#you insult the earth herself by saying “just brown

[sliced-grapes]

@thegroundhogdidit

What's all the commotion for ed's eyes? Aren't they just brown?

I'm too angry to even respond to this properly. "Just brown???" You cannot be serious. Followers, please destroy them.

[paytato435]

Chapter 1: After Dark

Containment Reflections

Today, Earth is different.

Billions of people are waking up to see the news: we are not alone in the universe, and our peers are not so welcoming.

It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who's picked up a history book; intelligent creatures are cruel and cannibalistic by design. We are narcissists, everyone. 

Imagine, for a moment, the damage these creatures could have wrought upon us if they had been successful in their endeavors. This is only the smallest sample of what could be waiting for us out there among the stars, their fangs bared and knives sharpening. How much time do we have before they return? How long before something else catches us unprepared?

The data is still incomplete, but the conclusion is all too clear: we must not allow this to happen again.

Unfortunately, despite the subject's love for baseless insults and threats, she herself has not communicated to us anything useful. All we have is her unrelenting cries of misery. We've considered putting her down just to shut her up (we haven't found anything inside we could guess are vocal cords), but living samples are far too valuable, especially considering we only have the one.

Biologically speaking, her constitution and regenerative abilities are astounding. Perhaps even more astounding is what has prevented her from regenerating. An unknown substance found in her missing eye has prevented the organ from regrowing. All other appendages, except for tissue samples we took from her brain, could be replaced. What substance had so irrecoverably damaged my specimen? Where can we find more?

And then there are the… mutants. The world is also changing with their arrival. The yokai that had lived for so long hiding in the shadows are slithering to the surface, making themselves known for the first time in hundreds of years. We know they've been there, of course, but one particularly devious mind of theirs has actually produced what could be another potential solution to this extraterrestrial dilemma. 

Unfortunately, there is no clear path forward to obtaining these four exceedingly valuable creatures without leaving a trail. Patience and observation is necessary. Until an opportunity presents itself, I am here, entertaining the thoughts of a deluded, xenocidal monster. For now, that is enough.

After Dark

“Marina, we are not walking all the way to the park from here! We should head home.”

“Dad please? It’s my birthday!”

“Yeah Doug! It’s Marina’s birthday!” Angel pouted, throwing her arm over Marina’s shoulders.

“And it’s gorgeous out!” Marina put her free hand to her hip, her silver bangles clinking together.

Doug sighed. He knew if he didn’t let them go he would never hear the end of it. Marina had a smile that could melt anyone’s tough exterior, not that Doug had one in the first place. Maybe it had to do with her round face and big brown eyes. Or it was the constant way she bounced as she moved. Her mother often compared her to a little rabbit. She was definitely acting like one now.

“You know it’s going to take twice as long to get home from there, right?”

“Because we’re already halfway there!” Marina smiled, seeing the fight leaving her dad’s eyes.

She spun out from under Angel’s arm and started dancing her way down the street.

“Let’s go Elphaba!” She called back to Angel.

Angel, Marina’s best friend since middle school, seemed at odds with Marina’s vibe, until you saw them together. She was usually cool and laid back, but when Marina pushed her buttons they were as chaotic and playful as kids half their age.

“I’m Elphaba?” Angel asked incredulously, but jogged to catch up with her best friend. Doug lingered behind at a distance, texting his wife that they’d be out a little longer than expected.

“Are you trying to say you’re GAH-linda? Give me a break! You only have friends in school because you hang out with me. Otherwise you’d have your face glued to a book all day.”

Marina did a little spin and ended by pointing her finger right at Angel's studded nose.

“You… will… beeee….”

“Popular!” They both sang together. “You’re going to be POP-yoooo-LAR!”

Angel’s voice was anything but what her name would suggest. Marina didn’t know half the words, but they made it up as they went along, eventually making their way to Central Park.

“Dad, what did you think of the show?!” Marina asked as she plopped herself into a swing. Her brown curls bounced as she fell into the seat.

Doug’s face lit up. “It was fantastic! The set was very cool.”

“Of course you like the steampunk stuff,” Angel rolled her eyes, joining her friend on the adjacent swing and tucking her raven hair behind her ears. “Hey, think you’re gonna try the backflip again, Marina?”

“Girl, you know my backflip is flawless,” Marina scoffed, kicking off the ground.

“Oh really? I haven’t seen it in at least a year,” Angel narrowed her eyes. “Surely it can’t be that good.”

Doug rolled his eyes and began picking out pictures from the show to post to Facebook. The girls tried in vain to somehow swing higher than each other before each trying to show the other up with precarious dismounts. Doug wasn’t concerned- they’d done this a million times before, and Marina knew she’d never hear the end of it if she twisted her ankle and had to be carried all the way home.

No, Doug trusted his daughter. But… 

Swish.

Doug stopped scrolling through pictures and looked up.

Huh. He thought he had heard something.

Was it the wind?

It was late, there wasn’t really anybody else around. In fact, they’d probably get in trouble if a cop drove by and saw people out here after dark. Was he setting a bad example?

Swish.

There it was again. Doug jumped to his feet and looked around.

“Everything alright, Dad?” Marina asked, flipping over her swing and masterfully sticking the landing.

“We shouldn’t be out here, sweetheart,” Doug tucked his phone away. “We can come back another time.”

“But we just got here!”

Doug gave his daughter the look. Marina deflated.

“Ok, we’ll go,” she relented.

Angel dismounted from the swing on the backswing, and rolled her eyes. Doug could see her thoughts loud and clear. Adults are no fun.

Well, she would just have to get over it. Her parents would kill him if anything happened to her.

He was on edge the whole walk home. It was as if something in the air had changed. There wasn’t any wind, the weather was fine. Was it humid? Doug checked to see if his wife had texted him back. She hadn’t.

“So, what classes are you taking this semester, Angel?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the unease.

“I’m taking Biology 2! We get to dissect a cat!”

“Oh,” That didn’t help Doug at all. “Lovely.”

“And PE, and Geometry… Marina, you're taking Algebra 2 though aren’t you?”

Marina nodded.

“You’re so smart. I-”

Swish.

“Do you guys hear that?” Doug interrupted.

Angel and Marina looked at Doug with concern.

“Is something wrong, Dad?”

Doug looked around, but there was nothing.

“We should have gone straight home.”

Marina reached out and took her dad’s hand.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way home, and Doug didn’t relax until they were safely inside the apartment. He was grateful they didn’t have to take Angel home tonight. She had already gotten permission to sleep over.

He decided to turn in early. All the doors were locked, the girls were safe, and his wife was reading in the living room. She would probably be up for a few more hours, the night owl that she was. He gave her a quick kiss goodnight and ascended the stairs to their bedroom. He could hear the girls chatting away in the kitchen, talking about the musical, school, and field hockey…

He shut the door behind him and made his way over to the window. He didn’t think there would be anything but…

There was.

He saw it only for a second, but just under the streetlight at the end of the street he caught movement. There was no way, it didn’t make any sense.

Well, he’d heard some weird stories coming up these days. Half-animal people were supposedly appearing around town. He thought maybe it was related to the hysteria the other day. The “alien invasion.” Surely it was nonsense. There couldn’t actually be aliens.

But he could have sworn he saw a long, reptilian tail sliding through the streetlight’s glow and into the shadows. Gators in New York were an urban legend. Surely he was just psyching himself out. 

He closed the blinds and turned away from the window. He crossed the room and stood in front of the glass cabinet where he kept his small collection of antiques. He opened up the door on the side and gingerly took out his favorite World War One antique.

Sometimes when he was stressed it helped to hold onto something, and for some weird reason, holding his great-grandfather’s trench knife did the trick. He probably should take better care of it, honestly. He shouldn’t be touching it with his bare hands. Hell, it should probably be in a museum. But Doug and his family were practical people. If you couldn’t enjoy something, why have it?

He ran his thumb along the handle. If this protected his family over a hundred years ago, surely it could help keep his mind at ease now.

Ok, that was probably dumb. It was a knife, not a therapist. He put the blade back in the cabinet and buried himself in his sheets. He didn’t know how his family put up with such an anxious dumbass.

The Essay

I don’t belong here. The thought hadn’t really set in until maybe the 3rd day after all this stuff went down. That was when all the hype started to settle. We were all over the news. Some networks loved us, we were heroes. Others were grateful, but concerned. Who were the Mad Dogs? April did an interview with the local tv station, and it went VIRAL. “They’re my brothers, they’re my family. I’m just grateful we’re all safe.” That sound byte has been bouncing through my head and playing on every news station in the country, every radio station, and of course, it's been remixed all over social media in cute formats of people just… appreciating each other? I’m kind of addicted to the warmth of it all. I haven’t felt this happy in a long time. And yet…

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I tried to, I really did. But I just kept lying there, convincing myself over and over in my head that everything was ok now. I don’t remember when the idea crept into my mind, but I just feel like I’m waiting for the next bad thing to happen. It’s coming right? We get too comfortable, we get cocky, we get caught unaware, someone dies. My mom, Uncle Raphael, Donatello, Commander O’Neil… Master Michelangelo and Sensei. And while my brain tells me logically, the invasion is finally over, realistically, we are safe, emotionally, I could not bear to lose them all over again. I see them in my nightmares. Friends and family, new and old, here and gone, all of them suffering.

The one place I feel safe is here in the Lair. Underground is safe, underground is home. The guys have tried to take me topside a few times- to go shopping, see a movie, whatever. But I get this tight knot in my chest when I see the sky. I keep looking for the technodrome. I jump when I see the lights of an airplane fly over. I try to act like it’s fine, but to be honest I’d rather stay inside where it’s safe. Safe. I know it’s safe outside, it’s over… it’s over… but… 

it’s fucking not.

Doctor Feelings I

“Bro, that is a LOT.” Mikey noted, scratching his head.

Both he and Casey were sitting together in the kitchen of the Lair. The others had gone out to the zoo to see the new penguin exhibit, and once again, Casey had turned down the invite. To his surprise, Mikey decided to stay behind with him.

“Well, I thought you’d actually write more but like…” Mike glances over at the dysfunctional teen. Casey is staring at a bowl of plain ass oatmeal. It was one of the only things he could eat at first, after living off a diet of leaves and rats for several years. The pizza after the invasion had left him fucked up for hours. He’d tried one of Mikey’s lemon bars yesterday after dinner, but he was still afraid of pushing his luck.

“What do you mean?”

“How do I put it…” Mikey waved his bandaged arms around as if he could summon the words. “I thought you’d write about more than just the invasion.”

“Did you want me to write about something else?”

“No, no!” Mikey shook his head. “You can write about whatever you want.”

“But then you’d read it,” Casey grumbled.

Mikey looks away and purses his lips.

“Yeah, I guess that was the point.”

“I don’t know what to do with the future, I can’t talk about the past,” Casey reminded him, standing up to put his bowl away.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember the spiel. Is that really for the best? I mean, it must be hard, knowing all this," Mikey gestures at the paper. "And not having anyone to talk to about it."

"Do you believe in destiny?"

Mikey looked a little surprised by the question.

"Come on, you're the mystic one here. Wouldn't you know?"

"I don't know," Mikey shrugged. "I haven't thought about it before."

"You've never thought about it, but you fulfilled the Hamato destiny when you defeated the Shredder, didn't you?"

"What's your point?" Mikey asked, crossing his arms.

"I suppose I wouldn’t call it destiny, because we did just alter the future the other day…. but I think there are some things here in this time that… would be very hard to change."

"Like global warming?"

"Uh, sure. I meant on a smaller scale, though."

"Oh."

"Maybe an example would work best," Casey sighed, tapping his spoon against his bowl.

"For the record, I'm bullshitting here; nothing I'm about to say is true."

Mikey nodded.

"Let's say, someone gets married in the future," Casey posed.

"Who gets married?!" Mikey shot up out of his seat excitedly. 

"This is a hypothetical! Pick anyone."

"April! I want April to get married!"

"Ok… let's say April gets married in the future. You'd be excited if I told you that, right?"

"Well yeah, I just said I'd like it to happen," Mikey caught himself. "… if that's what she wants, of course," he added quickly.

"Sure. It's a great thing. Now, would it make sense for me to call April right now and tell her who she is marrying and congratulate them on their future engagement?"

Mikey pursed his lips together.

"That'd be creepy, wouldn't it? She may not have even met this person, and now you're just… shipping them because that's what Future Boy said." He said 'Future Boy' as if he was some kind of mystical fortune teller.

"Same goes for how you die. Now, your death had… extenuating circumstances," Casey saw Mikey shift uncomfortably. "But like, if I told Raph he died falling down a flight of stairs he'd probably never use stairs ever again."

"Did Raph die falling down a flight of stairs? That'd be lame."

"Of course not." Casey crossed his arms.

Mikey flipped Casey's essay over.

"...flight of stairs…" he mumbled as he wrote.

"What are you doing?"

"Gathering intel," Mikey looked away.

Casey narrowed his eyes.

"I'm serious, Mikey. If you want to feel like you have control over your own life, it's better if I don't say anything."

"Maybe you should make some new friends then!" Mikey suggested. "Ones that you didn't know in the future, and then you can talk to them about your trauma!"

"I don't have trauma!"

Mikey blinked.

"Ok maybe a little," Casey sunk into his chair. "But it's nothing I can't handle. Besides, who'd want to be friends with me anyway. I can't even go outside."

"Sure you can, it'll just take some getting used to," Mikey smiled.

Well, he did smile, until he saw the look Casey gave him. Everyone had started calling it the ghost look. 

Casey would sometimes forget how to breathe when his family would do certain things. Little, dumb things that reminded him of the future past. Mikey's warm smile was one of them.

Even at the end of the world, Master Michelangelo always found a way to keep smiling.

“Your handwriting is immaculate by the way, did Donnie teach you that?” Mikey was making a conscious effort to change the subject.

“Yeah,” Casey shrugged. “He was always ripping into Sensei for his pretentious cursive notes, so he sat down and made sure mine was legible, ha.”

“So why is Donatello the only one without a prefix there? Uncle Raph, that’s cute. Of course I’m the badass mystic warrior Master.” Mikey wiggled his brow and smirks. “And Sensei is self-explanatory. What’s up with Donnie?”

Casey dropped his spoon in the sink as if it had burned him. He quickly fished it back up before putting it in the dishwasher.

“Oh, I must have left it off. You don’t need to read into it- he’s Uncle Donnie, yeah.” Mikey made that ‘I’m not buying it' face.

“It’s kind of hard to differentiate between you all when I think it out,” Casey sighed. “So in my head you guys are the short names and they’re the long ones now, unless I specify otherwise. I didn’t call him Donatello, that’d be like… calling Master Splinter, Yoshi.”

“Ew, I get it,” Mikey scrunched his face up.

"And I just… I just told you the less you know the better."

"I'm sorry."

There's a heavy silence for a minute. Maybe Casey should head back to his room; or he could go back to deconstructing the wreckage salvaged from the Turtle Tank for Donnie.

But neither of those things seemed to interest him, and he didn't want to leave Mikey feeling down like this. He'd been guilty of doing that around everyone recently.

“Mikey, are you really going to go to school?” If Mikey had chihuahua ears, they would have shot right up.

“Of course!” He grinned, squeezing Casey’s paper, and crinkling it. “Oh crap, sorry,” he straightens it out quickly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Casey waved it off, and sat back down at the table across from Mikey with a glass of water; the safest of liquids. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you'd want to, considering…”

“Times are changing, Casey Junior!” Mikey beamed, dancing in his seat. “You wrote it yourself, everyone loves us! And Pops is always grumbling how he wished we’d get an education.” He started rubbing the paper to his face like a teddy bear. “And there’s art class, I’ve always wanted to take a proper art class!”

Casey can’t help but smile; Mikey’s optimism was too infectious.

“You should come with us!” Mikey encouraged.

“With you? I… I don’t know,” Casey shrugged. “Donatello left me enough lessons to get me through college in any STEM degree I could ask for.”

“Is that what you want?”

“What I want?” Casey repeated. He hadn’t really considered that before.

“Yeah. Do you want to go into a STEM field?”

Casey chuckled to himself.

“I guess not. I think he was just projecting what he wanted onto me a bit. And I didn’t ever really have time to think about it. This-” Casey gestured all around him. “-didn’t exist for me. It wasn’t a planned thing. He made those lessons for fun and gave them to everyone who wanted to learn. God knows we needed as many educated people as we could get.”

Mikey nodded thoughtfully. “But what do you want?”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Casey asked.

“Really? Nothing?!” Mikey’s mouth gaped open in surprise.

“I don’t know what people did before the apocalypse, how am I supposed to answer that!” Casey shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe you could be a martial arts teacher!” Mikey’s eyes sparkled.

“And compare myself to Sensei everyday? I don’t think so. I did my best but… I don’t think I’m that great a fighter.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re great! I’ve seen you sparring with Leo.”

“I’ve got a long way to go,” Casey scratched the back of his head. “And I’m sure Master Splinter and Raph would still kick my ass.”

“I could see Raph being a teacher too,” Mikey smiled, giggling to himself.

“I could see that,” Casey agreed. “What other jobs are there? Like, ones you wouldn’t find people doing in the apocalypse. I know there’s cleaners and doctors and cooks, caretakers…”

“Zookeeper,” Mikey suggested. “Designated Penguin Patter.”

Casey sulked at the reminder. He wished he didn’t feel so anxious all the time.

Truth be told, it was embarrassing. Casey hadn’t felt this useless in a long time. He supposed he never had the opportunity to. The opportunity to feel afraid of the world around him. When push came to shove he was business as usual, but now that nobody was shoving him…

“I feel bad staying home again. And you’re missing out on it too, that’s not fair.”

“I chose to stay home,” Mikey tapped his fingers together. “But for you…”

“I told you already, I don’t want to go out. Well, I do but…”

“It’s scary.” 

Casey nodded.

“Is there anything that we could do to help make it less scary?”

“What could make the imaginary pink monsters around every corner go away?” Casey asked sarcastically.

“Have you tried grounding yourself? Like, reminding yourself where you are when you get scared?”

“How am I supposed to think about that when I’m scared?”

“Well if you don’t know when it’s going to get to be too much, but you’re afraid it will, do it preemptively. ‘I’m at the zoo, the invasion is over, I’m with my family, I’m safe…' that kind of thing.”

“I suppose I could try it,” Casey thought it over. “It sounds a bit exhausting though.”

“What makes the lair safe?” Mikey asked, seemingly out of curiosity more than anything else.

“Uh… it’s underground?” he answered as if it were obvious. “The Krang were always on the surface. This was the one place we could hide.”

“But you’d have to go out onto the surface sometimes, right?”

Casey nodded. “We’d go foraging for stuff. Supplies and such.”

“And did you panic there?”

No. Casey didn’t remember feeling that anxiety on the surface. Even though it was arguably more dangerous. What was the difference? He was with the turtles up topside, and he would go out on missions in teams of people foraging, sometimes with his sensei or Master Michelangelo. They were always on alert, and it was always quiet. 

That was it.

“We didn’t talk on the surface. Sounds would easily give away our location,” Casey explained.  “The noise up there…” he gestured to the surface. “… it's overwhelming. We also always brought our weapons, but you can’t bring those to the zoo.”

Mikey tapped his thumbs together again thoughtfully for a few seconds, thinking. 

“Well, maybe we could go out at night? For a late night walk? It’s quieter, and we don’t have to talk.”

‘We can still talk,” Casey signed. 

Mikey watched Casey move his hands with curiosity.

“Is that sign language?”

“Oh, you don’t sign yet?”

“I feel like I’m a comic book you’ve already read,” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms.

Casey laughs.

“I’m sorry. I could teach you?” He signed as he spoke. “In the future we had to communicate somehow in the field; it’s pretty fun, too. And then, maybe we could sign on walks outside. That could help.”

“Yes! Show me show me show me!” Mikey jumped out of his seat.

“You.. want… learn… sign?” Casey asked slowly out loud and with his hands.

“Want… learn… sign?” Mikey mimicked him. “Yes!”

“Yes!” Casey knocked his fist in the air.

Masterpost Next!

Notes: Thanks for checking out my fic! It's the first thing I've written in probably a decade, and I've never written fanfiction before so... I hope it's coherent lmao. At time of writing, I have about sixteen chapters planned out so far, and I don't have an ending, so we'll see where it goes haha!

[drowned-debris]

@dotflowweek Day 4: School Uniform Effect, School, Repeatedly Going Over Thoughts

He should’ve been here two hours ago.

Two hours.

She expected him to be late —he always is— but not by this much. It feels like a jab at her, like one of those half-serious insults he’s so fond of. Mocking her for taking him at his word.

All things considered, she should probably leave. If Smile is gonna be a no-show, there’s no reason for her to waste her time sitting in this classroom any longer. She risks getting trapped in the school when the gates are locked.

…But then again, she doesn’t really have anywhere better to be.

Half the reason she even agreed to meet with him was out of boredom. Hanging out around town with a guy she mostly hates still beats going back to where she’s staying. For the millionth time, she laments her complete ineptitude at making friends; maybe if she talked to her classmates more, she’d have a companion with whom conversations didn’t feel like battles.

Unfortunately, she’s stuck with the smuggest, most arrogant bastard on the planet. It’s just like him to leave her hanging like this; their time together thus far has been an elaborate dance of one-upping each other. He’s probably going to show up tomorrow and laugh at her for being so gullible, for waiting two whole hours for him to arrive. Then he’ll mockingly ask if she’s in love with him, to which she’ll respond by telling him he wishes, and then they’ll kiss to shut each other up. It usually goes something like that, anyway.

