#writing for them always makes me mourn them like they’re my husband who died at sea

[gregmarriage]

☺️hehe, i love writing ☺️

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Comms

Title: Comms

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Teen reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: PG

Warning: Cursing, mention of wounds, blood, scared Mando.

Description: In an unexpected raid, Din finds himself unable to find his foundlings and searches for them.

Request: Hey! I love your stories and thought that I would submit a request myself. So this is about Din having a teen foundling/adopted child. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now and even if they don’t show it a lot they’ve grown attached to each other. So this particular story would be about the foundling nearly dying and Din being a scared Dad (I hope you get what I’m going for. Kind of a fluff/Angst story with comforting afterwards😅)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took forever to write, I've been travelling and my computer has been messing up so I have not had time to write at all. Anyways, here it is! I hope it's to your liking. It took me awhile for inspiration to hit but I am pretty happy with how it ended up. Enjoy!

....

“Okay kid, what do we do when we get in trouble?”

“Call for help and signal our location.”

Call for help and signal your location. That was all you were supposed to do, the one rule Din gave for you before he took you along with him anywhere outside of the safety of the Razor Crest. He considered himself lucky that you rarely wandered off without letting Din know where you were going, and that you always seemed to be able to handle most dangerous situations on your own. Maybe it was because you fretted to be too much of a bother for Din, seeing as he took you in almost a year ago when he could have easily left you. Din didn’t see it that way, if he was honest. You were valuable to the group, taking care of Grogu and the ship when Din could not, and he believed it his duty to protect all on the ship. Only once or twice did you call for him, and he was quick to come to your aid.

He did not think that today would be the day where his timing risked your life.

The Mandalorian found himself aiding a local trading village with a raider issue in exchange for information about a bounty he’d been pursuing. He’d led a group of men over to what they’d suspected to be the raider’s hideout and set up for an ambush. The Entrance of the cave’s dunes felt barren, and only after the mens’ legs grew sore from crouching and backs ached from huddling in the dark was it that Din began to suspect something was wrong. The quiet environment was abnormal behavior to the raiders he’d encountered before, no doubt this specific group would be any different.

“They’ll see you!”

Startling the men surrounding him, Din shot into the air and stalked the vicinity. The dunes’ walls stretched for meters long as he kept his piece raised, occasionally scanning weak spots for life forms or any piece of equipment. He paused, frowning a moment when his scanner detected nothing.

That was the first sign that things weren’t going as planned that day.

“...hiss…”

“...m..do... v.llage... here…”

There was the second.

Din raised his arm to speak into his comms.

“Y/N?” Nothing but static came back from the comms. Din fidgeted and smacked it a couple times before grunting in frustration.

Damn, comms were jammed.

Wait, they were jammed.

And in a moment of a horrible realization, Din was quick to grab the men and make their way back to the village. When they arrived they found the village in chaos- buildings were burning, villagers running, and materials and pieces and bodies strewn across the ground. For a moment, Din froze in fear and worried that you were on the ground as well, your comms still ringing static and Grogu taken from you, lost to the raiders, or worse, the Empire.

Din quickly made his way throughout the village, barely rounding the first corner when a group of raiders assaulted him. He threw punches at the first raider, using their momentum to kick them hard into another. After several dodges and shots from his blaster, most of them were dead aside from one that laid on the ground and clutched his blasted leg.

Din marched over and pressed his blaster against the wound. “Where are the hostages being held?”

As it turned out, the raiders had no plan of keeping hostages. When Din finally tracked the building where captives were supposedly held, he was unable to remain collected when he found that you and Grogu were nowhere to be found. Instead, he stood before raiders responsible for the attack, their blasters disturbingly put away as they argued amongst one another. Din didn’t bother listening, he looked around but saw no sign of his foundlings.

“Wrong door.” He said simply before taking out his blaster and shooting the raiders.

Pocketing his piece Din ran out of the stronghold and went outside, calling for you and Grogu. He thought about the worst possible scenarios that could have happened to you two as he took out the raiders pillaging the village, until all but one remained, the leader. He found him in the main courtyard of the village, his face hidden though his body seethed with labored breaths. He stood there for several moments before Din heard one last labored breath before the leader’s legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the ground with a sickening crack of skull on stone. Hm? Din didn’t know what to make of this, and further stalked over, hand on blaster, examining the body. Upon closer look a blaster wound to the stomach was made more visible. So, someone got to the leader before Din could. That leaves the question… who?

A quick look around the area pointed out a trail of blood.

The Mandalorian followed this trail without any real reason behind it.

He found the remainder of the villagers at some point along the way. Sullen masses of faces mixed together, mourning the loss of their villages and lost ones but kept busy with treating the wounded. Women sat in huddles cooking with what food was salvaged and children sat quiet. One stood out apart from the rest in Din’s eyes, a large male leaning over a group of medics. Din recognized him as Cyrukee, the villager’s chief, who noticed the lone bounty hunter from the corner of his eye and stood up. In his arms was the most beautiful thing Din had seen all day, Grogu. The baby gurgled in joy as he walked up to the chief.

“There you are.” Din didn’t realize that he was holding his breath when he sighed in relief, taking Grogu into his arms.

“Sir.” Cryukee barely got a word out before Din turned to him.

“I’m looking for a youngling- my kid. Have you seen them?”

“Sir, please.”

“They’re this tall,” Din rears a hand near to your height, “they were with this little green baby. Your husband, he took them to the school. Where is he?” The Mandalorian made a full turn around to look for the red robed headman who was last responsible for your care. He reached for his comms and tried to reach you again. His voice rang back at him, and in a terrible moment of realization he realized that that was your comms.

“Where are they?”

“Sir, let me explain.” Cyrukee wore an exasperated expression and looked as though he was about to speak before one of the medics from the group he was with requested to speak with him. He spared a glance at Din as though he struggled whether or not to say something. And then, Din followed his arm towards the medics he was just with. Din didn’t know what to make of it, not able to recognize any of them. The Mandalorian took one last look at the chief, whose grave expression gave him reason to worry, and slowly walked towards the group of medics. He buzzed through the comms, trying to pinpoint your location. As he got closer he heard medics speak in soothing voices and their patient hyperventilating. Had it not been his own voice coming from the center of the personnel he would have moved on, instead he could not find the will to move. Grogu looked at him expectantly.

One medic in particular took notice of the beskar-armored man. He and some others quickly got up and pushed Din away before he could force his way through the medics to take a look at you.

“Hey, wait-wait-please.” Din grunted at the force and staggered several steps back. He took a moment to collect himself and Grogu sneezed in his arms. Dust must have gotten into his nose during the scuffle. “Please, my ward- my kid. That’s my kid.”

“Just a moment,” one of the bloodied nurses kept her hands on Din’s chestplate longer than he would have liked. He didn’t push her away though.

“I need to see my kid.” Din looked her in the eye, hoping that she could see his desperation through his helmet.

His kid. When Din looks back on this he would think about how he’s never referred to Y/N as his own before. He would have liked to think he said that so the nurses allowed him to pass easier. But deep down, he knew it was because of how much he cared for them.

“I understand but please let me explain. Sir, Sir!” Din retreated in defeat on his second attempt to get past her and the other nurses. She stared into his eyes and patted his shoulders, Din didn’t know whether she was trying to comfort him or control his movements. “They’re traumatized enough right now, and you moving around in that armor of yours will only make it worse.”

“What happened to them?”

“They had an encounter with Jetwal,” Din’s blood boiled at the recognition of the raider’s leader who’d died before him. “according to the children, your child was leading them to the outskirts when he found them. They killed him, he was threatening the children, and they shot him. Now, listen to me. They did get injured. Several blaster wounds to their limbs and upper torso- sir, listen please I cannot allow you to go to them just yet- they’re still panicking right now but I assure you their wounds are being treated right now. They’ll be fine, but disrupting our work will only inhibit us from treating them properly.”

She watched his gaze linger to the sound of your crying. “How much longer until I can see them?”

Din was not pleased to find that he was only allowed to see you when the nurse came for him herself. Reluctantly he walked a little farther away from the medics when asked to give them more space, and sat down with Grogu bouncing on his knee next to a young Twi’lek running their hands over their lekku to soothe themselves. Between glancing at the medics to keeping Grogu entertained, Din didn’t realize how much time had elapsed before noticing the nurse had come to his side to collect him.

She took a seat next to him. “They’re hurt very badly, but with time their injuries will heal. All they need to do is rest. You can see them now.”

Grogu giggled and played with the nurse’s finger that was threateningly wiggling on his little tummy. “Can you take him for a moment?”

Din stood up and gave Grogu a pat on his little head and rubbed his large ears out of habit. Something you used to do to calm the little green alien down after a terrible meltdown. Even under his helmet Din smiled at the alien before dredging towards you. You laid on a pile of fabrics that functioned as a makeshift cot, but you looked like you had a pile of fabrics on you with the amount of bandages that wrapped your body. You didn’t notice Din approaching you as you stared straight into the sky. Din wondered what you were thinking. What could you be thinking? From his knowledge, this was your first time dealing with major injuries from blasters. It must have made this whole ordeal so much more frightening to you.

Maybe Din was too light on his feet, recoiling instantly when you jolted at his touch and groaned in pain.

“It’s me, it’s me.” His voice was soothing, even more than normal which surprised him.

A sort of wheeze escaped your lips and you coughed. “Mando.”

“Hey kid.”

“I tried calling for you.” A gasp. “They jammed the frequencies.”

“Your message barely came through, kid. But it made us realize what was going on. We got here before more damage could be done because of you.”

Your form relaxed. “Good, good. Grogu?”

“With a nurse.” “The one with the sweet voice.”

“Yeah.”

“I liked her voice-” A cough. “Sounds like my mom’s. She was nice. She helped calm me down.” At this point Din had stared at you long enough to realize how puffy your eyes were from crying. He didn’t stop himself from reaching over to brush your H/C hair out of your face. You leaned into his touch.

“I’m pretty fucked up, huh?”

Your eyes were already locked onto his when he met your gaze. A tick passed, and Din’s eyes fell to the wounds you were referring to. He shook his head. “No, kid. That’s not what you are.”

“Feels like it.” Din scowled at your words.

“There are too many fucked up people in the galaxy, kid. You´re not one of them.” You look at him with a raised brow. “Y/N, you barely have any combat experience yet you took on Jetwal? What were you thinking?”

And you said something that surprised him.

“I was thinking of you.”

And Din couldn’t find any words. He cleared his throat and you continued, “We were alone and I had no idea when you’d come, I was scared something had happened to you because I couldn’t get a hold of you through the comms and that guy was coming at us and-” You inhaled sharply, wincing at what Din assumed was a jab in one of your wounds but he didn’t know how to help. You calmed a moment later, closing your eyes and furling your brows together. “I thought about what you would have done if you were there. You always looked like you knew what to do.”

To say that Din was proud of you would have been an understatement, he was beaming wonders underneath his helmet but realized that you couldn’t see through the beskar.

“I thought I’d lost you both.” Din admitted. “But I’m very proud of you. You saved lives, Y/N. That’s no easy feat for someone of your age.”

You grinned at him and laughed. “Did you do something like this when you were my age?”

“Yes, but I didn’t end up as fucked up as you did.” “Hey!” Din laughed and raised his forearm to block your playful hits.

A moment of silence falls between the two of you before you look at Din again. “Do you know how long we’ll be here for?”

“With your injuries, no clue. I’ll talk to the medics and Cyrukee to see what is to be done.”

“Okay.” You nodded, your fingers twitching involuntarily. Din’s hands find their way to your hair again. “Mando, I’m tired.”

“Rest. I’ll be here with you.” He watches you half-heartedly nod at his words and doze off in a matter of seconds. The injuries have taken a toll on your body, Din suspects, and he pulls a sheet over you. He sits with you, watching villagers talk amongst themselves, speaks with those who come by to thank him for his help, and accepts Grogu from the nurse when she comes over, thanking her for all she’d done for you. She told him that a thank you was not owed to her, and that if you were to need anything she was only a call away.

And when he was finally left alone, Mandalorian took one look to take account for his two foundlings. They slept soundly and with luck, heads full of dreams. Most importantly, they were safe in his care once again.

Din realized he’d been holding in a breath, and exhaled a sigh of relief.

.....

Taglist:

@kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek

[phantaloon-books]

Things about Tower of Nero that I want to highlight to remember them forever:

Lu being an absolute badass woman, I just love her too much

Piper McClean being canon wlw, she was actually kissing another girl, we really fell in love in october

Chaos being canonically female (just chaos being mentioned as a deity rather than what's below tartarus)

nobody DIED, like no one on the good side at least?? yes plenty of beings have died throughout TOA, but nobody died in TON?? so many died in TLO and BOO, I expected to mourn someone and I didn't have too??! it made me so happy

solangelo. that's it. solangelo makes me happy.

will being incredibly supportive of nico, and instead of stopping him, going with him on dangerous adventures because he doesn't want to leave him alone. also them treating Nico's PTSD for what it is

WILL SOLACE CANONICALLY GLOWS IN THE DARK. HE'S A GLOWSTICK BABY.

also will just appearing at the gates of the throne room, glowing in rage because someone touched his boyfriend (and tried to kill his dad), and him just marching through everyone (everyone else letting him), just to pick up his hurt precious boyfriend and take care of him.

meg McCaffrey got her happy ending. she's baby, she deserves her family and her happy ending. also Lu being the mother and the 12 children being siblings?? that's one hell of a way to tell nero to fuck off and right his mistakes. we love meg.

dionysus being the best olympian after apollo. the duo content we needed, and now will never get

nico mentioning bob and how he wants to go look for him, because he can still be in tartarus

rachel still being a Total badass and hitting people in the eye with her blue hairbrush thus being iconic

meg acting as lester's anchor and only reason why he didn't let go of the ledge, not falling into chaos, is top tier 'reasons why I cried reading', because if you think about it, Meg is the first ever friend apollo ever had, and them being best friends is everything to me

also apollo choosing to go looking as lester rather than apollo because lester feels like home is on top tier 'reasons why I cried reading' too

again, the only thing apollo did in the end (once he was god again) that could be described as 'godly' was be in several places at once, fly his chariot, and get meg her unicorn

but apollo shooting fucking fire out of his hands is crazy asf, it was so cool. he really got amazing godly powers this book.

rick being bold enough to showcase abusive parenting knowing that a huge porcentage of his readers are minors, helping many realize that they could be in abusive households, and giving them a tool to reach out for help

apollo defeating nero was so satisfactory, because you realize in the end, that nero wasn't really a monster, he was monstrous, but still very much human (if only with some godly power), and pretty useless once he couldn't hide behind props and weapons, his being wasn't powerful, he was just under layers of protection

the jackson/blofis scene was so warm and loving, they really are willing to put their family in danger, baby estelle in danger, to help 'percy's friends' even tho she knew percy didn't like apollo, but she still takes in everyone who needs help, and paul being a loving and accepting husband

sally working on her SECOND novel, she really is having her best life

none of the big heroes from other series having protagonism, besides nico and will, instead giving the other kids from camp halfblood their chance to show they're just as worthy as the "heroes of olympus"

(still I would have loved to see a scene with everyone else, like the heroes of olympus guys, fighting together one last time, just for nostalgia's sake - I legit hoped to see percy and annabeth arriving with chiron in triumvirate tower, but yeah)

the arrow of dodona may have been a dumb, cringey, and slightly ridiculous thing at first, and I personally rolled my eyes everytime it said anything, but it knew what would happen from the start, and without its sacrifice, apollo would have achieved nothing. we stan one arrow

nico wearing a white cowboy hat. idky but it makes my heart swell with joy. he a gay cowboy

y'all know I love Apollo's arch, and I just gotta point this out. his trials, his time as lester, started with him falling to earth, and ended with him getting up after purposely throwing himself off the earth, towards tartarus, almost falling to chaos. that's really clever writing.

the olympians watching over him, and some actually being concerned for him rather than his progress.

poseidon not really giving a fuck about the world or council meetings anymore because percy's not there anymore

athena being the only one apart from artemis who trusted apollo could do it makes me warm fsr

lester deciding that the best way to retell his adventures is by singing is hilarious to me, he really thinks it'll solve everything

Grover not telling percy and annabeth jason died seems so funny to me, he really said "nah it doesn't matter much, field trip, yes"

"hey man" my heart broke in twenty million pieces. like I don't know where I expected to see jason. but that wasn't it. and it hurt me as much as it hurt apollo man.

