#the terror nearly once a month. to find beauty in a thing that causes you such terror and pain. theres something about it i can't find the

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#sometimes. most times. if i cant articulate things properly i feel like my heads gonna explode. which is unfortunate bc i have the #language is hard brain problems. my neurology makes articulation difficult. but i try reguardless. which is sometimes. most times. #exhausting. that words gets thrown around a lot when i describe the patterns of my thoughts. exhausting. and it is i guess. tho id say its #more annoying and frustrating. but maybe its also exhausting. hard to tell when its how u think. but ive been reading a lot of papers this #weekend. enjoying the papers i read. papers about photosynthesis at the edge of habitability. about genetis and the structure and functions #of proteins. and the learning curve is steep but im learning bit by bit. and it just sorta makes me sad bc the way that my brain works has #so damaged the way that i interact with the world and i can see it at every step of my academic career. i dont even kno what to say abt the #past 2 years of my life. from where i stand now its just a black hole of self destruction. y did i do that? i dunno. at the time i was just #following the arbitrary rules and restrictions laid out for me within my head. did these rules have a rational basis? no. not usually. but #thats how it had to be. exhausting. but even then i coukd sometimes see thru to the wonder. and it was agony bc i wasnt allowed to think #abt it. its still agony now but i can feel it more often. maybe that's what happiness is to me. to be so full of wonder that i cant take it #i cant exist in that state or id b nonfunctional. its too big for my chest. it makes me want to scream and weep and pull at my hair. and #and its maddening bc i cant articulate it properly. except to call upon media short hands. there is wonder here. a nightmarish description #but not always. sometimes it was beautiful. theres a reason ive read annihilati0n 5 times despite hating the book. theres a reason i rewatch #the terror nearly once a month. to find beauty in a thing that causes you such terror and pain. theres something about it i can't find the #words for and its driving me nuts. exhausting. but so it goes #unrelated

[mypoisonedvine]

You, Me, and Him | (dark)Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: the worst thing about the man who did this to you is that he’s convinced he isn’t the one who did this to you (or, brainscrambled bucky decides to keep the gift that the winter soldier left for him)

word count: 4k

warnings: smut (noncon), yandere-ish themes, stalking, kidnapping, very unstable/erratic bucky, slapping, creampie kink, praise

When you opened your eyes, you wondered why your room looked so strange.  What possible angle could you be looking at your ceiling from that it would be like this?

However, when you turned your head, you suddenly realized that you were not in your room at all.  The next thing you realized was that your hands were restrained— shackled, specifically, and suspended above your head.  Obviously, this realization shot ice-cold terror through your veins as you began to try to understand how you’d gotten here.  Now that you thought about it, you didn’t remember going to sleep in your room: no, you’d been out shopping, in the middle of the afternoon.  Why couldn’t you remember anything after that?  

Your head spun when a door nearby opened, and the man that awaited on the other side brought it all back.

He was following me.  I tried to lose him, I turned a corner, but he was right there— and there was a syringe in his hand… and he must have—

“Oh my god,” the man gasped, “shit— are you okay?”

You stared at him in confusion, already starting to cry as you put two and two together about all this.  Generally, only one thing happened after a man drugged a woman and chained her to a wall.  The part that didn’t add up was the terror on his face as he rushed to you and knelt down in front of where you were lying— why was he worried about you?

“Oh no, oh nonononono,” he whimpered, mostly to himself, “oh god, I didn’t— this wasn’t… oh fuck.”

“Please let me go,” you started to plead between sobs, “I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have any money… I’ll give you whatever I have, I won’t tell anyone, just let me go, please—”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head quickly.  Either he wasn’t listening (bad) or he was denying your request (worse) and both possibilities just made you cry harder.  He, meanwhile, was rocking back and forth in front of you, covering his ears with his hands to muffle your cries.  “Oh god, what have I done, what have I done— what did I do?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whimpered.

“No, no, I won’t— I would never do that…” he sighed.  “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

You squinted as you tried to make out what that meant, sniffling as your crying subsided a little (mainly from being distracted by the confusion of it all).  “Do I… know you?”

