#I thought I was done thirsting over our big blue boi

[bratzforchris]

Model Baby, M. Sturniolo

Summary: In which a modeling campaign Matt's in turns into something far more

Pairing: Model!Matt x feminine photographer!reader

Warnings: Smut, sub!Matt, softdom!reader, non established relationship, p in v, cowgirl, sextape, grinding, making out, hand job, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), slight degradation/teasing, Matt lowkey has a praise kink (i think that's all but lmk if i missed anything!)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: I think I speak for all of us when I say Matt's Prada photoshoot fucked with our heads!! Anyway, enjoy some sub!Matt 😋

You sighed as you stepped off the elevator, lugging your bags of camera equipment behind you. Despite having the machine at your convenience, you really hated how the shoot was assigned to take place in the penthouse suite of this Hawaiian resort in the middle of July. Gorgeous? Yes. Good for not sweating? No. You pulled your bags along to the door, quickly swiping the key the resort had given you and entering the room. It was still beyond crazy to you that you were getting to shoot a Calvin Klein ad for such a famed model, and your heart raced with anticipation at the thought of how big of an opportunity this was. 

Inside the enormous suite, lighting and set employees bustled around, angling everything just so around the set. The enormous, California king sized bed that was backed up to a window that looked out into the deep blue of the Pacific ocean would serve as the main backdrop for the shoot, but that wasn’t even the most gorgeous part of the room, at least in your opinion. Your model for today sat in a folding chair in the corner of the room, sipping on a hot coffee while he got his makeup done. 

“Hi! Are you Matt?” You asked him, setting your camera bags down next to his chair. 

The boy looked up at you as an artist waved a brush of powder across his nose. His blue eyes were wide as he smiled up at you, a soft blush dotting his cheeks. “That’s me.”

“I’m gonna be your photographer today.” You introduced yourself by name, sticking out your hand with a warm smile. 

Matt stared at you with wide eyes as you shook hands, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes traveled from his veiny hand up towards his sleeve of tattoos. The silver rings that decorated his knuckles were cold against your warm skin, making you tell yourself that the blush you felt creeping through your body was due to the tropical heat. You went on to thoroughly explain what all today’s shoot would entail, noticing the way Matt kept his eyes trained on you the entire time, looking at you in some way that could only be described as awe. 

As you finished your spiel, Matt stood up and stretched, chucking his empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can. The brunette’s hoodie rode up with his movement, the tanned skin of his soft tummy and V-line catching your eye. You shook your head reminding yourself that this shoot was for work and not for you to thirst over the model. You could do that once the ad campaign came out. 

“I’m gonna get changed,” Matt said, nodding towards the bathroom. “Thanks for your time. I really appreciate it.” 

Once again, you noticed the pink hue that had made its home on Matt’s cheeks as he scurried off to the  bathroom. Maybe you were misreading the situation, but part of you wondered if he felt the same way about you. He was different from most of the clients you had been assigned in the past; where they saw you as “just a worker”, Matt had talked to you like he genuinely wanted to get to know you and collaborate on the project. You swiftly set up all of your camera equipment, drumming your fingers on the plastic as you waited for your model. 

The bathroom door swung open, and you whipped your head around to see Matt being shuffled out by his assistant. The woman appeared rather frazzled, rattling notes about poses and such to the soft boy, who listened intently, paying close attention to how she was speaking to him, just the way he had with you. That wasn’t what caught your eye, though. Your eyes trailed downward from Matt’s face to the tight, gray, Calvin Klein boxers that hugged his hips. It was going to be a simple shoot, Matt’s body, the boxers, and the silver horse necklace he wore speaking for themselves, but you felt your lower stomach clench at the thought of that beautiful boy looking up at you with those blue doe eyes. 

“I’m ready whenever you are.” Matt smiled, arm brushing yours as he climbed onto the bed. 

If anyone else in the room noticed the energy between you two, they didn’t mention it. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself so that you could focus on getting the perfect shots and not on the way Matt’s feathery, brown curls fanned around his face. 

“Okay, if you could just turn a little to the left…right there..perfect! Great job!” As you fell into the usual groove of your work, everything else melted away, allowing you to focus on your camera and the boy in front of you. 

Matt was the best subject you could have ever asked for, easily following your directions with an eagerness about him. “Like this?” he joked cutely, jutting out his bottom lip and placing his chin in his hands as he propped himself up on the bed. “It’s what you asked me to do.” he smiled, staring up at your camera.

“Just like that,” You joked, taking on a playful air. “Good boy.” You laughed. 

Matt’s cheeks heated up to a color that was beyond red, making him awkwardly shift and shuffle the sheets on the bed. You continued to snap photos, thinking the flustered look that had occupied his face was a welcome change to the ‘tough guy’ theme for the shoot. 

“You are doing so well. Beautiful!” You praised as you took an especially gorgeous photo of him on his knees, arms crossed over his chest. 

The shoot continued like this for some time, with you flirtatiously throwing little praises and phrases of affection Matt’s way and him blushing and offering soft smiles until the director of the shoot finally stood up, quickly stating that everything had been fulfilled. Everyone packed up and hurried out of the suite just as quickly as they had entered. You had barely packed up your ring light before realizing that everyone else had vacated the room, leaving just you and Matt, who was still in the gray boxers, scrolling through his phone. 

“So...have you been modeling for a long time?” You asked the brunette, eager to make conversation that would distract you from his body and how it made the heat pool between your thighs. 

“Um, not really,” Matt blushed and set aside his device, ears going red as he spoke. “About a year, maybe? I’m more into YouTube.”

“I remember reading about that when I got this job. So, I take it you like cameras, Matt?” You asked flirtatiously, a smirk tugging at your lips. 

“Oh, um,” the brunette looked up at you from his position on the bed, dark lashes sweeping across his face. “For the right people, yeah.”

“I noticed you like being called a good boy, too.” You teased gently, your nipples beginning to harden as you watched Matt grow red with your realization, awkwardly shifting as a gentle moan escaped his plump, heart-shaped lips. 

“Y-yeah…” he whispered, beginning to smile himself. “I do. How did you know?”

“Oh Matt,” You cooed, pressing record on your camera and then making your way around the bed, sitting next to him and caressing his stubble-covered cheek. “You models are all the same. Just wanna be told how pretty you look following directions.”

The boy let out another moan, this one louder than before, pressing his cheek into your hand as he began to grind against the sheets softly, trying to conceal his growing erection. Your words were getting to him faster than he cared to admit, making him want to do whatever it would take for you to continue praising him and speaking to him in that teasing, yet loving voice. “Mhm…” he whined softly. 

“What if I told you that camera was recording right now?” You asked him, kissing his soft lips. “Would you still let me call you a pretty boy?” 

Matt whimpered, grinding his Calvin Klein covered dick faster against the bed. “Please. Do that again. I…” he panted into the kiss, his hormones already taking over. 

You used his moan for leverage, slipping your tongue into his mouth. Matt tasted like coffee and a hint of cinnamon and vanilla, yet you couldn’t get enough. You began to get sloppy, your tongue fighting his for dominance as you made out, tangling your fingers into the soft, feathery curls at the nape of his neck. You wanted to steal every last bit of that ‘tough guy’ façade and watch it crumble beneath your touch as you praised him. 

“You gonna be a good boy and use your mouth for what it's made for?” You asked him, pulling apart from the kiss, leaving a trail of salvia between you two as you wiped his bottom lip with your thumb. 

Matt nodded eagerly, already kneeling like this had been your routine for years now, despite only knowing each other for two hours. “Let me make you feel good.” he pouted, tugging at the waistband of your leggings. 

You gently pushed his hand away, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Knees.”

Matt did as told, propping himself on his knees, chin in his hands, as he watched you slide your leggings, shirt and bra, and thong off. Your thighs were already slick with your juices, your lower stomach tightening with arousal as you watched Matt giggle cutely, his big, blue eyes going wide at the sight of you already dripping. You ran your hand through his silky hair, enjoying the way he was practically feigning for your touch.

The immense amount of pillows on the bed served you well, allowing you to prop yourself up so that you were the perfect height for Matt to eat you out on his knees. “Go on,” You told the boy, kissing his forehead softly. “Show the camera how good you eat pussy, baby.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. Still on his knees, the brunette lowered his head, licking the soft, plush skin of your thighs before moving to your folds. As you craned your neck, the sight of his gentle tongue lapping up your arousal made you want to praise him, promising him he was doing an excellent job. As he ran his tongue from your dripping hole up to your clit, flicking the sensitive little bud, you hissed, feeling the need to climax begin to build in your body. 

“Feels so good, Matt,” You panted, rutting your hips forward to meet his mouth as the brunette pushed your thighs closer towards his head. “You’re doing so well.”

Spurred on by the praise, Matt began flick your clit in dizzying circles with his tongue as you whimpered and whined, back arching off the sheets. It was obscene; the sight of him on his knees, lapping you up like you were the last meal on earth, while you moaned and writhed, neither of you caring that a camera was actively filming all of this. Broken praises fell from your lips as Matt moaned into your pussy, mumbling things about how good you tasted while his freckled nose applied pressure to your clit. 

“Doing so well, baby,” You cried, gripping the sheets as your climax began to overtake you. “‘M gonna cum.”

Without another word, you let go, your orgasm leaving you shaking as you came on Matt’s face. Once you had come down from the high, you looked to see your boy lift his head, still on his knees. Your arousal dripped from his mouth and chin, and even his eyelashes, which only complimented his angelic blue eyes, messy hair, and the slight blush that had overtaken him as he looked at you shyly. 

“I hope that was okay…” Matt whispered, burning red. 

You lifted his chin in your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “That was better than okay, Matt. That was perfect,” Matt smiled softly, cuddling into your touch as you instructed him to lay down on his back, pressing soft kisses to his face, neck, and chest as he did so. You had known since the moment you had seen the boy in real life that you wanted to ride him. “May I?” You asked, hooking your thumb into the elastic waistband of his gray underwear. 

He nodded eagerly, feathery, brown curls fanning out across the pillow with the motion. You slid his boxers off, smiling at the way his dick was already throbbing with want for you. You began to fist him, watching his pretty face contort with pleasure as tiny little whimpers escaped his lips. Teasing Matt was half the fun, watching the way he would beg for it and turn red whenever you poked fun at him. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” You asked with a smirk when he whimpered, thrusting his cock upwards towards your hand. “Need to be used?”

Matt nodded, his pouty bottom lip jutting out as he looked up at you from the bed. “Need you.” he hissed when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. 

You took that as your cue, moving your lips down his arm and kissing every tattoo that decorated his skin. Not wanting to leave him without contact for too long, you quickly bent down and grabbed your wallet from your tote bag lying beside the bed, pulling a condom out. Matt flushed again at the unmistakable sound of foil ripping, his cheeks burning and his cock throbbing as you rolled the rubber onto him. 

“You gonna let me ride you, baby boy?” You asked him, gripping his chin slightly as you straddled his waist. “I think you should show the camera how much you love being used.” 

“Please,” Matt was practically begging by this point, all plump lips and angel eyes as he gripped your hips firmly with his ringed hands. “Wanna be yours.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else. You quickly lined yourself up with him, gently sliding onto his hard cock. Your moans at the feeling of suddenly being so full went straight to Matt’s dick, causing him to buck his hips upward towards your own, whining at the friction. 

“God, you’re so wet…” the brunette whimpered. “Did I do this?”

“You like admiring your work?” You teased, speeding up the rhythm in which you rode him. 

Matt let out a moan at the combination of your praises and teasing, gripping your hips ever harder as you rode him. Pretty, girlish moans escaped his mouth as you took control from his body. All he could focus on was how good you riding him made him feel. The lack of control over his own body had him grabbing your hips in a way that would leave marks in the morning, head thrown back against the pillows as he whined and whimpered. 

“I…I need to…” Matt gasped, tears starting to roll down his cheeks at all the pleasurable sensations. “I need to–” he wailed, not caring how loud he was being at this point. 

“You need to do what?” You asked, staring down at him as you purposely rode the boy harder. “Use your words, Matty.” You teased. 

“Need to cum.” he sobbed, overstimulation building as his stomach ached with the need to cum. 

“God, you’re so hot when you’re like this,” You bent down and pressed a heated kiss to Matt’s lips. “All spread out for me, unable to control yourself, and whining and crying like a slut. Go ahead, baby. Cum like the little boy whore you are.”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately let himself go, cum filling the condom as he cried out. “Feels so good.” he panted as he came down from the climax, eyes wide and glazed over. 

The boy fell back against the pillows as you slid off of him, tying up the condom and throwing it away. He looked beyond fucked out, but it was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. You quickly got up and turned the camera off, before  retrieving a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom and using it to wipe Matt off while showering him with both praise and kisses across his tummy and chest. 

“You are so perfect.” You told him, once you had been rid of the cloth and climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers of your naked bodies. 

“I am?” Matt asked meekly, avoiding contact as he blushed, a smile growing across his face. 

“The best.” You assured him, enjoying the tulip pink color that painted his skin once again. 

“I probably shouldn’t ask you this…” Matt paused to collect himself for a moment, before rolling over and facing you. “Would you um, wanna go out with me sometime?”

You couldn’t help the loud giggle that escaped your mouth as you leaned across the bed and kissed his cheek. “I just came all over your face and you’re embarrassed to ask me out?”

Matt nodded shyly, but giggled himself, snaking his hand across the sheets to hold your own. “I didn’t know if you just wanted a hookup or something.”

“You really think I’m really gonna let a pretty boy like you pass me by?” You raised a brow, planting a firm kiss on his pink lips. 

Laid here in this gorgeous bed, naked and only covered by sheets as he blushed, you realized that you truly had made the right decision to pursue this model baby. 

tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @aaronshotchgirl @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @hiimoliviaimnewhere @loisnotacupcake-blog @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

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[stubbychaos]

Saviin’ika

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: You grew up hearing terrifying tales of Mandalorians and the atrocities they were capable of inflicting upon innocent people, but when a grouchy heavy-infantry warrior offers to walk you home after you treat his wounds, you think that perhaps they aren’t the scariest monsters that reside on Nevarro.

Rated: M for mature themes, though there’s no smut in this part.

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, graphic injury involving intestines (not detailed at all, I literally just use the word ‘intestines’ to describe the injury), Paz gets stitches and hates needles just as much as I do, brief mention of an armed robbery.

Notes: This is so self-indulgent it’s not even funny lol. I just wanted more fluffy Paz fanfic since he only got like thirty seconds of screen time and I’m still thirsting over him. I plan on this being only a few chapters, but knowing me, I won’t know when to stop.

You’re not sure how you ended up in this position, currently taking care of a massive Mandalorian that had somehow been injured in some sort of intense scuffle, though you find it difficult to believe that anyone in the galaxy could get the upper hand on the intimidating warrior that absolutely towers over you by more than a foot.

You can’t even imagine anyone with the guts to try to take on someone so intimidating.

You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before, but you have heard old tales of vicious warriors made of metal that lived underground and took what they wanted without much regard for others, not caring if they had to hurt women or children to get what they wanted. Judging by the way he had stormed into the tiny infirmary, angrily demanding that you be the only one to tend to his wounds, you think the rumors must be true and you had accepted immediately, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the huge warrior’s wrath should you deny him. He hadn’t even asked where your office was, merely stalking past you after you had scrambled to get up from the front desk where you had been working on the reports you had been asked to work on and file.

Currently, you watch in awkward silence as he slowly detaches his massive weapon from his back, breathing a little harshly or grunting whenever he moves in a way that causes pain. You step forward and raise a hand to help him, but his helmet whips threateningly to where you’re standing and you immediately back up, fear turning into slight irritation because you’re a nurse and you should be helping someone who’s clearly uncomfortable. After a few painfully quiet moments, the Mandalorian finally props his massive weapon up against the stiff cot in the center of the room and moves onto removing his chest piece, though it seems to be a harder task for him.

“W-Would you like some help, sir?” Your question comes in the form of a meek murmur and he immediately freezes at the sound of your voice, his intimidating visor staring you dead on, “I-It just seems like you’re in quite a bit of pain. I don’t mind helping, really.”

His black gloves fall to his thighs and you watch with disdain as a few droplets of blood drip onto the white tile, though you take the defeated gesture as a sign that he’s willing to let you help him. You remain as professional as possible as you approach the huge warrior and bashfully reach up to undo one of the latches that rests above his collarbone before repeating the action with the other one, though you find it’s broken and slightly trickier to unlatch. Deciding it’s not a good idea to mention his shoddy armor, you remain silent as you stand on your tippy toes to remove the heavy piece of steel, a hand reaching around him to catch the back piece.

His helmet cocks to the side at the small huff you let out, not prepared for how heavy the piece of armor was.

After you help him remove the rest of his heavy cuirass and the extra padding covering his ribs, he surprisingly obliges your meek request for him to lay down on the stiff cot before you cautiously untuck his tunics from his utility belt that he refused to take off. Even with two dangerously deep knife wounds and several intense bruises, you think it makes him no less scary and you’re certain he can easily deal out some serious damage if he so desires, even in such a compromised position. The Mandalorian has over a foot on you and even before removing all of the padding and layers of clothing, you had been able to tell that he’s still a big guy, more muscular in certain spots than others and you force yourself to stop thinking about the softly defined abs that are currently exposed to you, both his gray and black tunics pulled up to his sternum. His skin is a beautiful, rich shade of brown, you notice as you briefly inspect the severity of his wounds and you can feel the intense heat that radiates from him, as if he’s a human furnace.

‘He is your patient,’ You remind yourself as you quickly stand up to gather a few things, including your thoughts, ‘A massive, terrifying patient that could easily crush you in the blink of an eye.’

You have your back to him, thoroughly washing your hands when you clear your throat and speak up quietly, “Can you tell me what you were stabbed with?”

“Does it make a difference? I’m injured, that’s all you need to know.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you gather all the supplies you need before sitting in your chair and pointing your bright lamp at the severe injuries; you gain a little courage as you pull your surgical mask over the lower half of your face and slip on your glasses so you can see better, grateful that you can now focus on the injuries rather than the stubborn Mandalorian. The gashes are both several inches long and though they don’t seem critically deep, you can tell that he’s lost quite a bit of blood and will suffer severe consequences if you don’t help him soon.

“It just helps to know what weapon was used to cause the injury. If it was rusted metal, it can be more prone to infection--if it was glass, there could still be shards in the wound. I’m not asking about the circumstances involving how you got these injuries, just the weapons involved.”

He grunts and you pretend not to notice the way his fingers curl against the cot when you begin to flush out the wound. Something tells you that he’s not used to being the one getting injured during a battle and you can’t imagine a warrior bigger than him catching him off guard; you force yourself not to ask about the circumstances revolving around his injuries. You had learned long ago not to pry into the lives of criminals and bounty hunters, understanding that it always put them on edge and made them wary of you.

“It was a dagger--few inches long and definitely not rusty.”

“Does your left shoulder hurt at all?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

You huff a little, cheeks burning and you can’t tell if it’s from frustration or embarrassment, “The less critical wound is located in a spot where your spleen could have been affected if contact was made with the dagger, though it doesn’t seem to be deep enough to cause any trauma to the organ. A sharp pain in your left shoulder is oftentimes a sign of a ruptured spleen.”

You reach up to lightly dig your fingers into his firm shoulder, only pulling away when he shakes his helmet a few seconds later, “No, there’s no pain there.”

“Thank you. The wounds didn’t seem deep enough to cause any injury to any organs, but we don’t really have the proper technology to know for sure,” His visor tilts towards your face, though you don’t notice it as you remain concentrated on cleaning the nasty wounds before pulling out your suture kit, “The infirmary is low on supplies at the moment--a couple of raiders broke in a few weeks ago and took a lot of machines and medicine from us. I’m afraid I don’t have any bacta patches, but stitches should stop the bleeding just fine. You’re lucky the dagger wasn’t very long.”

“I got stabbed and you’re calling me lucky?” He doesn’t sound angry and something about his lighter tone makes you think it’s disbelief that his modulator hides.

You raise your brows and you’re grateful for the surgical mask hiding your amused smirk as you get to work on stitching up the deeper wound first, “Considering I had a Twi’lek come in earlier with his intestines practically falling out of his stomach, I would certainly say you’re one of the luckier patients I’ve ever gotten. Stab wounds and blaster shots I can handle, guts and brains are another story.”

“You’re a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’m a nurse, actually. The infirmary only has one doctor and he barely works here since he’s always traveling,” You correct him, eyes trained on the way the curved hook of the needle pierces his skin, nylon thread bringing the torn flesh back together, “Sorry if you expected to be treated by an actual doctor when you stormed into the the infirmary asking for my help. There’s not really a huge need for medical professionals in the village--most people are dead before they even make it here.”

He makes a small noise from the back of his throat, “Makes sense. Surprised this place even has an infirmary in the first place.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly the flashiest hospital in the Outer Rim,” You say sarcastically, tilting your head to the side as you lean over his torso to get a better look at what you’re doing, “Why did you ask for me?”

“You were the only one that actually looked competent,” He huffs, stretching his arm behind his head when you gently nudge his bicep a little, “Everyone else was standing around doing nothing. You were the only one actually working.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or some sort of backhanded one, but you take it for what it is and continue your work, being as swift and precise as you possibly can. The Mandalorian, however, makes it difficult when he keeps shuffling around and you would have thought for such a big warrior, he’d be used to pain by now. If you were in any other situation, you might have found amusement at the thought of a huge Mandalorian hating needles, though you suspect it goes deeper than that and judging by the scarce amount of scars scattered on his torso, he must not get hurt often. 

Men in this village tend to have quite a big ego and usually hate having their pride bruised; you think that maybe Mandalorians are no exception to that notion, especially when they are rumored to be the galaxy’s fiercest warriors.

You let out an exasperated sigh when he shifts for the umpteenth time and his helmet immediately jolts to stare at you through that unforgiving visor, “What? Something wrong?”

His tone is condescending and you wince a little.

Of course he’s just like the rest of your patients--rude and probably cruel.

“You just…” You cringe at how shaky your voice is and steel your nerves, “Could you stop moving so much, please? It’s slowing down the process and causing more unnecessary pain.”

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a vibroblade just inches from your face.

He grunts a little and turns his helmet to stare back up at the ceiling, growing deathly still underneath your skilled hands.

“Fine. Just hurry up.”

You bite your tongue and continue without so much as a nod. You’ve learned long ago that when it comes to patching up criminals or bounty hunters, they have no qualms about harming people smaller or weaker than them and this Mandalorian is quite possibly the strongest patient you’ve ever tended to and you’d rather not anger him. So, instead of rolling your eyes at the childish man, you continue to stitch the second wound that comes to a blunt end on the right side of his hip, just above his utility belt. After tenderly wiping the dried and fresh blood away from his torso, remaining mindful as you clean around the sutures, you begin to unroll a thick wad of gauze as well as some medical tape.

“The bruising on your ribs looks pretty intense,” You murmur after finishing with the stitches and lightly wrapping it with a bandage; you tilt your head a little at the way he jolts when you tenderly press a cool hand against his warm, bruised skin, “Did you hear a pop or crack when you were hit?”

“I don’t know,” He admits brusquely and you are all too aware of how bothersome bruised or broken ribs can be. Despite your better judgment, you think that perhaps that’s why he’s so cranky, “Couldn’t hear shit over the gunfire.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when you think of the massive weapon propped up against the cot, just inches away from your thigh, and you shake your head a little, “I think I might have a jar of bacta salve that could help with the soreness. If you apply it twice a day, it should speed up the healing process a considerable amount.”

“I don’t have enough credits for anything with bacta in it, so don’t even bother,” He grunts as he stubbornly sits up and lowers his helmet to inspect your work before turning to you, watching as you stand up. 

You ignore his words as you approach the cabinet where you keep several clear jars filled with all sorts of vibrant, colorful liquids and gels and you think you feel his eyes on you as you stand on your tippy toes to reach the small jar on the top shelf. You were grateful that your little supply of homemade remedies and salves had remained untouched, for the most part, after the infirmary had been raided. You try to forget about the scary situation, though you still found yourself having nightmares of a Trandoshan pressing a blaster between your eyes, all while threatening to blow your brains out if you move an inch.

“Please, take it,” You insist, unscrewing the lid as you approach him and gathering the cold salve onto your fingers, “Something tells me you get injured a lot.”

His leather-clad fingers wrap gently around your wrist and stop you from rubbing the healing ointment into his skin; if you weren’t so terrified, you would have marveled at how massive his hand was compared to your much tinier one, “I don’t want your pity.”

Much to your dismay, your voice shakes a little when you speak in a whisper, and you feel the way he loosens his grip on you, though it hadn’t been painful or caused discomfort in the slightest; you’re somewhat surprised that he’s capable of gently handling someone so much smaller than him.

“It is not pity, Mandalorian.”

“Then what is it?”

“Kindness,” You murmur, feeling ridiculous when he scoffs at your answer and you just know that your cheeks are an angry shade of pink, “I do not wish to be as cruel as everyone else on this planet. I would like to think I would be shown the same kindness if I was as injured as you are, though I doubt one would help me. Besides, I don’t like seeing people in pain and I know broken ribs can be bothersome and painful.”

He silently stares at you for a few tense moments, his helmet giving you no indication as to what he’s feeling.

“Fine,” He lets go of your wrist and you let out a sigh of relief, hand shaking terribly as you begin to rub the salve against the worst of the bruising; you ignore the way he tenses under your hand and how he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes you closely, “That kind of attitude will get you hurt in a place like this.”

“I know,” Your cheeks flush and your eyes burn as you refuse to meet his gaze, your voice growing thicker and quieter when you speak again, “I know, but sometimes it doesn’t.”

He’s still staring at you as you finish up and he grunts a little when you offer him the deep, dull blue cuirass you had helped him remove earlier, carefully helping him put it back into place. After sheathing his huge canon against his back, he accepts the little jar of salve from you and tucks it into a little brown pouch attached to his utility belt with a disgruntled ‘thanks’. You’re not sure why you do it, but you instinctively trail behind him as he leaves the room and makes his way into the lobby; it’s not like he needs your assistance, but he doesn’t say anything to make you think he’s annoyed with you or doesn’t want you there.

It’s not until a deep voice calls out your name that you freeze in your footsteps and turn around with dread, the Mandalorian tilting his helmet to stare at you and an older man over his broad shoulder. Your own shoulders tense and are nearly touching your earlobes as your boss approaches you, looking angry and irritated with you even though you haven’t said a single word to him in hours. 

His face is a deep shade of crimson and you can smell his putrid breath as he yells at you, “I thought I told you to have those reports done today by sundown and it’s almost kriffing midnight. I’m tired of telling you how to do your job! Am I not punishing you hard enough? Is that why you’re too stupid to understand how to do something as fucking basic as filing reports?”

“N-No sir,” You panic and instinctively flinch when he harshly grabs your bicep and violently rattles you, “Something came up, sir. I had a patient that had two stab wounds and I just uh, I figured that took priority over a few reports that aren’t crucial. He was in pretty bad condition and I just thought--”

“I don’t give a shit what you think takes priority over my demands,” He hisses, lowering his head to get in your face and intimidate you and you absolutely loathe that he succeeds in frightening you, “When I ask you to do something, you fucking do it without hesitation. I need a nurse that will do her job, not a useless pathetic excuse for a human being that can’t file a few reports by the deadline I give her. Is that understood?”

You blink away the tears and nod fervently, ignoring the bruising grip he has on your arm, “Good. Now get the fuck out of here. I can’t handle having you around fucking everything up right now. Go home.”

"But I--" You're cut off with a harsh squeeze and you try to keep the pain out of your voice when you speak in a quiet, shaky whisper, "Y-Yes, sir. I’m sorry."

When you turn around, lightly rubbing what you know is going to be a painful bruise in the morning, you're surprised to find the blue Mandalorian still standing near the entrance of the infirmary looking extremely tense--more so now than he had been earlier when you’d been stitching his wounds. His visor is trained on you and he's firmly holding the handle of his vibroblade; your eyes widen a little when you realize he had been seconds away from causing a scene and you wonder if the warrior would have actually killed your boss. 

You remain frozen in place until his hand eventually falls from the handle and you skittishly brush past him, his visor following your quick pace as you leave the infirmary and hastily make your way down the empty street, your face flushed and tears burning your eyes.

You just want to go home and lay down and forget about everything that--

"Nurse," The Mandalorian’s deep voice immediately makes you freeze again and your shoulders hunch up when you hear his heavy footsteps slowly approaching you, slow and precise, like predator stalking its prey. Your eyes squeeze shut as you fear the worst case scenarios, knowing all too well of the kind of pain men of his size and strength could inflict on someone like you.

Oh Maker, were you all too aware of what cruel men were capable of. 

When you apprehensively open your eyes, you find it impossible to look at his helmet and stare straight ahead at the center of his chest that’s protected by dull blue metal. You’re paralyzed with fear as you wait for him to strike--to shoot you or perhaps drag you behind the infirmary to have his way with you.

You prayed that he would kill you, rather than robbing you of that innocence that you still weakly held onto.

You’re frozen to the sidewalk when he finally comes to a stop about half a foot away from you, fingers clenching against his thighs and you feel ridiculous when a tear escapes the corner of your eye and slowly travels down your cheek. You’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are from your previous encounter with the older man who constantly made your life a living hell or the fact that there’s a possibility that you’re about to be brutalized by a terrifying Mandalorian.

His helmet cocks to the side when you take a tentative step backwards, your hands wringing together as vicious waves of nerves threaten to suffocate you.

“P-Please don’t--”

"It’s late and dangerous to be walking alone. I'm going to walk you home."

You flinch when he gently grabs your elbow and he's quick to drop it instantly, much to your surprise, "Y-You really… that's not necessary, really. I do this every night and usually don’t have a problem."

He grunts a little and holds out his own elbow for you to take, "It wasn't a question. You helped me and gave me medicine even though I had no credits to spare. Let me return the favor by walking you home,” You stare at his thick arm with distrust carved into your soft features and he must notice it because he eventually speaks up again, “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it long ago, nurse. I have no desire to harm someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially you, of all people. Besides, even if you’re capable of protecting yourself, you’re clearly shaken up right now and not thinking straight.”

“I don’t know you,” The Mandalorian is still holding out his elbow for you to take as you argue with him in a weak murmur, “How am I supposed to believe you’re not just like the rest of them?”

He scoffs a little at your words, shaking his helmet as if he can’t believe you just compared him to a bunch of amateur criminals and bounty hunters, “I don’t like these people anymore than you do. I hate criminals that hurt others who don’t deserve it or can’t defend themselves. Let me walk you home this once and you’ll never have to see me again. You have my word.”

Something about the sincerity in his deep baritone leaves you a little breathless and you no longer feel as threatened by the Mandalorian and you think he’s being utterly genuine with you. There had been disgust in his voice as he spoke of ruthless criminals and perhaps you had misunderstood him and his intentions all along.

“Still don’t believe me?” He sighs when he mistakes your thoughtful silence for hesitance towards his insistent offer to walk you home, “Here, take my vibroblade and if you feel uncomfortable, I’ll let you stab me.”

‘I’ll let you stab me.’

It’s quite possibly the most ridiculous words that a man has ever said to you and your eyebrows shoot up at the nonchalance in his modulated voice, like this is something he says every day. You quickly stop him as he reaches for the handle of his weapon, though you’re not afraid of him hurting you with it, but more incredulous that this huge warrior would give you the chance to do such a thing.

“Haven’t you uh, been stabbed enough for one day?”

