#which is why any and all glaring errors exist

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

IN TRUTH THAT SHE LEARNED

nina finds her way to an open window and watches the snow fall from the top floor of jesper and wylan’s house, willing herself to enjoy the chill. someone in the building opposite has started lighting candles, illuminating the whole street in soft gold, and if she were feeling any less sick, she might be inclined to enjoy it. or, it's winter in ketterdam! nina is ill and under house arrest at wesper's.

read it here! rating: G relationships: found family crows, background jesper/wylan, vaguely alluded-to qpr inej/nina

written for @i-love-semicolons for the @grishaversesecretsanta!!

[killerplink]

LET ME IN

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: You don't cry. Not anymore. No matter how heavy the weight of the world gets, no matter how much it hurts, you swallow it down and keep moving. Because if you don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist, right?

CW: angst, emotional breakdown, parental neglect/emotional abuse mentions, stress, exhaustion, reader bottling up emotions, crying, hurt/comfort

A/N: This one's for the bestie who wanted the reader to be in desperate need of a good, soul crushing sob, and for Dick to be the one to help her let it all go. Hope it hits right 😭 sending you hugs 🫂

The day starts bad and only gets worse.

You oversleep, which means you're rushing from the second you open your eyes. The coffee machine decides today is the perfect day to break, so you leave the kitchen already irritated, running on nothing but fumes.

You rush through your morning routine, skip breakfast—no time—then practically run out the door, only to step straight into a deep, grimy puddle from last night's rain. Cold, murky water soaks through your shoe and sock instantly. A bad start, but whatever. You can shake it off. It's fine.

Except it's not fine, because traffic is a nightmare, and by the time you make it to work, you're twenty minutes late. Your boss is watching, you can feel it, but he doesn't say anything. Just a glance, a sigh, and then he keeps moving. That's almost worse.

Work isn't any better—your inbox is flooded, your computer freezes mid task, a coworker "forgets" to credit you on something you worked your ass off on, and it feels like every single person in the world suddenly needs something from you.

By noon, you've barely eaten because your lunch order got mixed up, and you're stuck with some sad, soggy excuse for a sandwich that you could barely stomach. Your head is pounding, your eyes hurt, and the weight of it all is pressing down on your shoulders like a vice.

And then, to top it all off, the printer jams.

It's stupid. Small. A fixable problem. But when you stand there, pressing buttons that do nothing, trying to yank the damn paper free while the red error light mocks you, something ugly flares in your chest. Your hands shake. Your throat feels tight. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you might snap.

But you don't. Because you never do.

You shove it down, smooth it over, and try to push through the rest of the day with that same forced steadiness you always do. But the universe isn't just unkind today, it's downright spiteful. The bus is late, and when it finally arrives, it's so packed the driver barely glances at you before shutting the doors in your face.

You wait for the next one, shivering as the wind picks up, slicing through your jacket like it's nothing. When it comes, the only available seat is damp—why, you don't know, and you don't want to.

So you stay standing, crushed between a drunk who reeks of cheap whiskey and a woman who glares at you like you personally ruined her life. You try to ignore the occasional, too close brushes against your ass, chalking it up to the crowded space, but every stop, every slight jostle, makes your stomach twist tighter with unease. The bus ride feels endless. By the time your stop comes, your skin is crawling, and the air outside feels suffocatingly thick, the city pressing in on you from all sides.

Then, just as you're almost home, a car speeds through a pothole, sending a filthy, ice-cold wave of street water straight up your legs. You're soaked. Freezing. Teeth clenched so hard your jaw aches.

And as if the universe is actively laughing at you, your bag suddenly feels lighter when you grab your keys. You check, and yep, your wallet is gone. Either you dropped it, or someone swiped it in the mess of the commute, but either way, you're officially screwed.

Then, just to twist the knife a little deeper, the elevator in your building is out of order. Again. Because of course it is. So you drag yourself up five flights of stairs, legs burning, breath coming in short, frustrated huffs, each step making the day feel heavier, pressing down on you until it feels like your body might give out entirely.

By the time you finally make it upstairs, you're exhausted. Dick isn't there, but you already knew he wouldn't be—he mentioned yesterday that he had to meet Bruce today.

That's fine. It's fine. You're fine.

Except the apartment is too quiet, too still, and for some reason, the silence makes everything worse. You toss your bag down and scrub a hand over your face, exhaling slowly as you make a plan.

A shower. A meal. Maybe then you'll feel human again.

Your phone rings before you can even move. You don't want to look. You already know who it is.

But you do, and when you see your mom's name on the screen, you hesitate, staring at it like it might burn you. You could ignore it. You should ignore it.

But that little, nagging voice—the one that says it's better to just deal with it, to get it over with, to be the bigger person—wins out, and you answer.

The first thing out of her mouth is a sigh. Disappointed. Irritated. Like she's already exhausted by you, and you haven't even spoken yet.

"You never call," she says. "I have to be the one to reach out. Again."

You grip the phone tighter. "I've been busy."

"Too busy for your own mother?" she tsks. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always have been selfish like that."

The words hit harder than they should, and you swallow against the sudden sting in your throat. "I'm not—"

"Don't start," she cuts in. "I don't have time for your excuses. I just called to remind you that your cousin is getting married next month, and it would be nice if you could, for once in your life, show up looking presentable. You embarrassed me last time."

That last part is what does it. Something in you cracks, just a little. A hairline fracture along something you've spent years reinforcing.

"Right," you say, voice clipped, because if you say anything else, it's going to shake.

She keeps talking—about how you don't visit, about how you've always been difficult, about how she doesn't understand why you can't just be normal, about how she can't stand Dick—but you stop listening.

You tune out halfway through, staring blankly at the wall as her voice drones on, sharp and cutting. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing into skin. You shouldn't let this get to you. You don't let this get to you.

You've trained yourself not to, but by the time she hangs up, you feel hollowed out. Stretched thin. Like there's nothing left inside you except the sheer force of will keeping you upright.

And when you put your phone down, your hand is shaking. You swallow hard, try to breathe through it. You won't snap. You don't snap. That's not who you are. You've held it together through worse.

You sigh, shaking your head as if you can physically dislodge the thoughts swirling inside it. Your whole body feels heavy, weighted down with something you can't name, and all you want is to shut it all out. To turn your brain off, even if it's just for a little while.

You toe off your shoes, letting them drop carelessly by the door before shrugging your jacket and dragging yourself to the bathroom. The mirror catches your reflection as you pass, but you don't stop. You don't want to see yourself. You don't want to acknowledge the exhaustion painted into your face, the tension in your jaw, the dullness in your eyes.

The water is warm when you step under the spray. Hot enough to sting a little, to prickle against your skin, but you don't adjust it. You let it wash over you, standing there with your head bowed, arms wrapped loosely around yourself. It should help.

It doesn't.

You're warmer, sure, but your mind starts to drift. Funny, really, how you always put others first. How you bend over backward for people who wouldn't do the same for you. How you let yourself become a doormat, over and over, because it's easier that way. Because it keeps the peace. Because if you don't, people leave, and isn't that worse?

Life has never been kind to you. Not as a child. Not as a teenager. Not now.

You were born into Gotham's cruelty, into its teeth and its grime and its cold, uncaring hands. You learned early on that you had to be strong or you'd break. That if you wanted to survive, you had to swallow down the hurt, the anger, the exhaustion, and keep moving.

So you did.

And you kept doing it, even when things got worse. Even when life knocked you down again and again, taking pieces of you each time, until you weren't sure what was even left. You haven't cried since you were a teenager.

Not since that one time, when you were younger, when everything had finally piled too high, and it all came crashing down. You'd sobbed until your chest ached, until your body shook with it, until you could barely breathe. And someone had found you—your mother, maybe, or some authority figure who was supposed to care, you don't remember—and their response had been disgust.

"You're making a scene."

"Enough already."

"You're being dramatic."

So you stopped. Because they were right, weren't they? Crying didn't change anything. It didn't fix anything. It didn't make you feel better, it only made you feel exposed, raw, like an open wound waiting to be picked apart.

Are people who cry weak? No. Of course not. But you? You've always been the exception.

It's okay. You're fine. Stop worrying. If you don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist, right?

So instead, you focus on other people. Because they matter more. Because if you make sure they're okay, you don't have to think about the fact that you're not.

You sigh and think about Dick.

About the life you've built together, the only good thing you've ever truly achieved. It's solid, unshakable in a way nothing else in your life has ever been. A foundation you never thought you'd have, something stable and warm and safe. A love that isn't conditional, isn't a burden, isn't something you have to work yourself to the bone to earn.

And with him came the rest. His friends, who are now yours. People who hype you up, who care about you, who make you laugh, who make you happy. You never thought you'd have that either.

A real support system, people who look out for you just because they want to, not because they have to. It still feels foreign sometimes, like something you don't quite know how to accept.

But that's what should matter, right?

Not a shitty day. Not your mother's words digging into your skin like hooks, pulling at every old wound you've tried to ignore. Not the exhaustion coiling tight in your chest, suffocating and sharp.

You should be able to swallow it down like you always do.

You tell yourself that as you rinse the soap from your skin, as you turn off the water and step out. The steam clings to the air, swirling in the dim glow of the bathroom light, wrapping around you like a weight. You grab a towel, drying off with slow, heavy movements, trying to shake off the feeling.

It doesn't work.

Your hands move on autopilot, tugging open a drawer, reaching for something comfortable. Something soft, warm. You grab one of Dick's shirts, slipping it over your head, and for a second, the scent of him surrounds you.

It should make you feel better.

It doesn't. Your throat feels tight, your limbs sluggish, like the day is pressing down on you, sinking into your bones. You know you should eat something—at least something small—but the thought of moving, of going into the kitchen, of putting in the effort, feels impossible.

Instead, you drift into the bedroom.

The sheets are cool against your skin as you drop onto the bed, but you barely register it. You don't bother with the lights, don't bother pulling the blankets over yourself. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind blank but buzzing all at once.

You don't know how long you stay like that.

Minutes. Hours. Long enough for the room to grow darker, for the quiet to settle too deep, for the heaviness in your chest to spread until it's all you can feel.

Dick rushes home, his heart pounding harder with every unanswered call, every text that sits on "delivered" without a response. You always answer, even if it's just a quick I'm busy or a little voice note letting him know you'll text back later. But tonight? Nothing. Radio silence.

He tells himself not to panic, that maybe you just fell asleep, but the unease sits heavy in his gut, twisting tight as he takes the stairs two at a time. By the time he reaches the door, he's bracing for the worst.

Then he steps inside. Darkness. No lights, no TV humming in the background, no movement. The apartment is eerily still, and for a split second, his heart stops.

But then he flicks on the hallway light and spots your shoes by the door. Your bag. Your jacket draped over the back of the chair. A slow exhale leaves his chest. You're home. You're safe.

Still, the unease doesn't leave him.

He moves through the apartment, searching for you, until he reaches the bedroom. And there you are, lying on your back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like you're not really there. Like you've detached from the world completely.

Dick flips the switch to the bedside lamp, flooding the room with soft, golden light, but you don't even blink.

Kicking off his shoes, he moves toward you, plopping onto the bed next to you. "Hey," he says, nudging your arm. "Hi, baby."

You hum. That's it. A noncommittal sound, barely even an acknowledgement.

His brows furrow. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

It's flat. Distant. A response you could've given on autopilot. And maybe you are.

He tilts his head, watching you, waiting for something—anything—but you don't say more. Still, he tries to tease you out of it, offering that easy, boyish grin as he leans in closer.

"Damn, you just gonna lie there and ignore your very hot, very charming boyfriend?" he smirks, nudging your arm again. "Cold blooded, sweet girl."

You don't bite. You don't roll your eyes or shove him playfully, don't give him any of your usual sass. Just another quiet, monosyllabic, "Mhmm."

It's not even a real response. That's when he knows. You're here, but you're not here.

His smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something more concerned. He knows you. Knows how sometimes, when things are bad, you retreat into yourself. How you lock yourself away like you don't want to be seen like this, like you don't want him to see you like this, and it breaks his damn heart.

He shifts closer, pressing his palm against your stomach, rubbing slow, careful circles over your shirt. "Talk to me, my love." His voice is quieter, gentler. "What's going on?"

You shake your head, barely. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Liar. He watches you for a moment, eyes softening as his hand doesn't stop moving, fingertips tracing patterns against your stomach. You're locked up tight, but he's not going anywhere.

He knows how sometimes you shut down like this. How you build walls so high even he has trouble climbing them. How you think you have to be the strong one, that you're not allowed to break.

But you don't have to do that with him, and he's not going to let you.

Still, Dick doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Just watches you in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted like he's trying to figure out the right thing to say. But you don't say anything either.

So after a few more beats of silence, he exhales softly and murmurs, "Talk to me, baby. Please."

You try. You really do.

You part your lips, searching for the words, for anything that can explain the weight in your chest, the exhaustion pulling at your bones, the way today was just one long, merciless reminder that life has never been kind to you.

But nothing comes out.

Because how do you even say it? How do you explain that you've spent years swallowing pain, forcing yourself to stand tall no matter how much life tried to knock you down? That you've built yourself out of resilience and stubbornness, that you've convinced yourself over and over that you can take it, because what other choice do you have?

So instead of speaking, you shake your head. You turn away like you always do, curling inward, trying to make yourself smaller, except Dick doesn't let you.

His hand finds your cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye. His grip isn't firm, isn't insistent—it's just there, gentle and grounding, like a tether keeping you from slipping any further into yourself.

"Hey," he murmurs, leaning closer. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

You swallow hard, but it feels like there's something lodged in your throat.

"I don't care how ugly it feels, how messy it is. You don't have to filter it, you don't have to make it easy for me to hear. Just—just let me in, baby." His thumb sweeps up, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you. You don't have to hold everything on your own. I want to carry it with you. Please, let me in."

That—that is what does it.

Maybe it's Dick's voice, the way it softens with concern, real and there when you've spent the whole day feeling invisible. Maybe it's how he touches you—gentle but present, like he's anchoring you when you feel like you're floating away.

But something inside you shatters. It starts with a sharp inhale, shaky and uneven, and then your face crumples. The sob rips out of you before you can stop it, raw and broken, years of grief and exhaustion bubbling up all at once.

And Dick doesn't hesitate. He's there, arms wrapping around you the second you break. He pulls you into him, into his warmth, his comfort, lets you press your face into his chest as the dam bursts.

And you cling to him. The sobs wrack through you, deep and shuddering, the kind that shake your entire body, like they're trying to claw their way out of your chest. You bury yourself in him, fingers twisted tight in his shirt, holding on like he's the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

And maybe he is.

Your chest aches with it, like something sharp is wedged beneath your ribs, pressing down with every heaving breath. Your shoulders tremble, your whole body trembling, and it breaks Dick's heart to see you like this—vulnerable and shattered—but he's here. Holding you together.

His arms tighten around you, strong and steady, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. He's warm, grounding, his scent wrapping around you tighter than his embrace—clean soap and something inherently him, something that's always meant home.

"I'm here, my love," he murmurs into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. "I've got you. Let it out."

And you do let it out.

For every time you swallowed your pain and forced yourself to stand tall. For every moment you pretended it didn't hurt. For every single time someone told you to be strong and you did, even when it felt impossible.

A hiccuping sob tears out of you, your breath catching on the weight of it all, and you stutter through the words, barely getting them out.

"I—I h-hate everything." Your fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white. "I hate t-today."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I know. Let it out, it's okay."

And you do. It pours out of you like a flood, years of buried hurt and exhaustion spilling over all at once, and he holds you through all of it. His hands never stop moving, never stop touching, a constant, grounding presence. His palm moves over your back, his fingers brushing along your arm, his lips pressing against your temple, murmuring soft reassurances between every shaky breath.

And he doesn't tell you to stop. He doesn't tell you to breathe, doesn't try to talk you down, doesn't try to fix it, because he knows. Knows you just need this. Knows this isn't something that can be solved with a few soft spoken words.

So he just holds you. Lets you break, lets you cry until your body sags against him, exhausted, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, but the weight inside you slowly, slowly beginning to lift.

You sniffle, breath still hitching as you tilt your head up to look at him. Your eyes are red and puffy, lashes damp, tear tracks streaked down your flushed cheeks.

You feel wrecked, raw, stripped down to nothing but emotion, and you swallow thickly before whispering, "I'm s-sorry."

His reaction is instant.

His big, gentle hand cups your cheek, warm and steady, thumb brushing away some of the lingering tears. His expression softens, brows knitting together in that familiar look of concern, like the very idea of you apologizing for this physically hurts him.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice so tender it makes your chest ache. "There's no need to be sorry."

You shake your head, another sob catching in your throat, your whole body still trembling from the weight of everything crashing down at once. "B-but I—"

"Listen to me, please," he interrupts, voice firm but gentle, like he needs you to hear this. His thumb traces soothing circles against your skin, anchoring you, grounding you in his presence. "There's nothing wrong with crying. There's nothing wrong with feeling like crap sometimes. Shit happens, but it doesn't mean you have to bottle it up until it breaks you."

Your lips tremble, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

"You're not weak for being vulnerable," he continues, voice steady, unwavering. "You're human. And there's only so much you can take and bury before it snaps."

You stare at him, wide-eyed, like you're not sure if you should believe him. Like no one has ever told you this before.

His grip on you tightens, pulling you closer, until your foreheads nearly touch. His blue eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with nothing but love, nothing but understanding.

"I don't love you less because you show emotion," he says, voice softer, but no less sure. "I don't think you're weak. I think you're strong as hell for carrying so much on your own. But, baby, you don't have to."

He brushes another tear away, his touch so gentle, so intentional, like he's trying to soothe every hurt you've ever buried inside yourself.

"You have me," he murmurs. "You'll always have me."

And something about the way he says it—so honest, so real—makes your breath hitch, another wave of emotion swelling in your chest. Because you believe him. You believe him with your whole heart.

You sniffle, fingers still curled weakly into his shirt, as he presses a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead. His hands don't leave you—one stays cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing slow, steady strokes beneath your damp lashes, while the other holds firm at your back, keeping you here, anchoring you against him.

Then, softly, he asks, "Do you wanna talk about what happened today?"

His voice is careful, quiet. Not pushing, just offering. And you hesitate, swallowing past the lump in your throat, because... where do you even start? And would it even matter? Would saying it all out loud change anything?

Your breath shudders. You think about shaking your head, about brushing it off, like always. But before you can spiral, his arm tightens around your waist, a steady, grounding squeeze that pulls you back before you get lost in your head again.

"If you don't wanna talk, that's okay, my love," he reassures you. "You can take your time. I just don't want you to carry it alone."

God, that alone almost makes you start crying again. Because when has anyone ever said that to you?

Your throat feels tight as you shake your head, voice barely above a whisper when you murmur, "Not yet."

He doesn't hesitate. Just nods, like that's perfectly fine, like there's no rush, no expectation. And then he shifts, moving just enough to pull you in properly, his arms wrapping around you, guiding your head against his chest. You go easily, pressing into him, into the slow rise and fall of his breath, the steady thrum of his heart.

And for the first time all day, you breathe.

He holds you like he has no intention of letting go. Like it's the only thing he wants to do. And maybe it is, because he strokes your back in slow, soothing circles, presses a kiss to the top of your head every so often, murmuring little things between breaths.

"I've got you, my love. I'm right here."

"It's okay. Just breathe."

"I love you. I love you so much."

And it helps. It doesn't fix everything, doesn't erase the weight of the day, but it makes it bearable. Makes it lighter. Because his voice is steady, warm, and his arms are strong around you, and for once, you let yourself lean on him instead of trying to carry it all alone.

Your breathing slows. Your heartbeat evens out against his.

After a while, he shifts just slightly, just enough to glance down at you, voice gentle when he asks, "You wanna stay like this for a while? Or is there something else I can do for you?"

It takes you a second to answer. Not because you don't know, but because it feels like so long since someone's asked you that and meant it. Like really meant it.

And when you finally do murmur, "I'm... kinda hungry," you feel sheepish about it.

But Dick just smiles, presses another soft kiss into your hair, like that's the easiest thing in the world to fix. "Yeah?" he hums. "What do you want to eat, sweet girl?"

You shrug a little, because you don't know, not really. You're just... hungry. And maybe a little drained. And maybe just overwhelmed by the simple fact that he cares enough to ask.

But Dick doesn't push. Just tips his head slightly, considering, before he says, "What if I get us some ramen, baby?" he mpauses, tilting his head so he can catch your eyes, even in the dim light of the bedroom. "It's comforting, and you like it. But if you want something else, just say it, and it's yours."

The way he says it, so matter of fact, like it's not even a question, like your needs are just as important as anything else, makes your throat feel tight all over again.

But you swallow past it and shake your head, voice small but certain when you murmur, "No. Ramen sounds good."

His smile softens. "Yeah?"

You nod.

And he doesn't make you move. Doesn't untangle himself from you, doesn't try to pry your arms away from where they're still clinging to him. He just shifts enough to grab his phone from his pocket, orders your usual beside his without a second thought, then sets it down again and pulls you right back in.

You exhale. Sink into him a little more, his warmth, his scent, his steady, steady presence. And when you inhale again, it feels easier. Lighter.

The sound of the doorbell barely registers, but Dick shifts against you, murmuring, "That'll be our food, baby."

You don't want to move. You just started feeling okay again, cocooned in his arms, warmth pressed against warmth, steady heartbeat anchoring you like a lifeline. But he coaxes you up, not far, just enough to let him stand, just enough for him to pull you along with him.

"Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, leading you into the living room. He sits you down on the couch, grabs your favorite fuzzy blanket from where it's draped over the back, and tucks it around your shoulders with such care it makes your chest ache. "Stay here, okay? I'll get it."

You nod. Just barely. And he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your hair before stepping away to answer the door.

You hear the quiet murmur of thanks as he takes the bags, the shuffling of his wallet, the door clicking shut again. Then he's back, setting the food down on the coffee table, unbagging it, portioning things out before handing you your bowl and chopsticks.

"Here you go, my love," he says, sitting beside you. "Eat."

