you regretted not bringing any kind of weapon with you. You could've called the police, but again...

'What do you want?' You asked, 'Are you stalking me?'

'I'm not here to hurt you, so relax.'

Her words came so unexpectedly that you obeyed immediately. Although still alert, any feeling of fear and concern you felt went away, leaving you staring at the woman blankly.

'Your father is looking for you with some friend of his, and he's worried sick. He's almost on the verge of calling your uncle.'

You snorted. 'Like he'd ever do that for me. Calling my uncle and all, I mean. If he really wants, he'll find me.'

You knew that all along. Your father was a private detective, for God's sake. He's dealing with missing people every day. You didn't plan on going anywhere far or make it too complicated for him. You just wanted to give him a small surprise, like an alarm that something wasn't good with you.

'He's a smart man. If you want, I know a place where you can hide for as long as you want. It's safe from the authorities. My people know some people up there, in the government. They can pull some strings for you.'

'Your people?' You frowned.

'Well of course,' she smiled sheepishly, 'How do you think I'm still roaming around as I please? We don't have much time left, though. I need an answer now.'

It was tempting. Very tempting. But it would be only temporary, and for a short amount of time. Whoever this woman was, she gave you a good opportunity to escape. But your father knew your weak points and he'd get the information out of you with no trouble. You didn't want to do that to her.

'I don't want to put you at risk,' You told her, 'But I want to keep contact with you, if anything happens for real. How can I find you then?'

She smiled. 'Go to Baker's Hollow and ask for Eurus. They'll bring you to me.'

'Eurus. Wait… Baker's Hollow? I never heard if it.'

'You're too young to know it. It's a place downtown, where the freaks all come around. It's full of interesting people willing to do all sorts if things for you, in return for something. Anything worthy for their actions.'

You nodded. 'Thank you. I'll keep it in mind.'

For a moment, the woman looked behind you, down the dark street.

'I'll have to go now. See ya.'

'Goodbye ' You said, as you watched the woman disappear behind the street's corner. 

You turned around and began walking. The street was empty and lighted nicely by multiple street lamps spread on it. Somewhere in the distance behind you, two sets of hurried steps could be heard, approaching you rapidly.

'Y/N!'

'Y/N, stop right there this instant!' A strict yet familiar male voice yelled after you.

You sighed as you stopped walking. So they really got me fast, you thought, turning around. You raised your head, ready to face the man's wrath on you, but instead, you were pulled in an inescapable bear hug. You felt how your father rested his head on yours as you tried to process what was happening.

'God, I was so worried about you,' he mumbled.

Your father… hugging you? Telling you he was worried? The last time you remember him hugging you was when you were eight, after twisting your ankle for the first time. As for his worries, you hoped for him to be worried, but you never thought of him showing it. In your best case scenario, he'd scold you for running away,  let you off the hook and not talk to you for a week. It was nothing you expected to happen, in none of your calculations, and to put it simply, you didn’t know how to react to it. You let yourself fall prey to your instincts and did what you felt like was right- you hugged him back. 

Sherlock felt his heart beat harder than ever. His daughter was fine. You were there, with him, with all your limbs intact- wounds. He pulled out of the hug and knelt down a little to get on your level. He grabbed you by your shoulders.

'Y/N, are you hurt?'

You shook your head negatively. 

'You sure? Did you fall or-'

'I'm fine, believe me.'

Sherlock pursed his lips. 'Of course I believe you. You're my daughter.'

You smiled sheepishly. For a moment, Sherlock paused as you made eye contact with his sidekick.

'I'm sorry to put you through the trouble of looking for me, Mr. Watson.' You told him.

'Y/N, why did you go away?’ Sherlock asked,  ‘I promise I won't get mad.

You looked back at your father, with a blank stare. You wanted to tell him so badly the reasoning behind your little escape, but you didn’t know if you should. You didn’t know if he’d understand, let alone try to fix it. You were fine and alive, what would he need more from you? You were nothing but a reminder of what he once lost on a case because of his momentary inattention.

‘Go on.’ John encouraged softly, ‘Tell him. It’s okay.’

You felt your face wrinkling in overwhelming as all the emotions you suppressed through time came back to you at once. 

‘I just wanted you to look at me,’ you said as you choked on your tears, ‘‘People always tell me how much I’m like you and you always tell me things of when I’ll become a detective but you never ask me if I want to become one. You never ask me about school or how I’m doing, and I… I get the feeling like I’m a burden to you and everyone.’

‘A burden? That’s absurd!’ Your father said, incredulously. ‘Who told you these things? Did your uncle Mycroft say that?’

‘He didn’t. He never said anything like that. No one did. It’s just that sometimes, I don’t feel like your daughter, but a stupid, daily reminder that my mother died and the cause she died. Maybe if I just disappear, then-’

Your father pulled you in another hug, holding you tight as he rested his head on your shoulder. Every emotion you’ve felt until then couldn’t be suppressed anymore, leaving you to empty yourself from your sorrows through ugly sobs. You felt so weak, so useless. There, you said it all to your father, but your chest didn’t feel any lighter. The same hardness lay on your chest, restlessly tormenting you day and night.

‘You’re not a burden, Y/N,’ your father said quietly, ‘You’re anything but a burden. You never were one, and you’ll never be. When your mother died, it was very painful, but you’re not responsible for it, and I’m sorry you feel that way. I loved your mother very much, and I don’t think I’d be able to love another woman so much. It happened so long ago that without you, I might forget things. But with you, I remember everything perfectly. I remember your mother, and why I have to keep going. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the best thing that happened to me. I don’t know where I would be without you.’

Standing behind you two, John blinked repeated as he tried to stop his eyes from stinging. As it seemed, there was much more to your problems than you let people know. Lack of parental attention was already a problem, but everything that came after it was even more serious. Sherlock's negligence could be debatable, but the things he told you were something new and unusual to the Sherlock he knew. 

John was very much aware of how much that your father cared about you- he talked about you whenever he got the chance, may it be laughing at a joke you told him or a funny story, or may it be his praising over you and your achievements, anyone who'd spend time with Sherlock would be able to tell just how much you meant to him. It was just unbelievable that Sherlock would express those feelings to you. 

As for you, you’ve never held onto your father harder. You hugged him so hard you felt your fingers hurt. He didn’t seem to mind it, though. Were those his true feelings? Then… all that time, it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You father really cared about you. He held you like that until you calmed down and didn’t cry anymore. After you calmed down, he looked at you and smiled softly as he wiped your tears with his sleeve.

‘Let’s go home, shall we?’

Sherlock paused as John gave him a pressuring look, 'What?'

John pursed his lips.

'Oh, alright, alright. John, Y/N, let's go.'

You entered the apartment you were so familiar with and took off your shoes and jacket. 

'Are you hungry, Y/N?' Your father asked as he walked through the kitchen, 'It's still eight thirty P.M., I could order some pizza.'

You smiled. 'That sounds great.'

There were people who cared about you. There were people who loved you. You felt how a burden was lifted from your chest. No matter how tough it would get, there will always be someone for you. You were loved. You mattered.