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finnsbubblegum · 1 year

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I Don’t Deserve You {Part 1} (Joel Miller x Reader)

Pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, protective joel, use of (y/n) and (y/l/n), age gap (reader is in her 20s and Joel is in his 50s), mentions of abuse, vague mentions of period (lmk if i missed any)

Summary: You were popular in Jackson but you have been single your whole life. Despite many men flirting with you, you have never found your ideal type. Until one day, you saw Joel and you fell in love at first sight. But he felt insecure.

Words count: 2.2k

A/N: There will be part 2 for this one so stay tuned!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

“Hey (y/n)! You’re here!.” Your friend, Lily greeted you.

“Hi Lily! It’s Friday night and I have nothing to do at home. I heard tonight is the kids’ movie night. I thought I’d stop by and see my students. What are they playing tonight?”

“The Lion King. It's the third time they’re playing it again. Ugh.”

“Oh! Well, I can’t blame them. Kids love The Lion King. ”

You were a teacher in Jackson so you knew how much the kids love that movie. They would ask you to sing Hakuna Matata every day in school.

“(y/n) look there.” Lily gave you a sign to look behind you.

You were familiar with Tommy and Maria. But you didn’t recognize the other two. You saw a man who looked similar to Tommy but older and a teen girl walking inside following Tommy and Maria.

“Newcomers?” You asked Lily.

“They came a while ago. I heard his name is Joel Miller.”

“Miller? So he’s Tommy’s brother then?” You tilted your head.

“I’m guessing older brother. He came with the girl. I assumed she’s his daughter. But no wife. Probably single.” Lily smirked and lightly bumped her elbow to you.

Lily knew you’ve been single your whole life. You were pretty popular in Jackson. You were beautiful inside out and everyone adored your kind and altruistic self. You have had many men flirting with you but you have never found “The One”.

“Why are you giving me that face?” You slapped Lily’s upper arm.

You were slightly annoyed with Lily’s action but deep down you liked it. He was probably a lot older than you but you couldn’t deny the fact that the middle-aged man looked hot with his salt and pepper hair. His shoulder was broad and he was a lot taller than you. His face didn’t look friendly but you could see a strong man from his eyes.

“Well, I mean he looked pretty hot for his age.” You put your hand behind your neck awkwardly.

“I know right! Why don’t you try and go talk to him?” Lily pushed you.

“Oh no no, that’s not why I’m here today. I’m here to watch a movie with my students.”

“Ugh..You’re no fun (y/n).” Lily crossed her arms.

“Okay, enough talking about men. Now, I’m gonna get me some popcorn and enjoy The Lion King.” You walked away giving a mocking face to your friend.

“Ms. (y/l/n)!” A little boy called you and hugged your legs.

“Hey Timmy! Are you here with your parents?” You crouched to be the same height as the little boy.

“Yes! There!” Timmy pointed his index finger to show you where his parents were.

“Do you want some popcorn?” You smiled as you caressed his hair.

“Yes! Yes!” He jumped excitedly.

“Okay, Timmy. Calm down.” You chuckled as you took two bowls of popcorn for you and Timmy.

“Here.” You gave Timmy his popcorn.

“Thank you, Ms. (y/l/n)!” He ran to his seat as the movie was starting.

Your heart was warm just by watching how excited the little boy was. You smiled as you stood up. You looked to your right and found Joel staring at you. He looked away immediately when you made eye contact with him. You pretended it never happened and walked to find a seat.

“Pretty, huh?” Tommy teased Joel.

“What?” Joel acted dumb.

“I know you were starin’ at that pretty girl right there, Joel. Don’t even think about it. All the men in Jackson have tried winning her heart but no one has succeeded.” Tommy scoffed.

“I wasn’t even thinkin’ about it.” Joel growled.

Joel lied. Deep down in his heart he thought you were attractive. You were beautiful in his eyes, especially the way you were so kind to the little kid before. For the past 20 years, kindness was something that was not common to see. So he felt warm in his heart when he saw someone so pretty and kind before his eyes.

The night ends with you having a split second of eye contact with Joel.

On Sundays, you took part in church services as one of the singers of the choir group. You were singing and found Joel sitting beside Tommy, Maria and Ellie. You saw him staring at you as you were singing. You tried to focus and avoid eye contact with him. Again, the two of you never had a conversation. Just eye contact. You went with your week without bumping into Joel. You couldn’t help thinking about him. He was your type and you wanted to get to know him more. But you were scared of how intimidating he looked and people were talking about how grumpy he was.

One week had passed since you saw Joel. It was Saturday night, you were suffocated in your bedroom as you couldn’t stop thinking about him. After a few moments of rolling on your bed, you decided to go to the bar where Lily worked.

“Oh, (y/n). I’m glad you’re here. One of our workers didn’t come to work today. We need help. Will you help us?” Lily sighed and gave you the puppy eyes.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” You followed Lily behind the bar counter and put on the apron she gave you.

“Thank you so much. You’re my lifesaver. So, you know the drill, right? You’ve helped me here a few times before.” Lily put her hands to hold your upper arm.

“Of course.” You nodded.

Apparently, you have always helped Lily at the bar whenever she needed help. You loved your friend so you were always there to help her whenever you were available. It was hectic for a few hours then people were starting to leave. That was the moment you saw Joel walking inside towards you. He chose a seat in front of the bar counter. You were wiping some glasses as he sat in front of you.

“What can I get you?” You asked him.

“Just a glass of beer.” His eyes looked tired but he tried to give you a smile.

“Here.” You passed him the beer.

You were thinking maybe this was your chance to have a conversation with him. With the man who had been occupying your mind the whole week. You gathered your courage and started a conversation.

“Long day, huh?”

“Nearly got one of the guys killed on patrol today.” He told you as he drank his beer.

“Oh. Is he okay?” You tried to sympathize with him.

“He’s fine. Got a few stitches but he’s fine physically. I’m not sure about mentally.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Hoping your words could help him calm down.

He nodded and looked at you. You could see his lips moving. It looked like he was trying to say something but he was hesitating.

“You were amazing the other day.” He finally found his words.

“Huh?” You were confused.

“I saw you in church last Sunday.”

“Oh! You mean choir. Thank you.” You couldn’t hide your smile from his compliment.

You flinched as you heard Lily calling your name, cutting off your conversation with Joel. Joel was eavesdropping.

“(y/n)! Thank you so much for helping us. We have less customers now. You can go home and rest now. You can have a voucher for a free drink if you want.” Lily was grateful to have a friend like you.

“It’s nothing. That’s what friends are for. I’m always here to help. Anyways, can I have that free drink tonight?” Lily smirked as she knew what you were going to do.

You took off your apron and walked towards Joel.

“Can I join you?” You asked Joel.

“Sure.” He nodded and dragged the chair next to him for you to sit.

“I’m (y/n). I haven’t got your name.” You extended your hand to shake his hand.

“Joel. Joel Miller.” He shook your hand.

“Miller? As in Tommy Miller?” You pretended like you didn’t know him.

“He’s my brother. Younger brother.”

You hummed and nodded as if you just connected the dot.

“So, you work here?” Joel faced you and asked.

“Uhm..No, I was just helping my friend today. One of the workers didn’t come so I came to help.”

“How nice of you. Don’t think there’s someone who's still kind enough in this ruined world.”

“I guess there is still hope.”

Joel scoffed.

“So, if you’re not a bartender then..”

“Guess. What kind of job do you think I’m doing?” You tried to flirt with Joel.

“Uhmm.. nurse?” Joel shrugged.

“Hmm..nope.” You shook your head.

“Teacher? I don’t know but I think you will make a great teacher like teaching kids. You look really patient.” Joel answered with a doubting tone.

“No way? Really? You’re right though. I teach kids in this town. I’ve been teaching for a few years now.” You chuckled.

“What do you teach? Fractions?” Joel tried to joke. (TLOU ep 1 reference 😂)

“Yes, yes. It’s one of them.” You threw your head back and laughed.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He looked like he was proud of getting the right answer.

“How about you?” You asked him back.

“Me?” He pointed at himself on the chest.

“You do patrols?” You nodded and drank your beer.

“I..uh.. arrived here not long ago. Still figurin’ things out and helpin’ doin’ patrols at the moment.”

“You must be a tough guy.” You gave him a light fist on his upper arm and you could feel how strong his biceps were.

He flinched at the touch as he was getting butterflies from your slight touch. He didn’t know he would ever feel that feeling that he hadn’t had for years.

“Oh shit.” You sighed as you saw Josh, the man who was obsessed with you coming towards you.

“You know you shouldn’t say that word when you’re teachin’ right?” Joel teased you not knowing about the situation.

“Hey, baby. Why are you drinking without me?” Josh put his arms around you as he sat next to you.

“I don’t have a reason to drink with you, Josh.” You rolled your eyes as you shoved his hand away.

“Cranky. Are you at that time of the month?” He mocked you.

Josh had asked you out before but you didn’t like him. You knew he only wanted to get inside your pants. Just like the other guys. But he was obsessed with you. You rejected his proposal to be his girlfriend but he kept coming after you.

Joel watched you as you clenched your fist gripping your jeans. He knew you were not comfortable with Josh’s appearance so instead of leaving, he stayed beside you.

“So who is this old man? I haven’t seen you.” Josh looked at Joel.

“He’s my friend.” You answered him coldly.

“I’m Joel.” Joel introduced himself without extending his hand to shake hands with Josh.

“Well, Joel. I need time alone to be with (y/n). Can you leave?” Josh moved his hands back and forth as he was trying to tell Joel to go away.

You were scared. You didn’t want to be alone with Josh. Not after that time, when he slapped you after saying no to be his girlfriend. Your hands were shaking and Joel noticed.

“We were about to leave actually. I promised (y/n) somethin’.” Joel lied to help you get out of this situation.

You looked at Joel and let out a sigh as you felt safe that Joel would protect you. Joel stood up and held your wrist to get you out of the bar.

“She’s staying.” Josh grabbed your other wrist.

You gasped and your eyes were teary.

“You really don’t want to mess with me, kid.” Joel growled.

You could see his death stare at Josh. Josh got scared as Joel was bigger than him. Even though he looked intimidating, you weren’t scared of him. Instead, you felt safe and comfortable. As you and Joel walked a few steps far enough from the bar, Joel stopped.

“You’re shakin’. Are you alright?” His voice was soft. It sounded very different from when he was talking to Josh.

“I-I-Uhm-I’m fine. Thank you.” You couldn’t breathe properly because you were too scared.

Josh’s appearance made all your bad memories came to your head again.

“Hey. You’re safe now.” Joel rubbed your back up and down to make you feel calm.

“Where do you live? Let me walk you home.”

“Uh-It’s- 15 minute walk from here.” You guided Joel to your house.

“So is this Josh guy your ex-boyfriend or somethin’?” Joel asked.

“Ugh. No. He asked me out but I said no. And then he slapped me. Many times. I got bruises from it.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry that happened to you.” Joel closed his eyes as he was shocked to hear that happened to you. He wondered how someone could hurt a kind and nice person like you.

As you arrived at your front porch, you faced Joel.

“Thank you for helping me out today, Joel.”

“No problem. Just find me whenever you need help.” He shoved his hands in his pocket.

The night ended. You were glad you finally talked to Joel today. And your head couldn’t stop rewinding that scene when he saved you from Josh. You giggled and kicked your blanket thinking about him. You just talked to him once but your feelings towards Joel had already grown deeper.

To be continued..

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller x you #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader #the last of us x you #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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flowerandblood · 2 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (20)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, swearing, remorse ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had no idea how this insolent whore had come up with this insane plan, what had come into her empty little head to accuse him of taking her maidenhood in front of everyone. Her words spoken with such certainty and coolness shocked him, his mouth gaped wide in disbelief, for a moment his body froze.

What?

"Lie." He growled angrily, unable to get anything else out, outraged and infuriated by the loud chatter of the entire court around him.

If she really thought she'd succeeded, that he'd take her as his wife just because she'd come up with such a filthy lie, she was sorely mistaken.

Even if it had happened, even if he had been forced to take a second wife, he would have strangled her with his own hands during their wedding night without considering what would happen afterwards.

It seemed that he had perfectly guessed her awful character at their first meeting and had indeed chosen the most unpleasant of sisters, for at his words her lips curved in a grimace full of mockery. The King asked her a question, from which she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I ran after the Prince once he wanted to leave. He took me in one of the corridors of our fortress against my will."

Fucking whore.

I'll kill her, he thought.

I'll approach her and strangle her with my own hands.

"Disgusting lies. I followed my nephew out the stronghold and returned to the Red Keep to fulfil my duty to my father that same night. It was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman." He sneered with mockery in his voice, from which Lord Baratheon's daughter's face curved in disbelief and humiliation.

He thought with satisfaction that she was now surely imagining how he had taken the woman who stood by his side just after he had promised her he would marry her.

He swallowed loudly, thinking with a hard pounding heart that his wife didn't believe this absurdity, didn't doubt for a moment that what this wicked woman was saying was a lie.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, horrified, and noticed that she was pale, her chin lifted proudly, her gaze fixed on Maris.

He shuddered as his brother's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"As I see it, opinions are divided on what happened. Lord Baratheon is a party. Is there anyone else who could confirm your version of events, my Lady?" He asked lightly, as if the whole situation amused him, Maris pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze.

Her whole family knew that what she was saying was a great, disgusting lie.

His brother turned to him after a moment.

"And you, brother, can anyone confirm your words?"

He swallowed hard, furious that he had to remind himself of the person he despised so much, however, he had no other choice if he wanted to protect his and his wife's honour.

"My nephew."

Fortunately, his would-be wife quickly realised her mistake made in an act of desperation to drag him down with her and gave in, eventually signing the terms of the agreement between their family and the crown together with her father.

He wanted to demand that, in front of everyone gathered, she retract her lies and clear his good name, but hesitated when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his wife had simply left.

She didn't believe him, he thought with disbelief and pain.

She didn't believe him, even though he had always been faithful to her.

He swallowed loudly, wanting to follow her, but stopped in his half-step noticing something glistening on the stone floor in the colour of scarlet.

Blood.

He cursed quietly under his breath, wiping the mark off with his boot, looking around, wanting to make sure the guards hadn't spotted it.

The last thing they needed now was rumours that she wasn't carrying his heir.

He moved behind her with a squeeze in his throat, seeing that she had left red droplets behind her, which disappeared, however, upon his steps towards her chamber. He stepped inside unannounced and she shuddered, looking at him apprehensively, apparently trying to untie her gown herself, wrestling with her sleeves.

"I wish to be alone." She muttered in a trembling voice, her cheeks red from the tears that had surely been running down her face just a moment ago, but which she was now holding back with the remnants of her strong will.

He answered her only when the door closed behind him with the quiet clatter of old wood.

"I have wiped the traces you left behind. No one but me knows."