His chest heaves and you’re surprised by the deep laugh he lets out at your innocent question, adamant about placing the heavy weapon in your palm, “Yes, I think I have. Now let’s get going.”

“O-Okay,” Your heart is still frantically beating from the initial fear of him taking advantage of you, along with the strange feeling of such a sharp weapon in your hand, “It’s just--it’s kind of a long walk and I’m sure you have better things to--”

“I don’t,” He firmly interjects, almost sounding exasperated with you, “C’mon, tighten your grip on that vibroblade. The later it gets, more rats come out of hiding and target people like you.”

Hesitantly, you curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow just above his vambrace, testing the thickness of the fabric there and squeezing until your fingers stop shaking. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin underneath his tunic and relish in it a little, the atmosphere of Nevarro quite brisk this late at night.

“Thank you for doing this,” You whisper, cheeks burning brightly at how close you are to someone so powerful while holding one of his weapons,“I-It means a lot to me.”

“You said you do this every night.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip as you think of all the bad run-ins you had whenever you had to walk home this late without the protection of a Mandalorian, “It doesn’t make it any less scary when these bounty hunters and criminals find out I’m nothing more than the village nurse.”

You pretend not to notice the way he tenses next to you.

As you lead him to your little hut on the outskirts of the quiet village, you remember all the stories of how Mandalorians were vicious savages and you wonder just how accurate they are. You can't imagine someone with an inherently violent disposition offering you his arm and blade while he walks you home and perhaps your initial impression of the Mandalorian was made in too much of a haste. A few late night stragglers sneer at you and the unfazed Mandalorian and even though you should feel frightened to be walking home alone with a fierce warrior, you find that his presence has quite the opposite effect as people move out of his way to avoid any confrontation.

You can’t remember the last time you actually felt safe walking home so late and you’re barely aware of the way you push yourself closer against his side.

"That man," The Mandalorian's deep voice startles you and you notice him drop his tone in the slightest, "Does he always treat you that way? That roughly?"

You're surprised that he's actually starting a conversation with you, as he seems to be a man of very few words, but you think over his blunt question and carefully choose your words, "It is for my own good. How am I supposed to learn and become a better nurse if I can't follow simple orders?"

"He shouldn't put his hands on you like that. It’s not right when he’s larger than you and you can’t defend yourself properly."

You smile sadly and gaze up at the twinkling stars dotted in the night sky, "He is my boss and my father. He can do whatever he wants as long as I'm working for him and living under his roof.”

“Father?” He cocks his helmet to the side, as if he’s confused by your words, though all you hear is disgust in his modulated voice when he speaks, “A father should never lay a hand on their child the way he did with you earlier. Parents are supposed to protect their family, not hurt and bruise them. He should feel ashamed of the way he treats you and how he talks to you--it’s dishonorable.”

“I am an adult, not a child,” You lazily give him a single-shouldered shrug and sheepishly turn your attention to your worn out boots and your bruised knees that peek out just from the hem of your dress, “It doesn’t bother me. Like I said, it’s better for me to learn this way and he only does it because I’m always messing up.”

“It should bother you,” The Mandalorian shakes his helmet and you think he must be pitying you or judging you, “You should stand up for yourself and leave. Make a better life for yourself.”

You huff out a small laugh, though there’s nothing funny about his words or yours, “Tell me, Mandalorian, where would I go? There is only one infirmary in the village and it’s owned by my father and I have no other useful skills that would help me thrive in a village overrun by bounty hunters and criminals. The nearest city is hundreds of miles away from here and I do not make nearly enough to afford transportation nor to start my life over; my father made sure of that.” 

You’re smiling, but it’s bitter and wistful, wondering why this Mandalorian wanted you to fight for a better life when there was no such thing that existed for you on this planet, “It is easy for you to tell me to fight for myself when you are covered from head to toe in impenetrable steel. My father could ruin my life if he so desired and I would not give him reason to punish me more than he has already.”

“That is no way to live, orikih baar’ur. The way you are treated is no better than the way an owner treats their slave.”

You don’t understand the language and wonder if he’s judging you in his native tongue, and even though you try to shrug it off, you still feel the pain on your shoulders and arms from your last punishment.

“It’s not living,” You agree, lightly squeezing his arm to reassure him that you’re fine, though you think you’re trying to reassure yourself more, “But I’m still surviving and doing what I love the most, helping others. It would be selfish of me to ask for more.”

The Mandalorian grows silent and you wonder what’s going through his head as you lead him through the village, where clustered buildings eventually give way to smaller houses and huts that could do with some renovation and patching up. You think of your own hut that could do with some fixing up, what with all the holes that have been punched through the walls in your father’s fits of rage, or the way rain trickles through cracks in the ceiling and oftentimes leaves you feeling sick with a fever after a night of tossing and turning on a wet mattress. Thinking of how you grew up so poorly and in a hostile environment, it makes you think far more of the Mandalorian’s blunt words and something awful churns in the pit of your stomach.

‘That is no way to live…’

You lift your head up to the stars again and wonder what lingers beyond this forsaken planet, what beauty exists in the galaxy. You had once heard tales of planets covered entirely in oceans or jungles and as you peer at the rocky and volcanic terrain that surrounds the two of you for as far as the eye can see, you wonder what beautiful sights the Mandalorian must have experienced during his years of travel. You remember a patient of yours describing the beauty of Naboo and all of the sights she had witnessed during her weeks of residing on the planet. Even in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t envision massive rolling plains of emerald grass, or glimmering sapphire oceans with waves just as violent as the most fearsome warrior you’ve ever met, the man walking next to you. 

You wonder what it must feel like to have a cool, fresh breeze kiss your flushed skin.

You try to imagine tasting ripe, fresh fruit, rather than bland ration bars, or the scent of sweet flowers tickling your nostrils, rather than the putrid scent of some poor creature being roasted alive.

“My place is just up ahead.”

He must hear how forlorn you’ve become, voice slightly high-pitched and crackly, as if you’re trying your damned hardest not to break down in front of him, because he tilts his helmet to gaze down at you. 

Your cheek is nearly grazing his bicep and you don’t even realize how close you are to him until you smell blaster fire and something spicy on the fabric of the long-sleeved gray tunic he wears underneath a short-sleeved black one. He’s warm, you realize, despite being covered in cold blue metal, and you wonder how such a huge, cold man could make you feel the safest you’ve felt in years, before your mother had passed away and your father was a little less cruel, though not by much. 

You swallow the lump in your throat when the hut you share with your father grows closer and dread threatens to send you fleeing in the opposite direction, though you’re willing to stay next to his side just to enjoy a few rare moments of serenity. Your father won’t be home for another few hours and you hope by then, his anger will have dulled into harmless embers, though you won’t get your hopes up.

“Thank you again for walking me home,” You clear your throat when you two come to a stop in front of the sad excuse for a home and you reluctantly pull away from him, fingertips grazing the crook of his elbow before falling to your side, “They don’t speak too kindly of Mandalorians around here, you know?”

He cocks his helmet downwards and to the side, seeming all too comfortable to speak with you before parting ways, “What do they say?”

“My father used to tell me tales of your people being savages,” You sound shameful as you confess this, tilting your head upwards the tiniest bit to gaze at the geometric emblem embedded into his cuirass, “That Mandalorians would kill innocent people and steal from them with no remorse, that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill women and children, or even torturing them. My father told me your people were worse than the monsters that plagued my dreams.”

You don’t back off when he steps a little closer and reaches out to lightly touch the little violet you always keep tucked behind your ear or in the soft weaves of your braids when it’s too hot to wear your hair down. It was something you wore in your hair every single day since your mother’s death, as she would always stick violets in your thick braids whenever she would style your hair in the morning when you were younger. You remember how she would explain the several medical uses for violets--how it was versatile and could be used for compresses, salves, soothing teas, poultices and much more.

You hadn’t even realized it had become a habit to constantly wear the pretty wildflowers in your hair until the Mandalorian unknowingly pointed it out.

“And what do you think about my people?”

“I used to believe the stories,” You hesitantly crane your neck backwards to peer into his t-shaped visor, wondering if he has warm, soft eyes that betray his cold, modulated voice and you watch as his hand promptly drops to his thigh before he can touch your ear, “Now I think the monsters in my nightmares are far more terrifying than the Mandalorian who walked me home tonight. If your people are anything like you, then I think the rumors are just that--silly rumors that should be ignored.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” His voice drops into a cool rasp that sends shivers up your spine and for what reason, you’re not so sure, “You don’t know what I can do.”

“I don’t need to,” You murmur just as quietly, eyes desperately searching everywhere on his dull blue helmet and you count the number of scuffs created from blaster shots or perhaps sharp daggers like the one he had been attacked with earlier, “You told me yourself that you have no desire to harm innocent people. I think you are the first man on this planet to show me any form of kindness.”

“I don’t doubt it,” He reaches for your arm, just as he had done earlier when he’d first insisted on walking you home, however, this time you don’t flinch and he cocks his helmet a little as he lightly strokes the inside of your clothed elbow with a leather thumb, “Good night, saviin’ika.”

“W-Wait!”

He tilts his helmet to the side when you quickly hold out his vibroblade that you had loosely been holding onto the entire walk home, almost forgetting that he had let you borrow it in case you felt the need to protect yourself against him.

You hadn’t--not once.

“Keep it, at least for now,” He reaches out to gently curl your thin fingers back around the handle, speaking up quickly when you part your lips to protest, “You shouldn’t be walking around without anything to protect yourself, especially this late at night.”

“But wh-what about you?”

Immediately, your eyes land on the heavy cannon attached to his back, along with the blaster on his hip and you cringe, knowing that this warrior would undoubtedly be able to take care of himself without his small blade. Still, you think the Mandalorian is amused as he straightens up and places his hands on his hips, just above his utility belt, and tilts his head backwards and to the side.

“I think I will somehow manage,” He sounds just as amused as you figured he would, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, cheeks still burning like hot coals, “Will I see you again?”

“What? Want to see me get injured again?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling when you detect a twinge of amusement in his deep voice, “You don’t need to go and hurt yourself to come visit me, Mandalorian. I would prefer to see you in one piece and those ribs all healed. Don’t forget to use that salve--”

“Twice a day,” He finishes and shakes his helm a little at the bright smile you give him, “Take care of yourself, saviin’ika. Don’t hesitate to use that vibroblade if anyone threatens you.”

“Thank you, Mandalorian. See you soon.”

orikih baar’ur= tiny medic

saviin’ika=little violet

#so like #I thought I was done thirsting over our big blue boi #but I just watched Us and all I can think of is thick Winston Duke playing Paz Vizla and YALL #I'm thirsty all over again #Sorry Jon Favreau #anyways #I'm a sucker for those ships where person A is soft AF and person B is a big old grouch #paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #Mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing

[hotdamnhunnam]

Five Shades of Hunnam

President • King • Captain • Pilot • Gentleman

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of this crazy filthy fantasy of getting gang-banged* by five versions of Charlie!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 Part 2 is written based on the results of this poll asking which Hunnams y’all would prefer in each hole 🤪

Pairings: Jax Teller + King Arthur + Will Miller + Raleigh Becket + Raymond Smith ... x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, gang bang* (5 on 1), *NOT gang r*pe – fully consensual, reader enjoys getting ravaged in all of her holes 🙃 Request: Kinkfest request from @itsme-autumn

Word Count: ~3.3k

GIFs by misterhunnam | hunnamsource | charllehunnam

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

“Tell me, baby. Do you want us to treat you like a lady...? Or whip out all five of our cocks and just go fucking crazy?”

The fact that Jax Teller is here in your room—standing among four other men just as stunning as him, all in the form of Mr. Charlie Fucking Hunnam—the fact that Jax just said that to you... is honestly too hot to be true.

What the hell are you supposed to say to that? Supposed to do...?

You’re soaking wet and need them bad. So horny you feel fucking dead. You want to speak and yet you can’t. King Arthur has Excalibur in hand; the way you’re feeling right this instant, hurts as if that goddamn legendary sword stabbed you straight through.

With fire in his eyes of icy blue, Jax takes a few bold steps toward you. Your gaze falls to his crotch on impulse, and it’s clear from the bulge in his jeans... he’s extremely well-hung. So damn thick. So damn long. So damn big it’s obscene. It’s not as if you’re shocked—Jax Teller always walked and talked like someone with a massive cock—but still, just seeing... is believing like fuck. Plus he’s hard as a rock.

“C’mon, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue...?” he taunts, not ashamed to whip out a ridiculous pussycat pun. It’s so painfully dumb, but when Jax Teller says it... you basically cum. He’s a devilish dick of a dom, and he loves to flaunt it. “Bet that pussy could use some tongue on it. I mean, if you’d want it.”

Oh Goddd—you cannottt... that shit is just too fucking much, to be honest.

Thankfully Captain Will is behind you to catch your full weight, as you literally start to faint. And the feel of his touch on your skin has you falling all over again. Your poor cunt is in pain. So horny it’s insane, short-circuiting your brain.

But you’re still wide awake and conscious, well aware of just how fucking bad you want this. Every man in the room.

Will reads your mind, now as he holds you from behind. Chuckles sadistically against your ear and it’s fucking divine. “Mmm, maybe if we make her cum... then her brain will be able to function and send us all home.”

“To hell with going home,” Arthur mutters, clearly turned on at the sight of you all hot and bothered. He may be nobler than the others, but he was brought up in a brothel after all and has never denied where he came from. “I swear there’s no woman so fair in all my kingdom...”

“Nor in my dimension,” Ray seconds. “Y/N—ever since we stepped in, I’ve been dying to mention that you are delightfully hot.”

Raleigh smolders, tension in his beefy broad shoulders. The king and the gentleman... aren’t they supposed to be decent like him? Now apparently they just forgot?... “But I thought—”

The President abruptly interrupts. While Will surrounds you from behind, blowing your mind, Jax comes up front. Fucking you up, his words setting a bomb off in your cunt. “Y/N just has to tell us what we all already know she wants.”

And then somehow, you finally summon the words to your filthy whore mouth. Still unable to fathom how you got so lucky. There’s only one way to respond—so you say it now. Say it loud, slutty and proud. “I want... I want you all to fuck me. All at once.”

***************

.

.

.

And so it goes.

You and five versions of Charlie Hunnam, all here in your room, are all ready to burst and give in to your dirtiest thirsts.

First things first: you need Jax Teller’s cock in your throat, and he already knows. He can tell, all too well—and he smirks, hot as hell, because he is the worst. You’ve been so fucking eager to suck off this fictional character ever since you started watching his show.

Now he’s not at all fictional, though. You still cannot believe this is real, and just how good it feels... to know just what’s in store, as you give into all of your instincts to kneel, sinking fast to the floor... that you are actually about to blow the President of SAMCRO.

“Mmm...” the tall blonde biker hums, clearly pleased, as he watches you fall to your knees, reaching now to rip open his jeans like a cheap fucking whore. Jax’s cocksucking hoe. “There we go. Look at that slutty little mouth of yours. Go on and show me what it’s good for.”

Fuck yes, sir. But you’re too breathless now to use your words to answer, as Jax Fucking Teller’s cock is out, so big and hard and proud... a goddamn pillar of perfection...

And you are not about to waste a second, worshiping the President’s erection with your filthy little mouth.

“Unghhh....” he grunts, as you set to work right at once. The sound of his guttural groan starts a flood in your cunt, soaking up while you slobber all over his dick, focusing on the tip. Servicing him with your tongue and lips, loving it more with each lick. Slurping up every sweet drop of precum as it drips.

He is so delicious. You could go on forever like this, as if you and Jax are the only two souls who exist. But you’re not—and the fact that four other versions of the same man are watching right here in this room... just the thought, of five shades of Hunnam, five flavors of your favorite sex god... is so fucking hot.

The truth is that they’re not just here to watch, while you bury your face in Jax’s crotch. They’re here to touch. They’re here to fuck. They know that you want all five of their cocks. You’ve never wanted anything so much.

And just your luck... they want you too. These five versions of Charlie are incredibly turned on by you, though it seems too good to be true.

All of a sudden, you feel hands upon your skin as someone hoists you off the floor. King Arthur has just set aside his sword, stripped off his shirt—oh God, his chiseled muscles are so hot, so hard it hurts—and flings you easily over his shoulder like a little fucktoy whore.

“The fuck—” the President protests as your mouth slips off of his cock, with a loud pop, once the king swiftly lifts you up. Jax was not at all set for this blowjob to stop. He wants more of this mind-blowing head. “What the... I wasn’t done yet...”

“Did you not hear what Y/N said?” Arthur reminds him, as he carries you across the room and throws you down onto the bed. The way he effortlessly handles you like that... you’ve never been so wet. “The lady wants all five of us at once. You took that pretty little mouth of hers—such a sweet hole to fuck—but there are others. Now it’s time for her to take a royal cock. Give her exactly what she wants. I’m gonna lay claim to her cunt.”

Then he attacks you with a fierce animalistic grunt, tearing his leather pants away to free his meat, and ripping off your clothes as well to make sure that you feel all of his heat. His feral dominance is everything you need. The way he grabs and gropes your tits, with one of his hands... while the other reaches down to stroke your clit... holy fucking shit. You seriously can’t. It’s more than you can stand.

“You think you own that cunt?” Jax comes to butt in, all of a sudden. “Think just ‘cause you’re king you can do what you want? Well, think again. I said I wasn’t done.”

The President then reaches right under Arthur, before things can go any farther. Grabs you by the shoulders to pull you up into a better position. Like every inch of you belongs to him.

Both of these men are just manhandling you at their whim, and it feels like heaven to be sinking into such a state of submission.

The king of England and the king of Charming end up grappling for dominance for a few moments, until their struggle is cut short by a quick interruption: the captain. He’s sick of this childish behavior from them. No matter the problem, Will Ironhead Miller can always propose an efficient solution.

“Cut the bullshit—it’s not rocket science, you idiots,” he says as he tells the men how to best handle their business. “Look: Y/N sits on the king’s cock, then biker boy stands at the side of the bed, so that she can lean over and give him head.”

His suggestion is met with a pause.

Jax is first to break it, while you lie on the bed wet and naked. Glaring alpha male daggers at Ironhead, chest proud and puffed. “What, you think you’re the boss?” he indignantly scoffs.

Arthur huffs, his own ego a little bruised too. But then poses the question to you, his voice all at once tender yet rough. “That sound good to you, love?”

You cannot help but swoon at the word he just called you. How is it he’s so fucking hot, yet so cute...? Your head bobs in a dumb speechless nod; it’s the most you can do.

“Yeah, ‘course it does,” the captain confidently gloats, as you settle into the perfect position that he had proposed. Take the king in your cunt and the President deep in your throat. “Just what she loves. Dick in her mouth and her pussy. Especially because this leaves her pretty little ass ready for me.”

You could honestly die at the thought—that sounds painfully hot...?!? And so dirty... you’ve never once taken two dicks in two holes, let alone three in three... but goddamn do these men make you thirsty.

The second you sit down on King Arthur’s cock... your world is fucking rocked. He’s so epically big—just the same size as Jax’s enormous dick—speaking of which, you go straight back to being the President’s cocksucking bitch. Jax grabs you by the head from where he is standing at the side of the bed, fingers tangling in your messy hair as he feeds you his huge cock to suck. Your face will always be his to fuck.

And you still can’t get over your luck.

“Such a good little cockslut,” Jax snickers at you as he swiftly shrugs out of his kutte. Then the flannel beneath, knowing that looking up at his broad sculpted chest and his firm rippled abs is exactly what you want and need. You take his dick deeper this time around, gagging on his massive meat, gulping every inch down, and he’s so long and thick that it feels like your jaw fucking broke.

It feels so goddamn good to get wrecked, especially now with the words he says next. “You like the way I own this filthy little throat? God, you’re filthy as fuck. Taking my dick so good. Bet you can’t wait to swallow my load. That’s it, slut. Suck that cock till you choke.”

His dirty talk is so hot you can’t even cope. You used to imagine it back when you were just a fan of his show—now it’s actually happening though, and it’s more than your inner fangirl ever hoped.

And of course, it’s the instant your eyes roll back into your head, as both Arthur and Jax fuck you up on your bed, till you’re ready to burst... that the captain decides to step in and take full control, over another hole. If you thought taking two cocks at once was already the best and the worst, nothing could have prepared you for taking a third.

But the truth is you love how it hurts.

Having Jax Teller fucking your facehole all sloppy and juicy, while King Arthur slams his royal scepter into your soaking wet pussy, and Will Miller shoves his brutally big dick in your tight little ass, taking your cheeks in his tight grasp and dishing out punishing slaps... it feels like all your dreams are coming true at last. Literally cumming true at that. God, it feels so fucking good to be so fucking bad. It’s by far the best sex you have ever had. Satisfying all your sluttiest thirsts.

And as if shit could get any hotter... you’d almost forgotten that there are two others.

Two other equally beautiful versions of Charlie: the savage yet soft-spoken gentleman Ray, and the soft-hearted fighter pilot Raleigh.

You don’t even have enough holes in your body for all of them. Not sure whether and how you can handle another two Hunnams. But hot damn are you happy to tackle that problem.

As Jax and Will and Arthur keep railing you harder, filling you in every way you want... you hear another voice from nearby in the room. All at once cool and classy, yet naughty and nasty. It has to be Raymond. “Well now, who knew that this lovely woman... would turn out to be such a kinky fucking cunt.”

Ughh, fuck—you moan desperately all around Jax’s cock, the only way that you can respond. Who knew? No one. You didn’t even know it, till this moment. But now all five shades of Hunnam do. Their presence in your room has definitely brought it out of you.

At the gentleman’s words, the President flashes a smile and a sadistic little chuckle. All the while keeps on ruthlessly ravaging your filthy little fuckhole. Driving his dick into the back of your throat till it hurts. Till your slobbering tongue and your bottom lip smush up against his big balls. Addresses Ray as well as Raleigh, who is standing quietly along the far wall. “Tough luck for you all, but this bitch is fucking full. Too bad she’s only got three holes...”

“She’s got two hands, though,” Ray points out, coming toward you now, his footsteps so deliberate and slow. “What do you all reckon they’re good for...?”

Oh, good Lord...

“Stroking? Squeezing...?” he asks, reaching to take one of your hands in his dominant grasp. Wrapping your fingers tight around his throbbing shaft. You cannot even anymore. Just cannot even... “Mmm, it seems to me that Y/N summoned up five Hunnams for a reason. To be used up like a proper fucking whore.”

Three cocks have swiftly turned to four, and you can feel poor Raleigh bolting toward the door. This filthy business goes against his soft, pure heart. He’s never witnessed—let alone dared to take part—in such a hardcore pornographic scene as this...

But here he is. And can’t deny that he’s rock fucking hard, as you can tell from one quick glance, out of the corner of your eye, at the massive bulge in his military pants. And you’ll be damned before you let that pretty boy pilot escape from this. He fucking can’t. You need two cocks in your two hands.

“Don’t pussy out on us like that,” Will masterfully commands, beckoning Becket toward the bed. “You know we’re all just Y/N’s guests; this is her universe. So we’re just... here to satisfy her thirsts.”

And then he grabs hold of your shoulders, to anchor himself as his thrusts in your ass become faster and bolder, which ends up pushing your head deeper down in Jax’s crotch. Slamming into you like it’s his job. And it’s too fucking much. Fucking you the fuck up.

But you don’t ever want it to stop.

Raleigh seems reluctant to abide by Will’s orders. But something compels him to do as the captain said—come toward the bed, like a good little soldier. “You guys are the worst...”

“No, far from that,” Arthur replies with a filthy laugh, as he keeps on splitting your wet pussy in half with his majestic staff. “This may look bad, but how it feels...? Fucking unreal. Quite honestly the fucking best.”

Oh God fuck yes...

You can sense Raleigh coming closer toward the bed with timid steps. Can feel his captivated blue gaze watch your body as it bounces on the mattress. You’ve lost track of who’s thrusting the hardest, the fastest. It’s all just a beautiful big fucking mess...

“Now let’s see if the fifth cock is as big as all the rest,” Jax playfully suggests. “See if this dirty little slut can take us all at once. Just like she wants. Let’s put our fucktoy to the test.”

“Fine, if you all insist,” the pilot yields at last. “But only ‘cause she wants it. Honest.”

“Just shut up and let her get her hands on it,” Raymond grunts, frustrated and impatient, until Raleigh finally gets in position.

And once it happens—once you wrap your fist around his rock hard cock, getting completely fucked, by five versions of Hunnam all at once... it’s even better than you had ever imagined.

You eagerly jerk both men off, all while the other three keep ravaging you good and hard and rough. You feel so full, in all your holes, and more, down to your deepest core. Your inner whore. This is exactly what you live for, what you love. And you won’t ever get enough.

By the time all five Hunnams are ready to soak you in their fucking cum—which happens at the same time for all of them, since apparently they’re somehow in unison, being all versions of the same person from different dimensions... by the time that happens, you’ve already lost count of your own orgasms.

This whole session, for your slutty ass, has just felt like one epic extended climax. Will and Arthur pounding into you in a perfect rhythm, from the front and the back, while you jack off Raleigh and Ray, all while gagging on Jax... you could do this all day every day. And there’s no other way for your body and soul to react.

You’re nothing but a fucktoy for five shades of Hunnam and that is a fact.

As the three sex gods buried balls deep in your holes fill them up so deliciously full, the other two drop their loads all over the cheeks of your ass and the curve of your back. And you’re having an absolute heart attack. How is a mere mortal bitch supposed to survive this...? Your brain is blown to bits. At this point it’s an actual struggle to even exist.

But you’re a shameless whore, just desperate for another hit. For fucking more. Of all the countless possibilities of five versions of Charlie in your three holes and two hands... all you want is to try literally every combination, and then once you’re done, just repeat them again and again and again.

It is literally raining men. Not just any men—five incarnations of your fucking sex god obsession. All five of them are living breathing perfection. Wrecking you till it hurts, till you burst, fulfilling all your thirst, in every way from every direction.

So maybe eventually you’ll have to send them back to their respective dimensions...

... But till then? You will sure as hell make the most of this mind-blowing multiverse blessing. Maybe if the sex keeps on being this epic they won’t even dream of leaving. Just won’t even...

And you’ll be more than happy to host them forever in this dimension. Can’t imagine any damn thing better than five incarnations of Charlie, right here fucking you in your bedroom. Because honestly, five shades of Hunnam... are five shades of heaven.

***************

Okayyyyy so I know this was FUCKING INSANE FILTHY SHIT but I hope there are some kinky bitches out there who enjoyed it! And would love to hear if you did!! 🤪

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[imaginingmanyfandoms]

summary: a chance encounter puts Fiona Tanner in the sights of the Cullen family. Emmett takes an immediate liking to her, but Edward thinks she's a threat to the family. No Emmett x Rosalie. warnings: kidnapping, ooc behaviour? words: 4kish

FIONA TANNER SEATTLE, DAY 1

From the moment her boots hit the cement on the busy Seattle sidewalk, the search was on. Holding tightly to the handle of her suitcase she tried to get her bearings. Fiona Tanner’s sister had been missing for months. The cops had nothing, and they weren’t taking any of Fiona’s advice.

“Let us do our jobs, ma’am. We’ll find your sister…” had not so slowly turned into “we can’t find someone that doesn’t want to be found.” Insinuating that her sister had run away with some boy, over the fact that the cops simply hadn’t done a good enough job. Bree was a troubled kid, who left home in a hurry before she’d turned fifteen. But she always stayed in contact with Fiona. Little messages from burner phones to let her sister know that she was okay.

A person could only drag their sister back just to watch her run away again so many times before they needed an alternative solution.

Like she was going to just sit around and hope that they were right. She was an extra set of eyes and ears. There was nothing that could stand between her, and finding her sister. At the very least she was going to get the truth.

Besides, she knew for a fact that her sister was dead.

The bus dropped Fiona off in front of an old diner. It looked out of place next to two modern buildings, but the charm of it drew her in. The ladies inside were friendly, offering her a table and some coffee. She ordered a burger with fries and a root beer. While the waitress withdrew to the kitchen, Fiona pulled out a map of the city that she had started using as her guide to remember everything. The map and a small notebook she’d bought at the dollar store.

The map had a small blue X over a bookstore just a few blocks over, which was her first stop after getting some lunch. Now seemed like the best time to take stock of everything she knew so far.

Bree’s friends had no idea where she was. But they weren’t the brightest bunch, and not really the trustworthy type either.

Another boy from the area had gone missing recently as well. Riley Biers, last seen in May, 2010. He went missing near Pike Place Market.

Bree wouldn’t ever just run away with someone without telling her. She was in trouble.

And that was it. That was all Fiona knew.

But the family couldn’t just move on. Bree had looked exactly like Fiona did at her age. It became a curse when her own parents would struggle to look into her eyes, preferring to stare into their glass whenever she entered the room. It was like that a year ago, but when she had to tell her parents that she’d been talking to Bree, and hadn’t told them…

Being away from them wasn’t the worst thing right now.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about at that moment. Her concentration needed to be on her investigation.

“Here ya go,” the waitress said, setting down the plate of food. Fiona smiled, and slid her map out of the way. She was starving.

She picked up a fry and brought it to her mouth, but suddenly felt… wrong. There was a weird feeling in her mind. Like someone was watching. No, not watching. Listening.

Then clear as day she heard it. This tiny little nagging voice that had started harassing her a few weeks ago. It sounded just like her sister, except this voice was deeper, raspy like she was dying of thirst.

Run, Fiona.

She put the fry back and grabbed a twenty from her wallet, strolling up to the counter to pay and get a to go container. Fiona kept her cool, but kept her defences up.

Don’t think about me.

Fiona looked around the diner. There were two teens taking pictures of their milkshakes and giggling. Then there was a couple. A girl and an Abercrombie model. Only one plate of food between them.

As if on cue, the boy picked up one of her fries and put it in his mouth. But Fiona didn’t miss the confused look on the girls’ face when he did it. He whispered something under his breath that made the girl look down, her hair making a waterfall to block out her face. But it didn’t matter, Fiona had his face painted in her memories.

I said, run!

The voice was annoying. But the scary thing to Fiona, was that she could hear dead people. Kind of like a medium, but she suppressed it. Pushed it down, down, down until it was suffocated. Bree, however, always knew how to get under Fiona’s skin.

Please, Fiona thought, just tell me what happened.

I told you, it’s not safe. Go home!

“Lady?” said the waitress, holding out the change to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, putting her phoney smile back on. “Sorry, keep the change.” She took her to go box to the table and threw the fries in it, and everything else she owned back in her bag. She flipped it over one shoulder gracefully and grabbed her burger, taking a big bite of it. She looked back at the couple, but caught his narrowed eyes staring at her.

He was the one listening. She tried to immediately cover her thoughts by thinking the alphabet as loud as possible, but she could read from the look on his face that it was too late.

You’re going to get hurt. Bree had been fighting Fiona every step of the way. Putting fake clues in her mind, trying to push out clues that were helpful…

It was annoying.

C’mon Bree, Fiona thought. Gimme a clue.

How about a hint?

Yes, Bree! Please give me a hint.

Okay, go home. That’s your hint. Goodnight.

Goodnight, yourself. It’s not even dark out.

FIONA TANNER SEATTLE, DAY 2

Wake up!! Bree was shouting. It was frantic, unlike anything Fiona had ever heard before. Please, Fiona, please, wake up!! Someone is in the bathroom!

In a second, all of the grogginess was wiped away. Fiona sat up quickly, pulling the blankets to her chest. She had triple, quadruple checked that the door was locked before bed. And she could see that it was still locked now. How could someone have…

I think… they’re leaving.