He chuckled a little, scratching the back of his neck nervously.  “Uh, no, not really, I’m— my name is Bucky,” he explained, “I— you might have seen me on the news, but that wasn’t really me, that was this other guy—”

“Why did you do this to me?” you interrupted.

“No, see, that’s the thing: I didn’t do this to you.  It was… it was somebody else.  He’s… he’s in my head, and every once in a while he takes control and sort of does his own thing…”

Not that anybody who kidnaps somebody is totally right in the head, but this guy is certifiable.

“And he did this to you.  Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay,” he assured you, though it wasn’t comforting at all, “I’m not gonna hurt you, I would never— I won’t do that, okay?  I’m just gonna… I’m gonna let you go.”

You sighed with relief, although some voice in the back of your head told you not to trust him just because he seemed regretful.  Regardless of his strange excuses, this was still the man who kidnapped you.

“You don’t believe me,” he realized with an awkward smile.  “It’s okay, I understand.  I wouldn’t believe me either— god, I must sound crazy, right?  But I’m not crazy.  I don’t think…”

This time your sigh was less relief and more irritation.

“See, I was, uh, tortured.  Experimented on.  That was a long time ago, and I’m mostly over it, but this other guy— he’s a soldier.  I guess I am, too, but he’s… more on the war crimes side of things.  Like, assassinations and stuff.  That’s a whole other story…”

I think I’d prefer to hear that one.

“Anyways, sometimes I get sort of… messed up?  Up here?” he gestured to his head, leaning back to sit on the floor in front of you with crossed legs.  “Like, I can’t tell what year it is or how long it’s been since I’ve slept.  My psychiatrist says I’m ‘losing time’ and that it’s normal for people with… whatever it is that I have.  But it’s scary, you know?  Because I don’t know what I’ve done in that time.  So today, I woke up and had no idea how I got where I was—”

Same.

“And I came down here and… you’re here.  I didn’t… I didn’t do this, I can’t stress that enough.”

“So… this other guy…” you tried to understand, hoping that appealing to his twisted sense of logic would get him to tell you something actually useful, “he did this?”  Bucky nodded.  “Does he do this often?”

“What, kidnap women?  No this is… this is new.  As far as I know.”

“Why me?”

“Uh…” he stalled, looking away.  “God, this is sort of embarrassing, but… it’s probably because I sort of have this, um, crush on you…”

“You don’t even know me,” you mumbled.

“No, you don’t know me, but I… I know you,” he nodded confidently.  “Do you remember a few months ago when you went to that art gallery by your apartment?  It was raining that day, I couldn’t tell for sure if you came in to look at the art or if you were just trying to get out of the weather but, anyways, you had on this big puffy coat— ‘cause it was cold out— and you took off your hood and you just looked around… I saw you, cause I was in there to look at the art, too, and you looked so beautiful.”

You were getting anxious.  He said he would let you go but he hadn’t really made any progress on that goal.

“And I sort of followed you after that, and watched you— I mean, that sounds really bad, it wasn’t like that, I just… I just wanted to make sure you were safe and—”

“Let me go, Bucky, please,” you interrupted, getting more desperate.

He shook his head with a sigh.  “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry… I just haven’t had anyone to talk to… you’re a good listener.”

Yeah, everybody’s a good listener when they’re tied up and forced to listen.

“Just let me finish my story and I’ll let you go.  I was kind of in the middle of something.  You know, it’s rude to interrupt people.”

Oh fuck.  You’d angered him.  It was subtle, but he was clearly irritated; he looked at the floor, and his jaw tightened a little.  It must have been that this candid talk made you forget he was unstable and that you needed to tread lightly.  You couldn’t afford another mistake like that.

“I’m sorry, Bucky, finish your story,” you offered.

“Okay,” he nodded, “well, anyways, when you came into the gallery you looked around for a while but there was one painting you kept looking at— do you remember it?” 

You shook your head.

“Really?  You must’ve stared at it for half an hour.  I swear I saw you tearing up a bit,” he smiled.  “Clearly it had an effect on you.  I wasn’t sure if you were considering buying it, or if it would make you upset to see it in your house every day, but the way you looked at it… it changed everything for me.  You smiled at me as you left, just a quick glance— I’m not offended that you don’t remember me just from that, if anything it’s good because it made it a lot easier to trail you, but… I knew then that you were such a kind, soulful person.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “I remember… I remember that.”