He saw something akin to pain and despair flash across her face, her eyebrows arched in grief, her eyes glazed over again from tears, her swollen, lower lip trembling, her mouth tightened into a thin line. She finally clamped her eyelids shut and wept quietly, bending her head, her hands clenched on her lower abdomen.

He approached her, grabbing her hair with a soft gesture and snuggled her face into his chest – she burst out into a loud sob as his arms closed her in a tight embrace, as his nose sank into the top of her head, inhaling her addictive scent.

Vanilla.

"I knew it was going to happen. I could feel it in my bones, but I still had hope." She mumbled in a breaking, trembling voice, from which he felt a sting in his heart. He sighed quietly, brushing her hair with the slow, tender strokes of his hand as if she were a small child.

"I know."

They were both sad and disappointed, however he knew he shouldn't burden her with these thoughts when she felt so guilty herself.

He blinked, snapped out of his reverie, looking down at her when he heard her hiss and flinch, her hand tightening on her womb again, her eyelids clenched as if trying to wait out what she was feeling.

"Are you in pain?" He asked, taking the unruly curls of her hair from her face – she was only able to nod, swallowing hard.

"The first day is the greatest suffering."

As a man, he had never delved into motherhood or what was involved in female fertility, knowing the basics of course; he was aware of what he had to do for a woman to carry his heir and that if she bled, it was necessary to try again.

He knew his mother and sister went through the first days of this unpleasant process in their chambers, not attending supper at the time.

He thought then that this was due to the fact that it was an embarrassing matter for them and they preferred to remain in peace and solitude at the time, something he had always regarded with respect.

However, now that he was a husband and had watched his wife's suffering after he had helped her change into a new, clean nightgown, he involuntarily wanted to better understand what she was going through.

To know how he should behave and what she needed.

He watched without a word as she tucked the linen cloth under her buttocks and between her thighs, which she then covered with the material of her white chemise, evidently wanting it to absorb the blood that flowed from her and not stain the bedding.

He also noticed that she still held her hand pressed to her womb, her eyelids clenched in discomfort, a murmur of displeasure leaving her lips once in a while. He sat down beside her on the bed, watching her closely, resting his hand on hers in a place that was clearly causing her discomfort.

"Tell your husband what is causing your suffering." He hummed softly, stroking the soft skin of her palm with his thumb. He heard her sigh quietly, looking up at him finally, apparently wondering how she should explain this to a man.

"I feel a painful stinging in my lower abdomen. Imagine someone gently jabbing a needle or the tip of a dagger into your stomach and not pulling it out. That's what I feel." She mumbled at last, and he furrowed his brow as he looked at her lower abdomen, imagining how unpleasant it must have felt.

"Is it like this every time?"

"Yes. Although sometimes it's a bit worse or a bit better. This time it's unbearable." She muttered, looking away, staring at the canopy over her bed. He hummed at her words, unconsoled by her undeserved suffering.

"Would anything bring you relief?" He asked at last, hearing her let the air out of her lungs.

"The Maester in Dragonstone always brought me a leather sack filled with hot water. He would put a cloth on my lower abdomen so that I wouldn't get burned, put a knotted pouch over it and put it on my womb, covering me with furs afterwards. Then for some reason I always felt relieved and the pain became bearable." She said finally; he got up and walked to the door, opening it wide, ordering their servants to do exactly as she said.

Following his command, one of the servants finally stepped into her chamber with a sack filled with hot water, asking if his lady-wife had fainted and needed anything.

He took the pouch from her and dismissed her, then approached her, sitting down beside her on the bed and, in accordance with her words, after placing the cloth on her womb, he placed the sack on top of it, covering it with furs, a loud sigh of relief escaping her lips. She closed her eyes and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

"− good gods − thank you −" She mumbled.

"− doesn't that burn you? −" He asked uncertainly, but she just shook her head.

"− no − no, that's how it should be −"

Silence fell between them, and he watched her face as she lay with her eyes closed, clearly trying to relax.

"− what she said − it was a lie, wasn't it? −" She asked quietly, and he sighed heavily, leaning down, burying his face in his hand, tired and discouraged.

So she had doubts about his faithfulness after all.

"− obviously − I chose her because she seemed to me the most unpleasant and repulsive of them all − I didn't want to waste the life of any decent woman knowing what would await her −" He replied finally, hearing his niece twist next to him in her place.

"− and what would await her? −" She asked uncertainly; he let the air quietly out of his lungs, massaging his temple.

"− I don't know what you would call living in the shadow of another woman −" He replied after a moment's thought, hearing his wife swallow hard.

"− for your marriage to be valid, you would have to lie in bed with her −" She muttered quietly in a trembling voice. He felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, at the idea of what it would have to look like, what he would have to do.

How dirty he would feel afterwards.

"− yes −"

He heard her draw in a loud breath – clearly the mere image of him in another woman's arms caused her pain, and while her jealousy brought him some kind of satisfaction, it was also the cause of the discomfort that filled his lower abdomen.

The thought that he might derive pleasure from it, desire another woman while she awaited him in another chamber.

"− would you do it? − would you take her? −" She mumbled, he heard her voice break in fear of his response.

"− and you? − would you lie with your cousin if your mother told you to? − surely she would have led to these nuptials if you had returned to Dragonstone with her then, would she not? −" He growled, frustrated that she was asking him such questions, not knowing what answer she wanted to hear.

He saw a single, solitary tear run down the side of her face onto the pillow beneath her head; he sighed heavily seeing this, wiping the moisture from her skin with the top of his hand.

"− there, there − enough of these tears − didn't my words give you satisfaction? − my public expression that I married you out of lust? −" He asked calmly, not wanting to add either her or himself to their suffering and sorrow. He hummed as her face lit up with a light, warm smile.

"− it was not your maidenhood I took then, shameless woman −" She repeated his words with amusement, trying to mimic his deep, low tone of voice. He snorted, shaking his head, involuntarily grinning with mockery at the mere memory.

"− gods, it was pure madness −"

Although he usually spent this part of the day training, during which he mistreated and lashed out at Criston, he decided to spend the afternoon with her, knowing that she needed him. He lay beside her as she finally fell asleep, looking at her face wondering what the future held for them.

What would happen if her mother did not agree to their terms.

He knew someone would die then, that no matter how much he loved her, he would not agree to Jace being heir to the throne.

He feared that she would hate him again.

This time forever.

He shuddered when a guard walked into their chamber – he wanted to express his displeasure that he had allowed himself to enter without permission, but the man spoke up before him.

"Word has arrived from Dragonstone, Your Grace."

He looked at her peaceful, sleeping face and swallowed hard, standing up quietly and nodding to the man, wanting him to lead him to the King.

When he was led into the chamber of the Small Council his brother sat at the head of the table with a rolled up parchment in his hand, looking at him with raised eyebrows, to his left and right sat their mother and their grandfather.

"What is their answer?" He asked in a low, deep voice feeling his voice quiver involuntarily in terror.

Aegon sighed quietly.

"Rheanyra will not make any decision until she speaks with her daughter. She demands that they meet in the Eyrie, on more neutral ground, with or without our presence. Daemon will accompany her."

He swallowed hard and let the air out of his lungs, feeling both tense and relieved, knowing that nothing was won or lost at the same time.

"What do you command, My King?" He asked finally, his brother hummed under his breath.

"I am no fool and I will not allow you to spend the night under the roof of a family that can cut your throat in your sleep. No, when all shall be confirmed, you will fly together to Harrenhal, where you will be hosted by Lord Strong. From there you will travel on my behalf to negotiate with my sister. I will not leave King's Landing knowing that they may take advantage of this and conquer the Red Keep in my absence."

"Aegon, it's a trap. The Eyrie is her mother's ancestral stronghold, her allies. They will make them their prisoners by force. After what happened today in the throne room, Lord Baratheon will gladly support her. You have weakened us." Their mother protested, clenching her hands into fists, looking at her son-king with pleading eyes. Aegon sighed heavily at her words, spreading himself comfortably in his chair.

"This is my final decision. Convince your wife to soften her mother. Daemon will pull for the war, but it is not his opinion that matters. She may already be carrying your heir in her womb, order the maesters to examine her." He said encouragingly, and his lips tightened at his words.

"No. That will not be necessary."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, caused by the tone of his voice and the impassive expression on his face.

His mother hid her face in her hands, shaking her head, knowing what his words meant, his older brother closed his eyes and swallowed loudly, looking at him again after a moment.

"Good gods, lie to them. Say that she is expecting your child. That the gods support our cause. After all, women do miscarry, don't they, mother?" He asked her lightly. The Queen looked at him in pain and disbelief, lowering her gaze in grief and shame, surely seeing the face of her childhood friend in her mind.

"You are leading us to our ruin out of sheer malice and stupidity." Hummed their grandfather in a hoarse voice, looking at the gold coin he was playing with between his fingers. "You will repeat my words one day."

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peachymilkandcream · 1 month

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The Truth About Your Mother|Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: I wanted to do a oneshot with older Levi and his grown kids. I've been brainrotting about how they would interact with their parents and their father's ways. Let me know if I should do a part 2 with the story! (Because it got really long for build up lmao))

WARNINGS: implied noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

================================================

Levi's children were his pride and joy, after all he had put Evelyn through in the end she had blessed him with seven children. Four strapping boys and three beautiful girls. Furlan and Isabel were nearly grown now, and the twins Kenneth and Erwin were old enough to have a mind of their own.

Each of his children lived up to their namesakes, named after those he both loved and hated simply because of the person who carried the name before them. He wanted each of his children to embody the strength and spirit of those who they named them after. Although after the first few, he ran out of noble people to name his children after, leaving him with one Julien, and his youngest daughter Maria, named after the mission that brought him his wife and the greatest honor he had ever recieved.

Growing up they had a strict regime in order to become just like their father in all things. He wanted these brats to be a legacy for him. To have anyone who came in contact with one of them know they were Ackermans. When they succeeded he rewarded them greatly. Many a nobleman's child envied the lavish birthday parties and Christmas celebrations Levi gave.

They all grew up to respect and adore their father. Able to tell him anything and receive sound advice, as well as affection. He rarely raised his hand towards them, and when he did they knew why they had deserved it.

However they never knew the truth about their mother's history. Or how she was treated.

After her return to the manor, what Levi ingrained Furlan into remembering as "Mama's big mistake", was the last time she defied Levi. Soon her attitude became like his, and therefore like her children. The town's people bitterly nicknamed it the "Ackerman arrogance", when the dark hair and cold eyes of that family entered the vicinity, all knew to watch out or be cut down with their influence and sharp tongue.

Evelyn was more nurturing and caring than Levi, and left all the discipline to him. However the children still favored their father, since it was his instruction and wallet that gave them all their heart's content.

Levi never beat or even yelled at his wife in front of their kids, determined to show himself in the best light to them. But they were all warned to let Papa know if Mama was trying to disobey him.

He had carefully constructed his life so his children would never know the terrible secret.

At least he thought.

================================================

Furlan had been Erwin Smith's personal assistant since he was old enough to be. Having the lessons of the military beaten into him he didn't have to go to basic training. But that didn't mean he didn't catch onto the other's looks of envy and annoyance seeing such a young cadet get such a valued position.

While he sat typing up the notes from the Commander's last meeting he couldn't help but notice today Erwin staring at him.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

Erwin shakes his head. "Nothing really. I just can't get over how much you look like Levi."

Furlan offers the slightest smile. "Thank you sir, that means a lot."

"How is the old bastard getting on? We've both been so busy friendly chats are out of the question."

"As well as he can be. I don't think he'll ever shake that limp and his cane, I've never seen him without it since I was born. But he's the same Levi, in fact I think my siblings help keep him and Mother young."

Erwin scoffs. "Of course. Nothing can touch the unkillable soldier."

Furlan detects the bitterness in his voice. "Sir? Can I ask you a question?"

"What is it."

"Do you not like my father? I know my brother is named after you but it still seems like you don't like him."

"I respect that he knows how to play the game. I respect his judgement and his skills. But no, I'm not particularly fond of him."

"Can I ask why?"

"Ask him for the truth about your Mother, about how he got her to marry him."

"Sir-"

"If you want the truth, then you'll have to suck it up and demand it yourself. He's been lying to you all for years."

===============================================

"And that's what he said Father." Furlan had gathered the oldest four siblings, him, Kenneth, Isabel, and Erwin all together to hear what Levi had to say. The little ones didn't need to hear this, especially if it was what he feared.

Levi taps his cigarette into the waiting tray. "So you think your old man has been lying to you. My own brats don't trust me."

Isabel is quick for damage control. "Please Father, you know we're not accusing you of anything. We just want to know the truth."

Levi pats her head, taking a moment and sighing. "Very well. I think you should all have a seat.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #break me slowly #levi x oc #levi aot #levi x reader #levi ackerman #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader

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corneliaavenue-ao3 · 1 year

Note

I have a prompt.

Hinny gets caught in the act by Mr and Mrs Weasley.

There is no way that didn't happen at least once.

"Stop fidgeting" Ginny shushed Harry who was sitting on the couch next to her.

"You should be fidgeting too," Harry whispered back at her. "Your mum is going to kill us."

Ginny placed her hand on Harry's thigh, "She isn't going to kill us. At most, she is going to kill me for corrupting her favorite."

Harry grunted in response. He continued to bounce his legs waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to come back from the kitchen where he was sure they were plotting all the different ways they could torture him.

It's not like he and Ginny were doing anything that inappropriate. Sure his hand was up their daughter's shirt, and yes the door was closed and locked, and yes they were laying on her bed. But it's not like they weren't wearing clothes! Sure his shirt was off, but he walked around the Burrow shirtless all the time! Ginny was wearing her tank top (the same tank top she told him once didn't look good in a bra so she didn't wear one) and a pair of shorts (that barely covered her arse.)

Like Harry said, they weren't doing anything inappropriate.

But Mrs. Weasley barged into her daughter's room with a fresh load of laundry and interupted the couple, so now they were sitting in the living room like two children. Like he wasn't in love with their daughter.

She knew that of course.

He told her often. It just wasn't something that he announced publicly.

Maybe he should have at least told her parents so they would stop plotting all the different ways they could kill the boy who lived for attempting to shag their daughter.

At least they think I only attempted and haven't succeeded, yet Harry thought.

His thoughts were interupted by the kitchen door opening, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both walking in. Mrs. Weasley's face looked stern, a similar appearance that he had seen many times before when she yelled at Ron for not cleaning his room, or when the Twins stole the Ford Angela. A look he has never seen directed at himself.

Harry gulped.

Mr. Weasley was hard to read. Face neutral. Letting his wife make the call of what needed to be said to the couple on the couch.

Silence pierced the room, Harry held his breath, hoping he could shrink into the couch.

"Well?" Ginny finally asked, breaking the silence. "Are you going to ground us or can we go out to the orchid for a flight?"

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips at her daughter, "Are you being safe."