(also I kinda hoped we would see nico summon his spirit or smth, but I'm actually happy nico realized that jason went by his own choice, and he was in peace, so he decided not to summon him, because it was alright. that hurt too)

kinda love how lester passes out after literally every battle. it reminds you that even tho he's apollo, his body isn't. I'm sure we all would pass out too if we did a quarter of what lester did in the span of 4 days. his body isn't made to endure that, it doesn't even have a halfblood endurance, it's a weak mortal body

the trogs were fucking hilarious. their screeches and grrs, idk there's something ridiculous and so childish about them, it's so fun

really happy that apollo never had a /real/ love interest (reyna doesn't count), cause that wasn't what his story was about. instead he got to make so many friends, and have quality time with them and his children, it's amazing

apollo being thankful people were telling him he'd grown, and was more human, because he realized that was the best thing he could have learned from his time as a mortal

also him saying fuck you man to zeus and his speech, like "no asshole dad, I did learn, I'm not going to see this as punishment, it was a great time in which bad things happened but I enjoyed it." yes, we love apollo not letting zeus win

getting to see what everyone will do now. nico and will figuring out rachel's prophecy, probs saving bob. rachel living her best life away from her parents. leo doing what leo does, always helping those who have no one else. the hunters' open storyline about this fox, possibly hinting at content? piper settling down in a quiet life is what she deserves tbh, she's earned quiet life with a cute gf, wish her the best. Frank and hazel being the best praetors, and I bet they will continue to be so. And annabeth and percy, who chose their happiness over all, at last

kinda wish we got to see someone still really miss jason after apollo becomes god again tho lmao like apollo missed jason more than the others, nico and piper being the exception. I mean, leo is fine and dandy, hazel and frank are okay, percy and annabeth are done mourning... I just we got to see any of them really mourning, rather than reading they mourned. it would have made it feel more emotional

the last conversation and the last words in general. "the sun always comes back" and "we're friends now. call on me. I'll be there for you" that shit got me sobbing my heart out. rick really managed to do right by the books and end it like he should have, unlike BOO. he took what made TLO good and used a similar formula. it's very different from "and for once I didn't look back", but it still fills you with warmth and the feeling that even though it's over, it's okay.

I'm just really emotional, this is all I can think about, but you bet I'm gonna add more when I remember

[everlarkficexchange]

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up  

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though. 

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death. 

  “Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago. 

  The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

  A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod. 

  That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face. 

  “Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

  I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother. 

  Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

  Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain. 

  It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister. 

  I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life. 

  I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning,  watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children. 

  I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate. 

  We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying. 

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

  “We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag. 

  Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

  I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully. 

  I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles. 

  We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor. 

  My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up. 

  “No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

  I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man. 

  He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me. 

  “My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

  I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names. 

  “Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

  “Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

  Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

  As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

  Marvel nods, grimly. 

  “We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes. 

  “Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

  I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps. 

  “Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

  After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

  I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly. 

  Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?  

  Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

  These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

  “Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk. 

  “Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

  I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow. 

  I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile. 

  “I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly. 

  My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head. 

  Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,” 

  My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers. 

  “Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?” 

  My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

  “Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?” 

  I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

  “Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”  

  I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12. 

  I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be. 

  I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things. 

  Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night. 

  ————————-

  Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings. 

  We talk about baseball:

  “You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?” 

  I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

  “Wow, beautiful and smart!”

  We talk about cars:

  “I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

  “The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?” 

  No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

  We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child. 

  Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly. 

  I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up. 

  “Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

  We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight,�� alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden! 

  I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting! 

  Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches. 

  “Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

  “Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

  His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

  “You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!” 

  It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed. 

  A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here. 

  “I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants. 

  I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us. 

  “You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

  “You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

  “My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

  I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

  Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

  I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise. 

  “That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!” 

  We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house. 

  He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound. 

  But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried. 

  ————————-

  Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down. 

  Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

  I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

  I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

  But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something! 

  I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth. 

  I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure. 

  I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes. 

  My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare. 

  At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

  One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

  “Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs. 

  I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.” 

  ————————-

  Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face. 

  I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

  “I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,” 

  “Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

  “The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

  “I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…” 

  I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence. 

  My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

  ——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news. 

  I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way. 

  The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters. 

  “It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says. 

  At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long. 

  Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. 

  I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad. 

  Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

  “Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack. 

  I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary. 

  My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!” 

  “Katniss, what’s going on?” 

  I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

  I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

  “At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

  I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care. 

  “That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically. 

  I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t. 

  I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now. 

  “I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

  “Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

  She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath. 

  I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

  ———————-

  My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough. 

  I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold. 

  In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day. 

  There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption. 

  “Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper. 

  “Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

  Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father. 

  I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly. 

  She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation. 

  “Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly. 

  I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?” 

  “It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

  “This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?” 

  My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

  —————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

  “Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

  I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth. 

  “Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

  “Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command. 

  I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,” 

  I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade! 

  Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason! 

  I shudder at the thought. 

  But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

  My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name. 

  Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

  I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible. 

  “Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment. 

  I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

  He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here. 

  “Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

  “Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.” 

  Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the 14 fics I read and enjoyed this month. As always, all the love for all the amazing authors in this fandom! ♥

In The Still Of The Night | jacaranda_bloom | Dirty Dancing AU - a/b/o - prejudice - gender stereotyping - class divide - angst - pining - smut - 69k In a society where omegas are expected to follow a predetermined path, Louis strives for more; for his voice to be heard, for recognition, for true love. In a world where your past defines your future, Harry fights against the system; for equality, for a different life, for acceptance. When their two worlds collide, will they be beaten down by conformity or will they rise up and forge a new path together? OR the Dirty Dancing AU where Louis is a feisty omega who wants to change the world, Harry is an alpha from the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody puts Louis in a corner.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody | 28sunflowers | enemies to friends to lovers - miscommunication - misunderstandings - emotional hurt/comfort - Original Character Death - grief/mourning - slow build - smut - 58k After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of. Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening. But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

take my hand, wreck my plans | amomentoflove | Cinderella AU - a/b/o - royalty - Minor Character Death - emotional abuse - magic - 38k Louis meets the man in the center of the room, feeling every eye on him. “Mr. H,” he whispers. The man smiles brightly and laughs as if he can’t believe his eyes. “It’s you,” he says breathlessly. “I didn’t think I would see you again.” “Nor I you, especially under these circumstances.” “Even so,” Mr H says, his eyes bouncing from Louis’ eyes to his lips. “Will you do me a great honor and join me in leading the first … um…” “Dance?” Mr. H laughs and nods. “Yes, that’s the one.” Louis bites his lips and doesn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.” Mr. H beams and reaches for Louis’ hand. Sparks fly at the touch and a zing of excitement shoots through Louis’ body. His face heats up as he’s afraid his scent would give away his feelings towards the other man.

One More Taste of Your Lips | Canadianlarrie & MsHydeStylinson | canon compliant - reunion tour - angst - internalized homophobia/biphobia - cheating - smut - Coming Out - 80k It had been eight years since the hiatus began, and Louis had spent that time writing and recording music, touring and making it safely through the pandemic. When the opportunity arose to go back on tour with One Direction, Louis knew he'd be a fool not to take it. Sure, life on the road would be different after all this time apart, but he was looking forward to experiencing that comradery again. What he hadn't realised was that living the better part of nine months in each other's pockets was bound to dredge up issues from his past. And when one of the pockets belonged to Harry, who he'd had a rather unconventional friendship with that drifted apart during their last tour, life on the road again would upend both their lives in irrevocable ways. * Harry wasn’t that sixteen year old boy anymore. Nor was he the young man in his late teens who was on the cusp of conquering the entire world. But some traits seemed to remain the same; his vibrant green eyes, the dimples set deeply in his cheeks whenever he laughed earnestly, or his curls that were the same shade of cocoa that Louis remembered fondly. And yet, Louis had absolutely no idea who this man that stood a mere twenty paces away was today.

Old Photographs & Times I'll Remember | jaerie | time travel - Eroda - period-typical homophobia - anxiety - depression - discussion about suicide - self-discovery - post-break up - 54k Carefully he set that negative down and lifted the paper to see there was another beneath. This one again was a young man, this time posed against an antique car. He lifted a few more negatives out one by one, each a portrait of the same man with various backdrops. The man in a meadow, in an office, leaning against a doorframe — even one in his underwear grinning at the camera. On the edge of each negative printed in slanted, handwritten characters were the initials and date. H.S. 1924. He quickly but carefully packed them back into the box and buzzed with excitement. He couldn’t wait to develop them to see exactly what had been captured in the images. It was a find that felt like a puzzle to piece together. H.S. was likely the man in the photographs as well as the owner of the suitcase. Who was he? Why had his suitcase found its way into Niall’s attic? Was he still alive and well somewhere in the world? A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

Know a Trick or Two | SadaVeniren | Harry Potter setting - mpreg - magic - kid fic - - genderfluid character - smut - intersex - 44k The night before Louis is scheduled for a Portkey to begin training with the Vratsa Vultures in Bulgaria he heads into Muggle London for one last night of fun. A few months later he finds out he’s having a child. Eleven years ago Harry had a one night stand and now there’s a strange man on his doorstep telling him his daughter is something called a wizard and she’s got a place at the British wizarding school Hogwarts. Aka the one where Muggle Harry and Wizard Louis have a one night stand and get more than they bargained out of it.

come away with me | suspendrs | Minor Character Death - friends to lovers - sexuality crisis - emotional hurt/comfort - anxiety - smut - 80k Louis had such big plans. He wanted so much out of life, and so did Amy. Now Bridget is going to grow up without a mother, and she’s always going to wonder what it would be like if this hadn’t happened. He wonders if she’ll blame him for her mother’s death as she gets older, or if she’ll understand that this is just as painful for Louis as it is for her. Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to raise her on his own, because he’s a fantastic father, yes, but he’s always been the fun parent, and Amy was in charge of the rules. He doesn’t know how to make sure Bridget has everything she needs all the time, doesn’t know how to make her favorite meal or how to do that one braid she loves to have in her hair or how to teach her to be the best person she can be. He doesn’t know how to live without Amy, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter's life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help.

we made our promises (we said our vows) | millsx | Military AU - established relationship - kid fic - angst - hurt/comfort - mentions of PTSD - mentions of depressions - mentions of anxiety - injury - long-distance relationship - 21k Fairy tales always end with the Happily Ever After; the princess escapes her evil stepmother and gets married to the knight in shining armor. It turns out real life doesn’t care about Happily Ever Afters and sometimes problems appear when you don’t expect them to. Harry sure didn’t, not after years of being married.

Love, Ever After | jacaranda_bloom | a/b/o - farmers markets - soulmates - pining - miscommunication - fluff - banter - smut - 21k One would assume that the charismatic omega in charge of the local matchmaking service would have found a mate and settled down ages ago. His clients, in fact, are always a bit surprised when they come to learn that Louis is still single. But Louis doesn’t mind, not really. His standards are just high; he is happy holding out for his alpha, his soulmate, and chooses to not waste his time with anyone else, despite what his friends might think. That is, until his best mate from uni drags him out of bed far too early on a Saturday morning after a night of drinking to go to a farmers market, of all places. It’s there that he proceeds to make an utter fool of himself in front of the hottest alpha he has ever laid eyes on. There’s truly no coming back from that, is there? OR The one where omega Louis makes love matches, alpha Harry makes cheese, and meddling friends might finally make their dreams of finding their soulmate come true.

Hometown | allwaswell16 | High School - College/university - driving - heartbreak - memories - friendship - happy ending - angst - 2k On the day Harry gets his driver’s licence, he drives through the suburbs, heartbroken that he can’t drive home to Louis.

fever dream high | wildestdreams | friends to lovers - childhood friends - a/b/o - fluff - angst - smut - mutual pining - High School - 30k "Excuse me, what?" Harry licked his lips, carefully looking him in the eyes. "I will spend your heat with you so you're ready by Monday to play your game." "Harry," Louis began, suddenly at a loss for words. "I couldn't ask you to do that." "Why not? You just said you trust me." "You're my best friend. There's no one I trust more than you." "Then what's the problem?" "Well, friends don't usually help you through your heats or ruts, so excuse me for being a little skeptical." or A High School ABO AU where Harry and Louis are best friends and nothing more until things start getting a little complicated and they're faced with feelings they never wanted to confront.

We are the same, you run in my veins | 28sunflowers | a/b/o - non-traditional a/b/o- soulmates - wolves -pack dynamics - 4k When the time for Louis to become the Alpha leader of his pack comes, he can’t rise to the occasion for not being yet bonded. A series of trips to neighbouring packs in search of his soulmate is fruitless until he meets one of the other packs’ Alpha heir. Harry. The world seems to stop turning for a second and then it shifts, clicking into its axis. All the distress and wrongness he felt until that very moment suddenly disappears. Louis is finally whole. But two Alpha leaders from different tribes soulbonding is something unheard of before.

Divinely Blessed | thinlines | a/b/o - non-traditional a/b/o - established relationship - PWP - 17k “I heard you, Ni. But what do you mean?” “What do you mean what I mean?” Harry rolled his eyes as he shoved his alpha friend down onto a seat. “Did you mean you lick someone out or…?” “Nah, mate! It was me! I got licked out!” Harry could only stare at Niall in horror. Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

This chemistry like candy to me | CuckooTrooke | a/b/o - kink discovery - mpreg - male lactation - smut - 8k "It's just... Are you aware, that, uh... You're- You're kind of leaking." Harry feels his blood run cold. The heart that was thudding so loud and fast drops to his stomach, and his shoulders hunch in embarrassment. "Excuse me?" Harry asks once he manages to gather himself and recover from the shock. He automatically steps back but since he's already squeezed in the corner, it doesn't do much to put any distance between them, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" "Wha- No. Oh my god, I wouldn't- No," The man says as he realizes the misunderstanding, and wildly gestures to his chest, "I mean your- Your chest. Is leaking." OR Harry is 8 months pregnant with a poor balance and traitorous nipples. Unfortunately for him, that is precisely when he meets a beautiful alpha in a packed London Tube. Fortunately for him, the said alpha might just be the best thing he has ever come across.

[unsaidmar]

Call.

a/n: hello peeps! this is a request! thank you for liking what i write, it means the world to me. love y'all. requests still open. 

wc: 1.5k hehe

warning: mentions of death, curse words, sad stuff.

pairing: spencer x bau! reader.

plot: For the first time, you’re not where he is. It drives you crazy. 