How?? Fiona was starting to shake. There’s no window in there.

Then something in the air shifted. And the only reason she knew something was different was the tiny breeze she felt on her face, and the fact that the door wasn’t locked anymore.

Who was in here, Bree?

I’m not telling.

But you know?

No.

Liar.

Fiona rubbed her temples. Bree’s yelling had given her a headache. To make things worse, Bree was loudly singing, “go hoooooome” over and over. Fiona got up, changed out of her pyjamas into jeans and a white tee. And pulled her boots on. She has at the edge of the bed for a minute, her head in her hands as she took some deep breaths.

Fiona looked out the window, and noticed something bizarre. There was a girl, standing stiff as a board. And Bree went radio silent.

Know that girl?

When Bree didn’t answer, Fiona dropped down, hiding herself out of view. Holy shit! Do you actually know that girl?

Fiona was getting tired of this. If Bree wasn’t going to talk, someone else was going to. With reckless abandon, she threw open the door and stomped across the parking lot, not really caring that this girl was starring at her.

“Do you know Bree Tanner?” Fiona asked loudly, before she was even close to the girl.

Shut up! Shut up! You have no idea what you’re starting!

“Excuse me?” said the girl. She was impossibly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that wasn’t even fair for the rest of the world.

“My sister is Bree Tanner, and I think she knows you.”

“And how could you know that?”

“She told me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why? Because she’s dead?”

The girl shut up after that. Fiona was getting sick and tired of no one answering her questions. She knew she was playing with fire, but she didn’t care. If this girl was some drug dealer who got Bree killed, she was going to find out. And she wanted to find out today, right now.

“I don’t care what shit you’re in with the police, I just want to know what happened to her.”

Shut. Up! Or you’ll be dead like me.

The girl didn’t speak again. “Do you know the boy who listens?”

The next five seconds went faster than she could have possibly believed. She was suddenly in complete darkness. With all her belongings beside her. In a small, tight space. Where was she? What happened.

You’re in a TRUNK, dumbass, you just got kidnapped.

Well that, was bad news for Fiona. She wanted to scream but her mouth was covered. She wanted to fight but her hands were tied. How did that happen? How did she miss her own kidnapping?

The boy who could listen was here. Probably in the car. She could feel him in there.

“How could she know this much?” The beautiful girl asked. Fiona had no idea why, but she could hear them in her head. In her mind.

“Be quiet,” he said sharply.

Silence.

“She can hear us,” he said. “I can’t… I can’t look in her mind, I’m just hearing my words echoed back, louder than her thoughts. I think she’s burying them.”

Instead of burying them, she turned it around. Played it loud like shouting into a megaphone. Did you do this to Bree, too? And then she projected Bree’s image. She closed her eyes and tried to push every detail of her sister’s face into his mind. But, he edited it. Saw it the way he saw it, with bright red eyes. She felt the car swerve violently and she cracked her arm as she rolled onto it. It hurt so badly. She hoped it wasn’t broken but the way her fingers stopped responding to her made her worried.

“Knock it off!” he shouted.

“What?” His passenger asked. Don’t be rude, she thought.

Not you, Rosalie. Did the listening boy think that?

It was getting too confusing for her to keep all these voices straight. Rosalie was sitting with the boy who listens. She didn’t know his name. It made no sense, how could she hear them? She could only ever hear the dead, but this wasn’t the same. Bree sounded like she was in the middle of Fiona’s brain, but the other two… they sounded like Fiona was listening to them from a couple feet away. They were on the outside, and Bree was on the inside.

Please, Bree begged, I don’t know how to help you now.

It didn’t matter. Fiona passed out.

EMMETT CULLEN FORKS, DAY 1

Emmett hated when the family went into crisis mode. Jasper didn’t want to play chess because he was too busy fretting over Alice. Edward was having four panic attacks a day thinking that these “loose ends” were going to get Bella killed. And Carlisle and Esme were making Plan B arrangements in case they had to move, which is what everyone kept saying. No one was brave enough to say in case we have to kill her.

He heard Edward and Rosalie driving over the speed limit. Faster than ever, maybe. And he was excited to at least see some kind of action around here. Ever since he got to the house everyone has treated him like he’s stupid. Which he was not.

“Jasper!” Emmett called, beaming up the stairs. “They’re coming!”

“Yes, thank you Emmett. I hear them too.” Jasper spoke normally. Knowing Emmett could hear him through the walls.

Edward skidded his car to a quick stop in front of the house. Emmett happily joined Carlisle and Esme on the front lawn. They had all agreed to greet their guest and try to explain things as civilly as possible. Edward and Rosalie were supposed to go get her, invite her on a tour around town and then invite her for a dinner. Emmett was excited to make a friend, and also excited to watch his family force down a pizza. They all got so miserable after eating human food.

“Oh dear,” Esme said.

Emmett didn’t understand what the big deal was. Edward was out of the car, talking to Bella on the phone. The wedding was still a ways away, this was only supposed to be a minor inconvenience. Rosalie had run off into the woods before even greeting anyone. She hadn’t been coping well lately and hadn’t spent much time talking to anyone. Not that she was very friendly on a regular basis.

Only then did Emmett notice that the car door was open, but he could tell the heartbeat he heard and the blood he smelled was behind a wall of metal. She wasn’t in the backseat. They put her in the trunk?

Seemed a little rude.

The girl was bleeding back there too. Probably why Rosalie had to run. He couldn’t blame her, this girl smelled so good. She smelled like joy would taste.

“Pop the trunk!” Emmett said, laughing at Edward’s constipated expression.

“Emmett,” Carlisle whispered. His dad didn’t want to make a joke out of this. “Edward, please.”

Edward didn’t get off his phone call but clicked open the trunk with his keys. Emmett and Carlisle ran over to examine the damage.

As soon as Emmett saw her, he was smitten. Absolutely smitten. She was so pretty. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Short black hair, round little face with the pinkest lips in the world. And they looked like they would be so fun to kiss. Emmett was aware his brother wasn’t answering Bella, and instead was staring at Emmett, but he didn’t care though. He could see the relation to Bree in her features, but she was definitely older.

“Her arm is broken,” he said. “I’ll bring her to my office and set it, and cast it.”

Esme coughed for a moment, briefly distracted by the pooling of blood in the trunk of Edward’s Volvo. “Need anything from your office, dear?”

Emmett could see the appreciation on Carlisle’s face. Emmett wanted love like these two had. Or like Alice and Jasper. Or Edward and Bella. Or Rosalie and her reflection. Carlisle gave her a short list of things he would need to cast her arm, he was only missing a few things that he had used before they came back to town.

Carlisle reached to pick her up, but Emmett swatted his hands away quickly. Not harshly, as it wasn’t meant to hurt Carlisle. But Emmett had to do it himself. He had to be the one to carry this girl. It didn’t matter what Edward wanted. No one was going to hurt her. Edward doesn’t get to always have everything his way.

“What’s her name again?” Emmett asked, his voice more gentle than they’s ever heard it as he gingerly picked her up.

“Fiona.” Carlisle watched Emmett’s every move.

“Fiona,” Emmett repeated quietly.

He didn’t want her to wake up, so he walked slowly through the house. Setting her down on the space Carlisle made on the desk. The blood didn’t bother Emmett for even a moment. He never even hesitated. He just brushed the hair off her face, and waited while Carlisle worked.

“You seem to have taken to this girl.”

“I just think she’s pretty,” Emmett said. “It’s not her fault about her sister. If one of us went missing, would you not stop at nothing to get us back?”

“You’re right about that.” Carlisle looked pained. “May I ask you something, Emmett?”

“Yeah, of course.” Emmett didn’t look up from the girl’s face, and instead dragged his fingers softly around the edge of her face. Maybe she would be his Bella.

Was it creepy to be thinking this before she had a chance to wake up and meet him? He can’t just claim her, only hope that she was as fascinated by him.

Edward came through the door before Carlisle could ask about what Emmett was thinking. Edward was clearly mad. Esme slipped in, giving Carlisle the things he asked for, but opted to slip out and remove herself from the blood. Emmett understood, Fiona smelled as tempting as a fresh apple pie.

“Why is she untied?” he asked, grabbed the abandoned tie off the ground. It was all he’d had to tie her up with at the time.

“Do you think she needs to be?” Carlisle asks.

“Yes, I do.” Edward crossed his arms. Emmett was getting irritated by the vibe in the room. It was bad vibes in here.

“No, Edward.” Carlisle kept working. “We don’t hold hostages.”

“You’re right, we should just kill her now,” he said, cooly. As if it wasn’t a person they were talking about. Carlisle paused, but continued.

Emmett stood up tall, puffing his chest out and blocking Edward’s view of Fiona.

“You’re not touching her,” he said.

“Are you going to stop me, Emmett?” Edward asked. “You don’t even know her.”

“I know that I’m not a danger to her,” he said. “And you are. So get out while Carlisle works.”

“You’ve lost your…” Edward trailed off, and dropped to his knees clutching his head. Emmett stooped down on one knee, immediately changing from being worried about this girl to worried about his brother. “It’s her.”

Fiona was stirring awake, Carlisle finishing and clearing himself just in time for her to start squirming.

“Oh my god, her thoughts - there’s so many…” Edward tried to clear a path, try to sort between her thoughts and the thoughts of others’ that lived in her mind. “They’re not hers.”

“STOP!” she shouted, sitting perfectly up. “My sister doesn’t know the truth, she’s no danger to the secret.”

“Fiona?” Carlisle asked. Everyone was totally stunned. The girl looked lifeless behind her eyes, like this wasn’t her but a cheap replication of her. Other than sitting up, her limbs were still and lifeless, no sign of pain or distress.

“Bree.”

“Bree?” Esme said, slipping in the door. “Bree is it really you?” Esme fluttered over, putting her hands on the girls’ face. She was close to tears. “I’m so sorry.” Esme had been feeling guilty over Bree everyday since it had happened.

“Esme,” Carlisle said softly. He didn’t want to silence his wife, but he didn’t know how much time they had to talk to her.

“She doesn’t know what really happened. You still have time to lie. Don’t kill her.”

“Don’t worry little buddy,” Emmett said. “No one is going to hurt Fiona.”

“Remains to be seen,” Edward muttered.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Sounds like family meeting time,” Esme said. “I’ll go find the others.” She slipped outside the office.

“I don’t understand,” Fiona said, her eyes focused. Her voice settled. It was her now. There was life in her eyes, but also fear, and she touched the cast on her arm. Even her voice was beautiful. Is this how the dogs feel? Emmett had never felt stronger than right now. Emmett didn’t move towards her for fear of startling her, she was so small.

“She can’t stay up here alone,” Edward said.

“I trust Carlisle to speak for me,” Emmett said, looking at Fiona. She was frightened, but brave. Trying to establish her surroundings. “I’m not going to let you hurt her no matter what you say anyway.”

“You’re risking everything,” Edward said. “For someone you don’t even know.”

“Sound familiar?” Emmett asked, scoffing. “I always had your back, even when I didn’t get it.”

Edward flashed a look of guilt but shook it off. Emmett knew they couldn’t keep taking risks like this, but she wasn’t a risk, she was a person. As fast as he’s ever run, Emmett grabbed her things from the car, and dropped them right at her feet. She was shaking, clearly terrified.

“How did you do that?”

“Your phone is in there, I checked.” Emmett heard his family go silent. The conversation was a waste of time anyway, it was just Carlisle trying to convince Edward that there were more options than murder. “I won’t stop you from calling 911. We are the Cullens, you’re in Forks. I’ll even give you the number for Chief-”

“Emmett!” Rosalie yelled. But Emmett got to the door first. Holding it shut from Rosalie’s destructive fists. It cracked and splintered under her heavy hits. “If we have to start over you are so dead.”

FIONA TANNER FORKS, DAY 1

Fiona was crying now. Confused by all the thoughts in her head. She could hear the whole family. Pieces of the conversation downstairs. She could hear the listener getting mad. He didn’t like his own thoughts being repeated back to him but she couldn’t help that. There was also the typical voices that she usually had buried, but coming out of whatever happened to her allowed them to flood in. People screaming in pain, or begging for help, or just taunting her for the fun of it. What did the boy who listens make of her?

“I’m not calling the police,” she whispered. “I just want to know what happened to Bree.”

Rosalie stopped busting the door at Carlisle’s request. But each of her exaggerated stomps could be heard as she left the house. She turned on music in the garage and started fussing with her cars. Emmett just looked at her, welcoming her to make the first move.

“You’re Emmett?”

“Yes.” For his huge stature, he seemed so kind and timid to her. She could hear him thinking about her. And it was so, so flattering.

“Are you dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then how are you alive?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that right now,” he said. “Let’s skip for now.”

“Was Bree dead?”

“I thought you already knew she was dead.” Emmett looked down. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“I meant… uhm… when you met her, for the first time, was she already dead?”

“Yes.”

“Explains why I can hear you twice.” She needed a minute to process all of this. How was she supposed to process all of this?

“Can you hear me think?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he said, lowering his head. “That’s kind of embarrassing.”

Fiona smiled, and chuckled. Which made Emmett smile and chuckle. It was quiet in the room for a minute. Fiona tried to sort out her thoughts and Emmett watched her.

“I really don’t want to cause any trouble for your family,” she said. “Can you just tell me what happened to my sister?”

“No one here hurt her,” Emmett said. “We were trying to save her but there are some people who just… get their way.”

“Why did they want to hurt her?”

“Can I skip?” he asked.

She nodded lightly. His vague answers were disappointing but he seemed genuine, and it was probably a “the less you know the better” kind of deal around here. Maybe she should’ve listened to Bree.

You think? Bree thought. She sounded weak after taking control of of Fiona.

“Am I going to die, Emmett?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“No, I’ve got you now. You’ll be safe with me.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

#twilight #imagine #imagines #emmett cullen #emmett cullen imagines #emmett cullen imagine #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #twilight fic #emmett cullen fic

[antihero-writings]

Such Fragile Things

Beautiful cover art by niuan_ on Instagram!! I’ll put a link to her insta in the replies!! 

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix (the first chapter works for SOTN too)

Summary: Dracula thought love was gentle, soft, and breakable...but what he  feels when holding his newborn son (ch1), and in his final moments (ch2), is anything but. 

Chapter 1: His Son’s Life

Dracula did not read romance novels. He wasn’t really one for novels in general, especially written by humans. Science. Philosophy. Medicine. Not flights of fantasy.

But the humans have a word for this…and it isn’t quite scientific.

That word is ‘love.’

…But that can’t possibly cover it.

But ‘love’ was always a silly little notion. Love was flowers and candy. Love was sappy letters and maudlin advances. ‘Love’ was sensitive and easy to break. ‘Love’ was soft.

But this… this is anything but soft.

This is a thing that does the breaking. It is painful, and sharp in the way it pierces him so thoroughly. It is tethered so tightly around his heart, that if he tried to sever its bonds his heart would burn, and quite possibly break.

This is daggers and I’d die for you. This is a stake stabbed through the chest.

And that is not what he knows of love.

The the baby boy murmurs quiet nonsense beside his sleeping mother.

Vlad stands over the cradle—(a cradle his parents made out of metal, and cotton, and dedication)—the fabric soft against his fingers.

His mother. A human. Completely, and thoroughly. No turning necessary. He could have turned her…but that would have sullied the pink of her cheeks, the red of her lips, the blue of her eyes.

So many humans are out for blood without thirst involved. He needn’t corrupt one that didn’t experience such desires.

Just an ordinary human, who was either brave or very stupid… or maybe a bit of both to walk straight into the demon’s castle. Maybe she was just curious. …He hoped it wouldn’t kill her one day, like the cat who meant well.

His mother. Lisa. With golden hair, and certain shimmer to her words too.

His father. Dracula. A vampire. The vampire. The king of night and all its hordes. A scary story, full of blood and death and the moon was full that night.

—(Could he even be a father after all that killing? Was there a father behind all that bloodshed? Dare he even try to keep something alive, when these hands were constructed to kill?)—

And Adrian. Just born, already with one foot in each world. Half human. Half vampire. The stars dripped from the ceiling, and the sun spilled in through the window.

Would they hurt him for it?

Would this fact grant him safe passage into both worlds, or make him hated by both? Had he cursed this being to a life of not belonging? Or had he given him an opportunity no one else had; to belong to both?

Would being Dracula’s son make him a villain? Or would it make him a prince? Would the humans fear and hate him? Would the vampires bow to him?

Would being Lisa’s son make him a hero? Would the humans accept him as one of them? Would the vampires exile him as a half-breed, impure, no matter if his father had a castle, and a crown, and fangs all too ready to sink into their necks?

Barely noticeable now, he has golden hair like his mother, and fangs like his father.

…He wonders how this creature, so full of light, could come from the king of night.

Then Adrian starts crying.

The king of night is uh…not equipped for this. He’s never comforted a crying child before. He’s made more than a few cry in his time, but he’s never been on the other end…it seems the much more difficult side of things.

He has half—(okay, more than half)—a mind to wake Lisa for help. …But Lisa has done enough for today. Surely he can handle one crying baby.

Vlad is careful not to let his nails pierce the child’s skin as he scoops him up, cradling him in his arms.

Adrian is so small. It doesn’t feel like he’s made of thumping, pumping blood and bone. He feels as if he’s made of glass, and Dracula fears he’ll shatter in his hands.

Dracula has killed so many things in his life. He has killed humans, and animals and, yes, another vampire or two. But he doesn’t want to kill this one. He is so desperate to keep him alive he thinks he might die himself before he saw anything touch him.

Lisa stirs, and Vlad moves the child further away so as not to wake her. He sits in the chair in the corner of the room, by the basket full of toys he will soon play with, and the alphabet charts he will soon learn with.

Dracula did not read romance novels. But he had once heard a lullaby, and he wonders if he can remember the lyrics.

At the gentle song, slowly Adrian calms down in his father’s arms, and looks up at him with those golden eyes.

And Dracula wonders if the world was always this big.

Vampire’s eyes are usually so cold and dark. But he is only half dark, and his eyes are full of sunlight.

He looks up at his father, this dark thing, the killer, the monster king. The creature they said could never learn to love.

And Adrian smiles.

When Dracula returns that smile, it is not an evil sneer tugging at his lips. It is like his face breaks, pouring out all the joy inside him. He leans forward and rests his forehead gently upon Adrian’s.

“My boy.”

***

Chapter 2: His Father’s Death 

Dracula throws the golden man into wall, hard enough to break it, revealing the room on the other side.

Nails against the wood, against stone, footsteps merciless as a death toll, blood in the burning halls; Dracula is the monster from the stories after all.

He stalks into the room, his cloak furling behind him, seeking his prey. The kind of snarl only things not-quite-human-anymore make emanates from his throat.

The moment he crosses the threshold, that snarl morphs into a gasp, and, as if it were some magic barrier…everything looks different.

His cloak falls softly, quietly like a hand on his shoulder.

This dhampir, this man, up until now has been Alucard. The reverse of him. The thing meant to destroy him and stop his war. A hunter of vampires that is himself a vampire—(or half of one at least). No, not a vampire hunter. Just Dracula’s hunter. All he has been is another thing in Dracula’s way.

But this thing sitting against the bed, failing to catch his breath, golden hair falling about his face…looks different.

A little boy is gasping, leaning on his wooden sword just to stay up.

“Father, do you think we can stop? I need a break.”

Vlad laughs, and the sound is warm. His hands fall to his sides and his smiles, stepping up to his son.

“Of course, Adrian.” He puts his hand on his shoulder/ruffles his hair. “You’ve done well today.

He is…so small.

This bed. A bookshelf. A wardrobe. A desk, with charts and maps. A basket of toys in the corner. All too small. Too dusty.

The window is letting too much light in.

On the wall, a painting of a family. Too happy.

…a boy, hurting, beneath the bed.

Not a hunter, or an annoyance, or an enemy. Not a mindless, heartless, thing. Not an other. Not a him or an it to be disposed of, but a living, breathing, thinking, hurting you.

A very specific you. A you with a name. A you with whom Dracula had shared so much of his life. A you who perhaps knew Vlad more than anymore else. Not a him or an it to be destroyed, a you that he needed so desperately to keep alive.

Not Alucard; the thing meant to destroy him.

Adrian.

“It’s your room.”

His fingers, a moment ago poised to claw at this man, curl gently into a fist, hiding his nails.

The rest of the castle was drenched in bloodshed. The rest of the castle was full of war. The rest of the castle had turned itself towards it’s master’s deeds, destroying itself in a pointless fight, just like him.

But not this room. He had protected this room from all the blood. He dare not bring it with him.

The heavens turn from hazardous red to delicate blue.

Both of them stare up into the stars. Not the real ones—though they are here to guide them too. The ones on the ceiling. The ones they played under, read under, the ones this golden man once dreamed under, the ones he used to learn their names and places in the sky when he was but a child. The rich blue like a spell, putting the warriors into a trance in the middle the battlefield.

—(But this isn’t the battlefield, and that’s why the war must stop here)—

The blood is clearing from Vlad’s view. It has been a long time since he’s seen the world without the blood.

The room has been empty for a while, but the boy it belongs to is here now.

And, in his proper place, all at once this golden man is that fragile thing again. That thing that could break if Vlad held him wrong. That thing Vlad, more than anything, wanted to keep alive, to protect, and who he would die for before he ever saw him get hurt.

Barely perceptible, Vlad is shaking.

His hands are no longer claws against the walls. He sees them for what ugly, monstrous things they are. Ugly, monstrous, because of what they’ve been doing. He crosses them over his chest, as if to cage them; as if trying to keep them from hurting anything, ever, anymore. As if to feel his own heartbeat, and remind himself there is still something living there.

This is the boy who he played cards, and chess, and swords with. This is the boy who asked about the myths in the stars, and the ones in our hearts. This is the boy who he bounced on his knee, and read to, and comforted when he cried, and on very special occasions sang to sleep.

“My boy.”

Adrian is trying to stand, and for a moment his father sees a tiny thing on wobbly legs reaching for his open arms.

“I-I’m killing my boy.”

Dracula steps to the painting—(though he can barely feel his feet)—where an echo of his wife sits on canvas, holding that infant golden thing.

He remembers her now. He wasn’t sure he did before.

“Lisa…I’m killing our boy.” His voice is soft and cracked and breakable itself. “We painted this room. We…made these toys…”

He was never one for sentiment, never grew attached to objects…but as he looks around at this room, and the things in it, those moments are flickering through his mind now—(is this what they mean when they say one’s life flashes before your eyes? Had he really forgotten so much? Had he really forgotten what life was?)—and the blood seems so obscene now.

Not in front of Adrian.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

With an exhale Alucard gets up, and it sounds like the world being crushed into a fine powder. The motion is not gentle…it comes with a cracking and all-too clear purpose, and now his steps are as calculated and foreboding as Dracula’s were moments ago.

Vlad’s hands are now too dangerous to let sit at his sides, so he uses them to cover his eyes…to hide his pain from the world, to hide the world from his pain. A feeble defense against the pointed intention in his son’s own dangerous hands. Playing peekaboo one last time.

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He hears Adrian’s breath very close to him, but it is not that of a beast ready to pounce, it is heavy, like the world is sitting on his chest.

He takes his claws from his eyes to look into his son’s face.

Vlad laughs, and the sound is cold.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.”

“What?”

“You didn’t kill me before. You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.”

“Do I?!”

“You died when my mother died. You know you did. This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

And if he could hurt this boy—Adrian—who he loved more than anything, then:

“I must already be dead.”

Adrian’s eyes are not full of malice. He is not like anyone else that would try to kill the vampire king. Anyone else’s eyes would not be soft; they would be solid and still, pointed and gleaming with with hunger and hate. Anyone else wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t be gentle.

Even now, Adrian’s eyes are still full of sunlight; trembling, rippling, ripping sunlight.

It is not fear, nor anger that makes his eyes shudder. It is heartbreak. Imminent heartbreak.

Because he wishes he could save him. Because he knows he cannot.

His heart has been aching for a very long time, slowly coming apart, and it is about to shatter. This golden man is about to split his own chest for the sake of saving the world.

Once upon a time all the stories they told him ended happily, and families stayed together, and no one ever died. His heart must fracture, for he knows their own cannot.

How could Dracula ever try to take that sunlight from the world, when Lisa had brought it down to him from her place in the sky? He’d traveled the world in search of the sun...but his sunlight was right here…and if he couldn’t see that then…

He closes his eyes. He opens them. A silent ask. A silent answer. They both know.

Alucard steps closer. And it is not to hold him tight—(no matter how much he they both wish he could just wrap his arms around him and cry, like long ago, and understand that after the rain everything would be better).

Now Dracula is the fragile thing. And they both know what he must do.

He is trying to be gentle. For love is the only thing that can be harsh in the kindest word, and gentle in the cruelest stroke.

That horrible cracking, crackling, squelching sound. Red drips from his chest along the golden man’s sleeve.

It isn’t death, really. It is mercy. Mercy on humanity. Mercy on Vlad himself. Death had already administered its kiss when Lisa died. And in his undead state Dracula had tried to spread that death to everything and everywhere else, in the world’s most exorbitant suicide note.

“Son.” The word is soft, rasping; the wind in a hollow house.

“Father.” The word is a broken plea; the sun on the abandoned floorboards and dolls, wishing it could illuminate the family that once lived there instead—

And this hurts, yes, but even so, it is the love behind it that is more piercing than any stake.

Love has never been breakable. Love is what does the breaking.

There is something defiant in Alucard’s eyes as he drives it in farther.

His heartbeat fills the room.

And, after much bending, the stake bores through, and the mirror breaks.

—(And for a moment Adrian could have sworn the sound came from his chest)—

Dracula does not burst into flame. Death, for him, is not an explosive show. It is soft whispers: he turns slowly to ashes, without any burn.

Vlad wants to wrap his arms around this small, precious, golden thing one last time. To say goodbye.

Adrian never looked at his father like a monster before, never backed away from his touch, but Dracula could swear the fear in his eyes now—(a little boy hiding from the thunder)—is the only reason the breath is leaving his chest.

Adrian is so, so tiny. (And after everything, he cannot bring himself to deliver the last stroke.)

Dracula’s last thought, the sonnet of a dying monster, is not a curse, or a threat, but something very gentle indeed.

Lisa, Adrian…I’m so sorry.

The only thing left of him is a wedding ring.

#castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania fanfic #castlevania fic #alucard #dracula #alucard castlevania #castlevania alucard #dracula castlevania #castlevania dracula #lisa tepes #draculisa #dracula x lisa #lisa x dracula #alucard & dracula #dracula & alucard #ADRIAN & VLAD #vlad & adrian #vlad tepes #Vlad Dracula Tepes #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrians childhood #adrians birth #castlevania netflix #netflix castlevania #tepes family #castlevania symphony of the night #father son feels #father son

[symphonyofthewrite]

Such Fragile Things

Beautiful cover art by niuan_ on Instagram!! I’ll put a link to her insta in a reblog!! 

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix (the first chapter works for SOTN too)

Summary: Dracula thought love was gentle, soft, and breakable...but what he  feels when holding his newborn son (ch1), and in his final moments (ch2), is anything but. 

Chapter 1: His Son’s Life

Dracula did not read romance novels. He wasn’t really one for novels in general, especially written by humans. Science. Philosophy. Medicine. Not flights of fantasy.

But the humans have a word for this…and it isn’t quite scientific.

That word is ‘love.’

…But that can’t possibly cover it.

But ‘love’ was always a silly little notion. Love was flowers and candy. Love was sappy letters and maudlin advances. ‘Love’ was sensitive and easy to break. ‘Love’ was soft.

But this… this is anything but soft.

This is a thing that does the breaking. It is painful, and sharp in the way it pierces him so thoroughly. It is tethered so tightly around his heart, that if he tried to sever its bonds his heart would burn, and quite possibly break.

This is daggers and I’d die for you. This is a stake stabbed through the chest.

And that is not what he knows of love.

The the baby boy murmurs quiet nonsense beside his sleeping mother.

Vlad stands over the cradle—(a cradle his parents made out of metal, and cotton, and dedication)—the fabric soft against his fingers.

His mother. A human. Completely, and thoroughly. No turning necessary. He could have turned her…but that would have sullied the pink of her cheeks, the red of her lips, the blue of her eyes.

So many humans are out for blood without thirst involved. He needn’t corrupt one that didn’t experience such desires.

Just an ordinary human, who was either brave or very stupid… or maybe a bit of both to walk straight into the demon’s castle. Maybe she was just curious. …He hoped it wouldn’t kill her one day, like the cat who meant well.

His mother. Lisa. With golden hair, and certain shimmer to her words too.

His father. Dracula. A vampire. The vampire. The king of night and all its hordes. A scary story, full of blood and death and the moon was full that night.

—(Could he even be a father after all that killing? Was there a father behind all that bloodshed? Dare he even try to keep something alive, when these hands were constructed to kill?)—

And Adrian. Just born, already with one foot in each world. Half human. Half vampire. The stars dripped from the ceiling, and the sun spilled in through the window.

Would they hurt him for it?

Would this fact grant him safe passage into both worlds, or make him hated by both? Had he cursed this being to a life of not belonging? Or had he given him an opportunity no one else had; to belong to both?

Would being Dracula’s son make him a villain? Or would it make him a prince? Would the humans fear and hate him? Would the vampires bow to him?

Would being Lisa’s son make him a hero? Would the humans accept him as one of them? Would the vampires exile him as a half-breed, impure, no matter if his father had a castle, and a crown, and fangs all too ready to sink into their necks?

Barely noticeable now, he has golden hair like his mother, and fangs like his father.

…He wonders how this creature, so full of light, could come from the king of night.

Then Adrian starts crying.

The king of night is uh…not equipped for this. He’s never comforted a crying child before. He’s made more than a few cry in his time, but he’s never been on the other end…it seems the much more difficult side of things.

He has half—(okay, more than half)—a mind to wake Lisa for help. …But Lisa has done enough for today. Surely he can handle one crying baby.

Vlad is careful not to let his nails pierce the child’s skin as he scoops him up, cradling him in his arms.

Adrian is so small. It doesn’t feel like he’s made of thumping, pumping blood and bone. He feels as if he’s made of glass, and Dracula fears he’ll shatter in his hands.

Dracula has killed so many things in his life. He has killed humans, and animals and, yes, another vampire or two. But he doesn’t want to kill this one. He is so desperate to keep him alive he thinks he might die himself before he saw anything touch him.

Lisa stirs, and Vlad moves the child further away so as not to wake her. He sits in the chair in the corner of the room, by the basket full of toys he will soon play with, and the alphabet charts he will soon learn with.

Dracula did not read romance novels. But he had once heard a lullaby, and he wonders if he can remember the lyrics.

At the gentle song, slowly Adrian calms down in his father’s arms, and looks up at him with those golden eyes.

And Dracula wonders if the world was always this big.

Vampire’s eyes are usually so cold and dark. But he is only half dark, and his eyes are full of sunlight.

He looks up at his father, this dark thing, the killer, the monster king. The creature they said could never learn to love.

And Adrian smiles.

When Dracula returns that smile, it is not an evil sneer tugging at his lips. It is like his face breaks, pouring out all the joy inside him. He leans forward and rests his forehead gently upon Adrian’s.

“My boy.”

***

Chapter 2: His Father’s Death 

Dracula throws the golden man into wall, hard enough to break it, revealing the room on the other side.

Nails against the wood, against stone, footsteps merciless as a death toll, blood in the burning halls; Dracula is the monster from the stories after all.

He stalks into the room, his cloak furling behind him, seeking his prey. The kind of snarl only things not-quite-human-anymore make emanates from his throat.