It was so cold out that the rain was nearly frozen.  You’d gone in to escape the elements, but one painting drew you in.  Someone else was there, a man that you remembered thinking was attractive but a little eerie with the way he just stood there, seemingly even more purposeless than you.  He smiled at you as you left, and you smiled back.  You were just trying to be friendly.  No good deed, though, right?

“Do you remember the painting?” he asked again, leaning in a little closer with innocent hope sparkling in his eyes.

“Yes,” you nodded, “it was… it was a woman, and she was looking away from the viewer, out over the water.  She looked sad, but determined, like she was thinking about something impossible to describe.”

He smiled wide then, apparently impressed by your description.   “Look,” was all he said as he pointed to the wall beside you— and as you turned your head, you gasped as you saw it: it was the painting, even more hauntingly beautiful than you remembered.  You started to cry again, because somehow it was this show of disturbed affection that made you more sure than ever that you weren’t going to get out of here.

“Don’t be scared,” he soothed, moving closer again and wiping the tears from your face gently.  “It’s gonna be alright.”

“Please let me go,” you whispered shakily, looking back at him, straight into his eyes, as if maybe you could find some sanity there to appeal to.

He frowned a little as he pulled back, bringing his thumb to his lips to chew the nail nervously as he thought.  “See, here’s the thing…”

“Bucky, please—”

“I don’t think I can do that,” he sighed.

“Please,” you cried, the word starting to lose all meaning as you just fought to be able to speak past the force of your sobs, “please, please—”

“You could tell somebody— and I know it wasn’t me, but the police aren’t gonna care about that.  I always have to take the heat for what he does… and I would just rather not go to prison.”

“I won’t, Bucky,” you feverishly defended, “I wouldn’t tell, I swear— we’re friends!  Friends don’t tell on each other—”

He interrupted you as he grabbed you by your shirt suddenly, pulling you towards him as you recoiled.  “I don’t have friends,” he growled.

“We… we could be friends,” you offered weakly.  “I could be your friend.  Do you… do you want to be my friend?”

He studied your face, the gaze of his bright blue eyes burning through you instantly.  “I can’t say that I do.”

You whimpered as he leaned in closer, taking a deep breath right against the side of your face.

“You smell so good,” he whispered, his left hand— bionic metal, much to your horror— reaching up to trace over your face and hold you close to him.  “We aren’t friends, silly; we’re soulmates.”

You shivered, gut sinking as you closed your eyes and thought there might still be a chance it was all a horrible dream.  This isn’t happening to me, this isn’t happening to me, this can’t be happening to me—

“Hey!” he yelled, slapping you on the face suddenly.  “Keep your eyes open!”

You cried but tried to do as he asked, knowing it would only be so much worse if you didn’t do whatever he wanted.

“The point is, even if you didn’t tell, letting you go just isn’t… economical for me,” he explained.  “‘Cause the truth is, even though I didn’t want to kidnap you, right now I wanna… I wanna keep you.”

He didn’t even let you start crying hard again before he cradled your face in his hands, refusing to let you turn away.

“No, baby, it’s okay— it’s gonna be good!” he promised.  “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Please, Bucky, don’t do this,” you sobbed.

“Shh, shh, don’t you get it?  He did this to help me— he knew I couldn’t do it alone, ‘cause I was too afraid to talk to you, but he brought you to me, and now I’m gonna make you understand how good we are for each other.”

He scooted closer, his hands rubbing your legs through your jeans as you cried silently.

“And that’s why he didn’t touch you,” he continued.  “He just left you for me, cause he knows you’re— you’re mine.”

He kissed you suddenly, and it was awkward and sloppy against your unwilling lips.  His tongue eventually managed to force your mouth open, exploring and filling it as you struggled and failed to turn away.  His hand on your jaw was almost tight enough to choke you, a looming threat of what awaited if you didn’t kiss him back.  You couldn’t exactly put much passion into it but you tried your best.

He was smiling when he leaned back and broke away from you, still holding your face and seeming almost proud— of you or himself, you weren’t sure.

“You are so perfect,” he praised quietly.  “I can’t believe I finally have you… god, it’s like a dream come true.”