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

You considered yourself quite the resilient person. Emotions got to you but never incapacitated you. Danger was a given in the career path you had chosen and the prospect of it was something you were used to, but never like this. It was always your own life you were worried about, but the BAU had taken the grasp you had on your job and your reality and completely redifined it.

Being guarded with your emotions and affections was a defense mechanism you had developed thanks to your experience in law enforcement. People always got hurt and you had to move on from it, that’s just how it was. But the BAU was the one to break the mold.

Those people had been through a lot together, the good, the bad and the ugly. They had seen it all and done it all, and now you were a part of it. They took you in and accepted you like you hadn’t just joined the team and you let them. Soon enough, Rossi was walling you “kid” and kissing both your cheeks when he greeted you, Morgan was fist bumping you when you made stupid jokes and you were going out to dinner with Emily, JJ and Penelope. Not one of them hesitated to put their life on the line with or for you, and it shook your world.

All of a sudden it wasn’t just yourself you had to worry about, because every person walking into burning buildings and hostage situations with you was your family. You loved every one of them and losing them scared you a lot, enough to feel like your heart was beating out of your chest whenever they were in danger.

And still, you had to go and fall in love.

Spencer had woven himself into your life, your routine, your work life and eventually your heart. It felt like he was marking his territory before he knew he was doing it, something resembling a person moving into your home, but the things he left behind were more than a toothbrush or a book. He left his mark in little things you incorporated into your life and it slowly transformed the both of you into a collage of each other.

He started drinking soy milk when you convinced him it was not bad and that subjecting himself to the pain of being lactose intolerant and still consuming milk, wasn’t worth it. You stopped leaving your windows open at night when he freaked you out about stray cats taking residence in your couch and potential burglars getting in. And those absolutely inconsequential things were forever going to be a gift you had given each other, no matter what came out of your relationship, even if you went your separate ways. Which, you never did.

Three years into working at the BAU, and two into your relationship with Spencer, you got married. The both of you figured that the wait was not necessary because you knew very early on that that was it, you were it. Next thing you knew, your fourth wedding anniversary was coming up, and so were many other things.

After getting kidnapped and shot, you were never the same. You had come to terms with dying, you wanted it to happen so you didn’t have to deal with the inevitable trauma that came with surviving, but you weren’t that lucky. Everyone had been worried about you and the living ghost look you were sporting. It looked like you were re living the situation in your head every moment you were awake, and that was indeed the case. It haunted you when you were sleeping and it consumed you when you were awake, so Hotch made you take a break.

Stubbornness was your thing, so he took away your badge any other form of ID that could get you into the building, he didn’t answer your calls and only texted your work cellphone to ask you to stop asking him to reinstate you. Being alone with your thoughts was hell. Having your family out there risking their lives without you was even worse.

“Hey Spence, it’s me again… um... could you let me know if you’ve been getting my texts? It’s just that… you never not text me back and I’m getting worried. Is that too much? I’m probably being ridiculous. Anyways, call me back. Or text. Just let me know you’re okay. I love you.” You sighed and put your phone down for what felt like the twentieth time in the last half hour.

This had never been the case. You were never the worried spouse that had to rely on phone calls or texts to communicate or to even know your husband was alive. It made you empathize with Will, with Haley. It made you want to ask them for advice on not going crazy. Your mind was already going rouge.

I can’t be a widow. I can’t mourn the love of my life, how does anyone? What happens if I lose him? How foolish of me to have dismissed this when we got married. We’re FBI agents, for the love of God. We point guns and have them pointed back at us for a living. I’ll have to take my ring off. Do I keep it? I can’t look at it if he’s gone. Who picks out the dress for the funeral? If I have to do it, I’ll go insane. I can’t bury him; I can’t go watch them lower him to the ground. I will just cremate him and split his ashes so his mom has him too. His mom. That woman won’t be able to bear outliving her baby. God, please pick up the fucking phone.

You: Honey, please text me back!!! Have someone text me for you, idc.

You: Spence, charge your phone.

You: Why is Derek not texting me back either?

You: Are you angry at me?

You: I’d rather you tell me if you’re angry. Don’t ghost me when you’re on a case.

You: Spencer.

You: I’m calling Penny.

Three rings it took for Penelope to answer.

“Hi my sweet, beautiful, ____. How can I be of assistance to you at this indecent hour of the morning/night?” She chirped, her tone already relaxing you. She would be the first to know if something had gone wrong.

“Hi Penny, do you have any word on the team? I keep calling and texting Spencer and he hasn’t gotten back to me. It’s been like three hours.” You said, holding back the tears.

“Oh, sweet stuff. Last I heard, they were delivering the profile. They’re in Kansas and there was a tornado warning. The power is out. Maybe all of their phones ran out of battery.” She tried to reassure you, like always, already knowing what was happening in your head. “Is everything okay? Have you slept?”

“Not really. Spence stopped replying and I got anxious.”

“Don’t worry hun, bad news travel fast.”

“Yeah, yeah… you’re right. I should…”

Before you could finish your sentence, the door creaked open and you saw a defeated looking Spencer hang his jacket and take his shoes off trying to be quiet, assuming you were asleep. You felt the color come back to your face and you dropped the phone on the couch without even making sure you had ended the call.

“Oh, thank God.” You ran to him and aggressively hugged him. Much to your embarrassment, the tears you were trying so hard to hold back were now streaming down your face.

“Hey, hey…” He took in your appearance and instantly worried about you. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“What the fuck happened to your phone? And everyone else’s for that matter!” You said, letting go of him and raising your voice without meaning to. Spencer knew you never yelled, so he was taken aback by your words.

“It died, ___, four hours ago, the power went out and the generator wasn’t working. Why are you screaming?” He rushed out.

“Because you never texted me back and I thought you were dead!” Your voice was a lot calmer now, much more frustrated and tired.

“Honey, I’m so sorry, everything happened so fast, I didn’t even think about my phone. I didn’t mean to make you angry; I promise.”

“I’m not angry, baby. At least not at you. I hate being here and not out there with you. I can’t sit around and wait for you to give me proof of life. it’s driving me insane and it has only happened once.” You groaned, choking back quiet sobs now. “I can’t lose you. I can’t be the last to find out.” You fell to the couch like your legs had stopped working.

Your husband was looking at you like he didn’t even think about that, like the realization had just hit him. You couldn’t blame him, neither of you were used to that dynamic of checking your phones because the one person you would want to update was always along for the ride.

“Baby, you’re not going to lose me. I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll care more about my phone. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He said, crouching to be eye to eye with you and taking your hands.

“No, no..I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous, I went crazy. You shouldn’t have to do that…” You kissed his knuckles and slid down the couch to sit on the floor with him. All you wanted was to be near him. You put your arms around his neck and whispered. “I love you, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was losing it. I’m not used to this feeling of not knowing where you are or if you’re okay, I felt helpless.”

“It’s okay hun, I get it, I love you too. We’re both new to this whole being-a part thing. If I’m honest, I don’t like it.” He pulled you to his lap so you were tangled up like a koala.

“I hate it. It 's the worst. I’m done with this break”

“Hotch is just looking out for you, he wanted to give you your space after the accident. You can talk to him and see how he feels about you coming back.” His reassuring words were already lightening the mood, and you were grateful he was fine. Once the adrenaline died down, the sleep you had been missing hit you like a ton of bricks. You stifled a yawn and planted a kiss on Spencer’s forehead.

“You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.” He took notice of your droopy eyelids and went to stand up. “Have you been awake all this time?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t just go to bed.” You replied, removing yourself from his lap and taking his hand.

“Come on, let’s crash. I’m off tomorrow, we don’t have to wake up early.”

Oh, thank the lord.

“I’ll go to sleep, but I have one condition.” You said with your best attempt at a mischievous grin.

“What is it?” Spencer asked, knowing that tone and that face all too well.

“Get a stupid portable charger.”

[themadauthorshatter]

... I’ve already made a draft of this and deleted it, but I’m going back in. 

This is an AU of what would happen if Mareven was healthy and the end game. 

I apologize in advance for any and all MareCal shippers, including myself. 

SO! What happens? 

Simple. 

Everything remains mostly the same in the story except we get more of a doubtful and uneasy Maven as the story progresses, as in he hugs Mare a little longer and is genuinely perturbed when he hears about the ‘bomb’ that went off and looks terrified of Cal when he returns and orders Farley to be tortured. He’s also more hesitant to listen to his mother. 

He still offers Cal’s legion to the Guard, but is a little sadder to say it. 

THEN WE GET TO THE PLOT TWIST OF THE STORY!!!!!!!!!

Maven plays along, but, as he stands by his mother’s side, he mouths, “sorry” to Mare and goes for a gun on Arven’s belt, shooting him in the leg and warning him not to try silencing him or he’ll aim for something more vital. 

It catches EVERYONE off guard, especially Elara, who’s about to risk having Cal or Tibe out of her whispers to get Maven back in line. 

Instead, Elara asks what he’s doing and why, as she thought this was what he’d always wanted. 

“It’s what you want, Mother. Not me. None of this is right. You’re already the Queen. What else do you want!?” 

Elara bares her teeth. “Are you saying you want to live your days with a Red rat?” 

Maven pulls Mare to her feet and pushes her behind him, keeping the gun at them, nodding. “I’m saying I'm not following your plans or listening to anything you have to say. I'll die before I let you in my head again!” 

Well, wish granted because Mare senses the cameras turning back on and Elara lets Tibe and Cal go.

Only to force Maven to shoot her and Tibe, though Maven actually misses him.

Mare breaks free and they make a run for it, Elara shouting that they are traitors and to arrest them, though she does force Tibe to play the part of concerned husband.

Cal isn't in the room because he races after Maven and Mare.

Speaking of which, Maven leads Mare through the castle and finds a hall that goes toward a servant's passage, so they can escape.

Too bad there are guards that round the corner and take aim at them, not only for staging a coup de ta, but also for attempted regicide.

Cal's there too, aiming a handgun at them and telling them to submit to arrest.

They do and are sent to the Silent Stone cells.

Mare is confused and livid and doesn't want to talk to Maven, who keeps pacing and clutching his head and telling someone to be quiet. 

Mare mentally tells him to maybe practice what he’s preaching, but wonders what the hell all that was when they were captured. 

Maven sighs and sits down, back-to-back with Mare, and asks her how good she is at picking locks. 

Her hands are for picking pockets, not locks. 

Maven lets out a semi-bitter chuckle and regards that he shouldn’t have bothered asking because of course she’s better at pockets. he then admits that he’d been so scared of the cells as a boy, his young mind tricking him into thinking that there were monsters or prisoners in the cells. 

Speaking of the cells, Mare breaks her silence and asks why it’s so hard for her to use her powers, even asking if Arven is close by listening to them. 

Maven admits it would be useful to do that, but no. The cells are made of Silent Stone, which is basically Arven being there without him really being there. 

Although she already knows what’s going to happen, Mare wonders what will happen to them, in the Bowl of Bones. 

Maven lists off a firing squad, some Silvers, maybe some animals, and the fact that no matter what, the show will not be short; the people want blood and Tibe is going to give them blood, even if it’s his own son’s. 

“Not if he can’t find you.” 

Both Mare and Maven stand as Cal walks in, dressed formally and holding a set of keys to the cells. 

Maven asks what this is and what Cal’s doing as he opens both Maven’s and Mare’s cells. 

Cal explains that he’s already had to give Julian a head start and hopes that Maven and mare can do the same, can vanish into thin air before their execution. 

Mare asks why they should accept the help, seeing as Cal’s the one who arrested them, but Cal counters by asking who’s idea it was to get them arrested, glaring daggers at Maven. 

Maven has his own question: How does Cal know they won’t be seen? 

Cal looks away and admits that he hopes there aren’t any Red servants that know how to fix the security system.

Maven and Mare exchange a glance and start walking, but Cal gets between them, shackles them, and grabs their arms, telling them to play along and make it convincing so no one questions anything. 

They both do their best reluctant prisoners act up until they pass by Sonya, who inquires as to where Cal’s taking them. 

Cal states he’s just taking them to get some cardio before their execution, seeing as how they’ll need every ounce of strength they’ll need. 

Sonya spits that they shouldn’t and should actually fight with nooses around their necks so they’re easier to grab and throw around, but drops it anyway, eying Cal before she leaves. 

Time’s almost up, so it’s a good thing Maven leads Cal to a servant passage, where they stop and get free, Maven getting his flame-maker bracelets back. 

Maven opens the passage, but Cal stops him and Mare, telling them to be careful now, because if they manage to escape, they’ll be fugitives and will get hunted like deer for treason, Maven for attempted regicide, from what narrative that now exists. 

They nod and thank him for the help. 

Before Mare can follow Maven, Cal grabs her arm again, which makes Mare turn to him. 

The two stare at each other, realizing what’s happening and what’s going to happen. 

The royals will figure out that Cal helped them escape and will probably have him killed for letting two traitors run free. 

Cal is the one who helped her in the first place by getting her the job at the Summer Palace, and now he’s saving her life again, this time also saving his brother’s and risking his own. 

Maven shouts for Mare to keep it moving and Mare pulls out of Cal’s grip, backs away, and races after Maven, Cal watching her leave before closing the passage. 

His face contorts with sorrow, regret, anger, and pain and he clenches a fist as he hears a sentinel shout that Mare and Maven are missing. 

Cal shouts, “They’re this way!” and races down the hallway and away from the bookshelf, trying to make it look like they outran him. 

In the passage, Maven leads Mare by the hand as they soon find themselves underground and under the streets, overhearing an announcement to keep an eye out for the two of them because both are armed and dangerous, Mare especially. 

Maven groans at his father’s words and muses that at least they’re out. 

Mare isn’t as relieved and asks what he was planning with his mother. 

Maven stops in his steps and states that she already knows. 

Mare does know, she just wants to hear Maven say it. 

Maven bites his tongue and clenches his fist at his side, not turning to face Mare as he asks what will happen if he doesn’t tell her. 

She’ll make him tell her, make him talk or she’ll shock him until he dies. 

Maven  tightens his fist but then drops it, admitting he and Elara planned on killing Tibe and using Mare and Cal as scapegoats, sending them to the Bowl of Bones, and having them executed to wrap up the story and solidify Maven as the new King, with no Scarlet Guard and no loose ends to ensure the story of Mare being a Red would slip out. 

Mare demands he define ‘loose ends.’ 

Lady Blonos. The servant girls who dressed Mare as a Silver. Lucas. Julian. Sara. Mare’s family. Kilorn. Cal. Mare herself. All the Reds on the list Julian gave her. 

Mare gasps at that last one, sliding down a wall as Maven explains in increasing panic and with his eyes growing teary that he was along with the ride and all for getting the throne the way his mother planned, but then he began to feel genuine feelings for Mare and her plight and no matter how much Elara tried to take those feelings away, they always came back. She did the same with Tibe, making Maven lose his love for him, and had semi-success with Cal, but didn’t fully remove his love for his brother. It also changed when they killed Blonos and the servant girls, and when Tristan died. It opened Maven’s eyes and made him realize that he was going to kill someone he didn’t want to die. he’d already lost Thomas and it was his own fault, but if he was the reason he lost Mare, too, he’d lose his mind. 

Maven stops his rambling and joins Mare against the wall, admitting that he knows he deserves whatever comes next, but whatever does happen, he just asks that mare know that he is sorry for all of this, for putting her in such danger that now they’re on the run and risk execution if they’re caught. 

Mare turns to him and asks if Elara has the list, if he told her about the Newbloods. 

Maven shakes his head; the raid was going to happen in a few hour hours, so there wouldn’t have been enough time for Elara to look through his mind, write down all the names, and the find them in the blood base, so they have a good head start there, too. 