Ginny scoffed at the idea. Harry rather wished she wouldn't make things worse.

"Of couse, I remember every lesson you taught me."

Mrs. Weasley paused for a second, looking like she also wanted to retort some sassy response at her daughter. Her husband stepped in.

"That is all we ask. You two being safe. Go enjoy your flight." Mr. Weasley said, dismissing them.

Harry paused for a moment, unable to believe his luck. His (beautiful, reckless) girlfriend jumped up from the couch. "Bye!" She shouted back at her parents, pulling Harry up with the couch with her.

Harry didn't dare to look back at his girlfriend's parents, lucky to make it out alive.

They ran out back to the orchard, behind the big Willow tree, hidden from view from the kitchen window.

"You're parents are terrifying," Harry muttered, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah but they gave us permission to leave, so why don't we continue off where we started?"

#hinny #drunk prompts

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magicalmadrigals · 2 years

Text

Playtime

@ginnyweatherby and I have some of the best brainstorm moments I have ever known and it was through one of those moments that the idea for this one shot came about! I always love writing about Gus and Juli being silly with their kids when they were little, so this was a dream to write! Hope you like it!

Glancing up from the cardigan she was in the middle of knitting at the sound of thundering feet and infectious laughter above her, Julieta looked over at the clock on the wall and a knowing smile appeared on her face when she noticed what time it was. It was ten-to-eight, very nearly time for her daughters to be put to bed, and the two of them were once again engaged in their favourite game with their father. She had no idea how the game came to be, to be honest, but it seemed as though he had done it one night purely to be funny and the girls had loved it and demanded he played it with them for ten minutes each night before they had to go to bed.

It gave them some much-needed quality time with their papí and tired them out in the process, so it was a win-win situation.

If there was an aim to this game of theirs, however, then she honestly had no idea what it was and they had been playing it for ages. All she knew was that it started off as something resembling a game of tag and then it turned into pure chaos when he succeeded in catching them. He would tickle them and smother them with kisses, causing them to squeal and giggle and try to wriggle away from him, and she was forever having to tell the three of them to quieten down just a little before they woke the whole of the Encanto up. Her girls always complained a bit at that, but they soon cheered up when she promised them a bedtime story once they were in bed.

“Mamí! Mamí!”

Reaching over to set her knitting down on the arm of the settee, she traced the curve of her growing bump with a hand and laughed when she turned her head to see her daughters running towards the sitting room as fast as their little legs could carry them. Roses were falling from Isabela’s hair, leaving a long trail through the courtyard, and Luisa had her thumb in her mouth while she dragged her treasured teddy bear behind her. It was on the tatty side and only had one eye due to a tragic accident, but she loved that thing. She wrapped her arms tight around them both when they reached her, allowing them to cuddle against her chest while they giggled.

“Papí is going to get us, mamí, papí is going to get us!” Isa told her, pushing an errant curl from her face as she breathed heavily.

“Standing around here isn’t going to do you much good then, princesas, is it?” Julieta teased.

“But you can protect us, mamí, you can keep us safe!” Luisa explained, taking her thumb from her mouth to pat her knee.

Julieta nodded in understanding. “I see. Where-“

Before she could even ask her question, her esposo appeared in the doorway to the sitting room and she felt her heart skip a beat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, his hair was an utter mess and she was sure he had never looked more gorgeous. “You two are getting to be far too fast for your poor old papí, you know,” He puffed as he leant against the doorframe for a second, putting on a complete show of catching his breath which only made his girls laugh all the more. “I have you trapped now though, thankfully, you have nowhere else to go and you know what that means. It means that I win.”

“No!” Luisa argued as she and Isa climbed up onto the settee to sit with their mother. “Mamí is playing now and she’ll protect us!”

“Are you?” Agustín raised an eyebrow at his wife and gave her a smile.

Julieta shrugged. “I have no idea how I managed to get myself roped into this – I never do – but it definitely seems as though I am.”

“Maravilloso!” He rubbed his hands together with happiness. “Surely, that means mamí should be on my team.”

“No! Mamí is on our team! Why should she be on your team?” Isabela frowned while crossing her arms over her chest.

“Because, mi pequeña mariposa, I married her and that means she is on my team by default. Plus, I’m outnumbered already, so…”

“Ay, Agustín, they’re only little.”

“Sí, papí, we’re only little!” Isabela and Luisa reminded him, encouraged by their mother.

He huffed, slowly starting to approach them. “You are, but do you know what your being so little means?”

Isabela and Luisa looked at one another and then back at him. “What…?”

“You are the perfect size to steal!” He grabbed Luisa before she had time to react and immediately began tickling her, nearly getting himself deafened by her squeals as he held her tight to his chest and fell backwards into the armchair with her. He covered her face with quick kisses, chuckling along with her when she arched her back and fought with all the strength she could muster to get away.

“Let her go! Let her go! Let her go!”

Try as he might, he was unable to keep himself from chuckling louder when Isa jumped into his lap and started whacking him with a cushion she had taken from the settee. His glasses almost flew from his face at one point, but he somehow managed to wrestle the cushion from her hands and grab her with his free arm, dragging her to his chest and starting to tickle her ribs as relentlessly as he was her hermanita. “Mamí! Mamí, you need to…” Luisa managed to get out between bouts of laughter. “You have to try and save us!”

“You are the worst protector ever!” Isabela added.

Julieta only laughed as she got a little more comfortable against the cushion propped up against her back, rubbing circles onto her belly as her baby moved. “I hope you know what you signed up for, deciding to be born into this familia,” She said, looking down at her stomach. “I promise you, once you are born you are never going to know a moment’s peace again. Not with those three anyway.”

“Hey!”

Focusing her attention on her family again at their sounds of protest, she smirked at the way the three of them were looking at her. “I think you should get mamí, papí, that would be funny,” Luisa told him, patting his chest. “You should tickle her like you tickle us!”

Agustín chuckled nervously. “I think I might pass on that one, mi vida, I could do without another broken nose.”

“Ay, it has been over a decade, would you let that go? Besides, it was your own fault! Who sneaks up on somebody and tickles them?”

“I thought it would be graciosa. I was trying to surprise you!”

“You did surprise me,” Julieta reminded him. “You also got a surprise of your own out of my response, so I consider us even.”

Leaning in towards her sister, Isabela lowered her voice and said: “Remind me to never, ever tickle mamí.”

Luisa nodded, wide-eyed.

“Oh, mi princesa, I would never hurt you!” Julieta assured her little girl, a giggle in her voice.

“So, you just save that for your esposo?” Agustín teased.

“In my defence, your nose is a little on the big side. Not easy to miss.” She winced.

Agustín threw his hands up. “I feel so blessed to have such a loving esposa.”

“I would not be going through this for a third time if I didn’t love you, Agustín Madrigal, I assure you of that.” She stroked her bump.

He failed to hide his smile as he scooped their girls up in his arms and carried them over to the settee, his love for them deepening as they rubbed their eyes with the backs of their hands before taking hold of the front of his shirt and closing their eyes while he sat down beside his wife. He made himself comfortable, tightening his hold of them both, and then turned his head in Julieta’s direction only to find himself caught in one of the softest kisses known to man. “Not that I’m complaining…” He took a moment to gather his thoughts when their kiss ended and she shuffled back into her own space, smiling up at him. “But what was that for? What did I do?”

“You were you,” She shook her head. “I love how you make time for them even when you feel tired. I love them laughing like that.”

“I have no words for how much I love them. For how much I love you,” He admitted as he ran his hands along their daughters’ backs, lulling them further and further into a restful slumber while looking into her eyes. “All I wanted when I came here was this. I wanted to find a beautiful, marvellous woman to make my own and start a familia and I have done both those things. This place is magical.”

She tried so hard to behave, she really did, but she couldn’t resist. “No, you don’t say…”

He gave her a playful nudge. “I know you know exactly what I mean.”

“I do,” She nodded as she leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling him kiss her brow. “I wanted you from the second I saw you.”

“Juli, you only saw me because I fell on my face and a crowd of people gathered around me to make sure I wasn’t dead.” He said.

“I know, but I also know you fell on your face because you were too busy staring at me to look where you were going.” She smirked.

He hummed, unable to argue with that. “I was mad about you back then and nothing has changed.”

“Te amo.”

“Yo también te amo. Now, what do you say we put these two dormilonas to bed and treat ourselves to an early night for once?”

“You know,” She tilted her head back on his shoulder, brushing her lips against his. “That is the best idea you have ever, ever had…”

#julieta madrigal #agustin madrigal #young isabela madrigal #isabela madrigal #young luisa madrigal #luisa madrigal #julieta x agustin #agustin x isabela #agustin x luisa #julieta x isabela #julieta x luisa #julistin #la familia madrigal #encanto #encanto fic #encanto fanfic #encanto fanfiction #disney encanto #one shot

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fante-di-denari · 1 year

Text

To Be Loved (English)

Description: Skye MacTavish never fought for herself, always for someone else.

Warmings: Angst, hurt/confort, trauma, mention of child abuse, suicidal thoughts, canon violence, Barkov is not a good example of a father. Price is. Listen to To Be Loved by Aurora. Argentina oficial lenguage is spanish, I'm form there.

MiniTaglist: @yeyinde @johnnytavish @bloodonmyhands-1221 @crimsonbubble

Edit: Two of my signs in my big 3 are earth, so I found errors

Spanish Version

COD Masterlist

Sergeant Kamari never fought for herself, they never had someone who tell her that they can and should fight for herself, they were ripped from her family at a very young age and raised as a soldier, as a Russian soldier. Eliminate Skye MacTavish and only have Elena Romaneva Barkova exist, but they never succeeded, they tried everything, nothing about her was real at that moment, they age? False, she wasn’t an adult, they were just a little kid who had seen what human beings were capable of at a young age, she wasn’t the daughter of General Barkov and his late wife. How could they be his kid if she didn't even own a room in the Russian’s mansion? No, she was the daughter of Scots, they were the penultimate of her family, and until the day they returned, her bed was always in the same position, with the same sheets that they had left that day.

But they could never doubt an order, no, she never did, not until they met Farah and Hadir, those two people gave her hope to get out of that hell, they stopped fighting for a country that wasn’t hers, for a father who wasn’t, and began to fight for they two new siblings and to have the dream of meeting her twin again, with their other half, she helped them send messages to people who could save them. Although at the time she was sending them, only one thing crossed their mind, her siblings, her parents. They were sending the messages to the British army, there were tensions between Russia and the United Kingdom, they would not take long to answer them, in the meantime as well she tried to send messages abroad, to the Liberation Forces, they did everything at night, everything at night, that's how she earned being called Kamari, Karim's moon.

Although of course, not everything could be calm, Barkov was suspicious, he knew, but he wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, he wanted to see if they would give up and stop fighting for something that would not serve them, in his eyes Skye would never stop being Elena and Farah would never be free, Urzikstan would never stop being a nest of terrorists in his eyes. But they didn't, out of thirty messages sent in a month, they intercepted fifteen, he had no choice but to interrogate them and get the truth out of them, first he went for the Scottish, he thought that breaking they would be easier, she was still young, he hadn't lived that long, but he had underestimated them, he didn’t take into consideration the MacTavish charm, they are a family of stubborn who fight for what they believe, and Skye never believed in the Russian cause, she believed in the cause of the Arab, she believed and believes in Farah Karim and would do everything in their power to help her.

She didn't say a word, they didn't say who Karim was, she didn't say who Kamari was, they didn't say where the messages went, she denied everything. But of course, you can't lie to someone who already knows the truth, they were locked up in solitary confinement for a few hours, with her face bruised and their muscles numb, before she was taken with the other prisoners, they were able to recover sensation in her body at the moment when Karim came in to rescue them. The moment Lieutenant John Price stepped into their lives to save them, they knew her efforts were worth it, they knew she had a chance to go back to their twin, to her family, but it didn't feel right. they hadn't looked at Price's face, she was only looking at Farah and Hadir, it wasn't because they didn't feel grateful, or that she was rude, no, of course not, it was because they didn't want to say something impulsive, say who she was, that the Russians had held them for four long years, but she didn’t want to abandon their siblings and cousins, at that point in her life they didn’t know anything other than fighting, unfortunately she didn’t know anything else about in their young years.

As the years passed, not fighting for herself didn’t change so much, instead, they dedicated her life to protecting their sister's cause, she hid from the Russians in plain sight, earning the nickname "the assassin of the moon", they attacked from night under her sister's orders, they took her body to extremes to be prepared for everything, to defend her siblings and cousins, even though they treated them like a little girl and denied them some nightly guard rounds, claiming that children have to sleep to grow up healthy. As the years went by, his conscience began to forget the faces of her family, they forget how her mother's voice sounded, how their father's eyes looked at her with paternal love, they forgot the faces of her older siblings, the sweet face of their baby brother. Did her parents have another child? have they forgotten about them? Could they have told her little brother about them? She didn't know it, and it was eating at their brain and heart. Farah saw this, observed how in front of the soldiers of the Liberation Forces they behaved normally, silent, but always ready to help in whatever was necessary, always with a smile following orders, she saw how she woke up from some nightmare, she could differentiate well when it was a memory, their crying and the fear in her eyes were different, in one there was a real fear, her way of breathing would be erratic, and whispered that they didn’t want forget. But when it was a memory, she didn't cry, but they looked everywhere, making sure she hadn't returned to that hell, of not going back with the man who separated them from her other half, with who promised to save her, but instead, condemned them.

As the years went by, she began to have a little habit, of hiding behind their brother Hadir when she felt that they were about to collapse, Alex was able to notice how the youngest of the siblings tried to hide behind the oldest, put her head on his shoulder and they grabbed his hand, he accepted it and comforted her, whispering to them in Arabic, not turning to look at her, it would be useless and they would only refuse to speak if they see her face. Of course say that his betrayal affects them is say very little, say that she felt how their broken heart was being destroyed was being a little inaccurate. They couldn't take it, so before she couldn't breathe and felt their world collapsing more than it already was, she covered their eyes and closed her heart, trying to make herself smaller in their seat.

–Kamari, look at me –It was... it was Farah's voice, it was heard far away, she knew she was in front of them, she felt the pressure of her hands on their wrists, she wanted to see her face, but they couldn't let her do it, what would she think of her if she saw them like that? She couldn't let her do it. They forced herself not to take her hands out of their face –. My moon, everything will be fine, we will bring Hadir back and we will make him pay – She wanted to believe her, they truly wanted, but she just couldn't, it wasn't their thing to be the one with high expectations –. Skye, let me see you, please, I can’t know if you are okay if you don’t let me know – Perhaps the fact that she said her real name, one that only she and Hadir knew at the time and not a nickname that had welcomed them with open arms for more than ten years, was what made her stop straining, and let her lift their face, cradling it between her hands. Her eyes moved to Alex, Price, Laswell and Gaz, but returned to their sister, who caressed her cheeks and kissed their forehead, as she always did on nights when the demons seemed to ask her to surrender to the Moon.