What if something happened to him?

The thought comes out of nowhere, shocking Sabitsuki. Her nails stop scraping against the desk— she didn’t even notice they were doing so until now.

Just what on Earth even provoked that thought? He’s proven he can handle himself. Smile knows this town just as well as she does; the idea of him being caught off guard in a bad place is ridiculous.

You can’t say that for sure.

“Urgh!”

Sabitsuki slams her fist hard onto the table she’s sitting on. She wishes she could deny it, but… there’s always a chance. Her eyes dart to a clock in the corner— the incessant ticking only fuels her unease.

With a groan, she pushes herself off of the desk. Sabitsuki feels like she’s gonna start going crazy if she spends another second just sitting here. Surely she can at least go check around the school?

Shakily, she steps out of the classroom and creeps over to the rooftop staircase. She has no idea whether anyone who works at the school knows about the two of them staying late so often— but she’d rather not risk it, so she takes her time heading upwards.

She arrives at the roof, and the cold night air rushes out to greet her. It’s refreshing, good for clearing the head. It’s not even six o’ clock yet, but the moon is making steady progress into the sky. She’ll never get used to winter.

Taking a few steps towards the railing, she bends carefully over it and surveys the area below. No signs of movement within the school grounds. The lights of the town outside the gates glow resolutely, like knights in shining armour riding out to combat the darkness. It’s funny— the night makes this shithole look almost beautiful.

“Not that I don’t like what I see, but that looks sorta unsafe.”

She stands up straight and swivels around instantly at the sound of a familiar voice. It’s him: Mr. Human Garbage himself. Before she even knows it, she’s marching towards him, her steps making heavy footfalls across the grey floor. Smile is standing next to the doorway that leads back inside the school; she grabs the sides of his brown jacket and pins him against the wall.

“YOU!” Sabitsuki yells. All intention of staying quiet vanished the moment he appeared. “Where the HELL were you!?”

“Just taking care of something. Why? Can’t live without me?”

She’d never admit this, but she’s grateful that he’s okay with her shouting; she feels so goddamn angry these days, and he gives her somewhere to let it out.

“Taking care of something for two fucking hours?”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “So clingy. If you must know, my sis hurt her leg and I went to help her out.”

Sabitsuki sighs and lets go of him. She knows how much he cares for his sister— it’s one of the few things she likes about him.

Stepping back a little, she speaks, more calmly this time. “...Fine. Just try to be quicker next time! I thought something had happened to you!”

He gasps in mock surprise. “What’s this? Sabitsuki is worried about me? My fair lady Sabitsuki is worried?” He pretends to swoon. “Oh my, I think I might faint!”

She scowls. “Oh, shut the fuck up. I didn’t even want to think about it! The thought just wouldn’t leave my head, is all. Jesus.”

Smile shrugs nonchalantly, then leans forward toward her. “Well, if you need a distraction…” he grabs at the tie of her uniform and pulls hard, bringing her face mere millimetres away from his. He offers up his trademark grin. A complete loser wearing a winning smile. “...I think I have an idea.” Before he even stops speaking, he’s already closing the gap.

She doesn’t need to be told twice.

[battinsonseyeliner]

Another shifting story abt tom riddle

Prequel: https://battinsonseyeliner.tumblr.com/post/692222749493641216/sequel-to-this-onebasically-just-abraxas-taking

The cruciatus curses Tom used on me two weeks ago has weakened me, my physical body especially, now I just feel drained every single day, even with Abraxas taking care of me. “You should just stay here today, I will take your notes for you,” Abraxas said after pulling his blanket and place it onto my chest carefully, “it’s alright, he has a full day today so he won’t be here before I get back,” Abraxas said before I could ask him if Tom is going to be here, “ok then, I will see you at lunch,” I said weakly, “before lunch, I will pick you up,” he said while messing with my hair.

I start coughing all of the sudden, the next second he is on his knee beside the bed watching me carefully, “do you need water?” He asked me, “yea don’t worry, I can just get it myself,” I said before trying to do wand less magic, but it didn’t work this time. “What, it should’ve worked, it always works,” I said out of frustrations, there’s no way on Earth that my wand less magic is not working, Vinda has taught me herself, “you’re too weak to do it at the moment, it will work again once you’re fully recovered, I will get you some tea, just wait here for a moment yea?,” Abraxas said before standing up again.

However before he got back with his tea, I have already fell asleep. The next thing I saw when I opened my eyes is Tom Marvolo Riddle, the culprit of all my sufferings, he’s sitting on his bed reading a god damn book as if nothing has happened. I wondered how long he’s been here.

He has sensed that I am awake, he puts down the book and turned to look at me, I simply ignored him and started drinking the tea, which is cold by now.

Tom didn’t say anything at all except just staring at me, I put the mug down on the bed side table before turning around and facing him with my back, but then I felt even more unsafe, so I turned around again facing him directly, but I realized I don’t wanna face him either, so I had to cover my head with his blanket. The scent of fresh lemon, fire whiskey has calmed my nerves, it was Abraxas’s scent, it’s always so calming.

Until Tom Riddle disrupted my peace again.

“When are you going to be done with your tantrums?” Said Tom Riddle.

“My tantrums? I am like this all because of you.” I pulled down my blanket to answer his question, clearly he was shocked by how drained I looked, my brown hair is a bit tangled at the end, it’s not as shiny as they used to look, my lips are just as pale as my skin, my eye bags have never been more obvious under my blood shot eyes, the dark circles are more purple and red these days, and my cheekbones are sinking in as well.

Tom only let out a scoff, “all because of me? You must’ve hit your head because from what I remembered, you were the one who insulted me first, it was really your fault if you think about it, you should’ve been more careful there, don’t blame your recklessness on me,” he said nonchalantly.

“Whatever makes you sleep well at night Riddle,” I said before the door was opened. Abraxas didn’t even need to ask to know what has happened. The tears in my eyes, the anger on my face, the cruelty of Riddle, he knew them too well. “Riddle, we had a deal, you have to hold onto your part in order to make the deal works,” Abraxas tried to sound as calm as possible, “we do, but Rosier provoked me again, you should be thankful that I am not hexing her right now,” Tom said as he stood up.

But Abraxas was not having it at all, he pulled out his wand and quickly casted a stupefy charm at Riddle, however Tom saw this coming so he blocked the curse even quicker. “How dare you? Love had made you weak Malfoy,” he said before hitting Malfoy with the cruciatus curse.

Abraxas fell onto his knees due to the amount of agony, I took out my wand under his pillow and terminated Riddle’s spell. “Do you wish to take his punishment for him? I don’t think you can take anymore of it,” Riddle looked at me with a sinister smile.

“Punishment? How many times have you done this to him?” I looked at him with anger, but then I felt Abraxas trying to pull me back, “once or twice, only after he fell in love with you, he got too protective over you, guess love do make you weak, so at the end of the day, it’s your fault as well,” Tom said in his usual tone. “Get your hands off of my husband, how dare you treat him like that, if you touch him again I will make sure that you will regret it deeply.”

Tom being his usual egoistic self, laughed at my threats. “What are you going to do? Hmm? You are too nice to hurt anyone from all I know, you’re nothing like your families, you were weak before and now you’re even weaker, the best thing for you to do is dress well, talk less, and serve me alongside your soon to be husband,” he scoffed again, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do anymore, Tom, you went too far,” my body started shaking slightly due to my anger, he let out another scoff.

The next second I started to use non verbal spell to fire different hexes towards him, he blocked them perfectly, he started to fire back at me as well, I have also blocked them successfully, I heard Abraxas’s weak groans behind me.

I suddenly stopped shooting hexes at him, he looked at me suspiciously, he raised his wand again, before he could do anything, I have sent a non verbal killing curse towards him, the jets of green light landed on his chest perfectly, knocking him down on the ground, “don’t ever do that to my husband ever again, or the killing curse I fire next time will be far stronger than this one.” I said before leaving him alone on the ground like he did to me before, and helped Abraxas getting up.

“Come on, we need to take you to the hospital wing,” I said while helping him getting up, “alright let’s go.”

“I didn’t know you could do that, firing a killing curse with non verbal magic,” he whispered, “Vinda and Gellert taught me, and the Black blood in my body also contributed,” I said jokingly, “well then, remind me to never start a fight with you.”

[violets-page]

Shot Down |R.R.|

MASTERLIST

A/N: This was my first request and I was so excited! Hope you enjoy <3

The 100, Raven x fem reader? If your kay with it maybe where reader and Raven are in a relationship and had an argument but then the Murphy situation happens in the dropship so the reader helps raven out and when shots happen the reader protects Raven?

You loved Raven, truly. In fact, you loved her more than you thought your heart was capable of. But you couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t really over Finn. You saw the way she looked at him when he and Clarke were together. You saw the pain of losing your first love and the crushing weight of having to watch him happy without her. No matter how many times she smiled and told you she was ‘so over him’ , you couldn't help but notice how her gaze always lingered on him for a second longer.

When Raven crashed to earth only to have her heartbroken you were there to comfort her. Brought together by her tech-savvy ways and your creative ideas the two of you spent countless days together, thinking up and prototyping weapons. And when night time crept up, throwing darkness onto all those below her, She’d creeped into your bed shuffling blankets to make room on your lap for her head. You’d play with her hair and hum her to sleep as she cried on your lap over a boy who didn’t deserve her.

As you two had grown close an unspoken thing rose between you.

Little kisses through the day, always over before you could move towards her. Cuddling into her bed at night, warm bodies pressed against each other as you fell asleep to the lullaby of her beating heart. Makeout sessions in the forest when no one was around but the trees and birds and all of earth's problems melted away when her hands were in your hair and her lips planted on yours.

Raven hadn’t been one much for public PDA and for a while you thought that was just how she was. It never really bothered you, so what if she didn't feel like sharing your intimate moments in front of a group of immature strangers.

That was until Finn approached you and asked if you knew what boy she was seeing.

*    *   *   *   *   *   *   *

You rolled your eyes as Finn sauntered toward you.

“Hey.” his voice sounded exhausted. Much like everyone's did nowadays.

His hands were shoved in his pockets and he glanced around as if searching for someone. With all that you knew about Finn, you had never actually spoken to him. In fact, you actively avoided him. Desperate not to give off the impression that you were willing to talk to him you let out a hum of acknowledgment.

“I'm worried about Raven.”

Your eyes shot up to meet him. He had no right to worry about her, anything worry-worthy had been his fault. You bit back all the lectures and insults you'd thought you'd say to him someday, the ones you thought up while wiping tears with your shirt sleeve.

“Why.”

“I heard her talking to Octavia the other day about a guy she was seeing. I don’t think she knew I was there but..” he sighed, his hand going in towards his greasy hair as you tried not to grimace at its look.

“None of the guys here are good for her.”

Yeah, none of the guys.

You shoot him a frown and bit back your laugh. “No, but if she was seeing someone how would I be able to tell?”

“Well, when we were together she was always very affectionate. Holding hands in public and kisses all the time. She’s really big on PDA. Ya know?”

You didn't know.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

You held in your emotions for a few days, desperately trying not to let his ridiculous words get to you. But you couldn't help it as you drifted away from Raven. Every time you were together your mind drifted to her and Finn on the ark, holding hands and kissing in the halls where anyone could see. Your mind soaked up awful thoughts until you felt your heart might just explode.

This led to you storming into her tent in a fit of anger. You waved your hands furiously through the air as you told her about the conversation you'd had with Finn.

“I know you're not over Finn, and I know you're just using me to get over him but you don't want him to know about it in case he wants you back. I won't be your safety guard to fall back on until you're ready to get up and walk away!”

“What? That’s not what’s going on at all.”

“Oh yeah, cause it sure as hell seems like every time we’re out you want nothing to do with me. You won't even hold my hand outside this tent much less kiss me.”

“Y/n listen to me!”

“No, I’m so sick of this shit”

You loved her but you weren’t going to sit and watch her fawn over her asshole ex.

When the yelling had gotten too much for you to handle you stormed out of the tent, sweat running down your back from the hot weather and your bubbling anger. You hate how it felt and how it reminded you of stupid Finn and his stupid greasy hair. You remembered a stream you had seen on one of your forest explorations with Raven.

Raven. Raven. Raven.

You hated how even when you were mad and anger flowed through your veins, you couldn’t escape the thoughts of her. You needed to get out.

The stream was probably a 20-minute walk from camp. You knew the woods weren’t safe but you couldn’t stand being cooped up in camp for a second longer. You took one of Ravens’ guns with you, just in case.

When you reached the steam you glanced around before stripping. The woods were hauntingly beautiful, but every time you looked at them all you could see was Raven. Her back pressed against the trees as her fingers weaved knots in your hair. Your fingers slipping under her shirt exploring the curves of her hips. Her lips against yours, silent gasps for air interrupting the rustling of leaves.

You wadded into the water as if it could wash the thoughts from your mind. The water was like ice and only reached enough to go a little over your knees. The light breeze made goosebumps peak from your skin as the water suddenly seemed much warmer. You squatted down, the algae rocks tickling your toes. Splashing your face with the cool water, you scrubbed it, thankful to get rid of the sticky sweat that had built up over the weeks you’d been on earth. You took a deep breath and tried to relax your muscles.

As you sat in the water you thought about everything that’s been going on. More specifically everything going on with Raven. You hadn’t even let Raven explain herself before you stormed out. Your quick temper was always your biggest problem. Hell, it's how you ended up down here in the first palace. Guilt was a sickly feeling, it nestled into your stomach and made you feel like a monster.

Suddenly the woods felt too empty, The river too dirty and everything too loud. You felt loneliness fill your heart, its claws creeping their way up as you choked back sobs. As Raven's face once again visited your memory you decided it was best to get back and apologize before the sun disappeared and sleep took your lover.

As you got closer to camp you took note of the eerie silence, a major contrast from the usual laughs and shouts that filled the camp. Walking in you saw why. Everyone was crowded around the dropship. Most people looked indifferent or only had slight concern etched across their faces. That was until you came across Octavia standing at the front.

She looked as if she would just about pass out. Fear covered her whole face as she tapped her foot impatiently. A walkie-talkie clenched tightly in her hand as her teeth pulled tightly against her bleeding lip.

“What’s going on”

Without her eyes ever leaving the doors of the drop ship she answered you.

“Murphys got Bellamy trapped inside. I- I think he’s going to kill him. Jaspers under the ship trying to get him out.”

You surveyed the crowds trying to find Raven but nowhere was the girl donning the red puffer jacket anywhere to be seen.

“Where's Raven?”

Octavia’s eyes flickered to you for only a moment before returning to the dropship. But with that one look, you knew she didn’t want to tell you.

“Octavia, where is she.” You moved in front of her, blocking her view of the dropship. Annoyance flashed across her features but it quickly vanished.

She sighed “She's under there helping Jasper but-”

That was all you needed to hear before you turned around and headed toward the dropship. Before you could make it two steps Octavia had grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You considered pulling your arm out of hers or even pushing her down so she would let you go. But the girl had a grip like iron and an attitude to match.

“She’s got this. By going in there you could mess up everything. Just trust her. Okay?”

You nodded and stayed put. But her words did nothing to ease the fear that washed over you like a tsunami, drowning you.

A gunshot rang through the air and Octavia’s grip on your arm tightened. One part in an effort to reassure herself and another part to keep you put.

You weren’t super religious but at that moment you begged whoever -if anyone- above to make sure Raven came out of this alive and unharmed.

Minutes seemed like hours until finally a familiar mop of brown hair appeared from beneath the dropship. You felt every muscle in your body relax and the headache that you hadn't even noticed disband.

You shrugged out of Octavia’s grasp and ran to Jasper quickly engulfing him in a hug. His arms hung limp at his sides and you could see his anxiety written across his face. But at least they were okay.

“Oh thank god”

You peered behind him, expecting to see Raven, but no one was there.

As if sensing your unspoken question he spoke,

“She’s still in the dropship. She-”

But you were already gone.

As you squirmed your way through the complicated working of the dropship you spotted the brunette. Your lungs filled with air and the knot in your chest eased. She was okay.

“Raven ..”

She jumped at your sudden appearance and something within the circuit she was working on sparked. She let out a slight scream as the sparks burnt the tips of her fingers.

You both looked up as the noises from above ceased

And then came the gunshots.

After the first one, you dived over her without a second thought, knocking you both to the ground. You heard her head hit the ground with a loud thunk as the air left her lungs. You covered her body with yours tucking your head into her neck as you covered her face with your hands. You breathed in her scent as bullets rained down on you. You could feel her heart's erratic beating against your chest. It felt like forever until they finally stopped.

When they did Raven wasted no time moving you off of her and getting back to the control panel, finishing what she started.

You however couldn’t move.  

Damn adrenaline.

You took a few deep breaths and calmed your heart as much as you possibly could. You tightened your muscles in an attempt to sit up, the same way you've sat up your entire life. Except for this time, your muscles wouldn’t tighten. It was as if they had stopped working entirely.

“Raven “ you called out to her. You were terrified, your heartbeat so loudly you could feel it in your eardrums. She was too focused on finishing the control panel to hear you. Finally, she got it, shooting you one of those proud smiles you always loved. It quickly dissolved when she saw the fear on your face as tears streamed down from your eyes.

“I can’t move. Oh god. Oh my god. “ Your tears turned to sobs as your body shook. She was by your side in a second as she quickly took to examining your body.

“I can’t find a wound.”

“Please, please, please Raven.” She had no idea what to do but couldn’t bear to watch you break to pieces in her arms.

Slowly she moved you so you were sitting up, and although it took a while she was able to get you up and onto her back.

A bang sounded from above and the whole room shook. Her hand slipped from its grip on your thigh but she quickly managed to catch it.

She held your legs as you wrapped your arms around her neck. Although your cries were no longer audible she felt you shake against her back as warm tears splashed her shoulder.

Before she even got into the camp she was yelling.

“WHERE'S CLARKE. SOMEBODY GET CLARKE.” the blonde rushed to her side, a sharp intake escaping when she saw you.

“She says she can’t move. Murphy shot her. I couldn’t find the wound but I don’t know.” She tried desperately not to cry.

Not now.  Raven thought.  Not when she's breaking.

She carried you into the dropship, laying you carefully down on the table. It took a while but Clarke finally made it in to help.

After sanitizing her hands with what was left of the alcohol she looked at Raven. They both knew this wasn’t going to be good.

“I need to get the bullet out. Can you distract her?”

Raven nodded and held your hand tighter. You could feel her warm palm against hers, the only thing keeping you from falling apart in a fit of hysterics. That was about the only thing you could feel. Everything below your chest was dead weight.

“Remember how you thought I wasn’t showing you public affection because I still had feelings for Finn?” Clarke risked a quick glance at the girls before resuming her work.

You felt her fingers enter the wound in your back and let out a scream.

“Is now really the best time to talk about this” you tried to say between screams and grunts. She nodded, a determined look on her face.

“That’s not why.”

“Okay..” you urged her to go on so you could focus on her voice instead of the fingers probing around underneath your skin.

“No one knows that I am ya know,” although she didn't make a show of it you knew Clarke was listening.

“And I guess I was just- am just, afraid of the way people might look at me.” the raw emotion on her face almost made you forget what was happening.  Almost.

You screamed again as Clarke’s fingers exited the wound.

“Got it. Now comes the painful part” You looked at her in horror.

She turned your head away so that you were once again looking at Raven. The brunette couldn't hide the horror that flashed across her face at whatever Clarke was doing behind you.

“Trust me, it’s best not to watch this part.”

Raven almost couldn’t handle the look of fear on your face. She wanted to wrap you up in her arms and keep you safe and away from this cruel world. She laced her finger between yours, light kisses against the back of your hand in an attempt to calm your pounding heart and shaky breaths.

Clarke handed her a cloth for you to bite on. It would stop you from breaking your own teeth is what she had said.

Raven squeezed your hand in reassurance and placed a gentle kiss on your head as you let out a ground trembling scream. She felt her heart fall to pieces at the sound. The world around you disappeared as you tried desperately to focus on Raven instead of the hot metal searing your flesh.

And then-

It was over.

You just lay there, studying Raven. Her lower lip was redder than the top one due to her gnawing on it anxiously. Her eyelashes were long and cast delicate shadows across her high cheekbones. Her jawline was sharp and unmoving. Skin pulled tight in a frown of worry. The whole thing had taken a toll on you. But you refused to let yourself fall asleep.

“Raven, I’m so sorry.”

She let out a sad laugh as tears started forming in her eyes

“Never do that again.”  She wanted to scream at you. She wanted to hit you and yell at you for being so stupid. For putting her life above yours and trying to be the hero. But she knew you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not today at least.

Your eyelids were so heavy. You decided you would just close them, not sleep.

As your eyes fluttered closed Raven turned to Clarke.

Is she going to be okay?

“Yes, but…”

“But what”

“She suffered a slight spinal cord injury. I don’t know how bad it is. She might be able to walk again in six months or a year or possibly never.”

As you heard these words your mind drifted as the welcoming arms of sleep embraced you.

As longs as Raven is okay,

I can handle it.

Pt.2

[moscnios]

                                             SOUL ━ﾞ

⁺◟   CHARACTERS . . .           kujo jotaro           fem!reader

⁺◟   GENRE . . .           au           angst           fluff           oneshot

⁺◟   SYNOPSIS . . .           the orphaned vampire prince of the           joestar kingdom, jotaro spends his           days alone in the castle that used           to belong to the family that was taken           away from him in his youth by humans.           but one day he meets a human woman           who will change him forever.