After a minute of collecting themselves, and a glare from Mare, the two stand up and keep walking until they reach a fork in the path and wonder which is safer.

The only answer they get is a gun pushed against the back of Maven's head and a certain blaonde telling him to go right or she's painting the tunnel Silver.

Mare turns and sees Kilorn and Farley, with the addition of a certain Barrow we all still mourn, don't lie.

"Shade!"

Mare and Shade reunite, though Maven voices confusion as he thought Shade had been executed.

Shade explains that they tried and failed, making an example by teleporting in front of and behind them, saying with pride that no one's faster than him.

Mare is a mix of happy and sad at the news, but Farley brings them back and reminds them they need to keep going or they'll get arrested and killed.

Maven also gets put back in shackles, but acts as a good sport and doesn't burn them off.

They continue throught the tunnel until they reach a train, climb aboard, and get to riding, merrily on their way to nowhere in particular.

Back in White Fire, Elara slaps Cal HARD in the face and demands to know what he was thinking and where Maven and Mare are.

Tibe gets between them, but Cal admits that he didn't fully know what he was thinking, just that he couldn't let his brother be forced to fight when he's still in training. It would be a bloodbath.

Elara asks if that's the same reason why he also let Mare go, or if there's something he's not telling them.

Tibe also wants to know. He understands letting Maven go, but why a Red rat like Mare? If the people see her lightning powers and Red blood, there will be Hell to pay.

Cal's silent, but Elara solves that with a quick look into his mind, seeing all the moments of Cal and Mare being close and friendly with each other.

Elara asks Cal if he's more interested in dirt than diamonds and Tibe gets the picture instantly, upon seeing Cal's reaction.

Change of plan: Cal is getting his legion back in action, and an additional two hundred soldiers to locate and either capture or kill Mare and Maven. No more catch and releases or else it's Cal who fights in the arena and he'll have nothing but his wits to defend himself.

Cal pales at this and gasps that they can't kill him, because then Norta has no heir.

Tibe only glares at him and tells him not to fail before leaving to let Cal get his army ready.

Cal watches his father leave and is broken by the fact that he legitimately screwed up and that his father, as King, needs Maven, his own son, executed with Mare, someone who never should have had her powers to begin with.

Elara glares at Cal for a moment longer and also walks out of the room, leaving Cal on his own.

[nillegible]

(Part 3 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 )

It’s several more weeks before he meets Qin Su again, and it’s like having a sword shoved through his gut a second time.

He thought he’d gotten over her death in the weeks since, but apparently not.

Meng Yao’s skills at administrative work, honed to perfection over years of managing Jin sect, had resulted in a series of rapid promotions, as more and more people realized that Meng Yao was not only capable but willing to do boring meticulous drudge work and do it well. By the time Qin Su returns from her mother’s small, secluded clan, Clan Liu, Meng Yao is one of Qin Cangye’s personal aides.

He keeps his face when she thanks him for saving her life just barely. It’s so hard, when she looks so young and carefree, untouched by the grief for a lost child, of a secretive husband who never turned to her.

Meng Yao had done that to her.

I didn’t have a choice, he’d cried to Er-ge, in a temple and felt justified. In front of her sweet face, that defence dies a quiet death.

She’d killed herself, when she heard the truth, and for one moment, in between the grief, the rising terror of an unknown enemy stalking him, he’d hated her for it. Do you think you have suffered more than I? How dare you take your own life, while I still didn’t give up?

But he owes her better than that, so he smiles, and promises the Young Mistress Qin that it was Meng Yao who was honoured to have been of assistance to her. He remains perfectly cordial, always, in her presence. He doesn’t hide away, doesn’t take paths around the buildings that she frequents, even though every time he sees her again, it hurts.

This pain, at least, Meng Yao deserves.

He’s careful not to get too close though. He makes his excuses not to join her where he can, and never shows her the attention he had in a previous life. He didn’t expect this to be noticed, but as he’s learned the hard way, some eyes are always sharper than Meng Yao would give them credit for.

*

When Qin Tianyu approaches him for tea and a discussion of the talismans that Meng Yao has been reworking to be more efficient, he thinks nothing of it. When they’re working on writing some together after, and the talisman master carefully broaches the topic as if it wasn’t intentional, Meng Yao can see the Sect Leader’s interest in the matter.

“Meng Yao has been noticeably cold to Su-sizhi,” says Qin Tianyu.

Meng Yao looks up, sharply. “I have no quarrel with Qin-guniang.” How did I miss this?

“I said cold, not a quarrel,” he returns calmly. “She is the only one you do not call shijie.”

“She’s the heir, it’s polite, Qin-shishu,” Meng Yao says, even though he knows it’s not good enough. Everyone else calls her Su-shijie, quite enthusiastically. He endures the carefully considering look that Qin Tianyu sends his way. His mask had held up beneath Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Guangshan, and Lan Xichen. He would not be unmasked by the a simple elder of Laoling Qin.

But Qin Tianyu just nods, as if confirming something to himself. “The idea was floated that Meng Yao joined Qin sect for Su-sizhi.” he says, and Meng Yao freezes, wary. “After all, Sect Leader Jin does not need another spare heir.”

Meng Yao sits in silence, work ignored as he tries to decide on a response. He had briefly considered before approaching Sect Leader Qin that it may look like this from outside, but had reasoned to himself that as long as he showed no interest in Qin Su, it would blow over, and he’d look like any other disciple. That people would find it suspicious that Meng Yao was not angling to marry her to become the next Qin Sect Leader is a surprise.

So, what should he say to turn this suspicion astray?

“This humble disciple is merely Sect Leader Jin’s bastard son. Young Mistress Qin deserves better,” he says, hoping that was vague enough to be acceptable.

“Meng Yao professes to be remarkably unambitious,” returns Qin Tianyu, lightly. Liar, he’s saying, even though for once Meng Yao isn’t actually lying. Qin Su did deserve better than what he’d given her. He’d loved her enough to know that. But unambitious people cannot do what Meng Yao did to keep his place at Wen Sect. Couldn’t remove the head of Wen Ruohan and end a war.

Unambitious people would not do all of that, just to become one of threw personal aides of a minor Clan Leader.

“Maybe I used it up,” says Meng Yao. From the way the elder glances up, he realizes that he had been silent long enough that he believed he wouldn’t get an answer. But Meng Yao has found his words, and there’s nothing to do but continue, “My mother wished to be a Jin concubine. She wanted me to do anything it takes to secure a place within Jin Sect. That it was the only way for me to live well.”

And she was wrong. She was as wrong about this as she was about Jin Guangshan. It had been a constant, grinding pain, to know again and again that the person he loved above all else had been so incredibly wrong. Meng Yao had thrown himself life and soul into trying to prove her right, into gaining his father’s regard and living well. He’d fought desperately, thinking that if only he gathered a little more influence, that if he did just a little bit more, then he’d succeed. Get the recognition his mother craved for him.

At some point, spite and fury had taken the place of love and duty, but he had not wavered in his goal. But he’d still never proved her right; had murdered his own father, and sat in mourning like a filial son, truly mourning how much he’d failed.

Nothing that he did could ever make up for it. This time, he knew better than to even try.

“It was my mother’s ambition,” he says aloud for the first time. Perhaps to a broken woman who did not even own herself, it had been liberating to imagine owning so much, to be in control of her own fate. “It was hers, but I…”

He falls silent, and after a few moments Qin Tianyu returns his attention to his paused work. For several minutes, he just watches the hypnotic way that the talisman master draws the same talisman again and again with the most minute of differences, to be tested and ranked according to efficacy.

“But you?” he prompts, when the stack is complete.

I want to live. That single, animalistic need, that had kept him alive through so much that would have killed others. I will not die here. Not now.

“I want to live,” says Meng Yao. And then continues, unable to stop, “I wanted her to live, too.” And when she didn’t, when illness wasted her away, taking her from him in pieces, unable to save her for want of something as immaterial as gold… something had broken in him.

Qin Tianyu nods, serene, as he gathers up the completed talismans. “Meng Yao would do well to think about why.”

Why?

You think your life is worth more than theirs? All the people you sacrificed, to live just a few years longer?

“Why shouldn’t I deserve to live?” asks Meng Yao, sharp. “Why shouldn’t we… why are our lives to be discarded at the whim of those stronger than us?”

“Silly child,” he says, “You have survived. You are alive. Now what?” Meng Yao just stares. “Perhaps Meng Yao should consider getting on with other things.”

Get on with what? Meng Yao had turned down Sect Leader Jin’s offer, had given up the name Jin Guangyao, just to escape the tragedies that that would precipitate.

But he was alive now. He was alive, and had time – perhaps even unmeasured time, so long as he stayed out of his father’s way. Perhaps he wouldn’t cultivate to near immortality, like those stronger than him, but he could live nearly a century more. Now what? Why are you alive?

It was so unlike him to not have a plan, but for once he hadn’t really. He didn’t…

“Meng Yao,” Qin Tianyu snaps, and when Meng Yao looks up, he’s leaning forward over the table, hand out and hovering over Meng Yao’s wrist.

“Master Qin?” asks Meng Yao, but rather than answer, the elder gently touches his fingertips to Meng Yao’s wrist. The pressure of foreign qi is familiar; light and diagnostic, before it withdraws.

“This old teacher apologizes,” he says, when he’s done. “I did not mean to cause you distress.”

“Not at all, this martial nephew is glad for his elder’s guidance,” says Meng Yao, taking his hand back and holding it to his chest. “I will meditate on how to prove myself more useful to Qin sect in the future.”

“Meng Yao, you misunderstand. No, rather, it was this master who misspoke. I did not mean to imply that you must prove yourself.”

“I understand,” says Meng Yao, after a beat. Spoken aloud, it must have sounded more cruel than he wished. But that was still what he meant.

There is no resolution after that. Qin Tianyu seems unable or unwilling to explain better, though he clearly thinks about it for a while. Finally, he dismisses Meng Yao, who leaves with the talismans. The lingering unease of a conversation that went poorly is left to fester in the room, while Meng Yao retreats to the disciple quarters immediately.

He resolves to work harder.

[AN: What do you think? Too OOC? I'm hoping to give MY a proper and slow redemption story, but it’s a toss up whether it’s going well or not. Thannk you for reading, please drop a comment in the replies if you have writing advice! I’ll be so grateful!]

[Click here for part 4!]

[wri0thesley]

Marked - Part 1 Dio x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #2: Abduction)

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Vampirism. Abduction. Oral sex, biting, blood, marking, fucking around with Jojo vampire canon to my own ends.  5k.

Your father receives a missive at dinner; George Joestar is dead, and Dio Brando is missing, and Jonathan Joestar is set to inherit the estate. You push away your father’s suggestion that you get close to the Joestar boy - everyone knows that you and Dio Brando have a history. Your father, perhaps, does not know quite the extent - but as the memories resurface and your pounding heart does not let you rest, you retire to your bedroom for the evening. You are not to know it’s for the last time in your life. At least, the last time with a beating heart.

News travels fast, even by horseback. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. Bad news travels fast - you hear of marriages of eligible suitors your father wishes you had accepted proposals from and deaths of friends who are struck with terrible consumption and melancholy quicker than you ever hear of invitations to country houses or balls. So it’s no surprise how quickly the knowledge of George Joestar’s death reaches you, being only a few cities over - your father reads the missive over dinner, and gives you the sad news with the air of a man rather too pleased by another’s misfortune. 

“Wasn’t his son briefly courting you?” He asks, and you neatly wipe your mouth with the lace napkin by the table settings. You do not let the flush show on your face, even as memories of Dio Brando come rushing to the forefront of your mind. “The adopted one?”

“Mr Brando?” You ask, delicately. The thought of Dio’s wicked smile and his fingers on your back, touching the lacing of your dress, his body pressed hot and too close to you makes itself far too known for so early in the evening. 

“That’s the one,” your father says. His eyes scan over the paper, his lip twisting to one side. “Looks like his adopted son’s done a runner, anyway. Perhaps you should be a comfort to his biological son in his time of need?” The way your father stresses the word ‘biological’ makes you repress a shiver; it makes you think of how he has been needling at you, reminding you that a proper young lady ought to be out of her father’s home and fulfilling her biological duty. 

You have fulfilled some biological duty, at any rate - with Dio Brando, his hand between your thighs, your own fingers around his hips and your mouth open wide for the placket of his trousers to open. You’re certain that’s not what your father meant by ‘biological duty’ for his unmarried daughter. 

“I’d rather think I should let him mourn in peace,” you say, your voice very quiet, your hand as steady as you can manage as you take a sip of tea from the fine china teacup. “If you don’t mind,” you stand up, slowly, “I have some correspondence that I should be replying to.”

Your father’s eyes follow you as you stand, his face set in disapproval. 

“Of possible suitors, I hope,” he mumbles, low under his breath - and you decide to keep your dignity and leave the room in a flurry of skirts, trying not to let the thought of Dio Brando’s mouth hot on your neck and his body pressed snugly between your thighs overwhelm you altogether. 

The correspondence is a lie, of course - you get letters, but most of the time, you throw them to the side. Your father’s ideas for suitable matches are so boring - they’re nothing compared to the fire in Dio’s eyes, the cut-glass accent slipping into the rough accent of a boy raised on the streets, the filthy words he’d given you that no respectable young lady should know. They pale in comparison, too, to Dio’s broad frame and his golden eyes and the carefully coiffed golden hair. How are you supposed to satisfy yourself with the droning on of a boring aristocrat who’s never done anything dangerous in his life when you’ve tasted danger on Dio’s lips and in trails of fire under his fingertips? 

His fingers. You bite your lip, stealing a guilty look behind you. Your father will take his dinner and then retire to his study, a glass of port in his hands until he falls asleep in a stupor. Your maids are long finished with their daily tasks with only dinner things to take care of, your household rather less bustling since your mother passed away and your brothers and sisters have been married off. If you were to steal back into your bedroom instead of into the pretty little blue and white receiving room with your writing desk, nobody would be around to spy on you and wonder what you were doing. 

And your body is aflame with memories, and your corset is squeezing you tight, and every rub together of your thighs as you hurry up the narrow passageway to your bedroom is torture. The maids have already lit the gas lamp, in case you want to retire to bed early, and you catch sight of yourself in the looking glass opposite your bed - your cheeks are flushed, your eyes bright, your bosom (already put to its best advantage by the tight lacing of your corset) heaving. This is the kind of look that Dio always saw you with, pulling you behind him into disused nurseries and cupboards.

“Look at you,” he’d say, bending his mouth low so that his breath tickled the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t fuck you now, somebody else would certainly get it into his head to. You look like you’re begging for it.”

Teeth dig into your bottom lip as you let yourself lay down upon the bed, soft pillows and covers beneath your back. Your fingers pull at your skirts, rucking up lace-trimmed petticoats to around your hips so your fingers can draw patterns on your thighs as your eyes flutter closed and you let the memories of Dio Brando overwhelm you entirely. 

You rub softly over your mound, sweet shivers whispering down your spine as you remember how the first time Dio had touched you between your thighs, you’d been utterly scandalised. 

“My chastity,” you’d hissed, through your teeth, though you’d already allowed him to kiss you harder than a husband would ever kiss his wife. “You’ll ruin me for marriage?”

Dio had raised one eyebrow cockily, his hand not moving - you had, he’d noticed, not moved his hand away from its place trapped between your thighs. 

“You don’t like the idea of being ruined, darling? Because your body is telling an entirely different story.”