–Hadir, he knows what Barkov did to me with that gas, he, he lived it, he knows how many times. –Their voice trailed off, her sister hugged them, Skye wasn't crying, her voice was cracking, but they weren’t crying –. He knows how many times I was about to die under Barkov's order with that gas, why did he steal it? –She pulled their head out of her sister's chest, the mere idea that their brother had betrayed them caused the most terrifying ideas to climb through her brain, their deepest fears came out, her head shook in denial, trying to get rid of any ideas they had –. I don't want to go back to that, I want to stay with you or go back to Scotland, but I don't want to be Elena again, I can't become that again. –Her forehead was placed on the familiar shoulder; their sister was humming a lullaby in her ear.

–You won't be Elena again, you'll still be Skye, you'll still be Kamari, you'll still be my sister, my moon. –Those words were what the eldest told them when the memories of her life as Elena Barkova didn’t let them breathe.

She knew that the mission to bring Hadir back and capture the Wolf was going to bring more harm than good the moment their sister and Alex were separated from her and the rest due to that explosion, they felt it in her chest and on their stomach, she called on the radio every five minutes looking for any sign of Farah, they couldn't lose her too, but they didn't, by the grace of some divine being, she was able to sigh calmly again when they saw that her commander came out together with the blue eyed with live from those tunnels, next to the corpse of The Wolf in a bag. Although their little happiness didn't last long, the US government had put them and the Liberation Forces on the terrorist list, it almost went to the colonel's neck if it weren't for the fact that their sister stopped her and that Price said, almost, the words they would have said. They returned, without Hadir and being "terrorists", but with their favourite American boy.

In those days, she hardly slept at all, they felt that if she did, their sister would disappear, as Leslie did from one moment to the next when she was eight years old, they were only able to sleep once, and that was when she was sitting next to their commander, with her head on her shoulder and the blonde men on their other side, holding their hands, she was safe, nothing bad was going to happen, that's what they heard from both of them before dreaming, it was one of the few times she didn't have any nightmare, it was more like a sweet dream, that night they dreamed of her home in Scotland, that they were eight years old again, she dreamed of their mother's eyes, of her father's hugs, they ran with her brothers and kissed their baby brother’s head.

When the whole nightmare ended, it was the moment when Farah told them that Barkov had fallen, they felt as if a great weight had disappeared from her shoulders, as if their back was lighter, she had released an air that they never imagined she had been holding, would even have fallen if it weren't for Gaz, who held them up when he saw her stagger.

– Hey, ‘re you alright? – he asked worried, grabbing the sergeant

–I’m free. –That was what they whispered, still not believing that her biggest monster was dead, one of their reasons for being alive was to see the general fall, another was to help Farah, and the last one was to return home, but he still thought that this was something that she couldn't do.

Convincing her that they can go back to the UK, to Scotland, took a full week for Farah, although she couldn't have done it without Price's help, the captain wanted the Scot as a sergeant in his new task force, but it wasn't until that they reached an agreement that the government would not tell her family anything until they officially entered the task force, that lasted less than a year, during which time Price welcomed her into his home, in a second room that he had. although they rarely used it, in fact, whenever she was in the house, they could be found in two places: in the patio or in the living room. The captain had a few weeks off, in which he helped Skye mentally prepare for what was coming, helped her adapt to not being in constant danger, he had even asked his boyfriend to help him, he also had vacations and was softer than the captain when he spoke, so they both helped the Scot, in everything they could.

–How do you feel? are you adjusting well? –They were in a park with Gaz at night, the sergeant had taken them out of the house to give the captain privacy with his partner if you know what I mean.

– I still can't get used to the fact that the stars aren't visible and I don't sleep outdoors, but other than that, I'm adjusting. Is it normal for people to look at me so much when I go out? –Her feet helped them move the swing she was on, they hadn't been on one of these since she was a child, that made them smile.

– People look at what attracts their attention, and you attract the attention, in the intriguing way. – The young man was sitting on the swing on the right, watching how little by little the speed with which she was swinging increased, he smiled looking how happy they were. Skye was like a scared cat sometimes; you want to help her but you know they’re going to hurt you if you go rough. –And I know a good spot to watch stars, one of these days I'll take you there

–I don’t understand. –she had told him smiling confused by the first thing he said, about people looking at them because she was interesting

–You will, believe me.

And of course he did, but that story is for another day, time passed and Skye finally joined the SAS training, Martin left and came back, but every time he returned to Argentina, he did so with a sour taste in his mouth, he wished he could help the young folk a little more, they both wanted it, Price knew her a little better than Ferrero, he had seen how they put the lives of others above her own, how they obeyed Farah's orders as if they were religious prayers on a Mass Sunday, but the pampeano was methodical, he knew body language, he knew people, and he had noticed how the younger behaved, as if she were lost in life without having anyone to tell them what to do, as if she had no purpose, they both talked about it with the pillow, they both put together all the details, the behavior of the Scot, what they had told Farah when they found out about Hadir's betrayal, how she reacted to Barkov's death and reached a conclusion, one that made the Brit want to have been the one who ended the Russian's life. But he had decided to let it go, help them of course, but without necessarily talking about it, he thank life ageing for making his path cross that of Martin, he didn’t know where he would be now without him, because when His Sea found out, he scold him and tell him that he wasn't helping her that way, that he didn't care how the English did it, that this was not how a child who had been abused.

– Kid, I want to tell you something – The older began to speak, he had asked the Scot for a word, they were face to face in his office at the 141 base, the younger had that weekend off but before going home she decided to spend some time with their favourite captain, each with a cup of tea, the captain had bought a cup for the black-haired, just for her, no one could use it, Gaz told him that he played favourites, nonsense, he had bought one for him too –. It has to do with your life under Barkov's care.

–Is old story Price, it happened a long time ago. –they spoke quickly, trying to end the conversation without starting it.

– It will have been a long time ago, but it still has an effect on you moony – Price wasn't going to let her avoid trouble, not when it could lead to them dying stupidly –. You experienced something that no child should go through. Why didn't you say anything at that moment? I was able to bring you to your parent years ago.

– I wasn't the Skye my family remembers, nor am I now –She paused, avoiding the captain's eyes, they sighed to continue –. I had to help Farah and Hadir, I couldn't use them to my advantage.

– Although I admire your sense of honor, you were twelve years old, you were beaten up and I'm sure that you stayed behind bothered them more than it would have been for you to come back.

–It's an old story, I made my decisions, at that point I wasn't Skye anymore, I was a soldier and don't tell me about age, Martin told me you joined the army at sixteen.

–I was sixteen, not twelve and I did it on my own free will.

–Staying was my free will! – She hadn't wanted to raise their voice, she stood still when they finished speaking, holding their cup in her hands, he was going to be their superior, she couldn't go yelling at their superiors like that.

–A guilt-driven will is not a free will, moony – it was the voice of the experience that spoke, calm, he didn’t want to upset the kid more –. What I'm saying is that you are now free from Barkov's shadow, you will never be Elena again and you no longer have to fight for someone else, fight for yourself.

Sergeant Kamari never fought for herself, they never had someone who tell her that they can and should fight for herself, they were ripped from her family at a very young age and raised as a soldier, as a Russian soldier. No one ever told her to fight for herself, not until that day, those months, and that afternoon. Jonathan Price had been more of a father than Barkov had been in the four years Elena was alive. Although, of course, Seelie still struggles with many emotional things to this day, but everything is a process that she goes through alongside her family and accompanied by her psychologist.

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dopecoffeehideout · 1 year

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I just don’t get how I can be so easily dismissed when it comes to this. I ran and I ran and I kept running from it for as long as I could because I knew it would be heavier than I wanted to carry. But it’s time to carry it and it makes me nauseous with the overwhelming amount of pain I have. The overwhelming amount of hurt I feel. And the betrayal. It all comes together and makes me feel small. It makes me feel like a failure. And maybe most importantly, it makes me feel disposable.

Because it was four years of my life. Four years of my work. Four years of me. That in an instant, he destroyed. Because in that instant, he decided it was worth it to destroy. Because he was influenced by low brow men who mistreated their own families. Because he was guided by weak, insecure men who told him to hurt his own son. To blow up the remaining connections that were within our family. Because those men were worthless and he was weak and stupid and impressionable. And I’m left withered.

And I’m told to get over it. To be grateful it wasn’t worse. That I’m young and can rebuild. I can rebound. I can start over. But the fucking thing is, I shouldn’t have to do any of that. I shouldn’t have to do any of that. Because I succeeded. I accomplished what I set out to do. And he fucking ripped it away from me. Because weak men don’t want their children to succeed. Weak men don’t want to be discarded by their families when the families realize they’d be better off without them. He wanted me to fail. He wanted to hurt me. To damage me. To destroy me. And he almost succeeded.

The part that makes my blood fill with rage is that he cried the last day he saw me. Because maybe he was smart enough to recognize his actions led up to that day and that he’d never see me again. And it makes me enraged because he is the reason why that happened. He is the reason why all I had to do was share the experience he put me through to make the people who mattered see everything I’d been saying. Because he wasn’t smart enough to realize that at the end, he wouldn’t be seen in a good light by those who mattered.

He’d be seen a hero by his low brow friends. But he’d also be seen as the person who tried to get his son arrested by his family.

He’d be seen by his daughter-in-law who never understood why he did what he did to begin with. He’d be seen by her after I poured my soul out to her and warned her with a wavering voice to protect her own children from this man.

He’d be seen by his ex-wife who always, and I mean always, gave him the benefit of the doubt. He’d be seen by her after she listened to hours of me in pain due to him. And she’d finally write him off.

And most importantly, he’d be seen by his eldest son, who always tried to rationalize him. But the thing is, all I had to do was let him make the decisions he made and do the actions he did and then pass them along to my brother. Who eventually saw what he needed to see.

I lost years of my life and a significant amount of money and it’ll take me time to truly come to terms with it, but my father lost it all. He destroyed everything in an attempt to destroy me.

#dad

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alaminshorkar76 · 2 years

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

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what the fuck I just found this in my drafts I literally wrote this years ago, like a very significant number of years ago this is old shit

and apparently I just saved it and forgot about it??? anyway I polished it up and now it is here, I have no context and I barely even remember writing it, enjoy!

my apologies for the long post I still can't figure out how to do read mores in the app

edit: some lovely people have unformed me how to use readmores, thank you ~

-----

Jack was starting to wonder perhaps if he'd done something wrong.

It wasn't uncommon for him to accidentally say or do something to upset his wife or daughter, although usually when such an event occurred Maddie would glare at him to express her displeasure, and Jazz would always take the opportunity to tell him in exact detail what he'd done wrong and how to make it up to them (something he was honestly very grateful for).

It must have been something pretty bad this time, because both women wouldn't even look him in the eye.

Jack first twigged that something was off that morning during breakfast, when he sat in the empty chair by Jazz's side and gave his usual greeting, "Hey Jazzypants!"

She ignored his presence completely, steely eyes glued to the wall opposite her, they were puffy and red and Jack wondered perhaps if she'd been crying.

It had been a long time since her problems were easily pushed aside by her father's warm hugs and jovial attitude, he had stopped being able to handle a crying Jazz after she'd turned twelve and countered his attempts at humour by insisting that he 'stop trivialising her distress', whatever THAT meant.

Nevertheless, warm hugs and gentle jokes were the only method he knew and so he wrapped a comforting arm around her thin shoulders, noting that she continued to sit still as a rock, not even glancing his way as he tried to coax a smile out of her.

Jazz didn't say a word as she pushed herself away from her unfinished breakfast and left the room.

It was when he walked down to the lab intending to ask Maddie about Jazz that Jack started to suspect he may have been the one responsible, as it became apparent that the two had seemed to coordinate their punishment for whatever transgression he'd made.

"Hey Mads!" his voice boomed over the noise of his wife's current project. He strained to see through the bright light of her blow torch at the large gun-like weapon on the table. Jack whistled in appreciation is he took in the size of what he assumed was some kind of rocket launcher. "So what are we calling this one? Ooh! How about, The Fenton Spectre 'Sploder!"

Maddie's goggles made it difficult to see what expression adorned her face, but her tensed shoulders and the shaky grip on the blow torch told him that she was most certainly upset about something.

"Mads? Are you alright?" his voice quivered slightly as he took a few steps closer, seeing his wife this tense tightened a coil within his chest. Suspecting that he may be responsible added an extra weight to his stomach that he knew wasn't cause by the breakfast he'd skipped.

The light from the blow torch snapped off and Jack had to blink the bright spots it left behind from his vision, trying to peer through the blotches to find any indication that Maddie was going to acknowledge his presence. It seemed as though she'd looked his way for a moment but before his eyes could clear enough to meet hers she'd looked away again.

Jack watched, puzzled as his wife raised a hand to cover her mouth and catch the sob that ripped its way from her throat, she hadn't succeeded as the sound echoed across the lab and tore its way straight through Jack's heart, causing his eyes to sting and his throat to close up.

He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, intent on giving her some form of comfort. He'd barely brushed it with his finger tips before Maddie stormed right past him up to the stairs, Jack had to quickly stumble backwards to avoid being trampled.

He couldn't imagine what he possibly could have done to elicit such a response from the woman he loved, but he knew for sure that he must have done something terrible for her to not seek him out for comfort like she did any other time she was upset. He just wished he could remember what.

Jack's shoulders slumped under the dim light of the glowing jars of ectoplasm lining the various counter-tops, he dry-swallowed a few times, trying to push down his confusion and distress before following his wife's light footsteps up the stairwell.

He found her in the kitchen, leaning against a counter with her goggles slung around her neck and her wild red hair loose around her head, abundant with the kinks and tangles Jack usually watched her brush out of it every morning.

"Mads?" Jack said, voice rough and quiet, "Look I... if I did something wrong I-" Jack's apology froze in his throat as Jazz poked her head through the kitchen door, eyes once again glancing right over Jack and instead locking onto her mother.

Neither woman shared a word as Jazz crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Maddie, who desperately grabbed at her daughter in return, burying her face in long red hair as violent sobs wracked her whole body.

Jack, at a loss of what else to do, wrapped his own arms around his girls. Nestling his chin on his daughters hair, he expected the annoyed scoff that Jazz usually gave him for his 'chin noogies', but it never came. Neither Fenton woman pushed him away though, so Jack considered it progress.

Finally, after an age of rocking and sobbing, Maddie's muffled words escaped through strands of Jazz's hair.

"Where is he? W-where'd he go, where'd he go?"

A deep chill coursed through Jack's veins, Danny? Had something happened to Danny? Jack pulled away, a million questions thrumming through his mind.

What happened? Was he missing? Was he hurt? Had he run away, been kidnapped, been kill- no. Jack shook his head violently, running a hand through the shorts strands of his thick hair. No he couldn't be. He couldn't be he couldn't be.