Or a nightmare, you responded internally.

You jumped when he pulled the knife out from a holster on his belt.

“Oh, this?  I won’t hurt you with it— so long as you stay still,” he explained gently as he leaned forward and started to cut off your shirt while you tried desperately not to shake.  

He looked at you with the reverence of a man at the altar as he tore the shreds of your clothes away, cutting slowly until you were just in your bra and panties.

"Stop," you whispered, but it was so quiet he must not have heard you— or he just didn't care.  He gingerly slipped the knife between your bra and your chest, tugging out to snap it off.  

He took a breath to steady himself; he seemed nearly as nervous as you, just in an entirely different way.

"Baby," he mumbled under his breath, "god, I just wanna do everything to you."

It was hard not to tense up when he said that, or when he brought the knife between your legs to cut off your underwear, but you willed yourself not to shiver because you really weren't ready to lose anything important if his hand slipped.

With them cut and tossed aside, you forced your eyes shut— because you couldn't stop him from seeing you, but at least you didn't have to watch.  As your legs instinctively closed, he gently guided them back open, metal fingers cold on your skin but flesh ones unbearably warm.

“You have such a nice body, I don’t know why you hide it in those baggy clothes,” he chuckled as he ran his hands over your skin.  “I watched you shower a few times, you know, and I saw you look at yourself in the mirror before you got in…"

You opened your eyes, but he wasn't looking at your face, instead taking a long moment to take in everything else.

"You looked like you were disappointed," he continued, "but— but you’re beautiful, and you should know that.  You need somebody to tell you that.”

You felt your face heating up even though you should be horrified, not flattered.  To be fair, it was a bit of both.

“Do you think I’m, you know, handsome?” he asked awkwardly, glancing up to your face again.  “People used to say that about me, a long time ago.  Are you… attracted to me?”

You shook your head, lying.

“Then why are you so wet?” he sing-songed with a mocking grin, thick fingers spreading your lower lips and gathering the arousal they found there.  You whimpered when he brought those fingers to his lips and sucked them hungrily.  “Fuck, you taste incredible— I mean, I knew you would, but wow, this is so much better than just smelling those panties he stole.”

You shivered with disgust, realizing that he was responsible for the pair you thought were lost in the laundry.  

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that,” he laughed.  “Yeah, it was his idea and all, I didn’t do anything but… I’ll tell you a little secret,” he smirked as he leaned in, right against your ear, whispering: “I got off with them, and on them, and it felt soooo good…”

He quickly pulled his cock out of his trousers as you started to struggle against the chains again, getting a quick glimpse before looking away as you wondered how he could possibly fit that in you.

“Do you like knowing that?  Do you like knowing I stroked my cock and thought about you?  I imagined you were laying under me, begging me to fuck you… and now you’re here, and it’s real, and it’s gonna be wonderful.”

You gasped as he suddenly pushed in, trying not to react but knowing he was watching your face intently and saw it all.  “Fuck, baby,” he breathed, “you’re so tight, god, I knew you’d be perfect…”

You cried as he started moving inside you, holding your hips steady and filling you completely until it actually hurt to be stretched so wide.  You were sure nothing had ever been so deep inside you, and it was making your whole body jolt with each thrust.

“Does it feel good?  Do you like my cock in you?” he asked— but it didn’t sound like dirty talk, it sounded like he was genuinely asking.

You shook your head, lying again.

“What if I do this?” he offered, reaching down and circling a calloused thumb over your clit.  Your back arched into his touch, and he grinned proudly.  “See, doesn’t that make it better?  I bet I can make you come.”

One final lie for the night, you shook your head.

"Oh, doll," he soothed, kissing away a tear that had trailed down your cheek, "it's okay… it's okay to like it.  You don't need to pretend."

He reached down and pressed his hand into your lower belly, making you winced as he applied pressure until it took everything you had not to scream.

"Feel that?" he cooed.  "I can feel it.  We're finally together, baby, you never have to be alone again… isn't it incredible?"

Sobbing, your back began to arch up against the wall you were chained to.  With his hand pushing on you, it was impossible to ignore the head of his cock slamming into your g-spot— hard enough that your entire body shook with each thrust.  It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, and not just because you’d never been kidnapped before.  As he leaned down to suck on your neck hard enough to leave a mark, it was hard not to feel like he was claiming every part of your body all at once.  You bit down on your lip, afraid to moan too loud, but he heard the muffled noises and pulled up to tut at you disapprovingly.