He’d pulled his hand away and it had glistened in the candlelight with your own slick, both at the way Dio had kissed you and the way he’d manhandled you and the dangerous position you’d allowed yourself into. Something about the thrill of danger had set a pounding between your legs like you’d never know. 

You’d been unable to look away as he’d raised the fingers to his lips and tasted you, tipping his head briefly back as if savouring a fine red wine. 

“Mm,” he’d said, looking at you through low eyelids, his pupils blown wide. “You taste like you want to be ruined.”

You gasp as your fingers brush your swollen clit, the organ sensitive to the touch. Dio, too, had taught you how to do this, laughing as he’d found a guest bedroom in one of the expensive country manors and he’d pushed you onto the bed, caging you beneath his massive frame. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he’d said, your cheeks had flamed. “I want to see how you make yourself come apart, and then . . . then I want to show you how I’d do it.”

“I can’t,” you’d tried to say, weakly. “I-it’s not proper--”

Dio Brando had kissed you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, hard cock in his trousers grinding into your leg. 

“Is anything we do together proper?” He’d asked, pulling back, and you’d had to admit that he was right. You and he were hardly models of propriety - and if he wanted to see you touch yourself . . . well. Nothing he’d done so far has been anything close to unpleasant, and you were eager to see what other tricks he’d picked up on the streets. 

One finger slides down to your entrance, toying with the pulsing hole, circling it with the lightest of touches until you can practically feel the throb in time with your heartbeat. Your breath comes in soft little pants. You would do anything to have Dio here right now instead of you, his big fingers stroking and exploring you instead of your own. But all you have is your own imagination, so your eyes flutter closed and your hips cant upwards softly. 

“Dio,” you breathe out, your voice a quiet prayer in the silent room. 

Where has he gone? You had gotten the impression, from your father’s face at dinner, that there was rather more to the story than just Dio Brando running off when his father had died. But then again, your father had always disapproved of your dalliance with Dio, even without knowing the real truth. He’d sniffed. 

“The boy won’t inherit,” Father had said to you. “You’re better off chasing the brother, unless you want to spend the rest of your life a pauper.”

It’s like Dio to be a mystery, but not like him to run from luxury. He had always loved the feel of your expensive silks and fine embroidery beneath his fingers, had a sarcastic comment to make about an ugly and out of fashion hat, had sniffed at cheap reproduction furniture and sighed when a host had skimped out on the wine at a ball. You wonder why he hadn’t stayed - and somehow, the mystery of it all seems almost romantic. 

You swear that the air in the room gets colder. One eye opens to see that the lace curtains are billowing; you suppose a maid must have opened the window a crack to let some air in. Your eyes flutter closed once more. 

One finger slides inside of you, smaller and shorter than Dio’s fingers inside of you had been. It licks at the edges of the fire inside you but doesn’t stoke them the way you want, and though you gently pump it in and out of you (the slick sounds of your fingers inside you heart-rendingly loud in a way that makes you vibrate with excitement), it isn’t enough, Your second fingertip twists, stretching you open wider, and again you whimper out;

“D-Dio, please--”

There’s a whumph of displaced air, and your eyes snap open as your body is suddenly once more caged by a frame far larger than yours. You find yourself staring directly into hungry golden eyes that can belong to only one man. 

“You were calling out for me,” Dio Brando murmurs. “And would I be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t help a lady in distress?”

You think of a hundred ways to respond back to him in kind; flirty little barbs about how he is no gentleman, alone with a lady in her bedroom. But instead, all you can whisper, your fingers still inside of you, your throat dry;

“H-how?”

He smiles, and you swear that his teeth were never so white and sharp. His eyes, too, you think . . . they were gold before, but did they shimmer like liquids in his face? Was his skin quite so pale and smooth and perfect? Was his voice so low and lilting and musical, as he opens his mouth to say;

“It does you no good to ask that now, darling girl,” He leans down, his lips brushing yours, and you melt against him. “Just lay back. Be good for me now.” 

You do. You’re helpless under his charms - your thighs fall apart as he rears onto his knees, as his hand gently removes your fingers (those he pulls up to his mouth, kissing the fingertips, mouthing where they are dripping with your slick and making a noise that’s all pleasure to taste you). You’re maneuvered like a ragdoll - and though he does not unlace your corset or strip you of your dress, he makes you feel utterly exposed under his gaze as he drinks in how helplessly pliant you are for him. 

“You’re just as beautiful as ever,” he hums, lowly, drawing one fingernail up your thigh. Were his nails so sharp, before? Like claws? He sighs as he watches the thin red line form, the bright beads of blood. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt for long.”

You’re not sure you want his fingers inside you with claws like that, but somehow when his fingers do touch you there is nothing sharp at all. There’s just his finger, toying with your clit, as he looks down at you. 

“If you knew how lucky you are,” he murmurs. “That I’m doing this for you--”

He bends his head and you feel his tongue press against your entrance, flat and wide. Your own fingers tangle in the bedsheets, back arching, as Dio laps at you. His mouth and breath and tongue feel unusually cold, but you can’t dwell on that when he’s licking at you like this, teasing your back to arch and your body to tie itself in knots.

The finger working your clit does not cease for a moment, grinding and rubbing and circling, making hot sparks of want and need burst into life in your stomach. He laps at you broadly, from perineum to just below your clit, and you’re helpless under his ministrations as you always have been, all thoughts of how he ended up here banished from your mind with how good his tongue and fingers feel. There’s nothing to muffle the soft whimpers escaping your mouth as your peak begins to build, urged inescapably forth by Dio’s tongue and clever treatment of your clit--

Dio chuckles low against you, his breath cold, and the vibrations have your back arching even higher and suddenly he’s alternating sucking on your clit and flicking it, his hand moving away to hold onto your thigh, and all of the hot tight tension in your body comes to the forefront as your peak hits you, your body a shivering mass of white noise--

Something sharp like the pricking of a needle in your thigh. The high of your orgasm, sharp in its intensity, as you take a deep gulp of air and find it will not go down properly. Darkness, edging your vision. And Dio’s voice, low and quiet, somehow muffled as if his mouth is full of liquid  as he murmurs;

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

-

Your eyes open slowly, though your head is still fuzzy. You feel somehow freer - and when you look down, you see that you have been relieved of your corset and neat dress, and instead you’re wearing a nightgown of flowing white chiffon, your hair unbound from the complicated fashion of the moment. You see, too, that this is most certainly not the pretty blue and white bedspread of your own boudoir. Beneath you is a dark red blanket, the colour of blood. 

Memories of Dio’s fingers and mouth on you come rushing back, and you bite back a gasp as you realise that he’s . . . kidnapped you? Can you call it that, really? Because you always thought kidnapping was done against your will, by nefarious men who wanted your fortune - right now, you’re pleased to be in a luxurious and cavernous bedroom with a man who has haunted your thoughts since you first met him. 

“You’re awake.” The voice is soft and cultured, and you pull yourself up on the bed (the nightgown slips, exposing your shoulder - any other lady might feel scandalous, but Dio has seen enough of your body by now that it barely registers. “Good.” Dio is smirking, seated by the bed in a wingback armchair. 

Now, you see him more clearly, without the heady arousal of your senses that had marred your judgement last time. His skin is indeed paler, his eyes brighter, his lips very red - and at the corner of his mouth, where he is smirking, a sharp white fang glints menacingly. 

You know what he is. The memory of sharp pain in your thigh and how he’d stared at the blood welling in the cut from his nails, the cool breath against your own heated skin. You are well-read, you are clever, you are perhaps a little too fond of things that your father thinks macabre - and you whisper it softly. 

“Vampire.”

Dio’s smile widens. 

“I knew you’d guess, darling,” he says, coming to stand from the chair, leaning towards you and taking your face in his grip, turning you to look into those golden eyes. “That’s why I chose you. If you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing for what?” You ask him, breathlessly. The smile does not leave his face. 

“I do not have a fortune,” he tells you. “I have been cast out by my . . .” His mouth twitches in displeasure, “brother. I have no riches, aside from my own intellect - I have survived on that before. And now, of course, I have . . .” The hand not holding your face gestures down to himself. “This preternatural blessing. I am faster and stronger and better than mortal man. And I am extending you, my darling girl - the only one who’s ever kept up with me, whose lips I cannot stop thinking about, whose eyes and mind sparkle so unlike the other dullards I’ve been forced to put up with you . . . an invitation to join me.”

“You want to make me like you?” You breathe, and though you know it should be horrifying, the prospect is not all that displeasing. 

Oh, you know that he is supposed to be a reanimated corpse. That you’ll lose any chance at a heaven, that you’ll have to feast on the lifeblood of other creatures to maintain an eternal state of not quite being . . . but Dio really is glowing, in a way you’ve never seen a man do before. His grip is tight. His body draws your eye, his face even more beautiful than you remember it - and is it really so bad, to spend an eternity beside him? Beneath him? 

“You can say no,” Dio says, and the hand moves from your chin, fingers stroking over the pulse point in your throat so your breath catches. “For you, I’ll make it painless. But if you say yes . . .” His eyes are bright as he sits on the edge of the bed, close to you - you can see excitement writ plain across his expression. “We’d be fierce, my darling. We’d be unstoppable. With you at my side . . . You would have everything you could ever want. Anyone who has ever hurt you, ripped into pieces. Armies at your command. And . . .” That smirk again, the one that always makes you wonder what filthy things he is planning. “We would have a hundred lifetimes to learn each other’s bodies in every conceivable way.” He reaches forward, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “You have no idea it feels like in a body like this, to touch and be touched . . .”

He does not have to convince you any further. You close the distance, kissing him hungrily. You moan into his mouth as his arms go around you, holding you like a ragdoll, like you weigh nothing at all. 

He could kiss you for hours, you realise, without needing to draw a breath - and so, you pull back from him, and you look at him with blown wide eyes. 

“Yes,” you breathe to him. “A hundred times yes.”

His eyes grow brighter, and he kisses you again - and this time, as he kisses you, he hooks a leg around you until he’s straddling you, your body pliant beneath his. The candles about the bed flicker, the air cool as Dio’s hungry hands pull at the light chiffon, ripping it as if it were paper. You’re bare beneath the fabric - and as you look down, you can see that there are angry red pin pricks on your thigh. 

He bit you, then - in the bedroom, when you blacked out. The idea makes you feel heady and intoxicated. You want him to bite you again, to leave his mark all over you so the entire world knows that you belong to Dio Brando. 

The thought of abandoning your old life does not make you feel in any way aggrieved - but the thought of an unfettered existence, at liberty to do whatever you want (no matter how scandalous or improper) with Dio by your side does make you feel as if your entire body is filled with fizzing, boiling water, threatening to tip over and scald you any moment. 

“I want to mark you,” Dio whispers. “Any marks that you leave this life with, you take with you into the next - and I want your thighs and hips and breasts and every private part of you to scream out that you are mine body and soul.”

Spirals of heat all through your core, making a pulse beat needy between your legs. Dio’s fangs are visible, now, almost imperceptibly lengthening as you feel his cock press into your stomach where he straddles you. 

“I’m yours,” you tell him, winding your arms about his neck. His silken gold hair brushes your skin, making gooseflesh rise on your shoulders. Every bit of your body sings out for his attentions - to be thoroughly and utterly claimed by Dio in any way that he sees fit. “Do whatever you want to me.”

“I’ve imagined you saying that so many times since I ascended,” he murmurs, nosing against your ear, kissing and biting at your earlobe, his lips brushing where your pulse beats an excited rhythm in your throat. “But it has never sounded so sweet.”

His body presses against yours - and though he is not hot, your own body feels like it’s burning up. He urges your thighs to spread so he can settle between them, already peeling off his own layers of clothes to reveal a body which is more marble than skin. He is so pale he almost glows in the light - but a few scars remain from his rugby days, pink and faded. They look like kisses with rouged lips on his torso, and you long to kiss them yourself. But not yet - right now, you are at Dio’s mercy, and he clearly is relishing being in control. 

“Oh, but I’ve missed this,” he breathes, his mouth lowering to your nipple, his tongue coaxing it to harden beneath his lapping. “You’re so warm, darling . . . I cannot wait to have you beside me for the rest of our existences--”

He does not use the word ‘lives’ - you do not mind. 

His tongue is cold, and you shiver from both the sensation of the temperature and the other sensations that he awakes in you. He kisses the nipple, pulling his mouth free with a light pop - kissing the swell of your breast, circling kisses to the underside . . . and you yelp as fangs slide into soft flesh, as Dio groans and laps at the blood that beads over the pinpricks. 

They will be hidden by your dresses. He wants you marked only in the most private places - places only his eyes will see. Everyone else will know you are his by the devotion in your eyes and your own words. 

He continues to kiss along your skin, his fangs every so often sinking into sensitive patches of skin, suckling lightly at you. He kisses your hips, leaving three perfect bite marks in the curve of them. Your other breast, a matching set of pinpricks that will fade into a scar. Your other hip, the dip of your waist--

Each suck and bite and kiss of the wound has another shockwave of lust emanating through your body, making your entire self throb with need. You are empty, between slick thighs - and Dio’s cock seems so far away from entering you. You sigh and clutch at sheets and cant your hips, wondering if you are soaking through the bed - and Dio chuckles, as he bites into soft flesh again and you spill for him like a ripe peach. 

It is fortunate the sheets are red, for you know he is spilling much of your blood. You’re light-headed and pleasantly fuzzy as he finally - finally! - presses kisses to your thighs. 

These bites send shockwaves even more potent through your body, each slide of his fangs into your flesh like they have a direct line to the pounding heat in your core. Your mouth lets out needy moans and whines as Dio methodically sinks fangs inside of you and pulls them out, as he kisses the marks and sucks at the lifeblood that he’s drawn forth from you. 

Three up the right leg. You’re breathless. Three up the left leg. Your vision feels like it’s swimming - there is nothing left in the world but you and Dio, where your bodies are joined, where he is now moving and you feel his cock against your thigh. 

His mouth is stained with blood when he kisses you, but you pay no heed to that as you feel his cock open you up. Your sex - slick and needy, more than ready to finally be filled - welcomes him hilting inside of you to his very base with no resistance. 

“Still so tight,” he murmurs, against you, as your thighs wrap around his muscled torso, urging him deeper and deeper inside you. “Has nobody else touched you, my darling?”

“It’s only ever been you,” you breathe. “It’s only ever you I want.”

It’s true. Other men have flirted, have come to your father, have told you of grand prospects for you as their wife - but all you have ever needed is this. Dio inside you and the promise of a life far more interesting than anything they could give you. Damn your dowry and your biological expectations and everything else - after tonight, you’ll fulfil the biological expectation of you alright. You’ll dig your fangs into yielding throats and feast on other people and fuck Dio with the taste of their blood still singing in your throat. 

Dio’s body and mouth against yours, the sound of him rocking inside of you, the cool flesh pressing against your heated skin. You’re overwhelmed, entirely - partly from the blood loss but more so to have him here, so real and yet so unreal. Could you really have been in your bedroom, alone, hours ago? As he rocks inside you and his cock strokes all of those sweet parts of you your own fingers can never manage, it feels like you’ve never been anywhere but beneath him. Time seems to slow down. 

Each thrust of his cock hits you impossibly deep, his shaft impossibly thick, fitting inside of you impossibly well. His kisses along your face and mouth and neck seem to linger for hours and stop in moments. He fits inside of you perfectly, like a glove - when he rocks out of you, his hips pulling his length so only the head of him is still inside you - you moan out in discontent to not be filled. 