⁺◟   CONTENT WARNINGS . . .           mentions of death ‘ a bit of ooc jotaro tbh

⁺◟   WORD COUNT . . .           2.5k.

⁺◟   COMMENTARY . . .           this wasn’t the request word for word           per say but i started writing and i couldn’t           stop. so i really hope you enjoy this one.

A light nightly wind slipped through the dark green leaves of the tall trees of the forest. The wind’s whisper was soft and distant, but it could be heard many miles away through the heightened sense of hearing of one being.

Through the chilly winds was another being that interrupted its flow. Its flight was as silent as the dead, as it inched closer and closer to the castle that sat in the middle of the dark forest. Its bright yellow eyes were all that could be seen.

The lanterns placed at the entrance of the castle had revealed the creature. A gray-brown great horned owl flying up to one of the high balconies, perching itself on the shoulder of a dark-haired man who had leaned against the railing.

The man took a long drag from the oddly-colored pipe in his hand, letting the smoke out through his mouth, partially revealing sharp fangs. He opened his eyes, revealing the irises. His irises were blue-green, blood-red had glossed over them in the moonlight from above.

He hummed lowly, staring at the moon.

Tomorrow was the day.

The night the moon would be its fullest.

The night he would bind his immortal dark soul, to the mortal, pure soul of the woman he had come to love.

If you had told him he would be marrying a mortal woman one day, he'd probably kill you where you stood. But when she washed up on the gates of his castle two years ago, bruised and battered with no place to go, his life changed forever.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” The young maiden’s voice’s reached his ears from across the room. She stood, terrified in the corner of the cold room with a glass shard in her hand dressed in old linen he could not fit anymore, as opposed to the bloodied rags she showed up on his doorstep with.

He gave her the change of clothes to not only protect her but to control his vampiric urges.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew who he was, rather what he was. It had dawned on her the moment she found what she assumed abandoned castle in the middle of the forest.

It was clear as night. She had heard the many tales of what lurked deep in the unexplored forest. Ferocious beasts that were taller than man, demon children of the devil, witches of the elements, and bloodthirsty vampires. The red irises that pierced through the darkness of the night he took her by the throat did not fool anybody.

He was a vampire. But not just any vampire.

Prince Kujo Jotaro, the last prince of the Joestar bloodline.

She had heard the tale over and over again through her childhood of the tragedy of the Joestar bloodline and their kingdom from almost a millennium ago. How the kingdom had fallen apart. How its citizens and the Joestars themselves had met their end. How only one remained. Or at least that is what she believed the story had been.

“Would you have preferred me to?” He answered her question with another question.

It was the first time she heard him speak since she had taken shelter unwillingly in his abode. His voice was monotone, uncaring of anything.

Though the truth was, he was unsure. He had been asking himself the same question since he brought her in, checking up on her the past few days, controlling his bloodlust to tend to her wounds and care for them the best he could.

She was a walking blood bank for the taking. She practically plopped down at his feet. Her intoxicating humanly scent, the blood rushing through her veins, her pounding heart. She was just the perfect catch to sink his fangs into and drain the precious life she clung so dearly to as she struggled in his grasp as he had done other victims.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Though she feared him, she stood her ground. She wasn’t going down without a fight, made apparent by the glass shard she held in her hand toward him. Even if she had no chance, she still wanted to attempt to make it out of here alive.

“What is your name?”

She didn’t say, rather firing out an insult.

Her words had begun to irritate him. With a blink of an eye, he stood in front of her. With no time to react, he removed the glass shard she held pushed her further into the corner, entrapping her with the weight of his body. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to run.

Had this been the end?

Jotaro had leaned down, near the shell of her ear. He whispered, “Do you fear me?” He lowered his head further, as she gulped shallowly preparing for her end. She could feel his lips ghosting over the skin of her neck, breath sending chills down her spine.

“N-n-no!” She stuttered out, lying to both herself and him.

He pulled himself away from her as if nothing happened, leaving her out of breath and confused. With that, he had left her. The door was wide open for her to escape, to which she had done. She didn’t spare him a second glance she ran out of his castle back into the forest.

She had nowhere to call her home, but she couldn’t stick around and be the meal of a vampire.

But alas her escape was cut short. Tripping over a large tree root, right into the clutches of a tall blonde man who had lurked in the shadows with those similar red eyes to Jotaro’s. Just her luck to run from one vampire into the hands of another one.

He had done this on purpose. He set her up!

( y/n ) backed into the tree, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“A young, beautiful maiden all alone in these parts of the forest? It’s dangerous out here. Are you lost, little one?” He grinned.

The pet name sent chills down her spine, but not in the way Jotaro’s breath did. This was viler, more disgusting. She hated this feeling, this gross feeling he had on her.

She took in his face, he was quite breath-taking. He was sculpted by the devil himself, dressed in the finest fabrics.

He inched closer to her, as she scooted back further.

“Don’t fear me, little one. I just would—”

She backed into a figure, one that did not feel like a tree. One that felt like strong legs.

“Dio.”

That voice. He had come back, standing right above her.

Jotaro.

“Oh come on, Jotaro. I’m sure you can share your company. Only for a little bite,” The one named Dio suggested with a wink followed by him licking his lips.

Jotaro had reached down, pulling ( y/n ) up to her feet by the back of the shirt she wore. He ushered her behind him, a protective hand placed high on her waist. His touch startled and confused her. Did he not send her to her own death by this man? Was he really trying to save her? Why?

“Jotaro, protecting a mere human?” Dio laughed hysterically. “You Joestars with your human affairs. You would think you’d hate every last one of them after what happened to your poor family before your young eyes, Jotaro. Humans are not our friends. They lie about us, they harm us, they hate us, they fear us.”

“She does not fear me,” He defended. His voice was still flat, void of emotion, but his hand had seemed too tight on her waist for a brief moment as if he was giving her a reassuring squeeze.

A squeeze that was meant to put her at ease and let go of the worries that clouded her mind. A squeeze that was meant to make her trust his words. A squeeze that was meant to show this was his fight. The sudden squeeze was different from earlier when he towered over her in his castle. She did not feel like a helpless doe, rather protected and guarded by the vampire of tall stature.

But his touch was as gone as fast as it had come. He removed his hand from her waist, returning it to his side. It left her with an emptiness that was unexplainable.

“Run,” He whispered to her.

“W-What? But I—”

His eyes hardened, as he looked over his shoulder to her, “If you don’t have a damn soul you care about in this world, then stay here and die! So be it! But if there is one soul, just one soul you want to see again, then you run and you don’t look back.”

One soul?

Not a single one had come to mind. She was alone, without anyone to care for. When she landed at his doorstep, she had been abandoned, left to die.

Those bruises she wore were nothing done by the forest or any beast known to man. Those bruises were caused by the hands of other humans. By the souls who were supposed to be her family.

So there was not a single mortal soul she cared about in this earth, this harsh realm that spared no one. She barely found the strength to care about her own. But there had been a new soul she wondered about.

The immortal, impure soul of the man that stood in between her and her fate.

An evil that stood in the way of another evil.

“What about you?” The words tumbled out of her mouth. He was a strong man, she was sure he could take care of him. Not that she even cared, at least she believed so. But he was the only soul who had shown her such kindness through his own harsh way. But it was kindness nevertheless.

He hadn’t answered her question with words, leaving her with a telling silence.

He didn’t plan on seeing her again. Not that he even believed he would if she made it out of there in time. Nor did he believe he deserved to see her again. He didn’t plan on making it out of this battle alive.

This was his judgment day and he embraced it with open arms.

“I’m sorry...” She muttered out. She turned on her heel, running away from the scene. Her mind has called her a coward. There wasn’t much she could do now. She was mortal, she couldn’t stop a fight between the supernatural even if she wanted.

Her feet came to a sudden halt as a loud groan, followed by a hard thump among the commotion behind her sounded.

She had done what she told him she wouldn’t do. The action that would change her life forever.

She looked back.

Her ( e/c ) eyes had met a scene she could barely make out from her distance, but it was clear who the current winner had been.

Dio held a battered Jotaro up by his throat. He did not struggle, he did not fight, he had just accepted his loss. Though another competitor had made itself apparent before her unbeknownst to the two other fighters.

The sunlight.

Her feet had moved on their own, right back to them. She had no clear plan, but her goal was clear. To save Jotaro from perishing in the sunlight. Even he didn’t understand what her plan was at first, until she collided with him roughly, shielding his body the best she could from the bright rays of the morning.

“What are you—! You…harlot!”

A horrific screech filled their ears until it faded into nothingness.

“You came back and…saved me. Why?”

“The same reason you didn’t kill me the night you found me.”

He didn’t understand what he had done to earn her care. After the battle, she shielded him from the light, making it back into the darkness of his castle where light could not shine through. The wounds he sustained were life-threatening, making it hard for him to move.

He expected his sins had caught up to him, expecting he had finally reached the end of his days. Jotaro closed his eyes for what he believed would be the last time and drifted into a deep slumber.

Alas, his slumber did not last forever. He arose in a cool sweat, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as he looked around the familiar bedroom he had spent his entire life in.

He lived? He was alive?

He stared down at his arms and exposed chest, his wounds were almost completely healed. How long had it been?

A calmly beating heart filled his ears, sounding from just at his bedside. There she said asleep, ( y/n ). She sat in a chair with her head resting on the side of the featherbed. She had been worn out, skinnier than he remembered, dressed in some more old clothes of his, bandages covered her hands. She looked peaceful as she slept, he thought. An involuntary smile had come to his face.

She was the reason he was alive. She took care of him. She...she didn’t leave him alone. He remembered how he reached a hand out to stroke her cheek. Instead of moving away from him as anyone else had, she relaxed under his touch. “Thank you,” He recalled whispering to her.

“Can’t sleep?” That same melodic voice reached his ears from behind him. He could hear the sound of her calm heart beating in her chest from where he stood on the balcony. It put him at ease.

The owl resting on his shoulder had flown away into the night. The light shuffle of her feet grew louder and louder until they came to a sudden halt.

( y/n ) wrapped her arms loosely around his waist, letting her head rest on his broad back, "Having doubts about tomorrow?"

He relaxed under her gentle touch. She had always been so gentle with him. "Why would I?"

"You always answer my questions with questions, why is it?" She pointed out.

"I suppose it's a habit of mine. Now answer this question," He turned around in her embrace, now face to face with the mortal. Not just many mortal, the woman who changed his view of the cruel world that took his family away from him. She changed his view of humans, she wasn't the monster the others had been. She gave him a new reason to live.

Love.

He continued, "Why are you awake, ( y/n )? It's awfully late."

"I couldn't fall asleep. So I thought a late-night stroll around the castle would help me feel tired, and I found you here," She answered, pushing a loose of his hair behind his ear. "We're not supposed to see each other until the ceremony tomorrow when our souls are finally bound as one."

The corners of his mouth curled into a grin, "When have you ever been one to follow the law set in place?"

"You are right about that. If I did follow the law set in place we wouldn't have met one another. I don't know where I would be without you."

"And you'll never have to think about being without me. For the rest of our days, however long that may be, I'll be yours, heart and soul."

⁺◟   BACK TO NAVIGATION …

[allisondraste]

Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep On Living

Fandom: Mass Effect

Ship: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4019

Summary: It's only been two weeks since the Reaper War ended, and the Alliance is already trying to bury Shepard.

[Click Here for A03]

Two weeks.  It had only been two weeks since the war ended, since that devastating flash of red light burst from the Citadel and bounced off every active relay in the galaxy, since the Reapers fell dead in space and the Normandy crash landed on some tropical little human colony world just on the edge of the Terminus Systems.  It had just been two weeks, but the Alliance and the rest of the whole damn galaxy were already willing to declare Shepard dead.  And to add insult to injury, they’d  given Garrus the great honor and privilege of hanging her name up on a memorial wall in some trite ceremony to make the crew feel better.

“There isn’t anyone who could’ve been at the epicenter of that blast and survived,” Hackett had explained, far too matter-of-factly. “It’s time for us to move forward.”

“Shepard isn’t just anyone,” Garrus had replied, and then promptly told the admiral where to shove his plaque. It was not his finest moment.

Now, he sat in the mess hall, alone and staring down at the dextro-amino rations he’d barely touched. The bastardized version of some overly seasoned human dish would have been unappetizing even if he had an appetite. But he didn’t.  Something about the person he loved being declared dead left a sour taste in his mouth.  He’d only even tried to eat because Liara insisted, and he wasn’t in the mood for another well meant lecture about taking care of himself.

No longer willing to bother, he shoved the plate away from him with the back of his hand, and looked up in just enough time to catch Williams walk past him.  She stopped, performed a proper about-face and marched up to his table.

“Hey,” Ash greeted him like she’d never spoken to him before in her life.

“Hey,” Garrus replied and watched as she shifted uncomfortably and darted her eyes around the entire room before meeting his gaze.

She motioned to an empty seat across the table from him. “Can I— I mean, do you want some company? You just look—”

“Like I’m one news vid about the ‘late’ Commander Shepard away from going postal?” He let out a derisive snort. “Yeah.”

Williams smirked and  eased herself down onto the bench without waiting for him to agree to her company. “I was going to say ‘like shit,’ but that works too.”

He answered her dryly. “Gee. Thanks.”

There was a pause in conversation, then Ash tilted her head in that sympathetic way every human who knew him seemed to do since Earth. “Seriously though… how are you holding up?”

I’m not , Garrus thought, but the words didn’t make it to his mouth, just sarcasm.. “Didn’t realize you cared… or is this just one of those human things where you pretend to care for my benefit?”

She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Do I seem like the kind of person who pretends to do anything for anyone’s benefit, especially yours?”

He laughed. “Fair.”

“Listen, this is off the record but… Hackett had that mouthful coming.” She laughed and shook her head. “I’m just glad it was you that said it and not me because, well, I like my job.”

If anyone had told Garrus that one day, he’d have a heart-to-heart with the human woman who’d spent their entire first mission together shooting daggers at him from across Normandy’s shuttle bay, he’d have said they were crazy.  But there they were, raw from the absence of someone who meant so much to the both of them.

“It’s been two weeks,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. “ Two. They haven’t even found her bod—“ he tried and failed to choke back the lump in his throat,  but continued talking anyway, glancing up at her— “It’s too damn soon, Ash.”

“I know,” came her firm reply as she reached across the table.  She hesitated for a split second, but then let her hand fall on top of his.  Deep brown eyes welled up with tears that she tried to blink away.  She let out a frustrated huff as one rolled down her cheek anyway, then cleared her throat.  “ Damn. Pretend this isn’t happening.” “Pretend what isn’t happening, Williams?”

“Perfect,” she remarked, wiping her face with the heel of her free hand and laughing. “Kind of hard to believe it’s only been three years since we tracked down Saren.  Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“And look at us now, being mostly civil,” he said with a sigh, staring down at Ash’s hand.  Alien as it was, it reminded him of Shepard’s, strong to be as small as it was, with too many fingers.  He recalled the many times those fingers had traced the hard edges of his face, how that hand had fit so comfortably into his (after a few clumsy attempts, of course).  He’d take another missile to the face to hold it again.

“You know, Shepard worked her ass off to convince me it’d be fine having aliens on board an Alliance vessel,” Ash observed playfully, pulling him from his thoughts.

“You? Paranoid over a handful of non-humans? I’m shocked .”

“Nothing personal,” she explained,“Just didn’t feel comfortable sharing a station with a guy whose grandpa probably shot at mine during the War.”

“Hate to break it to you but—” he leaned back in his seat— “My grandfather was just a run of the mill C-Sec officer.  All he would have done was write your grandfather a nasty citation. ‘Being human in Citadel space,’ used to be a finable offense.”

“God,” she said with another laugh, “Back then, I rolled my eyes and told Shepard I’d do whatever she wanted me to do. ‘You tell me to jump, I ask how high.  You tell me to kiss a turian, I’ll ask which cheek.’”

“We don’t really have cheeks,” Garrus corrected, laughing when Ash shot him a pointed look, “But that’s beside the point.  I’m guessing Shepard never followed through with that order.”

“No, she told me, and I quote, ‘Nobody’s going to be kissing any turians on this mission, Ash,’” she said in her best Shepard impression, then muttered, “Fucking liar.”

“Well, to her credit, I don’t think she planned on me being so… irresistable.”

Ash snorted and rolled her eyes. “Okay, ladykiller .”

There was another pause in conversation, and her expression fell.  She looked down to where her hand still lay on his. “Back then, I just assumed you’d jump ship as soon as things got rocky, as soon as we— as Shepard — really needed you, but…” She trailed off, grip tightening around his hand.  “You never let her down, not once.  Not even when I—”

“You didn’t let her down, Ash,” he argued, sensing where she was headed, “She never thought that.”

“Yeah, well I do,” she snapped, words clipped, “I should have seen the signs that Cerberus had her pinned down, but I let my ego get in the way.  I’m surprised she wanted anything to do with me after that.”

“You’re not the only one who has ever screwed up trying to do the right thing,” he reassured her, “Shepard, of all people, understood that.”

“That’s… you’re probably right,” she nodded and looked up at him, “Thanks. And for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Uh, sorry for what?”

“For ever believing you weren’t an important part of the crew,” she stated seriously, then smiled, “And for calling you birdbrain  behind your back.”

Garrus’ mandibles flared in amusement, and he gave her hand a few friendly pats. “No harm done,” he said, then paused for a beat, “Besides, you didn’t hear what I said behind your back.”

One of her eyebrows shot up. “You talked shit about me?”

“So much.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” shouted a familiar voice from across the mess, causing them both to snap their heads toward the sound. “Somebody get this heartwarming moment on camera.”

Ash stiffened, retracting her hand quickly and stuffing it under the table. “Joker.”

“Hey, Joker.” Garrus waved. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he answered, words pointed. “You know, aside from the soul-crushing agony of my girlfriend dying. ”

Garrus had spent enough time around humans to know that the Flight Lieutenant looked rough, even for someone who’d never cared about keeping up appearances.  His eyes were red, the skin underneath dark enough that even the shadow cast from his hat couldn’t disguise the lack of sleep. He made his way unsteadily to the table and sat down next to Williams.

Garrus opened his mouth, preparing to speak, to express sympathy, but Joker cut him off. “And before you start with any of that ‘I understand how you feel’ crap— no you don’t.  Everyone knows you can’t say Shepard’s dead until we’ve ID’d the body.  Maybe not even then. She just keeps living… like a cockroach. ”

“You know you could just say, ‘I’m not doing so hot,” right?” Ash scolded him,  but there was still a softness to her voice. “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

“Yeah, but see… being an ass is way more my style.”

The table went completely quiet as Joker crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, tension palpable enough it might as well have had mass.  Not one for tolerating awkward silences, Garrus ventured a question. “What the hell is a cockroach?”

Ash smiled, clearly thankful for the change in subject, and began to explain. “They’re these—“

“ Beetles ,” Joker cut her off, “Big, disgusting ones that are supposed to be able to survive extreme conditions other organics can’t.”

“Sounds about right,” Garrus admitted with a shrug.

The pilot flinched and glared at him. “Wait. I called Shepard a disgusting beetle and you’re just okay with that?”

“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I be,” he asked sarcastically, “It actually explains why she kept molting. ”

“You’re having fun. Stop it,” Joker whined, scowl deepening, “Stop having fun!”

Garrus laughed and threw his hands up in surrender. “This isn’t exactly my idea of fun. My cockroach is missing.”

Joking though he was, his words were honest, something Joker must have detected.  His expression softened even as he puffed his chest out. He deflated immediately as another familiar voice called out, likely interrupting whatever barrage of barbs he’d prepared to hurl at Garrus. This time, it was Vega who strutted over to the table carrying an entire fifth of some sort of human liquor.  Cortez trailed solemnly behind him, examining the rectangular objects in his hands.

“Yo, don’t tell me the party started without us,” shouted Vega, setting the alcohol down on the table with a loud clank , pointing a thumb back at Cortez, “Esteban here took forever polishing the name plaques.”

Garrus stiffened at the mention of the plaques, knowing full and well there had been one commissioned with Shepard’s name on it despite all his protests. Turned out, the Alliance brass didn’t give a damn about some loud mouth former C-Sec officer or his feelings after all. He just hoped none of the humans were able to read the pain in his expression— a hope that was in vain if the sympathetic glance Cortez gave him was any indication.

“What’s that for?” Ashley pointed to the bottle of amber liquid Vega sat on the table.

“What do you think,” Vega asked, as if his intentions should have been completely clear, “I’m going to pour one out for the commander.”

“All over the Normandy's floor?” She raised her brows at him.

“Nah.” He gave her a dismissive wave. “Just down the sink or somethin’.”

She picked the bottle up and examined the label more closely. “But…this is expensive stuff, James.”

“Don’t care,” came Vega’s indignant response, “It’s for Lola.”

Ashley gave him a solemn nod, seeming to understand whatever peculiar human tradition he was planning to perform. Satisfied, Vega turned his attention to Joker, snagging his cap, flipping it around, and placing it down on his head backwards. Joker cursed and grumbled, calling Vega a bully among other things, but Vega just smiled and walked over to Garrus, giving him a supportive clap on the shoulder.

Slowly, the rest of the crew began to filter in, each with their own expressions of concern.  Traynor and Tali arrived together, deep in conversation if the emphatic hand gestures were any indication.  They both quieted as they arrived at the table, Traynor frowning and bowing her head, whileTali approached and slid comfortably  into the seat next to Garrus.