You glance down at the ramen, warm and fragrant in your hands. You don't even realize how long you hesitate until Dick nudges your knee with his.

"Hey," he says softly. "You gotta eat, baby."

You sigh through your nose but take a bite, and the moment the warmth hits your tongue, you realize just how hungry you really are. How empty your stomach has felt all day.

Dick watches you, smiling faintly as he takes a bite of his own. But between every few bites, his eyes flick toward your bowl, making sure you're still eating. And when he catches you pausing again, staring into space, he taps his chopsticks against your bowl with a little clink, clink and raises an eyebrow at you.

"Eat," he says again, teasing this time.

And you do, because he's here, because it's warm, because—despite everything—this is the safest you've felt all day.

After dinner, you don't move much. Just curl into Dick's side, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, fingers lazily trailing up and down your spine. The TV is on, some random show playing in the background, but neither of you are really watching it. It's just there, filling the quiet spaces.

And at some point, you tilt your head slightly, press your cheek against his shirt, and let it out. The words come slowly at first, a little hesitant, like you're still deciding if you should, but Dick doesn't rush you. Just listens.

You tell him how you slept too much this morning, which threw everything off. How the coffee machine broke before you could even get a sip. How you didn't have time for breakfast, how you stepped straight into a puddle as soon as you walked outside, how the traffic was hell, how you were late to work.

And work itself? Awful. Demanding. A million things to do, not enough time to do them. And then your lunch got mixed up with someone else's, so you had to go the whole day on nothing but stress and frustration.

And then the bus was late. And the driver ignored you. And you had to wait for the next, which was full and uncomfortable. And when you were almost home, a car sped through a pothole and splashed cold, filthy water on your legs. And then, your wallet.

Your voice is a little rough as you tell him that someone must have lifted it because when you went to grab it, it was gone. No cash, no cards, nothing.

And then... your mom called.

Dick stiffens beneath you. Because that—that—explains so much.

He's always known. Always known how much she weighs on you. How nothing is ever enough for her. How no matter what you do, how hard you try, it never seems to make her happy. How you keep reaching for something you'll never grasp, keep hoping for things to change even though you know they won't.

And it makes him angry. Because how could she not see it? How could she not see how much you try, how much you give, how much you love? How could she not see how amazing you are?

How could she not treasure you?

But he doesn't say any of that. Not when you're still curled into him, voice soft and tired and frayed around the edges. He just holds you a little tighter and keeps listening.

The words taper off into a sigh, soft and tired, like the weight of the day has finally settled into your bones. And Dick—he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against your back as he processes everything you've just said.

Then, he exhales. Steadies his voice. Keeps it gentle, keeps it steady, because this isn't about him. It's about you.

"She's wrong," he murmurs. "She always has been."

You shift against him slightly, but he doesn't let you pull away. Just holds you close, presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You're enough," he says. "You always have been."

His voice is firm, but it's soft, too. Not an argument, not a debate, just a fact. A truth he needs you to understand.

"You try so hard, baby. You give so much, and I know she'll never see it the way she should, but I do." His fingers brush up, tangle lightly in your hair, thumb sweeping gentle over your temple. "I see you. And I love you. Just as you are. You don't have to prove anything to me."

You close your eyes, pressing closer, breathing him in like you need it, like it's the only thing keeping you grounded.

"And I wish she could see it," he murmurs. "I wish she could love you the way you deserve, but if she won't—" He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That's her loss."

A pause. Then, "You are everything to me."

And God, he means it. Every word. Every syllable.

He can feel it in the way you exhale, the way your body melts against his, how the tension finally starts to ebb away. And then you shift, just enough to tilt your head, to glance up at him through red rimmed eyes and damp lashes, and you whisper, voice still rough with emotion—

"I love you so much, baby."

His chest aches. A slow, easy smile tugs at his lips as he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too, sweet girl."

You sigh at that, soft and warm, nuzzling back into his chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

A quiet beat. Then he murmurs, "Better?"

And you nod, a little sheepish, but you mean it this time. Maybe for the first time in your life, you believe that it's okay to let go.

[mscherub]

Hello! This was, and is originally posted on my Ao3, but I’m gonna bring it over here for other ppl to read, cause why not?

Courting with Floyd (Floyd Leech x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as prefect, Y/N, or shrimpy~

(Possible?) Warnings:

swearing(I have a sailors mouth and it makes its way into my writing)

Mention of a tooth

Uneducated reader on merfolk courting rituals

Probs grammatical errors and or spelling, or both, knowing me—

Word count: approximately 2.4K

How long has it been since Floyd has been acting weird? Well, I mean he always was weird to begin with, but now? Yea, totally different! He seemed more calm around you which—shockingly—is not like him. Was he ok? Where’d the sinister maniacal eel boy go? Figuring Jade would know better about his own brother, you went to him first just to ask, but, as expected, Jade was no help, simply smirking at you and basically telling you “tough luck.” I mean, Floyd, Floyd, was starting to be nice to you. Always finding a reason to be with you, always finding a reason to annoy hang out with you. Granted he did that before, but not as much. You weren’t thattt interesting. You were basic looking at best in his opinion(rude…), you caused a lot of trouble(ok, that’s fun…), and you did make everything twice as exciting when around so…ehhhh, maybe you were more interesting than he gave you credit for. But now? He’s going all out just to be closer it seems, and it’s unnerving.

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

“Shrimpyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…ne ne, heyyyyyyy. Lookie lookie! Loooook!!! Shrimpy?” Floyd pouted and poked your cheek.

You were in the library, minding your business studying. Grim was off with Ace and Deuce so you got a moment alone, even just for a few minutes, but of course it was ruined already…

“Huh? I’m trying to study here…” you reply. Honestly why did trouble always find you? And more importantly why did the cause of it get blamed on you and—

“Booooringgg…hey hey, shrimpy~” he flashes you that signature toothy grin, pulling you out of your inner monologue. “I have something more fun in mind, yea? Come with me~” he doesn’t give you any time to even respond and yanks you up from your seat. You begrudgingly follow along behind him, trying to pull your arm away from his grip, but to no luck. The fuck did this guy eat to be so damn strong?

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

After going about campus for who knows how long, precious study time replaced by scaring and robbing people on Azul’s special blacklist…Floyd drags you under a tree in the botanical gardens. He hums a tune softly as he kicks at rocks in the grass…he’s out of toys to play with now and I guess you’re the only option, right?

“Heyyyyyy, Shrimpy! Tell me a story from your world.” you’re pulled from your thoughts again and look over at him as he leans against the tree and slumps down to the ground. He looks up at you expectantly. You sigh and sit down next to him, backs against the trees.

“What do you wanna hear?” You hum as your eyes find their way to a group of butterflies fluttering around a small patch of flowers.

“Something cool. Hmmmm…oh! How ‘bout something about the oceans in your world? You have em, yea?” He sighs, gently bumping the back of his head against the tree

“Yea, my world has oceans, but I dunno. We have like maybe 5% explored? A lot of fish I guess…not much different from yours in a sense besides that merfolk don’t exist.” you murmur. What else was there really to say? You exactly weren’t a marine biologist before ending up here.

Floyd goes quiet and lets out a scoff of disbelief, his eyes widening

“Huh…your world sounds boring shrimpy…no other eel merfolk then?” He waits for your reply. Why did he care about that

“Uh…no. Not any merfolk at all…and I guess it is kinda boring. But hey, it’s home.” you retort. Floyd simply grins and moves his face closer to yours. You glare at him confused. You could be studying right now, you could be reading up on whatever topic Trein assigned, but no! You were bullshitting around with probably one of the top most deadliest students in the entire school, and that’s without the use of magic. But Floyd doesn’t do anything sinister, instead he pulls something from his blazer pocket and drops it in your lap…what the—a pearl?

“Uh—“

“Pretty, huh? Just like your eyes, or whatever. Anyways…I’m bored, and ‘Zul’s probably got some spiel for me when I get back…gotta beat him to the lounge.” Floyd hoists himself up and looks down at you, waving his hand. “Later, shrimpy-Chan~” he grins again. His eyes have a weird glint to them today.

He whistles as he walks off, leaving you alone to ponder, again…ok…what the fuck just happened?

Things didn’t exactly add up. Was he trying to trick you…did he just give you a gift, for free!? Uh, hello? Not Floyd like, not Octivanelle student like at all! Something was fishy, and no pun intended, but what the actual fuck? Ok, thinking logically, maybe you did something that benefited him and he payed you back for it? But what did you do? And also that’s not like Floyd, either? You’re completely and utterly stumped.

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

Floyd’s behavior only got weirder over the days, and he even uncharacteristically started to give more gifts to you…one being the tooth of who knows who’s. You’ve asked him about it and it’s the same reply each time:

“Just felt like it. Bye now!” —or something like that…gave you something pretty, which was always usually shiny, and then left, leaving you to look at the gift(if you even wanna consider a tooth that then sure) confused.

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

One evening you’re sitting in Ramshackle dorm, doom scrolling on MagiCam, Grim curled up and passed out beside you on the couch…

Ding!

“The hell?”

A message from Azul pops up and you instinctively click on it.

Azul: “for the love of the seven, please say yes to Floyd already. It’s driving me and my business into turmoil…”

Huh…

Ok, what the hell did he mean by “say yes to Floyd?” What am I saying yes to?

You: “…uh…what?”

Azul: “…”

Azul: “come to the lounge.”

And that’s it. Azul ends the conversation. Weird.

You hoist yourself up and you pat grim on the head to wake him up.

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

When you and Grim get to the lounge, it’s empty, besides for the disaster playing out…Floyd slumped directly on the floor in the middle of the lounge in his eel form, his tail flicking angrily and smacking against the floor, a pout plastered onto his face. Apparently Azul caught him trying to sneak out again to go to the sea for “presents,” and Azul got fed up. Floyd grumbles and glares over at the door, his eyes soften just a bit when he sees it’s you, but he’s in one of his moods.

“Shrimpy…come’ere…” he mutters. “Tell ‘Zul how dickish he’s being by not letting me go get you another trinket from the sea.”

“Floyd, you’ve been skipping out on working hours—“

Jade chimes in, “To be fair, when doesn’t he?”

Floyd keeps bickering with Azul, leaving you and Grim to just witness the scene unfold before you.

“Henchhuman, we could run right about…now!” Grim murmurs.

“No…” you sigh as you grab his tail before he books it. You could totally take advantage of this, maybe get Azul to make a fair deal with you if you solve whatever is wrong with Floyd…

Jade walks up next to you silently and smiles as he watches.

“You know…my brother has taken quite a liking to you I fear…he would be fairly upset if you were to keep ignoring his advances.” He hums. “Though it is enjoyable to watch him try so hard.”

“What? Jade, no offense but what the hell do you mean?” You side eye him, but Azul calls Jade over to drag Floyd to the pool until he can get him a potion to change him back…Azul is stressed and it’s evident as he takes off his glasses to rub his face. But soon his exasperated expression is replaced by a glare as he makes eye contact with you.

“Prefect, I truly thought you were smart, but in this type of situation, you’re so dense!” Azul huffs.

“Ok, ok, before accusing me of anything else, you mind telling me what’s going on?” You say as you cross your arms.

“You know exactly what’s going on…right?” He mutters.

Azul looks at you, his glare never changing until you can see something click for him. His eyes go a little wide and he looks at you surprised.

Shit…you didn’t know the courting rituals of merfolk, did you? I mean it would only make sense, you were a human, and you weren’t exactly from this world…

“Ah…Prefect. How to explain this— “

“How to explain what?” You sigh.

Azul takes a breath in and puts his glasses back on before continuing.

“I suppose there’s differences in each culture varying from land to sea, and in truth that is what makes them all unique in their own ways…uh—“ he pauses again, rubbing his temples.

“in merfolk culture, those who may be interested in another tend to give gifts as a means of courting. Do you understand that? Need I say more?”

You stare at him blankly, blink a few times, then take a breath in.

“Courting?”

“Courting.” Azul confirms.

“By that you mean Floyd is trying to…trying to get with me? Date me?” You murmur, your eyes widening.

“Precisely.” Azul sighs. “And while I have no problem with that in a sense, you ignoring his advances have caused him to be more—more in a sour mood, lately, more than he usually is, anyways. It’s truly putting a stunt into the business of the lounge due to him working less…it’s cumbersome.” Azul sighs again, longer this time.

You look at Azul, then to Grim who seems even more surprised than you. He looks over at you and looks about ready to cry.

“NOOOOO. HENCHHUMAN NO! NO, NO! YOU WILL NOT NOOOOOOO!” Grim whines, grabbing your arm and shaking you.

“Tell Floyd off, Azul! Ain’t no way my Henchhuman is gonna fall in the grips of that slimy eel!” Grim complains

Azul puts up his hand, shushing Grim.

“That’s not my decision, and you both practically know Floyd as well as I do…and to be fair I don’t exactly know why he’s courting since neither him nor Jade have ever tried in their life, not even back in the coral sea…but, Perfect,” Azul narrows his eyes at you, “don’t make a decision that will ruin my business…” and with that, he leaves you and Grim, slamming the door to the VIP lounge.

“Henchhuman you can’t be considerin’ this! There’s a lot of better guys out there…like Kalim, rich too!”

“Floyd and Jade are pretty rich, too, Grim—“

“And he lives above land, and he has Jamil who makes great food! I think if you’re going for someone go for him.” He interrupts.

“Grimmy, it ain’t just about the money for one…” you sigh.

“YOU’RE CONSIDERING THIS?!” He yells, he looks ready to faint.

Truth was, that as much as you acted like you didn’t like Floyd, you honestly kind of did. For what, though? Hard to tell. Maybe it was his laid back attitude, or maybe it was his looks, though he kinda looked like a gremlin, or maybe you just liked him for, well, him…

Grim is already walking(floating) away, but you let him this time…you’ll find him later, guarantee, probably caught up with some mess he always manages to make. Instead, you take a breath in and walk to where the pools are located.

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

You push through the double doors to the pool room and you find Floyd swimming in circles, bored mumbling obscenities to himself. You get closer, your footsteps echoing on the tiled floor.

“If it’s you ‘zul, I don’t wanna hear what you have ta say, ain’t gonna change anything, and—“ he looks up and sees you. He stops talking then stops swimming. Slowly, his pout forms into a smirk and he swims over to the edge of the pool.

“Shrimpy~ I knew you’d come…” he gives you a closed eye grin. He hoists himself up out of the pool and sits on the edge, the rest of his tail in the water.

You walk over to him and sit next to him, keeping at least a few feet between you in hopes you don’t get wet.

“Sorry I didn’t notice earlier…I guess?” you murmur. You look at him. His smile doesn’t fade, he moves his face closer to yours. “About the courting or whatever, I mean. Actually, it’s more your fault cause how were you gonna do that to me when I didn’t even know what it meant? Ah, whatever. Guess it’s just good I know now, right?” you tease. Floyd giggles and boops your nose.

“Thought you knew. You seemed smart, but maybe I gave ya too much credit for that, huh?” He teases back.

You nudge him gently with your shoulder, your uniform blazer sticking slightly to his viscous skin…

He smiles and holds out a closed fist to you. You look up at him and furrow your brows, looking at his gesture confused.

He turns his fist and opens it, revealing a pearl necklaces with shiny scales that obviously didn’t belong to him. Now that you understood the implications somewhat of the gifts, you hesitate to take it, but he plops it into the palm or your hand. You clip it around your neck and let out a soft hum as the light glints of the scales.

“It’s pretty,..uh, I guess just like you, thank you?” You murmur. Floyd grins even more and practically pounces on you.

“You’re too cute shrimpy…” he hums, rubbing his cheek against yours. “You get it now, yea? Good…now you gotta do it back…I only like expensive things so—“

“Floyd, let’s just skip that, ok?” You chuckle. “I like you, too…without the gifts you’ve given me, though, they are nice…”

“Hmmm…guess I can see past it just this once…” he sighs. He pulls back a little and grins at you. You look back at him and can’t help but smile.

“Do you know how we seal a courtship?” His smiling never faltering.

“Let me guess, a ki—“

Floyd crashes his lips against yours and shuts you up. A small sound of surprise leaves you. He pulls away and giggles, watching as your face turns bright red.

“Hmmm…now I’m bored, Shrimpy…oh, I know let’s go for swim!”

Oh no.

That’s it for now my lovelies! Also this was my first work on Ao3 and ofc transferring it over here may have messed it up a lot more, so if it’s bad that’s why 💀 (I also can write rlly well some days and others I can’t, weird thing…)

Master list

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[mollymauk-teafleak]

if we're lovers then we're screwed (chapter one)

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short who came up with this au and who continues to be a great friend and an excellent beta reader <3

Please reblog and comment over on ao3!

---

Jonathan Sims always dreamed of bigger, better things than his bleak home town. He knew that Bournemouth held nothing for him.

At least until Martin Blackwood moved in across the street.

And now that bigger, better future has arrived and Jon wants to take Martin with him.

But it isn't going to look the way Jon thought.

---

There was a letter for Jonathan Sims on the doormat. 

That wasn’t the name on the front, of course, not entirely. Halfway there. As close as he was going to get right now. 

It was meant for him and that was more of a letter than he’d ever gotten before. It caught his eye as soon as he walked through the door, snagging his attention in an unpleasant way like an uneven paving stone catching his foot. Something unexpected interrupting what, up until that point, had been a day just like every other.  For a moment, all he could do was glare at the letter on the mat, like he could stare down reality until it righted itself again, until it hurriedly swept away this unexpected error and let him continue with his routine. 

He didn’t get letters. The only ones that came through their door were bills and they had his daadi’s name on the front, though it was often misspelled, like they were perfectly fine to ask for her money, more and more every month, but couldn’t be bothered to look up any name that wasn’t English. 

When the letter didn’t realise the mistake of its own existence and vanish, Jon gave an irritated sigh, shifting his backpack so he could pick it up. That was definitely his old name printed on the front in stark black letters, so firm and indisputable that it twisted his stomach. He’d trodden on it by mistake as he’d walked through the door, the smudge of black sand from the beach across that dead name did make him feel a little better. 

Though the return address he saw as he turned the envelope over sent him right into freefall. For a terrible moment, he was certain he was about to throw up on the hallway carpet. 

Admissions office. University of Oxford. 

He had to read the words a few times just to make sure, the text blurring a little more each time as his hands began to tremble and he fought to breathe steadily. But no, this was it. The thing he’d been trying not to think about for months had hunted him down and dropped right onto his daadi’s doormat. 

Jon swallowed hard, trying to strain his ears past the hammering of his own heart. The little house was silent, nothing bubbling on the stove, no radio crackling in the kitchen, no whisper of slippers or soft, creaky voice singing in Punjabi. His daadi must still be at work. 

He did feel guilty about the rush of relief that brought him. He knew how much this meant to her, how hard she’d worked so he could afford the train down to London for the interview, how many times she prayed for him even though he’d stopped joining in, how she believed even though she came from a family where a granddaughter going to school, let alone university, was unheard of. Not that she had a granddaughter anymore but those conversations had only ended in frustration and raised voices. 

Regardless, daadi had supported him with everything she had, even after she’d been left with so little. She cared, even if she did it in a way Jon couldn’t always understand and didn’t always feel. 

Which was exactly why he couldn’t open this envelope in front of her. Because standing there, holding it in his hand and feeling it grow more heavy than a piece of paper had a right to be, all Jon could think was that he’d let her down yet again. 

But he did have someone who would look at him the exact same way, no matter what the letter said. Someone who cared about him in a way he understood even less because he could never- probably would never- figure out how he deserved it. But he could depend on it. And right now he needed something solid to cling to as his stomach roiled and his skin prickled and he held his future in his shaking hand. 

Fortunately, Martin was right across the road. 

Jon was careful, approaching the house from the back, walking right around the street to do it even though a single strip of badly maintained tarmac separated them. He was pretty sure Mrs Blackwood was having one of her stints in the hospital but he wasn’t about to take the risk of going to the front door, just in case. He hadn’t always been careful and Martin had paid for it. 

He’d much rather put his own neck on the line, hopping up onto the back wall and climbing into the jagged branches of the tree that dominated the Blackwood’s back garden. It was a damn sight harder now, ten years on from the first time he’d scaled it as a scrawny, bird-boned eight year old. But he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t that familiar sense of thrill to it, a flickering moment where he could be a prince scaling a tower or an explorer summiting a mountain. That had never fully gone away, even if the branches bent under him a lot more than they used to and his shins and palms ended up raw. 

Jon perched on the branch that had been scratching at Martin’s window every windy night since he’d lived there, scaring him and making him think some monster was tapping on the glass, demanding entrance. Jon had snorted when Martin told him that, drily saying at least the monsters were more polite than him, he just let himself in, had been for years. Why not lock it, if he was so afraid?

Martin’s voice had softened and his eyes had ducked away, as he’d mumbled that if he did, Jon wouldn’t be able to let himself in. That knowing he could come over whenever he wanted was worth being afraid. Jon had replayed that over in his mind a lot, so much that it would have worn out if it was a tape. 

It was enough that he understood why no one at school was surprised when they started dating. 

Climbing through Martin’s window had been easier when he was eight years old too. As he was shifting his weight, the toe of his boot barely secured on the flimsy plastic windowsill, a wave of nausea crashed over him. With no warning, his stomach tried to crawl up his throat, turning his muscles to water and his grip to nothing. Absurdly, his panic was all for the letter grasped tight in his fingers, he had a horrible vision of it whisking away on the breeze, completely forgetting that he’d be right behind it, falling a lot faster and harder. 

“Jon, bloody hell!”

Jon just about managed to keep hold of his stomach and his letter as he was yanked onto the safety of Martin’s floor, catching ragged breaths as his eyes focused on the peeling glow in the dark stickers he’d helped put up ten years ago, insisting they go in the astronomically correct positions. 