The moment he crosses the threshold, that snarl morphs into a gasp, and, as if it were some magic barrier…everything looks different.

His cloak falls softly, quietly like a hand on his shoulder.

This dhampir, this man, up until now has been Alucard. The reverse of him. The thing meant to destroy him and stop his war. A hunter of vampires that is himself a vampire—(or half of one at least). No, not a vampire hunter. Just Dracula’s hunter. All he has been is another thing in Dracula’s way.

But this thing sitting against the bed, failing to catch his breath, golden hair falling about his face…looks different.

A little boy is gasping, leaning on his wooden sword just to stay up.

“Father, do you think we can stop? I need a break.”

Vlad laughs, and the sound is warm. His hands fall to his sides and his smiles, stepping up to his son.

“Of course, Adrian.” He puts his hand on his shoulder, ruffles his hair. “You’ve done well today.

He is…so small.

This bed. A bookshelf. A wardrobe. A desk, with charts and maps. A basket of toys in the corner. All too small. Too dusty.

The window is letting too much light in.

On the wall, a painting of a family. Too happy.

…a boy, hurting, beneath the bed.

Not a hunter, or an annoyance, or an enemy. Not a mindless, heartless, thing. Not an other. Not a him or an it to be disposed of, but a living, breathing, thinking, hurting you.

A very specific you. A you with a name. A you with whom Dracula had shared so much of his life. A you who perhaps knew Vlad more than anymore else. Not a him or an it to be destroyed, a you that he needed so desperately to keep alive.

Not Alucard; the thing meant to destroy him.

Adrian.

“It’s your room.”

His fingers, a moment ago poised to claw at this man, curl gently into a fist, hiding his nails.

The rest of the castle was drenched in bloodshed. The rest of the castle was full of war. The rest of the castle had turned itself towards it’s master’s deeds, destroying itself in a pointless fight, just like him.

But not this room. He had protected this room from all the blood. He dare not bring it with him.

The heavens turn from hazardous red to delicate blue.

Both of them stare up into the stars. Not the real ones—though they are here to guide them too. The ones on the ceiling. The ones they played under, read under, the ones this golden man once dreamed under, the ones he used to learn their names and places in the sky when he was but a child. The rich blue like a spell, putting the warriors into a trance in the middle the battlefield.

—(But this isn’t the battlefield, and that’s why the war must stop here)—

The blood is clearing from Vlad’s view. It has been a long time since he’s seen the world without the blood.

The room has been empty for a while, but the boy it belongs to is here now.

And, in his proper place, all at once this golden man is that fragile thing again. That thing that could break if Vlad held him wrong. That thing Vlad, more than anything, wanted to keep alive, to protect, and who he would die for before he ever saw him get hurt.

Barely perceptible, Vlad is shaking.

His hands are no longer claws against the walls. He sees them for what ugly, monstrous things they are. Ugly, monstrous, because of what they’ve been doing. He crosses them over his chest, as if to cage them; as if trying to keep them from hurting anything, ever, anymore. As if to feel his own heartbeat, and remind himself there is still something living there.

This is the boy who he played cards, and chess, and swords with. This is the boy who asked about the myths in the stars, and the ones in our hearts. This is the boy who he bounced on his knee, and read to, and comforted when he cried, and on very special occasions sang to sleep.

“My boy.”

Adrian is trying to stand, and for a moment his father sees a tiny thing on wobbly legs reaching for his open arms.

“I-I’m killing my boy.”

Dracula steps to the painting—(though he can barely feel his feet)—where an echo of his wife sits on canvas, holding that infant golden thing.

He remembers her now. He wasn’t sure he did before.

“Lisa…I’m killing our boy.” His voice is soft and cracked and breakable itself. “We painted this room. We…made these toys…”

He was never one for sentiment, never grew attached to objects…but as he looks around at this room, and the things in it, those moments are flickering through his mind now—(is this what they mean when they say one’s life flashes before your eyes? Had he really forgotten so much? Had he really forgotten what life was?)—and the blood seems so obscene now.

Not in front of Adrian.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

With an exhale Alucard gets up, and it sounds like the world being crushed into a fine powder. The motion is not gentle…it comes with a cracking and all-too clear purpose, and now his steps are as calculated and foreboding as Dracula’s were moments ago.

Vlad’s hands are now too dangerous to let sit at his sides, so he uses them to cover his eyes…to hide his pain from the world, to hide the world from his pain. A feeble defense against the pointed intention in his son’s own dangerous hands. Playing peekaboo one last time.

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He hears Adrian’s breath very close to him, but it is not that of a beast ready to pounce, it is heavy, like the world is sitting on his chest.

He takes his claws from his eyes to look into his son’s face.

Vlad laughs, and the sound is cold.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.”

“What?”

“You didn’t kill me before. You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.”

“Do I?!”

“You died when my mother died. You know you did. This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

And if he could hurt this boy—Adrian—who he loved more than anything, then:

“I must already be dead.”

Adrian’s eyes are not full of malice. He is not like anyone else that would try to kill the vampire king. Anyone else’s eyes would not be soft; they would be solid and still, pointed and gleaming with with hunger and hate. Anyone else wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t be gentle.

Even now, Adrian’s eyes are still full of sunlight; trembling, rippling, ripping sunlight.

It is not fear, nor anger that makes his eyes shudder. It is heartbreak. Imminent heartbreak.

Because he wishes he could save him. Because he knows he cannot.

His heart has been aching for a very long time, slowly coming apart, and it is about to shatter. This golden man is about to split his own chest for the sake of saving the world.

Once upon a time all the stories they told him ended happily, and families stayed together, and no one ever died. His heart must fracture, for he knows their own cannot.

How could Dracula ever try to take that sunlight from the world, when Lisa had brought it down to him from her place in the sky? He’d traveled the world in search of the sun...but his sunlight was right here…and if he couldn’t see that then…

He closes his eyes. He opens them. A silent ask. A silent answer. They both know.

Alucard steps closer. And it is not to hold him tight—(no matter how much he they both wish he could just wrap his arms around him and cry, like long ago, and understand that after the rain everything would be better).

Now Dracula is the fragile thing. And they both know what he must do.

He is trying to be gentle. For love is the only thing that can be harsh in the kindest word, and gentle in the cruelest stroke.

That horrible cracking, crackling, squelching sound. Red drips from his chest along the golden man’s sleeve.

It isn’t death, really. It is mercy. Mercy on humanity. Mercy on Vlad himself. Death had already administered its kiss when Lisa died. And in his undead state Dracula had tried to spread that death to everything and everywhere else, in the world’s most exorbitant suicide note.

“Son.” The word is soft, rasping; the wind in a hollow house.

“Father.” The word is a broken plea; the sun on the abandoned floorboards and dolls, wishing it could illuminate the family that once lived there instead—

And this hurts, yes, but even so, it is the love behind it that is more piercing than any stake.

Love has never been breakable. Love is what does the breaking.

There is something defiant in Alucard’s eyes as he drives it in farther.

His heartbeat fills the room.

And, after much bending, the stake bores through, and the mirror breaks.

—(And for a moment Adrian could have sworn the sound came from his chest)—

Dracula does not burst into flame. Death, for him, is not an explosive show. It is soft whispers: he turns slowly to ashes, without any burn.

Vlad wants to wrap his arms around this small, precious, golden thing one last time. To say goodbye.

Adrian never looked at his father like a monster before, never backed away from his touch, but Dracula could swear the fear in his eyes now—(a little boy hiding from the thunder)—is the only reason the breath is leaving his chest.

Adrian is so, so tiny. (And after everything, he cannot bring himself to deliver the last stroke.)

Dracula’s last thought, the sonnet of a dying monster, is not a curse, or a threat, but something very gentle indeed.

Lisa, Adrian…I’m so sorry.

The only thing left of him is a wedding ring.

#castlevania #dracula castlevania #alucard castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania netflix #netflix castlevania #alucard #dracula #adrian tepes #adrian farenheit tepes #Vlad Dracula Tepes #castlevania fandom #castlevania fanfic #castlevania fic #Tepes family #lisa tepes #dracula & alucard #draculisa #Dracula x Lisa #alucard & dracula #lisa x dracula #father son feels #father son relationship #father son #dracula & adrian #adrian & dracula #vlad & adrian #adrian & vlad #castlevania dracula #castlevania alucard

[star-killer-md]

Hello!! May I please request “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if i have to, until you answer me.” with our boi Kylo? Could it be sweet with smut? Thank you so much!!! DALDOM is such a joy to read, like thank you for quenching my thirst in this drought of a time

Thank you so much for all your support babe!! Soooo, remember when I said this would be just drabbles. Well I went and wrote like what could potentially be considered a one shot and it’s probably not at all what you were looking for but it left my brain and its here now. 

This is loosely based on the Mobster!Kylo x Lawyer!reader AU I’ve been fantasizing about writing for awhile, so you can just read it as modern Kylo to simplify things. 

Prompt: “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if I have to, until you answer me.” 

Warnings: nsfw, angst which y’all just need to expect by now, breaking and entering, feelings, sorta soft Kylo I think, possessive vibes

Word Count: 2k

Message number 27:

Kylo’s voice crackled out of the answering machine sounding warped as the signal cut in and out. 

“You’re not getting away that easily,” he rasped. “I’ll keep calling for the rest of the night if I have to, until you answer me.”

Your inbox was well and full by now. He’d made good on his promise though. Your phone had vibrated itself off the counter at one point with the amount of incoming calls. An hour or so ago, you’d just turned it off, hiding away under a blanket in the living room and trying to control your breathing. 

You knew it had been a mistake to get involved with him professionally. His business was not exactly of the ethical sort and you couldn’t have any stains on your reputation. But he’d paid handsomely, and you did enjoy the extra funding to spruce up your rundown apartment. 

But it had been a grave error to ever be romantically involved with Kylo Ren. If you could call it that. There was nothing truly romantic per to say about it, possessive was a more appropriate word for him. Ren kept a collection of spoils and you simply couldn’t bare to be just another trophy anymore. 

Although it seemed your greatest blunder was in trying to break things off amicably. You should have just skipped town. Should have broken your lease, took the hit to your credit and changed your name. Should have, would have, etc...

But you didn’t.

And now you were facing the consequences. 

The consequences which were currently trying to break down your front door. 

Footsteps, loud and heavy, pounded up the narrow hall and what was almost certainly a foot connected and splintered the wood of your lock on the first impact.

You jumped clear off the couch, landing in a heap on the floor and crawling away from the door as it swung on its hinges. The knob left a hole in the drywall as it burst open and standing in the remains was the last and first person you wanted to see.

There was a reason you’d only left a message with his assistant and slipped quietly home. There was a reason you’d taken the week off so you wouldn’t accidentally run into him looking for you at your office. 

Because, no matter how much you detested what he did, you couldn’t deny how easily he’d drawn you in. Not just with money but with his air. The cloud of mystery and intrigue, risk and reward that clung to him was intoxicating. And you knew if you had to look him in the eye, he’d pull you right back to him. Have you laid out on his expensive mahogany desk, pussy dripping and cock pounding into you. 

You could hear it now:

“Your fucking cunt better not take the finish off,” he’d growl into your ear, fingers down your throat to muffle any noise. “Gonna lick it clean when I’m done aren’t you?”

He was staring at you now with that same dangerous look which had enticed you in the first place. You shuddered from your place cowering in the corner.

Kylo’s massive hand wrapped around the door and slammed it back into the ruined frame before crossing the room and backing you further into the corner where you sat. 

“What the hell are you—?!” 

You were cut off when he yanked your upper arm harshly dragging you to your feet and caging you to the wall with his chest. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you pick up?” he hissed, lips working over themselves when his jaw twitched. 

“I left a message,” you stated calmly, eyes focused intently on the ground.

“No that’s bullshit and you know it,” he pounded his fist into the wall by your head. 

“I meant it,” you tried to keep your voice level but your hands were shaking at your sides and he was too close and too loud. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His hand found your jaw, forcing it up towards his face, “Look at me and say that again.”

It was a challenge. A dare. Calling your bluff. 

You took a breath. 

His eyes were so pretty though when you finally met them, all the nerve drained out of you. Kylo looked so...enraged, enraptured, betrayed. And you just couldn’t. But you had to.

The words were soft when they slipped past your lips, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” he demanded.

His eyes were flicking all over your face, from your mouth to your eyes and back again. 

You didn’t know how to explain that he scared you. Not him entirely, but what you felt for him, what he did to you was terrifying. It was an addiction you couldn’t shake and you needed to go cold turkey or you’d be stuck in this back and forth forever. 

“What?!” his voice cracked as the shout left him. “What am I not paying you enough? What more do you want?” 

“I don’t want anything—“

“No, no, no,” he cut you off again, hands wrestling against you until he gripped the outside of your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. Your skirt rode up your back and left you nearly exposed to the chill of the apartment. 

“Kylo, please,” you struggled in his grasp. 

Your hands were so small on his chest, barely contained by the blue dress shirt he wore. He was hard in his pants, you could feel the length of him pressing into your core. Your name left his lips right before they crashed into yours. 

You tried to push back, to seal your mouth shut and turn your head but his kisses were your weakness. Few and far between and gut wrenching every time and he knew it. Knew what he did to you. And you couldn’t help but yield to his onslaught, letting him lick into your mouth and trace your teeth. 

He was like a fine wine, or what you imagined people meant when they said that. It all tasted the same to you, but Kylo was more delicious than any of it. And you drank him down despite the little voice in your head telling you to bite his tongue and get as far away from him as possible. Somewhere he couldn’t track you down. 

But really, you knew that was futile, because Kylo Ren could find you anywhere. Once he sunk his teeth in, there would be no getting away without blood on your hands. So you kissed him back and didn’t protest when his lips wandered down your neck, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. 

“You can’t,” he mumbled into your skin. 

Kylo’s hands shifted, fumbling in between your bodies until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your underwear. He ran his thumb along your slit, groaning at how your pussy dripped for him. 

“Can’t what?” you gasped, as he circled your clit through the cotton. 

He tore his hand away and fumbled with his belt buckle, freeing his cock from the confines of his pants. You felt him push your panties to the side and rub the hot head of his length against your lips. He was so warm, so big, so right, so exactly what you always wanted. 

His face was pressed firmly into the crook of your neck, and there was a distinct wetness there and his chest shook when he breathed in the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. 

“You can’t leave me too.” 

The words were nearly lost in the fabric of your shirt, muffled and strange in his mouth and whatever inkling of resolve you’d had earlier that day shattered like glass in the path of a bullet. You’d never heard him sound like that before. He didn’t say things like that, didn’t tell you things like that. Things that mattered. Things that hurt. 

Kylo rutted his hips against you, coating his cock in your essence and making you squirm as he pressed against your clit with every stroke. 

“Say it,” he sounded so far away, “say you don’t want me.” 

You knew you should. You should tell him to go or call the cops—he had broken in after all—saddle him with legal fees, make some other lawyer get him out of his messes. But there were a lot of things you should be doing, like drinking more water or getting eight hours of sleep or covering your face in pureed cucumber or any number of other things on all those stupid self care lists that normal people absolutely couldn’t have the time for. 

So you said nothing, just shook your head and rolled your hips to meet him, tugging on his hair until he pulled back to face you. His eyes were rimmed red, dark circles puffy underneath and you thought it might be nice to slather yourself in cucumber smoothie if he was there with you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’ll stay.” 

And you choked on the next words out of your mouth as Kylo dives into you, thrusting straight in to the hilt. You feel the sweet sting of him stretching you open, filling you to the brim and you know you’ll never feel this with anyone else. No matter how shady and unethical and terrifying he is, Kylo is not the kind of man you find twice. 

He isn’t taking his time, the way he’s fucking you into the wall—bucking his hips into you at a frantic pace and making you whine—it isn’t for pleasure. No, you can tell by the way he’s keeping you close, not trying to change his angle to get deeper, he wants to be as near to you as possible. 

You realize distantly, as he’s rubbing quick circles around your clit with the pad of his thumb, that this is the first time he’s ever been to your place. You're not entirely surprised he knew where you lived despite that. Maybe you’d invite him to stay the night, maybe he'd actually be there when you woke up. 

But that was probably just a pipe dream. 

It didn’t really matter, not when he was bringing you so close, not when he was still kissing you and biting at your lips like a man starved. His pace began to stutter, rhythm faltering as he neared his climax. 

“Kylo—oh fuck,” you moaned low and long as he bounced you on his dick. 

“Cum for me,” he rasped out. 

And you would.

And you did. 

Because you always did what he asked, no matter how dirty it made you feel. 

So you came screaming his name so loud the neighbors had to have heard it, and he tumbled right over the precipice at the clenching of your cunt around him. You felt him deeply, painting thick ropes of hot release along your walls until it dripped out around his cock. He didn’t move for a while, just dropped his head back down to your shoulder and waited for your breathing to even out. 

After a few moments, he unhooked your legs from his waist, letting his softening length slip from you as your feet landed back on solid ground. You looked up at him, hands resting on his forearms and took him in—dark waves frizzy around his head with sweat and shirt wrinkled from where your nails had gripped the fabric. He tucked himself away, fastening his belt and you watched how his fingers moved nimbly on the buckle. 

“So,” you mused. 

There was still some hint of more in his gaze, something that hadn’t quite been blocked out. And he cleared his throat, humming in response.  

“Does that offer for a higher salary still stand or?”

All the tension melted from his face as it fell back to the familiar deadpan, blank stare you’d become so accustomed to over the last few months. Kylo shook his head at you, eye twitching almost imperceptibly. You couldn’t help but smile, even as his frown deepened. 

Who were kidding? This was the best gig you were ever going to get, and Kylo was a ride you weren’t willing to give up quite so soon. You were sure now you couldn’t escape him even if you tried. 

‘Never get involved with the Mob,’ that was a thing people said right?

People also told you to ‘go to law school,’ and look where that had gotten you: involved with the Mob. 

Oh well, at least you’d never be bored.

#kylo ren x reader #obsessionprofessional #dr. b answers #dr. b talks #mobster!kylo #lawyer!reader #kylo ren x female reader #kylo ren smut #drabble night #requests #I wrote this at work and it was wayyy longer than I meant it to be #I hope you like it dear

[stones-x-bones]

Pretty Weird Problems || Milo and Bex

TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @wickedmilo and @inbextween SUMMARY: Bex runs into Milo on a midnight walk and the two decide to stop skirting around what they both already suspect. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mentions, internalized homophobia, Medical blood

Bex was having a good day, and good days usually led to good nights. She’d opted to go for a walk through the Commons, enjoying the fact that it was no longer so flooded. They’d even managed to get the fairy lights that lined the gazebo working and Bex cut across the field to stroll over to it. Mina was busy this evening and Bex had needed a distraction, and what better way to distract herself than taking a nice, long walk. She’d...walked really far, actually. It was strange how free she felt. She’d rode the ferry across the canal and walked all the way from the station to here, without missing a beat. Being normal felt so-- normal. No aches in her body, no fear about being seen, no worries about having to go home and wondering which set of hands was waiting for her. No, she could just go out and do what she wanted, live her life. Live the life she’d always wanted. She finally had everything she wanted. 

She wondered if it would all go wrong at some point. That was something that would happen, especially here, especially to her. But, for now, she’d enjoy it. She circled back around the gazebo to the little rock archway and started down, when she heard a familiar voice. It was hazy through her drunken mind, but she recognized it. Moving quickly through the brush, she turned and came upon the boy that had helped her out not too long ago, by swiping a bottle of alcohol for her. She beamed, she couldn’t wait to tell him she was normal. And if she could get what she wanted, maybe he could, too. “Milo!” she called out, waving, “It’s Bex. What’re you doing here?”

Milo had been on the phone to Rio, talking about next to nothing as he cut across the common in a bid to make it home. There was plenty of time before the sunrise was due, but sometimes it was a nice change of pace to sit in the apartment he shared with Harsh. They would cook together, or watch tv, or even pay Summer and Quinn some attention. The older vampire had become a comfort, though he would never admit that out loud. When things were beginning to overwhelm him, he felt safe with Harsh. He felt capable. White Crest, as always, had other plans for him though. And despite having just left Orion’s home, he begrudgingly said goodbye, ending the call as he turned to face whoever had called his name. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, it didn’t take him long to notice Bex. She looked decidedly more upbeat than the last time he had seen her. He wasn’t sure whether that was due to the lack of alcohol in her system, or something else entirely. Glancing up at the sky, as though double checking it was dark, he caught her eye again with a quizzical grin. “How could I forget?” He teased, crossing the distance between them both so that she would no longer feel the need to shout. “What are you doing here?” He countered. “Isn’t it a bit late for a walk?” 

“No, I don’t really think so,” Bex said, shrugging. She looked back up and to the sky, fading quickly from sunset oranges to nighttime blues. “I mean, maybe, but the Common is pretty well lit and safe at night. Usually. Back when the portals were open, it sure wasn’t, but that’s all over now! Just a strange bit of gravity fluctuations and occasional snowfall,” she pointed out, grinning. “And I guess the constellations are all whacky, but there’s not much we can do about any of those.” Even if everyone else she’d talked to had been rather distressed about it all, she was finding it hard to be. Not when everything felt good, great. She brought her eyes back down level with Milo’s and smiled. “If you’re worried about me, you don’t need to be. And I uh-- never properly said thanks for last time.” It was still a blur in her mind, stumbling drunk in the park, then being walked back to his apartment and laid in a bed. When she’d woken the next morning, she’d crawled out of the apartment, wincing under harsh sunlight and pretending like she wasn’t curious about his ‘don’t look in the fridge’ rule. Her curiosity had always seemed to be a bane, but like this, it felt more like a boon. Asking questions didn’t get her in trouble anymore. At least, not with her parents. “You never answered my question-- are you just out for a walk, too?”

It wasn’t the first time Bex had said something Milo struggled to keep up with. He only knew about the portals through the experiences of others. Whatever was happening with gravity, and the weather hopefully wouldn’t affect him. Deciding not to ask too many questions, lest he accidentally tempt fate and start floating up towards the sky, he laughed quietly. “White Crest can be really fucking weird.” He muttered, glancing up at the stars himself to see if he might notice any difference in their arrangement. “I mean… it’s probably better to just ignore it, right?” He was only half serious, but it had proven to be a rather efficient coping strategy. Especially when he was faced with the supernatural, things he still didn’t understand, or feel familiar with. Turning his attention back to Bex he was glad to see she seemed to be taking the same approach of acceptance. If something happened to them, they could deal with it. Until then, how was worrying going to help? Returning her smile, he hurried to brush off her thanks. Taking her home to sleep off the alcohol had been far easier than first anticipated. As predicted there was human food in the fridge which he had encouraged her to eat before sleeping. And she had been more than respectful of the boundaries put in place to stop her from finding anything distinctly vampiric. “We’ve all got our shit to deal with.” He shrugged, letting her know he wasn’t about to baby her because she used alcohol to deal with her baggage. Wasn’t he guilty of doing the very same? 

“And I trust you.” He added. “If you say you’re okay, you’re okay.” It was the very least he could offer her. He had been told so many times that he had problems, even after adamantly denying the fact. It was important to feel heard, to know you could trust the person you were with. “I mean- you look okay. Good-” He corrected himself. “You look good.” He caught her eye, his smile growing in response as he properly took her in. There was something different, a weight that seemed suddenly absent from her shoulders. “Your question? Oh-” He laughed, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “I actually just left a friend’s house, so kind of? I’m supposed to be walking home, but if you’re up for some company I wouldn’t mind a midnight stroll.” He prompted, secretly hoping she would take him up on his suggestion. He wanted to know why she looked so content, what had compelled her to call out his name. “You can tell me about how miserable it was trying to get home with your hangover. That can’t have been fun.” 

“I don’t think ignoring it is really the right answer, no,” Bex said, wringing her hands together, “but knowing what you can and can’t handle is probably a good idea around here.” Her eyes went back up to the stars, and the distress they’d originally caused her was still there, floating just above their heads, millions of billions of miles away. Stars didn’t move. But she had to remind herself that that also meant she wasn’t capable of moving them, either, and therefore nothing could be done. Especially when she didn’t have magic anymore. And she didn’t want it anymore. She smiled. “True, we do, but, like, sometimes we can help each other out with our shit, you know? At least, I’d like to be able to be someone who can help others out, like how you helped me out. It was-- nice, not having to go home for a night.” And it was nice, now, to be able to go home to a life that didn’t threaten her every moment she did something wrong. “Well, thanks, then. For trusting me.” Not many people did, in that way. She’d always been too naive, too ignorant, too “out of the loop” as far as the supernatural was concerned. 

She let out a gentle chuckle, in stark contrast to the ridiculous laughter that had consumed her while she’d been drunk. “It’s fine, I know what you mean. I feel good, too. But sure! Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the company. I was just gonna kinda walk around here, maybe towards the lake. Where the night takes me.” Even if she’d been reminded several times that the lake was dangerous and now, without her magic, maybe even more so. She didn’t really care, though. “Oh, god, please don’t make me recount that tale. It was miserable. More so because it was so damn sunny out. I’ve never hated the sun more so than that morning. Or...afternoon. I don’t remember what time it was, just that once I got home I slept the rest of the day.”

Milo laughed, unable to help himself. Despite strongly suspecting Bex was more than human, or at the very least somebody who knew about the supernatural, the idea of her being able to help him with his problems didn’t quite feel believable to him. Even his closest friends couldn’t take away the pain or the trauma. And apparently there was nothing he could do about the constant thirst for blood. “No offense, but I’m not sure what you could do to help me with my shit. Ignoring it has proven to be a pretty reliable mechanism.” Maybe not always, but on the few blissful nights he had been able to drink and forget, he almost, almost felt normal. Human again. And that was as close as he seemed to get to being genuinely okay. A smile tugging at his lips despite the bitter nature of his thoughts, offering Bex a place to stay had been the obvious course of action. He hadn’t considered the fact that he might be helping her beyond ensuring she was safe. “Oh, I- it wasn’t a big deal, you know?” He brushed off her comment with a shrug. “I just- you didn’t want to go home so… I wasn’t about to make you.” 

Watching her carefully, curious to understand why trusting her was something she felt the need to thank him for, his smile began to grow. He really did enjoy her company, he wanted her to know that. “You don’t need to thank me for trusting you.” He insisted. He figured he should probably thank her for trusting him too, for not going through his things, or trying to look inside of the fridge. But that would only draw attention to the strange rules he had put in place, and he wasn’t sure that would be a very smart move. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He added, hoping she could see he was being sincere, while simultaneously diverting the conversation. It didn’t take a genius to realise she was going through a lot, and everyone deserved a break from their struggles, regardless of how they managed to achieve that temporary escape. He laughed again at her reaction to her hangover being mentioned. But this laughter came easily, it was a product of good company. Of memories that were tinged with underlying emotion, but happy on the surface. He could look back on them with a strange sense of fondness. “Yeah, me and the sun don’t exactly get along.” He admitted. “I’m sorry about the blackout curtains, I guess they can make it pretty disorientating when you leave the apartment during the day…” Shit. He realised too late that he had essentially done exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Maybe he hadn’t drawn attention to the fridge, but he had just reminded her the entire apartment existed in a perpetual state of darkness. Nice one, Milo. 

Bex had never thought that she was all that good at making friends, but that was back when fear had dictated her every move. Fear of if people might judge her for how she was born, fear of if they would find out about her magic (although she hadn’t called it that back then), fear of if she might hurt them or them her. Fear of if her parents wouldn’t approve and they’d get taken away before she even got a chance to grow close. But that was before, and this was now, and maybe she liked the idea of being friends with Milo, because he was sweet and he was helpful, and she liked that she could make him smile in a way that seemed almost relaxed. “Well, if you ever do think of a way, anything, really, just lemme know. I’d like to, you know, pay it back somehow. Even if it’s just a small thing.” She was quiet for a moment, her face drawing pensive for a moment. “It was a big deal, for me, at least. Even if it wasn’t for you.” She smiled again-- whatever the situation was back then, it didn’t exist now. “But we don’t have to talk about it.” 

She perked back up, smoothing her hands along the fringes of her dress. It was one of her dresses that her mother rarely approved of, except at gatherings where she could catch the eye of some rich politico that could help the family. Bex liked it because she felt nice in it and she looked good in it and she’d wanted Mina to see her in it. “Thanks. I hope things are going well for you, too. There seems to be a bit going on around town, huh?” She shrugged, trying not to less the curious questions in her stomach bubble up. Her tendency to run her mouth and ask too many questions had been a downfall for her quite a few times. “Do you like, work overnights or something?” she found herself asking before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to automatically assume anything, but not being out in the sun, having blackout curtains, and an aversion to people looking in the fridge gave Bex a few too many questions. 

Milo wasn’t necessarily touched by the sentiment, many people had said similar things to him in the past. He was touched by the fact that Bex obviously meant what she was saying. There weren’t many people he felt like he could genuinely approach with his problems, but despite only knowing each other for a night, and maybe half of a day, Bex was quickly becoming one of those people. A rather impressive feat, all things considered. “I’m not making any promises.” He teased. “I have, uh- some of my problems can be pretty weird.” His smile faltering as he noticed his company’s expression shift, he fell silent again, giving her the space she needed to feel comfortable. “Oh…” He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting her to say, and the rush of emotion that followed her words was unexpected. Not for the first time he felt the unusual urge to protect her, to keep her safe. Was this the way Dani used to feel about him? Before he changed? Before she stopped loving him? He cleared his throat, feeling awkward in the face of such unguarded honesty. “You know the offer is always there… I mean- if you ever need a place to stay. You know where I am.” He might be taking a risk but he almost didn’t care. Her wellbeing was suddenly far more important to him than being sensible. 

Not failing to notice the way she brushed herself off, seemingly putting the conversation behind her in preparation to move on, he nodded, taking a moment to contemplate her question. “I didn’t notice for a long time,” he scuffed his feet as he spoke, feeling ridiculous for being so oblivious now that he knew how obvious the Weird of White Crest actually was. “But yeah, there always seems to be a lot going on in this town. The chaos has become pretty hard to escape these past few months.” Would he ever be able to escape it again? He tried not to dwell on the question. “But you know… I guess it is what it is.” Lowering his gaze, the phrase never really helped him to feel any better, but every time he uttered it he found a part of him was secretly hoping it might. He only looked back up again when Bex mentioned the blackout curtains, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. Of course she was going to pick up on that. Of course she was going to be curious. “Oh, I… my roommate does.” It wasn’t technically a lie. Harsh worked nights more often than not, only sneaking out for the occasional day shift when the weather was dark, and gloomy. “I think it’s easier just to leave them up, his schedule can be pretty unpredictable so…” 

“Good, you shouldn’t make promises,” Bex said, perhaps a little too excitedly for the topic. It was hard for her to not be happy right now, really. She had everything she ever wanted, and while it wasn’t much, it made her entire life different. Better. “Especially to people you don’t know-- know well.” She caught herself, giving a chuckle at the end of her sentence to try and cover up the slip. “Just cause, you know, sometimes people get weird about that stuff. Especially here. Speaking of which, I was kinda like that, too. Technically I grew up here, but I didn’t ever notice how--” she chewed her tongue a moment-- “strange the place really was until recently.” Until she started leaving her home regularly. Until she’d met Nell in that computer lab. But those details weren’t important. She didn’t even remember telling Milo about Morgan and Nell last time they’d been together, drunk in the park. “And thanks, for the offer. I won’t say it’ll never happen again, but I think I’ve got a good thing going now, so hopefully I won’t have to crash your pad again any time soon.” But in a town like this, she supposed it was a ‘never say never’ sort of situation.