She looked down at the uneaten food and back up at him, giving him a nudge with her elbow and complaining. “You are wasting all of the good dextro rations.”

“Good? Oh, come on,  we both know it’s garbage.”

“Well… yes, but it’s digestible garbage,” she said, holding a finger up to make her point.  Her voice softened when she continued. “And you’ve hardly eaten anything the past few days.”

He sighed and looked down at the rations. “Yeah.”

Tali observed him for a second, eyes glowing behind her helmet. She then grabbed his plate and slid it toward him. “Eat up, Vakarian. Or else I will have to feed you myself… with a spoon I am pretending is the Normandy.”

Garrus let out a laugh despite himself. “I don’t think that’ll work, Tali.”

“You don’t know that.  You haven’t heard my engine noises.”  She laughed along with him for a few seconds, then grew quiet once again and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “The Alliance is going to feel very silly when Shepard gets back and they have to explain why they hung her name up on the wall and sold her hamster.”

“ If she makes it back this time.”

“She will,” Tali asserted, voice cracking, “She has to.”

It was Javik who entered next, voice booming in a debate with Liara, who had taken it upon herself to explain human customs for memorializing the dead. He shook his head and ignored her entirely, stating that if he wished for a history lesson, he would ask for one.  He then snapped his many-eyed gaze to Garrus.

“You should not be saddened about Shepard’s fate, Garrus.  She died with great honor.”

Liara let out an exasperated sigh, and sat down in one of the empty seats at the next table over, bringing her hand to her face.

“What is it, asari?” Javik snapped, “Honor in death is something turians hold in high regard, is it not? This should be a great comfort to him.”

“Perhaps with time,” Liara explained,”But right now it is… insensitive.”

“It’s nothing my dad hasn’t already told me a dozen times,” Garrus stated flatly, “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Weird that a fifty-thousand year-old Prothean reminded him of his dad.  Then again, Castis Vakarian was as about as traditional as turians came, and they butted heads on almost every subject, including but not limited to: Garrus’ disregard for rules, his decision to leave C-Sec—twice, his “risk- and attention-seeking” behavior, and his “absurd infatuation with a human woman”. Their relationship had always been strained, to say the least. Still, he had always been there when Garrus needed him, and listened when it mattered. He was the first call Garrus made from the medbay after the Reapers were destroyed, when he realized Shepard might not be coming back.

He’d been sympathetic, but not even remotely comforting, not unlike Javik was at present. Garrus just didn’t have it in him to explain to either how little he cared about the honorable nature of her sacrifice, the high esteem the galaxy now held her in, or the way history would remember her. None of that mattered when she wasn’t at his side.  How could he be proud, when all he felt was empty?

Once all parties arrived and settled in, the group spent time talking and sharing memories. The Alliance crew members all told stories about encounters with Admiral Anderson, how he more often felt like a parent than a commanding officer, and how his reputation was so much larger than his ego. Traynor did most of the talking about EDI, their friendship, and how seamlessly she’d fit into the crew, how easy it had been to forget she was an AI. Joker just pulled the bill of his cap down to cover his eyes.  Then, the reminiscence moved to the commander.

Every single person present had a story about Shepard, about how she went above and beyond the call of duty to help them, and to make sure they were taken care of while aboard the Normandy.  Shepard had always taken time to check in with the people who worked for her, even when the galaxy was falling apart and herself along with it.  She was a good leader, arguably the best, and an even better friend.  It was clear that everyone in the room admired her, and that she was missed.

Garrus knew he should say something, tell one of the many stories of the trouble he and Shepard had gotten into together. The others all watched him expectantly as he scrambled for words.

“I—“ he began, but was interrupted by the buzzing of his omni-tool, followed by several bright flashes of light. He cursed and pulled up the interface to silence the damn thing.  An urgent message alert flashed on his screen, and he tapped the icon to open it.

From: Dr. Chloe Michel

Subject: Jane Doe

Dear Garrus,

I hope this email reaches you, and that you are still alive to read it.  I am on the Citadel working with an emergency medical unit out of what is left of  Huerta Memorial. The blast from the Crucible caused some severe structural damage near the epicenter, and we have been searching the area to find and identify survivors and remains.

There is a Jane Doe here, who I believe you might know. Please contact me on a private channel whenever you are able.

Take Care,

Chloe

His heart sank like lead into his gut as he read what could only be a request to come in and identify a corpse.  The space around him was suddenly too full, too loud, and the curious eyes of his companions lingered on him for far longer than comfortable. He tapped the display on his omni-tool once again to close it, glancing around the room from one set of eyes to another.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. The truth would only cause unnecessary alarm he wasn’t equipped to handle at the moment.  He stood abruptly, a jolt of pain coursing through his leg that was still recovering from a fracture, and excused himself. “Just need to make a quick call.”

“Now,” Liara asked, frowning, “But the memorial ceremony was just about to begin.”

“So start without me,” he snapped and made his way to the main battery.  He’d apologize later, when his world wasn’t caving in.

The battery doors shut behind him with a familiar hiss and he sank down into his seat next to the workbench where his favorite rifle lay surrounded by tools and unused thermal clips. It had taken a beating in the battle on Earth, and Garrus had poured over repairing it in the days following its end.  He hadn’t touched it since.  There were no more enemies to fight, and the gun just reminded him of Shepard.

Bringing up his omni-tool once again, Garrus established a link using the information Michel provided him.  He only waited a second or two before a voice on the other end picked up.

“Garrus,” exclaimed the woman, “I am so glad you received my message.”

“About that Jane Doe,” he began, cutting straight to the chase, “I— do you need me to identify the b— her ?”

“No… it is Commander Shepard,” she explained, “I am absolutely certain.”

“ Oh, ” Garrus said with the breath he’d been holding.  He was glad he was already sitting down, as the last shreds of hope he’d been clinging to slipped from his grasp leaving him dizzy and sick.  It was Shepard.  She was dead. There was nothing to be done about it.

He took a minute to collect himself and his thoughts, cleared his throat and told the doctor, “I, uh…I’m not really sure how to— I mean, I guess I should make funeral arrangements. That’d be better than letting the Alliance—“

“Garrus,” Michel interjected firmly, “She’s alive.”

“ What,” he asked, more loudly than he’d intended.  Hoping nobody had overheard outside, he lowered his voice and continued, “I mean, how is she? What’s her condition? Is she going to—”

“I won’t lie to you,” the doctor interrupted again, “Her injuries are serious, and she has been comatose since we found her.  Still, her vitals are strong and stable at present. She is a fighter.”

“She is.”

The line was silent for a beat then Michel spoke up again.  “I had a wonder… Shepard’s body has, ehm… extensive cybernetic modification. More extensive than I have seen. We are not certain how, or if it is even possible to repair all of the damage.”

One name came immediately to mind. “Miranda Lawson.”

“Pardon?”

“You need to contact Miranda Lawson,” Garrus clarified,  “She is an ex-Cerberus operative, the scientist responsible for Shepard’s upgrades. And a friend. She will be able to help. I can send you her contact information.”

“Good, yes. I will contact her immediately,” Michel replied, relief noticeable in her voice. She then sighed and said, “I apologize for sending such a vague email.  I am realizing now that it was likely… anxiety provoking. I simply did not wish for the wrong people to find out about Shepard’s survival.”

Garrus huffed, “Yeah, if the media caught wind of this, it’d be a circus.”

“That is what I feared,” she agreed with a sigh, “Besides, I thought you should be the first to see her. I know she is important to you.”

“Thank you, doc. For everything.”

“It is the very least I can do.  I owe my life to the both of you. Twice over, now it would seem:”

“I’ll get to the Citadel as soon as I can.”

“Talk to you then.”

The call ended with a beep and Garrus shut off his omni-tool display, staring blankly at the wall on the opposite side of the room for several minutes, attempting to recover from the emotional whiplash the last half hour had given him.  He took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and headed back out to the mess hall.

All eyes turned to him as he made his way toward the memorial wall just outside the elevator.  EDI’s and Anderson’s names had already been placed, tears already shed. Now they looked to Garrus, Cortez approaching with the name plaque meant to commemorate Shepard’s death. He took the polished silver plate and examined it, light glinting off its corners as he stepped up to the wall.  For a long moment he traced the letters of a name that had come to mean so much to him, to those crowded in the narrow hallway around him, to the hundreds of thousands who’d cheered from ships in the massive fleet she’d rallied and led to victory, and to the billions of lives she’d saved across the galaxy.  Shepard deserved so much more than a name on a wall.

And now, just maybe, she could have it.

Garrus would have preferred to keep  Shepard’s survival to himself, to snag her from the hospital and elope to some secluded tropical paradise where nobody could ask anything of either of them again, except “Would you like a refill on that incredibly alcoholic beverage?” But he knew he couldn’t do that.  After all, he was not the only one who loved her.

Lowering the plaque, he turned to face the others, all of whom looked at him with a mix of confusion and concern.  He glanced down at Shepard’s name again, mandibles flaring out reflexively as relief and excitement swelled in his chest.

“They found her.  They found Shepard,” he told them, bringing his eyes to meet their gazes as he spoke. “She’s alive.”

[goblinbugthing]

OC Lore: Old God, New Royalty (pt. 1)

He carefully stepped out of the interdimensional rift and onto the soft, lush grass of a forest. He inhaled through his nose, taking in the scent of the nature around him. "Ah… how nice. Just as I had wanted it to be," he spoke to himself, the rift closing up behind him with a quiet breeze. He dulled the fire at the tip of his tail, making sure to not burn anything, and began walking through the terrain.

As he walked, he thought. "I am ever so proud of what I have made," was a line that crossed his mind more than once, likely because it was incredibly true. He couldn't put into words how much he loved what he'd built; it all emerged from nothing into everything, all because of him and his great power. He truly loved and cherished it, from the bottom of his godly heart.

This was the exact reason he decided to visit his most favoured creation, the planet Earth of the Milky Way Galaxy. Lord Galactica said that it was a bad idea, since if the planet's natives saw young God, it could possibly cause a break in reality. He did not want that, goodness no, but he craved to feel what his Earthling creations felt as they lived on their planet. A feeling that could only be felt on Earth, and on Earth alone. He wanted to experience that.

And so, here he was, Nebulis, The Child of the High One, taking a calm stroll in one of Earth's many beautiful forests.

Nebulis took in the sounds around him. Birdsong of various types, light breezes rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding him, his own soft footsteps against the grass… and a sudden inhale. "Oh, wait, oh goodness-- did someone find me? Oh no--"

He turned to his right and came face to face with the tip of a spear, weilded by a young Elven lady with dark brown skin and curly, shoulder-lenght pale green hair, her narrowed eyes a shade of bright emerald. "You there, intruder," she spoke in monotone, though it was clear she was angered. "you are trespassing on Queen Solaris' territory. What say you, in your defense?" Nebulis blinked nervously, struggling to find a response. "Um… I was just going for a walk," he said after gathering his thoughts. The Elf furrowed her eyebrows. "You are still trespassing," she said, moving her spear a bit closer to Nebulis' face. Backing away, he continued speaking. "O-oh, well, I didn't know this was the Elven Forest! There are many forests here on Earth, I-I simply picked this one at random to visit! The scenery here is quite beautiful, thanks to the native flora and fauna… a fit area to experience this planet's highest euphoria."

"Are you delusional?" the Elf questioned. "No--" "What in the name of the Queen herself are you talking about?! 'This planet's highest euphoria?' What does that even mean?!" Nebulis swallowed nervously, his tail flicked about behind him. "Well, each planet in existence has its own unique type of emotion given to its inhabitants that can only be experienced in the proper conditions--" he began to explain, offering a nervous smile to the Elf before she cut him off, holding the sharp edge of her spear against Nebulis' neck. "That was a rhetorical question, you imbecile," she spat. "Ugh. You will be coming with me, Queen Solaris will decide what to do with you."

Since his only choices were to follow the Elf or get stabbed, Nebulis decided on the latter, and slowly nodded. "Good choice," she said, moving to his side and holding her spear against his back, prodding it gently. "Now then, this way. We haven't all day, and in all honesty, I'm sick of your ungodly bright hair." Nebulis' ears lowered sadly. "I don't think insults are necessary..." "Hush and get walking, intruder." "...My apologies."

(I posted a more basic and kinda shitposty version of this part of the lore, but I felt like it didn't show enough detail of what actually happened, so I decided to flesh it out and turn it into an official lore post. Enjoy or something maybe)

[waiting-for-motivation]

trust

summary: Because people always judge and insult (Y/n), she can‘t really trust anybody. That is until she meets a certain archangel.

request: Heya! Could I request a oneshot with gabriel and an alt/goth s/o who’s very stand offish at first. They deal with a lot of creeps and rude people so they aren’t super trusting. Maybe them warming up to Gabriel after he saves them from a creep ~ anon

pairings: Gabriel x Reader

warnings: cursing, blood, violence, piercings and tattoos (not specific) drinking and fluff

words: 948

a/n: I hope you like it and I portrayed the reader the way you wanted it :))

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

“...but I can help you.“

“I don‘t care. Leave me alone!“

(Y/n) turns back to the old manor, drawing out her machete and disappearing behind the wooden door. The archangel she just screamed at stands next to her car dumbfounded. Never in the many years he lived on earth, he let someone speak to him like that.

But (Y/n) is different. He just met her, but he immediately, knew she is special - not because of her alternative style but of her kind heart. Deep down she is soft and sweet, but she seems to hide it from everyone. But Gabriel is an archangel which means he knows everything.

Inside the manor a horde of vampires already await the female hunter, their teeth ready to break her skin. (Y/n) walks inside a room and gets greeted by seven vampires.

“Hello there, little bitch“, one vampire says and takes a step towards (Y/n). She points her machete at him and frowns at him. “You have no chance against us!“

“I like those odds“, (Y/n) smiles and raises her machete, letting it swish through the air and behead the vampire easily. The others run to her right away, showing their disgusting teeth.

The huntress ducks under their arms and starts to move her machete through the air. Again and again she meets a body and after three minutes all the vampires are laying dead on the floor.

Since leaving her hometown (Y/n) learned self-defences because people were and still are mean to her. It‘s always You have too many tattoos and piercings! or Why do you dress like that? It‘s been a long while since someone said anything nice to her.

Until she met Gabriel who offered her his help. But (Y/n) couldn‘t accept that. She was alone for so long, she will manage this hunt and the following without any help. No one is worth of her trust because all men are the same - horrible and shallow.

“Looks like you didn‘t need my help at all“, Gabriel states and leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. His golden eyes lay on her frame which is covered in blood.

“Didn‘t I tell you to piss off?“, (Y/n) asks annoyed and rolls her eyes.

Slowly, she walks over the bodies and to another room. There must be more vampires. There are more vampires. In the next room three more await her.

(Y/n) runs to the vampires with a raised machete and starts a fight. The archangel stays in the door frame and watches her because he is pretty sure she can handle the few monsters. And he is right, after a few more minutes the three vampires lay beheaded on the floor.

“We should go for a drink later“, Gabriel says impressed and walks towards the female hunter.

The next moment a vampire jumps through the window and at (Y/n). Together they fall on the floor and even though (Y/n) drove her machete inside his stomach, the monster manages to sink his teeth in her neck.

Gabriel moves quickly and grabs the vampire by his hair, pressing his hand to his forehead and making the monsters eyes glow until he falls dead to the floor. Then the archangel turns to a shaking and groaning (Y/n).

“It‘s okay. I will help you“, Gabriel tells the female hunter and takes her bloody hand from her neck, placing his right on her injury. A slight glow lets (Y/n)s eyes glisten and then the pain is gone. She takes a deep breath and sits up with Gabriels help.

“How? What? Why? Who are you?“, (Y/n) stammers confused and stares right into Gabriels beautiful brown eyes. The archangel lowers his gaze and smiles innocently.

“I‘m the archangel Gabriel“, he whispers and only looks up when he hears (Y/n) giggle. She grabs one of his hands and squeezes it gently.

“Nice to finally meet you in person. I read a lot about you, Gabe“, (Y/n) returns with a kind smile and stands up, still holding the archangels hand. She doesn‘t know why, maybe because he just saved her from death, but she trusts Gabriel. After all those terrible people she met, she finally can trust somebody.

“Thank you“, (Y/n) whispers and lets go of the archangels hand.

“What about the drink you were offering me?“

And that‘s how they ended in this dark alleyway in front of a now closed bar. While Gabriel is still fully sober, (Y/n) almost stumbles over her own feet. One day ago she would have never let her guard down so much, but she knew that Gabriel would save her once again in case of danger.

“I don‘t even know why I trust you all of a sudden. Five hours ago I wanted to slit your throat because you offered me your help. Maybe it‘s because you are an angel - archangel! You must be good, right? With your fluffy wings and golden harps“, (Y/n) babbles and throws an arm around Gabriels shoulders, leaning fully against him. Together they walk through the little city and head to (Y/n)s motel room.

“Actually we don‘t have-“

“I hate people. I hate people! I never trusted one soul. You wanna know why? Because humans are...disgusting. They judge and insult and are so shallow. I hate people!“, (Y/n) continues.

“I could never insult a beauty like you“, Gabriel says and stops because he fears (Y/n) will stumble and hurt herself. Now they are standing close and look in each others eyes.

“You think I‘m beautiful?“, (Y/n) asks perplex and her lower lip starts to wobble. Happy tears fill her eyes and the next thing she feels are Gabriels soft lips on her own.

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Hey! I always loved your writing and you actually inspired me to write some myself so I want to request if it’s alright…

Can I have Hanako x f!reader who doesn’t believe in love (this having to due with her parents never getting along). She says that it’s just a little word people say to make them feel better about themselves and it’s a waste of time.

But she can’t help but fall in love with Hanako and gets on flustered when he’s around but tries to tell herself it’s not love. Oneshot please!

Thank you and feel free to ignore if you want!

hanako x f!reader

a/n: hello hello!! thank you so much for the compliment- that’s really sweet, and it genuinely means the world to me;; but, sure thing! (ahh, the fact that i wrote a rengoku fic about the reader feeling that way not long ago- this is a topic I’m familiar with, so I hope that it makes it turn out even better? haha) thank you so much for requesting, and I hope this turns out alright!!! <333 also, if you ever want to share your writings, do feel free to tag me/let me know somehow! I’m sure they’re amazing, and I’d love to read them, should you be comfortable with it!! :DD

bro i guess this request resonated with me bc i genuinely like,,, went off. So it’s,,, pretty long- i hope that’s alright haanofnaoinf-

warnings: implied parental issues?

word count: 2,363

Love was ridiculous. It was a stupid idea. An overused word, thrown onto any situation in which you felt something other than anger, fear, sadness, or disgust. If something made you even a little happy, you’d claim to love it. If someone showed you basic human decency, you’d claim to love them.

You hated it. It made you feel sick.

It’s not like you could control what everyone else did, you supposed. So, you’d continue on normally. If you didn’t fall in love, then there was no worry about falling out of it- that’s what you figured. That’s what you told yourself. Love wasn’t real in the first place- how could such an overused word hold any true meaning? It was like a 1st grade pinky promise. It was easily broken, as if it held any truth to it when the kids exchanged a deal. No matter how much either part of it trusted the promise, it made it no more real or true.

Yep… love was best put as a 1st grade pinky promise.

Maybe not-

Still, such a strong opinion on love, an unmoving opinion, with your own “proof” to back it up… made it hard when you thought that it may be put to question. You walked near the bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, and heard a girl from your class shout something. You couldn’t tell what, but you did notice her slightly annoyed expression as she left the bathroom.

Ah, the girl who seemed to be constantly head-over-heels for boys- particularly Minamoto-senpai, you had noted. It wasn’t like he’d return the feelings, you figured. It’s not like her “love” was anything more than an obsession.

Still, you figured there must have been some other girl in the bathroom. Yashiro probably had friends- she talked to Aoi a lot. Maybe the school’s princess was teasing her friend. You pushed open the door, noticing that all the stalls were empty. The only other entity in the bathroom was… a floating, slightly-transparent boy. He was laughing, and you went ahead and assumed it was at Yashiro’s annoyance.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Honestly, you just needed to pee, but it shouldn’t have surprised you. Little mokke running around the school constantly, weird things happening, a boy in the girls’ bathroom wasn’t life-changing. Or so you figured.

You grumbled, making some comment you weren’t even sure you got, as you stepped into a stall. Not acknowledging him would surely be best. You were fairly new to the school, and it wasn’t like you were insanely fond of public restrooms anyway. You’d never have to see him again. Plus, if he was anything like the other supernaturals, you were sure he’d be a handful. That was your thought process, as you washed your hands, glimpsing up at the mirror hung above the sink- you caught another glimpse at him.

An old uniform. Brown, almost shaggy, hair. His eyes were amber, and rather large- the way he held his hands, you silently compared him to a puppy. Innocent face, playful eyes- almost too alive for a ghost. He turned his head, nearly making eye contact, but you continued to study his appearance. A white… bandage? Sticker? Something- stuck to his face, the kanji for “seal” written in red.

Weird.

“My, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He spoke, bringing a hand to his mouth, as a mischievous smirk came to his face.

A pain in the neck.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as you looked back down, turning off the sink and drying your hands.

“Oh? Gonna pretend you didn’t see me? How cruel,”

Still, you ignored him. He couldn’t be serious. How was he so sure you didn’t simply think you caught something out of the corner of your eye? Was he messing with you, or trying to lighten the mood?

“I don’t think I want to associate with a pervy ghost,” You said, shutting the door behind you. As if right on time, the bell rang, signaling that lunch was over. With that, you made your way to class, hoping to not have to deal with any more paranormal things.