Jack's mouth was on the verge of catching up to his brain, multiple questions bubbled at his lips when he heard a voice echo down the stairs.

"Jazz?"

Jack took a steadying breath and grasped at the counter for support, relief flooding his body as his son rounded the corner and came into view. Danny was fine, Danny was safe. He had been fretting over absolutely nothing.

Then Danny's eyes locked into his.

A number of emotions flickered across his son's face, the first being a brief moment of sheer relief and delight, but it didn't last. Soon, too soon, Danny's dark brows pulled together and his lips curled sourly in confusion before a new expression swept it away. It was one Jack had never seen before.

He felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room, an icy chill prickled up his arms as the sudden wave of absolute horror overtook Danny's face. Jack couldn't tell if his son was about to break down crying or scream.

And then it was over. The tension in Jack's limbs released as Danny's face flattened into an unnaturally blank expression, he dropped his gaze and continued his way over to Maddie and Jazz. Once again it was like Jack wasn't even there.

Danny placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Maybe you should do another lap around town, you might find something today." he spoke softly into her frazzled hair.

Jazz looked at Danny strangely, her brother sent her back a glance that must have held some meaning because she then gripped Maddie tightly around the shoulders and led her straight out of the house, and suddenly Jack recalled that he still didn't know who it was that had gone missing.

"So... is anyone gonna tell me what's going on?" the jovial tone Jack meant to use came out flat and strained, Danny didn't look even remotely amused.

"I think you should sit down." Danny said quietly. He was no longer meeting Jack's eyes as he pulled out a chair for himself and one for his father.

Jack took the offered seat and prepared himself for the worst, obviously someone dear to Maddie and the kids had gone missing, Jack ran a list of all the people they knew, preparing himself for the worst, it was obvious Danny did not want to tell him what had happened. Perhaps whoever was missing was someone that Jack in particular had been close to? Was that the reason behind the horrified look on Danny's face? Because he'd realised he was going to have to be the one to tell him?

Something in Jack's gut told him he was on the wrong track, but try as he might he just couldn't imagine what else it could possibly be.

Jack kept his eyes on his son as the boy's thin torso straightened up in his chair and his icy blue stare bored into Jack's. Danny took a deep breath, then took several more, eventually he seemed almost ready to speak, Jack didn't rush him.

"Dad... you're dead."

#Bitter #danny phantom #lula's fanfics #jack fenton #I have zero context for this I barely even remember writing it #like this has to be 5 years old AT LEAST

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“Eleanor experienced almost fifteen years of regular childbearing after marrying Henry Plantagenet. It was during her early years as queen, while she was bearing a child almost annually, that she was busiest acting as Henry’s regent in England. She would give Henry II nine children within thirteen years. If Eleanor of Aquitaine was a distant figure as mother to her children, so were other aristocratic mothers responsible for supervising complex households. As queen, she had even less time than most for child-rearing. Contact with her children would have been limited while they were growing up.

This was due to circumstances and social custom, not to a lack of maternal feeling, and it is not necessary to conclude that Eleanor was indifferent toward her young children nor that she made little “psychological investment” in them. There is no evidence to show that she and Henry failed to cherish their children, to provide for their care, to place their hopes in their futures, or to experience grief at their deaths. It seems fruitless from a distance of eight centuries to calculate Eleanor’s role in shaping her children’s adult psyches, when thinking on the topic is still influenced by nineteenth-century bourgeois models modified by twentieth-century Freudian psychology.

Yet one fact that stands out is the devotion to Eleanor demonstrated by her sons in their adult lives, and it testifies that their experience of her love was more powerful than their father’s fitful affection. Clearly, the queen had cemented solid ties of affection with them at some point, whether during their infancy or adolescence; and strong maternal feelings would prod her to furious activity after Henry II’s death, struggling to assist first Richard and then John in securing their thrones. As one writer observes, “It is difficult to believe that the devotion shown [Eleanor] by her adult sons and daughters did not grow out of childhood experience, experience that simply left no record in the account books and annals of the court.”

Possibly Henry’s difficulties with his sons were caused by their early and prolonged separations from their father. The fact that they were near-strangers to one another, in some years together only on great festive occasions, can explain in part the ease with which they took up arms against their father and against each other. Along with all medieval mothers, Eleanor was unaware of the significance of earliest childhood for shaping adult personality that modern psychology teaches. The early Fathers of the Church had not shown great interest in questions centering on family life, and twelfth-century churchmen with their ambivalent feelings about women provided mothers with little more direction in carrying out their maternal responsibilities.

Although concern for the care of children was growing in the twelfth century, encouraged in great part by Christian teaching, spiritual counselors offered mothers little counsel beyond advocating emulation of the Virgin Mary, the ideal mother. An exception to the dearth of literature on motherhood is a biography of Queen Margaret of Scotland, written in the first years of the twelfth century as a guide for her daughter Edith-Matilda, Henry I’s queen. It praises Margaret as a model mother, intimately involved with her children’s upbringing; yet the daughter who commissioned it hardly knew her mother, having been sent away at age six to be brought up at an English convent where her aunt was abbess.

Like many other great ladies living in the twelfth century, Eleanor had larger duties in politics and government that she regarded as equally important and perhaps greater than her responsibility for her children’s upbringing. In Henry and Eleanor’s household were retainers of many ranks, ranging from dependent relatives and high-ranking nobles to simple knights or domestic servants of peasant origin, any of whom could be charged with caring for the royal children. As a result, the royal children’s ties of affection would not have been focused uniquely on their parents, but diffused among household members of many ranks.

While differing from typical nuclear families today, the medieval English royal household, overflowing with servants and retainers, had much in common with other medieval aristocratic families. Like them and like European aristocrats or American plutocrats even in the twenty-first century who turn their children over to a series of servants, Eleanor and Henry did not think it unnatural to hand their children into the care of others in the royal household, or even to custodians far from court. Sons and daughters were often sent away at early ages, daughters to be reared in the households of their betrothed and sons given over to the care of others until early adolescence, when they were established in households of their own.

Yet these practices do not negate royal parents’ caring instincts or an awareness of the uniqueness of childhood that is innate in all societies. It is clear that Eleanor and Henry showed great concern for the upbringing of their offspring, choosing with care the personnel who were to supervise them even if their personal participation was limited. The rapidity with which Eleanor gave birth shows that she did not nurse her infant children, for it was uncommon for great ladies to nurse their own babies. As queen, her chief responsibility was ensuring continuity of the royal line by bearing children, not rearing them, and it was widely known that breast-feeding inhibited pregnancy.

Names of some of the royal children’s wet-nurses survive, and they indicate that they were selected from women of free, not servile, status, probably from wives of servants in the royal household. Alexander of Neckham, a scientific writer, Oxford master, and later abbot of Cirencester, proudly claimed that he and Richard Lionheart were “milk-brothers,” for his mother had been the prince’s wet-nurse. Eleanor felt so fondly toward Agatha, one of her children’s wet-nurses, that in 1198, three decades after her child-bearing years, she rewarded her service with a gift of land in Hertfordshire and a year later a more valuable gift, a Devonshire manor.

Agatha was a woman whose ambition Eleanor could admire, and such generous gifts would have made her former servant a woman of some means. Some time, probably before becoming John’s wet-nurse, Agatha entered into a long-term relationship with Godfrey de Lucy, son of the chief justiciar and himself a royal clerk who would win the bishopric of Winchester in 1189 despite being encumbered with a “wife.” Wet-nurses of Eleanor’s children must have resembled nannies in their relations with their charges, providing not only nourishment, but also affection and companionship and remaining with them long after weaning.

After John was brought to England during the great rebellion of 1173–74, the pipe roll records a grant of ten marks to “the nurse of the king’s son,” although he was at least seven years old then. The wet-nurses of Richard Lionheart and John earned their fond feeling, and their affection was returned. When Richard became king, he granted a pension to his nurse, Hodierna. After John’s death, his former nurse Agatha, by then a prosperous widow, remembered him and his son when making a gift of land to the nuns of Flamstead “for the soul of King Henry [III] son of King John.”

When Henry II’s sons were little more than infants, each of them was assigned a “master” or “preceptor” from among members of the royal household. He was assigned responsibility for the young boy, charged with spending on his needs and supervising the servants caring for him. He was not necessarily a cleric, and he did not give lessons; teachers—also called masters—could be recruited from the clerks and chaplains present in any great household. Choosing such a master was Henry’s duty, for noble fathers made major decisions about their sons’ upbringing, although he was likely to have discussed his selection with Eleanor.

A master named Mainard took charge of Young Henry in 1156 when the boy was only a year old, and he remained with him for at least three more years. The division of authority between this official and the child’s mother is unknown, but it must have meant that Eleanor was denied full responsibility for her son’s care, even in early childhood. Forced to share responsibility for her young sons with a male named by her husband, she nevertheless succeeded at some point in their youths in knitting the affective bonds normally binding sons to their mothers.

In 1159, when Young Henry was only four years old, his father placed him in the household of his chancellor Thomas Becket, where sons of nobles were “educated in gentlemanly upbringing and teaching.” There was precedent for Henry’s sending his heir away at such an early age: William the Conqueror had placed his second son, William Rufus, the designated heir to the English Crown, in Archbishop Lanfranc’s household. Henry II may already have been thinking of naming Becket his archbishop of Canterbury and having his eldest son crowned as king while still a boy.

When relations between Henry and Archbishop Becket began to cool, Henry, in October 1163, rebuked his newly installed primate by removing Young Henry from his custody. When the king left for his French territories the next month, he did not send the boy, then about eight years of age, back to Eleanor; instead, he continued to live apart from his mother’s household with a new master, William fitz John, a royal administrator. Young aristocrats were knighted as part of their initiation into manhood, and fathers would find them a mentor to join their household: an older, experienced knight who could prepare them for knighthood with training in the noble occupations of hunting, hawking, and warfare.

After Young Henry’s coronation in 1170, his father assigned such a mentor to the fifteen-year-old youth, the knight-errant William Marshal, much admired for chivalry, but an illiterate with little interest in administration. According to the History of William Marshal, he served as the sort of companion-guide who accompanied heroes of the romances, charged with the Young King’s instruction in courtesy and martial arts, preparing him to take up arms as a knight. Hunting sharpened warrior skills, and all of Henry and Eleanor’s sons shared their ancestors’ love for the chase.

Richard during his youth in Poitou would find pleasure in hunting in his mother’s ancestral forests in the Vendée. Roger of Howden wrote of Henry II’s sons, “They strove to outdo others in handling weapons. They realized that without practice the art of war did not come naturally when it was needed.” Sons of royalty needed to know more than skill in handling horses and weapons, and at twelfth-century princely courts, clerics were advocating a courtly ideal of conduct, challenging old-fashioned knights upholding the traditional warrior ethos of the knightly class.

The counts of Anjou had long prized learning in Latin letters, seen in the excellent schooling that Henry II’s father provided for him, and Eleanor too knew the value of learning. While less is known about Henry’s sons’ formal education than his own, it is certain that they acquired a sound grounding in Latin grammar, although no formal office of royal schoolmaster yet existed at the English court. A letter in the archbishop of Rouen’s name, addressed to the king when Young Henry was only ten years old, however, expresses a fear that the knightly side of the future king’s education was taking precedence over study of the liberal arts.

Perhaps the concern stemmed from Henry’s removal of his heir from Thomas Becket’s custody, and it hints at rivalry between the boy’s clerical and knightly tutors over the two groups’ diverging values. Richard Lionheart knew Latin well, although he is better known for his French verses. Gerald of Wales’s anecdote of the Lionheart’s correcting the Latin spoken by his archbishop of Canterbury gives evidence of his competence as a Latinist. John gained an interest in literature during his youth, and as king he built up a considerable library of classics and religious works. He deposited his books at Reading Abbey for safekeeping and sometimes wrote to the abbot requesting that certain volumes be sent to him.

Although great ladies had responsibility for their sons’ upbringing only until they reached their sixth or seventh year, aristocratic daughters could remain in their mother’s care until adolescence, unless they were betrothed as pre-adolescents and sent away to be brought up by their future in-laws. Like other queens throughout the Middle Ages, Eleanor saw her daughters affianced at early ages to foreign princes chosen for political considerations, and promptly sent far away to grow up at foreign courts. Personal contact by Eleanor with her daughters was difficult once they were sent off to their future husbands’ lands in Germany, Spain, and Sicily, and she had little prospect of seeing them again.

Yet contacts between royal daughters and their birth-parents were seldom entirely severed, and Eleanor doubtless corresponded with her daughters, although no copies of her letters survive. Royal parents maintained contact with daughters married to foreign princes, for their marriages had been arranged for the purpose of serving the family interest, creating or securing alliances. Matilda, Eleanor, and Joanne, married to princes who were conspicuous as cultural patrons, were almost certainly literate.

Late twelfth-century romances depict noble maidens learning their letters, and a renowned preacher, Adam of Perseigne (d.c. 1208), sent the countess of Chartres Latin texts that she could give to her daughters to read with the help of her chaplain or a learned nun. Although instruction in letters must have begun before Eleanor’s daughters left the English royal household, the major portion of their education would have taken place at the courts of their in-laws.”

- Ralph V. Turner, “Once More a Queen and Mother: England, 1154–1168.” in Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England

#eleanor of aquitaine #eleanor of aquitaine: queen of france queen of england #children #history #high middle ages #medieval #wetnurses #education #ralph v. turner

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soulmate-game · 4 years

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I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (02)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively,

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, slow burn, pining, slice of life au.

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/Note: child abuse (physical and psychological/emotional violence) , psychological manipulation, infidelity.

SERIES: CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Your relationship with your father used to be a secret.

You were an illegitimate child and your mother was a mistress. Taemin obviously didn’t want the world to know about his dirty secret.

So he hid you.

He hid you from his wife and your siblings.

"Mom, is dad coming?" Seven year-old you asked. This was the question you uttered once a year.

Your father was never late with any of his appointments with you. He would always show up on time, sometimes earlier. But there's always that one day of the year wherein he was either hours late or he wouldn't come at all.

That day was your birthday.

You were four years old when your mother made you understand that Taemin couldn't stay at your house since he was busy with work. You didn't question this even though you wanted to know why.

Why couldn't he stay for more than an hour a day? Why didn't he kiss your mother or tell her he loved her just like what you saw husbands did in children's books and movies?

"He's not coming because he doesn't love us. He doesn't love you." Your mother was glaring at you as if it was your fault your father couldn't come to your own birthday party.

Everything was prepared according to his liking, even the food she cooked were his favorites. It was your natal day but it looked like your mother wanted to please somebody else.

It was never about you.

"That's not true! Dad said he loves me the most! I'm his princess—"

"Enough!" She slapped you right across the face, your cheek instantly turning red.

Your eyes brimmed with tears. You also didn't understand why your mother always acted so hostile. What did you do to make her hate you this much?