Then, for one pretty fantastic moment, his whole world became Martin. He looked exhausted, the way he always did these days, deep shadows carved under his eyes from waking up early and working until late in the night, lines of worry etched into the corners of his mouth. He looked far too young for his own expression, his face still soft and child-like underneath the tired, tense jaw of someone trying to balance three jobs and a spiralling mother. Like he was dressed up to play a role, a small child made up like an older man for a school play. But those cracks, that worry, wouldn’t rub away on the heel of a hand, Martin wasn’t allowed to set it all aside once he’d said his lines. This was just his life. 

Jon felt his heart thump painfully. It wasn’t just his own future clutched in his fist. 

“Did you come over just to give me a heart attack?” Martin panted, studying Jon’s face carefully like he couldn’t believe he was completely okay yet. 

“Maybe,” Jon rasped, shifting so he could move the envelope in front of Martin’s eyes, “Depends what’s in here, I guess.”

He watched Martin’s jaw drop, heard his quick intake of breath, “Oh shit…”

Jon felt himself pulled to his feet, Martin helping him sit down on the bed. His boyfriend’s hands moved anxiously, fluttering like birds trying to decide where to land as he fussed over him, pulling a twig from his hair, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. Martin had never been able to sit still when he was nervous, driven by some frantic impulse to help even if it wasn’t needed, like he was a robot who got stuck on a looping command. 

“So…you haven’t opened it?” he finally plucked up the courage to ask, once Jon had caught those restless hands and held them tight and safe in his own. 

“Chickened out,” Jon admitted with a weak smile, running his thumbs over Martin’s knuckles, “I don’t know, as soon as I had it in my hands, I just…I needed you.”

Someone, even with how tired he was, even though Jon knew he’d been up at four in the morning, had worked in the bakery until ten, had to run to the bookstore to work through until four, even though he only had another hour before he needed to go to his evening shift at the supermarket, Martin still put all of that aside to look at Jon with what felt like all the love in the world. Like to him love wasn’t something exhausting or difficult, it was the breaks of sunlight in between. 

“Well, you’ve got me,” he smiled, squeezing Jon’s fingers, “So enough stalling.”

He had to let go of Martin’s hand to slide his thumb under the seal and break it, freeing a tightly folded sheaf of clearly expensive paper. Jon got about as far as recognising the University’s crest at the top before shoving it away, shaking his head. 

“Nope. Can’t do it. You read it,” he managed to croak out of his tightly closing throat. 

Martin sighed, though it wasn’t frustrated or exasperated, the way people usually sighed at Jon. His broad hand came to rest at the small of Jon’s back, just a reminder that he was there. 

“Dear…Mr Sims,” Martin edited with the barest stumble, “Thank you for your application to Oxford University and our BA course in History and English…”

Jon closed his eyes, turning his face against Martin’s neck, like he could will the world to stop turning. Because even with how hard he’d worked, how sure and certain he’d made himself seem when teachers had looked at him with badly hidden doubt and other kids had sniggered, even with how stubborn he was, in that moment it seemed inevitable. He knew, with a sickening certainty, what that letter would say. It would say thanks for trying, thanks for the effort, thanks for padding our diversity statistics but this isn’t for kids with behaviour problems and no money behind them, this world doesn’t have room for people like you so just give up and stop trying-

“Oh…Jon, you got in!” Martin gasped, “‘We’re delighted to inform you that your application was successful’, you did it!”

“Wait, what?” 

Jon snatched the letter back, scowling at it until the words resolved and the truth sank in. He felt oddly hollow at first, a little dizzy, like he’d been walking down the stairs in the dark and miscounted the steps, left to wobble on the edge of the world. He’d done it. 

“I got in…” he said the words out loud, like that would make it seem real, “I actually did it…”

Martin laughed, his smile wide in a way Jon had almost forgotten it could be, a smile he remembered from when they were small, planning futures where they were pirate captains of their own vessel or astronauts settling a far off planet for just the two of them. Like he’d believed in this dream as earnestly as he’d believed in those, like it had all been equally as likely just because Jon had promised it to him. 

“You look surprised!” he pulled Jon into a tight hug, “Did you not realise how amazing you are?”

“Guess not…” Jon murmured, holding him back just as tight, grounding himself, “I mean, I know what I said but…I never thought I was actually good enough.”

Martin flinched, like something had struck him. He moved back, enough that he could meet Jon’s eyes, his gaze stubborn in that way it sometimes got. 

He’d seen that look when Martin had found him in his daadi’s bathroom, sobbing and holding a pair of scissors in shaking hands, hacking messily at the black hair that had reached the small of his back since he was a toddler. Martin had set his jaw, taken the scissors from him and helped Jon find someone who looked like himself in that mirror. 

He’d seen that look when he’d told him, through a thick tongue that didn’t want to work, that he was a boy and his name was Jon and please, please don’t hate him. Martin had just smiled, his love as fierce as anything Jon had ever seen, wrapped his arms around his shaking shoulders and told him it was so nice to finally call him the right name. 

He’d seen that look when Jared had shoved him against the back wall at school and threatened to break his teeth, striking him with names that burned, knowing no one would hear and they probably wouldn't come to help, even if they did. But Martin had. He’d seemed to grow twice his size as he’d drawn himself up and yanked Jared back, shoving him to the ground and growling that he wouldn’t let him hurt his best friend. 

He’d seen that look, watched Martin try so hard to be brave when he was so nervous, when he’d first told Jon he loved him. 

That look had always made Jon feel safe, protected, like nothing could hurt him because Martin simply wouldn’t let it. It had taught him that love could have teeth, that it wasn’t a resigned obligation, it was a choice. And it was a choice Martin had made, over and over, for him. 

“Jon,” he smiled, resting a hand on his cheek like this was too important to risk him looking away, “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go to Oxford. You’re going to show those posh dickheads how smart and brilliant you are. You’re going to get a degree and a masters and probably a PhD and spend the rest of your life being ridiculously clever and surrounded by books. You’re going to get everything you want, Jon, and it's going to have your name on it. Your real one. Because you’ve worked so hard and you bloody deserve it.”

Jon had to swallow hard before he could get the words out, eyes swimming so Martin blurred and seemed to move away from him, enough that he grasped his arms tighter just to be sure he was close. 

“You forgot something,” he realised he was grinning as he spoke, his heart so light it was bumping up against the top of his ribcage like a balloon. 

“Oh, right. You’ll also have a pet cat,” Martin cocked his head playfully, poking him lightly in the ribs. 

“No. I’ll have at least two,” Jon poked him right back though Martin was infuriatingly less ticklish than him, “I meant you, Martin. You’ll be there.” 

An expression flickered across Martin’s face, too fast to catch, “What?”

Jon beamed, “You’re coming with me. We can live in London, Martin, we can get a shitty flat that’s ours, you can find a job you actually like or you could go to college like you wanted. We can go to museums on the weekends and poetry readings and listen to music and it’ll be hard but it’ll belong to us. This is the start of our life together, Martin.”

For the second time in less than half an hour, Jon was so sure, so certain that he knew exactly what was about to happen, like he could see the next moments of his life mapped out clearly. And for the second time, he was proven wrong. 

“Jon…Jon, I can’t.”

He was falling again, stomach dropping, bile rising, air rushing through his ears and, this time, no hand to catch him. The hand had shoved him over the edge instead.

“What? What are you talking about?” Jon found he was still smiling, like he could force this into an absurd joke by just having the right reaction. 

But Martin’s face stayed devastated, deeply lined with grief, “It’s okay…I promise it’s okay, Jon, I’m happy for you. But this was how it was always going to be.”

“You need to start making sense, Martin,” Jon drew himself up, pulling away. He knew he was speaking too sharply but he couldn’t help it, the shock and the panic were lining his throat with broken glass, “The hell do you mean this is how it was always going to be?”

Martin’s hands were off again, now grasping at his auburn curls and plucking anxiously at the front of his own jumper, nowhere for them to land and soothe, placate, “I can’t go to London, Jon. I can’t go anywhere. My mum, she’s getting worse, she needs me more and more and we can barely afford the rent as it is, if I go…if I go, she’ll have no one.”

Jon had to stand, his whole body vibrating with nervous energy, like a violin string plucked in a discordant note. He paced back and forward, stumbling into piles of comic books and clothes Martin always left haphazardly on his floor. 

“You can’t be serious,” he shook his head, “Martin, you can’t just give up on the rest of your life. Especially not for her, not after everything she’s done to you. You already dropped out of school you already work yourself to the bone for her and the way she speaks to you, the way she speaks about us-”

“Jon, she needs me! She needs me and you don’t!” Martin’s voice almost broke, almost, but he took a breath, pulling a smile up from somewhere, “But it’s going to be okay! This is your dream, you’re going to get everything you want, you don’t need me anymore.”

Jon felt the words he desperately wanted to say pressing between his ribs, reaching out and grasping for Martin. But he didn’t know how to let go of them. Everything hurt too much, everything was too loud and too bright and so he did the only thing he seemed capable of doing. He got angry. 

“So what, this whole relationship you were just watching the clock, waiting until you could set me free like this is fucking White Fang?” Jon snapped, scowling at Martin, “When exactly did you decide on this plan, after I came out to you? After we fucked? After the night on the beach?”

Martin had tears in his eyes, brimming behind his glasses and god, Jon wanted to shut his eyes but he couldn’t, like if he looked away Martin would be gone when he looked back. Like everything around him would just crumble into dust. 

“Jon, that’s not…it’s not like that,” Martin’s voice trembled, close to bending and breaking entirely, “You’re too good for me, you always have been, you were always going to…outgrow me.”

Jon felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach, the sickness rising again, “Fucking hell, Martin…”

Martin seemed to hear his own words, shifting uncomfortably, tears rolling down his cheeks and hanging for just a moment on his jaw. Just a moment, then they fell. 

“I know my mum’s not perfect,” he croaked, “I know she’s difficult but…everyone else has left her, Jon, I’m all she’s got. I can’t leave too, not when she’s so sick. She needs me.”

“That’s bullshit, Martin,” Jon grit his teeth, feeling like he running out of space to fall, that the ground was coming up to meet him, that there was nothing he could do, that it was really going to hurt, “That’s complete bullshit,  you don’t owe her anything after what she’s put you through. You know, there’s a fine line between being a martyr and being a coward.” 

Martin’s eyes widened, his expression pained, “That’s…that’s not fair. She’s my mother, I love her-”

“Well she doesn’t love you!” Jon shouted, hard and sharp like a slap, “She doesn’t, Martin, and I do love you but you still won’t choose me!”

He’d hit the ground. The silence that fell between them was the ringing, white hot silence that came after a heavy impact, the silence that had pain on its heels, the silence where you were forced to just hold still and wonder if you’d ever be the same again. 

Martin’s jaw worked, his chest heaving like it was fighting against some enormous weight. Like there were words trying to escape him too, trying to drag themselves out on broken limbs. But they wouldn’t come. They couldn’t, no more than Jon could let go of his own. 

“Fine,” he choked out, turning on his heels and heading back towards the window, feeling every new ache and bruise and broken bone from his fall, feeling his nerves screaming at him not to go. 

“Jon, please,” Martin sobbed out from behind him, voice cracking like ice underfoot. 

But it was too late. They both knew it. 

Jon didn’t remember climbing down the tree, vaulting the wall, stumbling back across the road. The next thing he was really aware of was falling to his knees in their front garden, heaving and spewing his guts up amongst the dahlias that daadi grew to remind her of home. His fingers dug deep furrows in the dirt, his body still wracked even when he had nothing left to give but sobs. 

There was a bitter irony to it, as bitter as the bile in the back of his throat. He’d gotten everything he’d wanted but he’d lost the one thing he’d never even dared hope for. The future he’d held in that envelope was whole but he was the one broken, shattered beyond recognition. 

Twice in one hour, Jonathan Sims had been so sure of what was around the corner, only to find himself tumbling. 

And, little did he know, he hadn’t hit the ground yet.

[werecat1234]

Multiverse Madness Chapter Twenty Five

Art by my beta reader Ali! @alicay1234

Ink was sitting in a field of grass in a Surface AU, and the scenery was one of the reasons he'd came to this AU. The trees were bright and vivid, birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and on days like these, Ink... couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about. Ink sighed, trying to concentrate on remembering, before it came back to him. Now he wished he hadn't remembered why he was here.

He came here when he was frustrated, which he definitely was, and he was glaring at the sketchbook and pencil in his lap because he needed something to glare at. He still couldn't believe Dream had kicked him off the team! Sure, Ink had lied to him about caring about others, but that was just so Dream would work with him! Otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to team up, which they both needed, by the way!

Dream would come back eventually though, Ink knew that. Dream could never hold a grudge; he can't even hate someone! Dream couldn't fight Nightmare and the others without him, none of them would last... Besides, it wasn't like Ink had really done anything wrong, not when he was just trying to form and maintain a friendship with Dream, who needed him and still needs him...

Dream was just being dumb. He wasn't handling Blue's death the best, and he was just being... difficult. That's all this was, and sure, Ink could probably understand what Dream was feeling if he made himself a soul, but Ink didn't want to do that... He didn't want to have to hurt without being able to stop it.

That didn't help the fact that during his fight with Cross, the rift he'd kept securely in his pocket had cracked when Cross slammed him into the ground, and Ink had no idea what or who was brought here from another multiverse. It was Ink's job to protect the AUs' existences, and since he and Error had made their truce, the only thing Ink had to entertain himself and stay remembered was by playing hero with Dream, and even that he had failed at... Now the rift had cracked, another thing going wrong this week, and Ink didn't even know what to do about it. Ink hadn't noticed anything strange, so it could've just been a Froggit, but... Ink didn't know what to expect.

Ink sighed again, staring at the sketchbook in his lap before groaning. He'd forgotten what he was going to draw!!! Ink tilted his skull up in exasperation as he sighed, seeing something in the corner of his vision.... Was that Blue? Ink shot up, turning to where he'd seen his friend on the edge of a forest. Didn't something bad happen to him? He was... was..... wait, wasn't Blue dead?! That's right! 

"blue?!" Ink exclaimed, setting the sketch book and pencil aside, turning towards where he'd seen him, only to see him going around a corner, "hey! come back!"

Ink ran after him, reaching the spot he'd seen him, only for him to be nowhere to be found. That was.... weird. 

"blue?!" Ink called out, looking around, "you're alive?!"

Ink heard a distant "MWEH HEH HEH!" a bit away, and Ink followed after it, looking around to try and find any trace of his friend. Ink saw a flash of a blue scarf, and Ink ran towards it, heading deeper into the forest as he followed after him. Maybe... Maybe the rift had brought another version of Blue here! Maybe Ink could take him to Dream and then everyone would be happy again, and Ink would be back on the team!

Ink looked out from around a tree, seeing Blue looking down at a bunny, a happy smile on his face as it jumped around his feet before hopping away, Blue following it and going out of Ink's sight. Ink sighed, following after the skeleton once more, and he was hit with a sudden odor. It... smelled like something died, and it wasn't fresh, either. Ink didn't see anything, though, so he followed after where he'd seen Blue going, following glimpses of blue fabric and distant laughs deeper into the forest.

Ink faintly remembered he hadn't seen anyone around in the AU, but he didn't pay it much mind; he didn't care about them, just their worlds. Blue continuing to evade Ink was getting on the artist's nerves, though. The blue scarf was blending in annoyingly well with the bright colors of the flora of this timeline; the leaves were bright green, filled with fruits and flowers, the grass was a luscious grass that strangely crinkled under Ink's feet instead of being soft, but that might just be this timeline! Ink probably forgot something about the grass of this world, and the odor was probably just a flower and dammit, Blue was gone again!

"blue! come on!" Ink groaned as Blue rounded a large boulder, going out of Ink' sight, and Ink sighed.

Did Blue forget about him? No, Blue wouldn't do that; he never forgot anything or anyone! Surely not Ink! . . . Right? Ri-!

Ink yelped as he tripped over a root he didn't see, turning around as he pulled himself up to see it sticking out of the ground. He needed to watch his steps. He saw Blue walking in the distance behind him, and he pushed himself up, running after him, only for him to go around a tree and disappear. Ink sighed, eye socket twitching and eyelights red from frustration and anger, hearing another laugh from his friend behind him, seeing him even further away than before!

"blue, so help me!" Ink yelled, teleporting over to him, only to collide with a tree that had came out of nowhere. 

The bark was hard and scratchy, digging into Ink's bones uncomfortably. What?? Blue had been out in the open, how did he-?! Ink yelped, tripping over briars and getting them tangled all around himself, the thorns digging into his bones and drawing his inky blood. Ink sighed, grimacing as his arm and clothes were scratched up as he grabbed Broomie, using it to create paint to cut through the vines and pull himself out, pulling himself out of the briars.

Ink looked himself over, seeing his clothes torn and stray thorns and pieces of vines still stuck in the fabric. Ink spent a few minutes pulling the thorns and vines out, planning to repair his clothes later as he headed deeper into the forest, the strange odor growing. Ink grimaced from it but kept going, thinking it was probably just a flower, and Blue didn't seem to mind; he kept going deeper and deeper into the woods. Ink followed after him, mindful of his steps and other possible briars, occasionally stopping to look around.

He couldn't remember where he'd even started, getting turned around so much while looking for Blue. Ink hadn't been this frustrated in a while, and he wasn't enjoying it. Ink sighed again, his steps more cautious as everything grew brighter the further he went into the forest; everything was much brighter, but Ink noted an absence of wind or any wildlife besides the... what was Blue with earlier?.... Oh, right! A bunny!

Blue distantly laughed again, the sound echoing in Ink's mind a few times. How far away was he?! Did the forest just echo or something, or was Blue in a cave? He might be, with the mountain Ink was approaching. Ink sighed in relief as he saw Blue finally not moving.

Instead, Blue was sitting by a river at the base of the mountain, a waterfall coming from the mountain and going down into the river, the splashing loud in Ink's skull as the smell grew nearly unbearable. Blue was sitting with his knees tucked under himself, looking down at the water, and Ink approached, ignoring the odor and the loud waterfall that was strangely growing quieter. Ink's own footsteps seemed to become louder though, the soft grass crunching under his feet, the texture of it strangely crinkly under his toes, biting into them.

"blue?... is that you?..." Ink asked, tentatively stepping forward, ignoring everything in him suddenly telling him to run.

Ink put a hand on Blue's shoulder, yelping and backing up as Blue flickered out of existence, and several things happened next. First, Ink felt something slam into his chest and he was slammed through the waterfall and into the mountain behind it. Next, Ink's surroundings changed, the vibrant foliage gone, replaced by dead trees with rotting fruits on the ground, the grass dead and brown, and the water was ice cold to the point of being freezing. Ink looked down at his chest, seeing a black tentacle pinning him to the mountain, and he sighed.

"that's low, nightmare! even for you! deciding to change things up?! the hell did you even do to this place?!" Ink snapped, hand going for Broomie, only for another tentacle to appear, grabbing his wrist and pinning it above his skull.

"i'm sorry, but i believe you have me mistaken with my brother."

Ink completely froze at the sound of that voice, his eye sockets going wide as that need  to run turned into a need to RUN. Ink heard movement, seeing someone who looked like Dream but also like Nightmare, the guardian of positivity covered in black goop, left eye socket covered in the black substance, his right containing an amber eyelight that was burning into Ink's nonexistent soul. The voice sounded like Dream's, but it was darker, echoing over itself as he spoke and sending shivers down Ink's spine.

"d-dream?..." Ink asked, confused and mildly horrified. 

"shattered, actually. i'm surprised, bleach, you're not usually this easy to manipulate... then again, you're not him... you're much more entertaining... and stupid..." The corrupted version of Dream- Shattered- chuckled, a wide smile on his face.

"......what..?" Ink questioned, and then it clicked.

The rift broke, and now there was a goopy version of Dream here, and he was calling Ink 'Bleach'. Bleach was the opposite of paint, so Ink was probably an opposite version of himself from wherever this version of Dream was... This was the absolute worst thing that could've came out of the rift. 

"mmhmm. a pain in my backside if you ask me... but you don't seem as annoying. you're certainly not as angry as he is... then again, you seem dumber, so it seems there's always drawbacks." Shattered hummed, looking Ink up and down.

"hey! i'm not dumb!" Ink snapped.

"whatever helps you keep that empty head of yours clear." Shattered smirked, chuckling, and Ink struggled angrily.

"how'd you know about blue, anyways?!" Ink asked, glaring at him.

"do you honestly believe i didn't do my research before i did this? tsk tsk tsk. of course you would. i've been watching you, ink. i saw your little fight with that other version of me; how upset he was.... i wish i could have savored it forever; fights between friends are one of my favorites. well, when they're able to think coherently; most of my universe is filled with mindless little zombies that attack everything like rabid dogs~" Shattered giggled, the smile widening even more, "as i was saying, i did my research on you. i know all about your precious little friend's death, and the emotions on it are amazing... so much pain, so much grief... even from you."

"what do you mean, even from me-?!" Ink started, but Shattered cut him off.

"oh don't act stupider than you are. i can feel your pain. deep down you miss him. even you can't forget about him, or how important he was to you, and if you're similar to bleach's, then your memory is very poor...." Shattered chuckled. 

"and what? you're enjoying it or something?" Ink questioned.

"immensely." Shattered smiled, "but unfortunately, your emotions aren't enough.... what do these do? i don't recognize them from anywhere..."

Shattered extended a hand, a sharp, goopy finger tapping on one of Ink's vials. It was the blue one, still mostly filled due to Ink not drinking a lot of it. He didn't want to feel all of the sadness from Blue's death.

"don't touch those!" Ink snapped, Shattered's eyelight flicking up to look at him again, and he added meekly, ". . . please?"

"so i assume they're important?" Shattered smirked, "oh, of course! silly me! i remember now! they're your method of feeling emotions, are they not?~"

". . ." Ink didn't know what to say, if he should even say anything, and after his silence, he was met with the goopy hand previously by his paint vials at his throat, squeezing and burning Ink's bones at the touch.

"are. they. not?" Shattered growled, demanding an answer, the amber eyelight glaring angry daggers into Ink's wide eye sockets.

Ink nodded a bit, quickly, and Shattered smirked, removing his hand from Ink's neck, trailing his fingertips away in order to prolong the burning pain. Ink gasped a bit, catching his breath, looking at Shattered in a bit of fear that was quickly escalating into terror.