“The offer is there for you, too, you know,” Bex said suddenly, noting the way the conversation shift had turned a bit tense. Maybe not tense, but sometimes people had secrets that they didn’t want to share, and Bex’s curiosity could be seen more as nosiness or digging into things she shouldn’t be digging in. She hated that idea, but people were allowed their secrets, no matter how bad she wanted to know. “Does he? That’s cool. It’s nice that you don’t mind the curtains, either, then. I’m such a morning person. And a night owl. Actually, I don’t really sleep much, but I definitely have never been able to sleep long in the mornings.” Even when she was laying next to Mina, wrapped in her arms. “Are you like, more of a night person, then? The two times I’ve run into you have been at night, which technically isn’t enough for a pattern, but it could be leading to one. No judging if you are! Of course not. It’s just that this place is kind of-- you know, dangerous at night.” 

Milo had only been suspicious until now, but after hearing Bex warn him about making promises he would be willing to bet almost anything on her knowing about the supernatural. But how? She didn’t strike him as a hunter, although Dani had always presented herself as caring, and kind. If she was a slayer, wouldn’t he already be dead? So what? A witch, a mara, a werewolf? Or maybe even a human in the know? He wanted to ask, to sate his curiosity, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.” He said carefully, wondering whether she might out herself if he hinted at being a part of her world. Raising his eyebrows when she mentioned taking a while to notice the truth of White Crest, he ran over the implication behind her words. Had she been turned too? Was there any way for him to uncover that information without actively asking her? “I know how that goes.” He admitted, framing his words as casual. “Waking up and realising everything is just… different. It’s not an easy thing to navigate but… we’re still here.” He smiled at her, hoping she was right. He had never been the type to judge others but the idea of her being happy enough to no longer need her crutch was a genuinely nice one. One he was willing to root for. 

Surprised to hear his own offer echoed back to him, he felt his demeanour soften. Every instinct in him was telling him he could trust Bex. It was so hard to remind himself that those instincts could possibly be wrong. “They don’t… they don’t bother me.” He said, debating how far he could conceivably push the conversation before he was being too open, before he was putting himself at risk. “I don’t really sleep anymore… but I used to sleep until noon when I could.” Not that he hadn’t tried more than once to do so again, the best he could achieve was a strange, trance-like lack of consciousness. He hated it. “Oh, yeah… I’m definitely a night person. I always have been… before I started partying I used to study at night.” He laughed quietly at the contrast in activities. “My life would be very different if I didn’t abandon academia.” A soft sigh escaping him, he caught his friend’s eye when she told him the town could be dangerous. He could still remember what it felt like, living in blissful ignorance. He missed it. “Believe me, I know. I kind of found out the hard way… but I appreciate the heads up.”

“Really? Well, that’s good.” Bex nodded slowly. Her suspicion was slowly being confirmed-- Milo knew something about the supernatural. She didn’t know how he fit in, but she assumed he had the same thought about her. How did they both fit in? And who would break first? It would be Bex, she knew that. Being a witch wasn’t as precarious as being something like a zombie or a werewolf. Something that people actively hated and hunted. Witch hunters, for all she was aware, were a rare and unnecessary occurrence. She wasn’t in danger of them. “You should listen to that advice, then. And also maybe even hold off on saying ‘thanks’ too much. My girlf--” the word stuck in her throat, like it always did, and she swallowed it, “--one of my friends told me to try and replace ‘thanks’ with ‘I appreciate that’ or ‘I’m grateful for’. They’re better to say, anyway.” Smiled, trying to brush off the mishap. It was strange to her that possibly telling someone she had magic was easier to swallow than telling someone she was dating a girl. “I think, for me,” she started off, brows knitting together a moment, “it was less waking up and just realizing it and more...finally admitting to myself that things here were different. Like, I’d always known, but pretended I hadn’t. But then things happen and you can’t really deny it anymore, you know? And so I admitted it,” she shrugged, “I think things technically got better after that, although sometimes it doesn’t seem that way.”

She examined his face as they walked and wondered what the strange curve of his brow meant as he answered her. She’d never been good at reading expressions on people, unless they carried anger. She tilted her head in contemplation. “You know, you can always go back,” she said, “to school. College doesn’t have an age cap.” Sometimes she’d wished she’d been able to wait to start college, but not because she was disinterested. But because her life had been messy back then, and maybe if she’d been smarter, had known more about the world, she wouldn’t have fallen into bed with the first girl who cast her an empathetic glance. She turned away, cheeks slightly tinged. “Yeah, me, too. I-- I take it you’re okay now? It-- I mean, physically? Whatever happened. Was it--” had something attacked him, too? Did he also have the sting of scars on his body from an ignorance that had left him vulnerable?

“I guess my friends are much smarter than I am.” Milo was only half joking. Even after suffering at the hands of the supernatural, he was reckless in his behaviour. Without Rio constantly pressing him to stay focused, to pay attention, he would probably be in a lot more danger, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. “I try.” He admitted, being entirely honest. Trying meant he failed more often than not, but the warning was always there in the back of his mind. A knowing smile tugging at his lips as Bex stumbled over the word girlfriend, it was an act he had seen many times before, and one he knew not to interrupt. That didn’t stop his eyes from shining as he wondered who this ‘girlfriend’ might be. “My friend told me the same,” he thought back to his conversation with Orion. It was the first night he had ever spent in his house, and he held the memories very close to his heart. Falling silent to listen again, he dissected the explanation he was given in his mind. If she hadn’t woken up to a different White Crest then maybe she had been born into it. Surely it took Dani a long time to realise the way she was being raised wasn’t normal. Could it have been the same for Bex? “They did?” He asked quietly, hope lacing his tone as he wondered whether there was a chance for things to get better for him. Maybe one day he could fully embrace being a vampire. It could become what he was and not what someone had made him. 

“Go back?” It took him a few seconds to realise what his company meant. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t need to,” he explained. “I got my degree, you know? I did what my parents wanted me to do, even if it wasn’t in the way they wanted me to do it.” Hiding whiskey in his coffee during exams, and skipping out on morning lectures because he was hungover from the previous night definitely wasn’t a part of their plan. Neither was a degree in English Literature. But as far as he was concerned, it was an achievement, all the same. What would he study if he did decide to return? And how would he work around the schedules when the majority of classes took place during the day? Furrowing his brow, he forced the thought to the back of his mind. He had chosen his path, and it had led him here. There was no going back. “Oh- I-” He wasn’t prepared for the sudden change in direction, and his hand absentmindedly moved to rest against the scars on his neck. “That kind of depends on your definition of okay.” He murmured, thinking about Dani, how she saw him as a monster. Then Harsh, who told him he was dead, but being dead was simply an opportunity to start anew. Then Macleod, who insisted with vehement conviction that he wasn’t dead, he hadn’t died. Only changed. Evolved for better or for worse. “How did you find out?” He asked, uncharacteristically bold in his question. They had been dancing around the subject, but he wanted to know now, far more than he wanted to protect himself. Even if he wasn’t quite ready to give up his secret. “That White Crest was different?” 

“They did? Oh, well, then, you should definitely listen to your smarter friends,” Bex nodded. Had she said too much? Did Milo know about the fae? Was Milo’s friend a fae? Oh, she hoped she hadn’t just exposed someone, even if she was curious. But the tone in his voice stopped her short of any other thoughts on the subject, when he gave the smallest response to her announcement that things had gotten better for her. It was hope, and it felt like it might strangle Bex. Should she tell Milo about Erin? Was that her place to? Was his pain anything like hers? Did he need saving like she had? She swallowed. “They did. Get better. But not easily. Not out of nowhere.” She lifted a hand to her ribs-- the injury was gone, but she could still remember the pain. Still remembered what it felt like when her head had hit the dumpster, over and over and over again. “I had help, too. So, if-- just, you know, so you know...it’s okay to accept help, if you need it.” Maybe that was the best answer she could give for now. She clasped her hands together behind her back as they walked and watched her feet a moment, shoes brushing against grass under the rubber soles. 

“Well, you know, you could always go back and do what you wanted to, you know,” she pointed out. “Instead of what your parents wanted of you. But only if that’s something you want to do.” She didn’t much like his answer to her question, either. Things didn’t seem as at ease as she’d thought they were when she first spotted him. She bit her lip, then sighed. “I blew up a computer lab with my mind,” she blurted, suddenly. “Well, not my mind, technically. Maybe? I’m still not sure what magic actually comes from. My mentor says it’s from the soul or the energy inside of us, but if our bodies are our minds, then I guess technically it is my mind. From my mind. So, yeah-- I blew up a computer lab with my mind and after that, it was hard to deny all the things I’d known for so long but never wanted to accept.” She looked over at Milo. “What um...what about you?”

Milo laughed, nodding in agreement with Bex. “I don’t think I would be here if I didn’t.” He admitted. Maybe there was an element of exaggeration to his words, but the information provided by people like Rio, and Macleod was invaluable. There was no doubt in his mind that it might save him one day. Fingers still pressed against the base of his neck, he could feel the scars beneath them. A frown creasing his brow as he listened to Bex explain things were difficult, they hadn’t miraculously changed for her overnight, it was impossible for him to understand what she meant without a little extra context, so he nodded quietly. Letting her know she still had his full attention. “Help?” He asked, curious to know what kind of help. “Do you mean your friends?” Lowering his hand, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, he wondered what things would look like for him if they did get better. It was a vague concept, it could mean so many different things. “I don’t need help-” He insisted, breaking off as he reminded himself she wasn’t talking about his habits. Repressing the instinctive response, he forced down any part of himself that was becoming defensive. Bex clearly wasn’t about to order him to walk into an AA meeting. She was talking about something else. “I mean… thank you. But I think I’m okay… kind of, anyway. I have some good people in my life… when things get weird, they’re usually there waiting for me to freak out.” 

Thinking for a moment, allowing a few beats of silence to pass, he realised with a start that he didn’t know what he wanted to do. For so long he had told himself he was content with working in the comic book store, couch surfing to avoid any form of genuine commitment. Even English Literature had been the easy choice, not necessarily the choice he would have made if he was a different person. If he had more motivation, a determination to do well. “Even if I knew, I don’t know how possible it would be to just go out and do shit.” He shrugged, brushing off his honesty before it could hurt him, before he could dwell on it for too long. But then Bex was distracting him with her own honesty, honesty he had prompted, but definitely not been expecting from her. It took him a few minutes to fully process what she was saying, but when he did he faltered to a halt, eyeing her with an even mixture of disbelief, and satisfaction. “Wait- what?” So not only was she supernatural, she had totally caved first. Was it wrong to feel so smug about that? “You’re a witch?” He asked, despite her just having confirmed the fact. “I…” He trailed off as she turned the question back on him, not prepared to answer it himself. But he owed her, he couldn’t exactly walk away after she had put herself in such a vulnerable position. A soft sigh escaping him, he steeled himself to tell her his own story. Or a part of it, at least. “Someone with fangs decided I looked like a snack… I guess they overindulged because…” He offered her a hesitant smile, revealing his fangs in the way Harsh had taught him to. He tapped one absentmindedly, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I woke up with these.” 

Bex was a little perplexed at his immediate denial of needing help, clearly he needed help-- anyone in this god forsaken town needed help, if she was being honest. But just as much as she’d needed to understand that she couldn’t do things alone, so did he. She wouldn’t push it, it wasn’t a lesson she had the right to teach anyone, when she was still learning it herself. She nodded slowly. “Okay, well, if you do ever need it, just know I’m here. Don’t hesitate to ask. And--” she looked at him sincerely, genuinely hoping he understood that, even if they’d only known each other from two run-ins, she would help him. It was really all she wanted to do, help people. Understand things better so she could do that better. Understand this world. “I’m glad you have people there to help you. Having a support system is always good.” She wouldn’t have survived this town without hers, that was for sure. A subconscious hand ran across her chest. Kyle’s life would have been ruined had he actually killed her that first night. She wanted to make sure something like that never happened again. And it wouldn’t, now that her magic was gone.

“Why not?” Bex asked, not understanding the restrictions Milo might face without knowing what he was. She didn’t want to push, though. She turned away, even as he stopped in his tracks, and shrugged. “I prefer the term spellcaster,” she said, picking at a seam on her dress. And the proper wording would’ve been was a spellcaster, thanks to the wish. She didn’t feel like explaining that part yet, though. His hesitation brought her gaze back up. “I-I’m sorry! You don’t have to answer, I understand--” but then he was answering. Someone with fangs. A vampire. Bex felt her chest squeeze and she swallowed, trying to remind herself that vampires were people, too, and her one run-in with the woman outside the library wasn’t representative of all vampires. She had no reason not to trust Milo. What would Mina say? She shook her head. “Oh,” she answered, finally, “I-- that must be difficult, to-- to adjust to.” A pause. “But,, you know, night school is a thing. And there’s plenty of overnight jobs here. And-- I have a friend who’s also undead. They go to the butchers here to get food and they’re really good about it. And being discreet. Do you-- I mean the blood thing-- do you have enough? Do you get enough food? You drink animal blood, right?”

Milo looked at Bex as she paused, somehow everything she wanted to say was conveyed in her brief moment of silence, and he knew. He understood. “Thank you.” He said, his voice gentle and sincere. They hadn’t known each other for long but he felt as though they had more than a few things in common. Coping mechanisms, and trauma. The kind of things you could bond over. The kind of things that made you want to protect each other. When he had helped her into the bar, when he had stolen her that bottle of vodka, he had recognised something in her. Something that reminded him so deeply of himself. Even without the alcohol it was still there. He could still see it. “Do you have one?” He asked, remembering her mention of Morgan, and Nell. People she had been so sure she would never be able to see again. “A support system?” Making a vague gesture with his hands, brushing off her question as to why he wouldn’t be able to follow his non-existent dreams, he offered her a smile instead of an answer. “Spellcaster?” He echoed, using her correction as a way to move the conversation forward. Away from the things he could no longer do. “Is that personal preference, or just a general rule?” He was reminded of Macleod, the way she hated any terminology that referred to her as dead. 

His smile growing somewhat as she hurried to insist he didn’t have to tell her what he was, keeping the information to himself would feel incredibly unfair, but he appreciated her attempt at making him feel comfortable. “No, no- it’s okay…” He did his best to assure her. “You were honest with me… it’d be kind of a dick move if I wasn’t honest with you too.” His hand moving once again to rest over the scars on his neck, he heard her heart rate elevate, but she made no outward move to imply she was nervous. He didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring people, and hopefully it wouldn’t take long for her to realise he wasn’t a genuine threat. But it still hurt, jut a little. “It was.” He agreed. “It is… I mean- I was thrown into this world I didn’t even know was real. The guy who did this to me, he left… I literally didn’t know anything.” A quiet laugh escaping him at the mention of night school, he shook his head. He couldn’t even begin to imagine going back to school. What would he achieve? What would he gain from doing so? This was his life now, and there was no escaping it. “I assume you mean Morgan?” He asked, at the mention of a friend being dead. “You mentioned her when you were pretty out of it… but I know her. I’m pretty sure she hates me.” His eyes shining to let Bex know he was half teasing, he thought back to his last conversation with Morgan and wondered whether there might be some truth to his words. They didn’t exactly see eye to eye. “Oh-” He was pulled out of his thoughts by the mention of blood, caught off guard by what felt like an incredibly personal question. “For a while…” He admitted. “I got lucky. I don’t want to out anyone but I have a friend with a habit of taking a blood bag or two from the hospital... It’s enough to keep me going.” Maybe more than enough, but he didn’t want to make Harsh sound like more of a deviant than he technically was. If he got the man into trouble then their collective supply would be in danger. “Everything kind of worked out…”

“I do have one, yeah,” Bex answered with a nod. For a while there, she hadn’t. Or, well, she’d rejected it, because she thought they’d be hurt by her family if she’d kept trying. They’d all been hurt, anyway, though, so it hadn’t mattered in the end. She’d made the wrong decision. But that was the past, and she couldn’t change that past anymore than she could change the way she grew up. “It was...rough for a while, i tried to do it without them, but it was a mistake. There’s--” she took in a breath, wrapped her arms around herself, “--I learned the hard way that I can’t protect anyone by keeping them away. Even if keeping close means they might get hurt, it-- it’s better that way. It really is.” And she was still learning that, too. Even now, with a normal life, a regular life, she was learning to accept people back into her life, despite the possible threats she’d be introducing them to. She shook her head, grateful for the change of conversation. ‘Nope, just a me thing.” She glanced over at Milo. “I think it’s all kind of the same meaning, but I just-- witch carries a weird connotation for me, I guess. I’m not pagan so I just...don’t feel right being called that.”

HIs next words made Bex’s heart constrict a bit. He was right, it was really only fair of someone to be honest with another if they shared something deep and personal. Her thoughts jumped to Eddie and his confession to her and she bit the inside of her cheek. She needed to tell him. He deserved to know, even if she could barely admit it outloud still. “Oh, I-- i did? So you know about her?” she was surprised, but not too surprised. She loved Morgan, of course she’d talked about her while wasted. She rubbed her hands together. “I-- I don’t think she hates you. I think it takes a lot for Morgan to hate someone. I’d probably know if she hated you, she’s not subtle about it.” It was her turn to falter and pause, and she felt herself take a small step backwards. “You-- so you--” her eyes went to his fangs, then his eyes, his hand still pressed over his neck, presumably where his scars were. She had some of her own, even if they hadn’t turned into a reminder of death. “You drink human blood?” ethically sourced, at least. Well, more ethical than getting it from a warm body itself. Stealing blood from the hospital wasn’t exactly the most moral thing to do, but morality, she reminded herself, was skewed in the supernatural world. She rubbed her neck. “I-- I should probably um, head home, though. It’s getting late and Mina is expecting me back soon.” She didn’t want to things to suddenly feel tense, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know how she felt about a vampire who still drank human blood, and she didn’t think figuring out here was the best idea. She liked Milo, she didn’t want to ruin that.

“That’s good.” Milo smiled, remembering how insistent Bex had been when she was drunk, determined to believe she couldn’t let people in. The fact that she seemed to have changed her mind felt important, and he was reminded of her telling him things were better now. Better how? What was suddenly so different? “I think there’s always a risk of getting hurt… or of other people getting hurt. Isn’t that just the nature of friendship?” And romance, though he could hardly say he was experienced in that particular area. “What matters is that you care, and that these people care about you too… that’s all you can ask for, really. Isn’t it?” Staying silent as his company began to explain why she preferred using the term spellcaster, he hadn’t been expecting to understand her logic, even he was determined to respect it. But he did understand. It was so similar to Macleod, and sometimes even the way he felt. Vampire had connotations too, dark ones, and ridiculous ones. Honestly, there was something appealing about the theatrics of sleeping in a coffin. He was almost sad that wasn’t a legitimate thing. 

“I do, yeah. And you might have mentioned her.” He teased, catching her eye with an easy grin. “Only in passing, don’t worry. You didn’t tell me anything you shouldn’t have. You made it pretty clear you were friends, that’s all.” Laughing at Bex insisting Morgan didn’t hate him, he shook his head, remembering some of what was said during their last meeting together. If she didn’t hate him then she was about as close as a person could get before crossing that line. “Ask her about me, see what she says.” He wasn’t being entirely serious, but he had a strong suspicion the zombie wouldn’t have anything positive to say. Not that it mattered. If she wasn’t going to help him then he didn’t give a shit what she thought. Faltering at the sudden shift in the way Bex was looking at him, he saw her gaze flicker from his fangs, to his hand, and he realised he was still touching his neck. Lowering his arm, he retracted his fangs with a surprising level of ease, his own expression shifting too. “I do,” he said quietly, watching her with open concern, trying to ignore the way his heart was sinking. Maybe he was wrong, maybe she didn’t trust him in the way he thought she did. “I- what?” He cursed himself for being so emotional, but he couldn’t stop tears from stinging at his eyes. “I’m not- I wouldn’t hurt anyone... I swear…” He swallowed, unsure what he could say to make her believe him. If she was uncomfortable, he wasn’t about to force her to stay. But did she really want to leave because of what he was?

“Yeah,” Bex admitted quietly, “I guess it is.” Even if she still hated the thought of people getting hurt because of her, for her. But they returned the sentiment, and wasn’t rejecting their help hurting her? It was still confusing, but the one thing Bex did know was that being at Morgan’s, even if it put her and everyone in that house in possible danger, felt better than being alone, trapped in her room where people got hurt because of her anyway. She rubbed her palm against her cheek before folding her arms across her chest again, nodding. “Yeah, it is. And it’s-- a lot. But I know now I can ask for that. And-- I think everyone deserves that.” Even people others deemed bad or evil. No one deserved to suffer alone. She wasn’t even sure she believed her mother deserved that.

“Oh, good. Good. I...can run my mouth sometimes. I’ve been told it’s very unbecoming of me, but I don’t really care anymore,” she said, the last words bitter on her tongue. She swallowed it. Her heart clenched again, at the way Milo was looking at her. She was caught between her own trauma and her want to change, to accept people, to accept this world, and it felt sticky. She hated it there. But she’d forgiven Kyle, and he’d been the one to directly attack her. Fuck, she probably even forgave the wolf that attacked the Moose Caboose, even if everyone around her seemed to think that was wrong to do. “No, no! It-- I don’t mean it like that. I swear it’s not because--” she stopped herself, trying not to let the shame crawling up her throat tinge her words, “I just-- something happened to me. With a vampire. And I don’t want that to, to affect how I feel about you. I really don’t. But it’s-- you know, hard? I don’t think you’re going to hurt me, Milo. And-- and if you did, I know it would be an accident. I promise it’s not because of you. I promise.” She’d promise to a fae, too, but there were none around, and she knew Mina would chastise her for it. She offered a hand out to him, instead, in a show of faith. “I really do need to be home, though.” She held up her phone, “they get worried if I’m late.” Because of the one time she’d been kidnapped by Frank, but that wasn’t important to mention. He was dead, now, and her life was normal. Things like that just didn’t happen anymore. 

Milo had a feeling Bex was talking more to herself than to him, so he allowed her to speak, listening patiently until she fell silent once again. It wasn’t something he considered very often, so wrapped up in the chaotic nature of his life. Friends used to come and go, aside from Dani who had stood by him for so many years. Only now was he beginning to realise how badly he had taken her for granted. Though he had new friends now, friends who weren’t about to abandon him because of something he couldn’t help, a part of himself he couldn’t ever hope to change. She was right. Everybody deserved to be cared for, to be surrounded by friendship, and unwavering support. Offering her a smile when she told him she had a habit of saying too much, he could definitely relate to that. His love of bitter quips, and sulking petulantly about his new state of being had resulted in him essentially outing himself on more than one occasion. “I can relate to that.” He admitted. “But don’t worry, you didn’t say anything you should be concerned about. And you’re right not to care. Screw unbecoming, just be who you are… there’s no point in trying to be anybody else. It’ll only make you miserable.” 

His expression faltering when Bex hurried to insist her sudden desperation to leave had nothing to do with him telling her he was a vampire, he wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t. “No offense, but I don’t know how else you could mean it…” He muttered, letting out a quiet huff of breath. He averted his gaze, avoiding eye contact so that he could stare down at his feet. He should let her go, he knew he should. What use was there in trying to cling to a friendship as new as this one when she was so clearly uncomfortable now that she knew what he really was? Swallowing his emotion, he frowned, hesitantly catching her eye again. “No shit... something happened to me with a vampire too.” He pointed out. “I didn’t ask for this. You think I don’t know how hard it is to get over? Try waking up as the thing that attacked you…” Feeling his shoulders drop when she assured him she felt safe, part of him still felt worried she wasn’t being entirely truthful. But the sentiment mattered, the fact that she was even trying to assure him mattered. Allowing his anger to dissolve, he knew it was too late to take back his words. So he moved on. Caught off guard by the unexpected promise, a weak smile began to tug at his lips. “You know… you really shouldn’t make promises.” He teased, unable to help himself. He couldn’t think of a better way to alleviate the tension. Ignoring the phone as it was held out to him, he gently reached out to take her hand, linking their fingers for a brief moment, hoping to convey everything he didn’t know how to put into words. He was trying. He was good. He was a victim too. “You should, uh… you should get home.” He said finally, ignoring what was left of the awkward tension. “It’s okay…” 

Bex gave a sigh of relief. At least she hadn’t outed Morgan or Nell. She never would’ve forgiven herself, even if it was to someone who wouldn’t use it against them. She’d never had problems drinking before, but those nights had been spent locked up in the library or her room while she cradled the bottle as if it were her only lifeline. She gave a short, self-deprecating chuckle before her lips curled into a thin smile. “Trust me, I know that.” She’d been miserable her entire life because she’d done just that. But things were different now, she reminded herself. Things were better.

Her heart sank, knowing that she’d already done more damage than she’d ever meant to. But Morgan had told her to not just ignore her trauma, that wasn’t good for her. And as much as she didn’t blame the vampire on campus, she still thought about the attack and what Dani had said. She wasn’t going to stop. And if she hadn’t, Bex would be standing with the same pain as Milo, or not here at all. She let him be upset, he was allowed to be upset. She hadn’t asked for any of this, either. She understood that feeling. “You’re right,” she said, “I don’t know how that feels.” But she did know how waking up after being attacked by a friend felt. She did know the fear of thinking she might wake like that, or not wake at all. She rubbed her chest. Smiled enough to try and brush off the feeling. “You can if they’re really important,” she answered. Squeezed his hand back, before pulling away. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Maybe next time we can just hang out somewhere nice. I know a few good places.” Her phone buzzed again and she glanced down at it. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she said to him, a small tease, before she waved and headed off back towards home. She wondered what Morgan might think. She wondered what Mina might think. She wondered if, at the end of the day, it mattered. She liked Milo, and she wanted to be his friend. She owed it to him to try, at least.

#chatzy #chatzy: milo #wickedswriting #pretty weird problems #milo #domestic abuse tw #internalized homophobia tw #medical blood tw

[alectology-archive]

Honestly I like Zutara, and I have done so since the show was still airing. However, I do not like the fandom's bias towards Aang and Katara now. That is, disliking Aang for not being a conventionally attractive "hot" boy or something like Zuko. And all the misogyny directed towards Katara and seemingly only her to ptop up other characters like Sokka and even Azula. It comes across as racist and misogynistic.

And the thing is: You can't blame the show for this. Because the show does give Aang his arc. It gives Katara her arc. It gives them great moments of growth and developtment and great dialogue and scenes that just won't leave you from how iconic they are. It's really the fandom's fault, 'cause they let shipping and personal preference get in the way of what the show and characters are actually like and what it's message is. Judging others based on appeareance is something the show goes agaisn't.

I think this might also be a problem of the newer fandom discovering ATLA but watching it pretty much all at once instead of seasonally. The old fandom had more respect and love for the characters of Aang and Katara, but that's because we had to watch them grow but seasonally. So when a character learned something or became stronger it was special because you had to wait months to see it. You had time to really appreciate it. Whereas with Netflix it was all at once, and that affects perception.

I have a lot of thoughts™ about the fandom at the moment, but you’ve accurately summarised a lot of what is wrong with it. I really dislike the amount of disdain that some people in the fandom have for Zutara and the way they thirst over a sixteen year old boy. I hate how they crack jokes that Katara is hOmOPhobiC and act like Azula is the ultimate lesbian (who, in fact, manipulated and really hurt her friends). I hate how they fetishise and sexualise Zukka, how they like to pretend that it’s any different from Zutara (but just gay), and how the fandom conveniently either chooses to ignore Katara or make fun of her for being the only responsible and level-headed person in the Gaang apart from Suki. It’s pretty clear that Katara being a woman of colour with dark skin is the reason she’s getting all the hate, and she absolutely does not deserve it.

I think you really do might have a point about how binge-watching shows affects our perception about the content. What takes twenty minutes in a binge watch can never actually match up to a week’s worth of building up, ruminating over the show’s content, and allowing the story to really sink in.

At the end of the day, fans just need to calm down and stop stanning ships so hard that you set off shipping wars. You need to respect why people like something, and not put them down for it. Don’t pull the “I don’t see what this ship has going for it” card either, because this is fiction, and there are tens of thousands of ways in which it can be interpreted, and a thing called “headcanon” exists. Don’t blame a character and hold them responsible for biases that the creators had. Don’t make a big thing out of a character making mistakes (which the characters eventually grow past). Don’t blatantly ignore canon evidence that a character grows.

Instead of getting involved in this sort of petty nonsense, you could be spending time discussing the interesting details in the show and actually having fun.

I’m bringing up the Zutara rant at the end, because I’m tired of the stans.  I really love the ship itself and the set up for it was pretty great. We get a sun/moon, fire/water parallel and a blue spirit/painted lady parallel. We have an enemies-to-lovers trope going for it too. But despite how objectively good it is, I have some really negative thoughts about Zutara shippers because of how aggressive they are. Boy do they love to point out at random x thing Aang did in season 1 and say that this makes him insensitive and abusive. I can’t believe I have to say this, but this is wrong. Don’t go after a 12 year old kid and call him ‘abusive’ just because you’re upset with what happened in canon. You need help if you’re going to start piling hate on a kid. And as the show’s protagonist and a child, Aang is definitely bound to make mistakes, so that he can grow past them. There wouldn’t be a point to making him a protagonist otherwise.

(Yes, Zutara shippers are also to blame for the recent distaste I’ve developed for the ship and I dislike how they sexualise Zuko. I don’t like that they thirst after a boy just because he falls under some of the conventional “hot” and angsty guy tropes and sometimes reduce him to just that. It makes me wonder how many of them dislike Aang as a romantic love interest because people don’t seem to love sweet, kind and gentle boys in media as much as they like they angsty ones).

#atla #avatar the last airbender #aang #katara #zuko #zukka #zutara #azula #sokka #this is an old ask sorry for that #I was just looking for the 'right' time to publish it I don't know what it is #I finally got around to finishing it #and sorry it turned out to be such a long rant #I'm just tired about a lot of things

[bechloeislegit]

Child Brides

Prompt from Tumblr User Anonymous: Beca and Chloe were childhood best friends and got "married" when they were 7. Chloe's family moves away, and they lose touch. Beca never forgets her and always wears her "wedding ring" around her neck. Fast forward, they are both now 25, and Beca takes her dog to the vet. It turns out Chloe is the vet.

Beca was getting dressed to take her dog to the park. The last thing she needed to do was put on the necklace she's worn every single day since she was ten. Beca Mitchell hooked the chain around her neck, then moved her hands around to lift the ring that hung from it so she could look at it. It was a ritual she's done every morning since her "wife" moved away. Beca laughed as she remembered back to her "wedding day" eighteen years before.

Seven-year-old Beca and her friends were playing in Beca's backyard when her best friend, and fellow seven-year-old, Chloe Beale, asked her to marry her. Beca loved Chloe, so of course, she said yes.

"You're both girls," Bumper Allen said. "Girls can't marry girls."

"Yes, they can," Chloe said, stomping her foot with her hands on her hips. "We love each other, and when two people love each other, they get married."

"I'll be the minster," Stacie Conrad said.

"You can't be the minster," Bumper said. "Only boys are minsters."

"My mommy said that girls could do anything and be anything they want to be," Aubrey Posen said, pushing Bumper.

Bumper fell to the ground and started crying. Everyone laughed, and Bumper jumped up and ran home, calling for his mother.

"Beca needs a dress," Aubrey said. "And you both need a ring and flowers."

Beca scrunched her nose at having to wear a dress.

"I don't like dresses," she said.