You followed everything she said. You didn't like sketching but your mother forced you to do it. She kept saying that you needed to be good at it so you could beat Sin-ae's daughter.

You didn't know it that time but your mom was actually referring to Soojin. The latter was a prodigy when it came to drawing. Your mother wanted you to surpass Soojin's talent since it was the only way to become the best architect.

She was wrong though. Being able to draw beautifully wasn't the key to succeeding in the mention field. It was only a bonus.

"You have to be the best if you want your father to stay with us. Do you understand, huh? Be a good girl so your father wouldn't have to look at Sin-ae's daughter." She caressed your cheek after slapping you.

"You can do it, baby girl. You are my leverage."

You were. Your father couldn't leave his obsessive mistress because of you. Your father loved you and didn't want to abandon you, but most importantly, he didn't want Sin-ae to know that you existed.

Your mother threatened Taemin that she would expose his infidelity if he tried to abscond from his responsibilities to you.

Taemin was a powerful person, unfortunately he couldn't control your mother. She was richer and stronger than him.

Your mother's only weakness was the love she claimed she felt for your father.

At this point, you didn't know if it was love. Did she really love your father or was she just lonely?

Was your mother scared to be alone? Just like you?

"I'm not going to leave you." You remembered seven year-old Jungkook's promise to you.

You were six when you first met little Jeon. He was the son of Jong-in, another influential architect.

Taemin and Jong-in were best friends. The latter was the only person who knew about your father's secret.

Jong-in knew you. He knew your mother as well. You lived in a small world after all. Jong-in and Taemin built Castle Architectural firm. Your mother was one of their investors.

She saw the potential of Architect Kim and Jeon, but it didn't end with that.

Your mother didn't just see Kim Taemin's potential. She also saw a future with him. She acted based on desire, ignoring the fact that Taemin was already a married man with three children.

Taemin didn't seem to mind the advances of your mother. In fact, he seemed to like it. Because if he didn't, then why were you existing?

Why did he fuck a baby into her?

He wanted this to happen as much as your mother did.

And now, they weren't the only one paying for the price.

You were paying too.

You were suffering because of them. You suffered abuse from your mother and at a very young age, you came to realize that people, no matter how many times they assured you they loved you, would still end up hurting you and breaking the promise they made.

"You are!" This was your response to Jungkook when he said that he wasn't going to leave you.

You two were seven years olds. What did you know about promises and keeping them? You drilled it in your head that Jungkook was just like your father. He would end up breaking his promise.

He was going to leave you too.

"You're a liar, just like my dad!" Tears cascaded down your cheeks.

You were very upset. Your father promised to take you to an amusement park, a simple way to make it up to you for not being able to attend your birthday party. Again.

The promise was made yesterday. Taemin told you to wear your favorite onesie because you were going to Lotte World with him and Jungkook.

Taemin was true to his words. You were at Lotte World with Jungkook, wearing your favorite onesie. However, the adult accompanying you was not your father.

Taemin said he had to work so he sent a nanny to look after you and your best friend.

You found it stupid and annoying. You wanted to spend time with your father. You missed him so much. He hadn't been home for weeks now.

"He keeps saying things he doesn't mean!" You sobbed, continuing your rant.

Jungkook was only staring at you using those innocent eyes. He felt bad. His little heart was shattering.

"I hate him! He doesn't love me!" You were slowly believing what your mother told you.

Were you hard to love because you weren't good enough?

"He doesn't love me." You said again and again. "I'm not a good girl. He doesn't love me—"

Jungkook pulled you into an embrace, cutting your absurd thought.

"That's not true. I love you.." His voice sounded genuine.

You sobbed once more, breaking the hug.

"Really?" The thing about kids was that they were easy to reassure. Buy them an ice cream and voila! They’re okay again.

Jungkook didn't give you an ice cream but you believed him. You guessed you love him too, and also because the stars in his eyes were enough to make you believe that he would never ever leave you.

Nineteen years later, Jungkook was still keeping his promise.

He stayed with you through thick and thin.

"We are baking cake today, Tiger." Jungkook announced.

He sometimes called you Tiger, when you asked him why, he simply said 'because I can.'

You stopped questioning his reasons a long time ago; however, you couldn't stop yourself today.

"Bake a cake? Why?" You creased your forehead.

"Because I want to." Was his answer once again, causing you to roll your eyes.

Why did you even ask?

"Do you know how to bake a cake?"

"Nope," he grinned. "But it won't hurt to try. I've read before that baking is a good way to relieve stress..."

Jungkook brought out an apron from the kitchen cabinet and then he went near you, carefully helping you to put on the garment.

He was standing in front you, buckling the D-ring neck that was on the apron. After that, he pulled you closer, your head hitting his chest.

Jungkook encircled his arms around your waist, reaching for the strap behind you as he expertly tied it.

"I can do it, Kook," you slightly pushed him away, chuckling.

He grinned at you.

"I know...but I want to help you."

Of course he did. Jungkook had always been thoughtful and kind. This was why he invited you to his apartment.

You had been staying with him since yesterday. Today was Saturday. You slept here last night. Jungkook didn't mind. He had a spare room and even if he didn't, he wouldn't mind you staying over.

He could always sleep on the floor.

Jungkook was used to sleeping in the same room as you anyway. You used to live in the same house together.

When Jungkook's father died, he officially became an orphan at the age of fifteen. His mother died giving birth to him so no one would look after him now.

All of his relatives were living abroad, this was why Taemin decided to adopt him. Jungkook didn't change his last name. He was still a Jeon. Taemin was simply his legal guardian.

Sin-ae didn't mind that there was an additional member of the family. She could never deny Jungkook since she also treated Jong-in as a dear friend. Besides, the Kims didn't have to worry about the increase of their expenses.

Jungkook was the only heir of Jong-in. The former would inherit his father's share at Castle. Taemin was Jungkook’s fiduciary guardian. He gave Jungkook his share as soon as he reached eighteen.

Jungkook tried to compensate Taemin but the latter didn't accept the money. Instead, he urged Jeonguk to work at Castle as soon as he graduated college.

Your best friend agreed. He could never say no to Taemin. He even stayed at the Kims' mansion despite having the ability to live on his own.

Taemin asked him to stay as per Soojin's request, but two months ago, Jungkook finally moved out of the house because Kim Taehyung, the third born son of Taemin, went back to Seoul after studying and working in New York for years.

"You wanna try baking banana chocolate chip cake? I have all the ingredients here," Jungkook was waiting for you to answer.

You shrugged nonchalantly, helping him prepare.

"Fine by me."

Jungkook asked you to prepare the wet ingredients while he took care of the dry ones.

"You think this is enough?" He was sifting flour.

You coughed.

"Kook! What the hell?" You covered your nose because he was tapping the strainer grimly.

"Oopss..." His lips curled up. "Sorry!"

He wasn't sorry. Not at all. You could tell he was doing this on purpose because instead of stopping, he only used more force while tapping the strainer.

"You ass!" Gritting your teeth, you grabbed a handful of flour from the bowl and started throwing it at Jungkook.

He stopped sifting the flour, eyes widening because of what you did.

"I-It's your fault! You're pissing me off!" You stammered.

You were supposed to be mad at him, but it was you who felt shiver running down your spine when he just stared at you.

Was he mad? Was throwing a handful of flour on his face uncalled for?

"I'm sorry—what the fuck." You hissed when Jungkook also threw flour on your face.

You ended up squinting and coughing because the powder went to your eyes and mouth. It tasted like shit.

"Jeon Jungkook!" You were so annoyed you threw flour at him again.

Jungkook bursted into laughter, clearly having fun.

You two ended up having flour fight—if this was even a thing.

You had to admit that though annoyed, you couldn't help the smile gracing your lips. You liked playing with Jungkook to the point that you didn't want to stop.

You were only forced to end the fight when someone banged on his door.

"Jungkook! Open up!"

Soojin.

You were certain she was on the other side of the door.

"Is that Soojin?" Jungkook furrowed his brow, the smile on his lips was slowly disappearing.

"Yeah. I think so..."

"Huh." He furrowed his brow more. "Did you invite her?"

You shook your head.

Jungkook shrugged. "Okay. I'll ask what she wants. Stay here..."

You nodded, frantically running towards the sink so you could wash your face.

You didn't know why your heart was beating fast or why you felt as if you had done something you shouldn't have.

Maybe you had.

It was the only reasonable explanation why Soojin was glaring at you, her jaw tensed because of annoyance.

"What the hell were you two doing? I've been banging the door for so long! Didn't you hear me!?" This was the first thing Soojin said the moment she took a step in Jungkook's kitchen.

She didn't like that you and Jungkook were staying under the same roof.

"I'm sorry." You bit your lower lip, trailing off.

You didn't know what else to say. You knew your sister. Her question was rhetorical. She would only get madder if you tried to reason out.

When she was pissed, all you had to do was shut up and take the shit she would give you.

"The door is literally a few steps away! I don't understand why you can't hear me!"

Soojin continued to rant as you watched Jungkook enter the kitchen. He instantly stopped your sister's mean remarks because he could feel that it was making you uncomfortable.

"Let it go, Soojin. We apologized, didn't we?"

But Soojin just scoffed. She was about to speak again; however, Jungkook cut her off.

"There's an apron in the cabinet. Wear it if you want to join us..."

You were surprised when Soojin didn't protest. Rolling her eyes, she stomped towards the hanging cabinet to get an apron.

"What are we making?" Soojin crossed her arms.

"Banana chocolate chip cake." You simply said.

Soojin nodded, refusing to look at you.

"I'll mash the bananas." When she said this, you were expecting her to peel the bananas and use a fork to mash them.

Soojin didn't do any of this. Instead, she threw the bananas in the trash bin.

"What? The bananas are overripe." She reasoned out when you and Jungkook groaned.

"It doesn't matter. We can still use—"

"I said I don't want overripe bananas!” It was her turn to cut what Jungkook was saying.

"There's a grocery store across the street. Go buy some bananas, Jungkook."

It was hard to fight Soojin. She would just continue insisting what she wanted until you relented.

Jungkook didn't have a choice but to follow your sister, leaving you in the kitchen with Soojin.

You were thinking how to break the ice when your sister suddenly spoke.

"You didn't go home last night..."

You stopped weighing the butter, your heart skipping a beat.

"Yeah. I stayed the night here..."

Soojin clenched her jaw and you wondered if you should have lied instead. It looked like she didn't like your answer.

"You know, dad asked where you are and I told him you were in your room, working..."

Silence.

"I told him not to disturb you. You're obviously still moping because of what happened yesterday..."

You didn't know what to say. You knew you should be thanking her. Your father was strict. Jungkook was a friend, yes, but Taemin would go feral knowing that you were out here, doing God knows what with a boy when you should be in your own room, working and fixing your mistakes.

"I covered for you because I care about your feelings." She scoffed once again. "But it turns out you don't care about what I feel, huh?"

"Soojin..." You called. "What are you talking about?"

Why was she getting mad at you? You covered for her countless times! Meanwhile she only did the same for you once.

"I'm saying I like Jungkook, sister." She confessed, emphasizing the word 'sister.'

Your heart sank, face growing pale.

"Y-You like...Jungkook?" Saying this felt like a stab in your chest.

"I've been in love with him since we were sixteen. I tried telling him how I feel but I can't do it because of you." The way she said this made you feel like it was your fault.

"Me?" You blinked, shocked.

"Yes. You..." She inhaled deeply, like she was trying hard to stop herself from lashing out on you.

"You were always with him. I can't find the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth because I feel like you're preventing me!"

"Soojin..." You tried to reach for her hand but she swatted it away.

She was upset.

"I'm sorry..." You apologized. You honestly had no idea why you're saying sorry.

You guessed you felt bad.

She was right. You were always with Jungkook, always monopolizing his time that you didn't realize that you were hurting Soojin—preventing her happiness.

"I don't need your sorry. I need you to stay away from Jungkook for a while. Can you do that, huh? Will you let your sister confess first?" Just a few breaths ago, she was swatting your hand away, but now, she was taking it, gently stroking the back of your hand.

"Please? I'm not saying that you should stop being friends with him. I get it. You met him first. You were friends before I came into his life....but please, please give us time and space. I really, really like Jungkook..."

Soojin was looking at you as though she would die if you didn't say yes.

So yes.

You said "Yes. I won’t stop you from telling him how you feel..." just to make her happy.

Soojin's happiness mattered to you.

You could live without Jungkook for a while.

She couldn't. She had waited long enough.

It was her time to be with him.

You were allowing this.

You were allowing her to be happy with your best friend.

"Yay!" Soojin embraced you. "Thank you, sister!"

You smiled and hugged her back, reminding yourself that you made the right choice.

After all, it should always be family first, right?

#ficswithluv #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook best friends to lovers #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook roommate au #armywriterssupport

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hiswordsarekisses · 2 years

Text

So long but SO worth the read!!!!!

NOT A SINGLE CONVERT?

In 1921 David and Svea Flood went with their two-year-old son from Sweden to the heart of Africa, to what was then called the Belgian Congo. This missionary couple met up with the Ericksons, another young Scandinavian couple, and the four of them sought God for direction. In those days of much devotion and sacrifice, they felt led of the Lord to set out from the main mission station to take the gospel to the village of N’dolera, a remote area.

This was a huge step of faith.

There, they were rebuffed by the chief, who would not let them enter his town for fear of alienating the local gods. The two couples opted to build their own mud huts half a mile up the slope.

They prayed for a spiritual breakthrough, but there was none. Their only contact with the villagers was a young boy, who was allowed to sell them chickens and eggs twice a week.

Svea Flood—a tiny woman only four feet, eight inches tall—decided that if this was the only African she could talk to, she would try to lead the boy to Jesus. And she succeeded!

Meanwhile, malaria struck one member of the little missionary band after another. In time, the Ericksons decided they had had enough suffering and left to return to the central mission station.

David and Svea Flood remained near N’dolera to carry on alone.

Then, Svea found herself pregnant in the middle of the primitive wilderness. When the time came for her to give birth, the village chief softened enough to allow a midwife to help her. A little girl was born, whom they named Aina. The delivery was exhausting. Svea Flood was already weak from bouts of malaria so the birthing process was a heavy blow to her stamina. She died only 17 days after Aina was born.

Something snapped Inside David Flood at that moment. He dug a crude grave, buried his 27-year-old wife, and then went back down the mountain with his children to the mission station.

Giving baby Aina to the Ericksons, he snarled, “I’m going back to Sweden. I’ve lost my wife, and I obviously can’t take care of this baby. God has ruined my life!”

With that, he headed for the port, rejecting not only his calling, but God Himself.

Within eight months, both the Ericksons were stricken with a mysterious malady and died within days of each other. Baby Aina was then turned over to another American missionary family who changed her Swedish name to “Aggie”. Eventually they took her back to the United States at age three.