"y-yeah, they are..." Ink responded shakily, bones rattling a bit. 

"i could help you, you know?~ i can take the suffering from you, so you no longer grieve your poor friend. wouldn't you like that?" Shattered offered, and Ink looked away.

"WOULDN'T YOU?~" Blue's voice asked, Ink's eyelights snapping back to where he saw Shattered, only to see Blue, smiling at him with an amber tinge to his blue eyelights, the smile just a bit too wide.

"s-stop doing that..." Ink muttered, and the tentacle pressed him further into the mountain, the stone biting into his vertebrae.

"YOU DON'T GET TO MAKE DEMANDS HERE, INK! MWEH HEH HEH! YOU ONLY GET TO PLAY ALONG LIKE  A  G O O D  L I T T L E  P U P P E T . . . "

Ink saw 'Blue' reaching for his vials, and Ink reacted, vomiting black paint in his face. The illusion faded to Shattered's angered mix of a hiss and snarl, wiping at his face, and Ink took the chance, kicking him in the face. Shattered's tentacle loosened, Ink squirming out of his hold and running as fast as he could away and through the forest, a dark mix of Nightmare's and Dream's themes playing, the rhythm sending shivers down his spine. The scenery zoomed past him as dead grass and leaves crunched under his feet, rotting fruits on the deceased trees and on the ground, the life completely sucked out of this place.

That definitely explained the rotting smell... Ink kept running, gasping at seeing animals fighting each other, lashing out in visible anger or fear, bunnies biting at each other's throats, some chasing others into hiding, and they all had shaggy and matted fur, stained and clumped by blood or other things, and they all had a slight eerie amber glow in their eyes. Ink slammed into a tree as he ran, pulling himself off of it, and he looked behind him to see a stream of black liquid zipping toward him, and Ink immediately took off sprinting again. He jumped over roots, dodged animals flying at him in attempts to attack, the once beautiful forest now something out of a horror movie, and not one of the fun ones Murder liked to watch.

Blood was smeared on the trees and the dead grass, and Ink almost slipped in fresh puddles of it. Ink fumbled in his pockets, grabbing the rift from it's secret pocket he made for it. It was a bright orb in every color in and out of the rainbow, swirling around a black void, the rift itself encased in self repairing, nearly indestructible except to excessive force, glass. Ink grabbed a small paintbrush, slashing it to make a portal to the Antivoid appear a bit away, and he threw the rift through it.

Ink almost made it to the portal, but something goopy grabbed his leg and pulled. The portal closed as Ink was yanked back, pinned to the ground with tentacles grabbing him everywhere, wrapping around every joint in his body, forcing him into a kneeling position with his skull being forced to look down by another tentacle, unable to see who was approaching but able to hear his footsteps. Shattered stalked closer to him, stopping when Ink could only see his black, goopy boots from the top of his vision before the tentacle released his skull, sharp, goopy fingers hooking into the underside of his jaw and making him look up, another tentacle slicing Ink's sash off and discarding it to the side. Ink wanted to yell out in protest, but Shattered gripping his chin made him unable to do anything but stay quiet and look at him, black paint dripping from the claw marks.

"we're going to have to work on that." Shattered sighed, rolling his amber eyelight, a tentacle raising behind him and slamming into Ink's skull, everything going black.

Everything was cold, like it always was. Nightmare woke up from the closest form of sleep he could get in here, anything to pass the time, and his attention was drawn to a crack in the stone prison he'd been trapped in for... Nightmare had lost track of time, but he knew it'd been a long time. That sliver of light that shined through the crack and into his eye socket, though... that gave him hope. The crack slowly grew, Nightmare able to see a bit past the stone that had imprisoned him for so long.

He tried twitching his fingers, the stone giving way and crumbling from the motions, and Nightmare moved around a bit more, feeling the stone gaining more cracks, and suddenly, the rock exploded away from him. Nightmare lost consciousness, regaining it a bit later, groaning as he opened his eye sockets, at least, the one that was able to close, the right one was just a crater. Nightmare saw a positivity apple on the ground a bit away from him, the bright yellow apple having a tinge of purple on the top left corner, confusing Nightmare on it's appearance. Nightmare groaned again, pulling himself to sit up with weak arms, bones rattling and shaking from a lack of use, dust from the stone falling away from him.

Memories flashed in his mind, trying to remember what had happened last. He remembered the bullies, Dream trying to defend him and getting thrown to the ground as someone else pushed Nightmare against the tree, then... then Dream started screaming, but he sounded like he was underwater with how echoing and strangled it was... Then there was screaming, Nightmare's dazed mind still not able to process what was said or what happened, just remembering knowing that the apples are in danger. Nightmare... he'd leapt at one, holding it close as a sudden coldness hit, and he saw himself rapidly turning to stone before everything went black, and he was trapped in that prison.

He knew he'd been awake, but he couldn't remember what had happened afterwards, just the knowledge it'd always been cold before the stone broke. Where was the tree, though?... Nightmare looked around, trying to see any trace of it, but he didn't even see a stump. Instead he was next to a lake with the positivity apple a few feet away, laying in a large amount of grass. This wasn't where the Tree of Feelings was, this wasn't it at all... Nightmare's purple eyelights trailed to the apple again, relieved he'd at least saved one of the apples, but.... where was he, and more importantly... where was Dream?

Nightmare looked back at the apple, hesitating as he contemplated something unthinkable. It needed protection, not just from whatever Nightmare had a feeling had happened, but those screams from Dream.... those scared him. If something had hurt Dream, they could've done anything to the apples, not to mention to this one, the last one Nightmare knew was safe. He knew if he touched it, it would become a negativity apple, but maybe, just maybe if he only touched it with his mouth, he could... no.

They weren't supposed to eat the apples or even touch one, especially not their opposite's... But Nightmare had a feeling that the Tree of Feelings was gone, and the longer this apple was exposed, the more endangered it was. It needed to be protected, because even if he couldn't protect Dream, he could at least protect something... It's what he would've wanted, right?. . . Damnit. Nightmare crawled over to the apple, hovering over it with shaky arms and a lot of effort, briefly considering his life choices before his arms gave out, a gasp leaving him before the apple slammed into his open mouth, and everything went white before it went black.

Nightmare woke up from pure overstimulation, emotions flooding into his mind rapidly, not just from here but from other universes entirely. He could feel so many of them it sent him into shock, grabbing at his skull with his eye sockets squeezed shut and- wait... it healed? Nightmare blinked, both eye sockets fine, and he felt some strength in his bones now. He felt... different, though... Not only was he feeling different things, he was feeling different things...

He also looked different, from what he could see in his reflection. His eyelights were both still purple, but his left one had a small teal tinge to it, but only on the top, the same spot the negativity was on the apple. He still had his crown, thankfully, and he couldn't see any scarring from his eye socket being smashed out. He was wearing a dark purple hooded cowl with a white trim on the bottom, and he could feel the fur of the inside of it, and there was a necklace with a sun pendant hanging down from his neck.

His purple jacket was unzipped too, showing a black shirt, and he was also wearing black pants with purple knee-high boots when he looked behind himself. He looked down at his hands, seeing purple fingerless dark purple gloves, and he clenched his fingers, surprising himself when transparent purple blades shot out from them, resting over the backs of his hands and glowing with power. He unclenched his fingers, the blades vanishing, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He sat on his knees, looking around, seeing bits of stone pieces still laying in the grass a bit away, and he slowly pushed himself to his feet, still trying to process all of the emotions he was feeling, trying to dull it down to being manageable and not causing him a headache. 

"Are you ok?" A new voice asked, and Nightmare turned around to see a black and gray human child standing a few feet away. 

They were wearing a light gray and white striped sweater, black shorts, and black boots. Their skin was pale gray, almost white, and they had large, circular black eyes, their hair short, around down to their neck, and it was dark gray, bangs ending right above their eyes.

"uh... i think so?... what's going on here?" Nightmare questioned, "and who are you?"

"My name's Core, and... we have a lot to talk about."

Discord server: https://discord.gg/wQfvxyEuvj

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[cloythedramatic]

Just reminded of why I love Blue/Swap so much!! It was a short list of how Blue joined the bad sans and made the entire crew even better, very cute :33

Anyways, the reason I love Blue is because he's just like me frfr!! (They all are but let me get into why Blue is just like me frfr) so essentially, Blue is extremely strong and smart, especially if considering the fact everyone things he is below average in both regards (think he's stupid bc he's cute & happy, think he's weak bc he's a mortal) and he has HELLA CONNECTIONS, like he can glare and manipulate Error into compliance, is friends with Fresh (who would gladly annoy others or make people disappear on command) and even knows Reaper personally, which is usually good enough if you want him to turn a blind eye to any chaos caused.

Like, imagine a cute little guy, biologically cute, and they are smart enough to not only hide their emotions effectively, but also know the right people to get anything he wants, and charismatic enough that he can meet and be friends with new people to get whatever he wants, and he can also effectively take so much damage and abuse that would typically cripple someone, but he stands back up and throws another punch instead, like thats scary!!

Especially love Nightberry because it starts out with Blue being underestimated heavily, and then slowly learns Blue is an absolute badass, and gets along with all of his children fantastically!! Like Blue participates in hobbies and spars, and listens to his kids, and not even Nightmare can be such a good father to the murder trio!!

(Also I headcanon that there is a child named Blueberry who was saved by Blue and tries to impersonate him as a way to cope with trauma, but thats unimportant to my ship with NM and likely wouldn't exist if Blue got with NM)

[lord-of-0blivion]

"How. Dare. You." Those three words resounded across the gathering of ghost with the force of a freight train and yet, the gentleness of a butterfly. The tone of said words quieted the crowd, but what truly brought everything to a grave like stillness was the emotion behind them. It was indescribable, it was oh, so... so much more then pure hate and, at the same time so much less then indifference.

"How dare you." They wrang out again. Followed by a "You finally piece it together and this is how you repay him?!"

"You plot and scheme against him as if he is not the sole reason why you even exist!" A tierd huff escaped the figure, now recognized as the master of time. "You wine and complain about the inaccuracies and errors in your history as if this is not how you have alaways been!" "Might I remind you that this all came from the mind of a DYING CHILD!" He gesture all around, to the infinite green void. "The fact that we have ANY correlation to the mortal world is a miracle and a testament."

"At the very moment of his death, Danny's mind recognized that, according to the laws of his world, his univers, he had no way to survive;" An intense glared was directed at the waste of ectoplasm gathered below him. "And, sensing his desire to Live, to not abandon the only three people who have shown him compassion, it does the only thing it can." A sigh escapes his lips "It creates a door, it makes a universe, a multiverse, infinite realities. It makes it out of all his hope, compassion, love and determination, sadness and despair... It gives birth to DEATH itself, just to beg it to keep him alive."

The crowd stills completely, as if suddenly turned to stone. "It is a testament to his willpower, knowledge and... his compassion." Another sigh rings out, filled with something between sorrow and and the burden given by knowledge. "Prior to his death, there... there were no afterlives, there was nothing awaiting but Oblivion, true death. And then he created all afterlifes, he created all of you."

A long pause soon followed, as if to allow Clockwork to catch his breath, but it was more to allow all the ghost beneath him to process the information.

And then he continued "In the very first moment of its birth, Death knew what it had to do... It took its very purpose and the very laws that should have binded it to said purpose and discarded them with no hesitation." Another pause. "Without a care for itself, and alongside Magic, who was born at the same time as the Realms, it set out to helps its father like any good child would do for a loving parent"

Not even allowing a word to escape the crowd, CW continues. "Would any of you even dare to THINK about striking your mothers or your fathers!?" Before they can even flinch Clockwork hammers the point in "Answers me this: Is there anyone among you who can say, with any amount of certainty, that Danny would even hesitate to... give up what little remains of his life, his existance! To save yours?"

Having made his point he turned his back to them. "Like any parent would do?" Not paying attention to the trembling and sobbing ghost, Clockwork, the master of time made to leave, but not before saying one last thing.

"From the highest peaks of Haven to the deepest VILEST pits of Hell, there exist no language in which I can express my disappointment and disgust in you. Have a good afterlife, and don't forget WHO you have to thank for it you vain children"

[This] post inspired this. @five-rivers Thanks.

[wincheskka]

Familiar (part 1)

Pairing : Troy Otto x Fem!Reader x Negan Smith

part 2

Summary : You are at Alexandria because you want to have a happy life, away from the pain of the loss of your son's father. (I'm so bad at this sorry)

Genre/Warning : Romance, death mention, blood, injury, TWD & FTWD SPOILERS (If there are any other warnings let me know)

A/N : This story takes place to the end of TWD season 11, Annie doesn't exist in it (sorry). I've had this idea for 2 years, and with Troy's return, it makes me want to write it even more so here it is.

English is not my native language so I’m really sorry for the spelling mistakes. (tell me if there are any errors)

You put your basket on the ground when you finally see a blueberry tree, you crouch down to be able to collect them and put them in the basket, behind you the branches break under Negan's steps :

“You didn’t have to come with me” You tell Negan, turning to look at him.

“And who would protect you ?” Negan asks looking around to make sure there's no danger coming, you roll your eyes at his words.

“Negan I can protect myself” You respond, turning back to the blueberries.

"I know you can but we don't know what can happen" He replies, you shake your head at his worries "And I don't want to have to tell James that something happened to his mom"

“Nothing will happen to me” You said, throwing a blueberry at Negan which landed on his face, making you let out a small laugh.

“Yes because I’m here” He leans down and picks up the blueberry you threw at him and throws it back at your head.

“Mister has an oversized ego I see” You laugh and you collect more blueberries, you hear Negan's snicker from behind.

"It's not just my ego that's-" He starts his sentence but you turn to look at him.

"Do not finish this sentence !" You warn him by glaring at him, it makes him smirk, you look away from your friend.

You arrived at Alexandria for 10 or 11 years ago, before arriving at Alexandria and even before the apocalypse you lived at the Broke Jaw Ranch with your boyfriend Troy Otto.

You had found out about your pregnancy two days before Madison killed the man you loved, you still love. When you found out about his death you couldn't believe it, all you wanted to do was kill Madison for what she did, but you had to protect your son, so you did nothing, you let her live, so when she died at the stadium you were happy and reassured but that didn't make the pain go away.

Nick helped you a lot when you were pregnant, until giving birth or even when you just needed a shoulder to cry on Troy, he was there and he was the only one to be there for you, you knew he felt bad, that his mother killed Troy. Nick was like a brother to you and when he died it hurt you a lot, you felt so alone.

When Morgan wanted to take the group to Alexandria you immediately said yes, you wanted to be able to take your son safely, where he could have a comfortable future and where you could perhaps rebuild yourself.

So when the group finally decided not to go to Alexandria, you still went there alone with your son, during the trip you encountered some problems but you managed to arrive at the gates of Alexandria safe and sound with your 1 year and a half son.

The Alexandrians welcomed you with suspicion at first until you explained to them that it was because of Morgan that you knew about this place.

You and your son have managed to integrate into the community. You heard the stories about the war with the saviors, you had heard what the leader of the group had done, you knew he was locked up in Alexandria. You weren't afraid of the stories the Alexandrians told you about him, you felt familiar with it and you didn't know why.

6 years later your son called Alexandria home, you too even if you missed the Ranch, it was Troy that you especially missed, you never started your life again with anyone, you couldn't do it.

When winter fell just after Alpha killed Tara, Enid and Henry, you were finally able to meet the famous Negan, you weren't afraid of him, you were intrigued and even you laughed at his jokes, which surprised him, Negan also felt intrigued by you.

After the winter, Negan was able to go out more often but with someone to watch him,but that didn't stop you from talking to him but you came to see him more often when he was in his cell, you talked, you talked with him about you, about James and also about Troy, talked about Troy had hurt you a lot but Negan comforted you and you did the same when he talked about Lucille.

Negan and you quickly became friends and even you could say that he became your best friend, it's been a long time since someone cared about you like that.

After the events of the whisperers and the Commonwealth, you stayed at Alexandria and Negan also stayed with you at Alexandria, he was able to finally get to know James, your son as immediately liked Negan.

For Negan, James is like his son, he cares about him just like he cares about you a lot. You love that Negan is there for your son but you know that James sees Negan like his father and it hurt you that he never met his father, he never asked you about him and you were quite grateful for that, because you know it will be a hard discussion to have, but you also know that the discussion will happen one day.

"You're almost finished ?" Negan's voice brings you out of your thoughts, you don't look at him but roll your eyes and put more blueberries in the basket then stand up taking the basket in your hand and turn back to him.

“I finished” You say, smiling at him and lifting the basket to show him, he also smiles at you “You’ll be able to enjoy the pie that I’m going to prepare”

“Oh I have no doubt, your pies are always fucking excellent” Negan replies, you can see how he looks like he's happy to eat a pie and it makes you giggle a little.

“There is one condition before you can eat it” You walk in front of him and point a finger at him, he raises his eyebrows confused.

“And which one”

“Tonight you cook” You smile at him while biting your lip, he chuckles at your request “You know that James prefers your cooking to mine, so a good meal with a good dessert”

“I always find it strange that your pies are so good but your cooking is really not great” He mocks, you narrow your eyes, you didn't think he was going to confirm that your cooking wasn't very good.

"Thank you" You thank him sarcastically, he chuckles again, he opens his mouth to speak but suddenly noises are heard around you, you turn around and see 5 walkers coming towards Negan and you "Shit"

You put the basket on the ground, take out your machete, Negan steps forward to kill the first two walkers then you move forward to kill the others, you puts your machete into the skull of the first walker, you see the second one approaching you, you pull out your machete from the dead body's skull but it doesn't want to come out, you frown and try harder but it still doesn't come out.

The panic begins to rise when you see him coming towards you, the third approaches too, you force a little more by putting your foot on the dead body and suddenly the machete comes out but the walker are too close you quickly back away but trips on something and falls backwards, causing you to drop your machete.

You immediately feel the back of your head hit something, you feel a great pain, you groan in pain, it hurt so much but you didn't have time to understand what happened, a walker falls on you, you raise your hands so he can't bite you but you feel so weak, your hands are shaking it's more and more difficult to keep the walker away from you.

Suddenly the weight of the walker is lifted off of you, you sigh and drop your hands to the ground, your head hurts so much, your vision started to blur but you can see Negan above you with a worried face :

"Y/N are you okay ?” He asks panicked and he looks around your body to see if you were bitten, he sees the pain on your face and his eyebrows furrow even more "Where it's hurts ?"

"Head" You manage to say in pain, Negan looks at your head then he puts a hand on your neck and lifts your head, you frown in pain at this movement, you feel Negan's other hand touch the back of your head, you groan in pain.

“Shit” Negan says looking at his hand covered in your blood, your eyes start to close on their own “No keep your eyes open Y/N” He gently places your head on the ground, he caresses your cheek with his hand not covered in blood.

You try to do what he says but fail and the darkness takes you away but before you do you feel Negan lift you into his arms and see the fear on his face.

~

You hear voices around you which pushes you to open your eyes, but as soon as your eyes open you close them immediately because of the light in the room, you moan in pain and the voices in the room stop immediately. You hear footsteps approaching you and feel a hand on yours :

“Y/N, are you awake ?” You hear Negan's voice ask, you open your eyes a little more slowly but you squint them because of the light. You see Negan above you looking at you with worried eyes "Are you okay ?"

“T-too much light” You say closing your eyes in pain, you feel Negan remove his hand from yours and hear noises in the room, a few seconds later Negan puts his hand back on yours, you open your eyes, the room was now a bit more darker, he had drawn the curtains.

“Better ?” He asks still worried, you nod slowly, then suddenly confusion settles in your head, why are you here ? What happened ? You start to panic a little and try to sit but Negan stops you “Easy, easy Y/N”

"Why am I here ?" You ask while looking around you, you notice a woman in the room looking at you, you take a few seconds to remember that it's the doctor from Alexandria then you see a man approaching you, you recognize Gabriel.

“You don’t remember what happened ?” Gabriel asks with a frown, you shake your head, Gabriel turns to look at the woman.

“Negan tell her what happened” The doctor orders Negan, you look at him with confusion, he nods in the direction of the woman then looks back at you, Negan then explains everything to you “You remember now ?"

"Not really" You reply, Negan gives you a comforting smile, squeezes your hand and strokes your cheek with his other hand.

“You have a concussion” The doctor says, you look at her “You will stay in the infirmary today and tomorrow”

“But I have to take care of my son” You respond in panic, you can't leave James alone, Negan squeezes your hand again, you look at him.

"I'll take care of James" He tells you to calm you down, you still look at him worried "Don't worry" you sigh and slowly nod.

"She needs to rest now" The doctor says, Negan looks at her and sighs, he doesn't want to leave you you can see it and you also want him to stay but you prefer that he be there for your son , it's you this time who squeezes his hand, he looks at you again.

“Don’t worry” You repeat the words he said earlier, with a little smile, he smiles too and nods.

"I'll come see you tomorrow" He answers, then he leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, you close your eyes at that, after the kiss he removes his hand from yours and leaves at the same time as Gabriel and the doctor, let you rest.

~

You rested all day, you were so tired and the pain in the back of your head wasn't helping, you woke up just for dinner and you didn't even eat much.

The next day you woke up with a headache, you hadn't eaten your breakfast and barely ate your lunch. Negan came to see you at the beginning of the afternoon, he told you that James was worried about you and had trouble falling asleep last night, it hurt you to learn that your son was worried about you, you would have liked to see him but you knew that if Negan would have taken him here, you wouldn't have wanted him to leave.

Negan stayed for 30 minutes, you were happy that he came to see you even for a short moment, you spent the rest of the day sleeping, this time you ate a bit at dinner, which made you feel nauseous.

After the two days in the infirmary, you were finally able to go home, Negan came to pick you up. When you stood up you immediately lost your balance but before you hit the ground, Negan catch you.