…

Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. As the rest of the day took it’s sweet time to pass, you sat, spacing out as you thought about that boy. He was one of the first humanoid supernaturals you had seen at the school- honestly, you half-hoped that all of them were cute little bunnies. Not… strangely eye-catching boys… how weird.

You sighed, clicking your pen, letting the quiet sound drown the teacher’s ramblings out a bit. Ca-click, click-click, ca-click, click-click.

“Y’know, people find that little sound annoying sometimes. It never bothered me, but teachers seem to be so sensitive about it.”

Jumping, you turned your head a bit, only to be practically nose-to-nose with the boy from the bathroom. Your heartbeat increased from the surprise, but you placed your hand on your chin, pretending to not have seen anything. Not only did you not want to give him much of your time or energy, but you definitely didn’t want to attract negative attention from the normal kids around you. Your eyes scanned the room, and you noticed Yashiro looking in your direction, most likely at the boy. Yes, she definitely saw him too.

“Waaah, Yashirooooo, the new girl’s totally ignoring me!” He sighed, floating over to her. She looked away as well, focusing intensely on whatever the teacher had to say. You weren’t even sure by this point, watching the two out of the corner of your eye. You stopped clicking your pen, watching as he stood behind Yashiro, leaning against her as he peered at her notes.

He glanced at you again, and you looked away. The boy, who you were now curious as to what his name could be, floated back over to your desk, glancing at your notes.

“You really aren’t paying attention, huh! Yashiro’s not much better- her page is mainly doodles. How on earth do you plan to pass like this, haha?”

You glared at him slightly, before lifting your pen, and clicking it open. Annoyed, you flipped to another page, and scribbled something down. He leaned forward a bit, looking at whatever it is you wrote.

“Leave me alone, toilet boy.”

He laughed, patting your back. “Toilet boy? What’s with all the insults, I barely know youuuuuu- plus, I have a name. I’m Hanako. School Mystery Number 7, Hanako-san of the toilet! Not ‘toilet boy’, nor a pervy ghost.”

You raised your eyebrows, writing once more.

“Wonderful. Now leave me alone, ‘Hanako-san of the toilet’.”

Days passed, and he certainly didn’t leave you alone. In fact, you grew to find yourself spending more time than you expected to with him. You assisted with supernaturals from time to time, even meeting his two other friends properly- Kou Minamoto and Yashiro Nene. You all slowly, but surely, became friends.

“I’m done wiping the mirrors,” You said, tossing the dirty rag into the bucket.

“I’m done mopping!” Yashiro exclaimed, sighing as she leaned against the mop.

“I’ve finished dusting too,” Kou added.

Hanako nodded, clapping cheerfully. “Great job, everyone! Can’t wait to see the same enthusiasm tomorrow!!”

The three of you collectively groaned, rolling your eyes. “Yes, yes, just like that,” Hanako laughed, moving his legs to sit in the air in a criss-cross fashion. Light conversation picked up, Kou talking to Yashiro, and Hanako throwing in a comment every so often. You stood, leaning against the sink, watching your friends look so happy. Hanako glanced at you, closing his eyes as he grinned.

Your heart rate picked up, and you felt your face grow warm. Your eyebrows furrowed just slightly, as you glanced away. It wasn’t the first time a little action like that made your heart go haywire. Not just your heart- your stomach, your legs, your arms. The moment Hanako grinned at you, hugged you, or emptily flirted, you felt as though you lost the ability to function. It couldn’t be love… no, you didn’t want to fall in love.

“Right, but it's getting late, guys. I should really head home,” Yashiro spoke, putting the mop up as she did so. Kou nodded, glancing over at the clock. “I’ve got to get home and work on dinner,” He said, putting the duster away, and grabbing his things.

Hanako glanced at you.

“I don’t really have any plans. I finished homework in class, so I think I’ll linger around for a bit more.”

“Alright! Be safe when you head home, (Y/N)! I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Yashiro spoke, waving as she left the room. “Bye guys! Be safe!” Kou added, leaving not long after she did. Silence filled the room for a moment, the only thing breaking it being the sound of your shoes as you made your way to the window seal. Taking a seat, you looked at Hanako expectantly.

“Well? Any more stories of the things I missed out on?”

...

“The Confession Tree?” You questioned, the other two humans long gone by now, leaving Hanako to recount to you previous adventures they had gone on.

“Yep! Yashiro and I took care of that one- it was honestly easier than most of them were. He’s still around, just nothing bigger than one of those pre-cut broccolis. The rumor was, you’d confess under him, and he’d make the feelings mutual~, buuut, it obviously got way out of control.”

“That’s so stupid.”

Hanako raised his eyebrows, not expecting such a distasteful tone of voice. “What is?”

“A supernatural forcing some kids to ‘fall in love’,” You made air quotes, before continuing, “it’s pretty gross. Love’s nothing more than some overused word. It’s tagged onto everything, and it’s basically used to make you feel better. It’s all a waste.”

For once, he was silent. Several questions began to circulate in his mind, but a part of him was… somewhat hurt.

“But what if I love you?” He questioned, tilting his head. His face felt warm, but he tried to steady his heartbeat. It wasn’t a direct confession. No, just a question. A ‘what if.’

You blinked, your face feeling warm. You understood- of course, it was nothing more than a ‘what if.’ “It wouldn’t be love. You’d be interested in me, only for the interest to go away eventually- even if it took a week. Even if it took years. Just… trust me, Hanako. I’m not the smartest person in the world, but- once you see it happen to the two people who are supposed to be there for you forever, you get the memo. It isn’t love. Never was, never will be.”

Those words you spoke… you didn’t like the fact that you questioned their sincerity. Especially when you were blushing, the boy who made you question those words looking at you with his big, rather beautiful eyes. “Or… that’s… what I think,” You added, the heat rising to your face only making you feel worse, as he blinked. His undivided attention on you- on what you said- made your heart beat much faster than you wished it would.

And suddenly, he was closer. Too close. Way too close. His eyes began to shut, as his face drew closer to yours. Your heart began to beat quicker than it had before- your face grew hotter than it already was- your eyes widened, as you silently questioned what on earth he was going.

One of his hands grabbed your wrist, and you looked over at your arm he was holding, then back up at him. His face was still close, so close you were sure you’d smell him if he still had a scent. So close he could probably feel the heat radiating off of your face, if he could still distinguish hot from cold.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?” He finally questioned, thumb pressed against your radial artery, as if the warmth of your face wasn’t enough of a sign.

“Because- you’re… way too close.”

“But you aren’t pushing me away? I’ll scoot back if you want. I’m not a mind reader though, so just use your words.”

Your mouth felt dry. Why weren’t you saying anything? You could speak. Open your mouth and tell him to move. Take your free hand and shove him.

But… a part of you didn’t want him to move.

Hanako smiled once more, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, as if he were saddened by something. “I’m sorry that you were dealt a hand like that in life. It’s easy to look around and find all the negatives in life. But,” He leaned forward a bit more, nose nearly touching yours, “you aren’t your parents. You don’t need to follow in their footsteps. Don’t let their problems influence you so heavily to where you miss out on potentially great things. It’s okay to be sad about it. It’s okay to be scared. But it’s still your life, not theirs. If everyone’s overuse of it bothers you, then only say it when you mean it. Still, if you feel love, embrace it.”

Your eyes felt slightly prickly, as they watered up a bit. His sincerity… your racing heart. Maybe, just maybe… you were in love.

“I… think I love you, Hanako,” You muttered. You were scared. You were scared that he’d tell you he was joking- or that maybe this wasn’t love. Scared of so many things, stemming from one little word. Yet, you tried to embrace it.

“I love you, (Y/N). And nothing will change that,” He said, his smile widening. Quickly, he closed his eyes, closing the distance between the two of you. His lips were… cold. His touch was the only thing that reminded you that he wasn’t alive. Still, the warmth of his words made up for it, as you closed your eyes into the kiss.

His encouragement wouldn’t drown out the fear completely. He couldn’t take the memories away. But he tried… he told you that he loved you, so… you’d believe him. After all, you hadn’t heard him overusing the word. It only made that moment feel that much more genuine.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Satisfied, Part 24

First

Previous

Next

~~~

She groaned when she felt someone shake her shoulder, nuzzling her face further into her pillow. Did she notice that her ‘pillow’ was far harder than usual? Maybe. Did she care? No.

“Encore cinq minutes, Maman,” she murmured.

“Marinette, please,” Red Robin pleaded. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sucks.”

The vigilante cursed and she tried her hardest not to grin. She waited a few more seconds to sell it before pulling away.

“Kidding, kidding.”

He gave her one tiny grin before running to the bathroom. She could hear the sound of people scuffling until, eventually, Robin was pushed out.

She shouldn’t laugh. Really shouldn’t. Everyone’s first hangover is easily the worst one, and he hadn’t exactly made it easy on himself the night before by gradually getting into it. But...

She wheezed, a hand coming up to cover her mouth in a fruitless attempt to stifle it.

His face reddened. “What?”

“You look like you got run over or something!”

He huffed and sat on the counter. “I feel like I got run over.”

She grinned and pushed herself to her feet. She dusted herself off and looked around.

Red Hood was easily the best off, puttering around the kitchen with interest. When he saw Robin come out he gave a cheeky grin and handed over a grocery bag. “Here, use this.”

The kid clearly didn’t know what it was for, because he nodded and put it over his head.

Marinette sighed and plucked it off of him. “No. It’s to throw up in,” she informed him.

He blinked a few times and then nodded again.

Her eyes fell on Nightwing. He looked stressed as he typed on his phone. He himself was drinking from a glass of raw eggs with a bitter look on his face.

She supposed she’d be looking bitter, too, if she was drinking raw eggs.

She shook her head with a sigh and walked to the kitchen and started whipping up a hangover cure. “You guys are vigilantes, how can you not deal with a little headache?”

“I’ll kill you,” Robin hissed.

“Oh, like you tried to kill Red Robin?”

His eyes widened. “Who told you about that?”

“You did. Last night.”

Poor Robin. He rested his head in his hands. “How much did I admit to?”

“You only got a few rounds in, so not as much as you could have,” she promised.

She combined her ginger, tangerine extract, and brown sugar, then handed them out to everyone.

After a few seconds of thought, she replaced the glass in Nightwing’s hand. She was pretty sure that the raw egg thing was a myth. He didn’t even notice, too focused on his phone.

Red Hood beamed as he took it. “Not the best, but I do like the taste better,” he said cheerfully.

“How are you... okay? You drank the most! You were blackout drunk!”

He grinned and ruffled her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes! That’s why I asked!”

Red Robin finally came out, his hair wet. The moment Robin heard the door open he pushed past his brother to get back inside.

She grinned. “I guess he’s too good to puke in a bag like the rest of us?”

Red Robin grinned. “Probably.” She handed over the concoction, but he just shrugged. “It’s fine, I took a shower, I feel better.”

Marinette huffed. “I’d hope so. You smell like my soap.”

He gave a small shrug. “I figured I’d look like the responsible one instead of smelling like alcohol.”

“Oh. Smart.”

He winked. “I’d like to think so.”

The receiver clicked in her ear and she saw all the bats reach up to cover their own with pained expressions. Nightwing looked even more pale than normal. The temptation to turn on her own to see how guilty she should feel about them getting chewed out was almost too hard to manage.

Red Hood came up behind her and slung himself on top of her like a backpack, pressing his cheek to hers. “Thanks for the cookiiiiieees,” he cooed.

She almost pushed him off before she noticed something. She could almost make out the words Batman was saying. She rolled her eyes as if annoyed, but leaned into him.

“-- VE YOU LET ROBIN DRINK. HE’S A KID. LET ALONE YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE GOING TO GO ON PATROL, NOT A WORD ABOUT HOW YOU WERE GOING TO HANG OUT AT MARINETTE’S HOUSE. AND YOU RED HOOD, YOU --”

She winced slightly and pulled away. Marinette thought for a minute about how to help. “You should actually be able to get the cookies before you thank me, huh?”

He grinned. “I mean, I stole a few from the freezer, but I’d love a completed one.”

She rolled her eyes a bit but went to work.

Red Robin watched over her shoulder with a frown on his face. “You don’t fill the whole way?”

She shook her head as she carefully twisted on the top. “The filling would overflow.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“For taste? It’s great, but not so much for looks.”

He snickered. “Looks don’t matter here.”

“Obviously. Have you seen your outfits?”

His smile dropped and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong with them?”

Marinette glanced at his face to make sure he wasn’t joking. And he wasn’t. Oh, wow, they don’t know. She was saved, yet again, by Red Hood coming over.

“Shoo! She’s making cookies! Don’t distract her by making her list every flaw of our outfits! She’s a designer, we’d die before she finished!”

She grinned and piped frosting for a little while until Robin stumbled out of the bathroom.

“I threw up blood.”

“Okay, but how much?” Said Red Hood.

Marinette rolled her eyes and gave him a small shove. “You’ll scare him.” She turned and gave him a small smile. “It means you drank a little bit more than you should have, but as long as it wasn’t too much you’ll be fine.”

“How much is too much? I thought any blood is too much!”

She sighed. “You’d know if it was too much. Relax.” She handed him a cookie.

Red Hood looked offended. “Why’d he get first cookie?”

“‘Cause he’s suffering and you’ve already eaten a few shells.”

He gave a shrug. Fair enough.

Nightwing finally stood, groaning as he walked over. “Great. At least it’s mostly over. We need to head home before Bats gets even more upset.”

She nodded and gave them a Tupperware each (she had a feeling that if she put all of them in the same one Red Hood would eat them all). She wasn’t finished, but she only had a few more cookies to make, and she’d like to give them to someone else.

Nightwing and Red Robin were the first to leave, giving small waves over their shoulders as they disappeared around the side of her building.

Red Hood wrapped her in a hug. “Spar soon?” He whispered.

She smiled and hugged back. “Give me, I don’t know, a week.”

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before jumping out the window.

And so it was only her and Robin. She raised her eyebrows slightly as she watched him shuffle his fee uncomfortably, unsure if he was going to say anything if she didn’t make him spit it out.

She opened her mouth after a bit in irritation, but he chose that moment to speak up: “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have drank last night. I used you for alcohol, that was wrong.”

She blinked. Where was the prick that had nearly gotten them both killed in his anger? He didn’t apologize for that but he was apologizing for drinking underage? What?

“I’m not... supposed to drink.”

“Whaaaat? I couldn’t tell,” she said with a weak smile.

He only gave a small frown in response.

She sighed and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Just be more careful about it while you’re figuring out your limits, okay?”

He looked skeptical for a second, before nodding. With that, he left.

She watched him leave with a small frown.

The worst part of cleaning wasn’t the germs, or the exhaustion afterward. It was the monotony that left you with nothing but your own thoughts. And she didn’t like where hers were going.

She’d been rude to Chloe. Right after she’d found out the girl had actually done something very nice for her. She was literally attempting to help make sure her wound was okay and Marinette had insulted her to her face.

And Robin... hadn’t actually been all that awful. He’d actually been rather pleasant to be around, he clearly was enjoying himself and his laugh had been infectious the night before.

Her grip tightened on her mop as she closed her eyes. Had she been wrong about them?

~~~

Glad to know I’m not the only one using this fic to procrastinate

~

Also I am here to tell you all that you need better sleep schedules. You reply at all hours of the day. SLEEP.

~

Taglist

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<3

[beinmybonnet]

29th June 1613 - London, England

   “Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

                                                         *

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

                                                                                                                                                                    *

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.  

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

                                                                                                                      *

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist  she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.” 

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs.  “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

 held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

 part one of this series can be found here

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame VIII

Author’s Note: Here’s the newest chapter, as promised as my early Christmas gift to you guys! It’s the longest thus far, and my personal favorite (I feel like I say that all the time) so I’ll let you guys be the judge. Enjoy and happy holidays!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader Word Count: 4176 Warnings: Language, sexual themes, master/servant dynamic

Ivar now knew the identity of the spy in the camp. She had presented herself to him when he was alone, under the guise that she wanted to be with him. It had come as a relief that she was not sent to kill him, at least not yet. Her name was Freydis, and she was beautiful, a deceptive beauty that he would have fallen for had he not already been made aware of her treachery. But he had to keep her close enough to not become suspicious, and so he played into her duplicitous act, even as he was wrought with anger and guilt to do it. Her kisses and gentle caresses were like being held in the cold clutches of Rán. Ubbe and Hvitserk now knew her identity as well, so they had eyes on her when he couldn't. She was clever and had yet to make a slip up on who she was sent by.

His time was also divided between Ólaug, and the Bishop, Heahmund. Their time in York was coming to an end, with some of the warriors choosing to stay behind during the winter. Ivar intended to return to Kattegat to have his revenge on Lagertha, but he had not decided on what to do with the pair of Christians. He wanted to keep his nun close, but not if it put you in danger. 

During the day you remained with Audhild and the other healers, but when the sun went down, Ivar ordered you back to his side. It was under the pretense that he needed you to continue to tend to his wound, but he could have asked for any healer to do that. He still wanted you near. Your longing for happiness was all Ivar could think about, but he knew little in the ways of bringing light back into another's life. After spending so much time miserable and alone, he was ill-equipped to breathe joy into someone else.

The splashing of water brought him out of his thoughts and into the dark hallway he was lurking in. He had sought you out for a different purpose tonight. The Bishop thought he could demonstrate his piety by refusing to eat, but Ivar refused to lose such a valuable fighter so soon after acquiring him. You would be able to make Heahmund see reason, that no rational good could come from his fasting. Audhild had sent you away to bathe, and that is where he found you, through a crack in the wall. 

It was wrong. Ivar knew it the moment he spied you naked and did not immediately look away. He couldn’t. You were becoming something of an obsession to him, occupying his thoughts whenever he had a quiet moment alone. He would conjure up delightful and terrifying ideas of a future with you, none of which were at all plausible. The days without you served only to nurture his fondness, and now he was brought back down to a familiar habit, watching but not taking what he wanted.

Your actions weren't tantalizing, you simply washed like the many times you had done so before. Maybe it was the way you went about it, unaware that you were being watched that was desirable to Ivar. If you were his, then what he stumbled across was just a domestic moment of quiet bliss. He could walk up to you, and you wouldn't cover up and hide. You would welcome him with a smile, and he would lean down to kiss your neck, catching a bead of water on his lips that had collected there.

Ivar moaned quietly. That was far from reality, and he knew your reaction if he intruded upon you now. You would shriek and struggle to conceal yourself from his lecherous gaze, and he would be left feeling hateful at you and himself. A part of himself was rife with disgust that he should be attracted to you at all. You were a weak Christian with a false god, and with none of the qualities of a strong Viking woman of Kattegat. Not that he was entirely set on wedding a shieldmaiden either. His mother had never been a fighter, yet she had ensnared Ragnar with her beauty and wisdom. Ivar enjoyed his conversations with you, and he felt your face was pleasing enough. As you bathed, you had discarded your headscarf, and your hair was beginning to grow back. You could be beautiful. 

He found his thoughts tiring, and with sudden energy, he rapped his hand on the door to the bathing room. You startled in the tub, splashing water onto the floor.

"Yes?" You called, face cautious while still unaware of Ivar's presence. You had ducked down into the water and were peeking over the rim as if expecting an intruder to burst forth through the door.

"I require your assistance with something," Ivar answered. "Hurry up. A thrall does not have the luxury to bathe all day."

You frowned in frustration, and Ivar laughed to himself. He knew you wouldn't do so if you knew he could see, but he often caught your irritation when you thought he wasn't paying attention. 

As you stood out of the water, Ivar engaged in your naked form one last time before you slid into a brown slip dress that was ill-fitting. He would hold onto the memory of this moment, and return to it in private when he was allowed to be engrossed with thoughts of you, and not of war and betrayal.

When you came through the door, you breathed out a gasp at finding him so close. It was only to catch a scent of the petals on your skin that had surrounded you in the water, and when he had his fill, he pivoted back to allow you to join him in the hallway.

"What needs tending to, is it your wound?" You asked while rolling the sleeves of your dress up into cuffs.

"No, it is a matter of a stubborn one of your kind. A Bishop."

"I'm not sure I understand. I've never known any Bishop."

"I don't need you to be familiar with him, I need you to make him see reason. He has refused any meal we offer him, and nothing short of forcing food down his throat seems to be an answer. But I assume you'd rather I come to a different resolution."

Your eyes fluttered, and you held your arms around yourself as if chilled. "I suppose I can try to speak to him. But I don't understand why you have a Bishop here."

"He is a strong warrior, and I would like to shift his allegiance to our side," Ivar explained as he started forward.

You shuffled quickly after him, and Ivar was taken aback as you placed a hand on his arm. "Is this man Bishop Heahmund?"

Forgetting for a moment the warmth of your touch through his sleeve, he found your reaction curious. "I thought you didn't know any Bishop?"

"I don't know him personally, but most of the Church knows of this man. That he wields a sword, and goes to war with the grace of God," You said, sounding out of breath and with a fresh flush coming to your face. "How did he come to be here?"

"I captured him," Ivar boasted, if only because he didn't care for how flustered you had grown at the mere mention of Heahmund. "It seems the grace of your God has left him."

You pulled back your hand, and your eyes fell. "I'll see to it that He hasn't."

Ivar's face hardened as he started towards the courtyard where the Bishop was being kept. He hadn't meant to offer you insult, he'd only been wary of the admiration you seemed to hold for Heahmund. When he first spotted the Bishop battling through the mud and rain, Ivar had been mesmerized. Here was a man, a Christian, who fought with the might of a thousand giants. He was everything Ivar would never be, a fate he wanted for his own but could not have.