With every thrust as deep inside you as he can go, there’s a coil of pressure like a ribbon being tightened around you - like corset strings, threatening to snap. You can feel it when his pelvis rubs against your nub, grinding against it and sending hazy pleasure signals to your mind. Dio does not miss it either - he pulls out, murmuring platitudes at you, only to spear you again, his rhythm speeding up as you realise that the pressure is about to overwhelm you entirely. 

You pant out his name, weakly. 

“Dio,” you beg, as he kisses across your throat, as he growls low in his chest and his hips seem to fuck into you impossible fast. “Dio, please--”

The beg pushes him over the edge. His cock pulsates inside of you, twitching, cool seed filling you at the same time as he grinds his pelvis just so and the ball of pressure inside you that’s been threatening to snap comes all undone. He’s never come inside of you before - too much of a risk, in the old days. But as he gives you his release, he kisses your neck and he slides his fangs into your throat and he suckles hungrily at you, far more fierce than he did for any of the other marks on your body. Once more, your vision gets hazy, aftershocks of your orgasm still lapping at you even as you sigh and think;

If he kills me now, and I never wake up . . . It will have been worth it. 

-

You do wake up, of course. You awaken tangled in sheets and scraps of what was once your nightgown, the chiffon marked all over with blood. You wake up with your skin deliciously cool and Dio’s body pressed beside yours. You look down at your own body; your skin somehow more vibrant, though there are pin prick scars all over where Dio had bitten you. You absent-mindedly bring a finger to your throat, stroking the final scar, and Dio’s golden eyes blink at you. 

“Admiring my marks on you?” He murmurs, and you laugh - even your voice seems changed. Richer and prettier, the kind of voice that could convince a man to do anything for her. 

“We have an eternity together now, my darling,” Dio murmurs, shifting closer to you on the bed. You let yourself be pulled into him, resting on the hard planes of his chest. “But tonight, your first kill. The true shedding of your mortal coil. Have you any thoughts? It ought to be someone . . . special. It will be such an event for you to look back on, after all. Mine certainly was.”

His mouth curves into a smirk - and you think of George Joestar. You think of what your father wouldn’t tell you. You think of Dio, fleeing from the estate, and the ruined castle with the drafty halls that you lie on a bed within even now. 

You think of your father’s disapproving looks. The way he’d suggested crassly you ought to get close to Jonathan Joestar, how he’d told you not to bother at all with Dio Brando - worthless, if he wouldn’t inherit. 

Oh, you’re supremely glad you bothered with Dio Brando. And wouldn’t it be poetic parallel, for both of you?

“I think,” you say, carefully, “I should like to pay one final visit to my childhood home.”

[alienheartattack]

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

[mcdannomoment]

finale feelings

Okay, I have a ton of feelings about the finale, and now that I’ve had some time to think them through, I’ll write them. Please be kind, I’ve seen the series once only, I’m really tired, and I’m sure this was all said before.

Okay firstly let’s just put aside Catherine as a character in and of herself… that whole thing made no sense. Catherine never showed an inkling of having the sort of skills to decode anything, much less being one of only two people in the world who could decode a thing. That was silly and just an excuse to get her back on Steve’s radar. Not to mention that Catherine just never showed much interest in Steve. I’ll come back to Catherine later as she stands as an external prop for Steve’s character, but I think we can just leave it here that Catherine’s character, for herself, made 0 sense.

Let’s focus on Steve.

Steve broke my heart this episode. The worst part is that I don’t think what he did was actually OOC. Steve has a pretty long and uncomfortable history of putting his own needs over Danny’s, starting from when he first met him and forced him to be his partner. I get where Steve was coming from, but this whole army commander take what I need for the mission attitude is the whole problem. Consulting Danny even as a courtesy never entered Steve’s mind.

(more below cut)

Steve just does this with Danny continually throughout the series, like leaving him with a letter to run off chasing Shelburne. Again, he doesn’t bother even consulting Danny as a courtesy before he leaves. He has an objective, Danny doesn’t fit that objective except to keep his seat warm in 5-0. He honestly just never gives Danny even basic autonomy, from things like choosing his lunch for him right through to putting him in situations he’s not comfortable with. Sometimes Steve pushing Danny is definitely a good thing since Danny does get paralyzed by fear (the incident where Steve pushed Danny into jumping across the building gap springs to mind; if they hadn’t have done that they would have died) but sometimes it’s just more of Steve has an objective to achieve, and Danny is a means to achieve that objective (the skydiving incident).

I don’t mean to slam Steve’s character, and I’ve known quite a lot of people like this! They’re good people, they just need a lot more emotional development. Between the two of them I think Danny’s a lot more emotionally mature and empathetic, and they’re quite good for each other in many ways. But Steve is very selfish, in the sense that his focus is always on himself. What he wants, what his objective is, how the things around him make him feel. With where Steve’s head is at, I don’t think he fully and completely understands Danny as an individual human being with his own needs. Hell, he even bullies Danny into including him in his retirement plan and abandoning said retirement plan.

With Steve’s focus always within his own head, and the people around him established as tools he can use to achieve his own ends, I can really start to understand Steve’s severe control issues in season 10 in particular. His mother dying was what sealed his fate, really. I think it was really the first time a person close to Steve fully used their own initiative and choice to go against what Steve said, and Steve trying to force his mother to do what he wanted and become a controllable force in his self-directed life ended up getting her killed. And that screwed him up badly. I don’t think he fully processed his role in his mother’s death properly. He ends up dumping Danny, who is really the love of his life, saying he needs time for himself, that he’d spent a decade saving everyone else. In reality I think Steve is just spiralling from loss of control. He tries to regain some control by cutting out the more unpredictable variables: the other people in his life.

Then Danny gets kidnapped and tortured. This is obviously devastating for Steve, because Danny really is the love of his life. And Steve kind of loses it, but he loses it in a very interesting way. Steve gives up all control to Daiyu Mei. He doesn’t even entertain not letting her control the situation. Danny’s been in danger before, but Steve has never given up control so completely like this before.

Steve’s really broken by this. And it’s the hardest he’s ever taken Danny getting hurt. Because I think he’s less broken by Danny getting hurt as much as it is leftover trauma from his mother’s death and spiralling loss of control.

He winds up leaving Danny when Danny can hardly move and must have only just been released from the hospital, and isn’t that a dick move. He claims he’s going to “find himself” but I think he’s just running away from people in order to regain a sense of control. He can’t control other people. He couldn’t control Danny being taken or his mother making the choices she did in Mexico. If he’s alone, he can gain full control over the situation.

And Danny? Well, Steve sort of has him trapped. Danny can’t leave - he has a son, it’s implied Steve gave him his dog to look after and possibly his house, and while he’s injured Danny can’t go and get himself into dangerous situations that Steve feels the need to save him from. Danny sort of becomes an ornament in Steve’s home ready to welcome him when he comes back. Steve’s been on record several times being pretty aggressive about Danny staying in Hawaii, but he’s never shown remorse for leaving himself, and he doesn’t here.

I hate to characterise Danny as Steve’s “wife” but that’s the dynamic I get from them. You see it so often in married couples, particularly married couples where the husband has to travel for work, whether that’s military, mining, corporate, trucking, what have you. The husband has his goal, his life, and he sees his wife as someone to support that and make it happen. This is exactly what happened in my own family, as I had a travelling father. His need to fulfil himself drove him away again and again, and my mother, trapped where she was by children and the obligations her husband abandoned her to deal with, was left to clean up his mess. It’s what happens when the husband is selfish in the way Steve is - the emotionally more mature wife has to clean up the parts of his life he won’t deal with. In Steve’s case Danny is left with a bullet hole, a dog, a house full of ghosts, and a lot of mourning friends. Not to mention the kids Steve abandons. And there must be more too. Steve leaves a week after Danny is shot. That really doesn’t leave much time for Steve to get his affairs in order. I think he left Danny to clean up his emotional mess.

Minus the bullet hole, I’ve seen my mother go through very similar things. And it can destroy your sense of self. You end up living for the ghost of your husband as he pursues what he perceives as his destiny. It’s a really shitty thing but it’s so common. Every family I know with a travelling husband ended up like this.

Back to Catherine. As established Catherine as her own character makes no sense at all. But Catherine’s role in the finale as an extension of Steve’s character does make some sense. Steve is running away from his stable family, the love of his life, his role as a parent to Nahele, Grace, and Charlie - he’s running from all the progress he has made, because he is afraid of losing control the way he did when he lost his mother, and when Danny was taken from him. Catherine is safe. She’s Steve’s easy emotional release and fuck buddy. She’s familiar. And she’s basically Steve’s mother. A flaky CIA agent who always picks the job over Steve is far more familiar and therefore comforting to him than a stable family life with Danny. In his panic Steve runs from all the progress he has made back to Catherine.

It actually reminds me a lot of a wonderful fic I read, the love that you gave by Teeelsie. I never thought I’d read a cheating fic, let alone a McDanno cheating fic, because McDanno is my all time OTP, but this fic was highly recommended and wow, did it nail it. The fic is more about Steve’s internalised homophobia, but I think the way it relates to the show is in how Steve panics and goes back to the familiar. Back to Catherine. It’s a common thing just in life. It’s also extremely common for these travelling husbands that I think characterise Steve to be cheating on their wives, too. Now I’m just pretending Catherine wasn’t there, because it makes no sense for her to be there (jfc, she wasn’t a codebreaker and how did she know he would be on the plane anyway, and was she just sitting in transit in Honolulu waiting for Steve to get on the plane like a stalker) but I think there’s an element of “emotional cheating” to what Steve’s going through when he runs away from the emotional risk that is staying with Danny at the end.

So basically I don’t think Steve running off was OOC. I think it was very in character. What was so frustrating was that the story clearly isn’t over. Running away will not solve Steve’s many issues, and he really does need Danny - and Danny needs him. Steve desperately needs to learn to stop being so selfish and see Danny and the others as full and complete human beings with their own complex needs. It’s tough because Steve pushing Danny was very good for Danny in many respects, so I want to see them learn to thread that line where Danny doesn’t get treated like an emotional doormat, but he also isn’t allowed to just retreat to the safety of familiarity all the time either - he needs a little McGarrett magic in his life!

But after what Danny told Steve when they were stuck in the building collapse, it’s going to be hard for them after this. Danny doesn’t have to look at Steve and imagine him leaving him any longer. Danny now has the memory of it.

tl;dr Steve is a whacked out, certifiable control freak.

[meadow-roses]

aske time :) for the writing asks: A1, A2, A10, A12, A14, your choice of anything in B, C8 ( :^) ), C11, D6

A1: Introduce the characters from one of your current WIPs in one or two sentences each. 

Okay let's gooo,,, I'll do The Keepers cause I haven't talked about that one as much. These aren't gonna be the best descriptions but whatever 

Ketsler: Quirky, fun-loving, everyone's weird grandpa, but also the most powerful person to have ever lived. He's old- so very, very old- and he's seen so much over all the centuries he has been protecting the worlds from Chaos, but he still makes an effort to slow down and appreciate the little things around him, because he knows better than most how fleeting life is.

Skylar: Skylar is from a world where faerie circles are real and witches turn people into frogs and trolls live in great, big castles and are slain by talking cats, a world where there's too much adventure to stay in one place, too many people to meet, and too many monsters to slay to stop running. He may be only a human (ooo mystery!!) but he is proficient in Wind magic and carries around a good bit of rune stones he and his pet dragon have found along his adventures. 

Felix: Felix is just a normal human from a small town after the earth becomes united under one world power. He wasn't born with superpowers like most soldiers are, but he was still skilled enough to join a special force working behind enemy lines when the rebellion made its move to free the planet from the tyranny that built this dystopian reality. 

Betty: A very sweet young lady, she's from a planet that was colonized by humans centuries ago. She may seem naive, but Betty can read anyone like a book and uses her gift to help those who are lost find themselves again. 

There's more characters but I'll just stick with those main ones cause I really struggle with descriptions xD

A2: Who's your favorite character to write and why?

Probably Joden? I haven't written most of my characters, but I looove writing his dialogue. He also makes me think so I can keep him clever lol

A10: What’s your character development process like? (As in how you develop them, not necessarily their development in-story)

I roleplay them! The more developed they are, the more I've acted as them. It really gets me inside their head to try and think like how they think, and that results in me being more equipped to "discover" why they are like that. 

A12: What kind of internal conflict does your character go through (want versus need, personality complexes or strong personality flaws/”fatal flaw” kinda thing)? How does this affect them?

It really varies depending on the character? For example Joden has this need to always have a plan, always be in control, and a breaking moment for him comes in when he finally just,,, doesn't know what to do. He's in over his head and the only thing he can do is trust Jacer to do what he can- knowing Jacer doesn't have things under control. 

So that's an example of a flaw that the character gets to overcome, but there also characters whose flaws are part of who they are. Skylar wouldn't be Skylar if he weren't stubborn. Ketsler wouldn't be Ketsler if he weren't arrogant. They never grow out of these flaws, they just learn to control them. Or I guess not be controlled by the flaw. 

This is actually something I think I struggle with for my characters, giving them those visable flaws. I see other people's characters that start out "bad" and grow into heroes, but it kinda seems like all my characters start out as heroes. 😅 I mean, they have flaws, but in comparison to other people's characters they feel really bland in that aspect. Idk

A14: Ramble about your characters. Anything special you like about them? Random little details you’ve added that you enjoy? 

Uh,,, I don't even know where to start I just love all of them for so many various reasons. Joden is just a clever little genius but he still can be so naive. He just has simple pleasures and it's not hard to make him laugh or smile and practically impossible to discourage him. He starts off just,,, wanting his old life back and then he sees what the world is like outside his little bubble and the bubble pops. He sees the atrocities for what they are and to be able to settle down again, he has to fix it. He can't just smile and do as he's told, he can't let the bad guys win. It I just his mother and wife and son he's fighting for, it's the entire wood and the idea of being actually, truly, free.

Jacer is so savvy, he knows what to do and what to say to get into and out of any situation, but at the same time he's just clueless when it comes to genuine connection. He's a princeling who's really never had a friend and now he's saving the world with Joden who only knows how to make genuine connections. Why does he have to keep hugging me??  

And Twylla who's ready to fight anything so she can get her clever idiot husband back? 

Adric who's just doing his best to be a good leader but everything keeps going wrong. He wasn't born to be a king, he wasn't born to lead an army, he always had his big brother to help him do these things and he's gone- he's gone and he's not coming back he messed up again so bad and yet here he is with everyone looking to him for answers and he doesn't know what to tell them. But he's got his friends, and he's got a good heart, and he genuinely cares and they're going to figure it out.

Skylar just keeps running forward and he never looks back at the past he just jumps from one adventure to another stopping the monsters and saving the day. He's got Gigi what more does he need? 