Before you two left the doctor gave instructions on what to do and what not to do, she said that Negan needed to be there for you and said that it was best if your son spent two or three days at someone else's house. You didn't want to at first but the doctor said it was better so you could focus on yourself, rest better and heal :

"Could you ask Aaron if he can keep James ?" You ask Negan, as you walk to your house, leaning on him.

“I don’t know if he’ll be very happy to see me but yes I’ll ask him” He answers, being careful that you don't trip over anything.

You both arrive in front of your house, Negan helps you up the stairs, opens the door and you both go inside. He directs you into the living room and sits you on the couch. Negan draws the curtains to block out the light, so you take off the sunglasses he lent you and put them on the nightstand nex to the couch.

You hear footsteps on the stairs, you turn to look and see your 12 year old son coming down the stairs, as soon as he sees you he runs and hugs you, you wrap your arms around him, he really missed you.

“Hi honey” You say hugging him tighter, not wanting to let him go.

"Are you okay ?" He asks pulling away from the hug, you give him a reassuring smile.

“I'm fine, don't worry” You respond, you lie to him a little to reassure him, you don't want to tell him that you're tired, you have a headache and sometimes you feel confused.

"I'll ask Aaron" Negan says looking at you, you nod and he walks out of the house, James watches him walk out in confusion.

"Ask what ?" James asks looking at you in confusion, you sigh you have to explain to him now.

“You’re going to stay at Aaron’s for a few days” You answer him, he frowns even more.

"What ? Why ?" He asks with a little sadness in his blue eyes the same as his father's.

“Because I still need some rest” You answer him, placing your hand on his shoulder “And that I couldn’t take care of you”

“You don’t need to take care of me, I’ll be good and help you around the house” He speaks a bit panicked that he can’t stay with you.

"It will only be for two or three days" You try to reassure him but you still see sadness in his eyes.

"I don't want to" James says a bit louder, you sigh, open your mouth to answer him but suddenly your vision blurs and you feel dizzy, you hand squeezes the pillow next to you "Mom ?"

"Aaron said there was no problem fo-" Negan's voice say but when he sees you he stops in his sentence and runs towards you, he places his hands on your cheeks “Close your eyes sweetheart”

You do what he says and close your eyes, not even paying attention to what he called you. He makes you lie down on the couch so you don't fall, he gently removes his hands from your cheeks :

"James you can go get your things, I have to take you to Aaron's" You hear Negan's voice say to your son.

"But I don't want to leave her" Your son's voice responds worriedly, he became even more worried with what just happened.

"I know you're worried about your mom, kid but I'm going to take care of her, okay ?" Negan responds, you open your eyes when you feel the dizziness fade.

You see Negan look at James with a comforting smile, James looks at him for a few seconds then sighs and nods, he turns to go up to his room to pack some things. When James disappears in the stairs, Negan turns to you, he sees that your eyes are open so he approaches and sits next to your legs :

"You okay ?" He asks also worried even if he tries to hide it, you smile at him and nod.

"Yeah that was just a little dizzy" You answer, he smiles even if he's still worried, suddenly you remember how he called you earlier "Did you called me Sweetheart ?"

“Yeah I did” He answers you with a smirk, you look at him a bit surprised and also a bit embarrassed, your cheeks heat up, you turn your gaze to your hands that are on your stomach, you hear his laugh at your reaction "If it bother you I won't-"

“I doesn't bother me” You say, interrupting his sentence, you raise your eyes to his, he has a smile on his face, you smile at him shyly

You both look into each other's eyes, you feel peaceful with him, he always made you feel good and happy. For a few seconds you both stay like that until the sound of footsteps on the stairs is heard, you look away from his eyes to watch your son walk towards you two with a backpack on one of his shoulders, you still feel Negan's eyes on you :

"I'm ready" Your son says with a sulky face, this time Negan's eyes turns to your son.

"Alright" Negan says getting up, he starts walking to the front door but stops when James doesn't follow him "Come on James"

James turns to Negan and sighs wanting to stay with his mother a bit longer, you watch him walk towards Negan, you sigh not liking see him sad, you get up from your lying position and sit :

“James” You call your son, he turns around and you open your arms for him to come in, he runs to you and you wrap your arms around him and hold him tight “Don’t worry about me honey Negan will take care of me and you can come see me, okay ?”

You feel him nod against you and you hug him even tighter, you kiss the top of his head. You take a look at Negan, he smiles at this mother and son moment, you move away from the hug then with your fingers you comb his brown hair just like his father's, James looks so much like Troy that sometimes it hurt you to look at him :

“I love you James” You tell him with a reassuring smile, he smiles too, looking less sad and worried.

“I love you too mom” He responds, your heart melts at his words, James has always been a child who was not embarrassed to say I love you, you know when he grows up it will be more complicated, so you get the most of it now.

"Come on kiddo" Negan says, James walks over to Negan and you stare at him until he and Negan leave the house, your eyes are still where they went out :

"He really looks like me" a voice says, this voice is familiar to you, so familiar, your heart starts racing.

You slowly turn your eyes where the voice comes from and you see a familiar person in the doorway to the dining room, your eyes fill with tears :

"Troy ?!"

______________________________________________________________

[star-going-supernova]

I just thought of a banger fic idea for you.

What if Freddy is glitching and malfunctioning and the only way to combat it is for Gregory to be with him as it’s the only thing that comforts him. It ends up with Freddy carrying a half asleep Gregory around and giving everyone a red eyed glare when they look at him for too long as his systems are slowly rebooting.

Honestly the idea of Freddy, who is arguably one of the most dangerous animatronics when angry, gently holding his small fragile child while out of it hits just right.

They’re like bonded cats basically. You can’t separate them or else.

Coming at you with tumblr generated prompt number 55! We’ve got some Outsider POV in this one! 

Unspoken Things

Jamie had been a tech in Parts and Services for almost four years, and she’d earned her promotion to head technician for the band. Most days, she enjoyed her job, or at least didn’t hate it. The animatronics were fairly agreeable to work with, and it was rare for her to be faced with a problem bigger than mild exterior damage or little bug fixes. It probably wasn’t surprising that she saw Monty and Roxy more than Freddy and Chica. Dings from golf balls and dents from go karts were daily occurrences. 

But even rare errors did occur, and that was why Jamie was currently running around the pizzaplex in a growing panic, looking for Freddy. 

She didn’t know what had caused it, just that he had malfunctioned badly and in such a way that his aggression had been triggered. He’d already taken out two endos and three STAFF bots, and the last thing she needed was him going after a human next. The only reason he hadn’t gotten his hands on any of her techs was because Monty got between him and them, and was in his own repair bay now as a result.

Freddy’d taken off, literally breaking down a door to escape, before she could get him hooked up to her equipment. Which meant a strong, fast, angry animatronic was loose in the pizzaplex. 

If I was an out-of-control animatronic, where would I go? she asked herself. She hurried to the edge of the mezzanine, half pleased, half dismayed to find the atrium empty of Freddy. 

She had a small army of her techs searching as well, and the radio silence from their end meant he wasn’t in Rockstar Row or the band’s personal areas of Parts and Services. Unless he was roaming around the basement, Freddy being in a public space was becoming more likely. 

Jamie blew out an aggrieved sigh. She better not lose her job over this. 

It was just as she was turning to go check either the west arcade or Fazer Blast, other places that Freddy might be likely to visit while not in his right mind, that she overheard both the best and worst news. 

“Yeah, Eve said Gregory brought her a birthday gift. And, like, that’s sweet enough, but he somehow tracked down her cat.” 

“The one that’s been missing for two months?” 

“Yeah! So anyway, there’s a cat in the daycare today.” 

Look, if there was one thing Jamie’s job at the ’plex had taught her, it was when to keep her mouth shut and just accept things. Don’t ask questions about this, don’t point out that, just accept them. Gregory was only the most recent of those things. She didn’t know who he was, where he came from, or why the band had such an attachment to him. She never heard of or saw his parents, and he was in the building at all hours. He had the highest VIP pass known to man with permissions that Jamie was sure didn’t exist on any other VIP pass. 

And not only was Freddy Gregory’s favorite of the animatronics, but Gregory was Freddy’s favorite child. Favorite person, probably. Which meant that if Gregory was in the building, she knew exactly where to find a Freddy who was operating without any protocols or complex thought processes. 

Ambushing the two employees she’d overheard, she demanded, “Where is Gregory now?” 

• • •

Jamie’s heart gave a concerning stutter when she finally found Gregory. For Freddy had found him first. 

She hesitated, unsure if getting closer would set Freddy off—because for the moment, he seemed calm. And Gregory was fine, chatting away without a care in the world. 

He was situated in Freddy’s arms, one braced beneath him and the other wrapped around his back. He’d be dead in seconds if Freddy squeezed. 

Keeping an eye out for any hint of aggression, Jamie slowly approached the pair. Freddy, predictably, spotted her first. His irises flickered between blue and red as he watched her with an unnervingly blank stare. That the blue of his eyes had returned at all after the malfunction occurred was heartening. 

Gregory paused and frowned at Freddy before twisting to see what he was looking at. He waved. 

“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Jamie said, trying to remain calm. 

“Hi,” he said. “You work in Parts and Services.” 

“That’s right. I don’t think we’ve properly met before. My name’s Jamie, and I’m the band’s head technician.” 

“Cool.” 

She smiled. “Very cool, yeah.” 

“Is something wrong with Freddy?” he asked before she could figure out how to broach the subject. “He hasn’t said anything, which is really weird.” He frowned again at Freddy, whose eyes had settled on red. 

“Well spotted,” she said, stopping a few feet away. “Freddy experienced a malfunction earlier and ran off before we could figure out what happened.” She hesitated, not sure if she should mention that the glitch’s main side effect was severe aggression. She didn’t want to scare the boy, especially since there was nothing she could reasonably do to help him. 

Then again, Freddy was holding him carefully, not an ounce of violence to be seen when not half an hour ago, he did his level best to rip apart anything that got in his way. 

Taking a chance, Jamie said, “He was pretty unhappy earlier, but it looks like you’ve made him feel better.” Hoping she wasn’t literally dooming a child, she asked, “How would you feel about staying with Freddy while we fix him up?” 

“Sure,” Gregory said easily. He looked up at Freddy, in a calculating sort of way, before he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Freddy’s neck. 

Incredibly, some of the ramrod stiff tension in Freddy’s body loosened up. The red didn’t go away, but he stopped staring Jamie down. And when she started to lead the way back to Parts and Services via the employee-only hallways, he followed placidly. 

That was how it went for the entirety of the repair. Freddy never put Gregory down, holding him in some way or another, and an honestly terrifying growl rumbled out of his voice box the one time someone made an attempt to separate them. Gregory didn’t complain—in fact, at some point, Jamie looked up and found him nodding off, head resting against Freddy’s shoulder. 

There was a fascinating dichotomy of tension and ease in the air, everyone simultaneously worried for the boy caught in the animatronic’s grasp and less stressed because of his presence. Freddy paid little attention to anyone unless they stared too long or got too close to Gregory. 

It was blatantly protective behavior, and Jamie had no idea where it had come from or why it was so strong that even malfunction-caused aggression didn’t supersede it. 

Just another of those unspoken things. 

Finally, the manual code repairs were made, and Jamie initiated a soft reboot to enact them. As the update slowly progressed, Freddy didn’t lose his grip or his intensity. 

It was unnerving, in a way, nearly as much as it was sweet. Never had Freddy’s hands been anything less than gentle with Gregory, but that did not change the fact that his hands had inhuman strength. It was a bit like watching a lion curl around a house kitten and knowing that kitten could easily fit in the lion’s mouth. 

Jamie smiled and shook her head. And as Freddy finally cycled into a brief shutdown, she dared reach over and lightly tousle Gregory’s hair. He shifted but didn’t wake. 

“Thanks for your help today, kid,” she whispered, getting to her feet. She’d stick around just long enough to make sure Freddy was doing fine, but then she’d leave them to their rest. She figured they both deserved it. 

[exquisiteserotonin]

Precious Possessions Chapter 7: Keep Me On Fire

Pairing: Dave York X F! Reader

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Word count: 3.7K

Summary: Reeling from the aftermath of the events surrounding Brad's death, our dear reader must come to terms with what might happen next and what this means for your place on Dave's team and in his life

Warnings: PiV sex, dirty talk and names, squirting, minor BDSM stuff, sexy stuff happens in this chapter, I'm not responsible for what you consume. Once again please DNI if you are not 18 and over. Also not beta'd, so all errors are my own.

A/N: As always, I am so humbled when any of you ever read my stuff. I also appreciate if you have followed along with me as I have built this story. I hope you will continue me to follow me along the home stretch. Also if you would like to be included on the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

Love for my magical sluts! Thank you for the encouragement and pushing me to continue this story.

@youandmeand5bucks @imalrightllama @basicoccult @legendary-pink-dot @redhotkitchen @pink-whiskey-woman @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38

Chapter 7: Keep Me On Fire

One of your co-workers picked you up from the hospital after your overnight stay there. You didn’t know who else to call. No real family to speak of, not any you cared to call anyway. You sat in silence as you stared out the passenger side window at nothing in particular. Everything at the side of the road zoomed past you in formless blurs. Every sound around you played in your ears as though filtered through a muffled speaker. Your gaze moved to your hands, and you became hyper aware of your breaths and your body. Your brain was on another plane of existence. None of this, none of anything felt real.

Bits and pieces of words and conversations interspersed between images and feelings were tossing themselves around in your mind.

“We just want to make sure we have the details right, ma’am.”

You nodded, you were still damp with dirt and tears, and your body still hurt.

“Do you mind telling us what happened?”

You shook your head.

“Brad and I just finished dinner…and we left the restaurant, I pulled him into a quiet alley---then two guys came out of nowhere and---,”

A flash of Dave standing over you, pushing you to the ground, replayed over and over in your head as tears fell down your dirty face.

“Why would you go into an empty alley?”

“Brad and I wanted some alone time.”

You didn’t care if anyone knew what that implied. He was supposed to be your boyfriend anyway. The cop who questioned you tightened his lips.

“Ok, I see.”

He wrote down something in his little notebook.

“Um, ma’am, if you are ok, would you continue please?”

That was a funny question. Of course, you weren’t OK.

“Two guys jumped out at us. One of them threw me to the ground.”

The memory of his angry eyes burned themselves into you as he held you by the wrists and tossed you to the ground.

And now you were fucking crying.

The detective handed you a tissue. Some pathetic semblance of minute caring or compassion, you supposed.

“One of them threw me to the ground…”

By now, you knew you were doing that ugly crying thing. The kind of crying where your lips were trembling, and you were gasping to breathe.

“I heard Brad, and he was struggling and then he just---just stopped…”

A nurse came to you and placed a soft hand on your back as you cried. You could feel her glare at the detective.

“They started to come at me, and I just screamed and screamed.”

“And you’re sure you couldn’t see their faces?”

Dave’s eyes were enough.

“They had masks, and it was so dark.”

You placed a hand on your head as it began to ache from all the tears. There was a dull ache in your wrist, which hurt your heart more than the body part itself.

“Detective, do you have everything you need? She really needs to rest.”

The scribble of more notes sounded out before he closed his notepad.

“Yes, I think I have it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The detective reeked of stale coffee, cigarettes, and misplaced arrogance. The fucker had probably never been sorry about anything in his life.

“Hey, hon,” your co-worker’s calming tone snapped you back into reality, “we’re at your place.”

Through blinking eyes, you looked up to find yourself parked in front of your townhouse. Wordlessly, you began to gather your things that rested at your feet in front of the passenger seat of your co-worker’s car. Practically leaping out, she met you to open the passenger side door.

“Thank you,” you spoke quietly as you pushed yourself out of the car. “Thank you for driving me home.”

She accompanied you to your front door, kindly but also awkwardly waiting with you as you unlocked your door.

“Will you be ok?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to stay with you? Just for a little while?”

“No, thank you,” the words came out with a mindless automaticity. “I just need to sleep.”

“Ok,” she murmured, concerned but unsure of the protocol or etiquette she should be following. “Well, just call if you need anything OK?”

As you walked in you wondered briefly who would be awaiting you there. Dave? No. Someone to kill you? Perhaps. Likely Resnick.

Instead, there was no one. Nothing.

The early afternoon light filtered in through the diaphanous curtains in your living room window. Everything was as you left it the night before: a book you’d been reading left askew on your living room table. A blanket left on your couch. Your bed, though made, was rumpled from where you sat. An eyeshadow palette still left on the bathroom vanity.

You reached for your face wash and haphazardly washed away any remaining makeup left on your face, not bothering to even look at yourself in the mirror. Dark remnants of mascara pressed lightly into your face towel when you pat yourself dry. Reaching into the shower you turned the handle to somewhere between hot and warm. The water rained on you as you stepped in and stared at how droplets from the water streams clung to your skin like morning dew on grass. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash---your shower was quick and functional. You dried yourself off and hung up your towel on the hook attached to your door.

You didn’t even have the strength to put on any clothes. Climbing in bed and pulling the covers up to your chest was the only action your body felt compelled to do. You snuggled in, staring at your wrists where Dave grabbed you, shook you, tossed you to the ground. Burying your face into your pillow, you took a long, slow breath as your puffy eyes grew heavy with approaching slumber.

It still smelled like Dave.

***

Wakefulness eased its way towards you, crawling up your shoulders to your neck to open your eyes. Darkness met them in a kinder way than the harsh beams of the sun normally greeted you upon waking. The time it took for your eyes to adjust to the darkness was gradual as the edges of your blackout curtains allowed only slivers of moonlight into your room. The peace of the night was broken by the incessant ringing of your camera doorbell. Bolting up, you grabbed your gun from your nightstand and covered yourself with a kimono from your closet.

The camera revealed the figure of a man dressed in black, a beanie atop his head. The devil you knew was at your door and you were ready for him. Setting your gun down, you opened the door and welcomed him. His eyes met yours and you studied each other in silence. The raise of his eyebrow, along with a smile twisted with lust accompanied the pilgrimage of his eyes over the vision of your naked body. A cruel mixture of excitement and trepidation brewed within you as he locked the door behind him.

No words were spoken. No words were needed. He was on you before you could think, his hand grabbing at your bare waist. Keeping your body pressed to his, he advanced both of you towards your living room wall. A loud crash of books on the floor along with a shaking of mirrors was only a small part of the aftermath of him pinning you there, pressing at your wrists with his hands. The force of his body sent heaving breaths of desire across your naked chest. Only seconds had passed when you felt his own hot, audible breaths keeping time with yours. Primal need seeped from his lips to yours, drawing you in further with one delicious taste of his tongue.

“Is this what you want, you little cunt?” he asked with a raspy, snarl from the back of his throat. “My pretty little whore craves the fucking danger, the adrenaline, isn’t that right?”

Dave tossed your kimono to the floor then lifted you with ease as you wrapped your legs around his waist. By now, he had memorized the path to your bedroom. So many days and nights had been spent there drowning in each other’s darkness. He tossed you on your bed and you pressed yourself up to watch him undress. Each breath you drew in grew faster and faster at each article of clothing he threw on your bedroom floor. With his beautiful body fully exposed, he leaned forward and began to crawl towards you on the bed. A devilish grin curled his lips as you spread your legs open for him. The feeling of his hands as he traced along your thighs, hips, and waist was intoxicating. They continued to travel up your body, massaging the supple tissue of your tits. You arched towards him as he pinched and swirled your nipples with sudden flicks and strokes of his tongue.

He pressed himself up with his forearms on either side of you. He gazed at you with lust-filled eyes until they settled at your right cheek where you wore a purple bruise from Resnik’s back hand. He lowered his face to yours, taking you into a deep, long kiss. When you opened your eyes, the intensity of his gaze began to melt away, lifting with his eyebrows and softening as his eyes opened and rounded at the edges. His eyes, then nose moved across the small territory of your right cheek until he lowered his lips there in the softest kiss you’ve ever felt from him.

“It’s not that bad,” you whispered, “he needed to make it believable.”

He kissed you again, heavier with this desire for you. This time his tongue setting you alight with need as he bucked his hips against your pelvis. The way his cock twitched and lifted told you how much he needed you. The journey of his eyes rested at your left wrist. He paused to take you in for a moment, his brows lowered and without words, you knew he was replaying the moment he pushed you to the ground.

“Don’t get soft on me now, York,” you commented, slowly drawing invisible swirls on his freckled shoulder with your fingertips. “It was all part of the job, right?”

“Endangering someone who’s part of the team isn’t how I operate.”

“Look at me,” you said sternly, “I’m not willing to lose y---,”

Out of self-preservation, you disallowed yourself from uttering the rest of your declaration.

“I don’t want to be a distraction.”

His right hand traveled down to your center, your breath hitching as his thumb began a slow exploration of your outer folds. He gingerly pressed his thumb to your clit, massaging it with light up and down strokes, responding to each roll and writhe of your body.

“Not a distraction,” he murmured, slowly slipping one thick finger into you, “an asset.”

The roll of your body was a signal for him to insert another finger. He began slowly at first, working both his fingers in and out of you to build  up the slick that was already beginning to weep from your core. Your pussy began to swell at the pressure building inside you. The feeling of his forehead against yours as he continued his merciless ministrations had you opening your legs wider for him. The palm of his hand twisted upward as he relentlessly maneuvered his fingers within you, curling them on the button of your sex, beckoning you to come. It was hard to process anything else than his hand working on your pleasure. You closed your eyes feeling every ounce of it collecting itself at your bundle of nerves.

“No, firefly,” he voiced, his breath warm against your ear, “open your eyes.”

Your mouth quivered with moans as you followed his directive, capturing his brown eyes with yours as you made a pathetic attempt at forming words, “Dave, I’m---ah, ah, ah!”

“That’s it, come for me,” he demanded, “fucking come all over my hand.”

As soon as his words left his lips, you were screaming and bucking your hips towards the ceiling as his fingers continued to intensify each jolt your body was already giving to him. His lips and his tongue silenced your screams with a deep kiss while your legs and pelvis bucked towards his hand as he pulled a quaking, wet orgasm from you that left your entire body shaking. He continued to kiss you as your hand searched blindly for his arm, bracing yourself with each wave of wet pleasure.