This family loved Aggie. Afraid that if they tried to return to Africa some legal obstacle might separate her from them, they decided to stay in their home country and switch from missionary work to pastoral ministry. That is how Aggie grew up in South Dakota.

As a young woman, she attended North Central Bible College in Minneapolis. There she met and married Dewey Hurst.

Years passed. The Hurst's enjoyed a fruitful ministry. Aggie gave birth first to a daughter, then a son. In time, her husband became president of a Christian college in the Seattle area, and Aggie was intrigued to find so much Scandinavian heritage there.

One day she found a Swedish religious magazine in their mailbox. She had no idea who had sent it, and of course she couldn’t read the words, but as she turned the pages, a photo suddenly stopped her cold.

There, in a primitive setting, was a grave with a white cross—and on the cross were the words SVEA FLOOD.

Aggie got in her car and drove straight to a college faculty member whom she knew could translate the article.

“What does this article say?”

The teacher shared a summary of the story.

"It is about missionaries who went to N’dolera, Africa, long ago. A baby was born. The young mother died. One little African boy was led to Jesus before that. After the whites had all left, the boy all grown up finally persuaded the chief to let him build a school in the village. He gradually won all his students to Christ and the children led their parents to Him. Even the chief became a follower of Jesus! Today there are six hundred believers in that village, all because of the sacrifice of David and Svea Flood."

Aggie was elated!

For the Hursts’ 25th wedding anniversary, the college presented them with the gift of a vacation to Sweden.

Aggie sought out her birth father.

David Flood was an old man now. He had remarried, fathered four more children, and generally dissipated his life with alcohol. He had recently suffered a stroke. Still bitter, he had one rule in his family: “Never mention the name of God! God took everything from me!”

After an emotional reunion with her half-brothers and half-sister, Aggie brought up the subject of her longing to see her father. They hesitated.... he had recently suffered a stroke.

“You can talk to him, but he’s very ill now. You need to know that whenever he hears the name of God, he flies into a rage.” Aggie was not deterred.

Walking into a filthy apartment, which had liquor bottles strewn everywhere, Aggie slowly approached her father lying in a dirty bed.

“Papa,” she said tentatively.

He turned and began to cry.

“Aina!"

"I never meant to give you away!”

“It’s all right, Papa,” she replied, taking him gently in her arms. “God took good care of me.”

Her father instantly stiffened and his tears stopped.

“God forgot all of us. Our lives have been like this because of Him.”

He turned his face back to the wall.

Aggie stroked his face and then continued, undaunted.

“Papa, I’ve got a marvelous story to tell you! You didn’t go to Africa in vain. Mama didn’t die in vain. The little boy you won to the Lord grew up to win that whole village to Jesus! The one seed you planted in his heart kept growing and growing! Today there are 600 people serving the Lord because you were faithful to the call of God in your life!"

"Papa, Jesus loves you. He has never hated you or abandoned us.”

The old father turned back to look into his daughter’s eyes. His body relaxed and as he listened to his daughter, the Holy Spirit suddenly fell on David flood, and tears of sorrow and repentance begin to flow down his face. And by the end of the afternoon, he had come back to the God he had resented for so many years. Over the next few days, father and daughter enjoyed warm moments together.

A few weeks after Aggie and her husband returned to America, David Flood died.

And a few years later....

Aggie and her husband were attending an evangelism conference in London, England, when a report was given from Zaire (the former Belgian Congo).

The superintendent of the national church, representing some 110,000 baptized believers, spoke eloquently of the Gospel’s spread in his nation.

Aggie could not help going to ask him afterward if he had ever heard of David and Svea Flood.

“Yes, madam,” the man replied in French, his words being translated into English.

“Svea Flood led me to Jesus Christ! I was the boy who brought food to your parents before you were born. In fact, to this day, your mother’s grave and her memory are honored by all of us.”

He embraced Aggie for a long time, sobbing.

“You must come to Zaire! Your mother is the most famous and honored person in our history.”

When Aggie and her husband went to N’dolera, they were welcomed by cheering throngs of villagers. Aggie even met the man who had been hired by her father to carry her down the mountain in a hammock-cradle.

Then the pastor escorted Aggie to see her mother’s tomb with a white cross bearing her name. She knelt in the soil to pray and give thanks to God....

An excerpt from "Aggie Hurst: The Inspiring Story of a Girl Without a Country.

........................................................

Although God mercifully restored David Flood to him before he died,

He left behind five unsaved and embittered children. His anger towards God had totally wasted his life's potential and created a tragic legacy for his family.

We should never underestimate one act of obedience to God's will. David and Svea did not have a single convert they knew of. They thought it was all for nothing. But one seed took root and bore fruit beyond belief!

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justanotherteentitansblog · 3 years

Text

Poolside bbraeweek21 day 2

(So this fic is actually based on my headcannons for BB and Rae’s Future kids, Phoenix and Mavis. Phoenix is 6 in this and Mavis is about 1 ½ I have another fic during this week that features them but background info Phoenix has her dad’s powers and Mavis has her moms but Mavis has cuffs on her wrists that block them because a toddler with emotion based powers is a recipe for disaster. That should be everything you need to know before going in.)

“MOOOOOM!” Phoenix complained as her mother was trying to get sunscreen everywhere her bathing suit didn’t cover.

Raven continued despite her older daughter's protests, “Oh, I’m so sorry I don’t want you to get sunburnt. I’m the worst mom in the world, they should throw me in jail.”

“Can I even get sunburnt?”

Raven paused, that was actually a good question. She’d have to ask her husband about that one later. “Do you really wanna find out?”

“I wanna go play in the pool!”

“And you will, if you can be patient for five minutes while I get the rest of this on you.”

Phoenix huffed but complied as her mom finished applying sunscreen to her emerald skin.

“Go, but no morphing into salt water animals, just because I know CPR does not mean I want to use it.”

“Ok!” Phoenix shouted behind her as she ran into the Titans tower pool diving in feet first spraying droplets of water on her mother.

Just then, the door to the roof slammed open and Gar appeared carrying Mavis over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Why is it that trying to put my children in bathing suits is like trying to wrestle baby alligators?” he grumbled before Mavis kicked him in the face with a jelly shoe.

“At least Phoenix can dress herself now,” Raven replied.

“Ok, Rae” Gar said, handing her a wiggling giggling Mavis, “You can do this, I believe in you!”

“I’m going to need more than your belief Gar, I’m going to need a miracle.” Raven said, placing the girl in her lap as she squeezed sunscreen into her palm.

Raven attempted to work quickly before Mavis could realize what she was doing but it was too late. Mavis immediately threw her head back and arched her back as far as it could go to get away from her mother. She kicked and screeched and bit at her mother in an attempt to get away from her and the sunscreen. Succeeding only twice as Mavis was like a greased up pig at this point. Eventually Gar had to step in and hold his screaming child down while Raven rubbed the rest of the sunscreen into her skin, all whilst Mavis was screeching at the torture she was being made to suffer.

Finally finished with her work, Raven and Gar let Mavis go while she ran and threw herself down next to the pool, now able to throw a proper tantrum.

Door to the roof opened again revealing the rest of the former team along with the new titans as they filed out.

Cyborg stood at the door, hands on his hips glaring at the couple, “Yo what did you two do to my baby!” A long time ago this sentence would’ve meant the T Car but now exclusively meant Mavis whomst Vic had a huge soft spot for.

“We dared to put sunscreen on her.” Raven deadpanned.

Vic picked up the crying child and held her to his chest shielding her away from her parents, “Well don’t do it again,” he narrowed his eyes at the empath.

“Yeah Raven, how could you?” Gar added in sarcastically moving to retrieve his child from his best friend before she could push any buttons on him and blow everyone up.

Kori softly chuckled at her friends' interactions as she approached with Mar’i in her own arms.

“Raven, would you like me to watch over the little ones so you can have some time to yourself?”

Raven stood stunned for a moment, alone time was a rare treat and one she didn’t take lightly since having children and here Kori was offering it up like it was nothing. She could cry, she could’ve kissed Kori at that moment!

Gar was more hesitant however, “Are you sure, Star? Mavis is a handfu-”.

“Thank you so much Kori!” Raven interrupted shooting her husband a dirty look. HIs overprotectiveness was NOT about to ruin this rare opportunity for her.

Gar sighed but handed over Mavis to his friend and threw himself in the pool identically to the way Phoenix did spraying Raven with more water this time. Raven didn’t care though as she had already started lounging in a chair near the poolside with a book she kept in her bag just in case a rare opportunity like this occurred.

Gar swam over to Phoenix who was at this point testing out different freshwater fish she could turn into whilst doing laps. Upon seeing her Dad she morphed back into a girl and swam to meet him. “Dad! Dad! Look what I just figured out!” she shouted before morphing into an green lizard-like creature with fuzzy antennae on the sides of her face.

“Good work Nix, and that is called an….”

She morphed back into a child to answer, “Axolotl, a freshwater anphi, anphoebe, ambphibi,”

“Amphibian” Gar chuckled out.

“Yeah that one, and it comes from mexico.”

“You got it kid!” he said, giving the girl a high five.

Much to her delight her Dad then picked her up and threw her over his shoulder into the water. Phoenix emerged from the water, squealing “Do it again!” and he complied, throwing his child again and again as she cackled at their little game.

As much fun as Gar was having as well, he knew something was missing and that something was his wife. He knew how much her alone time meant to her, but with having the kids the time he had with just Raven was far and few between.

Phoenix swam back over to her Dad to get thrown again when he grabbed her up and whispered in her ear, “Hey Nixie, ask Mom to come in with us.”

Phoenix looked over at her mother fully engrossed in her reading at the poolside. “Mom doesn’t want to get in the pool”

Gar rolled his eyes “I know but she’s more likely to say yes to you than me.”

Phoenix regarded her mother lounging again, Phoenix really wanted to get ice cream after the pool and she knew that was more likely to happen if her mother was in a good mood and reading definitely put her in a good mood.

“No.” she said, staring at her Dad straight in the eyes.

Gar narrowed his eyes at Phoenix and threw her over his shoulder again but with less mirth this time.

Gar swam to the edge of the pool near Raven gave her his best puppy dog eyes, “Hey Ra-”

“No.” she said without looking up.

“Come on! I just want to have fun with you!” he complained.

Raven tore her eyes away from the book in her hand to glare at her husband, “Who stays home with the kids?”

Gar sighed at the familiar argument he always lost, “You do.”

“And when you’re on set, you get breaks right?”

“Yes”

“Do I ever get a break from being the mom?”

“No”

“So when I get a get a rare break, I’m going to enjoy it to the fullest, Gar”

Gar pouted and looked up at his wife, “but I miss you.”

Raven sighed and grumbled something to herself about him being as bad as the kids. “I promise we can do something together after the kids go to bed, but right now I really just want to read my book.”

Gar's ears drooped but he resigned, “Ok, enjoy your book Rae.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Raven smiled.

Gar offered a half smile, still disappointed but deciding it was best to give her space.

Meanwhile Kori was sitting with Mavis and Mar’i on a beach towel while the girls were playing with toys. Mar’i was trying to wrestle the plastic elephant out of Mavis' hands whilst Mavis kicked and screamed at the other toddler.

“No, no, please girls no more fighting,” Kori implored the children.

The two girls had done nothing but fight since Kori had brought them over and she was at her wits end. She hadn’t truly understood what Garfield had meant by Mavis was a handful until this moment.

Mar’i had finally ripped the toy out of Mavis’s hands and threw it into the deep end of the pool. Mavis, outraged, bit the half tameranian on the arm leaving deep teeth marks.

Kori was shocked and scolded Mavis whilst running to get the neosporin for Mar’i.

Mavis took this as her opportunity to go retrieve her elephant and waddled her way over to the pool's edge.

Gar was throwing a beach ball back and forth with Phoenix when he saw something that made his blood run cold. Time stood still as he watched his youngest daughter trip over the edge of the pool and begin to fall in. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe, all he could do was panic as he watched her tiny body disappear into the deep end.

“MAVIS NO!” he screamed, willing the inevitable to stop.

Raven’s eyes tore away from her book and it was discarded in an instant as she sprinted to where her daughter had fallen in jumping in without a moment’s hesitation. Mavis had barely been in the water for a few minutes before rising to the top, struggling and splashing to keep herself afloat as Raven snatched her up and breathed a sigh of relief that she came back up quickly and didn’t try to inhale water.

Raven clutched a sobbing Mavis to her chest, shaking and attempting to stop herself from thinking about what could’ve happened. Gar swam over to examine the pair and make sure everyone was ok before hugging them both. Phoenix swam over as an axolotl to the deep end and cocked her head to the side in silent questioning at her mother.

“Everyone’s ok Nix. Thank you.” Raven replied, finally calming down at the same time as Mavis.

Gar smiled at Raven and then began to chuckle.

Raven narrowed her eyes at her husband, “I fail to see the humor in this situation Garfield!”

“Good Job, Mavis. You somehow got your mom in the pool!” he said through his laughter.

Raven’s eyes glowed with black magic as she sent a tidal wave crashing over her husband whilst holding both of her girls to her.

#bbraeweek21 #bbrae #bbrae fanfiction

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one-pissed-off-child · 3 years

Text

Only A Fool

I have been here for 300 years.

Anyway, here you go.

Phillipe didn’t listen to Camille.

He was tired, true (in this same moment, a thousand lifetimes away, he would have been much too tired and much too sullen to put up a fuss) and he had a long journey ahead of him. But Phillipe had given everything to this island. His years, his family’s funds, his dedication, and now he would give his children. He was owed, at least, a chance to see them for the first and last time.

So he went.

When his wife laid down to rest, still weary from the tribulations of birth, and when the old midwife stepped outside to fetch a bundle of calming herbs at the king’s behest, Phillipe went to see his daughters.

As he stepped into the hall, Phillipe came to the stark realization that he had no idea where the nursery was. In all the hours that they'd been here, Willa had not bothered to show him where the babes would be kept. Why would she? He was never meant to see them after all. They weren’t his to see.

But still, he searched undeterred, and eventually, he came across a room a few doors down from Camille’s birthing chamber, barred by an expertly crafted door engraved with three black roses. Beautiful flowers marked with the color of death. How symbolic.

Pushing into the room, Phillipe was reminded of the brief moment of calm that often comes within the eye of a storm. He felt himself relax as he took in the domesticity of it all.

Sunlight gently streamed in through the window, falling on three bassinets to the side of the room. He felt a small smile split his face as he approached the cradles. Seeing the small forms sleeping peacefully inside filled him with indescribable joy, he wished he knew their names. Phillipe’s smile morphed into a frown. He should know their names.

He started with the one cuddling the cloud pillow. Scooping her tiny form into his arms was a surreal experience. She barely weighed anything at all and staring down at her little face almost gave him the sensation of floating. It was often said that the queens retained no physical traits from their parents before them but he could see that this one had his jawline and ears. She would grow up to be beautiful.