“Don’t do that,” he frowned, “I wanna hear everything, pretty girl.  I wanna hear you beg for me.”

You whined as you tried to resist it, but getting railed like this made you want to do whatever he told you to.

“Come on, baby,” he encouraged sweetly, “just let go, I know you want to…”

It was bubbling up in your chest faster than you could stop it, each cry louder than the last until you couldn’t hold back anymore.  “Bucky!” you shrieked, hating yourself as you heard him laugh happily right by your ear.

“Oh I know, I’m right here, doll,” he soothed gently, holding you tightly; your hands wiggled inside their shackles, and you shamefully realized that you were craving to wrap your arms around him, run your fingers through his hair.  The desire to push him away was lost to the need to reach your peak.  “Say my name just like that when you come on my cock, sweetheart.”

Your walls were already convulsing and you were moaning so loud you thought you might lose your voice.  Pleasure built up faster than you could comprehend, and so intensely that little black dots were dancing on your vision.  

Oh god yes, right there, don’t stop, yes, you would’ve cried out were it anyone else doing this to you.  Instead all you could do was whimper his name, somewhere between begging for more and begging for mercy.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I can feel you coming for me— you’re so good, so fucking good,” he groaned, “I’m close already, can you believe it?  I should slow down, so I can make you come again, but you feel too good, I can’t stop.”

Most of that was lost to you, though, because everything had gone numb and fuzzy in the wake of your orgasm, your body limp in his grasp.  The way he pulled your hips into his made you feel used, like a— well, like a doll, fittingly.

“Oh god, babygirl— can I come inside?” he asked gently, but when you weakly shook your head, he just smiled.  “It’s gonna feel so good to fill you up.”

Before you could make it clear that you were saying no, he leaned forward and kissed you— aggressive and rough as he started to breathe deeply and moan against you.  You kicked your legs to try to get him away but all you could do was uselessly scrape your feet against the floor.  You could feel him pulsing inside you, growling against your lips until suddenly warmth began to paint your walls.  Whimpering, you slouched limply as the fight left you.  

“Oh my god, angel,” he sighed, pulling back and smiling as he traced his thumb over your face, following the path of a fresh tear, “that was… you’re incredible.  I’ve never come like that, you feel so fucking amazing.”

He kissed you again, gentler and slower than before.  

“Is it weird that I don’t wanna pull out?” he asked just louder than a whisper, chuckling as his nose brushed against yours.  It was like this guy thought he was in a Hallmark Christmas movie while you were in a Lifetime thriller.  “I could just stay inside you forever… but I won’t.”

He watched in awe as his hips pulled back and his softening cock slipped out of you.  Your face burned with shame as you felt a gush of his come (and yours) leak from you.  

“Wow, look at that,” he mumbled weakly.  “Can you push it out, baby?  I wanna see how good I filled this pretty pussy.”

It made you feel disgusting, but you summoned the last of your strength to do as he asked, unable to see the results but watching him stare between your legs and bite his lip.  

“Fuck, babygirl, that’s… that’s fucking gorgeous.  I stretched you out pretty good, and you’re all swollen…”

Strange enough, he pulled you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart… my pretty little doll.”  When he pulled back a bit, he moved a stray hair that had stuck to the sheen of sweat on your face, admiring you with a small smile.  “God, I can’t believe you’re finally all mine.  Guess he was lookin’ out for me, bringing you here.  I oughta thank him, somehow.”

He must have known what you were imagining by the way you tensed up, and he laughed softly.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t let him touch you.  I won’t let anyone touch you but me.  Now let’s get you out of these chains and into a hot bath, how’s that sound?”

Weakly nodding, you let your eyes fall shut as he reached up to unlock the metal cuffs around your wrists.  Holding your hands in his, he softly kissed the marks left there from when you’d still been fighting, before finally scooping you up into his arms.  He didn’t struggle at all to lift you, and you were too exhausted to notice the way you were leaning into his chest as you dozed off.