“Jesus,” you gasp between long breaths, your head still pressed to his.

“Fuck, look at you,” Dave breathed into you, “look at how your body is shaking.”

“So good Dave!!” you proclaimed, intoxicated by his sex.

A quick yelp tumbled from your breathless lips as he flipped you over onto your stomach. The shift of your knees beneath you allowed you to press your ass up towards him, wriggling with impatient want for him to split you open.

Getting on his hands and knees, he prowled and shuffled around in bed to reach over to the night stand on “his” side. For a moment you laughed with breathless desire, thinking how ridiculous it seemed that you had designated the label to this object on your own. Yet, his brain and muscle memory knew everything he kept in there. This time he reached for a set of wrist restraints, which received little use since he acquired them for the two of you. Both of you loved the raw feeling of his large, bare hands holding you down and holding you still. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were his to control.

He pushed you down further into the bed by the nape of your neck and pulled your arms behind you in a strong grip. Anticipation rose in your chest and in the quick sounds of your breath as he fastened each cuff around your wrists. With a tight grip of his hand at the base of his cock, he slapped at your pussy, reminding you that it belonged to him. The arousal that vibrated there was intensified as Dave rubbed his hard, thick cock over your wet folds with a moan so loud it echoed up the high walls of your bedroom. He slipped inside with ease and with a few hard slaps of his hand against your ass. He’d reduced you to a mess of moans in your sheets.

“Always so tight and so wet for me,” he praised, moaning with each slow, deep thrust into your pussy.

Each measured thrust he gave you set off nearly every nerve ending you had on your dewy skin. He leaned over as your hands reached out behind you searching for his touch. Large hands massaged against your ass, your waist, until they found the perfect, but temporary destination of your tits. He took a hold of each one, massaging them in his strong, capable hands as his thrusts grew more forceful and more urgent. His hands moved up to your shoulders pressing against them with deep touches of his fingers into your skin.

“Ahhh, Dave, your cock is so good!” you moaned, feeling every ridge and vein as he kept moving for you.

“You crave it, don’t you?” Dave growled as he moved to grab you by your hair. “Can’t imagine life without me fucking you?”

With a strong pull of your hair in one and a pull of the restraints in the other, he pounded into your swollen pussy. The desire to answer perched at the edge of your lips but escaped only in a chorus of moans as he continued to slam himself into you. Letting go of your hair, his hands .pressed and rolled deep into your shoulders moving down the length of your arms until his fingers were digging into your hips. He lifted his hand and drew back, sending smacks that sent a string of reverberations through to your center and stinging back into his hand. Somehow you were both moaning as he left his mark: defined, red, and in the shape of his hand. He pulled at your restraints again, this time even harder.

“Firefly…,” you felt as Dave’s words began to falter the closer he inched towards orgasm, “answer me.”

“Yes, yes, please, I need your cock!!” you cried as he continued fuck into you with such force it made your headboard and bedframe rock. you just knew you’d be sore tomorrow.

The heat was gathering at your core, like tiny fires igniting and setting new fires through your abdomen, your chest, neck, and back. You didn’t know how much more you could take.

“It’s too much, please Dave, I---I can’t.”

“Not.”

Thrust

“Your.”

Thrust.

“Choice”

Thrust.

Leaning forward, he cruelly pulled out of you before you could come and flipped you over again onto your back. Crawling over you, he pushed your pelvis slightly upwards with his thighs. He hooked one arm under your knee and began to circle your swollen clit with the torturous precision of his thumb, rubbing, swirling, and swirling until he sent quivers outward through your entire body. Tears started to release from your eyes as your hands flexed and stretched beneath you, still in their restraints, desperate for any relief he was gracious enough to bestow on you. With quick slaps of his hard cock, he pushed into you once again. He met your pussy with the same power and urgency as he had when you were on your hands and knees.

“Fuck, you’re always so fucking tight for me,” he growled as his thrusts gained erratic moment. “Come all over this cock, wet your fucking cock.”

“Dave, fill me up, please!!!’ you screamed and moaned as you clenched your walls over his cock. “FUCK!!!”

The walls of your pussy choked down on his cock as the apex of your pleasure rushed in. The futility with which you pulled your wrists from each other trying to break the restraints intensified your pleasure sending a red heat rippling over your body. His eyes were fixed on yours as a gasping groan left his lips as your walls contracted around him, the hot gush of his cum warming you from the inside. Your back and chest heaved as you tried to recover from the earthquake of your orgasm. With his cock still buried deep inside you, he pressed his lips to yours, losing himself in the taste of you before burying his face in your neck. The two of you trembled from the highest peaks of your respective orgasms. He released his cock from the comfort of your warm, wet walls, drawing in a breath and letting out a whimper.

“Turn over,” he instructed with a sigh.

Spent, aching, and fucked out, you rolled over to collapse onto your stomach using what little energy reserve you had left. The feeling of his hands in the merciful act of removing the restraints had you releasing a deep sigh of relief. Your arms dropped to your sides, your left wrist stinging only slightly from where you had fallen the night before. Dave lowered himself to the bed next to you and you peered at him through the strands of hair that still covered your face. Unexpectedly, he took his hand and brushed away the hair, pushing it back and laying it lightly down your back. Closing your eyes, you savored the gentle feeling, not knowing how brief it would be or if it would ever happen again. The feeling of his hand as it traced down your neck and down the dip of your lower back sent shivers and goosebumps over every inch of you.

He brought his hand to your face, once again examining the bruise Resnick had left on your face.

“What I said earlier---,” Dave began his voice steady and stoic.

“You said a lot of things, Dave,” you replied before he could finish.

“I mean it, you need to decide if you really have the stomach for this,” Dave warned, his voice stern and teetering on the edge of regret, “I can’t have people on my team who I can’t rely on and who I can’t trust.”

Opening your eyes, you propped yourself up and scooted closer to him, “What’s the point in even giving me a second chance?”

He breathed you in as you inched closer, your legs beginning to tangle in his, “I know what you’re capable of; your skills would fill a void in the team.” 

“I need the team to listen to me when I have the right intel,” you enjoined, running fingers along his forearm, “not just because I’m fucking you.”

“It’ll happen,” Dave assured as he sat up, leaning against the soft headboard of your bed. “Anyone who judges you by the person you’re with is a fucking idiot.”

The person you’re with. The person you’re with. The person you’re with.

You would have given everything to stay in this moment in time, just to hear those words again and again.

Dwelling on what he said would have driven you insane, instead you tried to refocus your attention on more professional matters.

“Applies to you, too,” you voiced as you sat up, kicking your legs in front of you to face him. “I can’t be responsible for people who don’t trust me and the information I supply.”

You pressed your chest to your thighs and rested your arms across your knees.

“Is that so?” his eyes were affixed to you as he pressed a hand to your ankle.

He massaged your calf up to your knee, pushing your legs slightly apart with a strong nudge of his hand.

“Come here,” he beckoned with his touch, gesturing for you to take your rightful place in his lap.

His hands kneaded and gripped the soft skin of your ass, as he guided you to sit over him in a straddle.

“I mean it, Dave,” you steadied your words by squeezing his thighs with yours.

“How about this: The day I don’t listen to you,” he started, looking up at you with his hand gripping the back of your neck while his thumb caressed your jaw, “if shit hits the fan, you can always tell me I told you so.”

You brought your hand to his, rubbing his forearms, his biceps, and shoulders with tender hands. With a nod, you kissed him, withholding any further discussion on the subject for the time being. While the answer wasn’t quite good enough for you, for now, it would have to do.

[earhartsease]

theres this article in the Guardian by an abled journalist who had to use a wheelchair for a few months and writes about how awful accessibility is in cities, and it's a generally okay article, for an abled person (though why they couldn't pay a disabled journalist to write a better informed article is another story)

but there's one glaring error which we've reported to the Guardian and asked to be corrected - she says "In 2021, 10.4 million people were registered disabled across England and Wales" with a link on "registered disabled" to an ONS survey which shows this 10.4 million as an estimate

we have written in a complaint to point out that a) the status "registered disabled" ceased to exist after the 1996 Disabilties Act, and b) the concept perpetuates the myth and prejudice that only people who are "registered disabled" are validly disabled, and c) that wasn't true even back when it was considered an official status

we've asked them to replace it with "In 2021 an estimated 10.4 million people" and put the link on "estimated"

we're posting about it here as well, because we know to our cost there are way too many abled people in the UK who still think "registered disabled" is an actual thing - it is not

a person is disabled if they determine that they are - it means something about our physical or mental or developmental health makes everyday life more difficult for us than it would for an abled person (too often because there are no accommodations for our disabilities)

nobody else on this island (and especially not in any official capacity) gets to say that someone else is not "officially disabled", and then withhold help on that basis - not for the last 27 years anyway - but of course people still try to pull that shit on us all the time

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hello laura! may i request something different? sooo it written from 1st pov where she is one of nozel's knight. it just showing how she admired nozel as her captain. it describes how she feels about being his subordinate, how wise and gentle he is, and telling how much hes responsible abt being a captain. BCS THAT WHAT MAKES ME FALL FOR HIMMM AAAA THANK YOUU HV A NICE DAYY!! 🫶🫶💗

Hiya! This was really interesting so I had to jump on it. It became... perhaps a bit more melancholic than what I anticipated, but of we look at someone like Nozel from the surface, there's bound to be melancholy imo ^^' I hope you like it in any case Pairing: Nozel x f!reader (at 1st person pov) Fanfic type: Oneshot Genre: General/maybe a bit angsty? (more 'realistic' imo) Length: ~0.8k Content desc.: Prior to relationship, reader admired Nozel in a realistic manner, references/mentions to "how he (Nozel) has had to see so many die on the battle field", a bit angsty I think, all on canon typical level

I’m not quite sure how I got here. How I was admitted. Accepted.

Though, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have wished for it. That I wouldn’t have aimed to be in a place like this, an esteemed squad. Even if some, I’m sure, would deem me almost mad to be in a quad like the Silver Eagles.

So cold. So distant.

That is what they would say.

Under a captain so ruthless and insensitive. Cold. Too.

Because that is how they see him.

They only see the glare, the stare and the sharp syllables.

The statement of how one is useless when dead.

And it is harsh, I admit.

But they don’t see where he says it. How he says it.

I think that there is a kind of a desperation in it.

I remember the first time he said it to me.

It was during a mission, and there had been an error in my judgement. Just a split second of hesitation. Too little time. Too little mana in the spell I used. Perhaps not even strong enough of a spell, back then.

I remember how he stood there, hovering over me, next to me, facing the threat but giving me a side eye, a glance. And the words he said…

Perhaps someone would have said that he was cold, but the whisper, and the things he left unsaid.

“You’re no good if you’re dead,” that is what he said, spoken with a hushed tone. But what he didn’t say, instead he just looked like he did, was: “so don’t die.”

Don’t die.

Be better.

Be stronger.

Because the world is cruel and cold and filled with darkness beyond comprehension.

Like an eagle rising over the storm.

And… if I’m completely honest, I’m not sure if he says it more to others than to himself. The ‘you’re no good if you’re dead’.

I think he says it to himself.

He looks at other people, but he says it to himself.

Because the way he held me, back then, when I was injured, was soft and gentle. If he was ruthless, he wouldn’t have. If he was cold and harsh and filled with the darkness that exists in this world, then why would he say it? Why would he hold like that? Why would he … guide his knights?

Purely out of pride?

I don’t think so.

That is not how tyrants work, I imagine. I have read enough, to know that, that is not how tyrants work. Damn it, I know better by looking at that excuse of a king on the throne of Clover.

…

That is not how tyrants work…

…

His office window is the last to hold light in the evening.

 I know because I have patrolled at night.

And it is the first to light in the morning.

I know, because I have patrolled at night.

He works harder than anyone else here.

That is why he is a captain.

Every time there is a question, someone who dares to ask, usually me, he has an answer. At least a book to tell, which I should read. Because he knows more than people might realize. He has had to control his magic, which is both of his mother’s and his father’s. The first of its kind, in a long while, at least.

He has had no perfect tutor.

He has had to learn it all by himself.

All the things the public knows, but doesn’t think. All the things the Eagles know, but don’t say.

Sure, he can be demanding, and arrogant, and proud.

But under it. Under that shell of ‘don’t die’, I think is someone incredibly soft. Someone who has decided not to be underestimated. Someone who has decided to make something out of themselves, instead of just relying on family lines. Someone, who… really wants to be, not just preach.

He is someone who… I think… has seen things. Someone who has had to grow up too fast.

His eyes are far too tired for him not to be.

And the things he has seen… that is why he pushes himself. That is why he pushes us.

That is why he’s… almost desperate to make us strong. Insist that we have to be better, stronger, faster.

Because if aren’t, then we die.

That is the life of a knight. Clear and simple.

The danger is always looming over our heads. And I can’t think… I don’t want to think… how many death certificates he has had to write. How many letters of condolences to people he hasn’t known, but the knight he has.

And each one of them is one too many.

…

He is stronger than people think. In ways that they can’t imagine.

What most see is only skin deep, but I know better.

I know better.

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #7

Prompt: “You’re A Jerk When You’re Sick”

Fandom/OCs: Rockstar ‘verse OCs (Vic)

Words: 2360

Sicknario inspo: Intentionally getting sick from this post and keeping someone company when they’re sick from this post. 

CW: Lots of swearing and general crass “locker room” talk but nothing explicitly s*xual. 

Author’s comments/background: One of my favorite things I wrote this year, and the next thing I write will also probably be for this AU. I was quite happy with how the banter came out and just loved being able to apply this scenario so flawlessly. Again, the prompt basically wrote itself, I just leant it some OCs and extra words. 

For those that recall my previous Rockstar fic from Sicktember last year, (or want to check it out here) this is set prior to Vic meeting Addison, but not much prior. This was probably the last time he got sick before meeting her, though I don’t have an official timeline for them at the moment. 

Same disclaimer as prior, I have no experience with the music industry whatsoever, so forgive any glaring errors if they exist. 

~~~***~~~

He had sat through plenty of recording sessions before, but this felt like the longest one of his life. Vic tried not to be too obvious as he checked his watch yet again. They should have finished more than an hour ago, and Chinese takeout was calling his name. He did his best not to glare at every single person in the room, but he was mad at each of them, whether they deserved it or not. 

He idly wondered why he was in such a bad mood. He used to love recording when he first got into all this. It was the place he felt the most like himself, the place he could ignore everyone else and just focus on the music. He’d sat through one too many sessions apparently, though, and he couldn’t stand one more minute of hearing other people’s opinions about his music. He just wanted to be alone for a while. 

He was about to mumble something along those lines to Fletcher, but was annoyed with himself when he turned to Fletcher's usual seat and Fletcher was not there, as had been the case for the last two days. He'd never been jealous of someone for having a cold before, but today he was. Fletcher was probably sitting at home in the peace and quiet, watching TV or snacking or doing whatever he damn well pleased. Which is exactly what Vic wanted to be doing. 

Then, Vic had an idea. He COULD be doing that… if he got sick too. And finding a way to see Fletcher would be an easy way to catch something… if he was actually willing to go that far. 

But was he? It was certainly a convenient time. The only things on his calendar for the next few days were publicity bullsh*t. And more goddamn recording. Which he could make up whenever. But was he actually considering going to another man's house and finding a way to infect himself with that man's germs? He glanced over to see the producer yelling at one of the sound techs. Yes, he decided. He was ready to do anything to get away for a few days. 

The rest of the session was a blur as he was lost in planning his great escape and psyching himself up for what he needed to do. He had a ready-made excuse to get himself into Fletcher’s apartment: Vic was already planning to get Chinese food, and he could easily pick some up for his sick buddy, especially since Fletcher loved Chinese more than anyone he knew. No, getting in the door would be the easy part. What came after that, though, required mental preparation. 

~~~

He was at Fletcher's door less than an hour after bolting from the studio, two greasy takeout bags in hand. He had to knock several times before the door opened, which made him panic a little, thinking his friend had gone somewhere else to recover. But the sick man finally appeared, clearly having been woken from sleep and none-too-happy about it. 

"The f*ck d'you want?" the Brit groused, rubbing his red eyes. "I was sound asleep, ya twat."

"Nice to see you too. You might wanna rethink how you greet someone who's bringing you food."

"Why the hell would you do that? You bloody well know I'm f*ckin' sick." Still, he eyed the bags hungrily. A helpful breeze blew the smell of the hot food right toward him, and Vic hoped he could smell it, though judging by his congested voice he probably couldn't.

"Obviously I know you're sick, that's why I'm doing it. I wanted to check on you, make sure you're doing okay. Also, has anyone ever told you you're a jerk when you're sick? Because you are."

"I'm always a jerk. And ya could've called before walking your ass to my door, wanker." 

"We basically just got out of the session. Didn't have much chance to call."

"Oh, so there was no chance at all to give a ring during the half hour wait for the food? Right, mate. I'll believe that." Fletcher rolled his eyes, but Vic could tell he was pleased. 

"Oh shut up. Ya gonna invite me in or what?"

The other man looked confused now. "No need for that. It's a f*ckin' biohazard zone in here. I feel f*ckin' disgusting. I know I look it too. Wouldn't want you to catch anything. I'll just take it." He held out his hand for the bags. 

Vic was persistent and didn't relinquish his hold. "I was actually planning to eat with you. I don't care about your germs, and I don't wanna deal with all the traffic back to my place before I get to eat. And like I said, I wanted to check on you. Keep you company for a bit."

Fletcher rolled his eyes again. "You're a strange one, mate. But whatever. Suit yourself. Just don't cry to me when you've caught this in a day or two."

"Oh I definitely won't," Vic thought to himself as he followed his friend inside. He made sure to be the one to close the door, grabbing the doorknob as soon as the other man let go, then nonchalantly rubbing his hand across his nose when Fletcher's back was turned. Everyone knows doorknobs are the place to start if you want to catch something. Speaking of which, the bathroom was his next target. The cleanliness of the bathroom in this apartment was questionable on the best day. Today Vic was certain it would be the perfect place to ensure his plan came to fruition. 

He set the bags of food on the coffee table as Fletcher flopped back onto the couch, where he'd clearly been spending a lot of time. Vic slid one of the bags to him. 

"I got you the beef and broccoli. And egg rolls obviously. Extra sweet and sour."

"Winner. Thanks for bringing this, by the way. If I haven't said that already." Fletcher took the food eagerly, looking pleased as he surveyed the contents.

"You're welcome. You'd do the same for me."

"No I bloody well wouldn't. The hell are you on about?"

"You're right," Vic laughed. "It just seemed like the thing to say I guess. Mind if I use the loo? Gotta piss like a racehorse."

"I'd piss outside with the bears if I were you. You don't wanna go in there. Ain't been cleaned since I got sick. And don't say loo, you sound like a tool."

"There's no bears in the city, assface," Vic replied. As if it were an afterthought, he picked up the mess of used tissues from the table, giving Fletcher a look as he gingerly began to carry them to the bathroom with him.

"Leave 'em. I was gonna take care of 'em."

"Well I'm not about to eat with them next to my food," Vic retorted. "Just shut up and eat."

He left the swear-y Brit muttering to himself about idiot Americans as he shut himself in the bathroom. 

He did dispose of the tissues, but not before thoroughly running his hands over them, feeling very strange as he did so. He reflexively cringed away as a finger hit a particularly wet spot, but upon further consideration, he rubbed that hand under and around his nose again, feeling dirty somehow. For the final touch, he grabbed a water cup from beside the sink which still held a few ounces of water, likely from the last time Fletcher had taken medicine. Trying not to think about what he was doing, he put his mouth right where his friend's had been and swallowed down the rest of the water, though he couldn't keep from making a face. Feeling thoroughly skeevy, but grimly satisfied that the deed was done, he actually used the toilet (because he really did have to piss) and pretended to wash his hands. 

Fletcher was steadily eating when he reemerged, but the sick man was clearly hampered by his dripping nose and kept scrubbing it into his shoulder or against his wrist. He really didn't look well and Vic felt sorry for him. 

"You need a water or anything?" Vic asked.

"Just sit the f*ck down and eat, Jesus. You're acting like a pussy."

Vic rolled his eyes but did as he was told, grabbing his own food at last. "I'm just trying to help. You seem pretty sick. Are you sure you're okay?"

He expected another smart-ass reply but Fletcher finally sighed. "I'm hanging in. Lila's been checking on me, making sure I have stuff. It's only a cold. I just like to piss and moan."

"Well that's good at least. Hopefully that means you're back at work soon. The sessions are such a drag when you're gone."

"Damn right they are. Has Sam pulled his head out of his ass about the new tracks yet?"