Felix is just,,, he's just such a nice guy. Over and over he stepped into the gap because someone's gotta fly that fighter, someone's got to fire that gun, someone's got to stabilize the bomb, someone's going to lose their life to ensure the victory, why shouldn't it be him? But he never actually dies, somehow he always survives and lives to fight the next day, and the next day and the next day, and then they win the war- the world is free. And even though he's been through so much he still hasn't lost that kindness, that love for all life that makes him himself. He still falls in love and starts a family and has his own beloved children… and even when he loses them he still doesn't become cynical. He still stands in the gap and is the one to fire the gun, to hold the hand of the one who's mourning, to scoop up the orphan child and carry them home. He fights, so others don't have to. Father to the fatherless and hero for all. Also he puts up with Skylar's time traveling craziness lol

And Ketsler? Unlike everyone else he never chose to be a hero. What are you supposed to do when you're a four year old boy and everyone tells you you're the hero they've been waiting for, praying for, you have to save them. It wasn't at all his choice to be born with the power of the universe running through his veins. To hold the Inness in his hands and bend reality to his will. But he didn't run away. He never hid from his destiny. He took the world onto his shoulders and never set it down. Only once- and he's never going to do it again. Never going to ask someone to fill in his role for him, it is his burden to bear… Except not anymore. Despite being multi-millenniums old, all that time didn't dull his appreciation for the little things. A baby's smile, sunshine through the leaves, the change of the seasons. The union of two souls in marriage, or the colors of the sunset streaking a foreign sky. He still sees these things, loves these things, fights for these things. Cause it's the little things he's fighting for, not just the big things. The precious moments and precious lives that make up the worlds. One of his apprentices asked him once, he'd been fighting for so long, when was it going to end? It's not his job to strike the final blow, to end the suffering and bloodshed, just to help. He saves the world, so that he can save it again. 

I have… several more characters I'd love to ramble about but that answer's gotten pretty long so I'll cut it off there. XD

B3: Do you have any plot twists? No need to describe them, just think about what kind of reaction you want from your readers. 

Oh I was just talking to August about this the other day. XD There is one plot twist in the Keeper's story I'm reeaaally looking forward to hehe I want to make people confused and then really mad when the whole thing is stretched out. >:) 

C8: Does magic exist in your world? Who can use it? How does it work?

It really depends on which WIP, but in general I like to keep magic restricted with rules. Joden's story and the Keeper's story are in the same universe (along with ThRoG) and follows that magic system. It's too complicated to go in depth here, but "magic" exists in another plane of existence, and things in the material world have varying levels of connection with it. It's kinda the energy that holds all worlds together and sustains life. The magic realm- the Inness is not a place where physical matter should exist, only spirits can walk there. 

Wizards are creatures that stand with one foot in the physical realm and the other in the Inness. Tevlar is destroying the world basically by turning it inside out- pulling the Inness out.

C11: Have you developed historical figures? How do you develop them? How in-depth do you go?

Oh yes. I am a complete history nerd so if any world EXISTS it has history, and history only happens because people. 

Sometimes it's a thought through process of "somebody needs to go here" and sometimes it's an npc from a time travel rp that took on more importance than I originally intended. 

It really varies how in depth it will go? Sometimes it's just a name to fill a spot and other times it's like, man I could write a whole book about this guy!

One historical figure would be Ares of the Pegasus. He was a powerful warrior that won a bunch of wars and united the different pegasus clans under his leadership and became the first king. He's really famous and people like naming their kids after him in a kinda superstitious hope they'll grow into attributes of his character. Ares is the male form of the name, Aris is for girls. It's like, the most common Pegasian name. XD

D6: Are there any writing styles that inspire you?

Probably the first writing style I wanted to emulate was Tolkien's, but I also really liked Andrew Peterson's? Tolkien is so dramatic, and Peterson isn't heavy on location descriptions, so I'm kinda aiming for in between I guess. 

[useless-catalanfacts]

Why is Pablo Hasel justifying and praising terrosist groups??

I’m not sure if you’re asking why Pablo Hasél is accused of praising terrorist groups or why he said what he said. So I’ll answer both things lol.

He got sentenced to jail because of different verses from his rap songs and some tweets. To be precise, the judges have considered that he published 64 tweets that were either against the Spanish monarchy (yes, “offense against the Crown” is a crime in Spain) or praising the armed organisations GRAPO and ETA. These are the tweets that caused more scandal:

“Los parásitos de los Borbones siguen de trapis con los decapitadores de los homosexuales”: “the Bourbon parasites are still doing business with the ones who decapitate homosexuals”

This is a reference to the fact that the Bourbon family (the dynasty of the Spanish monarchy) are, in fact, doing business and being friends with the monarchy of Saudi Arabia, where human rights are not respected at all.

It is a fact that Saudi Arabia condemns homosexuality as a crime: gay people caught for the first time are flogged or jailed and if the “offense” is repeated they are sentenced to death penalty (source). It’s also a fact that King Juan Carlos I has had a long friendship and business relation with the Al Saud dynasty. In 1979, the Saudi monarchy gave Juan Carlos I a yacht as a gift (which he accepted and used for his holidays for years), when the king Fahd of Saudi Arabia died in 2005 the president of Spain José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero (from the PSOE party) declared a national day of mourning for the Saudi king as was suggested to him by the Spanish monarchy, in 2008 king Juan Carlos I received 100 million euros from Saudi Arabia, in 2007 Juan Carlos gave Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud (brother of the current king of Saudi Arabia) the collar of the Order of the Golden Fleece (the highest chivalry honour that the King of Spain can give), in 2011 Juan Carlos intervened to the king of Saudi Arabia to get the contract of the high velocity train to Mecca (which is valued in 7,000 million dollars) assigned to a Spanish business, in 2019 the Panama papers revealed an offshore foundation that the Saudi monarchy had used to give the Spanish monarchy 100 million euros... Just a few examples that prove this relation. (Source). And now Juan Carlos I is living in the United Arab Emirates, another country with harsh punishments for homosexuality (among other human rights violations).

So Pablo Hasél was just stating the facts in that sentence.

“El mafioso de mierda del Rey dando lecciones desde un palacio”: “the fucking mafioso King giving lessons from a palace”

Given the many cases of corruption that the king has been involved in, as well as his intervention in the economy (such as profiting from big businesses that had profited from Franco’s dictatorship) and pressure in politics, it’s not so crazy to call him (and his family clan) a mafioso. In fact, the French TV news literally called Juan Carlos I a “gangster” once.

As for the “giving lessons from a palace”, that’s what he does in his Christmas speech or any other time he addresses the citizens, as if we all had it so easy as living and owning multiple palaces with hundreds of maids and not having to work while getting all kinds of luxuries payed for with public money. Not just Juan Carlos, Felipe VI is the same (remember when he went to Cuba to give them lessons on democracy, but then pretended everything was perfect in the visit to Saudi Arabia?).

Once again, Pablo Hasél was not being far from the truth.

“Guardia Civil torturando o disparando a emigrantes”: “the Civil Guard [Spanish military police force] torturing or shooting migrants”

The Civil Guard literally shoots rubber bullets at migrants who are trying to get on Spanish soil in Ceuta (source). By shooting them rubber bullets, the migrant people fall back on the water, and many drown. The Civil Guard murders and tortures migrants. And everything that takes place inside CIEs (migrant detention centers) can also be called torture with no doubt.

Again, these are facts.

Those were posts on social media, he has also been sentenced because of the lyrics of his songs. Here are some sentences from his song “Juan Carlos el Bobón” (the title is a pun with the words "Borbón”-Bourbon- and “bobo”-stupid-).

“Me cago en la marca España explotadora y casposa”: “the exploiter and braggart brand Spain can go fuck itself”

That’s self-explanatory. A personal opinion you can agree or disagree with, but given the things we’ve mentioned in this post and so many more, it’s perfectly understandable that he would feel like this. And he should be free to say it.

“Si Froilán se disparó en el pie siendo menor de edad igual ahora que es mayor de edad va a disparar a toda la Familia Real”: “if Froilán shot himself in the foot when he was underage, maybe now that he’s an adult he’ll shoot the whole Royal Family”

For those who don’t know, Froilán is the son of Infanta Elena, and so the nephew of the current king Philip VI. This line is a reference to 2012, when he was shooting in one of his parents’ possessions and he accidentally shot himself in the foot. It was illegal for him to be shooting in the first place, because Spanish law prohibits kids under 14 years of age to hold firearms, but of course nothing happened to his parents for doing illegal things because they’re the royal family.

Unsurprisingly, this line is considered “offense to the Crown”. It’s not a threat from Hasél, it’s just wishful thinking that I’m sure many people share.

And lines from other songs by Pablo Hasél:

“Siempre hay algún indigente despierto con quien comentar que se debe matar a Aznar”: “there’s always some homeless person awake with whom to talk about the need to kill Aznar”

José María Aznar was president of Spain between 1996 and 2004 with the right-wing party Partido Popular (PP). He was a shit president, during his presidency the labour rights decreased and left thousands of workers with way less protection than before, he focused a lot of his work as president on making the economy more neoliberal and left thousands of workers with unfair salaries and harsh working conditions by allowing the owners to fire and decrease pay at will. He also gave support to the USA in the occupation of Iraq, even when the population had been protesting against it (I was only 4 or 5 years old at the time and even I remember one of the general strikes against it).

“¡Merece que explote el coche de Patxi López!”: “Patxi López’s car deserves to explode”

“¡Que alguien clave un piolet en la cabeza a José Bono!”: “Someone stab an axe on José Bono’s head!”

“No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'pepero'. Me da pena el que muere en una patera. No me da pena tu tiro en la nuca, 'socialisto'. Me da pena el que muere en un andamio”: “I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold”.

“Prefiero grapos que guapos”: “I prefer GRAPOs to handsomes” (a pun). GRAPO was a communist and anti-imperialism armed organisation.

“Mi hermano entra en la sede del PP gritando ¡Gora ETA! A mí no me venden el cuento de quiénes son los malos, sólo pienso en matarlos”: “My brother goes in the PP’s headquarters shouting ‘Gora ETA!’. They won’t sell me the tale of who are the bad guys, I’m only thinking of killing them”

“Es un error no escuchar lo que canto, como Terra Lliure dejando vivo a Losantos”: “It’s a mistake to not listen to what I sing, like when Terra Lliure left Losantos alive”. Terra Lliure was a short-lived communist organisation that wanted to fight for the independence of the Catalan Countries through armed struggle. Jiménez Losantos is a fascist radio host who tells all kinds of lies and manipulates information to spread right-wingism, hatred towards national minorities, homophobia, etc.

“Los Grapo eran defensa propia ante el imperialismo y su crimen”: “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”.

“Quienes manejan los hilos merecen mil kilos de amonal”: “those who pull the strings deserve 1000 kg of ammonal”

“Pienso en balas que nucas de jueces nazis alcancen”: “I think of the bullets that would reach the nazi judges’ back of the necks”

None of these sentences are serious threats / plans at the moment. On the contrary, when the politicians he mentions make policies that directly cause deaths (of migrant people at the borders, suicides in migrant detention centers, of workers in their workplace, of people whose heat and gas is cut off or who are evicted, of women murdered by their husbands because they didn’t have anywhere to go for help, etc), now those are real crimes, aren’t they?

Pablo Hasél has been very vocal about being a communist. So I’ll copy-paste Friedrich Engels’ definition of “social murder”. I don’t know what Pablo had in mind when writing those lyrics but I think this fragments helps understand where he’s coming from.

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live — forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence — knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains. (Engels, The Condition of the Working-Class in England, 1845)

So we can agree or disagree with Pablo Hasél and what he says or his way of saying it, but that doesn’t mean he should be jailed because of it. And it’s incredibly hypocritical to consider saying (not doing, just saying!) that “there’s always some homeless person to talk about the need to kill Aznar with” is violence, but to ignore that Aznar’s involvement in the Iraq helped kill thousands of civilians (for a lie, because Iraq did NOT have weapons of mass destruction!) and caused the misery and indirectly the death of so many workers.

If your question was why did Pablo Hasél say these things, I think two of the sentences we said sum it up:

“I’m not feeling sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, pepero [member of the PP party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in dinghy boats. I don’t feel sorry for the shot in the back of your neck, socialisto [member of the PSOE party]. I feel sorry for the ones who die in a scaffold” and “GRAPO were self-defense against imperialism and its crime”. Pablo Hasél was highlighting how the current situation we live in is already violence. Violence inflicted by capitalism, imperialism and hatred, so he would consider his words self-defense.

[sparklingdisneyprincess]

Can The Flash writers let their characters actually process stuff in a fruitful way???

Is nobody else lowkey upset that instead of writing full arcs for Barry to overcome his trauma and grow from it, they instead have some Flash event wipe them away? S2 Barry’s journey into the Speed Force that helped him come to term with his mom’s death (I don’t mind this one it was well done, but it’s still an example of them using Speed Force to work through Barry’s issues.) S3 Flashpoint erased his pain of having just lost his dad, so we didn’t get to see him work through it and then S4 Speed Prison that left him feeling “reborn”, so he didn’t have to deal with the emotional fallout of how stressful S3 truly was for him. At least in S2 we got to see him process his emotions on screen. S3 & S4 didn’t even give us that, and don’t even get me started on S5 & onward.

Since S5 the writers haven’t even given him a magical speed induced reset to help him through his trauma, they’re just making him plow through tragedy after tragedy without rest and it shows. He’s way more erratic, easily set off, obsessive, and he’s always had these traits, but in my opinion it’s so unhealthy now. Barry Allen is a highly emotive individual and thus his good traits come out of that like his ability to love deeply, but bad ones come just as easily too. These more negative traits of his are exacerbated by the fact that he has unresolved issues that need to be addressed. If they would let him air out his fears, pinpoint the source and origin of them, as well as overcome them we would see a Barry Allen much more similar to how he was at the beginning of S4, but with a more mature edge to him now that he’s in his early 30s.

One arc. All we need is one arc to revamp his character and the rest of the arcs can focus on him becoming a truly independent hero and tackling work, fatherhood, and his hero duties.

Barry Allen deserves better writing.

(Also notice that Barry Allen has gotten at least 2 emotional resets to help deal with his trauma and Iris has gotten none. Zero. Zilch. 

Let me explain to you what Iris West-Allen has been through in this show. 

She watched her best friends that she’s known since the age of 8 heart stop multiple times as he was in a nine month coma.

The guy she was dating and was unsure about because she also had feelings for Barry shot himself and she held him while he died.

She found out that the mother she thought died when she was too young to remember isn’t dead but was actually addicted to drugs and walked out on her and her dad while pregnant with the younger brother she never knew she had.

Her mother soon after this reveal actually dies.

Iris finally accepts that she loved Barry all along, but now she is destined to die in a couple months so she emotionally prepares for her death (off screen) and ends up surviving only because somebody else died in her place even though she tried to stop them when they suggested it.

After surviving that mess she hoped for a future with Barry now that they were engaged, but then Barry goes into the Speed Force leaving her to mourn him for 6 months.

Barry’s not dead! They have a wedding but it was invaded by Alternate Earth Nazis and she subsequently had to watch one of her friends (Kara) heart almost be removed while Barry was stuck on said alternate Nazi-earth.

Amidst that whole mess Barry and Iris still managed to get married but then Barry’s sentenced to life in prison for a crime he didn’t commit with very little way to prove his innocence, thankfully Barry is released a month later (Still doesn’t make sense to me how they managed to pull it off, but oh well.).

Iris who grew up without a mother and has always wanted to be one has her and Barry’s future daughter show up from a timeline where Barry disappears. Their daughter resents Iris for dampening her powers a decision present day Iris couldn’t even fathom making, thus leaving Iris distraught.

To Iris’s great joy she makes up with their daughter only for her to die in Iris and Barry’s arms.

Barry her husband of almost 2 years and best friend of 20+ years who is destined to disappear in 2024 now is set to disappear in 2019 and in this timeline not only are they saying he dies instead of disappears, but also won’t even have a kid that she’d be able to cherish after he’s gone. She’ll never see their daughter that died ever again.

Luckily Barry survives the Crisis. Iris still has a chance to have Nora someday and now wants to build her media empire, but she gets trapped in a mirror dimension and experiences psychological torment in the form of neural dissonance that should’ve left her with severe brain damage (but amazingly enough it didn’t. I don’t understand how, but it didn’t).