He swore to the Gods that he would never dwell on matters he could not change. If Floki were here to witness his self-pity, he would have him carving runes into wood with his fingernails. His old teacher never did entertain the idea that Ivar was lesser for being born boneless. Most days he had moved on from the notion as well, but it seemed the appearance of Heahmund had brought forth these feelings of inadequacy.

They passed by the two guards charged with watching over the Bishop, and Ivar instructed one of them to find a hot meal to return with. Heahmund was where he remained the last time Ivar had been around. Chained to a post spiked in the center of the courtyard, still as the dead with his chin tugged down to his chest. Ivar gave a few brusque taps with his crutch on the Bishop's leg to warrant his attention. 

"I've brought a friend. She worries for you."

Heahmund glanced up with curiosity as you took a step forward. You were not a familiar face to him, but you did not hesitate as you knelt in the soft ground at his side. The first hand you reached out and brushed back his dark hair. Ivar felt his bones ache at such a tender gesture.

"Who are you," Heahmund murmured, his eyes heavy as he watched you.

You hesitated a moment, as if not sure how to answer. "I am Sister Mary Catharine. I have come because God still has work for you on this earth. Do not throw away your life so irrationally."

The Bishop took your hand into his own and he began to speak in a tongue Ivar could not comprehend. His eyes grew impassioned, and you appeared to grasp onto his words, leaning closer to the man than Ivar was comfortable with. Whatever the mysterious language was, you spoke it as well, though not with as much confidence as Heahmund. Sometimes one of you would look towards Ivar before continuing to prattle. The situation before him left him bereft of assurance. Perhaps he was mistaken in bringing you here.

The guard he had sent to fetch food had returned, and Ivar had him placing the meal down at the Bishop's feet. He had hoped it would disrupt your secret discussion, but instead, you reached for the cup of water and brought it to Heahmund's lips.

"Enough," Ivar barked, taking a threatening lunge forward that had you scurrying back. The cup fell from your grasp and landed at the Bishop's feet. "I did not bring you here to be his nursemaid. His hands are not bound so tightly that he cannot feed himself." 

You bowed your head, and Ivar knew he had frightened you when you refused to meet his gaze. "My apologies, it was not my place to presume. I should return to Audhild. She did not grant me this much time to be away."

He wanted to snap back that he had not dismissed you yet, but you were no longer his thrall. It wouldn't have done any good to have you distance yourself further from him, so Ivar gave you a curt nod and told his men to let you pass. When he looked back at Heahmund, he was studying him with rapt attention. 

"Heathen," The Bishop started.

"Christian," Ivar returned in kind. 

"Be kind to her. She is a tender angel of mercy."

Ivar felt curious. He agreed with the assertion that you were merciful, but he wasn't sure about the rest. "What's an angel?"

"They are the heavenly protectors that watch over us and guide us. In the presence of our glorious Lord, they stand, and serve Him."

Ivar rolled his eyes with a snicker. He should have expected such a long-winded answer from Heahmund by now. "And what was that language you spoke just now?"

"Latin, it is the language of the Church and all holy scripture."

"What were you saying?"

Heahmund appeared to contemplate whether or not to reveal what had been spoken between you. Ivar knew whatever it was, he had been at the center of it.

"I told the Sister that you are a repugnant creature whose path will lead to sin and damnation. Should you seek penance now and forgo your wicked ways, you may yet save your soul. Renounce your false gods, and accept the one true Lord as your savior."

Ivar began to laugh at the absurdity of Heahmund, and the guards joined him. "Your God be damned, Bishop. My soul is not fated for your boring heaven. We come into this world bloody, and I have plans to leave it just the same. I'll keep to my wicked ways, as you say."

Heahmund did not appear fazed by such a response and had probably anticipated it. He returned to the meal that had been brought to him and began to eat, but not before uttering a prayer and cross gesture first. He was resilient, and Ivar admired the trait as something he had in himself. The goal had been to get the Bishop to eat, and with that rectified, he turned to leave. 

With his crutch clunking beside him with each heavy step, Ivar made his way back inside. He was surprised to see you had not gone far. You had remained back in the hallway, a fretful look on your face. When you spotted him coming towards you, you righted yourself against the wall and brought your hands down to your sides.

"Did he eat?"

Ivar grunted. Of course, you were worried about Heahmund. "Yes. It seemed all he needed was a pretty face. In this, all men are the same."

You grew quiet and pink, the desired reaction he had hoped for. "I don't know about that," You mumbled eventually. 

"Oh but it's true. He called you an angel."

"The Bishop exaggerates."

Ivar was glad to see such flattery had not swayed you, as you lost your previous flush from his insinuating of your beauty. 

"Tell me about your angels. Are they like our Valkyries?" From your confused look Ivar knew he would have to elaborate. "They are the women that guide dead warriors from the battlefield into Valhalla."

"Angels are our messengers to God, though I suppose they do offer guidance. But our angels do not conform to gender in a way that we would understand, and they've always appeared as men to us mortals."

Ivar snorted as he imagined these strange creatures. "What's between their legs then, if they aren't like us, mortal men?"

A peal of laughter bubbled up from your throat that you couldn't contain, and Ivar delighted in the knowledge that he had caused it. You'd never looked so free.

"I don't know. I've never contemplated such things before," You said as your giggles settled.

“He also thinks that my soul is damned, and I’m sure he is concerned I’m going to take you with me,” Ivar said, and not entirely put off by the idea of tainting your pure Christian values.

“If you live your life dedicated to the ways of your gods, then I’m certain your soul is safe. Perhaps it isn’t in our God’s power to decide.”

“I thought you believed my gods to be false.”

You hummed quietly as you appeared in thought. “I don’t think it is fair for me to say what is the one true God. I do not understand the ways of your people any more than you do mine, and I still think it isn't up for men to decide when to take another's life. Perhaps whatever God is, he reaches us differently in our hearts."

"Does it bother you that your Bishop slays men on the battlefield?" 

"I haven't thought of it before. Mostly I just knew of Bishop Heahmund from the stories of chatty nuns," You replied while scratching at the scarf on your head. "I suppose I don't like it, but what he does in the field of battle is between him and God. He'll have to appeal for clemency when his judgement day comes upon him."

"And what about me?" Ivar asked, stepping into your space. You skirted back until he crowded you up against the wall. He could feel your small puffs of air against his cheek, and your eyes were blown wide like a cat's. "Should I be asking for forgiveness for the things I've done?"

You swallowed thickly. "But it would all be a lie. You do not seek forgiveness in your heart."

You were right of course, his heart was not set on forgiveness. It was pounding in his chest at having you so near. Balancing his crutch under his arm, he was able to please his one hand up against the wall and lean in close.

"You seem to know more about me every day," He said, letting his voice go soft as he dragged his knuckles down your left cheek. The bruise around your eye had faded to yellow and was no longer swollen. What a shame it was that he had not been given the chance to learn who had hurt you. "We will leave this place soon, and you'll see my home. Have you ever been outside of England?"

"No, I've never seen the ocean," You said, letting out a shudder each time he grazed your flesh with his.

"I'll take you there." His movements stopped, and his gaze settled on your parted lips. They looked soft, and suddenly they had become a priority to discover.  "Let me kiss you."

His request managed to bring back that fire in your eyes as you squared your shoulders. "No."

Ivar frowned, but he wasn't annoyed by your refusal. He had anticipated it. "Why not?"

"My vow to remain celibate has not been tainted, and I won't break it for anyone."

"I only asked for a kiss, not to hump you in a dark corridor," He teased while bringing his lips to your ear. "It will be our secret, your God doesn't have to know."

"But God sees all," You squeaked as he pulled on your earlobe with his teeth. "Stop that."

His frustration with you was mounting, and he concluded that he had been incensed with your nature towards Heahmund, how readily helpful you had been. When Freydis had kissed him, he had been pulled in by her intoxicating confidence while also left disappointed that it had only been an act. He had kissed her back with the bleak acceptance that only slaves sent by his brothers or spies sent by his enemies had been the only taste of women he had known. 

You were different. With you, Ivar felt as tall as he should have been without the braces. Like an unbred mare, you knew nothing about being taken by a male. Though he had little experience in the matters of lying with a woman, you weren't aware of it, and he could cover his inexperience in what he hoped came off as self-assured caresses. 

"What are you afraid of?" He asked while pulling away enough to read your expression. 

You swallowed thickly around whatever if it was you wanted to keep down, but the words refused to dissipate, and you wore a vulnerability that Ivar had seen when he spoke with you on his bed.

"I refuse to enter into a life of wanton sin. My mother's world was promiscuous and shameful, and all too short. A body used up by the outrageous and cruel needs of men. I won't let that become my fate."

You blinked away your sorrow while Ivar could only look on and listen in displeasure. The Saxons had such bizarre views on fucking with too many rules. Their God seemed to punish them for needful things, and he couldn't fathom such a notion when his gods encouraged sex and love. It was another barrier keeping him from getting closer to you.

"Your beliefs are a hindrance," He groused while stepping back from you enough to make you calm.

"To what? What do you want from me, Ivar?"

What did he want from you? Everything, yet also something indescribable. Your eyes were focused on him without hesitation as if you had pulled all of the self-confidence out of him and into you. Ivar could feel himself falter as he sputtered with a pink flush up to his ears, struggling to answer. He felt more like a boy than the leader of the heathen army. Reduced to silence by a slave, he couldn't let that stand. Gathering up what spirit he could muster, and with a hint of mischief in his eyes, he leaned in close.

"Aren't you ever curious about what it's like?"

"W-what do you mean?" You stuttered as he dragged a finger down your neck to your collarbone.

"To lie with a man. To have his weight on top of yours, becoming one as he takes your body."

"No. I do not have such thoughts," You said, and it was a thinly veiled lie. Your eyes were looking every which way but straight, and there was a blush to your skin.

"I don't believe you," Ivar said, so close to you that your lips could almost touch. "You have wondered about these things. And after the stories of those chatty nuns, I'm certain it was of thoughts of your Bishop that you were tempted with."

Your refusal to answer was everything. Ivar was living in this fog of lust he had created. He was infuriated by your attraction to Heahmund, but he was also satisfied that he had whittled you down back into his skittish nun. He had you. With thoughts of little else on his mind, he charged forward to land a kiss on your unsuspecting lips.

It was a clumsy endeavor. His aim had been poor, with his nose cracking into yours. Your mouth had been agape when he connected, and your tooth had cut into his lip, unleashing a pool of blood that lingered between the kiss. The taste of copper mixed with you made Ivar groan, and his heart was racing like he was charging into battle. 

As if waiting on the edge of a cliff, you were there, and you joined him in the plunge as you tentatively moved your lips against his. You did not kiss like Freydis or Margrethe, because you had none of their skill or experience. You were like him, with none of the practice but all of the passion, and for Ivar, it was enough. He could have lived in that dark corridor forever, with your tongue gently dancing with his and sharing his blood and air, but his stomach began to burn and he wanted more. His hand started to paw at you, and when he made a grope at your soft breast, you let him know that was the end of it. You did not scratch and push at his chest to try and separate you. Your method was more effective, as you went for his weakness: his legs.

Ivar let out a sharp cry as you squeezed his thigh, immediately causing him to reel back. Your back was sucked up against the wall, and you panted hard as he sent you a harsh glare. Your mouth was stained red and swollen, and the collar of your dress was askew. It was a devastating beauty that he had created.

"I'm sorry," You breathed out, and before Ivar could stretch out his hand, you bolted.

He wanted to scream, not because of what you'd done, but because you had gotten away. When you had gone for his leg, it had been only with enough pressure to get him to let go. You hadn't meant to hurt him, and Ivar was oddly consoled by that. He admired your quick thinking to go for a weakness. It reassured him that you could keep yourself safe if he wasn't there. He was certain now that he was in love with you, and in his mind, you were already his. That was just the way of it.

He stood in the darkness, collecting his breath while summoning calm thoughts. His cock was half stiff in his trousers, delighted by the blood and pain you had incited within him. If kissing you was a battle, then fucking you would be an entire war, and Ivar was already forming plans in his mind to signal for your next encounter. You would not be able to spurn him so easily. 

Ivar teetered back to his room, wearily acknowledging that he would find no rest. It would be of thoughts of you that would torture him to daybreak, and with no true name to escape past his lips as he took himself in hand. He would have to focus on other things soon enough, but that night all that plagued him was your surrender. 

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[roseraintears]

headcannons about each individual member kf the seven as dark?

So I decided to split this answer into seven seperate posts because otherwise it would be too long (I'm having to much fun wit this XD)

I'll post the first one here <3

Ok, here we go <3, Hazel: People expected her to change after Franks death She had lost her boyfriend at fourteen no one expected that to be easy So none said anything when she kneeled over his grave for five whole days and nights Reyna simply brought her food and hot chocolate and mourned with her But if they all could have had a look into Hazel's mind they could have seen the slow death of the sweet kind girl she used to be Thoughts of hate begin to burn inside her She asks herself why Juno who saved Franks stick from burning up as a baby refused to do it a second time. The question makes her storm up to Olympus, her brown eyes hard with anger Her friends are with her, Of course, they want to protect each other now that one of them has fallen Juno awaits them in her usual glory, tall with a cloak around her shoulder and .. jewellery precious metals decorating her arms and neck "Why didn't? Do you save him? Was he just a weapon you did not need anymore?!, hazel shouts out her suspicion and now people, gods and demigods alike begin to worry The queen of Olympus remains silent She sees the hatred in hazels eyes and regrets not answering her grandsons screams for help when he burned in the flames Her silence is Hazel's answer and in her growing rage the necklace on Juno's neck starts chocking the goddess Hazel does not feel remorse, only satisfaction as she hears Junos choking It is Percy's hand on her shoulder that snaps her out and Juno's necklace flys into her open hand "You will never use a demigod like that again I will make sure of that. She says and then with one last glare leaves Things are not the same when shes back at camp Jupiter Everything and everyone annoys her, reminds her of what she has lost They are around her all the time like, Leo who reminds her of Sammy, Jason who made Frank Praetor, Percy who loved Frank like a brother Whenever they talk about Frank she feels the desire to yell at them One time when Jason tries to comfort her once again she snaps "You don't have to do this just because you made Frank Praetor and you feel guilty.", Hazel tells him a bit too harshly and Jason leaves her She feels guilty so she does her best to act as grateful as possible from now on The days are very hard for her That is why she loves the night She hasn't forgotten the power rush she got on Olympus and that is why keeps practising She steals weapons from the night patrols She makes the tunnels under the field of Mars change so that they all lead to dead ends When some of the new Rome's war veterans talk about having seen lost loved ones at night Hazel pretends to not listen She just thanks Jason in her thoughts for telling her so much about the ones that fell in the titan war Hazel disappears two weeks after Frank's death The remaining five of the seven are devastated They immediately go searching for her but even after five months there is no sign of her Other demigods start whispering Even Thalia who visits Reyna often is part of those whispers She doesn't know hazel and Frank well and yet what she has heard reminds her so much of the story of a friend she had once lost He had been left alone with his fate with his insane mother just like Hazel Thalia fears that now that Hazel has lost a loved one she will seek revenge just like Luke once did. Nico and Percy are Hazel's greatest defenders They deny every rumour and says that Hazel just needs time to calm down it's the only thing that keeps them from drowning in their guilt Hazell has gone to her old home in Alaska Arion took her there It hurts to be back but here she is saved from the gods who used her and her loved ones She's so sick of being their pawn The years pass and all alone in this cold country Hazel's heart turns to ice A few old men yell insult her with racist phrases She controls the metal ankers on their ships to impale them She hears screams from her neighbour's house at night and so she breaks the metal lock to get in The man who is beating his wife only has a second to look at her before her senses reach metal and they find it......in his

blood She concentrates hand stretched out and the man chokes to death She leaves without a word There is no remorse in her, if the gods let her sweet gentle boyfriend die why isn't she allowed to kill a few bad peopöe One day she decides to return as thoughts about her past cloud her mind Someone has to show the gods that they can't treat their children like this She returns after ten years but does not show herself to her friends Maybe because she worries that they notice how much she has changed Instead, she decides to try to control the labyrinth just like Pasiphae once did The mist helps her to create new tunnels that lead wherever she wants them to go One day they lead to new Rome She just wants to look at how everyone is doing but when she sneaks near the city hidden in her magic she sees something that makes her furious Her friends have moved on She sees them celebrating with other Romans and greeks They celebrate Gea‘s defeat like it wasn‘t just a terrible unnecessary war they had to suffer through She hates that they enjoy their demigod lives They should have told the gods that they want to live normally away from both camps that endanger their lives Unfortunately, that makes her think of Frank and how he has ripped away from his life, his home country just to serve the gods Hazel feels her rage burning like an active Volcano close to erupting She walks up the hill over new Rome and looks down at the glorious city She could bury it without even trying For a moment she thinks about the lives that will cost but then again what else could make the gods notice their flaws She reaches for all the metals buried under the city She hesitates for a moment but then she thinks about Frank, his sweet smile and with a scream the earth starts shaking Buildings and temples collapse People get swallowed by big cracks in the earth There are screams horns are blowing Mist is rising and People hear voices whisper that this is god's fault They have to be punished for their mistakes It‘s like a storm of fog being thickest at the hilltop Hazel‘s old friends are filled with dread as they have seen those powers before Leo decides to fly directly into the mist together with Piper and Jason Hazel sees them approaching and a soft smile appears on her lips The mist lightens All demigods gasp Leo yells in despair He already blames himself for Franks death and now he sees that Hazel the girl he once loved has gone mad Her once curly short hair now long falls around her shoulders Her once brown eyes glow sickly golden as if the riches of the earth have taken control over her It drives him insane and so he rips out a hammer from his tool belt and attempts to attack her Hazel feels deeply hurt by this and so she moves her hands Leo is thrown of Festus's toolbelt made of metal turning out to be his curse Hazel smashes him into the ground a hundred feet under him Festus claws impale Jason and Piper before they have time to react Hazel feels a sting in her heart but she oppresses it The gods and their quest would have killed them anyway Percy and Annabeth are still in the falling city trying to get as many people out of there as possible They both try to ignore the corpses falling from the sky Percy‘s mind is still refusing that the girl he sees as a sister would do this He knows that she has to be stopped but how is he supposed to do that? He still loves her like a sister despite the lives she is taking Her real brother steps up instead Hazel can feel his presence behind her It makes her lose focus The citizens of New Rome cry in relief when the metals stop resurfacing Their city is in ruins but at least it has stopped Before Hazel can react skeleton warriors jump out of the earth restrain her by grabbing her arms She is furious about Nicos interference and struggles to escape „Hazel please it‘s not worth it just surrender and we‘ll talk about this.“, Nico says while he walks up in front of her. Hazel‘s heart breaks at the tortured look in his eyes and she realizes that she is the reason for it She disappeared She came back and murdered

hundreds She did it for Frank but she suddenly asks herself if Frank would have ever wanted to get justice in this way Would he wanted her to become hateful and obsessed with revenge just for him? As she looks into Nico‘s eyes regret strikes her „I……..I‘m sorry.“, She whispers with tears in her eyes. Nico smiles sadly happy that his little sister came to her senses He stretches out his hand to gently touch her cheek Thunder rumbles and suddenly a lightning bold explodes the hilltop right where the children of the underworld Jupiter feels nothing as he watches Percy, Reyna and Annabeth falling to their knees, sobbing and holding each other Hazel Levesque is just another demigod for him, a girl that could not get over her boyfriend Percy buries Hazel next to Frank all by himself New Rome is rebuilt with the help of the greeks The time goes by and slowly Frank and Hazel‘s names are forgotten Juno would love if they had never existed in the first place Whenever demigods speak of them they do it with anger and the queen of Olympus fears that one day a rebellion will start It's not often that their names are talked about but when they are people always refer to them as „Hazel Levesque and Frank Zhang. The couple that died in Storm and fire

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Enough, Always: Izzy

CW: Newly adult child of whumper and whumpee, whumper in prison, references to romantic/intimate whump, referenced child emotional abuse, verbal abuse, brief gendered appearance insults with single line of brief homophobia at end, plus final crowning moment of badass for Izzy.

Izzy’s mother Savannah Marcoset has been locked in prison on a life sentence without parole for eleven years for abducting Izzy’s father Jax, keeping him captive, and forcing him into a horrifying facsimile of domestic bliss - and Izzy last saw her in person fourteen years ago, when her father escaped with her and her infant brother in one desperate final bid for freedom.

Newly eighteen and feeling the need for some kind of closure in one of the foundational aspects of her identity, Izzy decides to visit America - and pay a visit to her incarcerated mother. 

During the visit, she learns that Savvie Marcoset, in the end, couldn’t change - but Izzy fucking Gallagher did.

For the first time with her mother, Izzy finds her voice.

Jax Gallagher (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.

---

“Is this how you dress now?” Her mother’s voice is sharp-edged and still familiar, even fourteen years since Izzy last spoke to her face to face. It’s funny, how she barely remembered it, but as soon as she hears it, her heart starts to race, and it’s the feeling of her heart beating wings inside her chest. It’s the way other people might remember the sense of a warm hand to forehead, checking for illness, or laughter, or praise.

It’s a voice like a fever, a rush of chill down her spine and through her arms and thighs. Is it familiar from real memories, or because Izzy has heard it in interviews and documentaries and recordings, during her nights spent researching the woman who makes up half her genetics and absolutely none of her life?