"Please, Beca? Wear one for me," Chloe said, her big blue eyes staring at Beca.

"Fine," Beca said, rolling her eyes. "I'll wear a dress but only for you."

"Thanks, Beca," Chloe said and kissed Beca on the cheek.

Beca wiped her cheek with her hand. "Ew, don't kiss me."

"We have to kiss," Chloe said. "Everyone who gets married has to kiss."

Beca sighed. "Fine," she said. "But I'll only kiss you."

"I'm okay with that," Chloe said with a big smile.

"Okay," Aubrey said, clapping her hands. "Let's get this wedding started."

"Wait, we don't have any guests. And we don't have any rings or flowers," Stacie said.

"Wait," Beca said. "I have some rings. I'll be right back."

Beca ran off and went up to her room. She searched through her stuff and found two plastic holders with plastic rings in them that she got out of one of those gumball type machines. She pulled the holders apart and grabbed the two rings. She ran out of her room.

As she passed through the dining room, she grabbed the artificial flowers from the counter separating the dining room from the kitchen.

"Mom, I'm taking these for the wedding," Beca called out to her mother as she ran outside.

"That's fine," Mrs. Mitchell said, not paying attention. "Wait. Wedding?"

Mrs. Mitchell wiped her hands on a dishtowel and followed Beca outside.

"What's this about a wedding?" Mrs. Mitchell asked when she saw Beca's friends standing around.

"I have the rings," Beca said, holding them out for all to see.

"Beca?" Mrs. Mitchell said, getting Beca's attention. "Would you please tell me what's going on here?"

"Chloe and I are getting married," Beca responded.

"Oh," Mrs. Mitchell said. "Why was I not invited to my own daughter's wedding?"

"Sorry, mommy," Beca said, looking down at the ground.

Chloe walked over and hugged Beca. Beca looked up and smiled at her.

"We're sorry, Mrs. Mitchell," Chloe said. "We're still planning everything and hadn't gotten to our guest lists yet."

"I have the rings and the flowers," Beca said, holding them out for all to see.

"I'm the minster," Stacie said proudly.

"Minister," Mrs. Mitchell corrected. "The minister marries them."

"Oh," Stacie said. "I'm the min-is-ster."

"And since I'm Chloe's best friend," Aubrey said. "I'm the maid of honor."

"Who is my maid of honor?" Beca asked. "Chloe's my best friend."

"I can't be your maid of honor if I'm marrying you," Chloe said sadly.

"I'll be your maid of honor if you'd like," Mrs. Mitchell said.

"I like that," Beca said, smiling at her mother. "Thanks, mommy."

"You're welcome, sweetie. Now, shouldn't you be wearing a dress?" Mrs. Mitchell asked, smiling, knowing what Beca's reaction to wearing a dress would be.

"Moooommmmm," Beca whined. "I was hoping they forgot about that part."

"You promised you'd wear a dress for me, Beca," Chloe said, pouting.

"Fiiiinnnne," Beca said. "I'll wear a stupid dress."

"You don't really want to marry me," Chloe said and started crying.

"Beca, you made Chloe cry," Aubrey said. "Say you're sorry right now!"

"I'm sorry, Chloe," Beca said and hugged her redheaded friend. "Don't cry. I'll keep my promise and wear a dress. My mom can help me pick one out. That's what moms are supposed to do when their daughter gets married. Right, mom?"

"That's right, Beca," Mrs. Mitchell said, reaching out to Beca. "Let's go find you a pretty dress that matches Chloe's pretty dress."

Beca took her mother's hand and went into the house to change.

"Woof! Woof!" Beca was brought out of her memories when her dog, Snoopy (so named because he's a beagle and Peanuts is Beca's favorite comic), barked to get her attention.

"Okay, okay," Beca said, reaching down to rub Snoopy behind the ears. "Let's go to the park."

Snoopy barked and started running around as Beca walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs to grab Snoopy's leash. She held the leash in her hand and looked down at an excited dog.

"Sit," Beca commanded, and Snoopy sat.

As soon as Beca knelt to put the leash on, Snoopy was back up, practically bouncing in his excitement.

"Settle down," Beca said and grabbed Snoopy's collar. She finally managed to hook the leash, and Snoopy ran for the door, dragging Beca with him.

Snoopy stopped at the door and sat, waiting impatiently for Beca. Beca took the 'doggie bag' from the hook and opened the door. Once the door was open, Snoopy once again rushed out, practically tripping over his own paws.

Beca laughed and tightened her hold on the leash to stop him. Snoopy sat and looked up at Beca.

"Come on, dude," Beca said. "You know the rules. If you don't settle down, no park today. Got it?"

Snoopy barked once, and Beca nodded, saying, "Good. Now let's go."

Snoopy dutifully walked alongside Beca as they made their way through the neighborhood. A few neighbors waved and greeted Beca as they walked.

"Oh, Beca," Mrs. Kennedy, one of Beca's neighbors, called out. "I'm glad I caught you. I made some lemon bars, and since they're your favorite, I thought you might like to stop on your way back and take some home with you."

"Absolutely," Beca said, smiling. "Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy."

"Oh, you're so welcome, Beca," Mrs. Kennedy said. "It's good to know someone will eat them, so I don't."

Snoopy barked and pulled at the leash. "I'd better go," Beca said. "I'll be sure and stop by on my way back. Thanks again for thinking of me."

"Of course," Mrs. Kennedy said as Beca and Snoopy continued their walk.

Beca and Snoopy arrived at the park, and Beca removed his leash. Snoopy took off, running towards some other dogs. The dogs greeted Snoopy like someone greeting an old friend.

They had been at the park for about an hour when Snoopy came running over to Beca, panting. Beca pulled a small dish from her 'doggie bag' and a bottle of water. Once Snoopy's thirst was satisfied, she replaced Everything and snapped the leash on Snoopy. The walk home was a bit more subdued since Snoopy had tired himself out.

The two stopped at Mrs. Kennedy's and got the lemon bars Mrs. Kennedy had promised Beca. After thanking her profusely, Beca and Snoopy continued their walk home.

~~ Child Brides ~~

Once home, Beca gave Snoopy some water and a few treats. She sat at her kitchen counter and opened the container of lemon bars, inhaling the citrusy scent and letting out an audible "Ah" before biting into one.

Beca dropped a piece of her lemon bar on her chest. When she reached up to wipe it off, she ran her hand over the necklace, causing the ring to slide down the chain. She picked up the ring to look at it, and just as she had earlier that morning, her mind drifted back to when she got the ring.

"I now announce you, wife and wife," Stacie said. "You can kiss now."

Chloe leaned in and kissed Beca on the cheek. Beca then kissed Chloe on the cheek, and everyone started clapping.

"I have cupcakes inside," Mrs. Mitchell said. "They can be your wedding cake."

"Yay!" the kids all cheered.

Beca smiled at the memory and slid the ring back and forth on the chain. She sighed and wondered what Chloe was doing now.

Beca's phone rang, and she smiled when she saw who was calling.

"Hey, Stace," Beca said.

"What are you doing on Friday night?" Stacie asked.

"Depends on why you're asking," Beca responded.

"Brey, Jesse, Bumper, and I are going to Fat Amy's Place for karaoke," Stacie said. "You need to come."

"I don't know, Stacie," Beca said. "You know when I'm working on an album; my time is not my own. I won't know until sometime this week if I can make it."

"I'll accept that," Stacie said. "Just try, okay? We haven't seen you in weeks, and we all miss you."

"I promise I'll try and make it," Beca said.

"Okay," Stacie said. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," Beca said and ended the call.

"What do you think, Snoopy?" Beca asked, looking down at the dog. "Should I go out to sing on Friday or stay at the studio and keep working on the album?"

Snoopy barked once and sat up with his paws on Beca's leg.

"You're right," Beca said. "Going out with my friends would be fun. I'll do it."

Beca stood and reached down to scratch behind Snoopy's ears. "You always know just what to say, don't you, boy?"

Snoopy leaned up to lick Beca's face, causing her to laugh.

~~ Child Brides ~~

The next day was exhausting for Beca. She got home late and took Snoopy out for a quick walk before finding something to throw in the microwave for her dinner.

Beca sat at the kitchen counter while waiting for her dinner to heat. She went through the mail and stopped when she found a postcard from her vet's office. It was a reminder about Snoopy's appointment for his annual checkup and shots.

"Looks like you're going to the vet on Friday," Beca said, looking down at Snoopy.

Beca set a reminder on her phone for the appointment. After eating, Beca took a shower and got dressed for bed. She shot a quick text to Stacie asking what time everyone was meeting at Fat Amy's on Friday. Stacie responded almost immediately, and Beca thanked her. She put her phone on the charger and settled into bed.

The rest of the week found Beca getting home late every night. Friday morning came, and Beca hurried to the studio. She only had a few hours to work since she took the afternoon off to take Snoopy for his vet appointment.

Beca rushed home to get Snoopy and was getting frustrated with him. She had to get a stool sample to take with her, and he was not cooperative.

"Finally," Beca said when Snoopy squatted to do his business.

As soon as Snoopy was done, Beca took a bag and scooped it up. She tied the bag in a knot and hurriedly put Snoopy in the carrying crate.

Beca entered the vet clinic and saw Jessica behind the desk.

"Good afternoon, Beca," Jessica said as she came around the desk and knelt in front of Snoopy. "Good afternoon to you, too, Snoopy."

Beca smiled and furrowed her brow when she saw a picture of a redhead on the wall next to the other vets.

"Jessica, who's that?" Beca asked, pointing out the picture.

"Oh, that's the new vet," Jessica said. "She just started this week."

"What's her name?" Beca asked. "She looks familiar."

"Dr. Beale," Jessica said.

Beca's face lit up as she asked. "Is her first name Chloe?"

"Yes, it is," Jessica said. "Do you know her?"

Beca smiled as her hand immediately went to the ring around her neck. "You could say that."

"Well, I'll let her know you're here," Jessica said. "She's scheduled to take care of Snoopy today."

"Thank you," Beca said.

Jessica went down the hall to Dr. Beale's office and let her know her next patient was there.

"Put him in Room 2," Dr. Beale said. "I'll be with him in five minutes."

"Got it," Jessica said and went back out to Beca. "Did you bring a sample?"

"Yes," Beca said and handed over the requested sample.

"Thank you," Jessica said. "You and Snoopy can follow me."

Beca led Snoopy down the hall and entered Room 2 behind Jessica.

"Dr. Beale will be with you shortly," Jessica said and left the room.

Beca was feeling a bit anxious. She hadn't seen Chloe since they were ten, and Chloe was getting into the car with her parents and moving away.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Beale," Chloe said as she walked in, looking down at a chart. "I see here that Snoopy is here for his annual check-"

Chloe stopped and furrowed her brow when she finally looked up. She stared at Beca for a moment. "Do I know you?"

Beca smiled and said. "Not only do you know me; you married me."

Chloe's eyes widened and looked down at the chart in her hand. "Oh, my God! Beca Mitchell? My Beca Mitchell?"

Beca smiled and nodded her head. Chloe squealed and threw her arms around Beca. "I can't believe it. I always hoped I'd find you, but it's been so long I kind of gave up hope."

Beca held up the necklace showing Chloe the ring. "I never forgot about you. I wear this every single day and swore I'd never take it off until I found you again. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," Chloe said. "You were the best friend I ever had."

Snoopy barked, bringing Beca and Chloe's attention to him.

"Oh," Chloe said. "I should check him out. Maybe when we're done, we can get a coffee or something. Catch up on what's been happening since we last saw each other."

"I'd like that," Beca said.

Jessica came back into the room. "Here are the test results from the stool sample, doctor. Everything looks good."

"Thank you, Jessica," Chloe said. "Can you get his weight and other measurements, please?"

"Of course," Jessica said.

Beca picked Snoopy up and placed him on the scale. Jessica noted the weight, and other measurements, on the chart. She noticed that Beca and Chloe continued to stare at each other.

"Snoopy is ready for you, doctor," Jessica said, causing Chloe to blush and look at her.

"Thanks," Chloe said. "Now, let's get this checkup done."

Chloe examined Snoopy, checking his ears, his coat, his teeth, etc. "Everything looks good. He's healthy, has a good disposition. Is there anything you want to ask? Anything you're concerned about?"

"None that I can think of," Beca said. She thought for a moment and said, "I just thought of something I wanted to ask?"

"What is it?" Chloe asked, looking at Beca.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Are you asking me out?"

"Oh, sorry," Beca said, blushing. "I, uh, I'm meeting up with some old friends, and I know they would love to see you. I thought, if you weren't busy, you'd like to join us. Never mind. I'm sure you've got a date or something else going on. Forget I said anything."

"Oh, too bad," Chloe said, smiling at Beca's awkwardness. "What old friends are you meeting?"

"Stacie, Jesse, Aubrey, and Bumper," Beca said. "And what did you mean too bad?"

"I meant it was too bad you weren't asking me out," Chloe said, looking Beca up and down.

"Really?" Beca asked. At Chloe's nod, Beca said, "I'd like to rephrase my question. Chloe, would you like to go out with me tonight to meet our old friends?"

"I'd love to," Chloe said.

~~ Child Brides ~~

Later that night, Beca was nervous when she went to pick Chloe up for their "date." She knocked on Chloe's door and jumped back when it was opened quickly.

"Hey," Chloe said, smiling at Beca.

"Hey," Beca said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Chloe said, stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Beca opened the door for Chloe and then got behind the wheel. She pulled off and made her way to Fat Amy's.

"I'm kind of nervous," Chloe said, looking at Beca from the passenger seat.

"Why?" Beca questioned. "Because it's been so long since you've seen everyone?"

"No," Chloe said. "Because I've dreamt of finding you and asking you out since I moved away."

Beca was quiet for a moment before asking, "When did you move back?"

"About two months ago," Chloe said. "I finished Veterinary School and sent out applications to several veterinary clinics. I got the call from the Barden Clinic and accepted right away."

"I've thought about you every day," Beca said. She reached up to pull her necklace out and held it toward Chloe. "I put this on the day you moved away, and I wear it every single day."

Chloe smiled and showed off her necklace with a ring on it. "I've kept it all this time. I don't wear it every day, but when I feel nostalgic, I pull it out and wear it as I remember back to when we were kids. They were some of the best days of my life."

Beca pulled into the parking lot of Fat Amy's and parked. She turned to Chloe.

"I know this is going to sound creepy," Beca said. "But I think I fell in love with you when we were seven. I, um, I haven't found anyone that makes me feel the way you did."

Chloe smiled as she took off her seatbelt and shifted closer to Beca. She slowly leaned in, and Beca met her halfway. The kiss was chaste, and only lasted a few seconds; both women pulled back with smiles on their faces.

"We should go in," Beca said.

~~ Child Brides ~~

"Where's Beca?" Jesse asked as he set the tray of drinks on the table.

"She'll be here," Stacie said, grabbing a drink. "She said she might be a little late."

"There she is," Aubrey said, pointing toward the door.

"Who's that with her?" Bumper asked.

"I don't know," Stacie said. "But, she looks familiar."

"Did Beca get herself a girlfriend and not tell us?" Aubrey asked.

"No," Stacie said. "She definitely would have told us."

"Hey, guys," Beca said as she and Chloe reached the table.

The group looked at Beca and then at Chloe.

"Oh," Beca said, pulling Chloe closer. "You guys remember my wife, Chloe, right?"

Beca laughed when she saw everyone's jaw drop.

"Oh, my God!" Aubrey squealed. "Chloe Beale?"

"Guilty," Chloe said with a smile. "It's good to see you, Aubrey. It's good to see all of you."

Everyone started talking at once.

"Beca, how did you find her?"

"It's so good to see you again, Chloe!"

"Wow! You look hot!"

"Bumper!"

"Sorry, but she does," Bumper said, shrugging.

"Don't make me get Fat Amy," Stacie said.

Chloe was flustered at all that was going on around her.

"I need a drink," Chloe mumbled.

Beca heard her. "I'll get it. What would you like?"

"Beer's fine," Chloe said.

"Chloe, come sit," Aubrey said, shifting over to make room.

"I'll be right back," Beca said and turned to go to the bar.

Chloe sat, and Aubrey gave her a quick side hug.

"It's so good to see you," Aubrey said. "How did Beca find you?"

"I'm a vet," Chloe said. "And Beca brought Snoopy in for a checkup. I just moved back about two months ago when I got the job at the vet clinic."

"Wow," Stacie said. "The old gang is back together. I feel like I'm seven years old again."

"So, Chloe," Jesse said. "Are you married?"

Chloe laughed and said, "I have been since I was seven."

The others laughed as well.

"Seriously, though," Jesse said. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not very subtle, Jesse," Stacie said.

"What?" Jesse asked. "I'm just curious."

"Sorry, Jesse," Chloe said, watching Beca as she walked toward the table. "I'm kind of already taken. Not because I have a boyfriend, but because if I play my cards right, I will have a girlfriend by the time I leave here."

Stacie and Aubrey laughed at the look on Jesse's face.

"What did I miss?" Beca asked.

"Not much," Bumper said with a chuckle. "Chloe just shot Jesse down and laid claim on being your girlfriend before the night is over."

"Really?" Beca asked, looking at Chloe. Chloe blushed, and Beca added, "I am more than okay with that."

~~ Child Brides ~~

Six months later, Beca stood outside the back door of her mother's house and looked over her mother's shoulder as she held up a picture from eighteen years before.

"It looks just like your first wedding," Mrs. Mitchell said.

"Thanks for letting us do this here," Beca said, pulling her mother into a hug. "And thanks for being my maid of honor...again."

"We're ready to start," Aubrey said as she rushed inside.

"I guess this is it," Beca said.

Jesse started the music, and Beca and her mother walked down the 'aisle' to stand in front of Stacie. Beca turned back to watch as first Aubrey, and then Chloe came out. Beca's breath hitched when she saw Chloe; she looked so beautiful.

Chloe reached Beca and turned to face her. Stacie smiled as she started the ceremony.

"On this very day, eighteen years ago," Stacie said. "A small group of us stood in these very spots and watched as these two were joined in holy matrimony."

"I seem to recall you saying we were being joined in holy macaroni," Beca said, causing the small group of guests to laugh.

"Whatever," Stacie said, smiling. "Anyway, today, we are gathered together to watch as these two give themselves to each other again. So, it's not so much a wedding, but a renewal of vows they made to each other all those years ago. And, I have been ordained by the County Clerk to perform the ceremony to make it legit this time."

Stacie opened the book she had been holding and looked at Beca and Chloe.

"Dearly beloved," Stacie said as she began the ceremony.

Beca and Chloe repeated their vows and exchanged rings.

"I now pronounce you married," Stacie said. "You may now kiss your bride."

Beca and Chloe kissed, and the guests clapped. When the kiss concluded, they turned to face their guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Stacie said. "I am very proud to introduce Mrs. Beca and Chloe Mitchell."

Chloe's parents grabbed her in a hug and pulled Beca in with her. Mrs. Mitchell did the same to the newly married couple.

A little while later, Beca and Chloe were standing in Beca's mother's kitchen, taking a quiet moment for themselves.

"I love you, my Beca Mitchell," Chloe said, leaning her forehead against Beca's.

"I love you, my Chloe Mitchell," Beca said, lifting her head slightly to kiss Chloe. "I'm so glad I found you again."

"I'm glad you did, too."

#bechloe #bechloe fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 13: A Minor Case of Major Brain Damage

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: In which Thomas takes a trip through the past.

Chapter Warnings: Unethical Experimentation, Non-Consenting Test Subjects, Semi-Suicidal Ideation

Falling.

You don’t know for how long you’ve been falling, but it feels like far longer than a person should be able to fall, and when you look down you still can’t see the bottom. The elevator shaft is just small enough that you could probably brush your fingers on either side if you stretched your arms out, but unlike last time no plastic tubing appears to whisk you off to somewhere else Occasionally you pass an open floor, but they whizz by too quickly for you to see much of anything.

Just like your previous fall down this shaft, below you is obscured in darkness, the true depth of the shaft a mystery. You guess you’ll finally get to see what’s at the bottom, one way or another.

You close your eyes and steady your breathing for what could be seconds or minutes, trying not to think about what’s coming. Then there’s a jolt accompanied by a massive crash, and your world tilts and goes black.

Groaning, you blink your eyes open as the world gradually fades into focus. Above you, a vertical tunnel stretches into infinity, broken boards hanging off the edges from where you apparently broke through. The metal elevator shaft is not embedded in a wall or ceiling as you would expect but rather hanging down into open air; the actual ceiling of this room is so far above you, you can’t even see it. Instead, the distance above you looks hazy, almost like you’re outside on a cloudy day.

You sit up, checking yourself over and finding no visible wounds, though your body feels like one massive bruise. The Portal Gun is lying next to you and you pick it up, turning it over in your hands and finding no indication that it’s broken.

So, the good news is you’ve officially survived the fall intact. The bad news is, you’re trapped in the bowels of a facility that’s about to self-destruct, and by the look of this elevator shaft you’re not likely to find transportation back up.

The area surrounding you couldn’t be more different from the rest of the Aperture Science facility if it tried. Where the test chambers were sleek and sophisticated, this looks almost like a junkyard, all twisted metal and crumbled stone. If this place is even part of the actual facility, it hasn’t been used for a long time.

You couldn’t have picked a better place to really make you realize how truly alone you now are.

You’ve felt alone before. It can be hard to remember, now that you’ve become used to one of not many friends peering over your shoulder, giving advice and making jokes at your- or each others’- expense, but when you first woke up here it was to large, empty chambers with no company other than a distant Voice. You remember how relieved you were when you first met Logan, how worried you were every time he or the others left, terrified that this time they wouldn’t come back.

And yet, during all that time you never were as alone as you thought you were. Janus was watching you the whole time, giving his sarcastic two cents even as he tried to pretend to be distant and robotic, and the others never even considered abandoning you like you feared.

Now, you’re much too far away for Janus to see you, even if he was still in a position to be able to do so. Not that he would want anything more to do with you anyways, not after you betrayed the trust he so rarely gives in the first place. And as for the others, well. They were always going to side with Patton over you, weren’t they?

God, Patton. It’s hard to believe your optimistic, friendly companion could have become the nightmarish entity that just tried to take your freedom once again. You should have had him taken out of there at the first sign of trouble, should have done something to help him instead of just watching as your friend was subsumed by whatever malignant consciousness exists in this place. But you didn’t do anything when he needed you most, and now it’s too late. Too late for him, and too late for you.

For a moment, you’re tempted to lie back down, try to sleep and forget until the facility blows up and comes crashing down on top of you. Or, failing that, until you die of hypothermia or thirst. Why bother trying to find your way out of here, when all your previous attempts only hastened your inevitable demise? Can’t you just rest, for once in your short post-cryosleep life?

But even as you consider the thought, something in you rejects it, some deep survival instinct that refuses to let you just lay down and die. You owe it to the others, owe it to Patton, to see this through, even if the inevitable end is your death.

Sighing, you tentatively push yourself to your feet as your legs groan in protest and, not sure what else to do, begin picking your way through it, looking for a way out, or at least forward.

You make your way through the rubble, navigating your way around walls, fences and pits using carefully placed portals. The ground slopes gradually down, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the facility, and as you continue to descend you start to pass signs, saying ominous things like Keep Out and Do Not Enter.

You probably should be at least a little concerned about that, but you can’t muster up the energy to really care. Your feet stamp out a regular rhythm on the ground, right-left-right-left, and you lose yourself in the monotony of walking as you move further downward. Eventually, you come to a metal door, similarly marked with warning stickers, and with some carefully placed portals through broken windows are able to move past it, into what's hidden behind.

Walking through the final door, you find yourself entering what appears to be some kind of waiting room, faded and decayed with age. As you watch, a large metal piece falls off a large iron sign hanging above the room, a piece you belatedly realize is the shape of the Aperture Science logo.

A voice suddenly sounds from the speakers, making you jump.

Welcome, gentlemen, to Aperture Science. Astronauts, war heroes, Olympians- you’re here because we want the best, and you are it. So: Who is ready to make some science?

The voice chuckles, and you glance around yourself, confused. It doesn’t sound like anyone you've spoken with during the time you've been awake, and has a different quality to it than the announcements you’re used to hearing- tinny and faded, like an old-timey radio announcer, but despite all that it still twinges a recognition deep within you, like this is someone you used to know.

Now, you already met one another on the limo ride over, so let me introduce myself. I’m Cave Johnson. I own the place.

There’s a thousand tests performed every day here in our enrichment spheres. I can’t personally oversee every one of them, so these pre-recorded messages’ll cover any questions you might have, and respond to any incidents that may occur in the course of your science adventure. Those of you helping us test the repulsion gel today, just follow the blue line on the floor. Those of you who brought in your pets for behavior therapy, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that they definitely won’t be chewing your shoes anymore. The bad news is it’s because they don’t really have teeth. Or mouths. Or head. Very well behaved, though! Anyways, so long for now, and happy testing!

You wait for a few more moments, but the recording- if it is actually that, and not another AI trying to trick you- seems to have stopped.

You look around again at the old waiting room surrounding you- a piece of history, Aperture Science when it was run by humans and their recorded announcements rather than the AIs who populate otherwise abandoned test chambers. You guess it makes sense that there must have been humans in this place once- the abandoned offices are proof enough of that, and Logan mentioned that he and the others were made by and from humans.

Your heart twinges, and you shove down thoughts of the others. You're on your own now, might as well make the best of it and push forwards.

The doors leading forward are high in the walls and the catwalks used to reach them have fallen away with age, but you’re able to finagle your way to them anyways by riding an elevator in the center of the room upwards and then using the momentum from jumping down the shaft to fling yourself over. It’s so weird to think that you used to be afraid of a simple one-story fall.

The old recording whirrs back to life as you enter the next chamber. Welcome to our next test on the Repulsion Gel, Cave Johnson’s voice says. Now, the boys over at Medical told me we should be giving testers regular drink breaks and not carrying out testing for more than four hours at a time. Well I think I speak for all you fine fellas when I say we’re not going to let a buncha namby-pamby whitecoat bigwigs get in the way of our science! If you pass out, we’ll send a retrieval bot to pick you up and carry you off to the nursery with the other babies. Now let’s get going!

In front of you is a test chamber. It’s older, with walls made out of metal and concrete rather than the sleek, moveable tiles that made the test chambers you’re familiar with, but still recognizable.

You start laughing, hard enough that you need to sit down. Even down here, even with no one else around, you’re still testing. Playing the good little lab rat, solving puzzles while you wait for the scientist to pull the plug. That’s all you’ve ever done here, isn’t it?

You take some big, whooping breaths, trying to calm yourself. You’re not sure how you know to do it, but you start counting breaths: in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight. It takes a bit of time, but eventually you are able to get yourself to calm down, your aching abdomen the only sign that you lost control of your emotions.

Looking at the test chamber in front of you again, you notice that it’s astonishingly easy- jumping and then bouncing off the blue gel to get to the other side of a gap. You breathe deep again, closing your eyes and steeling yourself. You’ve done test chambers where you flung yourself across giant rooms filled with toxic sludge while turrets shot at you in the air; you can handle a few antique ones down here. Then you open your eyes and take a running jump.

Welcome to the Enrichment Center, Cave Johnson’s tired voice says. As you’ve made your way through the abandoned offices and test chambers that make up this old place, you’ve listened to his recordings become less enthusiastic, more run down, listened to him start talking about things like stolen inventions and bankruptcy and being forced to recruit new testers from the streets for practical pocket change. But you’ve never heard him sound quite like this- so raspy and worn he almost seems half-dead.

Since making test participation mandatory for all employees, the quality of our test subjects has risen dramatically. Employee retention, however, has not. He coughs, a harsh, rattling sound that sounds like it must tear at his throat. As a result, you may have heard we're gonna phase out human testing. There's still a few things left to wrap up, though. First up, conversion gel.

The bean counters told me we literally could not afford to buy seven dollars worth of moon rocks, much less seventy million. Bought 'em anyway. Ground 'em up, mixed ‘em into a gel. And guess what? Ground up moon rocks are pure poison- I am deathly ill. Great portal conductors, though. So now we're gonna see if jumping in and out of these new portals can somehow leech the lunar poison out of a man's bloodstream. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. He coughs again, harder. Let's all stay positive and do some science.

The recording clicks off, and you wince. You don’t really like Cave Johnson- he sounds like a bit of a jerk, honestly, and you can’t help but feel he’s at least indirectly responsible for the situation you’re in now- but hearing him like that, sad, hopeless, and slowly dying, is just painful. You find yourself wishing he did manage to get better, though you know that he’s likely long dead by now either way.

Focusing again on the task at hand, you make your way through the abandoned office and out a back door, coming out in old maintenance hallways, all smooth concrete walls striped with metal pipes. You come to a large, round vertical shaft, and while the walls themselves won’t hold portals, there’s enough scaffolding and smooth platforms to let you pick your way up with strategically-placed portals and the careful use of flinging.

Cave Johnson’s voice again fills the shaft when you’re about halfway up. He seems to be… ranting about lemons? And lemon-related weapons that burn people’s houses down? It’s kind of hard to follow when you’re so focused on the task at hand, though you almost find yourself wishing Remus was around- you’re pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it. Remus would enjoy a lot of the stuff down here, actually. The thought is slightly horrifying.

Johnson has collected himself by the time you reach the top, and this time you stop to listen.

The point is: If we can store music on a compact disc, why can't we store a man's intelligence and personality on one? So I have the engineers figuring that out now.

Brain Mapping. Artificial Intelligence. We should have been working on it thirty years ago.

The recording ends. You stand there for a bit, feeling like you’ve been hit over the head with a metal pipe. Artificial Intelligence. He’s talking about creating the program that made the others. Talking about using the program to download his own personality into an AI. Logan had mentioned that he and the others were developed from a human man’s personality, but you hadn’t ever stopped to think about what exactly that meant- that they are all aspects of someone who was a living, breathing person. Someone who was the head of this facility, no less.

Could you see the others in him? Remus, definitely, with his love of weird and dangerous science. Roman, maybe, in how dramatic Johnson seemed to have been, and Janus with his disregard for people he saw as beneath his notice. Logan and Patton are harder sells; Cave Johnson didn’t seem all that intelligent- rather anti-intellectual, actually- and he certainly wasn’t empathetic or kind. And he definitely wasn’t careful or restrained, either, so Virgil is right out. Maybe extracting certain parts of his brain exaggerated those aspects of his personality?

But then, if Cave Johnson’s goal was to be immortal, why split his personality into component parts in the first place? Why not just download his personality wholesale? Or did that turn out to be impossible?

By now the mystery has dug its claws into you, and you find yourself itching for more answers, more context on how exactly this came about. It’s a nice distraction, at least, from your imminent demise and the fact that none of the people you’re learning about actually want anything to do with you anymore.

And yeah, not thinking about that right now. You shake your head as if it could dispel the painful thoughts, and keep moving.

This time, when you find another stretch of abandoned offices you don’t immediately head back behind them, but instead move within the halls of the facility, using portals to traverse places that are locked or where the floor has fallen in. You move on instinct, maneuvering these hallways like you’ve done it a thousand times. You don’t consciously choose your destination, but aren’t terribly surprised when your steps take you up to an office door, the words CAVE JOHNSON, CEO engraved on a golden plaque at eye level.

The office is locked, so you smash the small office window, then shoot a portal through it to the opposite wall. The office is large but stripped almost bare, with an old computer desk and several file shelves all that remain. There are rectangles on the walls and floor, places where fancy furniture and paintings presumably used to be, and everything is covered with such a thick layer of dust you’re a little afraid if you disturb anything too much you’ll start coughing and not stop.