They delved into shop talk from there until they had both finished eating. Vic made his exit shortly thereafter, since Fletcher was clearly ready to get some more sleep once his stomach was full. Vic tried not to think much about what he'd done as he drove home, though a sense of shame continued to linger. Still, a few days off, days when he wouldn't even have to leave his bed if he didn't want to, would be well worth anything he was feeling right now. 

~~~

Two mornings later, he was thrilled when he woke up with a sore throat and an itchy nose, and he had to keep from smiling to himself as the cold developed nicely through the rest of the day. By evening his breaths were distinctly phlegmy, breathing through his nose was a lost cause, and he was catching more than a few stray sneezes into his elbow. Even the budding sinus headache didn't dampen his mood. He made it a point to make a big deal about his symptoms to anyone nearby so no one would be surprised when he canceled his obligations for the next few days. 

The morning after that, he woke up with the same disgusting cold he'd seen on Fletcher earlier in the week, and he wasted no time in calling everyone to say he would not be around for a few days, making sure to sound as sick as possible, which wasn't a difficult feat in his current state. He really did feel shitty and gross, but he could be home and feel shitty and gross. He could sleep and watch TV and play video games all he wanted. He needed that more than he could possibly express. 

His phone ringing interrupted that first languid afternoon. He shook himself awake from his most recent nap, expecting to ignore the call, but wanting to check who it was just in case. He frowned upon seeing Fletcher's name on the screen and decided to answer. 

"Oy! Where you at? They said you're sick, that true?"

"Yep, it's true," Vic sniffled. 

"Well shite. It's not what I have, is it?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I don't think I was around anyone else that's been sick." 

"Aww hell. Tough luck, that."

"It's whatever. I guess a cold was coming for me one way or another."

"Oh it's coming, all right. It ain't no cold though, mate. I have some kind of flu."

An icy finger of worry slid down Vic's spine. "Oh crap," the singer croaked.

"Got that right. Lila had to bring me to the hospital the day after I saw you. Started feeling strange the next day, couldn't stay awake and all spinny. I was burning by the time I saw Lila. Had a fever of 104 when we got to the hospital. They kept me overnight for safety. You had a fever at all?"

"No," Vic said weakly. "I don't think so anyway."

"Well if you caught what I have you will. Best keep an eye on that."

"But you're feeling better now, right?" Vic asked desperately. "You're back at the studio today."

"Hell no. I feel like hot garbage. Wearin' a sweater for the damn chills. Can still barely stay awake. I can't afford to miss any more work, though. And they were begging me. I had to."

"Well shit," Vic mumbled. "That's just great."

"Hey, you were the one that chose to come into my place. I told you not to cry when you got sick. But I wanted to call and warn you. Sounds like your fate is already sealed, though."

"Sounds like it," Vic sighed. "I appreciate the warning anyway. Hope you feel better soon, Fletch."

"You too. Cheers." 

The line went dead, and Vic let the phone fall, staggering to his feet as his head throbbed with sinus pressure. He scrambled to locate the thermometer in the medicine cabinet, popping it into his mouth immediately. He fearfully checked the screen when it beeped, but he was only at 99.0. Not really a fever… yet. 

He shuffled his way back to the couch and flopped down with a wheezy sigh. His best hope was that he caught a milder version of what Fletcher had, but now he would need to be checking his temperature regularly. He had no Lila to look in on him, no roommates, no one that would think to check on him, at least for a few days. He was on his own, for better or worse. Generally, that was how he preferred it. He had never considered before that living alone could be dangerous, though.  

But for now he was okay. For now, it just felt like a cold, and maybe it wouldn't progress beyond that. He let himself relax, and the sleepy fog of sickness was quick to cover him again. He had paid a price for this free time, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

[the-stray-storyteller]

Havenpoint

Warning : Language Prev Chap Next Chap First Chap Note: this chapter and any chapter after this hasn't been beta read or edited which means it will have shitty grammar, a lot of spelling errors, annoying dialogues and overall just be shitty.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 6 : Owls Penelope Knight

My jaw went slack and I turned on my heel. My heart pounded against my chest. Blood rushed to my face. My cheeks heated up with embarrassment. I was wrong?

I  was wrong?

“What the hell?” I might have screamed a bit. The surrounding visitors sent me degraded looks. I turned away from them heading back to the group.

I clenched my jaw shut immediately hoping the two hadn’t noticed what I had said. Aidene was too engrossed by Nico’s words to pay attention to me. Anne however sent me a glare, the bags under her eyes seemed to darken her look. Her lips twisted, at the realisation. I walked towards them warily, interested to hear what Perez had to say. 

I positioned myself next to the blue haired girl. The frustration in my ignorance coiled around me.

I placed my hands on the table feeling the smooth wood denting under my finger nails. The sharp fumes of the new varnish coat made my nose and eyes burn.

Greylight wasn’t supposed to exist, at least as far as I knew. This had to be one of the walls Ravenwood had set up, but why was it letting me in now? The town seemed to selectively give out answers. I had never been one of those lucky ones to receive one no matter how much I searched and begged into the night. I knew there was something wrong here, very wrong and I ignored it most of the time. But now I could get an answer. I swallowed hard and listened intently, this is the closest I would ever get to solving one of Havenpoint’s many mysteries. A door had opened and I wasn’t going to let it close. A plan bloomed in my head.

“What’s your name?” He asked Aidene, taking the book from her hand. 

“Spongebob Squarepants.” He let out a chuckle. I rolled my eyes.

“Your real name.”

“Anne Gray.” Anne snapped her head towards Aidene, her eyes cold and dagger-like. She looked ready to tear out Aidene’s hair. 

“Her name is Aidene Rayners,” she ground out, her jaw tightening in frustration. Aidene let out a lively crackle, her wiry body shaking in mirth. She stopped long enough to spell out her name to Nico, who handed her a library card a few minutes later along with the book.

“Back to the topic,” I snapped, turning the attention towards me, “Tell me everything you know about Greylight.”  He scorned me and got back to registering the purple haired girl into the system. Aidene’s eyes went from me to him with suspicion. 

“So-what can you tell us about him?” She asked pleasantly. 

“Well honestly not much. My abuela rants about him occasionally though.”  His voice droned, it must have been tiring to listen to his grand-mother rant about a dead man. Nico folded his arms on the table, laying his head down on them sleepily. I tapped my fingers on the table, keeping him awake. He sent me another cold look.

“How old is your grandmother? How old is William Greylight?” Anne asked, trying her absolute best to formulate a timeline. I knew better, the town’s history was mostly in the dark. One bit here and another there and never complete. The events were all over the place too, was the drought before or after the forest fire? 

I reached up and touched the tips of my fingers to my chest, trying to untangle something that wasn’t there. It was a feeling of being watched. Watched in the night among the ancient walls of the school by the yellow eyes of the owls. Eyes that calculated for the next kill. I shook off that feeling, the paranoia of feeling tied to a promise I never made. I would feel it whenever I questioned too much. Just like I was doing now. 

“My abuela didn’t know him but her abuela did. Apparently she complained to my abuela about him and then abuela told us whatever her abuela told her.” I was pretty sure the word ‘abuela’ made up more than half of the sentence, it sent my mind spiralling trying to make out which grand-mother he was trying to refer to. Understanding it might have been easier if he had written the sentence down rather than speaking it out loud.

“Okay, but what exactly did she tell you?” I prompted. This time he didn’t have the attention to ignore me, or stay angry at me. He was on the roll.

“He was a raging maniac. Burned his house-”

“How did he burn the house down if he had already died?” Aidene interrupted. Nico shrugged.

“Just telling you what abuela told me. Apparently only the ground floor of the house had sustained damage from the fire. Anyways-”he drew the word out, “she told me that Greylight kept this diary with him, scribbling notes onto it everyday. Talking to it rather than the people. Then there was that pig slaughter-”

“Diary? What diary? Can it be found?” Aidene fired the questions away, keeping Nico from rambling. Nico shrugged once again with an oblivious look on his face. His eyes were distant and eyebrows drawn together trying to remember.

“However,” he placed his hand below his chin, “You could start with the library in your school. Most of the books were either burned, stolen, sold but a few remain. Why are you asking about all this anyways?” No one answered.

Nico straightened his broad shoulders out, finally looking awake. He waited for an answer but no one gave him one. I didn’t know why they were asking these questions so I couldn't give him an answer and it seemed that neither Aidene nor Anne wanted to give him one. He asked again but we all remained quiet. Nico’s jaw twitched with annoyance.

I looked away trying not to make eye contact. Anne had started to wander off and Aidene pretended to study her library card while singing the ‘Spongebob Squarepants’ theme. He narrowed his eyes and let out a frustrated groan. He sent us an annoyed glare, his mouth forming a pout. I felt a bit bad for him. I looked for Anne but she had disappeared, annoyance pricked at my skin.

“How many times have I given you answers but never gotten one back?” He spat at me. I looked at Aidene with desperation and she looked at Nico with contemplation.

Aidene took steps towards the college student and lowered her voice in a fake whisper.

“Treasure Hunt,” she said childishly. Anne had crept back into the scene realising the awkwardness was over. Nico pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows drawing in and letting out a sigh. A dry hoarse laugh escaped his throat.

“So this is a-a-” he struggled to remember the word in English, “ una broma ?”

“Joke?” Aidene asked timidly. 

“Yes! Is this a joke?” Nico was furious.

Aidene looked at me. For the first time the sharpness of her smile was in her eyes. However,  her face lacked that smile. 

“What did you do?” She mouthed the words at me. I threw her an offended look. It wasn’t my fault that Nico could hold a grudge and was temperamental. It wasn’t my fault that Nico couldn’t help but tell the truth. I wasn’t getting involved in this, not again. We could just leave. I was ready to leave. They already had the information they needed. I turned to walk away but Aidene let out a scoff and turned towards Nico.

“It isn’t a joke. I really want to figure out what happened to Greylight and hopefully find this hidden treasure along the way.” Aidened tried her best. Nico raised a sceptical eyebrow at her, unwilling to believe. Why was the girl trying so hard to make a friend? With a Perez that too.

“She is delusional. But yes. She is dragging us along for this so-called mystery,” Anne supplied from the background. Her tone was even and rational. She didn’t give off the playful vibes Aidene did and Nico did not hate her like he did me. Maybe that is why he believed her.

“Well-best of luck. I suppose?” He said blandly, not knowing how to react.

“And sorry for losing my cool.” He rubbed the back of his neck, guilt colouring his face.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Aidene turned her eyes towards me, “After all I think you might have a very good reason to be angry. Thanks for the information by the way.” 

I turned my headway. I didn’t understand how all of this was my fault. I didn’t understand why Rayners was blaming me. She didn’t even have any context.

“We need to go, they will be closing the school gates soon.”  I kept my tone even and the anger away from it. I grabbed Aidene by her arm pulling her out of the library with Anne following behind us. 

The moment we stepped out, Aidene tore her arm away from my grip. She had a surprising amount of strength in that small twig-like body.

“What the fuck was that about?” She spat out.

“None of your business.” 

“What did you do?”

“Why do you care?”

“Now he hates us.”

“No he doesn’t,” I ground my teeth, might as well tell her, “He ended up getting into some trouble a couple of years ago when he still attended Havenpoint. He blames it on me. There. Happy?” Aidene fixed me with a dejected glare. She knew she wouldn’t get more out of me. I smirked in victory.

Anne was behind us watching our altercation with little interest. She actually seemed to be enjoying it a bit. I scanned her. She didn’t seem volatile like Aidene was. Her bangs covered her forehead touching her eyebrows, she swiped them away. Her toast coloured eyes, darkened by sleepless nights. I needed at least one of them on my good side for my plan.

“Do you guys have room for another in this treasure hunt of yours?” I aimed the question at Anne. Her eyes narrowed, and her canines showed in a sneer.

“No.” Her answer was curt and direct.

I clicked my tongue, disappointed. I don’t know what I did to her for such a reaction.

“Look, you guys need information. For information you need sources. I have sources. You guys know little to nothing about this town.” I tried reasoning as I  locked eyes with Anne. The insomniac shook her head, not willing to change her decision.

“I say she can join.” I turned my head in surprise. Aidene’s usual friendly smile was back on her face. Her eyes glinted in the setting sun, reminding me of a solar eclipse. She extended her hand. I shook it. 

What was she playing at?

[tojisbbg]

𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙

❝and i am the idiot with the painted face, in the corner, taking up space.❞  

♡ izana kurokawa ♡

pt. 1

a/n: i love putting mikey and izana stans through pain lolz. 

content: royal! au, prince izana x princess y/n (reader), arranged marriage, shitty/toxic parenting, angst, cheating, izana’s a jerk, swearing/cursing, maybe smut (?), strangers to enemies to lovers, not checked for grammatical errors. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

nothing ever lasts forever. 

you looked at the roses that were becoming shriveled up, slowly withering. the cold, unforgiving winter was soon to come. the grassy fields filled with flowers and little creatures of mother nature would be embraced by cold arms, blanketed with snow. 

you bitterly grimaced at how this pathetic flower was used as a symbol of love. ironically, it fits. 

love?

no such thing truly exists, and even if it does, it’s either fake or bound to die in the future. 

you leaned down, picking up one of the sorrowful roses from the royal garden, looking at it with pity. while plucking off the petals, you accidentally pricked your finger from one of the thorns on the stem. 

you were startled from the short-lived pain, looking at your index finger as you saw the small droplet of the crimson red liquid. 

“you truly are evil.” you whispered, throwing the stupid flower on the ground just like any other worthless piece of trash. 

“princess! what are you doing out here in such weather?! you’ll catch a cold!” one of the maids rushed in, concern and fear written all over her face. 

“could i never get a second of peace and quiet? what is it that you need?” you harshly spat out, knowing that these stupid women didn’t care for your actual well-being. 

they were ordered to for the sake of their pockets being filled. 

of course, the world had to revolve around money and green of us filthy human beings. 

“the king and queen has requested for you.” she spoke with a low voice, eyes not meeting your glaring ones. 

“tell them to fuck off.” you bluntly replied, getting up to walk towards the orchid tree that was located way far back towards the end of the garden. suddenly, you felt the maid drop on her knees, holding one of your legs. 

“what the fuck, get off of me!” you tried to wiggle her off, but she shook her head in refusal. 

“please, princess! your father has already threatened all of us to have our heads chopped off because of not having you follow your daily routine. you must come or else our lives are at stake!” she sobbed, making you look down at them with a disgusted expression. 

“you sick morons.” you grumbled under your breath, agreeing to head inside which made her thank you as if you were god himself granting her a blessing. 

the maid escorted you to your parent’s room, afraid that you might not stay true to your words. regardless, you decided to have it her way to save her sanity. after reaching the door of your parent’s room, the maid knocked on the door before entering. 

“the princess is here, your highness.” she informed before taking her leave which was your cue to enter. you closed the door behind you, seeing the both of them sitting on the edge of their bed, looking at you with a small smile. 

“why did you call me?” you asked, cutting straight to the chase. you knew that your parents were filled with bullshit, all they cared about is being the most powerful kingdom to ever exist. 

power, money, fame. 

they wanted it all and it made you sick to your stomach. your morals and view on topics that were flaming hot to them largely differed. you just wanted to live a simple life, and it’s not that you’re an ungrateful brat. 

you just have the world’s shittiest parents. 

“is that how you were taught to speak to people, y/n?” you father snapped back at you, clearly displeased by your response. 

“i don’t even speak to anyone in general, so who cares?” you commented with a shrug, making your mother sigh in disappointment. 

“well, you will eventually one day in the future. you’ll inherit the throne, have a husband and lead your joined kingdoms until you pass it down to your kids.” she explained to you with a soft tone, nearly making you gag. 

“me? marriage? as if.” you laughed, but your parents only looked at you with a serious expression. your voiced died down, now looking at them with nothing but shock and disbelief. 

“why are you both quiet? tell me it’s a joke, what’s wrong with you?” you angrily scoweled, but they remained quiet. 

“y/n, you’re no longer our little girl anymore. you’re a young woman now, who’s ready to fulfill her duties as the future queen and as someone’s wife.” your father tried to caress your cheek in a loving manner, but you swatted his hand away, on the brink of tears. 

“how dare you! does my voice or opinion not have any worth to you guys? how can you decide such a big thing for me without even thinking about if i want it or not!” you raged, wanting to dig yourself a small grave right on the spot you were standing in. 

“you don’t have a say, y/n! what don’t you understand?! you must get married, it’s an order by our law and nature. you’re a princess for god’s sake!” your mother scolded you, getting fed up from such childish behavior from you. 

“then fuck being a princess, i’ll run away.” you threatened, your tears streaming down your face as your heart ached. 

“you know that’ll never work, so stop being immature and try to accept things as how it is.” your father snickered, making you wanna rip your hair out. 

“then i’ll end my life.” it was a rather rash thing to say, but it caught the attention of your parents, especially your father. he clutched onto his chest, breathing heavily, which alarmed your mother. she quickly rushed to his side, laying him down on the mattress while you watched with a blank expression.

“how dramatic. he should’ve signed up to become a theater entertainer than be a king.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“y/n! that’s enough.” your mother said through gritted teeth, fanning your father who coughed like a man that’s been smoking thirty cigars a day. 

“if you both are done wasting my time, may i leave?” you yawned, getting bored of the same kind of shit that you had to go through nearly every day. 

she didn’t bother looking up at you, ignoring your words as a way to indicate that she didn’t care. 

“could’ve just said yes, y’know.” with that being said, you turned your heels and walked out, making sure to slam the door extra hard to piss them off even more. 

you giggled after hearing the noise echoing through the empty halls, knowing for sure that your parents are probably talking shit about you right now. you hummed a small tune as you walked to your room. 

“they’re crazy to think that i would actually agree to this shit.” you talked to yourself as you began to strip out of your gown, throwing it on your bed before walking inside your bathroom. 

you shoved a finger inside the tub, checking if the temperature was right. you grinned in content, feeling the warmth of the water as you eagerly stepped in, lowering yourself slowly. 

you couldn’t help but feel sorry for yourself. there are thousands of people out there who wished to be in your spot right now, living the life as a princess. 

but, they only see your life from a small glass window, not being able to peak further deep inside. 

they think that just because you bathe in luxury every day, your life is perfect. what they don’t see is how trapped you feel, how your parents are so controlling over your life, almost as if you were their very own puppet. 

why?

you were hidden away from your whole life, envying the lives of commoners. you were homeschooled while everyone else went to public schools. you had no friends nor were you allowed to explore the village because it makes you appear improper. you have to wear bigass, itchy and uncomfortable gowns every day. 

you hated it, absolutely hated it with every fiber in your body. if only all of your problems could be drowned like this, then maybe life wouldn’t have been so bad.

“i don’t care what it takes, i won’t be getting married.” you promised yourself, sinking deeper into the tub until you were completely submerged in the water. 

...

“no, no! you can’t do this to me! i’m your fucking daughter, not a puppet. please, don’t do this. i’ll do anything, just don’t give me away.” you pleaded to your mother as you sat on your bed, dressed into the wedding dress that the maids successfully had shoved you inside. 

“y/n, my baby, please just listen to me. your father and i love you so mu-”

“bullshit! absolute bullshit, stop lying to me! god, all you both ever do is lie! fuck, i hate you guys so much.” you wept, not caring that you had streaks of mascara running down your face. 

“you need to understand that your father isn’t in the best condition to rule the kingdom. his heart problems are getting worse, and i won’t be able to take care of everything all by myself. joining our kingdom with the kurokawa’s would lessen the burden on us.” she tried to reason, taking a napkin to wipe away your ruined makeup as you looked up at her with glossy eyes, seeing not a single hint of care or adoration. 

her eyes looked empty and you knew that these people would not hesitate to sell you off like some kind of livestock if they needed some money. 

“you guys disgust me. all you care about is your benefits and never about me. you want me to get married? fine, i’ll get fucking married. since you guys along with that fucker that agreed to this shit basically ruined my life, i’ll make sure to return the favor.” you smirked, getting up as you grabbed the smashed bouquet of flowers. 

“y/n-”

“don’t wanna hear it.” you cut her off, walking off to head downstairs where the chapel was. you saw your father waiting down by the stairs for you, looking at you with a horrified face. 

“y/n? your makeup is-”

“does it look like i care? are you gonna walk me down the aisle or should i go by myself?” you impatiently said, making your father’s jaw drop from the sudden change of attitude. you avoided eye contact with him, not being able to bear the sight of how your father looked pleased with the change of heart you had, completely overlooking the fact of how your eyes screamed in despair. 

“of course not, dear. come on.” he heartily chuckled, linking your arms together before leading you inside the chapel. your body burned with hatred, every step that you took felt like your legs were chained with weights. 

“you could hate me all you want, y/n, but one day you’ll realize that everything that i have done for you is for the best.” your father said, his words completely flying over your head as you knew that it would be no use of saying anything to him. 

it’s too late anyways. 

the doors opened, a blinding ray of light hitting you as you could picture the chapel looking as beautiful as ever, knowing that your mother hired the best in town to decorate everything. however, you kept your eyes on the ground, being led up the few step as your father finally let go of your arm. 

the priest began to read the wedding vows and midway there was a pause to allow the exchange of rings to occur. 

your soon-to-be husband extended his hand, waiting for you to place yours on his palm. his skin was tan, long slender fingers with a few veins being painted on the surface of his hand as well. with a heavy heart, you lightly placed your hand on his, making sure to have minimal skin-to-skin contact with him. 

“izana?” the priest called out, and for the first time, you’ve heard what your husband’s name was. 

“yes?” he answered, his voice deep and smooth like honey. 

“do you take y/n as your wife, promising to stay by her side through better or worse, sickness and in health, till death pulls you both apart?” the familiar lines were recited, making your vision become a blur with tears. 

those vows, these same sacred words to prove one’s faith and love to each other, it wasn’t meant for you or this izana guy. you had the right to wait for your knight and shining armor, your romeo and your prince charming. 

“i do.” izana said firmly, his voice not shaking at all as he was ready to seal the deal. 

“y/n?” the sudden intrusion of the voice startled you as you were deeply indulged in your train of thoughts. 

“what?” you blurted out without any thought, hearing gasps around the room as you swore at yourself before muttering a quick apology to the priest. 

“that’s quite alright, dear. do you take izana as your husband, promising to stay by his side through better or worse, sickness and in health, till death pulls you both apart?” the same lines almost seemed taunting you know, as if it was mocking your situation. you were thankful that the veil was covering your face, as your face was now covered with streaks of your dried tears. 

it was never supposed to be this way. 

you shouldn’t be up here getting married to some stranger whom you’ve never met before. as the crowd began to silently gossip among themselves, you felt like your knees would give up any minute from how anxious you felt. 

you had two choices. 

you still had the chance to run away, maybe even go abroad to another village far away from here and keep your identity hidden until you could get on a ship to go overseas. 

you don’t take izana kurokawa as your loving husband whom you swear to spend the rest of your life with through sickness and in health. 