She almost gets up and leaves right then. 

Almost. 

But Izzy Gallagher fought for this trip, had declared herself able and willing to do this, had more importantly convinced her father she needed to do this. She can’t just give up because it didn’t start well.

Even if he wouldn’t judge her, or at least he wouldn’t show it, Izzy Gallagher sets her shoulders and declares herself her father’s stubborn strong daughter, and not her mother’s weak and frightened one.

She steels herself against the instinctive uncertainty, the rush of anxious shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have tried. Instead, she gives her mother a faint smile as a plastic-and-metal chair is pulled out and she sits down across the small round table, just enough space there isn’t any danger of accidental - or, hopefully, purposeful - touch. 

The walls are beige, the top of the table is a wood so pale it might as well be. There are bars on the window that lets in a pale and faded winter sun. There are some others, nearby, people younger or older than she sitting at other round tables, seeing mothers, wives, aunts, sisters. Izzy wonders if all of them are scared, or if none of them are. If it’s only her who has to remember how to breathe, in her mother’s presence.

She can do this. She told him she could do this.

“Um.” Izzy looks down at herself - just a band shirt and faded jeans worn with holes, her still-knobby knees showing through, the boots a birthday gift from Nana she’d thought would help her crunch through the grayish snow in the parking lot, a light hooded sweater over it all - and then up again. Her mother’s eyes are still wide-set in her face, which is less rounded as time has passed. 

Those eyes are still overbright, and very blue.

It’s been so long since Savannah Marcoset saw her eldest child, and Izzy can’t ever remember having been the focus of her mother’s all-consuming interest before. It feels like standing in the eye of a storm, where everything is still but the air carries weight, electricity, and threat. 

“Mostly,” Izzy says, finally. “Mostly this is how I dress. I mean, I couldn’t wear gray, could I? They wouldn’t let me leave.” She tries to sound lighthearted, then winces. Bad joke.

Her mother, in what looks almost like flat gray scrubs, with a high-cut V-neck and a waist without a drawstring, smiles back, apparently unoffended. There’s a shift - subtle as a cat moving onto its back paws in grass, eyes focused on a nearby bird. Izzy has always been sensitive to changes in the tension of a room, and her own eyes - hazel leaning towards brown, her father’s eyes through and through - move to a nearby guard, reassuring herself with his presence.

Savannah Marcoset is firmly locked in prison for life, with handcuffs and ankle-cuffs that ensure she can’t make herself a threat here, and still the soft nearly-buzzed hair at the back of Izzy’s neck stands up, and she feels like she is being inspected, a bit of bacteria in some scientist’s microscope.

“I had hoped for a little more color, is all,” Her mother says, tilting her head to the side, giving an impish little smile. “As you can imagine, there isn’t exactly a surplus of art here. You look lovely, Isabella.”

Izzy swallows against a lump in her throat. Absurdly, she feels outnumbered, one-to-one. “I, yeah. Thanks.” She tries for a responding smile, maybe half-successful at it. “You have-... you have art classes here, I read.”

“You read up on me.” Her mother’s expression changes a little, opens up. She sits up a little straighter, then, and there’s a flash of still-white teeth in her smile, now. “You know about me. I would have thought you wouldn’t be allowed to know a thing.”

“I’m, um.” Izzy’s hands fold in her lap, and she rubs over the shredded white threads along a hole that’s worn over one thigh, the softness of a patch of fabric she’d sewn herself beneath. “I’m eighteen now, so. I get to pick what I know, more or less.”

“You’re eighteen?” Her mother’s surprise is genuine, and she glances sideways at the clock as though it will become a calendar, back to Izzy. “When did that happen?”

Why that question hurts, she doesn’t know - but it does. It’s not like Savannah Marcoset has anything to do here but remember, and yet-... she didn’t.

“About three weeks ago, actually,” Izzy says, and hears herself sounding embarrassed, like she should have not grown up at all, if that wasn’t what Savvie wanted, or expected. Like the turn of the Earth is her fault, something she did on purpose just to spite Savvie by stealing time. 

“Oh. Well.” Savvie folds her hands with a soft rattle as the cuffs knock into the shiny, sealed tabletop. She leans over, and Izzy can see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, now, the hint of them around her lips. Her jawline seems stronger, more carved, she is a statue version of a parent that Izzy remembers as a kind of terrifying whirlwind. Her hair is less overwhelming, the deep brown graying at the temples, pulled back simply against the nape of her neck. It isn’t so long, as it once was. Savvie pauses, waits for Izzy to look her in the eyes. “Happy birthday, Isabella.”

The name is wrong - it’s always been wrong - but Izzy smiles, anyway. “Thanks. Eighteen is a bit weird, it doesn’t feel any different than seventeen did, but-”

“My no-contact orders were signed here, in the US,” Savvie says, interrupting her, thinking this through. “So you, what, had to be eighteen to come see me? Have you wanted to before?” She leans forward, and Izzy leans back, feeling her back press into the chair behind her, letting her right hand drop to rub at the seam of her jeans on the outside of one thigh. Her heart beats harder. “Did he keep you from seeing me?”

He.

“No,” Izzy says, and her voice is thin at first, but she clears her throat and the second try is stronger. “No, he didn’t. He would have, if I’d have wanted to, before. I just didn’t ‘til now. We’re, um-... we’re doing an American holiday, more or less.”

Shit. She shouldn’t have said-

“‘We’?” Savvie’s expression brightens, with real interest now. Her eyes pin Izzy like a butterfly to a display case, jam tiny needles through her wings, hold her fast. “He’s here? Jax is here?”

“He’s not,” Izzy lies, smooth as silk, without hesitating. She’d planned for this question, prepared for this. She’d sat up til two in the morning prepping for the ways her mother might try to talk about her father, and more importantly, the ways that Izzy wouldn’t give her what she wanted. She’d just been hoping to hide it better for longer. “He didn’t come with m-me here. It’s just me, Mom, and some friends.”

Savvie clicks her tongue against her teeth. “He didn’t think I was too dangerous, for you to speak to?”

She can’t help her slight, sardonic laugh at that. “You’re in prison, Mom.” It feels weird, to hear herself say Mom out loud, as though that was ever what Savvie had been. She was four the last time she said Mommy to Savvie’s face, and even then it had been an apology Izzy can barely remember now, her own sense of a small voice saying, I’m sorry, Mommy, I won’t do it anymore, but she can’t remember what she’d done to get in trouble.

Breathe, probably.

“You’re in prison,” She repeats, and her heartbeat settles a little, reassuring herself with the words spoken out loud, made real. “You’re the least dangerous you’ve ever been, to us.”

Savvie sits back, less pleased now. “I was never dangerous. Did he tell you I was dangerous to you? I never was. That was a lie he made up, so they would help take you and your brother away from me. I only ever wanted us to be a family, Isabella.”

“Mom.” Izzy’s voice wavers, and Savvie might smile a little at the sound, but if she does, it’s because she sees the wrong reason for the waver, or… maybe she enjoys the annoyance, the anger, as much as she would fear. “We both know that’s not true, none of that is true.”

“I wanted a family,” Savvie says, in a low voice, not quite a whisper. Regretful, mournful. She trails a fingernail along the top of the table, and Izzy tenses at the scrape of it. Barely audible but it grates on her nerves nonetheless. She swallows, presses her lips together, tries not to watch it move.

Fails.

Savvie’s nails aren’t painted - in Izzy’s blurry remaining memories of her, Savvie’s nails are always painted colors - but they shine, perfectly filed edges moving, catching a hint of light. 

“Your dad,” Savvie says, in that same mournful, grieving tone, “didn’t want you at all. Did you know that? He never did. He hated the very idea of you, and your brother. He thinks I don't know that he cried over the concept of you. No… you were never wanted by anyone but me, until he realized he could steal you to hurt me. He could always be cold that way. He took you and hoped I would-”

“Stop.” Izzy struggles to say it. Even now, with therapy a constant foundation of her life and a stronger one than her mother’s terrifying rage, it’s hard to make herself say the word. She has to fight to make it audible, but it’s still clearly surprising - Savvie goes silent, watching her with those unnerving wide blue eyes. “Please-... stop. I, I know how he felt. You can’t-... you can’t rewrite history, Mom. I know… I know how it was, or I know enough.”

“It’s the truth, Isabella.” Her mother’s expression is so earnestly sincere. Izzy licks at her lips, suddenly dry and chapped, and thinks that if there were a lie-detector test, her mother would pass it, stone-cold. No way to tell she didn’t believe her own words. She might, actually, believe the story as it leaves her mouth, believe it so utterly she can lie without even knowing she’s doing it. “That’s all I ever wanted to do, is have the chance to tell you the truth. But he got that no-contact order and made sure you would only ever know how he saw it.” Savvie smiles with wistful regret, every inch the mother mourning her lost children. 

Izzy knows better. 

Jamie, her little brother, fifteen and with no memory of his mother at all, might fall for this. She's a stranger to him. But Izzy remembers the hours locked alone in the dark, and the sound of her father screaming in pain. 

She swallows trying not to think too much about that memory. “It’s not about-... there aren’t two sides, Mom. This isn't like any other divorce. You held him prisoner.” She’s falling into a trap, and she can feel it but she can’t stop herself. Her mother hasn’t tried to so much as reach for her - it wouldn’t be allowed, the guard would step forward if she did - but Izzy still feels like she has been pinned, claws sliding into her shoulders and a heavy weight holding her to her seat. A bird that didn’t see the threat in time to take flight. "You-... held us all-"

“Well, now he’s made sure I’m a prisoner, hasn’t he? Must be nice, to pin all your problems on the Big Bad Witch in prison who can no longer defend herself. But, of course, everything is always my fault.” Savvie shrugs as she cuts Izzy off, almost idly. 

"Mom, he has-..." Izzy feels unmoored. Drifting, like this can't be real, this conversation. This can't be real. "You abducted him, you-"

"Everyone has problems, sweetie." Savvie's head tilts a little more, eyes moving over Izzy’s face with an awful, palpable weight. “Don't try to make it a competition." Something gentles, then. The hard planes of her mother's face soften. "You know, you look like him.”

Izzy warms, a little, at that. She shouldn't and she knows it, but still, she does. She smiles, slightly lopsided, and raises one hand to touch the silver rings in the shell of her left ear, two of them right next to each other, one for Jax and one for her brother Jamie. “I hope so,” she admits. “I’ve always wanted to.”

The moment of gentleness in her mother’s expression slips away, replaced by a brittle frigid chill that washes over Izzy, a wave that breaks against her. 

Oh, no. I cared more about him than her. Even now, fourteen years on, she still shivers in an old fear.

“He is handsome,” Savvie says, tapping her fingernails again, scraping them along the table. The sound is starting to grate on Izzy’s nerves. “He always was, even in the earliest days. He never knew it, I don’t think. I tried to tell him.”

He didn’t want to hear it from you.

“He hears it enough now,” Izzy says, and her heart goes cold with dread as she realizes she’s nearly given away something much, much worse to say than accidentally admitting her dad came on the trip with her.

Damn it, Izzy, don't let her know about Kieran. 

Savvie doesn’t seem to notice the clue. She just keeps tapping. “Do you play music, Isabella? I wondered if either of you would have talent, in the end.”

It’s an abrupt change of subject, and Izzy doesn’t see it for the trap it is. 

“I play-... um. I can play some things,” Izzy hedges, shifting uncomfortably from the simple truth that she can play almost anything, if she hears it a couple of times, remembers note-for-note the songs on the radio or the forbidden ones she still hides in playlists buried in playlists, the soft strains of violin that draw her but she would never admit to. “I’m-... in a band, actually.”

Savvie’s eyes are back on hers, then, that unnerving total focus. “What do you play in that band? Is it a real band, or just noise?”

Izzy rubs at the back of her neck, flushing in embarrassment. “Um. I guess it’s about fifty-fifty noise and real. I play bass guitar, actually.” 

She’d read somewhere that bass guitar was easy, and figured if she played that, no one would realize the music was inherent in her, demanding expression. She could say she wanted to be in the band because of her father, who had been in one once upon a time, too. She wouldn’t have to admit that the music didn’t come from Jax, but from Savvie’s blood in her veins. She could pretend, with the bass guitar, to be worse at it than she really was without ruining the songs. 

Her mother snorts, derisive. “Anyone can play that,” She says, waving one hand in dismissal - but the other has to come with it, and it’s a reminder that, no matter how Izzy feels in the moment, there is no real danger here. “That hardly counts. Can you play a real instrument?”

“It is a real instrument.”

“Hardly.” Savvie looks disappointed, and it’s weird - she hasn’t seen her face-to-face since she was four, and she hasn’t said a word to her in that time, and still… the disappointment hurts, a little. “You weren’t allowed to do music, were you? He forbade you, because of me.”

“No, he absolutely didn’t.” It’s Izzy’s turn to lean forward, her hands closing into fists in her lap now, an old habit from childhood she’s mostly broken but it comes back, now, as her irritation rises in eternal defense of Jax. “He’s always supported whatever I wanted to do-”

“Because he doesn’t care enough to make sure you’re doing something worthwhile.” Her mother’s sigh cracks open a dark door inside her, it’s familiar even to her fading memories. It’s a sigh she knows from birth. Before Izzy can respond again, she changes the subject, deft as a dancer. “What are you doing for school, then? Are you going to go to college?”

Izzy blinks, thrown off track. “Um. Yes, I do plan on it, I’ll be going to university next autumn-”

“You’ve got the accent, too. Guess they’ve painted over everything they didn’t like, didn’t they?”

“Wh-what?” Her heart stops as her mother’s voice is sharp again. Her fists tighten, pressing down into her thighs until they nearly ache. “What’d you-”

“You look like him, dress like the dime-store version of him - honestly, Isabella, look at you, you look… grimy. You even talk like him. What is this, trying to look like the daughter he might have actually wanted? Is that it?”

Izzy swallows, sitting back again, thumping into the back of the chair. Someone nearby is crying, soft, muffled sobs. Someone else is whispering, in vicious intensity, in fury. The guards are impassive. There’s no sign they even hear Savvie speaking at all. “It’s just who I am-”

“No, it isn’t. I saw your name, Isabella Gallagher. You were born a Marcoset, but he was happy when he changed it, wasn’t he?” Savvie’s eyes won’t let her look away. She feels completely captured, the center of Savannah Marcoset’s world, the most terrifying place on Earth, somewhere Izzy has never once been. “I asked you a question, Isabella. He was happy to have you change your name, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.” She’s not sure why she answers. The anxious shivering inside of her is stronger than it should be. Her voice is a whisper, a rush of air with only a hint of sound. “But it was-... my idea-”

“I’m sure he let you think that. I feel sorry for you, you know. I really do. He must care for James so much more than he does you, don’t you think? My beautiful son wasn’t old enough to even speak to me, but you… you’re a reminder, aren’t you? Oh…" Savvie's lips purse, in a sort of smug smile. "Oh, you are. God, what torture it must be for him to be around you."

She’s supposed to be stupid. Izzy has watched all the documentaries that mention the case, she read an awful unauthorized true crime book she found in a thrift shop once that just had a little teensy chapter on Savvie buried between other femme fatales. She’s done her research, to understand the woman she was going to meet as best she could.

Savannah Marcoset is supposed to be… well, stupid.

Izzy wasn’t prepared for cunning not being the same thing as smart. And she didn’t think through what eleven years in prison, with almost nothing to do but think, and no chance of leaving ever for the rest of her life, might do to hone her mother’s ability to wound. That Savvie might have taken a blunt instrument and whittled it into a blade.

“I-I’m not-”

“You are.” Savvie hums, and the tapping of her nails is going to drive Izzy up the fucking wall. “Even just being alive, you are. And your hair, well…” Savvie’s eyes go up to Izzy’s hair, the same deep chocolate brown as Savannah’s own, a shock of curly brown that falls over her forehead and against one side, nearly shaved on the other side and along the back. “You can cut it, but it’s still my hair. You walk around a living reminder of what he stole from me, just to hurt me, what he didn’t even want. You were never wanted, Isabella. That’s why your birth is part of my crimes, don’t you think? You and James both. You’re a crime I committed against him, right?”

“A crime-” Her voice cracks, but if she sounds uncertain, it’s only her nerves, her inability to stand up for herself sometimes. It’s not fear. She is not afraid of this woman, and she doesn’t believe her. 

Okay, a little afraid.

But she doesn’t believe her, she doesn’t. She knows better, because she knows how hard her father has worked to build the life around her, the one she’s living now. She knows how many times he has held her after nightmares - hers and his both. She knows he could have left her and James behind, but he didn’t.

Every chance he had to set them down, he chose to hold them instead. 

Most of all, she knows the way her father has carefully, day by day and year by year, taught her that love is not the same thing as danger.

Her shoulders square, and her back straightens. “You keep saying that, b-but… there’s a difference between not wanting someone who will be hurt to, to be there to be hurt, and caring about someone. There’s-... you can’t see the difference, is all, but I can. I know-” She swallows. “I know how it looks like when he loves someone, and you don’t.”

“Hm.” Savvie’s fascination flags, a little, at that. Her stare is unnerving, unblinking, but Izzy feels the anger coming off of her, hidden and still plain as day. “Changing the subject, I see. So much of you is just a walking reminder. You’re just a tragedy on two legs, aren’t you, Isabella?”

Part of Izzy thinks wryly, how long ago did you think of that and how long have you been waiting for someone to say it to? but the rest of her can’t find the breath to say it out loud. “You can’t make my life worse than it is, Mom. Not anymore. I didn’t come h-here for this, I came here for-”

I came here to see if you could see me, even now, or only a reflection of what you can’t have. I guess I have my answer. 

Savvie hasn’t stopped talking. “What of you is even yourself, Isabella? Are you just… trying not to be me? Do you not want him to think of me?” Her smile widens. Flash of teeth. For a second, just one brief second, Izzy sees fangs. “Oh, sweetie. You can’t ever change that, no matter what you do. I was important. I ruined his life, remember? There was a whole court case about it. Two, really. It’s why I’m here. Because I’m the Big Bad Wolf, or so I’m told.” She snorts. “You should have worn red, Isabella. Or something.”

“Or something,” Izzy whispers, looking down at her hands, at her knuckles gone white, her fists. The round clock is ticking on the wall, and it’s only an hour. She told herself she could last for an hour, when she walked in here. She told herself she could make it, and she would.

“Isabella-”

“You didn’t, by the way.” Where the words come from, she’s not sure. But they come out sure, and strong. "You didn't ruin his life. It’s better, it’s good.”

“Oh? Is it?” Savvie feigns disinterest, but she’s so bright and sparkling, pulling Izzy in. “What about it is so good, Isabella? What does my husband do, in his whole new life without me? What can he do? Show me how I’m wrong.” Savvie’s presence is heavy, it takes up too much space, feels like Izzy is pressed against the wall, suffocating. How did they live like this, surrounded by her on all sides, all the time? How had Jax ever survived so long alone with her? 

Her voice trembles more than she wants it to when she speaks. “What?”

“You say I’m wrong - about him, about you.” Savvie is a shark, and Izzy is blood in the water. She seems bigger, suddenly, or maybe Izzy is smaller. Younger. Has too much hair for her age and a frilly dress she hates and she has to be good, and so quiet, and do exactly what she is told or her father will be hurt, and it will be her fault, because it’s always, always her fault-

Savvie’s voice is not quite a whisper. “Tell me, Isabella, all these things I am so wrong about. Even if you believe his side of the story, he’s all I thought about, the only thing that mattered, right? So I know him better than anyone else, don’t I? And you’re mine. I know everything about you, without even trying."

“You don’t-... know anything about me.” Izzy knows she’s getting quieter, and knows as she retreats, her mother presses forward, thrilled to play a game she hasn’t played in… in eleven years, more or less. “And you don’t know a single thing about him.”

“I know every fucking scar on his body.” Izzy’s stomach flips, but Savvie is leaning forward again, and the blue of her eyes is overtaking everything else around them. Plain beige walls and plain table and plain bars over plain windows can’t compete. The gray of everyone’s prison outfits, her own black-and-slightly-less-black, none of it is a good enough distraction, enough to tear her away. “That’s what I know. You’re sweet, Isabella, and it’s lovely of you to try and be the dutiful little daughter all over again. But I know things you don’t, I always have. I know I still do. He hasn’t told you half of it, and he won’t.” 

It’s a strike, a feint and then a jab, and if this were a real fight Izzy would be ready for it, but words are so much harder to defend against. “I was a little kid, I didn’t need to know it, I didn’t want to. I don’t need to know-”

“You had colic, for a month or so.” Savvie cuts her off, raising her voice a little. One of the guards behind her shifts, might look at them from behind the dark of his glasses at the volume. “When you were little. Cried like a banshee, day and night, no reason. I could hear you in my practice room. Still think you know everything?”

“This isn’t-... I don’t know why you’re telling me this."

“I had my responsibilities, sweetie. I mean, I was a new mother, but I was still a person. I didn’t need to change all that much, really. Jax spent half his time trying to keep me away from you, your own mother, and the other half trying to shut you up.”

“You could be-... he said you were up-upset, sometimes, um, you c-could be-”

“Violent? Never. I was tired, maybe - we both were. Jax has never slept well."

Because of you.

"Oh, here we go. One of my favorites of his little insults… does he say I was unstable? I’m sure I’ve heard it all. Probably in court, no less, he very much enjoyed getting on stage to put on his little show. Taking the jury around and around in circles acting like I never did anything kind for you.” Her eyes move back to Izzy’s hair, shaking her head slightly, one lip curling upward in a sneer. “I certainly would have been kind enough not to let you make yourself look like that.”