You move over to the computer, an old, boxy model, and start it up. Miraculously, it still works, and you’re soon greeted with an old DOS screen, black with white lettering asking you to input commands. You sift through Cave Johnson’s file cabinets, sifting through a pile of floppy disks before pulling one out with a victorious cry.

You slip the disk labeled PRE-RECORDED MESSAGES into the computer, then type in the appropriate command and start going through files.

Not having the time or patience to go through every single audio file, you scroll down to the last one and open it, intending to start from the latest created files and go back. You open it and the sound of an old audio recording once again fills the room.

Hello, sir, you wanted to see me?

Your head shoots up. That voice feels intensely familiar, in a way that tickles the back of your mind, but you can’t quite-

Thomas, my boy!

Your breath catches in your throat.

Come in, come in. Take a seat, make yourself at home. Have some tea, if you want.

No thank you, the second voice- YOUR voice- says, I’m more of a coffee person.

Probably a good idea, the last batch was exposed to radiation from Lab C and well, long story short we’re still not certain if it’ll give you bowel cancer. But enough about the unimportant things! I’ve been looking over your files, and I must say I’m impressed- you seem to be quite the renaissance man! A degree in chemical engineering, a relatively successful career in the theatrical arts, a damn near spotless record in our part-time development team, and it looks like you’ve been making quite a stir in the media department’s new short video program. What was it called, Stem? Ivy? No no, don’t tell me, I’ll get it eventually. I doubt that sort of thing will ever catch on anyways. But the point is it shows initiative, which is something I like to see in my employees!

Thank you, sir?

You are quite welcome, you’ve earned it! Now the folks in our tech department have been telling me they want someone with a well-rounded mind for the initial AI development tests, and I think you fit the bill. And you’re not a vital employee, which is good because we’re still not quite sure what being copied into a computer does to your brain. Best case scenario, you wake up from cryosleep in a few weeks with one heck of a headache, worst case scenario is brain death. But hey, chances are at least part of you will get to be immortal, so I’d say that’s a gamble worth taking!

Whoa whoa whoa, hold up. Cryosleep? Brain death?! I didn’t sign up for anything like that. I’m not even a tester!

Now, now, no one’s ever won at life by playing it safe. The AI initiative is our most high profile development right now, being selected to test it is quite the honor! And testing is mandatory for all staff as of last week, so don’t worry about being in the wrong department.

I- It’s not that I’m not honored or anything. But I really just want to go back to my desk. I’m sure you can find someone else, right? Surely someone is better suited to this than me.

I appreciate your humility, Sport, but I’m afraid it wasn’t a request. You’ll thank us eventually. Assuming that you, you know, wake up. Good luck!

Wait, wait no, let go of me! your voice screams, desperate and terrified. Please, please I don’t want this, I don’t want this, WAIT-

The recording fizzles out mid-scream. After a moment, it whirrs back to life.

Right, so you boys should probably edit some of that out in post, Cave Johnson's tired voice says. Every experiment needs initial trials, right? Like a taste tester, but for your brain. Anyways, you've got your subject, so get to work, alright? We- he breaks off into a coughing fit- we don't have much time left. Let me know when things are ready for me. Until then, this is Cave Johnson, signing out.

There’s a few more seconds of white noise, and then a click as the recording comes to a stop, leaving you in silence once more.

Your legs give out from under you and you sit down, hard. Your mind is whirling, the echoes of your own screams still sounding in your head.

How could they do that? How could they just do that? Take you away from everything you’ve ever known, without even leaving you memories of what you’d lost, and for what? So a CEO could get his immortality?

The thought that you had a life before this, that you had a family before this, had occurred to you before- how could it not?- but it always felt distant, unreal, like a dream. But it wasn’t. You had a degree, a career, a life outside of this place. What did the people from that life think when you disappeared? Did Aperture Science tell them you’d died, or just let them wonder what happened to you? Are they still out there, missing you?

You shake your head, forcibly reeling your thoughts in. You’re going to destroy yourself if you keep going like this. You need to pull yourself together.

And once your thoughts stop reeling quite so much, a new thought occurs to you. Johnson said that you were being taken for the AI program- that they were going to copy you into a machine. The Cores said they were made from a human man, and you assumed based on the previous recordings that human man had been Cave Johnson. And maybe they were- Johnson told you they were using you for preliminary testing. Wouldn’t they have moved on to him once they were done with you?

And yet, all sorts of little things are adding up in your brain, things you had noticed but never bothered to linger on- never thought to connect to each other. Singing and performing a theater song with Roman, your voices perfectly in sync. Trading silly puns with Patton. The way your heart would always leap into your throat at the exact time Virgil started giving you trouble. And most painfully, Janus’s parting words: you may act the part of an innocent little lamb, but deep down you’re every bit as devious and cutthroat as I am.

Could the others… be made from you?

Your heart pounds in your chest. You need to find out more. You need to know if this is real, or just wishful thinking. You fish through Johnson’s files, half-frantic, but can’t find anything on the subject.

Then, finally, you find in the paper files a report from the development Project JANUS. It’s short, with no information you didn’t already know, but it does include a scientist’s name and office number in the signature.

A few minutes of searching later, you’re in the scientist’s room, tearing apart their files, until you finally find a file folder labeled TOP SECRET. You flip open to the first page, heart pounding.

The top of the page reads, “Project JANUS”. It’s a diagram of a human brain, with specific sections highlighted, though you don’t know enough about the human brain to figure out their relevance. What really draws your eye, however, is what is written below the diagram.

Subject Name: Thomas Sanders.

The name rings like a bell in your head, something deep inside saying, me. Thomas Sanders. Your name is Thomas Sanders.

Your name is Thomas Sanders, and Janus was created from you.

Hastily, you flip through the next few pages of data charts and diagrams, until you come to the next blueprint, then the next, then the next, growing in speed and excitement as you go.

Project PATHOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project LOGOS, Subject Name: Thomas Sanders. Project REMUS, Project ROMULUS, Project VIRGILIUS. Subject Name Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders, Thomas Sanders.

You sit down heavily in the office chair, putting your hands to your face. They’re you. All of them. God, you should have known. You think part of you did know, all along.

Part of you. That’s what they really are, isn’t it? Not you, not exactly, but parts of you. Created from different segments of your brain, different aspects of your personality.

The concept bounces around in your brain, the idea of something meaningful, some other revelation, hovering at the edge of your mind, just out of reach. Something about being parts, aspects of a person’s personality.

Aspects of a person, but not the whole. Self-preservation without the understanding that sometimes other people matter, too. Morality without the practicality to back it up. Creativity without the necessary restraints.

Oh god, you’ve been going about this all wrong. No wonder your plans didn’t work, the very premise was flawed. And wow, that was such a Logan thought, how did you not realize the connection sooner?

You need to get back to the others, right now.

After gathering the file and safely securing it in the folds of your jumpsuit, you take a quick trip back to Cave Johnson’s office with one intention in mind: his PA system. You don’t know if the announcement systems from down here will reach to where the others are, but you have to try. You press the button, ignoring the anxiety churning in your stomach, and speak.

“Hey, everyone. It’s Thomas. I know that some of you are confused and don’t know who you should be siding with right now. I know that for some of you, I have a lot to apologize for. All I ask, is if you ever trusted me at all, to come meet me at the place you introduced me to Remus. Because I have a lot I need to say to you guys, and because I’ve figured it out.”

You take a deep breath, and focus on projecting as much certainty with your voice as you can.

“I know how we can fix this. For good.”

#aperture sides facility #my writing #ts storytime

[gtunesmiff]

SUNDAY SERVICE

ATHABASKA DICK

Robert W. Service

When the boys come out from Lac Labiche in the lure of the early Spring, To take the pay of the "Hudson's Bay", as their fathers did before, They are all a-glee for the jamboree, and they make the Landing ring With a whoop and a whirl, and a "Grab your girl", and a rip and a skip and a roar. For the spree of Spring is a sacred thing, and the boys must have their fun; Packer and tracker and half-breed Cree, from the boat to the bar they leap; And then when the long flotilla goes, and the last of their pay is done, The boys from the banks of Lac Labiche swing to the heavy sweep. And oh, how they sigh! and their throats are dry, and sorry are they and sick: Yet there's none so cursed with a lime-kiln thirst as that Athabaska Dick.

He was long and slim and lean of limb, but strong as a stripling bear; And by the right of his skill and might he guided the Long Brigade. All water-wise were his laughing eyes, and he steered with a careless care, And he shunned the shock of foam and rock, till they came to the Big Cascade. And here they must make the long portage, and the boys sweat in the sun; And they heft and pack, and they haul and track, and each must do his trick; But their thoughts are far in the Landing bar, where the founts of nectar run: And no man thinks of such gorgeous drinks as that Athabaska Dick.

'Twas the close of day and his long boat lay just over the Big Cascade, When there came to him one Jack-pot Jim, with a wild light in his eye; And he softly laughed, and he led Dick aft, all eager, yet half afraid, And snugly stowed in his coat he showed a pilfered flask of "rye". And in haste he slipped, or in fear he tripped, but -- Dick in warning roared -- And there rang a yell, and it befell that Jim was overboard. Oh, I heard a splash, and quick as a flash I knew he could not swim. I saw him whirl in the river swirl, and thresh his arms about. In a queer, strained way I heard Dick say: "I'm going after him," Throw off his coat, leap down the boat -- and then I gave a shout: "Boys, grab him, quick! You're crazy, Dick! Far better one than two! Hell, man! You know you've got no show! It's sure and certain death. . . ." And there we hung, and there we clung, with beef and brawn and thew, And sinews cracked and joints were racked, and panting came our breath; And there we swayed and there we prayed, till strength and hope were spent -- Then Dick, he threw us off like rats, and after Jim he went. With mighty urge amid the surge of river-rage he leapt, And gripped his mate and desperate he fought to gain the shore; With teeth a-gleam he bucked the stream, yet swift and sure he swept To meet the mighty cataract that waited all a-roar. And there we stood like carven wood, our faces sickly white, And watched him as he beat the foam, and inch by inch he lost; And nearer, nearer drew the fall, and fiercer grew the fight, Till on the very cascade crest a last farewell he tossed. Then down and down and down they plunged into that pit of dread; And mad we tore along the shore to claim our bitter dead. And from that hell of frenzied foam, that crashed and fumed and boiled, Two little bodies bubbled up, and they were heedless then; And oh, they lay like senseless clay! and bitter hard we toiled, Yet never, never gleam of hope, and we were weary men. And moments mounted into hours, and black was our despair; And faint were we, and we were fain to give them up as dead, When suddenly I thrilled with hope: "Back, boys! and give him air; I feel the flutter of his heart. . . ." And, as the word I said, Dick gave a sigh, and gazed around, and saw our breathless band; And saw the sky's blue floor above, all strewn with golden fleece; And saw his comrade Jack-pot Jim, and touched him with his hand: And then there came into his eyes a look of perfect peace. And as there, at his very feet, the thwarted river raved, I heard him murmur low and deep: "Thank God! the whiskey's saved."

[kay20032]

Hello again! ❤️ How would the ONF members react to their s/o sitting on their lap? It can be either fluffy or smutty, whatever you’d like uwu I hope you have a great day! 💕-💍

Aww that’s so cute!

Hyojin

Waiting for Hyojin to come back home was a little bit nerve wracking. He was gone for a long while, about two weeks, and you were excited to see him again. While stuck in thought you didn’t even hear the door unlock. Hyojin noticed you sitting on the couch staring at the TV. He smiled at your figure before clearing his throat, obviously catching your attention.

“Babe! You’re home!” You said with a big smile. Hyojin nodded and quickly sat down on the empty space beside you.

“Hi baby...” His voice gave away how tired he was from practicing. It pained you knowing that he was exhausted from practicing for a long while, but you knew how to make him feel better though. While he was talking about his time at the dorms with the members, you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. He stopped talking for a minute, then hugged you as tight as he could.

“I missed you a lot baby.”

“I bet I missed you more though.”

He chuckled, “I seriously doubt that.”

E-Tion

Well... this isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you told your boyfriend you wanted to watch a movie together.

“Hey, what kind of movies do y’all wanna watch?”

“I swear to god MK if you say Barbie one more time-“

“Let’s watch Barbie.”

“No! Let me go Seungjoon! He asked for it!”

Chuckling at Minkyun and Hyojin’s little feud, you walked into the kitchen where Changyoon was finishing up the snacks. As he placed the pan with freshly baked cookies on the counter, he looked up and saw you admiring him.

“What’s up babe?”

“The usual, except Hyojin wants to fight Minkyun again.”

From a short distance you heard Seungjoon screaming. It definitely took a while to get Hyojin off of Minkyun, who was just laughing and having fun. But once everyone was settled, you decided to pick a classic. Grease. It certainly had everyone sitting down in their designated seats. But you had different plans.

Walking over to where your boyfriend was, you moved his hands that were occupying his lap and sat down. Changyoon’s eyes widened at the sudden action, moving to whisper into your ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing baby... just wanted to sit in my designated seat.”

He smiled before wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re so adorable. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“No I love you more.”

“No I-“

“Okay we get you two love each other. Couples these days...”

J-Us

“Oh, and then she had the audacity to say that I was the one hurting her! She started it!”

“Well at least you didn’t hit her.”

“I should’ve...”

Seungwoo chuckled at your response. You had a really bad day, and Seungjoon always let you rant to him. No matter how big or small the problem was. As long as you felt better afterwards, he didn’t mind. Sighing, you walked over to him and stood in front, hesitating a bit. Seungjoon stopped smiling and stared at you, slightly worried at how silent you became.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong-“

Before he could finish, you quickly sat on his lap and started crying. He frowned before holding you tight, rubbing and patting your head while kissing your cheek every so often.

“I just don’t understand why she picks on me... we’re in college for crying out loud! We’re supposed to be adults!”

Seungjoon just kept his tight grip on you, telling you that everything will be okay in the end. “We also may have a little problem...”

You sniffed at moved back a little to face him, tears still running down your face. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

“Well... I kinda didn’t expect you to sit on me like this...”

“I’ll be done crying in five minutes.“

Wyatt

“Baby... why are you so far away...”

Wyatt moaned out in sadness, staring at you sitting in the chair across the couch. You looked up from your phone to see Wyatt not exactly sitting the way he usually does. His head was leaning against the backrest, his legs spread out, and he looked sad. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

He pouted, “I want you to sit with me.”

“Okay,” you said before standing up from your seat and walking over to him. You then placed your knees on both sides of his thighs, straddling him while wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulders. He tensed up a bit, then relaxed and held you close to him.

“I kinda meant beside me, but this is way better.” Wyatt said, smiling from ear to ear before moving his hands from your back to your ass, lightly gripping it.

“Jaeyoung...”

“Sorry, my hands slipped.”

MK

“Okay but... Suki and I were in the middle of fixing our relationship. I was gone for a little bit, she could’ve already moved on to a different person!”

You groaned at your boyfriend’s response. See, he was becoming more and more busy with his fellow stray cat friends rather than spending time with you, and it wasn’t at all very pleasant. “But Minkyun-“

“Suki didn’t receive enough water! She could’ve died of thirst... and her death will be on my hands!”

Pouting, you lightly shoved Minkyun down on the love seat behind him and straddled him. You also buried your head into the crook of his neck before speaking up. “Babe, I missed you a lot... and you’re spending most of the time you have left with your furry friends rather than your girlfriend. I’m feeling a bit jealous.”

Minkyun giggled at your confession while pulling your closer, smelling the floral scented body spray he bought for your birthday.

“If I had known you were gonna be jealous, I would’ve done this a long time ago.”

You moved to look up at him and glared. “Don’t push it.”

“Got it.”

U

Today was absolutely wonderful. The weather was nice, the people weren’t huge jerks, and the beach wasn’t that packed! It was the perfect time to spend it with your boyfriend and his friends. You hadn’t seen them in a good while, so you asked them if they could hang out with you. (With Yuto’s permission of course)

“Heads up!”

Seungjoon yelled as the volleyball he hit went a little off course, heading straight for you and Yuto.

“I’ll save you!”

Minkyun shouted dramatically as he ran for the ball, getting hit very hard in the back. He proceeded to fall down in a very theatrical like manner and stared up at the blue sky.

“So... this is what death feels like...”

Yuto just stared at Minkyun while he laid there, then looked back at you.

“So as I was saying-“

“Wow! Not even a “Thank you my brave hero!” After I sacrificed my body for you?”

“I’ll cook two meals with you tomorrow.”

“Alright have a nice evening.”

Minkyun said as he got up, dusting off whatever sand he could, and ran back to continue playing volleyball. You giggled at how quick Minkyun agreed, and placed your head on Yuto’s shoulders again.

“Ahh, this is the best day ever...”

“It would be even better if you were in my lap.”

“Bet.”

As quickly as that left your mouth, you were in his lap. Shifting around to get comfortable you accidentally brushed against his clothes area, causing him to let out a small moan. Of course that made you smile.

“Aww... is my baby boy feeling okay?”

“Please don’t tease me...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be doing the real teasing when we get to bed.”

Hopefully this wasn’t too bad lol. I finished watching avatar with my little sister now, so I’m back with the full time writing again. I love y’all 😘

#💍 anon #onf #onf hyojin #onf etion #onf j us #onf wyatt #onf mk #onf yuto

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Ballad of a Shelby and a Solomons

Summary: Following the events of Burned. Ruby Shelby and Teddy Solomons fall in love.

@justanothershelby​ Because I love you and I’m so sorry you’re going through a rough time.

(gif isn’t mine)

Birmingham-1948

         “I’m in love with Teddy Solomons.”

          Arthur Shelby was far too old for this shit. He couldn’t handle the scares that he used to be able to experience every day. Normally, he was pretty quick on his feet, maybe less so than his younger self. But the announcement from his niece completely caught him off guard. So much so that he spat out his whiskey.

          The eldest Shelby was sat with his brother at the Garrison, a few hours before it was due to open for the night. It was a little odd because Tommy seldom visited Birmingham. He was far too busy in the Commons to visit Small Heath. Likewise, Ruby rarely traveled back and forth. Either she was in London or in Warwickshire.

          “Solomons?” Arthur sputtered, his face already turning red.

          Tommy stood behind the bar much calmer than his brother. A hint of a smug smile crossed his face. He knew almost instantly that the two young adults were going to spark up something. The way Teddy could hardly speak clearly in front of her and the way Ruby’s fair complexion turned bright red under his eyes.

          “You’ve met up with him again?” Tommy asked.

          Arthur was practically spasming with anger. “As in Alfie Solomons?!”

          “Yes.” Ruby held her head high, her lips pursed. She looked just like her mother when she gave him that confident look. “Several times, in fact, and I love him.”

          “Tom!” Arthur erupted. “You knew ‘bout this?”

          “Easy, brother,” Tommy replied coolly. “The two met when I was going to see Louise’s new foal. He’s a very respectable young man.”

          Ruby was a little surprised by her father’s steady demeanor. She expected there to be an issue, like the issue her uncle was clearly having. “Well-well, yes he is.” She hesitated and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Why on Earth was he being so nonchalant about the whole issue. When she was younger, Ruby had declared her love for one of the Lee boys. Granted she was only fourteen and it was simply because the teenager could tame any unruly horse. When Tommy heard the news, he had a fit and threatened the boy to stay far, far, far, away from his beloved daughter.

          So that was that. Ruby never saw the boy again. But now she was confessing her adoration for the son of an old colleague. Rival? Friend? The details were murky.

          “Louise said he served during the Second War.” Tommy poured himself and his brother another glass of whiskey.

          Arthur gave him a flustered glare. Like Ruby, he was bewildered by Tommy’s reaction.

          “Yes.” Ruby nodded.

          Tommy beckoned for his daughter to sit at the bar and poured her a gin and tonic. Warily, she sat down beside her uncle. “Where did he serve?”

          “France. Like you.” Ruby replied. “He was hurt by a grenade. You should see the scar, nearly lost his entire leg. He’s so brave.” She chewed on her lip when she thought of the handsome young man who had won her over.

          “You’ve seen the scar?” Arthur demanded. “On his leg? Under what fucking circumstances!?”

          “Pral.” Tommy hushed him.

          “We went swimming behind his home in Surrey.” Ruby lifted her chin again, pretending not to be bothered. “It isn’t 1920, Uncle Arthur.”

          “Fucking…kids these days!” He threw up his hands.

          “I’m not a kid!” She argued. “I’m an adult and so is Teddy. He almost died serving our country just like you lot did so you shouldn’t treat him and fucking differently! He goes to university and he’s fucking smarter than any of you. And he loves me.”

          Arthur grimaced but shut his mouth, for the time being, downing the fresh drink Tommy put in front of him.

          “And he loves horses,” Ruby added, her blue eyes glancing over to her father.          

          Tommy nodded in acknowledgment. “I know. Mrs. Carleton told me he’s a very gifted rider. Perhaps we ought to invite him on a hunt at Arrow House.” He suggested. “We can see what sort of a shot he is.”

          Ruby’s eyes lit up. “Really?” She jumped up and reached over the bar to hug her father tightly. “Thank you, daddy, I’ll call him right now!” She left the Garrison so quickly that she nearly tipped over the stool she was sitting on.

          Arthur pouted in his seat. “I don’t like it, Tom.” He muttered.

          “He’s nothing like Alfie.” He assured his brother. “And it doesn’t matter what either of us says anymore. She’s going to see him whether we like it or not.”

          Arthur grumbled his discontent but just shook his head. "Shelby women, aye?"

          "I'm afraid she won't be one for much longer." Tommy sighed and briefly wondered what Alfie would've done if he were still alive. A Shelby and a Solomons. Perhaps he would assume the world was crumbling.

Birmingham-The Midland Hotel-1950

            “Mr. Shelby, would you like a drink?”

            The lobby of the Midland hotel was fairly quiet for a Friday morning. A few ladies sat together talking avidly amidst the lavish décor. A couple of businessmen greeted one another properly. A maid was busy dusting the many gilded ornaments around the large lobby. It had been refurbished after the war had ended, giving all the intricate fixtures and architecture life again.

            “Yes, bottle of whiskey, Irish. Bring the bottle ‘round.” Tommy answered one of the barkeeps as he slipped off his hat and sat down. He cleared his throat and checked his pocket watch.

            Perfectly on time, Teddy Solomons came in, shaking off his umbrella. He removed his hat and headed upstairs to the bar where Tommy said he’d be. He’d never been to the Midland before, in fact, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been to Birmingham before. Well, before he met Ruby, that is. Sometimes she would be there visiting family and Teddy stopped by to say hello. More often than not, they’d both be in London. Ruby working in the family business and Teddy still in university.

            “Mr. Shelby.” Teddy smiled as he greeted him.

            Tommy stood up to shake his hand. “You can call me Tommy, known each other long enough.” He chuckled. “Have a seat, glad we could get together to chat you said it was important.”

            “Yes, sir.” Teddy sat down and set his cane to the side.

            Tommy took note as he pulled out a cigarette and lighter. “I didn’t know you walked with a cane.” In all the times he’d spoken to the young man, he hadn’t seen him with a walking cane. He noticed the limp, but only after Ruby mentioned it, Teddy did a good job of covering it.

            “Gets worse with the rain, I’m afraid.” Teddy grimaced lightly. He never liked calling attention to his limp. It was something he would much rather ignore if possible. It only brought up terrible memories. Memories of the grenade exploding near him. Fortunately, he didn’t recall much after that. Only remembered waking up to hearing a doctor discuss the possibility of amputation. After that, it was a long and torturous recovery. Having to comfort his mother when she worried over him. Learning to walk differently. All things he would rather forget.

            “Much different from your father’s.” Tommy smiled slightly. He could recall the slender, simple cane that Alfie sometimes toted around.

            “Yeah, my mum pulled it out but it was too weak.”

            “I thought sometimes he would carry it just for emphasis.” Tommy chuckled and shook his head. “Smoke?” He offered the pack to Teddy.

            “No, thank you.” Teddy declined politely.

            The man arrived with the whiskey, setting down two crystal glasses. “Anything else, Mr. Shelby?”

            “That’ll be all for now.” Tommy nodded and began pouring the whiskey. “So, what’s the matter of importance, Teddy?”

            “Well, Mr-erm-Tommy, as you know Ruby and I have been going steady for a couple of years now.” Teddy swallowed and tried to maintain a façade of confidence, even though his palms were sweating. He’d nearly lost a leg in Normandy but Tommy Shelby was just as terrifying. “And we’ve discussed the possibility, well, the future I suppose. That’s why I’d like to ask for your blessing.”

            Tommy had been half-expecting it. Ever since they’d met, Ruby had been head-over-heels for Teddy Solomons. The girl could hardly stop gushing about him. One night at dinner, Charlie finally had to shout at her to, ‘stop fucking talking about Teddy Bloody Solomons!’. That hadn’t ended well.

            As the years wore on, Tommy had gained a bit of softness. None for his enemies, political or not, but for his family and friends. Nothing brought him more joy than his beautiful princess smiling. And Teddy made her smile.

            So, when he called to request a meeting, Tommy assumed it could only mean one of two things. Either he wanted to ask for Ruby’s hand in marriage, or she had mistakenly gotten pregnant. Not that Tommy could really say anything about that, he’d gotten both Grace and Lizzie pregnant before he married them. Still, it was a relief that Teddy was requesting marriage instead of planning for a baby. Tommy wasn’t ready to be a grandfather yet.

            “I think that would be a wise choice. I doubt she’d marry anyone else and she’d most likely marry you without my blessing.” Tommy admitted. He had no one but himself to blame for his daughter’s stubbornness. “It would be in my own best interest to say yes.”

            A look of relief and happiness flooded Teddy’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. I promise I’ll give her everything I can. She’s very important to me.”

            Tommy held up his glass for a cheers. “I trust you’ll make a good husband.” Trust was scarce, but it could be afforded for the shy, polite, Solomons boy. Tommy could only imagine what Alfie would say if he were still alive.

Warwickshire- June, 1951

            Teddy Solomons didn’t know how wild a Shelby party could get. Even a big blow out wedding didn’t seem to curb their thirst for a rowdy night. Luckily, Teddy’s side of the wedding guests didn’t seem to care much or they had been expecting such an affair. He didn’t care at all; in fact, it was all in good fun. His heart had been pounding all day. First out of nervousness, then out of shock when he first saw Ruby walking down the aisle, and then euphoria as they said their vows. He was breathless from dancing with her all night. And even though he was a bit awkward with his stiff leg, he couldn’t deny Ruby one more song.

            So, they kept dancing until Ruby wore herself out. That’s when Teddy suggested they get some air outside. His ears were ringing from the loud music and chattering from inside Arrow House so they had to adjust being out in the summer air. The soft sounds of crickets lulling his heartbeat.

            “I can’t wear these fucking shoes another moment.” Ruby groaned and bent down to take off her heels. She set them side on the patio.

            “Want to walk? Or do your feet hurt?” Teddy asked.

            “We can walk. Unless I’ve worn you out from dancing.” She teased and linked arms with her husband.

            “I might be sore in the morning.” He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’ll be worth it though.” They started off past the garden and across the lawn. The lights from Arrow House fanning over the grass and dimly lighting their way. Fireflies blinked across the forest-line and the sky was clear of clouds. Every star seemed to be shining its brightest just for the occasion.

            Teddy stopped for a moment to look up at the half-moon hanging in the sky. “I wish my dad was here.” He said quietly. A hint of melancholy draping over him as he realized there was a piece missing. It’s how most occasions in his life felt. There was always something missing. Sometimes, Teddy didn’t realize what it was until he was alone with his thoughts.

            But it was always Alfie. How Teddy wished his father could be there to see him at his proudest moments.

            “Oh, Ted, he would be so proud of you.” Ruby touched his cheek.

            He leaned into her touch and nodded. “I know. I just think it would’ve been a bit more fun.” He smiled weakly. “Shelbys and Solomons aren’t supposed to mix, y’know.”

            She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, what do you call this then?” She murmured before kissing him deeply.

Warwickshire- April, 1952

         Teddy thought it was such a good idea. His brother-in-law had suggested he bring along the mare on the hunt. Apparently, she was a gift from the Lees and she was very green, hardly broken in at all.

But Charlie said he would be more than capable. And Teddy did not want to shy away from such a task. He’d only been married to Ruby for a little under a year, they’d been engaged for six months and dating for three years. Despite that amount of time, Teddy was still slightly terrified of the Shelby boys. He wasn’t too keen on Arthur unexpectedly grabbing him by the shoulders and jostling him around, he sweated under Tommy’s icy eyes, and didn’t care for Finn’s scathing remarks about his university studies. But it was all in love, at least that’s what Ruby said. Charlie was perhaps the hardest on Teddy, but as the older brother, it was to be expected.

Moments after the engagement at a family event, Charlie hugged Teddy, only to whisper in his ear.

“If you ever break her heart, I’ll fucking gut you and make you eat your intestines.”