Phillipe kissed her brow before settling her back into place.

The next one did not look much like him, although he could see a bit of Camille in the roundness of her face and himself in her strong nose. However, as he gently lifted the little girl out from underneath her horrid mobile, it quickly became clear the similarities between them lay in their personalities. He chuckled softly as she squirmed in his arms. His mother often told stories of how fitful Phillipe was as a child, even when asleep. His restlessness did not subside much as he grew older but rather worsened. All up until now in his manhood he had trouble keeping still. Phillipe suspected this child would be the same.

He pinched the tiny hand that slipped out of the swaddle and nearly cried when it latched around his fingers.

He tenderly set the second child down, careful to avoid disturbing -or touching- the dead reptiles, and turned his attention to the final cradle.

This last child was not like him in appearance nor mannerisms. She was so still that Phillipe almost feared for her health until he saw the healthy flush in her face. And she did not look like him at all but, he noted with no small amount of pride, she was almost the mirror image of Camille. Smallest out of the three by far, this one had to be the youngest.

Just as he kissed her cheek and prepared to set her down, big, black doll-like eyes suddenly fluttered open. He froze.

She didn't immediately start wailing like he assumed her to. In fact, she stared at him almost expectantly. As if she were waiting for him to do something. It almost felt like...a request.

To his credit, Phillipe did try to leave. Told himself to go before his traitorous thoughts could continue entertaining a notion that would likely get him killed. Yet still, even as his rational mind tried to reason with his body, he felt himself crumple to the floor. Those eyes that were so much like Camille's turned his legs to anchors.

There is a saying amongst the people of Fennbirn. At first glance, it seemed a strange one given this island’s seemingly unconditional adoration of their triplet queens. But the years taught him better.

Only a fool could love a queen

Then he truly must be the king of fools to have fallen in love with four of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Camille shot up with a gasp. Cold sweat ran down her forehead in rivulets. She gripped the sheets like a lifeline. She felt like throwing up. Camille groaned at the intense pounding in her skull. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her...victory.

Sleep. How could she? How could she when the ghosts of her sisters screamed in her ear; when she saw their dead and dying faces every time she closed her eyes; when the memories of her early days returned to her and all she could think of is the sweet little girls in those memories and how she murdered them?

Camille shook herself. Now was not time for regret. It wouldn’t do much good for anyone either way; what’s done is done is done. She was so close to everything she had dreamed of for seven years.  She could start over; live the life she had always wanted from the beginning. All she had to do was walk away and never turn back.

Yet, when she searched for her dream's face, she did not see him.

A cold pit of dread formed in her stomach.

Camille called for him, hoping he had simply stepped out for air. No answer. The pit in her stomach grew larger.

She desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to get some water or if not that then to get a better pillow or if not that then to use the chamber pot. One by one she checked the kitchen, each of the bedrooms, and the bathroom, and one by one they all were deemed empty.

Once it became evident that her husband was nowhere else in the house, Camille slowly made her way to the nursery. She pointedly ignored the bittersweet feelings that rose marked door summoned within her as she made her way into the room.

Inside, she found her husband, sitting on the ground and cradling one of the baby queens against his chest. Camille sighed heavily and approached the pair. She carded a hand through his auburn curls.

He looked up at her and- oh

He was crying.

Her love, soft-hearted though he may be, was not a well-known crier.

Pursing her lips, she carefully settled down next to him. "Come now, darling. Let us find Willa." But he was already shaking his head. He looked back at the child in his arms.

"I- I can't do this Camille. I'm sorry."

Camille's hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as she dredged up every last ounce of patience her tired body possessed. "I know this is hard for you but it's simply how we do things here. I promise that once we get to the mainland-"

“Did you hold them? Did you even touch them?”

“Phillipe-”

“Take her, Camille.”

Camille did not take her. “You’ve known that this would happen for years. I’ve told you time and time again that you can’t get attached. This is why I told you not to go. ”

"I can't just leave my daughters-"

"They aren't your daughters," Camille said gently, "They belong to the island and the Goddess only."

Phillipe tensed. "So you truly believe that it's right for us to just sail away and go about our lives knowing what they'll be subjected to here? That it's right to just hand them over after everything these people have done to you?"

“It is my duty as queen”, Camille said mechanically. She wasn’t even sure if they were her words (they weren’t. Not really).

“They’ve taken so much from us. I hear the way you cry out for your sisters at night. I've seen the scars on your arms and back. The Arrons, the temple, this entire damned island, they have given you nothing, nothing but heartache and pain. And as thanks for your suffering, you'd give them our children to torture?"

"They are not our children!", She snapped, then softer, "Please, enough of this. You know the island won't let them go. We can have a real family on the mainland."

Phillipe just sadly shook his head again. "I can't be with someone who would abandon her own daughters to a life of misery. If you force me to choose between you and them- it's them. I'm sorry", and Camille's heart shattered.

He finally turned from the infant to her. "I don't want to choose, please don't make me choose." He took her hand and rested it on the child's -Katharine, she numbly recalled- head. "This is our family. Don't let the island tear it apart."

Everything Phillipe was saying went against the very person Camille had been taught to be. What the temple taught her of being a vessel for the Goddess on earth. What the Arrons taught her about succeeding no matter what. The things Phillipe was suggesting were blasphemous and damn near sacrilegious (but she had stopped praying a long time ago). To go along with it would be to burn down years of meticulous planning. To spit in the face of all the teachings Camille received.

She looked from Phillipe and his pleading eyes to Mirabella and Arsinoe, blissfully sleeping through the turmoil in the room, to little Katharine, whose eyes and nose looked so much like her own.

Queens never pass on physical traits

She was tired of following the rules.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Black Cottage was small, although it was not actually a cottage. Hidden away in the forest and surrounded by undergrowth, it was not an easy place to find, let alone reach. Few people were privy to the cottage’s exact location and every one except the queens were sworn to secrecy on pain of execution. This, of course, was to allow the Midwife to raise the ascending queens in peace as well as protect them in those few vulnerable years where they were not constantly guarded by a powerful foster family. The meticulous position now worked to their advantage as Queen and King rushed to secure the baby girls in the back of Willa’s old but sturdy wagon.

Phillipe tied down the wicker baskets that held his daughters with the rope they found in the kitchen while Camille shackled Willa's fastest horse, Sarin, to the front of the wagon.

Phillipe stopped suddenly. "Wait, should we bring nappies?"

Camille blinked. "What? You mean soil cloths?"

"Yes, who is going to change them?"

"I'd reckon you know more about these things than I do."

"But you're-"

She shot him a withering look. "I'm what? A woman?"

"Smarter than me", he finished.

Camille just rolled her eyes. "We can figure all that out once we're on the road. I'll go get the cloths." He nodded as Camille finished attending to the horses and turned back towards the house.

She stopped.

There in the meadow stood Willa. This was the first time Camille's seen her since the birthing. She had completely forgotten about her pseudo mother. Behind her, a small gasp indicated that Phillipe had similarly forgotten about the only other person in the house.

“Camille-”

“Get in the wagon.” She sucked in a breath and righted herself with a confidence she did not feel. “I will handle this.”

Still, Phillipe glanced between her and the old Midwife as though he expected Willa to summon a dagger out of thin air and bury it in Camille's eye. Knowing of the old woman's history as a poisoner, Camille could not even say his concern was unfounded. But he finally nodded once and got in the coach's seat.

She approached Willa with her head held high

Willa smiled as she drew near. "You were going to make off with my only wagon and best horse without even a goodbye? The gall of this generation."

Camille didn't know what to say. She stayed silent as she eyed the bag Willa had slung over her shoulder. Noticing the younger woman's tension, Willa's smile fell away.

"Relax girl. I'm not going to beat you to death with a rucksack." Her eyes hardened, "And I'm not going to try and stop you either."

Now Camille's silence was tinged with an air of shock.

"Those six years I spent raising the three of you were the happiest years of my life. I treasured every moment I spent watching you and Arden play in the river. Eating those horrible cookies that Nautica baked every winter," Willa raised one wrinkled hand to Camille's cheek. She didn't pull away. "You girls were the most important things in my life even after those black carriages came and took you away."

"I collected every piece of news about you three I could find. I celebrated every victory with you and every time I heard of Nautica's escapades with her multiple spouses or of Arden's ridiculous spars with the warriors from Bastian, I would think of our time here together."

"The pain I felt when I heard of their passing was the worst than anything I had ever experienced. I prayed I would not live long enough to feel it again."

Camille couldn't help it. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I killed them."

Willa nodded. "You did."

"I remember their faces. I remember the river, the cookies, all of it." Camille shook as she wept, "And I killed them."

"And now-", Willa said as she wiped her tears, "You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again."

"You failed your sisters and I failed the three of you. Do not fail your daughters." Camille nodded against Willa's hand.

Willa again smiled briefly.

“I’ll send for the houses in two hours. It will take one hour for the word to reach all of them and another three or so for the carriages to arrive. I suspect that should be just enough time for you to reach the landing. Provided you take the back roads of course.”

“I-yes. That should be enough.”

“Good. Now then,” She handed Camille the sack she had brought. Inside were blankets, soil cloths, medicinal herbs, clothes for infants, and a collection of peculiar items that she assumed were to the girls entertained. And quiet.

"Thank you", said Camille, and she meant it from the depths of her soul.

"A child needs not to thank her mother for doing a mother's duty." Then mother and daughter embraced for the last time. Camille stiffened as she pulled away.

“You’ll be-” executed. Brutally. Painfully.

The old crone just smiled. “I will be fine.” It was a lie.

The Midwife turned around and slowly made her way back into the house. Camille watched until her back disappeared behind the door before walking back to her husband and daughters.

To her family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan Blackburn is a family man at heart.

Whenever his sister needed help wrangling her massive brood of eight, Jonathan was there. Whenever his mother needed him to drive the cattle because one of the work hands fell sick, Jonathan was there. And when Phillipe came to him seven years ago and told him of his plans to go to the legendary island of Fennbirn and pursue one of their triplet queens well, what other choice did Jonathan have than to go with him?

You could start a family of your own you know, Phillipe had said.

And Jonathan replied, How could I trust myself to start a new one if I can't take care of the one I have now?

So, when his little brother arrived at the landing three hours early in an old wagon with his wife at his side and a slumbering newborn in his arms, Jonathan took one look at his pleading face and called for the captain to take to sea.

Not a word was passed between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Goddess took being robbed of her new queens about as well as Camille expected her to.

Within thirty minutes of leaving Bernadine's Landing, a vicious storm descended upon the mighty Rapshire, and thus, the battle began.

If there was one silver lining in this whole debacle, it's that every man aboard this ship was a mainlander. Not one of them batted an eye when she and Phillipe carried the girls aboard.

But as it goes, if there's an upside then there's a downside. No matter how good of a crew these men were, they were simply no match for the ferocity of the typhoon. There were many times in her life when Camille wished to be an elemental but none more so than today.

Down in the underbelly, Camille listened to the stomping and shouting above her head as the men tried everything in their power to keep the ship afloat. Phillipe was up there too, shouting orders with the rest of them.

A particularly strong gust of wind threatened to capsize the ship altogether and the young mother desperately kept hold of her children while struggling to stay sitting upright. Camille winced as the wails of Arsinoe and Katharine rose to match the crashing of thunder.

The eldest of the baby queens simply laughed. Where Camille greened every time the boat was violently rocked by the waves, Mirabella shrieked in delight and flapped her little arms about as if she were the one bringing this storm down on their heads.

Camille huffed. Elementals.

Once again, the ship rocked so violently that it was everything Camille could do to keep a tight grip on the baskets. She felt something slip out of her pocket and clatter to the ground. She looked down at it and paled.

A vile of nightshade. Willa had pressed it into her hand during their embrace. Such a poison was much too weak to have any effect on Camille. There was no question of who it was for.

You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.

Somehow she managed to grasp the vile with a shaking hand. She swallowed as she considered the task before her. Killing two teenage girls whose faces she hardly remembered was difficult enough but three infants?

Yet, letting the Goddess sweep them back to the island would be just as damning. A small bit of nightshade is incomparable to the suffering that the Arrons would inflict on Arsinoe. And Mirabella, she would be forced to live through the deaths and haunting memories of her sisters as Camille is. She uncorked the vile.

Yes, this is the kinder fate. A death by nightshade would be quick and painless. At her young age, not even Arsinoe's poisoner gift could protect her from a toxin this deadly.

She only wished that she could have made their last moments as joyous for her two youngest as they were for Mirabella.

Slowly, she kissed each of the girls goodbye. The silence was deafening as she pressed the vile to Katharine's lips and made to tip it back.

Silence?

Camille snatched the nightshade away before a drop of liquid could spill over.

The cabin was suddenly still. There was no booming thunder overhead. No screaming wind that nearly knocked them clean over. She couldn't even hear the rain anymore. It was as if the storm had never happened at all.

Camille dared to let herself hope.

And when Phillipe rushed downstairs to practically slam his mouth into hers, she knew her dreams finally came true

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun on her skin was a blessing after being cooped up in that tiny cabin for what felt like hours. If the pleased cooing was anything to go by, it seemed Katharine agreed.

An arm wrapped around her waist and her husband and brother-in-law joined her at the bow of the ship. Each of them held her other two children.

Phillipe observed them with proud eyes. He stared down at his daughter in his arms as if she were the most perfect this in the world.

Phillipe looked at her again and she saw tears in his eyes for the second time in seven years.

"What are their names?"

Camille smiled through her own tears. "She-", Camille said, nodding to the babe in Phillipe's arms, "-is Mirabella. The eldest." The new father beamed.

She gestured to Jonathan. "She is Arsinoe. Middle child."

Jonothan grinned down at his wiggling niece. "Hello, little Arsinoe. I am your uncle Jon. I can already tell you're going to be as much of a handful as your father is."

"And this is Katharine. She is the youngest." Camille pressed a kiss to Katharine's head.

Phillipe repeated their names in order under his breath. Then louder and louder still until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"THEIR NAMES ARE MIRABELLA, ARSINOE, AND KATHARINE! I'M A FATHER!"

Jonathan whooped. "You heard him, gents! Hats off to the new parents!"

Camille laughed like she never had before as each and every man on board cheered and flung their hats into the ocean. Those that didn't have hats took the shirts off their backs and whipped them over their heads like madmen.

Distantly, the part of her that still thought of Fennbirn as home wondered what would happen to the island without its queens. Perhaps the people would learn to move on without them, even as their gifts faded. Or maybe the Goddess, in a fit of self-righteous anger, would turn her ire on the island that she’d birthed. Maybe she would command the seas to rise and swallow Fennbirn whole. Send a storm three times as terrible as the one she inflicted on Camille's family to wash everyone and everything away.

But as she watched her husband dance and cry and laugh and kiss their daughter all over her face, Camille found that she could not bring herself to care.

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