“Mom-”

“Shut up, Isabella. I am talking to you, and I am not done yet.”

Izzy’s mouth snaps shut, teeth clicking together, her nails digging into her palms. Her eyes flicker to the guard, trying to catch him, but no, she’s going to last the whole hour, she promised herself she could do it, she promised. 

Besides, it's… sort of harder than she thought, to look away when Savvie is talking.

“We ended up getting my, well, Isaac’s servant Hannah to help with you. Because of the colic. He asked for her, really. I was prepared to bring in someone else, but Jax had his demands, and when he really wanted something, well.” She shrugs, calmly, casually. She is talking about a reality that never existed, moving all the pieces around until the past suits her and not the court documents. Until her story is the one circling Izzy’s head, and not the story she knows has to actually be true. “How could I refuse?”

“He asked-... but when he wanted-”

“What did I just say?”

“Mom, I need to-”

“Let. Me. Finish.”

“N-No, I don’t want to hear this-”

“You know what he started to do? Once we had Hannah around, a few days a week? When the steward began to come as well? Do you know what the number one change your father made to his life was, once that happened?”

“Mom, please. Please don’t do this.” Her voice is nearly gone, and Savvie leaps.

“He started getting the hell away from you.” Savvie throws her head back and laughs, loud enough to make people look over at them. Izzy wonders, face burning in embarrassment, what they see. Do they know who Savvie is? Is she really famous, here, like Izzy thinks she is? Does everyone know they’re watching Savannah Marcoset push her daughter under the water and watch her struggle to breathe?

But… the words hurt. He got the hell away from you. “He did-... he did what?”

“Fucking escaped you. He thinks I didn’t notice. Everyone always thinks I don’t notice, didn’t know things. Your father - my Jax - thinks I’m a fucking idiot, I get that now. But I saw that, him handing you off to Hannah or the steward and get as far away from you as he could without-” Savvie lifts her hands to tap at the side of her neck with a slight, almost dreamy smile. “Everyone says I’m the bad mom, the bad parent, but I’m not the only one who shoved you aside every chance I got.” Savvie hums, almost idly. She’s playing, Izzy thinks dimly. Cat with a ball of yarn. Somehow the words hurt a little less when the realization comes. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it, Bella-”

“Izzy,” She whispers, but her mother doesn’t hear her, or doesn’t care.

“You know you are, fundamentally, his fucking nightmare. Your father sat up there before judge and jury and told everyone that I only had you so I could control him just a little bit more. Did you see that, in the documentaries you watched? Did you hear about it? Did he tell you that you only existed to be a weapon, that you're just a pretty little tool in my toolbox?"

She doesn’t want to answer any of those questions, and keeps her eyes down, focuses on the knuckles of her hands. How they sit over her lap so nicely, if you ignore that they are fists. Her face still burns bright red, and her eyes are hot with tears she blinks rapidly away before her mother can see them fall.

“He’ll say I didn’t love you.” Savvie’s expression is chilled, disdainful. “But your father had whole days he could barely stand to touch you. He had days he couldn’t even look at you. You ran around after him begging for, what, for someone to pat you on the head and say you were good just as you are? No wonder he couldn’t give you that.”

“He did give me that, over and over-... how you’re saying it isn’t how it happened, you’re not remembering what actually happened, Mom-”

“I think, deep down, you know it’s because no matter what you do with your hair, or your clothes, he is always going to look at you and see me. That’s the fear, isn’t it? That you're me, or you will be. That’s why you’re here, why you flew all the way across the fucking Atlantic to pay Mommy a visit. You wanted to see how much of you is me. How much of me is in you. How much of a fuck he can even give, in the end, for my daughter." She laughs again, and Izzy flinches. "He must hate you, deep down, and part of you knows it. Am I right?”

Izzy can’t answer at first, and her mother clicks her tongue, falsely sympathetic.

“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay. I can’t do a fucking thing to you, or him, or anyone now. But I’m glad you came to see me. I'm glad to see that you're just the same, easy to break as ever. You'll end up with exactly the love you deserve, Bella. Won't you?"

Izzy's eyes are blurred, struggling to focus. What rises in her isn’t fear, or doubt, or even sadness. It’s anger, the same simmering slow burn that that comes whenever someone tries to push her and her father down, when they have to force their way back up. "N-no-"

"Yes. You'll get what you were born for, one way or another. Don't worry, sweetie. You're not like me at all. You're just… a mirror, and the reflection isn't even a good one." Savvie laughs, cold and cruel, delighting in the pain on her daughter's face. "Here I was worried you’d be angry, but I don’t think you can be. Is that too much like me, too?”

“No, I’m… I get a-angry sometimes, I can… it’s not like that-”

“Not like what? Speak up, Bella. Stop mumbling, you were always a mumbler. Most children shout, you know.”

“Most children don’t get locked in closets if they do.” Izzy is still whispering at the start, but the words come more strongly as she works her way through them, eyelashes heavy with tears she tries to pretend don’t exist. “Most-... most kids can throw a fit without their dad getting hurt, and most kids get to leave the h-house sometimes, and if I-... if he couldn’t-... it was because of you, not because of m-me.” 

“Tell yourself that.”

“I do. I do tell myself that. I only have to tell myself that because of you, and you-... you just wanted to be his whole life and the only thing in it and you’re n-not, and this isn’t even about hurting me, is it? All of this-... telling me about, about him-...”

She can remember it, can’t she? Faint traces remain, of asking for Jax and being told by her Aunt Hannah that he needed some time, of asking and having her Papa Stewart give her a hug instead, of asking and asking and then learning not to ask…

“You aren’t telling me this to hurt me. You’re telling me this to hurt him.” Izzy raises her eyes, aware of the bright red blotches on her cheeks, aware of the tear tracks, aware of her hands in fists and the zinging anger in her that simmers underneath her fear. “You want me to take this out into the-... into the world, back to Dad, and tell him what you said because it’ll hurt him to hear that you said it, and you’ve been in prison for eleven years and missed most of my life and nearly all of my little brother’s - who you haven’t asked me a single fucking question about, by the w-way - and all you can think about, even now, is the… the one who got away from you.”

The balance shifts, some of the glittering brightness fades from Savvie’s eyes, the fascinated sadism seeps out of her expression. “Isabella-”

“Izzy. I’m called Izzy. And you know that, because you’ve known it ever since the trial. And maybe I was-... was hard, for him, when I was a baby and I can’t fix that or make it any better, it’s all already happened and I’ve had to learn not to feel guilty about it since I was four years old, but of the two of you, only one has ever bothered to give any solitary fucks about who I am! I came here to see if you could-... if you could change, or rethink, or even just, just feel something about me, and all you can feel is the parts of me that are him!”

“Isabella-”

“You shut up! You do it, now, and you listen to what I have to say! I was sc-scared, all the time, because of you, not him. He was the one who came to let me out, and he was the one who held me when I was scared, and even if he didn’t want to be near me, he still tried! You don’t-... you don’t get to change the story and make it not what it was, Mom, I know what it was.”

“You know what he told you it was.”

“No. I know what it actually really was. There is no other alternative world where you’re the good guy, or better than he was! Maybe I was a hard baby to l-love, because of whose baby I am, and I-I carry that forever… that I'm not the kid he would've wanted to have... but he tried, and if he didn’t love me at first, at least he tried until he learned how! But… but I know he did. I know he loved me, and Jamie, so much that he did the scariest thing he could imagine by running with us and having to hope we could make it to Grandpa before you could catch us again. I think you don’t know him at all, and you’re going to die in prison still not knowing, and that’s why you’re doing this now. It is killing you that you could lock us up and put that thing on his neck and keep us trapped and you still don’t know any of us at all.”

“I made every single scar-”

“Scars aren’t who someone is! They’re just marks of you being shitty to him! They don’t say who he is now, or how his mind works, or how fucking brilliant he is at being a dad! You know some marks on his skin, but I know who he is when he’s safe, and strong, and happy, and you will never know that man. You won’t ever know what he looks like really in love, and I do, and it is absolutely nothing like he looked around you!"

Her eyes flare. “Bella, what are you talking about, in love? With who? Who would-”

“I came here to see if-... if any part of me really is you, and it’s not, because all the parts of me that matter are from him and Grandpa and Papa Stewart and Nana and my aunties and none of the important bits are yours at all! No one loves you, because you can’t love anyone, but I can, and he can, and Jamie can. You are never ever going to see him again… and I’m going to walk out that door and give him a fucking hug."

She shoves her chair back, making a metallic screech along the floor that makes her mother wince, adrenaline pumping through her veins. It’s a kind of fight, this, she’d been pinned to the mat and fought her way back to standing in the end. 

“I am proud of him, for all he’s done to make an even better life for Jamie and me, and I am proud of him for finding Kieran, after you - and Kie’s a better bonus dad by a million years than you ever were a mom - and… and he’s proud of me. He’s proud of the person I am and not just the person he thought I was supposed to be. That’s more important than, than anything, is that he and I-... we can be proud of each other, and you can’t be proud of anything but yourself.”

Savvie looks startled, now, struggling to regain the surety she’d felt before. She can’t stand or the guard will come, and so she stays seated, and looks up at Izzy, no taller than her father but wiry still. “I think we’re done here,” Savvie says coldly. “You’re clearly too swept up in your father to be worth talking to.”

“Maybe,” Izzy shrugs, shoves her hands in her hoodie pockets, finds the comfortable weight of her phone, switched off for during the visit like the guards had asked. Wonders if her dad, sitting in the rental in the parking lot, has started pacing yet. If he’s watching the clock, waiting for her text to come through, bouncing his foot like he does sometimes. If he’s pretending to read or texting Kieran or if he’s just staring at the squat building that stretches wide on either side, waiting for her to come out. “Did I disappoint you, then? How I am, just me?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Savvie shakes her head, ruefully. Her expression shifts into mournfulness, just a few seconds too late for it to be convincing. “I had high hopes for you. But he ruined you, in the end. Absolutely ruined you.”

“That’s… that’s probably good. I don’t think I’ll come back, Mom. But I might-... I might write a letter.” Why she throws the offer out, she doesn’t know, only… only some part of her will always, always want to keep hoping that this will change.

Savvie’s eyebrows raise. “I might answer it. Can you fix your hair, if you ever come again? And wear something… nicer than this?”

Izzy blinks, rolling her eyes back to look up at her hairline, down to look at her shirt and jeans, and then back to her mother. “Why? Because it’s shorter than you want it to be? Because you don’t like my clothes?”

“Because you look like a lesbian, Isabella.”

Izzy blinks, too thrown to find the words at first, and then she shrugs, rubbing her thumb along the side of her phone in her pocket, her palms aching where her nails had dug in so deeply, over very old scars. She can’t quite help her smile. “Oh. Well, fuck, Mom, my girlfriend will be shocked when she hears you feel that way.”

“Your what?”

Izzy turns and walks away, past the other tables with crying or hurting people, or people who look like they want very badly to hug and can’t, and she doesn’t look back.

The door clangs open and slams shut behind her, the hallway stretching out ahead, and she walks down two sets of stairs and around a corner before she sees the big heavy doors that lead out into the world, the huge parking lot warmed by sunlight with no trees to break the glare of it. She gives the guards manning the checkpoint a little wave of one hand, pushing the door open, and moves into the glaring, brilliant light, turning to face the corner where her father has been waiting by the rental.

He’s definitely been pacing.

She smiles and heads towards him, giving him a big wave. He’s moving towards her before her hand is even fully in the air.

If her mother’s words are designed to shatter, her father’s love - starting with his desperate attempts to protect her, his whispered be brave for me, Izzy as they boarded a train, written across every single day of her life - is a foundation too strong to be broken.

Her mother, Izzy thinks, can’t understand love like that.

But Izzy does.

And it's more than enough.

Always.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[malfoymanortings]

somebody else PART 3

SUMMARY: Mae has been in love with Draco Malfoy since her first year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy fell in love with Mae in their fourth year, and then promptly fell into Pansy’s bed instead. All the while, Mae clings to the hope that Draco will change. That is, until, Ron Weasley takes his chance.

PAIRINGS: toxic!Draco x OC, Ron x OC, Ginny x Luna

TRIGGERS: slight mention of suicidal thoughts.

im not going to lie... i kinda hurt myself wriitng this one. hope you all enjoy! there will be one more part after this, so let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

Mae wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but she began to view Ron Weasley as more than a friend.

The two of them had begun spending time alone more frequently, either at their stone ledge overlooking the Black Lake, or in the Gryffindor common room. Mae felt very comfortable with Ron, something she hadn't truly felt with Draco. With Draco, she had always felt she wasn’t good enough, and of course, he never hesitated to tell her that himself.

Ron was… so different. In a very good way. He never made fun of her admittedly loud boisterous laugh, he never made a crude comment when her hair was wildly out of place, he never gave her a dirty look when she ate. He laughed at most of her jokes, he made her feel wanted. It was a rather new thing for Mae.

Ron and her sat in the common room now, a game of Wizard’s chess between the two. Ron successfully overtook Mae’s king, winning the game. He gave her that smile of his, the slightly crooked, half lifted smile showcasing a glimpse of his pretty white teeth. She felt something flutter in her stomach then, and she swallowed hard as she returned his grin.

“Checkmate.” declared Ron, beginning to put the game away. Mae grumbled good naturedly, rolling her eyes. 

“Next time, I get to pick the game, Ronald Weasley.”  responded Mae loftily, brushing her hair out of her face.

Ron laughed, his eyes moving up to meet hers. They both stilled for a moment, tension between the two. Mae could feel each heartbeat thump through her chest, and she glanced down at Ron’s full lips. She let herself wonder, for a moment, what it would be like to kiss him. She wondered if he felt the same thing, for he shifted in his seat and licked his lips.

“Ron beat you again, hm?” Ginny’s voice broke the silence, as she plopped down on the couch next to Mae. “Guess everyone has to be talented at something.”

“That sounds like an insult.” remarked Ron, breaking eye contact with Mae. 

“Very intuitive of you.”

Mae laughed at their banter, shaking her head. The look she had shared with Ron was not forgotten, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Ron would have kissed her had his sister not shown up.

She quickly squashed that thought. She didn’t want to get her heart broken again.

Harry burst into the common room then, heading straight for Ron. The three of them gasped as they realized Harry was soaking wet and dripping with blood.

“Where’ve you-? Why are you soaking -? Is that blood?” Ron stood, staring bewildered at Harry.

“I need your book,” Harry panted. “Your potions book. Quick… give it to me…”

“But what about the Half-Blood -?”

“I’ll explain later!”

Ron pulled into his bag and took his copy of their Potions book, handing it to Harry. Harry ran upstairs then, and before the three could speak about what he had done, he came barreling back downstairs with his schoolbag in hand.

Mae got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“What d’you think’s gotten into him?” Ginny questioned Ron, staring at the portrait hole Harry had disappeared from.

“Dunno..” Ron trailed off, staring the same.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harry like that,” said Mae quietly, resting her chin in her hand. “Is his life always so dramatic?”

“Yes,” both Ron and Ginny answered simultaneously. 

“Alright then.” Mae widened her eyes slightly, slightly amused. 

“I’m going to meet Luna for dinner,” Ginny stood, twisting her long red hair back into a bun. “Are you lot going to skip?”

“Ron, skip dinner?” Mae laughed, shaking her head. She stood up then, holding out a hand to Ron. “Come on, then.”

Ron took her hand, and Mae couldn’t stop a small smile as his large one engulfed her small one. As he stood, she took note that he didn’t attempt to remove his hand from hers. Again, her stomach fluttered at the thought.

The three of them left the common room, heading down to the Great Hall. As they passed the girls bathroom, they could hear Moaning Myrtle wailing about something.

“Harry Potter has killed Draco Malfoy!” 

Mae stilled, her hand slipping out of Ron’s grasp. She felt as though her limbs were filled with ice, as Myrtle once again wailed the words.

“Draco Malfoy is dead at the hands of Harry Potter! Muder in the bathroom, murder in the bathroom!”

Ignoring Ron and Ginny, Mae ran into the bathroom, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

“Myrtle, where is Draco?” she asked wildly, staring at the ghost girl.

“Professor Snape sent him to Madam Pomfrey, although it’s too late!” wailed Myrtle, floating around the bathroom. “So much blood!”

Mae ran out of the bathroom, barely noticing Ron and Ginny calling out to her. Her blood pounded in her ears as she raced to the nurse, hoping beyond hope that Draco hadn’t really died. As she caught sight of him, she stopped.

He had been hurt, most definitely, his unbuttoned white undershirt now red with his blood. Madam Pomfrey was spreading dittany on his chest wounds, having already tended to his face. Mae felt her heart break as she waited for Madam Pomfrey to leave. Once she did, Mae walked over and took Draco’s hand.

He opened his eyes slowly, unfocused as they landed on her. “What are you doing here?”

“Myrtle said you died,” swallowing past the lump in her throat, Mae rubbed circles on his hand with her thumb. “I had to come see if you were alright.”

“Unfortunately, I am,” scoffed Draco, rolling his eyes. “Potter couldn’t be man enough to kill me.”

“Draco,” breathed Mae, her heart stilling as his words processed. “Why on earth would you want to die?”

Draco seemed uncomfortable now, as though he wished he hadn’t spoken those words. “I’m surprised you don’t want me dead. Aren’t you best friends with the pathetic trio now?”

“Just because I’m close with them, doesn’t mean I want you to die,” Mae stopped for a moment, thinking hard. “As much as I’ve wanted to hate you, I never could.”

“I’ve given you plenty reason to.” responded Draco quietly, averting his eyes.

“Yes,” nodded Mae, still holding his hand. “You have. But… through all of it, I loved you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t love you properly,” Draco shut his eyes, his voice quiet. “I never really deserved you.”

“Draco…” Mae trailed off, a lump growing in her throat. She didn’t know what to say.

“If it isn’t too much to ask,” Draco paused, forcing his eyes open. “Could you kiss me, one last time?”

Mae felt her heart breaking all over again as she nodded. If he weren't on what seemed to be his deathbed, she probably would have said no. But for the first time in months, she felt like he was the Draco she had fallen in love with. 

She bent down, pressing her lips against his cold ones. His hand reached up to grasp the back of her neck, fisting in her hair. His tongue parted her lips, exploring her mouth as he had done so many times before. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb grazing over her tears that had spilled out. She placed her hands on his cheeks, and she was surprised to find tears of his own. Perhaps they were hers that had fallen on his face, perhaps they were his from his injuries, or maybe, just maybe, he was crying over what they had lost.

Mae would never know.

She pulled away first, her heart aching once more. Draco opened his eyes, his expression unreadable.

“I think I’m in love with Ron,” whispered Mae, a tear slipping down her cheek. “He’s nice to me.. And I rather enjoy that.”

Draco shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Be happy with him, then.”

Mae nodded, and she stood from his bedside. They gave each other once last look, and Draco seemed, for the first time, apologetic. She turned then, and left the hospital wing. Ginny was standing outside, appearing to have been waiting for her. She was sympathetic, her arms crossed. 

“Ron would be better for you, you know,” said Ginny quietly, shaking her head slightly. “Draco will never be the man you want.”

“I know,” Mae nodded, feeling confused. “I don’t want Draco.”

Ginny stilled, raising an eyebrow. “Then why did you kiss him?”

“Because he asked…” trailed off Mae, looking down at her shoes, and back up at the ginger. “I needed the closure.”

Ginny scoffed. “Some closure. Ron saw you, you know.”

“He what?” Mae looked around, but didn’t see him. “Where is he?”

“Well,” Ginny let out a deep breath, shifting awkwardly. “He saw, and he got mad. Dunno where he went from there.”

“I just saw Ronald head back towards your common room,” the girls turned to see Luna walking towards them, barefoot. “He seemed quite upset.”

Mae felt panic rise in her chest. “Thanks, Luna.”

“No problem.” replied Luna, snaking an arm around Ginny’s waist. The redhead pressed a quick kiss to the blonde’s temple.

“I’m going to go explain to him.” Mae told the girls, who nodded. Mae left them then, hurrying to the common room. She didn’t want Ron to have the wrong impression. She had to tell him how she felt, that it was him she wanted, if he would have her.

Thankfully, Hermione was entering the common room just as Mae turned the corner.

“Hermione,” called Mae, rushing over to her. “Can I come see if Ron is in there?” 

“Sure.” Hermione nodded, pushing the portrait open. The girls stepped inside, and Mae felt her heart freeze in her chest as she caught sight of Ron.

Ron was wrapped up in Lavender Brown, the girl sitting on Ron’s lap as his hands twisted in her wavy blonde hair. They were snogging, heavily, and Mae’s still fragile heart broke into bits as she witnessed the scene. 

“Mae..” Hermione began, but Mae left before she could say a word. 

Tears burned her eyes as she fled through the castle, her chest aching as she replayed the scene over and over in her head. She spit out the password to her dorm, rushing up the stairs to her room. The room was quiet, empty, as most everyone was at dinner. Her appetite was gone.

Her chest ached and she lay on her side, facing the wall. Tears slipped out of her eyes as she stared, unseeing, the scene of Ron snogging Lavender replaying in her mind until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

taglist: @phantomsmalfoystyles @lidiyabest @justmimithings @xoxohollands @xmtd5 @glossydols @bisousmorningstar @dracoswifeyy @reaganwonders @big-galaxy-chaos (if i missed anyone, I do apologize! just let me know if i did)

Part one

Part two

Part four