All in good fun.

~~~~~~~~~

“You think you can handle her, Teddy?” Tommy asked as they began down the trail.

“That’s what he was asking himself when he proposed to Ruby.” Isaiah jeered and exchanged grins with Finn.

“Oi, enough.” Tommy glared at them. “Fucking beautiful day out, don’t want you idiots ruining it. Now jog on.” He shooed them off and began walking side by side with Teddy.

The young man’s face had gone a little pink. “She was steady on the cross-ties, didn’t fuss much when I tacked her up. Erm, not Ruby I uh-meaning the horse.”

Tommy chuckled and lit up a cigarette. “I knew your father very well. Not as well as your mother of course. But I did see a different side to him.”

A hint of a smile crept onto Teddy’s face. Before, he only used to get sad when Alfie was brought up. But as he grew into a man, he learned to accept the wisdom. Accept the things he never knew about the mysterious man. To listen to the people who had a clearer memory of him. They were his key to getting closer to his late father. “Mum said he was rough around the edges.”

“We were raised very similarly. Raised poor on the streets so we grew to have a rough side.” Tommy agreed, his eyes on the trail ahead of them, steadily moving along with his horse’s smooth walk. “He was fucking clever though. Never could underestimate him ‘less you wanted to get cut.” He let out a sigh, exhaling smoke into the foggy air. “I remember when he told me you were born. Just a little bit before Ruby was born. There was something in his eyes that I’d never seen before. He cared about your mother and you very deeply. That night he was willing to risk his life for you both.”

Teddy listened with bated breath. He wanted his father-in-law to tell him everything. Describe every interaction with Alfie. What was said, what they did, what he looked like, what his emotions were. He wanted to shed more light on the man in the photographs and the man in his dreams.

“You’re not much like him. Not in the way he conducted business.” Tommy clarified before the young man wilted in shame. “But I see the way you look at my daughter. It’s the same look that your father had. I know you would risk your life in order to save her.”

That was a no brainer for Teddy. If it came down to himself or Ruby, he wouldn’t have to think twice about it. “Of course. I would never let her be hurt.”

Tommy smiled slightly and nodded. “That’s how you and Alfie are alike. And it’s a good thing too. Loyalty is well-liked in this family.”

Before Teddy could say anything else, they came across a glen with tall grass. Isaiah, Finn, and Charlie had gone ahead and began hunting through the grass. Without warning, one of them shot wildly into the air.

The young horse under Teddy spooked and began to buck. He did his best to stay on but soon found himself thrown into the ground.

For a moment, he hadn’t even realized what happened. His thoughts became a little fuzzy. All he could process was the sound of the mare galloping off without him. Then, Tommy’s voice found his ears. He was ordering someone to catch the horse as he dismounted and jogged over to Teddy.

“You alright?” The Blinder knelt down and tried to assess any damage. “D’you hit your head?”

Teddy blinked a few times. “Don’t think so.” He groaned when he tried to move. “Can’t feel my fucking arm.”

“Think you landed on it.” Tommy reached out. “I’ll help you sit up. Easy then...”

“Fuck!” Teddy shouted when the movement caused a sharp pain shoot up his arm and into his collarbone.

“Easy, easy. Try to stay still.” Tommy stood. “Curly! D’we have any wraps for the horse’s legs?”

There were a number of footsteps that came running over. Arthur had managed to wrangle in the spooked mare while Isaiah, Finn, and Charlie came to see what the commotion was.

“Couldn’t handle her, Ted?” Charlie chuckled when he saw his brother-in-law sitting in the mud, clutching his arm.

“Oi!” Tommy grabbed his son by the back of the neck. “You fucking warn us when you’re going to shoot, you know that.” He scolded. “Now you can go back to the house with Teddy and explain to your sister what you’ve fucking done to her husband.” He smacked him on the face and went back to tend to Teddy. He did his best to create a makeshift sling with the leg wraps Curly had brought over. “And you better fucking hope that horse isn’t injured either. Now go.” He ordered.

Charlie grimaced but threw his rifle over his shoulder. “C’mon.” He held a hand out to Teddy to help him up.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two walked back down the muddy trail, Teddy clutching his arm, the wraps loosely supporting it.

“I didn’t mean to get you thrown, mate,” Charlie said after a few minutes of silence. “I really did think you would be able to ride her. Rubes always talks about how great of a rider you are.”

“It’s alright,” Teddy replied gently. He didn’t blame his brother-in-law for the incident. All in good fun, right?

Charlie shoved his hands into his pockets. “We’re all just tryna wind you up, you know that right?”

“Oh no, I…Ruby mentioned it wasn’t in malice.”

“Thing is, you’re Alfie Solomons’ son. Y’know people still talk about him? Talk about what he was like and you’re just-you’re very different.”

Teddy might’ve been irked had if not been for the conversation he just had with Tommy. Perhaps he wasn’t capable of the violence his father inflicted. But he would protect his own no matter what.

Charlie chuckled, interrupting Teddy’s thoughts. “You should slug Isaiah for what he said ‘bout Ruby.” He mentioned. “We all want to see if you can throw a punch.”

‘Oh, I’d rather not.” Yes, he’d never been in a fight before but none of the Peaky Blinders needed to know that.

Disappointed, Charlie sighed. “Alright then, I guess Ruby’ll handle it. She’ll never let me live this down.”

“She doesn’t have to know any details.” The two young men exchanged smiles, agreeing to secrecy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ruby was outside on the lawn reading with her mother when her brother and husband came walking back. She was shocked to see the state Teddy was in, shooting up out of her chair and running towards him.

“What happened?!”

“I got thrown off,” Teddy admitted. “I’m alright, though.”

Ruby glared at her brother. “You put him on that wild mare, didn’t you?” She demanded. “I told you not to fucking do that, you fucking idiot!” She emphasized every word by smacking Charlie with her book.

“Hey, hey!” Her brother tried to bat her away. “Lay off!”

“It wasn’t his fault, love, I was too confident.” Teddy intervened, holding out his good arm to stop the literary assault.

Her forehead wrinkled and she pouted. “Oh, you must be in so much pain. Come inside, romer, I’ll take care of you.” She kissed his cheek and ushered him into Arrow House.

Charlie laughed and shook his head. “I’ll get you to throw a punch one of these days, Solomons!”

All in good fun.

London-1954

            “Fucking hell, Rubes, you’re as big as a whale!” Charlie snickered.

            “Yeah? I could still probably kick your ass!” She snapped back at him but decided to slump down on the couch. It was Christmas and Ruby Solomons was due any day with her first child. Everyone was gathering at Polly’s home in London for the occasion but Ruby arrived before most guests were supposed to arrive.

            Polly smacked Charlie with a dish towel. “Be lucky you’re a man and never have to push out a baby.” She scolded. “Now help me in the kitchen.”

            Charlie sighed but obliged.

            Moments later, Tommy and Lizzie arrived. Lizzie greeted her daughter affectionately. “Oh, you’re just glowing!”

            “God, I feel like I’m dying,” Ruby complained and propped up her feet. “I just want it out of me. And I’m hungry too.” She groaned. “M’always hungry.”  

            Lizzie smiled and kissed her forehead. “I’ll get you something to nibble on before dinner.” She promised and went into the kitchen.

            Tommy sat down in an armchair by the fire. “Where’s Teddy gone off to then?”

            “He dropped me off, wasn’t any parking close enough. Should be here soon.” She answered.

            “Any guesses on the day, then?”

            “Hopefully soon.” Ruby sighed. “Feels like it’s been forever.”

            “Any word on the gender? I heard Polly might’ve told you.” Tommy recalled.

            “A boy.” She smiled. “Ted and I talked, we decided to name him Alfred. And if Polly’s wrong, then we’ll improvise.”

            Tommy frowned a bit. “Alfred? After his father?”

            “Mhm.”

            “Well, did Thomas ever come up in discussions?” He asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

            Ruby glanced over at her father. “Yes, Teddy mentioned it. But I said we ought to name him Alfred. You’re alive, dad. Teddy’s father isn’t.”

            Tommy had a hard time arguing with that logic. “So, if I die soon, you’ll name the next one after me?”

            Ruby snorted and laughed. “Sure, dad, sure.”  

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​

Burned Tag: @vehement-care​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Masterlist

#alfie solomons #alfie solomonsxoc #ofc #omc #oc #ocxoc #tommy shelby #charles shelby #lizzie shelby #lizzie stark #polly gray #isiah jesus #one shots #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction

[hpdabbles]

YOU MADE ME SHIP REGULUS AND HARRY. WHY. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND THAT SHIP!? Please may I have this ship plus being really tired parents to a pair of twins and Harry suddenly understanding Molly's pain?

Suffer. Suffer with me. Welcome to Harry/Regulus hell (Does this ship have a name? Can we call them Lion’s Heart? Since one is the Leo consultation and the other is a Gryfindor???) 

Harry wanted to pull his hair out and it was only ten in the morning. He loved his kids, Magic In All Living he loved them, but there were days when they just tested every limit he had.

And Harry fought two magical wars, lived through two killing curses, traveled through time, and put up with Draco Malfoy who annoyed him more than Voldemort on some days. 

In highsight traveling through time was one of the best things to ever happen to him, because he was able to save his family from all the heartache, managed to give his friends a life of peace and meet the love of his life.

Regulus Black was everything he wanted. His husband understood being the overlooked child in the house, understood not living up to people’s expectations, and understood the fear and the shyness that made it hard to be in front of new people.  He is, in a lot of ways, just like Harry. 

He was also the one who Harry turned to during the darkest first days in the past, the one who got him to smile and laugh and helped him take down the Death Eaters. Who was silly, nerdy and yet still had the elegance of a pureblood lord. 

Add to the fact Regulus looks like Adonis dyed his hair black and had a brain that was equally impressive as his physical features? The man was eighteen when he figured out what Voldemort had done to the Slytherin locket and find it. Harry knows it took Albus Dumbledore a decade to get an idea of its location, meanwhile, Regulus took six months to learn of them and then another six to write that giant “Fuck you” letter to stick inside the locket. 

He’s husband is the whole damn package and Harry would fist fight anyone who tries to say otherwise (He did fight Sirius that one time luckily his in-law no longer holds it against him).

That is why it only made sense that he asked this perfect wonderful man who was just a flawed and broken as Harry to marry him a year after they killed Voldemort together. The marriage of the Men-Who-conquered was the biggest event in modern magical history- or that was until the two successfully blood adopt a year and a half later.

Blood adopting, a valid way to allow same-sex magical couples to have children by blood, but with a high risk.  Not only did they have to find magical newborns for any child above a month would fail, but they also had to be able to transfer their core’s magic and fuse it into the child. 

Usually, the parents died from over draining their cores or they just couldn’t recover the amount they gave away and in a sense, crippled themselves to squibs.  

That’s why most blood adopting was rarely done, and it was even less common to attempt more than one child. 

Of course, Harry Potter always challenges the norm, and thus he along with his husband managed to get a pair of twins; a boy, and a girl. The day after the ritual Harry had been so tired it took everything he had just to stay awake, with Regulus fighting for his life in the bed next to him, and yet the sounds of the newborns cooing in the crib had made it all worth it.

One was named the Heir of the Ancient and Noble  House Of Black- since Regulus keep the title since he stayed alive- and the other the Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin- since Harry couldn’t keep the last name Potter and he sort of won the title through the right of conquest in the future. 

Harry loved them so much, even if it was surprising to everyone- none more so to Harry who could argue that they had a  lot of Slytherin in them since he was almost a snake himself-  when his kids were sorted and they were not wearing red or green but yellow and blue. 

After the shock of knowing the family had all four houses, it became clear why they sorted this way. Harry should have seen his son’s thirst for knowledge was obvious the moment he learned the dreaded word “why?” at age three, while his precious girl was loyal to a fault as she would often take the fall for her brother who’s curiosity led to him trying his own experiments that ended more in injuries then proven hypothesis.  

The problem was they represented their Hogwarts houses too well.

Standing as stern as he, a thirty-four-year-old man could besides his equally as stern thirty-two-year-old husband, clash in a battle of wills against a thirteen-year-old girl who’s loyalty and puberty made them bugs beneath her shoes, while unwilling to sell out her brother. 

The fact they found their son’s possible broom design blueprints made it all the worst. His son was one of the brightest wizards to ever walk Hogwarts having to earn the brightest Wizard Award three years in a roll and yet he lack so much common sense. Honestly, it was Hermione all over again.

While his daughter would defend him to the end of the world, she gave her loyalty too forcefully and fiercely. Once he would marvel and love this trait in Ron, now as a parent it just worried him how far she would go for those she trusted. 

Harry called this the dark side of the Hufflepuffs. But they had to get her to see the light before her brother breaks his neck on another of his hair-brained ideas. 

Regulus took the initiative and stared down his daughter "Ursa Lily Slytherin Black, I will not ask again. Is your brother on the roof with a dangerous broom he made himself right now?" 

Ursa folded her hands before her in the proper manner a lady of her standard should, having the rules of high society drilled into her by Regulus since before she could speak. There were days where she was more graceful then Harry ever could be. 

The light of the large window she stood in front of made her dark wavy hair and emerald green eyes all that more striking. She is a very beautiful young lady, taking more after Regulus in looks alongside her brother, and Harry knew he would be beating suitors back in just a few years.

"Father, I am absolutely certain that my brother, Gemini Regulus Slytherin Black, is-" suddenly a figure dropped down screaming in a flash of expensive robes bypassing the window before Regulus or Harry could process it.

 "-not on the roof"  She finished without so much as a blink. "I would check the front yard. On a completely unrelated note is our floo connected to St. Mungo’s emergency room?”

Harry opens his mouth but an explosion goes off somewhere down the hall shaking the whole house to its foundations. Ursa stares at him as if though she is daring him to comment on it. He reaches up to grab onto his hair fighting the urge to rip it out, as he turns away, leaving the pair alone.

Harry barely loses any speed as he rushes down the stairs into the front hall and out into the front yard where Gemini is laying on his back, tracing mathematical equations in the air with his wand and legs bent in the wrong direction.  

Regulus can handle the explosion he needs to get the Black Heir to St. Mungo’s. Why is that his boy inherited his lack of fear for death while his daughter took after her Father in his defiant till the end tendencies?   

“Hi Dad!” Gemini chirps at him the moment Harry’s shadow falls onto his face. The boy has the audacity to be smiling like a loon. Fred’s and George’s mischief rests in the curve of his lips.  “Guess what? I almost figured out the charms they use on brooms. Soon I’ll be charming everything to fly just like Uncle Sirius’s motorbike! And Professor Flitwick said it was too advanced for me, pffff, I’m sure showing him huh?”

“Why are you like this?”

“That’s a good question. I read that Muggles think it’s due to how we are raised or treated by our parents that manifest into personality traits and they have a whole field of study in it. It’s call psychology-oh that reminds me. Dad, can I go to a summer school for psychology in the muggle college? Hermione invited me and Luna, it sounds fun!”

He loved his kids but they were going to led him to an early grave. He wondered how Molly would react to the Lord Slytherin sending her a gift basket as an apology for all the stress he put her through the first go about, even if in this timeline the families weren’t close. 

For some reason, Ursa was closer to Draco Malfoy and Gemini was best friends with Luna Lovegood. The last one wasn’t a big stretched when he thought about it but still, it was wild to think about. 

“You are grounded-”

“Yes that’s why he’s on the floor” 

Harry whirl around to give Ursa a glare “Is that backtalk I hear young lady?”

“That’s how conversations tend to work Dad.”

Regulus snorts “My how the tables have turned. But your both grounded. Now let’s get to St. Mungo’s I’m sure the healers have missed us since the last time we were there....two days ago.”

His husband releases a sigh like he’s dealing with the madness in this house in that one exhale of breath. Harry might be a little mad himself because he finds he really wants to kiss the sigh off those lips even with the stress he’s never been happier. 

#Hpdabbles #Regulus/Harry #Time travel #Over lapping time lines #Ursa and Gemini Slytherin Black #Lion's Heart (ship name??) #Harry's kids are insane #((Suffer)) #Anonymous #Now Harry knows Molly's pain #Regulus and He are good dads #Regulus and Harry have a Gomez and Morticia marriage #harry x regulus

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart Season 3 Episode 3 A heart of thirst WARNING: this episode of matters of the heart contains heavy subject matters 

Matters of the heart Season 3 Episode 3 A heart of thirst WARNING: this episode of matters of the heart contains heavy subject matters {OPENING CREDITS} {Open to Corona castles throne room; Larkspur sits sideways on one of the thrones sipping from a golden goblet despondently} Vergus: Mistress? Why do you look so blue? we have everything we could ever want. Corona is ours. Larkspur:  not everything... those morons continue to fight us... and noremoth…. {Her grip tightens on her cup before she throws it across the room} Larkspur: I WANT HIM FOUND!.... Vergus: O-Of course mistress! Larkspur:  he betrayed us all...He betrayed me! {Vergus walks up to her throne; he takes off he cape and drapes it across her} Vergus:  of course he did mistress. did you expect anything less of the man? Larkspur:  to be honest I don't know what I expected of him…. more than this! Vergus:  for all we know mistress he could be dead.  our sweet vessel took care of him quite nicely the last time we saw him. Larkspur:  that is true... wherever he is I hope he's burning. what traitors deserve... what everyone deserves.  those privileged, underhanded… Vergus:  mistress if I may… {he hands her a small vial} Larkspur:  what is that? Vergus: a sleeping aid. you've been awake for more than 2 days. you must be exhausted.  for the sake of-!? {Larkspur snatches it from his hands and chugs the small vial} Vergus:....Right then….um... do call me if you need anything… Larkspur:  I'll be fine…. Go. {Vergus bows and leaves; Larkspur turns over in the chair tiredly and closes her eyes; fade to Vardaros where rain pours from the sky; a younger Larkspur dressed in rags watches with a cold glare as a coffin is being carried through the streets with a large crowd of people; a young woman steps on the stage in town square} Vex: Ladies and Gentlemen...We have….sorry...We have lost someone dear to all of us. Larkspur: pfftt… “dear”... Vex: Captain Quiad was an honourable and just man. He fought for what was right and whenever we needed him he was always right there.  whenever he thought he was out of the game he always searched for a reason to get back in. He cared for all of us. no matter who you are or who you were….He was a brave Sheriff who fought for every man, woman, and child... and it is with a heavy heart that we today say goodbye. {Thunder rumbles causing Larkspur to jump and go back into the alley} Larkspur: Fought for everyone...puh!  he was nothing but a tired old man running around with a sword.  if he truly did anything for our town then why am I still hungry!? Why are my brothers and sisters dead!? Why did I watch my family starve!? {She kicks a can but yells in pain} Larkspur: I hate Vardaros… I hate them all... {fade out to Larkspur asleep in the throne mumbling; Cut to the medical tent at camp; Noremoth breathes shakily as Hector looks over the wounds with the physician} Hector: Straight through… Physician:  yes unfortunately the blade went straight through him. it caused some serious internal injuries that I was able to repair mostly through surgery but I fear that infection is going to take him. Hector:  judging from the wound shape i’m going to say it was a straight single edged sword. Physician: I've done what I can to the wound as for the infection… Hector:  not much you can do for that... he's got to fight his own battle now. {Varian walks in with Eugene} Varian: how is he? Hector:  let's just say he's had better days. and if he doesn't fight off this infection he won't have any more days. Eugene:  we don't have much medicine left... kids we are able to learn some valuable information about whatever gas the cult used... it can be lethal  but we don't have an antidote. Varian:  I could synthesize one if I had my lab but it's too dangerous to sneak back into town. Hector: welp... better practice Your Grave digging boys… {Hector walks out of the tent} Eugene:  you know I was kind of hoping that after all these years he would have lightened up a little bit but clearly not… Varian: Isaiah...I know you're there you can come out now. {Isaiah walks in with Benny} Varian: theres my girl! {Benny runs over and is lifted up} Varian: what going on with you two? Sneaking around? Isaiah:  are the sick and injured really doing that bad? Varian:....ummm Isaiah:  dad come on… I need to know. {Varian sighs and puts benny down} Varian:  yeah... they're not doing good. Eugene: people are going to want to know what's going on... we might as well be honest.  we're running out of Medicine.  Hector and his family have been quite the help foraging for ingredients for remedies but that's not going to hold these people off.  if we can't find a way to cure them we're going to lose a lot of people. Isaiah: *gasps*...but...Nathaniel...he.. Varian: I'm sorry buddy but it's not looking good for him. {Isaiah runs out of the tent and Eugene places a hand on Varians shoulder; Cut back to Larkspur groaning in her sleep; Fade into her dream; Younger larkspur sits outside a shop begging for coins} Larkspur:...please...coins? I just want some bread… {A child stops by her and reaches out before being pulled away by his mother} Mother: Don’t speak to beggars! They probably have the plague! {Larkspur growls in anger before shivering} Larkspur: Pathetic whelps...what makes me less than you?....one day you’ll be the ones begging… Unknown woman: Oh is that so? {Larkspur jumps surprised and looks up at a young woman with golden curly hair} Larkspur: ...and you are? Unknown woman: You cut right down to business don't you? Larkspur:  I don't like speaking unless I know whom I'm speaking to. Unknown woman: Fair enough...I’m Chiara, and you? Larkspur:....Larkspur… Chiara: like the flower? Thats so pretty! {She sits next to her} Larkspur:....You're not from here are you? Chiara:  is it that easy to tell?  I just moved here!  I heard there was a huge demand for bakeries!  I want to set up my own shop here. Larkspur:  well lesson number one little miss Chi-chi... I'm a beggar you're supposed to avoid me and pretend I don't exist…. Chiara:...that doesn't sound right.  if you're so down on your luck shouldn't we be working together to help you? {Larkspur laughs} Larkspur:  oh you're really not from here. Chiara:...hmmm...oh! Here! Have some!  it's going to be my bakery’s special! {She hands her a muffin; Larkspur looks at her suspiciously before rolling her eyes and taking it; she takes a bite and her eyes practically glow with amazment} Larkspur: it...IT’S AMA- {She looks at Chiara’s beaming face} Larkspur: it’s good… Chiara: Oh!  I'm so glad you like it! I'm good at baking all sorts of treats but muffins are my specialty.  this one is specifically an apple cinnamon one! {She leans in real close to whisper} Chiara: they're my favorite too! Larkspur: *snerk* Chiara:  oh dear I'm supposed to meet the movers at my new shop!  it was lovely meeting you Larkspur!  I'll see you soon! Larkspur:...yeah...um...thanks...bye. {She sits back against the wall and takes a bite of the muffin before slightly smiling; Fade out on Larkspur smiling asleep; fade back into her dream; Chiara sneaks into a back alley} Chiara: Larkspur? You here? {Larkspur jumps down from a roof onto a wooden crate making Chiara jump} Chiara: OH! Haha! You startled me! Larkspur: How's business? Chiara:  it's been doing great in the past months! I brought cake by the way! Larkspur:  you know I don't have much of a sweet tooth. Chiara:  I know but who doesn't like cake!? {Larkspur smirks and sits next to her; Chiara takes out the cake to show it has larkspur and rose flowers on it} Chiara: Ta-daa! Larkspur: huh? Last time I checked flowers didn't exactly taste very good. Chiara:  no silly!  they’re just decoration! Your name is Larkspur so that was an obvious choice but roses are my favorite!  this is to celebrate several months of friendship! Larkspur:.... Chiara:  you don't like it?  chocolate not your thing? don't tell me you're allergic! Oh i’m sorry! Larkspur: N-no! it's not that at all... I'm just confused. Chiara:  confused? Why? Larkspur:  I'm a beggar..people avoid me...it’s always been that way...people despise me. {Chiara sets the cake down} Chiara: tell me about it? Larkspur:.... my parents died when I was young. plague. I didn't have any next of kin so I was sent here to a poor house.  I don't know what you are living situation was but when you're all alone in the world you have to find allies.  a group of children in that poor house... they were my family… Chiara:....were? Larkspur:...Vardaros was taken over at one point by powerful man. the baron.  he’d pay you good if you worked for him. So my siblings and I decided to work for him. Of course I never got to meet him personally mind you he always had his little big-nosed henchmen do everything for him. that included paying us. I'm not going to sugarcoat it the stuff I did for him... it was bad. not stuff for the faint of heart. you do what you can to survive. Chiara:  what happened? Larkspur:  some people from Corona came and overthrew him… once he was gone that spineless little weasel decided he didn't need us.  he tried to take over the town. he lasted maybe a few days before those people from Corona overthrew him as well.they had Quiad return in “glory”... as if he hadn't been gone for over a decade already.   with our steady pay gone we had to look for other means of survival. nobody wants to hire beggar children…. they all started getting sick… Chiara: larkspur… Larkspur:   there was nothing I could do... I stole whatever I could to try and feed them... but no matter how much I stole it was never enough.  and none of those self-righteous people would ever help.  I watched them all slowly starve to death. they were so much younger than me.  sometimes I would think of them as my children. {larkspur gasps as she feels Chiara wrap her arms around her} Chiara:  I'm so sorry…. I can't imagine that pain. Larkspur: To this day I still don't understand why nobody would help... they think they’re so much better than us... I swore on the day that I saw the last of them starve that I would make everybody in this town feel the same pain and Desperation that I felt. that one day everybody around me would be the ones begging while I walked over them. Chiara:... and would that make you feel better? Larkspur: of course it would! they need to suffer as I have suffered! this whole the innocent and meek shall inherit the earth is garbage!  I didn't do anything to anybody and I suffer day in and day out!  yet these people treat me like I'm garbage and they have a full belly every night! Chiara:  Larkspur... would you say that you felt happy when you were with all those children? Larkspur:... they were my family... course I felt happy with them. Chiara:  and now that you're alone you feel miserable and angry. Larkspur: what is your point? Chiara:  you don't want Vengeance you want love. you miss them. you miss having someone care for you the way that they cared for you.  losing them broke you.  but just because you're broken doesn't mean you can't be put back together. {Larkspur leans into her and Chiara strokes her hair} Chiara: You know I think I have an idea! Larkspur: hmm? Chiara:  there's a spare room in my house. I've mostly been using it for storage but I don't have many things of my own so it's pretty much just an empty room.  but it's warm!  downstairs is the bakery and I could use the help! Larkspur: Are you giving me a job? Chiara: Of course!  you'll get paid and free room and board! Larkspur: why?... Chiara: when something's broken it's easier to have help to put it back together. {Larkspur smiles and hugs her; cut to a few months later as Larkspur enters the shop wearing a simple dress and apron} Chiara: Hi! Welcome home! Larkspur: I just put the horse back and there's new bags of flour in the storage room. Chiara: you’re the best!  thanks for doing that pick up. Larkspur:  it's my job. Chiara:  I know but it's still nice that you do it. {The door jingles as costumers enter} Chiara:  can you handle this one? I'm about to take a fresh batch of sourdough out. Larkspur: don't lie to me you were experimenting with the cakes again weren't you? Chiara:  I will perfect a cake with the best strawberry cream filling! you will see yet! {Larkspur gently shoves her into the back} Larkspur:  just make sure you are trying to use gunpowder to cook faster I don't want another explosion like last time….How can I help you sir? Villager: one sourdo-....... Larkspur:.... Sir? Villager:  you were that beggar… Larkspur:... yes I was a beggar.  but I don't appreciate people prying into my personal life so I'll ask you again, how can I help you sir? Villager:  please tell me you wash your hands before touching the dough! Larkspur:  excuse me? Villager: you were a beggar! you were exposed to all sorts of illnesses weren't you!?  and now you're working in a bread shop!? Disgusting! {Chiara walks in} Chiara:  is there a problem out here? Villager:  you hired a beggar!?  you know how disease-ridden these people are!? Chiara:  sir, that's not very polite. Villager:  who cares about being polite when you could infect the entire town! Chiara: I care about being polite!  now sir if you don't mind I respectfully ask that you leave my establishment and seek business elsewhere. Villager: Oh i’ll leave!  but I'm warning you it isn't good business to hire a beggar! They’re filthy! They have lice! Chiara: Leave now! {Chiara pushes the man from the shop and closes the door} Chiara:  are you okay? Larkspur:  it's nothing that I'm not used to.... in this town once a beggar always a beggar. plus I'm sure some of the people who come in here recognize me from my old work. Chiara:  don't think like that!  sure that guy was a jerk but that doesn't mean all people are bad! once more people start coming in and tasting the delicious bread that we bake they'll forget all about the past!  Promise! {Larkspur furrows her brow for a moment before sighing and nodding} Larkspur:  you have so much faith in people… Chiara:  no I have faith in good food! {She sticks a bun in Larkspurs mouth and she laughs; cut to Isaiah giving water to the sick as Varian watches and sighs} Varian: I have to do something… Eugene:  Varian there's nothing you can do you said it yourself it's too dangerous to sneak back into town. Varian: But there has to be something we can do they're all getting worse! Lance:Well maybe if worse comes to worst we can go to a nearby Kingdom and get some supplies. of course then we'd risk leaving everybody defenseless and possibly leading some people back to the camp… Varian:  you're both just rays of sunshine today aren't you? Rapunzel:  haven't seen this many injured or sick since the Great Fire of Vardaros… Varian: the what? Eugene:  oh right, Varian wasn't here for that, sunshine… Rapunzel:  oh that's right he was on his little Adventure! Varian: AY! Scientific Expedition! Rapunzel: riggghhtt… Lance:  it was this great big fire that spread all over Vardaros… Eugene: yeah apparently it spread in the middle of the night. Vex wrote to us asking for help.  when we got there the entire place have been ravaged by the fire. Rapunzel:  I had Corona help with whatever rebuilding that needed to be done.  unfortunately turns out a lot of people didn’t survive that fire. just find it weird how it started in the middle of the night and nobody seems to know how. Eugene:  a lot of people died sunshine maybe they just didn't want to talk about it. {Varian gets up and starts walking away} Rapunzel: Varian?  where are you going? Varian:  I have to do something to help! Coronavirus faced many bad things throughout history but it's not going to end with us. I'll be sure of that. {He walks off; cut to Larkspur shivering in the throne with her lip quivering; fade into her dream; Larkspur is driving her wagon full of flour, yeast, and sugar home; at first she is calm then she sees an orange glow getting bigger} Larkspur: What on earth? {The bakery is on fire with a crowd of people around it; Larkspur gasps in horror and signals the horse to gallop; once she gets close enough she sees Vex yelling at the small crowd as the bakery is engulfed} Larkspur: …..What...h-happened…? {She hops off the wagon and stumbles over to the burning building; Vex runs over and pulls her back} Larkspur: W-Wait! Chiara! WHERE’S CHIARA!? Vex: Who? Larkspur: The baker! My friend! Vex: ...the bake-.... {Vex sadly looks over at the covered person on the ground; Larkspurs eyes dilate; for a moment all that is heard is Larkspurs heartbeat} Larkspur: AHHHHH!!!! {She runs over and pulls the sheet off her friend to reveal Chiara’s soot covered face} Larkspur: Chiara! Chiara please wake up! Don’t leave me alone again! {Larkspur holds her and sobs} Vex: I..I’m so sorry… Larkspur: WHO DID THIS!? Which one of you monsters did this!? Villager: I did… Larkspur: ….y-you!? Villager: someone in town who frequented you shop caught the plague… Larkspur: SO!? You can catch that anywhere! We were both clean! Villager: as I was just explaining to our lovely Sheriff here we were doing our civic duty and burning the infected business Vex: And as I was telling YOU- you can’t just burn down a building! You didn’t even have evidence they got sick here! And you set it a blaze with someone inside! That’s murder! Larkspur: you...you set fire to the shop and let her die!? {A small explosion rings out; everyone turns to the flames} Larkspur: th-the gun powder… Vex: Gun po-EVERYONE DOWN! {A large explosion erupts from the shop blowing people away and blasting out the display window; Larkspur groggily sits up before looking around and crawling back over to Chiara and holding her close} Larkspur: Chiara… Villager: Help! {Larkspur turns to see the villager pinned under some debrisas the fire spreads to other buildings} Villager: Please help me! The smoke is becoming too thick! {He coughs and sputters as larkspur lifts Chiara} Villager: Please i’ll do...anything..please help… Larkspur:...Shut up you filthy beggar… {She turns an begins walkin out of Vardaros carrying Chiara as the fire spreads further; fade to a hillside over looking Vardaros; Larkspur lays down some roses on a makeshift grave; she looks over at the smouldering town} Larkspur: Never again...I Swear Chiara...I'm never going to let this world bring me down again...I'll show them all... I'll show them what happens when you kick people around. Eventually we're able to kick back.  that's what I'm going to do. If I'm not allowed to have love... I'll have fear... I'll be the one on top... people will follow me. I'll make them pay for what they did to us. all of them. {Cut to Larkspur jerking awake with a gasp} Vergus: Mistress? Are you alright? Larkspur:...y-yeah...yes..I’m fine.. how long have I been asleep? Vergus:  almost the entire day.  you needed the rest. Larkspur: Vergus?... can you cook? Vergus:  mistress? ummm... yes I can cook fairly well why? Larkspur:...  could you please cook some apple cinnamon muffins? {Vergus cocks an eyebrow} Vergus: I..uhh..Y-yes... of course mistress I'll get right on it… {larkspur stares off at the sunset coldly; cut to camp as Isaiah is carrying in a stack of logs; he trips} Isaiah: YAGH! Bjørn: Whoa little man! {Juniper catches Isaiah and Bjørn catches the logs} Bjørn: Don't over exceed your own weight. Isaiah:  I could say the same to you whenever the Soup pot is done Juniper: PFFTT!! Bjørn: why you little- Hector: Bjørn! Juniper! Bjørn: Coming father! This isn’t over. {Isaiah yawns and stretches as he walks over to his families tent; he stops once inside an smiles; Varian snores on his bed  surrounded by various books about healing. Herbology, and alchemy; Isaiah throws a blanket on him and blows out the candle} {END CREDITS}

#tangled #rapunzel’s tangled adventure #matters of the heart #fanfic #Eugene Fitzherbert #larkspur #tts hector #Rapunzel #tangled the series #TTS #RTA #tts oc #rta oc #lance strongbow