you’re no princess, and you’re most certainly not qualified to be a queen who should rule such a vast kingdom. to all those stuck up people that are like loyal dogs under royal laws, you’re their puppet that’s being trained to become a loyal dog just like them. 

but you weren’t one of them nor did you wish to become like them. you’re not a dog who’ll abide by the rules, trained to serve their husband and a piece of land. 

no, absolutely not. 

you were a caged bird who wished to be free. you read many books that were stored in the castle’s library. there are about 18,000 species of birds out there, roaming freely to their heart’s desire. 

beautiful and colorful wings that allow them to explore different place in the earth. you wished to be like them, you too want to spread your wings and take a leap of faith in life. you want to go to the amazon forest, see the creation of mother nature. 

and you knew well enough that in order to do that, you must take a risk. it was a 50/50, but at this point, who cares about the odds?

“i do.”

...

the wedding was over and you were now headed towards the kurokawa kingdom, which wasn’t too far off from your own. it was a two hour car ride, you thought you would be able to rest in the comforts of your own room for the night. 

to your dismay, your parents had other plans. 

they had the maids pack up your things and have it waiting for you already at your new “home”. to you it seemed like your parents were only counting how much time was left till you would finally depart from them. 

assholes. 

it was an awful wedding. 

all the dishes that were served were shit that you were forced to eat as a child. it’s true that you were a picky eater but you weren’t always like this. the castle’s diet consisted of eating only clean foods to prevent health concerns like obesity or heart problems since they both ran in the family. 

to which you weren’t against at first. 

but you could vividly remember how when you went down to the village and stopped by a small udon shop to try their delicious meat udon special, your mother soon arrived and ripped you away from the shop before threatening to have you skip dinner. 

she would give the same lecture about how men like women who have a nice figure, long lucious hair along with a shy and soft demeanor. 

to which you would simply just walk off while she kept on going off, pretty much talking to herself since you didn’t even bother to listen to her bullshit. 

the guests were snobby, from both sides of the family. while izana was busying himself on entertaining those fools with a charming smile and soft eyes, you gave everyone who tried to approach you a death stare.

izana kurokawa. 

after you both exchanged your vows, it was time to show the god awful crowd the love and devotion you both have towards each other. 

a kiss. 

you were going to kiss izana kurokawa, who was now your husband. you were going to kiss a man whom you’ve never seen or heard of before until an hour ago. 

gentle hands lifted your veil as you slowly looked up, eyes meeting for the first time. it felt like time had stopped, you couldn’t stop staring at him. 

he was gorgeous. 

the title of a prince was meant for izana kurokawa. he was responsible, kind and caring. snowy white hair that was parted, mesmerizing amethyst eyes with soft white lashes, honey glazed skin and a small smile on his lips. 

izana bent down, his face hovering above yours as you could feel his warm breath fanning over your flesh. you closed your eyes, waiting his lips to meet yours. 

however, no such thing ever happened. 

his lips weren’t touching yours, barely brushing against them to say the least. yet, the guests roared with cheers and you soon came to realization. you opened your eyes, only to see those same lips curl into a smirk as he lazily eyed down at you. 

izana kurokawa was not your husband because he too didn’t want to fulfill that role in your life. 

you were not his wife nor would you ever be. 

“we’re here, sir.” the drive came to a stop as the driver announced the arrival to the destination, pulling up to the castle doors. izana hummed in acknowledgment, as one of the guards opened the door for him. without a word, he left with the slam of the door, leaving you alone in the car. 

“what a fucking jerk.” you grumbled to yourself, hearing the driver faintly chuckle as you shot him a glare from the backseat, knowing that he’d see it on the car’s rear mirror. 

“the hell are you laughing at, huh?” you boldly spoke up, making him look back with a small smile. 

“princess, do not be so naive. our prince is not like those whom you’ve read about in tales like cinderella or sleeping beauty. it’s not my place to talk ill about our soon to be king, but you’ll find out soon enough, so don’t be deceived.” he warned, making you harshly gulp. 

the driver was nice enough to pull the door open for you, offering a rough hand to help your get out of the car since your dress seemed like it weighed over a thousand pounds. 

the kurokawa kingdom was north from your own kingdom, but you never thought that it would make this much of a difference in weather. your wedding dress was sleeveless, making the cold breeze hit your skin as you shivered. 

you noticed how the castle was built on a hill, the grass was barely alive, most likely due to the cold weather. it was a mountainous area after all. 

“shall we?” one of the butler interrupted your thoughts, waiting with the door opened as you nodded. 

you entered the castle doors, seeing how the interiors were nothing like your boring castle design. it was purple and gold, art works of famous artists hung up on the wall of angelic beings, and the halls smelled faintly of lavender. 

“shall i take you to your room, prince-”

“that won’t be necessary, we have to talk about a few things. don’t worry, i’ll take it from here.” izana cut him off, walking down the grand stairs. 

“of course, sir.” the butler bowed his head before leaving. 

“we have nothing to talk about. it’s nearly midnight and i’m tired, i want to go to bed.” you groaned, trailing behind him as you were now in the living room. 

“there’s some rules that you must follow now that you live with me.” he informed, sitting down as he crossed one leg over the other. 

“how lovely, i came from one prison to another. life truly loves me, huh?” you bitterly chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. 

“how pitiful.” faux sympathy was painted all over his features, making your blood boil. 

“hey bitchface, who do take me as? you think that just because we’re married now, you could do whatever you want with me as you wish? please, don’t make me laugh.” you giggled, getting up as you walked over to him. izana’s face remained unfazed with his previous smug look. 

you bent down to come at eye level with his sitting stature.

“i never listened to my own parents rules, so, the fuck made you think that i’d listen to yours?” you taunted, cocking an eyebrow as he maintained eye contact with you. 

“unlike your parents, i could have you out of this castle with the snap of a finger. i’m not as sympathetic nor do i give a single shit about you like your parents. you are their child whom they tolerated, but to me, you’re nothing but a nobody. so, mind your tone when speaking to me.” izana strictly said, giving you a sarcastic smile as he was able to see that he made his point across. 

you sighed as you walked back to the sofa, plopping down while you waited for him to open his shitty mouth once again to tell you about his so-called rules. 

“your room is located on the east wing of the castle and my room is in the west wing, so there shouldn’t be a reason why i should ever see yo-”

“first of all, how fucking self-centered are you to even think that i’d go to your room? you think i’m some kind of bimbo who’ll be all dolled up on your bed or clean up after your ass? i’d rather die than go to you.” you angrily spat out, in complete disbelief that this jackass had the audacity to even think of you like that. 

“well that’s a relief, it’s good that you aren’t stupid. the problem is, your manners are so shit.” he scoffed, looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. 

“weren’t you taught to never cut people off mid sentence? especially, to your husband.” izana mocked, tilting his head to the side as he knew he was slowly pushing all of your buttons. 

“you want me to ruin the price worthy face of your so bad, huh?” you kissed your teeth in annoyance. 

“anyways, you should almost never come to my room unless absolutely necessary. we have many maids and butlers, so feel free to ask them about any concerns. second, i really don’t give a shit.” he blurted out, making you choke on your spit. 

“what?” you gasped. 

“you don’t understand basic english? i said, i don’t give a shit. you’re free to do whatever you please with yourself, you could go wherever you want with whomever you want. your life doesn’t concern me nor should mine concern you. we didn’t marry each other out of love, nor do we consider each other as husband and wife. just don’t make things too obvious. deal?” he stuck out a hand, looking at you with anticipation. 

“you got yourself a deal, prince jackass.” you stood up and began to make your way to your room. 

all you wanted to do was just sleep everything away. you wanted to drift inside a good dream where there was no mom or dad, no izana, no royal duties and no sadness. 

just you and only you. 

...

you rolled around in bed, not wanting to open your eyes and have the bright sunlight hit your sight and blind you. but, soon enough, someone barged into your room and it nearly sent you into a coma. 

you eyes went wide as you sat up, startled when you saw a few of the maids coming in. you grumbled under your breath, looking at them with a pissed facial expression. 

“god, don’t you people know how to knock?” you scolded, making them apologize as you let out a sigh. 

“it’s past lunchtime, your highness.” one of them informed you, making you look at them like they had three heads. 

“what?!” you screamed, sitting up as your hair was a tangled mess. you were still in your wedding dress, too tired the night before to even have the energy to take it off. 

“your bath is ready and breakfast has been served as well. lord kurokawa has gone out for royal duties if you were wondering.” the butler from yesterday butted in, making you scoff. 

lord kurokawa? what an arrogant asshole. 

“yeah to hell with him, i don’t care where he is.” you yawned, getting up as you shooed everyone out of your room. you hated noise, especially during mornings. 

mornings were meant to be peaceful and silent, relaxing and slow. they were only meant for you and only you. you stripped out of the poofy gown before detangling your hair and removing the remaining makeup smudged on your face. 

when you stepped inside the bathroom, a gasp of nothing but pure amazement and shock left your lips. it was a gorgeous bathroom, everything covered in marbel and polished. the bathtub looked like a swimming pool, making you quickly rush over to fill it up with hot water. 

as you sunk your naked body in the water, a blissful sigh left your lips as your eyes rolled back. 

this really hits the spot. 

you leaned back, closing your eyes as you began to fall into deep thought. you wondered, how would you spend the rest of your days in this castle? a part of you wished that izana was a little more friendlier, then perhaps you could’ve had a platonic relationship of enjoying life. 

well, that wasn’t that case, and maybe you liked it that way. 

you finished your royal bath and the rest of the consisted of you lounging in the castle. you had to admit that izana’s criteria and choice of the cooks had to be one of the finest, as both breakfast and lunch almost made you ascend to heaven. 

living away from your parents did rise some perks, and to make things even better, izana wasn’t around majority of the times. you were free to dress however you wished, no need for fancy dresses that squished your ribcages and made it hard to breathe. 

for once in your life, you were sitting in the living room with a huge bucket of ice cream in your lap while wearing a pair of shorts and tank-top. 

and no one could tell you shit about it. 

you heard the front door open, indicating that someone has arrived home. one of the maid’s rushed to your side as you shoved a huge mouthful of the sweet dairy treat in your mouth. 

“your highness, lord kurokawa has arrived.” she notified, making you lazily hum at her as you were more concerned about the plot of the drama you’re watching. 

“cool.” you shrugged before shooing her away, not caring that your fake husband came back from his royal duties. 

“is dinner ready?” the deep familiar voice questioned the butler who was removing his very expensive winter coat. 

“yes, sir. allow me to help you freshen up.” the butler offered, making izana hum in agreement. 

“god, do you wipe his ass after he takes a shit too?” you snickered, making the butler gasp as he looked at you with wide eyes. however, izana remained unfazed before turning to you with a small smirk. 

“oh, that’s not his job but my wife’s. however, it seems like she’s too busy being a pig.” he fired back, making you shoot him a hateful glare. 

“annoying piece of shit.” you mumbled under your breath before averting your focus back onto the huge tv screen. izana left to freshen up before sitting in the dining space, eating by himself. 

you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him, knowing that he lived inside this castle by himself all his life and did pretty much everything alone. you didn’t know much about the kurokawa family, but you knew that izana was the last person in the bloodline to exist because his family was brutally murdered years ago in a war that nearly killed your father. 

your thoughts would soon be gone as you saw the man right in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“go to bed, every electrical device that makes noise in this castle must be turned off. i have very sharp ears, so even the slightest sound will awaken me.” izana ordered, making you scoff. 

“well, i’m so sorry sleeping beauty, but that seems like a you problem. shove some cotton balls in your ears and go to sleep.” you replied, seeing his jaw lock in annoyance, making you internally high-five yourself. 

“you’re infuriating.” he grumbled, turning his heels before heading upstairs to his room. you laughed to yourself in satisfaction, throwing a few more popcorns in your mouth as you continued to watch your show. 

---

you groaned in pain, rolling over until you fell to the ground with a yelp. you winced in pain as you rubbed your ass. 

“fucking hell.” you cursed, not realizing when you fell asleep on the sofa. you heard a chuckle coming from behind you, opening your sleepy eyes to see the white haired fool sipping his tea while laughing. 

“i knew that was gonna happen, you stupid little girl.” izana shook his head in disbelief, continuing to fill out some paperwork. you stood up and marched your way towards him, glaring down at him. 

“you absolute jackass. this is why no woman would ever fall in love with you, stupid piece of shit.” you threw insult after insult at him, yet he seemed unfazed by your comments. 

“what a rough way to start your morning. you should go brush your teeth to get that bad breath and language out of your mouth.” he smirked, making you gasp in embarrassment as you covered your mouth, forgetting that morning breath exists. 

“i hope you choke on your tea and die.” you said in a muffled voice, rushing up to your room to freshen up so that you could give him a proper piece of your mind. but, to your dismay, by the time you came downstairs he was already gone. 

“coward.” you mumbled to yourself, settling down at your seat as the maids served you breakfast. you decided that you’ll have an outing to yourself today at the village, wanting to experience an adventure you never got the chance to fulfill. 

“excuse me, would you please drop me off by the village today after breakfast?” you asked izana’s butler, to which he gave you a polite smile. 

“it would be my pleasure.” he replied, making you contented with the answer as you finished your meal. 

you decided to dress in common clothing, a simple white dress that fell below your knees; decorated with strawberries. 

“you look lovely, my lady.” the butler complimented, and you thanked him, excited to try new things out. 

after reaching the village, you bid the butler goodbye as he promised to pick you up before sunset. 

your first stop was the flower shop, eyes glimmering at the colorful plants. there was roses, dhalias, petunias, marigolds and so much more!

“hello miss, how may i help you today?” the lady spoke, startling you a little. 

“your flowers are gorgeous! may i take a smell?” you asked, the lady giving you a warm smile before nodding. 

you went ahead and took a sniff of every one of them, sighing in bliss at the sweet scent of each of them. nature’s creation was truly heavenly and it made you wish if you could just run away to the woods and live in a cottage; away from the evil that resided in society. 

your eyes fell on the lilacs, sitting ever so prettily in the bouquet. you couldn’t help but think of how the color struck you and made you think of your evil husband. 

“would you like to buy any of them?” the lady asked and you nodded you head. 

“i’ll take those lilacs, please.” you said with a small smile, convincing yourself that it was because these pretty purple flowers would look great in the vase on top of the dining table. 

your next stop was to try all the food stalls, looking at your pocket watch and noticing how it was nearly lunch time. you decided to indulge yourself, ordering a bowl of seafood udon for yourself and a side of braised duck meat. 

your parents would’ve killed you if they saw you eating like this. 

but right now, food is life. 

you ate to your heart’s happiness, closing your eyes as you could feel tears of joy forming at the corner of your eyes. you’ve never tasted food this delicious before and it made you appreciate yourself for keeping your will to live still strong. 

you slurped the noodles like no tomorrow, gulping down the broth right after. you lipstick was gone, the corners of your mouth messy with the broth as you sniffled from the heat of the food. you quickly cleaned yourself up, not wanting to look like a pig in front of other although you did eat like one just now. 

you properly disposed the items and continued your little journey. 

suddenly, a weeping little toddler clung onto your legs. you bent down, trying to level your eyes with her glossy ones. 

“mama?” she cried, making your heart shatter. 

“did you lose her, honey?” you spoke with a soft voice, seeing the little girl nod her head. you embraced the tiny human, carrying her as you tried to calm her down. 

“let’s go find your mama then.” you smiled, patting her back as you began to walk around with the little girl in your arms. 

“ice cream!” you heard her squeal, amking you hum as your eyes followed the direction she pointed in. 

“oh, you want one?” you asked, to which she eagerly nodded, making you chuckle as you walked towards the small shop. you got the little girl a strawberry cone while you got mango. 

���so yummy.” she giggled, making your heart swell from her cuteness. you were walking towards the small flower garden, wanting to take a little break and finish your ice cream. 

until you noticed a familiar figure sitting on the bench with another person. you got a closer look and indeed it was izana.

with another woman. 

you saw him holding her hand while laughing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she giggled. they both were sharing a slice of cake and you saw the way his eyes sparkled every time she breathed. 

was he always this sweet? how he tenderly caressed her skin like she was porcelain.

a foreign emotion of jealousy brewed inside you, a sudden wave of rage filled your insides. it was then that izana’s eyes fell on you, his smile dropping as he saw you with the child in your arms. 

“y/n?” he called out your name, and it sent chills down your spine as it felt so new to hear him call you without any insult. 

“izana.” you said his name back, making him swallow harshly. 

“do you both know each other?” the woman next to him asked, she looked and smelled like a princess, when you looked like a commoner. izana’s eyes begged you to make up some lie, to which you gave him a sly grin. 

“why of course we do, right izana?” you taunted, making the silver haired male grow nervous. 

“honey, i can explain.” izana turned to the woman, but she looked suspicious. 

“there’s nothing to explain. we’re cousins, that’s all. stop making everything so weird all the time.” you giggled, making your very much husband sigh in relief, not wanting his mistress to find about his little secret marriage. 

“ohh, nice to meet you. is that your daughter?” his mistress asked, and you contemplated on being truthful, but you wanted to spite izana more. 

“yup, this is my little princess. isn’t she the cutest?” you kissed the little girl’s head, making the woman squeal. izana’s eyes widened, not expecting you to lie like this. 

“she sure is! wow, you’re so young to be a mom though.” she commented, making fake sad eyes. 

“yeah, well, my husband loves me enough to give me such a precious gift. anyways, i should head back now. it was, uh, great meeting you.” you gave her a fake smile before throwing a side glare at izana. the expression on his face is one you couldn’t decipher, but you decided to not pick on it. 

you walked a good distance away from the horrid couple, until you felt the little girl squirm in your hold. 

“mama! mama!” she urged and you placed her on the ground, watching her run to the figure in the distance. 

“oh, my baby!” you heard the lady cry, picking up her daughter a kissing her lovingly. 

“thank you so much for keeping her safe, miss.” she noticed your presence, giving you a grateful smile. 

“no worries.” you nodded your head, ruffling the little girl’s hair before bidding them goodbye. 

---

you reached home, your mood not as uplifting as you had planned. you kicked your sandals off, walking towards the dining table as you placed the lilacs down. one of the maids rushed in, excited to see the bright and beautiful purple flower. 

“are these for lord kurokawa?” she asked, making you scoff. the thought of izana made your blood boil, especially after the shitshow that took place earlier. 

“no, you may dispose those in the garbage. i don’t want to see a single petal on my sight.” you strictly ordered, grabbing your purse to make your way up to your room. there you bumped into izana, who seemed like he’s been standing there the entire time. 

“move, fuckface.” you grumbled, shoving him to the side as you stormed upstairs. you felt him grab your wrist, turning your head to meet his lilac ones. 

“the hell is wrong with you? why are you acting like i’m diseased?” his eyebrows furrowed, making you roll your eyes. 

“say what you have to say because i want to rest.” you ignored his question, making him let out an irritated sigh. 

“since you already know about mai, i don’t think i need to explain myself further-”

“oh, don’t worry. i think i have enough brain cells to piece together that the almighty lord kurokawa has a side bitch.” you snickered, making him glare at you. 

“watch your mouth.” he scoweled, making you grin. 

“make me.” you challenged, watching him ball his fists as your words made his skin crawl. 

“you know what, i don’t even know why i thought i could have a simple conversation with you without wanting to murder you. your parents invited us for dinner this weekend, so act accordingly.” izana informed you before leaving, heading back downstairs. 

“got it! i’ll make sure that they don’t find out about your secret fuck buddy lover that you’re two-timing with, lord kurokawa.” you said in a mocking voice, knowing how much he probably wanted to kill himself right now because you wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. 

you didn’t know why the situation with izana and his mistress got you so riled up. 

you knew that he’s not in love with you nor are you in love with him. 

yet, the idea of him with another woman made you furious. 

[inhuman-obey-me]

I think Nightbringer is also working as a kind of soft reboot for the series to help fix the continuity errors in the original game.

Well, while we do see Nightbringer as sort of a soft reboot for the series, we're not entirely sure about it fixing the continuity errors in the original, considering all of the retcons they've introduced in the new game, including some that ... don't really make sense.

(spoilers for Nightbringer under the cut)

One of the biggest retcons they've done is that RAD didn't exist before the Great Celestial War. In the original game, The Glory Days Devilgram story shows RAD did exist, albeit newly, as it is the topic of conversation for when Diavolo and Lucifer first officially met (while Lucifer was still an angel). It was actually an important reason for Lucifer starting to change his opinion on demons and gaining respect for Diavolo. In Nightbringer, they've changed it so that RAD is proposed after the fall. We wonder if they'll talk more about pre-Celestial War relations in this timeline and how that went down, or if it's something that won't really be brought up...

Another big "retcon" is suddenly having Simeon and Luke living in the Devildom during this time, when the original game made it clear that the exchange program was Luke's first time ever interacting with demons. We're going to explain that away that all of this is a branch in the timeline, because there would already be some major implications for present-day with all that's gone on in the past. Solomon might have warned of time paradoxes, but that line was crossed the moment MC got thrown back into the past. 🙃 And we already know different timelines exist in the OM universe thanks to Season 1, so is there even such a thing as a time paradox in this case if it's just created a whole new timeline in the first place? Plus Solomon is also fucking around in this time, so shut up, old man ❤️.

Then there's also the big glaring alternate-timeline "retcon" change in MC's whole role here, which seems to involve resolving major issues and tension points long before they boil over in the original. We see Belphegor's blaming of humans on full display super early on, and Solomon blatantly calls out Lucifer's loyalty deal with Diavolo in front of the brothers (though without the info on what the deal was for), something which the brothers had no idea about in Season 1.

There are also some more minor retcons as well -- in the original, Satan has emphasized that wanting to be recognized for more than just wrath, especially being Lucifer's wrath, is a big reason why he became so thirsty for knowledge and books, yet here he's already quite into books even while he's still basically just a ball of wrath. Plus, for some reason, Belphie and Satan are already pranking Lucifer all the time, even though canonically Belphegor only joins Satan against Lucifer as the "Anti-Lucifer League" after being locked in the attic. His bio in the original game literally mentions, "Until a certain incident took place, he respected Lucifer the most among his brothers." In the Hatred Devilgram, he outright says their relationship wasn't always like this, and it flashes back to him heaping praise on Lucifer. Yet in Nightbringer, Levi has already referred to them as the Anti-Lucifer League -- and contrasting even that, Belphegor actually doesn't show that much animosity towards Lucifer really at all so far, except for these random prank mentions.

So yeah, there's a range of things they've changed here. Whether any of this will stay consistent moving forward in this Alternate Universe (because really, that's what it is at this point) remains to be seen.