Barry got her out of the mirror, but she hasn’t been able to advance her newspaper because stuff with the forces, her trouble adjusting to the real world again and 2 of her friends moving out of town one of whom is her employee, with one days notice.

Now in present time she’s potentially pregnant and experiences migraines due to phasing through timelines with Deon (The Still force) protecting her because if he doesn’t she could be fragmented through time. 

Add to this all the times that I didn’t mention in which either she has almost died, has had to watch Barry almost die, or has actually thought that Barry was dead. 

And she has barely been able to process any of this on screen and when they try to let her, they give her one scene about it and move on! Barry deserves better, but so does Iris because that list is LONG and she didn’t get any emotional resets to help her through any of it.)

Just write real arcs that allow your characters to confront things within themselves and their environments throughout an overarching storyline and have the progress they make actually stick and if it doesn’t explain why and expand on that in the next arc, is that too much to ask?

Rant over, PEACE✌🏾✌🏾

[invisibleinorange]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: T Warnings: Presumed Character Death Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington,  Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties),  Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Simon Hastings/Daphne Bridgerton Characters: Colin Bridgerton,  Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Featherington,  Benedict Bridgerton,  Portia Featherington, Violet Bridgerton Additional Tags:  Bridgerton, Polin Summary:  Unexpected bad news arrives for the Bridgerton Family (and friends) regarding Colin's travels. This will be a series that is set after "The Duke and I" or season one of the show. It is a companion piece to "Goodbyes". (#I’mHereToKillYouAllWithFeels)

Furious didn’t begin to cover it. Penelope was practically shaking with rage as she made her way into the cool of night.   It was almost nice to feel something other than heartbreak though.

She couldn’t quite put a finger on who she was mad at. It was more a general anger that had been building up for some time.  The proposal had just been a triggered that sent it bubbling up.

She’d had to leave her home or she knew she would have done far worse than raise her voice or walk away from a proposal.  She had spent years dreading the moment she came of age to become part of society.

She’d been a particularly normal child and she knew that once upon a time her mother had treated her much the same she treated her other children.  Her sisters had always been naturally thin, perfectly average but she had always been softer.  Her mother had assumed she’d outgrow the baby fat but it never happened and the older she became, the more her mother saw fit to constantly insult her.

It was a nearly daily battle attack of her appearance and when it wasn’t that, it was something else.  At some point, she’d stopped thinking she’d ever amount to much of anything.  She never quite felt enough. Her mother had ensured as much. When her mother all but deemed her ineligible, she believed it to be true.

That was why she became skilled into camouflaging into walls.  If people didn’t notice her, they couldn’t hurt her.  Only part of her plan had worked.  The problem was that she did care.  She wanted to be the person who got asked to dance. She wanted someone to deliver her flowers. She wanted to be enough for someone.

She had been.

Her mind couldn’t quite believe the words that Colin had written her though. The last words he would ever write her.  There wouldn’t be any romance from Mister Bridgerton.

The fact that Benedict thought that he could just come, propose to her and everything was going to turn out okay was preposterous.

Sure, she knew he was a good guy. That wasn’t her problem though.

She’d spent half her life praying that one day she’d wake up and just be part of the Bridgerton family instead of her own.  She couldn’t do this though; She refused to accept a proposal borne of grief or sympathy.

She wouldn’t curse someone to the misfortunate of being stuck with her, especially when she knew that they weren’t in love with her nor she them.  Her mother would have found it foolhardy to even care about such things but for Penelope Featherington there was nothing more important.

Penelope wasn’t sure that anyone actually loved her. Even Colin had called her a friend.  She project her own feelings into his words a million times over but they didn’t make them his. She wouldn’t have believed them even if he uttered them to her.

That didn’t change the fact that Colin Bridgerton was the only man that she’d ever loved and in the depths of her heart, she wasn’t sure there was room for anyone else.

Colin had been there since he was a boy and even he would never be an old man, he’d be there in hers until her time came.

Perhaps that was why her feet carried her through the streets almost absently until she found herself pushing past a gate and into a darkened graveyard with an adjacent church.  It was almost eerie with the silence.

She made her path through the graves, not even stopping in her own family tomb where she knew her own father laid.  Instead she moved, not settling until she saw the Bridgerton name.  Without a body, Colin would never be placed there amongst his family members.

--

A gloved hand touched her back from behind and it was enough to startle her, made her turn in panic.  As childish as it was, she half expected to see a ghost. Instead she saw something far scarier: Violet Bridgerton.

The last time she’d seen the matriarch of the family, she’d been crumbling but the woman before her seemed back to her usual strength, though clearly sad.

“I apologize for startling you,” Violet said before her eyes seemed to access the situation and concern spread across her features.  “It’s not safe for a Lady such as yourself to be wandering after dark alone, improperly covered for the night.  You’ll freeze, My Dear.  What are you doing out here?”

“I – was,” Penelope stammered, mildly afraid and unable to really formulate an excuse in her head.  A part of her wondered just how much Violet knew of everything. She wasn’t about to ask.  Instead she recovered, nodded politely and said, “You’re unaccompanied yourself, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Violet, Dear,” she told her with a sad laugh, urging the informality. “I suppose that’s fair. I always sneak out when the children are distracted or asleep, especially when I wish to visit with their father.  I wasn’t aware he already had an audience tonight. Has he been much help?”

Penelope felt relief wash over her in a way.  She felt she had been let in on some really important adult secret.  She couldn’t help but wonder if any of Violet’s children knew about their mother’s habit.  There was something weirdly comforting in knowing that the woman still sought out her husband even though he’d been dead for so long.

Violet’s devotion to her husband was so endearing that Penelope couldn’t help but feel safe to speak openly.

“Sadly no,” Penelope told her.  “Though, I suppose the fact that you’re here could be an answer in itself. I’m sorry if I’m intruding on your time.”

Was this a sign?  Had Colin directed his mother here from Heaven to show her that even if he was gone it was okay to love him forever?

“It’s not an intrusion.  I’d be remiss to not side with you and say that this meeting was kismet,” the elder Bridgerton told her.  “Please unburden yourself on me.  My children think I’m so delicate that they’ve taken to keeping everything from me, forcing my convalesce instead of letting me attend to them and they’re the ones who need their mother most right now.”

Never in her life had she wanted Violet Bridgerton to be her mother more.

“Funny,” she started with a light smile. “They’re treating me much the same. Less mothering, more thinking I need to be … taken care of.”

“Do you not wish to be?” Violet asked, almost disregarding that there could possibly be more questions to ask before that for context. There was something in the look in her eyes that told Penelope that somehow the older woman knew far more than she was saying though.

“Not like this,” Penelope told her honestly.

“I take my role as mother very seriously. I’ve always known my children and the things that make them who they are.  I’ve known that you fancied my son for far longer than probably even you are aware. I’m also aware that of his many gifts, being quick on the uptake isn’t one of them,” Violet started in, leaving Penelope to awkwardly shift on her feet.  “Colin is – was – remarkable and I have no doubt he could have made you very happy but as his mother, I have to urge you to not miss out on life mourning him. Graveyards are lonely places to spend one’s time sneaking away to.”

“It’s not-“ Penelope started, wanting to protest a little and perhaps explain.

“No, you listen to me. When my Edmund died, the world ceased spinning on its axis. It took a considerable amount of time to find my footing again.  I had to learn to navigate life again. My children are who restored me. They healed me and every day I strive to heal them.  Grief doesn’t fade but you learn to live without those who leave you. My children are the living, breathing proof of a great love that exists only in my heart these days. They give my life meaning as they grow and begin their own lives. You must find what gives your life meaning. You do not have to let Colin go from your heart to leave room for others to enter it.”

“I don’t think anyone is exactly fighting for room in my heart,” Penelope finally managed to say. She still wasn’t completely sure how much her older companion knew. Would she be speaking to her in such a manner if she did.   “I don’t think I’m meant for a great love like yours. Not now.”

“Honestly Penelope Featherington!” Violet said with a motherly tick.  “You’re a delight. I’ve known you since the day your mother birthed you.  I won’t hear this because it’s simply not true. You were always destined for greatness. You’re just a caterpillar who hasn’t quite transformed into a butterfly yet.  Someone was always bound to see you for who you are.  I would have loved to have you as a daughter but even if you were never meant to be a Bridgerton, we’ll always be there to remind you of your worth. ”

[morganas-pendragons]

take us back | obi-wan

as soon as i got this ask, i couldn’t pass it up. i also woke up in a mood to write obi-wan because i actually wrote this exact prompt into a oneshot for my oc last night while listening to this song and yeah.. this happened. have fun! 

requested by: @kaminobiwan​ + connecting to his fake death in the rako hardeen arc 

the song used is the night we met by lord huron and the reader is the jedi!reader from the other obi fics i’ve written, so this is for a female reader :) screw canon 

tag: @dressed-up-heartbreak​ // @obiorbenkenobi​ // @anakinsahsoka​ 

obi-wan tag is open! if this angst sucks, blame (SPOILER) jesse for dying because i haven’t been able to angst well since tcw finale 

*** 

You only have one thought in your mind whenever you watch - in indescribably slow motion - the body fall from the rooftop in which Obi-Wan had chased the owner of the rogue bullet that had broken your quiet camaraderie with Anakin and Ahsoka. You’re almost naive and oblivious enough to miss the flash of auburn hair. 

I’m not fast enough, I’m not- 

  “Master!” Your grandpadawan cries your name from the shadows as you sharply turn the corner and come to an abrupt stop at the sight in front of you. Ahsoka Tano - your grandpadawan who is so close to your heart - has collapsed in the alleyway with Obi-Wan Kenobi cradled in her arms. He’s not moving. Not breathing. 

Your heart stops in your chest and you lose all ability to breathe. This isn’t the first time you’ve lost Obi-Wan Kenobi, oh no. Jabiim left a scar on both you and Anakin.

 “No, no.. you cannot leave. Not yet! Not yet! She-She needs you.” 

I am not the only traveler 

who has not repaid his debt 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt helpless around him either. You’d long surrendered to the idea of loving him despite The Jedi Code years ago. That was why the wedding band hanging on the chain around your neck feels like it now carries the weight of the world. 

Your shoulders sag in defeat. 

i’ve been searching for a trail to follow again 

  “I need you.” 

You do need him, but you don’t have that luxury now. You lost him. He’s gone. 

Take me back to the night we met

***

You and Obi-Wan Kenobi met at the tender age of ten and twelve. Even though you’d grown up in the same créche as him and Aayla Secura, somehow The Force had kept the two of you apart until the most convenient moment where he’d been in the midst of fighting Bruck of all people, and you’d been the one who’d pulled him out of it. The calm to his storm. 

He had stuck close to you ever since. Your Force - the very essence of your soul that exuded light - was the thing that kept him grounded in the midst of all the suffering he’d endured since he was a child. Even after Siri and Xanatos and Naboo and all the death he faced.. Obi-Wan always came back to you.

And years later, you were always waiting. 

***

You weren’t waiting anymore. 

The funeral is as all Jedi funerals are. There is no mourning, no grieving, only expressionless masks of Jedi Masters and Knights as you and Anakin watch your husband and brother be put into the ground. You hate it. Despise it. Just the sight alone is enough to make her leave The Order and never look back.

But then Anakin would be alone, and Ahsoka would be helpless to look after him. You couldn’t do that.

He died and you weren’t there to save him.

Not to them.

His Padawan braid weighs heavily in your hand. One of the bands that had been attached to your own had been for kriffing force healing, for Makers sake, and you could’ve saved him from this had you just been faster. He’s dead. He’s dead, and you can’t mourn him because you have to focus on Anakin and Ahsoka, and Maker- Satine will not stop sobbing-

And then it hits you full force just as his body is lowered into the ground. Cody and the 212th are not aware that their father has just been buried. That their jettise is dead.

Your son will never forgive himself for it. Cody is just that type. Loyal to a fault, and guilty beyond comprehension when he feels as if he hasn’t performed his duty.

And his duty is always going to be to his jetti-buir.

 “Where are you going?” Anakin has the audacity to yell after the funeral is over, unaware of how closely he’s being watched, as his Former Master flees the room and moves towards the hangar where their speeder is waiting for you. “We need you here!”

A monster, born of repressed grief and rage over the circumstances in which you and Obi-Wan were in when he was lost to you again, flashes in your eyes and it’s enough to make Anakin wince and slowly back in the opposite direction.

 “i have a company of clones-“ You meanssons, and he knows that. “Who need my attention more then you do right now, Anakin. Go home.”

The Hero With No Fear has one fear in that moment as he watches his former Master walk away: It’s that he will lose you too.

***

“Why didn’t you save me? You were right there, we were together and happy and you were just.. useless.” 

I had all and then most of you 

Something that I never knew 

Your dreams are haunted by him. He’s everywhere. And the cruel thing is? He looks exactly the same as he has since you were both knighted. He looks like Obi-Wan - the very soul that yours was drawn to - and that stings because there’s nothing you want more in this world at the moment then the ability to just... hold him. Kiss him. Have him. 

Take me back to the night we met 

If you dwell on him any more then you already have, you will succumb to your desire to just slip away and be with him in the peace of eternity forever. The Cosmic Force sounds like bliss compared to the hell you endure every time you open your eyes and find yourself met with a cold bed and an even colder home. 

That doesn’t even begin to cover the broken force bond. Your skull thrums with the ache of the emptiness inside your mind - the spot where Obi-Wan used to occupy - and there comes a point where you’re in so much pain that you cannot move from your bed. 

He hovers over you while you sleep. Your dreams are not kind to you. They’re taunting. All the what-could’ve-beens that the two of you had not had the time to experience together. 

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do

Haunted by the ghost of you 

  “Take me back to the night we met.” You whisper. To who, no one knows, but you like to imagine that even in death, he’s waiting for you the way you spent so many years waiting for him. 

Your grief turns into an irrevocable numbness. You go for so long without social contact from anybody for fear they’ll unravel you. So long without feeling the love of your family in the Order that you start hallucinating him. He looks real, he feels real-

  “Kark you, Obi-Wan Kenobi! For dying and for leaving me alone and for not telling me you love me before you go!” You yell in the dead of night until your voice is hoarse and your fingers are clenched so tightly that they’ve begun going white, and part of you wonders if you stopped living and started existing when you watched his body fall from that rooftop. “Stop haunting me!” 

when the night was full of terror 

and your eyes were filled with tears 

You almost wish you hadn’t said it because as soon as you do, the apparition dissipates and you are alone. 

when you had not touched me yet 

The sound of your heart breaking in your hands is what lulls you to sleep. 

oh take me back to the night we met 

*** 

When you meet Rako Hardeen and he has Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eyes, you’re not sure if you want to kill him or kiss him. 

So while Anakin Skywalker goes supernova in his anger against his former Master for lying about his whereabouts and his mission for the Council, you bask in your silence by the cruiser that transported you and the clones to Naboo’s surface. You’re not sure what to say, if anything. You just want to look at him. 

It’s not until you’re safely ensconced in your quarters that you can act on touching him. 

  “Darling, I-” 

You hesitantly approach him, hand outstretched and eyes shining because you are so close to breaking - and then your fingers graze the skin of his collarbone and his knees buckle. 

  “You’re-” You swallow the knot in your throat as he winds his arm around your waist and presses your back to his front so he can bury your face in his hair. “You’re real.” 

You waited for him. 

  “I’m real.” He whispers in your ear. “And I’m never leaving you. Never again.” 

And he’d come back to you.