You dreamt that you were looking out over still water, contemplative but determined, before falling right in.

#dark!bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes non con #yandere!bucky barnes

[justasimptm]

The Bride C3

“My children, thank you all for coming. Lady Dimitrescu, you have my thanks for agreeing to host me, visiting your home is always such a pleasure,” Mother Miranda starts, all attention snapping to her immediately. The praise makes Mother smile, she dips her read in reverence. Miranda sweeps her eyes around at all of us, pausing on each of our forms in acknowledgement, I can nearly feel Moroe shaking when she glances at him. How pathetic. “I’ve asked you all here so we can review our progress, and make changes as necessary. Monroe, why don’t you start for us. How have the Cadou been taking?”

And so it goes around, everyone trying to earn Miranda’s love by saying how well we’re doing, despite no real progress being made. When her gaze finally settles on me I feel uneasy, unsure what she’ll ask me. Mother had been very clear that I was not going to be doing any real work in terms of changing anyone.

“Y/N, my youngest, I have a very important question to ask you. An honor, really. Please come here,” she calls, extending her hand forward. After a glance at my mother and a near microscopic nod of her head in permission, I draw forwards slowly, bowing my head in respect as I stand before her. “Please, daughter, look at me.” Monroe gasps audibly, he’s not allowed to look at her, not this close. Most of us tend to divert our eyes, only looking at her briefly. None of us have ever been specifically instructed to hold our contact.

Shakily my eyes skim up to her face, where a soft but chilling smile rests. She dips down ever so slightly, pulling my hand into hers, sending another shockwave of surprise from our company. Mother Miranda typically prefers not to be touched, so the fact she is initiating this contact makes me uneasy. What could she want from me that she feels she needs to do all of these theatrics to get it? Why does she think I need to feel special?

“Y/N. You’ve grown so much. I remember seeing you, still human, near death. The metamycite allows me to see such things, and my oh my, how you’ve blossomed. Of all my children, how it changed you really is the most amazing.” I can feel the chilled stares, clearly off put by the favoritism. “You’ve all become so much more than you ever expected, but Y/N? She’s still able to retain her form, identical to how she was before, even her newer form is still beautiful. It doesn’t fight to escape her, it helps her shine. She isn’t in danger from things that the other girls are, the cold does nothing to her.” Now I’m starting to get more nervous, all these compliments are certainly leading up to something big, something I don’t know if I’ll be able to give. “And so, as the one I’ve seen bond so well with the change, I have a wonderful question for you.” And here it comes. “I would never wish to take you from your true mother, but with your permission I would like to use your DNA, try to combine it with my beloved Eva’s. I truly feel as though we will have some great success if we do so.”

This even tears a shocked sound from myself and I have to steel every nerve in my body to keep from jerking back and out of her hold. She wants to use me to bring her daughter back? I didn’t even want this. Behind me a loud clap startles me from my frozen state. I can hear my mother thanking Miranda for her generosity, Moroe and Donna chittering between themselves, but Heisenberg is surprisingly quiet.

“Silence!” The room mutes instantly at Miranda’s words. “This choice is for Y/N, and Y/N alone.” She tips my head back up, staring through her mask into my eyes. “What do you think, my child? May I try?”

‘NO NO NO’ I want to scream, ‘no you can’t use me to try to bring your daughter back from the dead. You should just let me die!’ Instead I force a smile, pushing as much faux excitement into it as possible and nodding my head so fast I swear I can feel my brain slamming around. “Yes of course you can, Mother Miranda! I would be so honored to help you! Please, let me do what I can for you!” A smile spreads across her face at my external eagerness. Her hand strokes my cheek, before stepping back.

“Thank you, Y/N.” With that she essentially shoves her hand into my stomach, causing me to gasp and stumble slightly. And then just as quick as she did it, she pulls back, a handful of something in her grasp. Something inside me feels slightly out of place, shifting until it rests back where it thinks it belongs. “I must go now, bring this to my laboratory so I can begin trials.” With that she’s gone in a flurry of crows, leaving the five of us in silence.

Silence which is broken with a crash, and lots of yelling. My mother sighs, growling out my sister's names.

“Daughter, would you mind going and telling your sisters to knock it off.” She says to me, turning to face our company, “It’s time for me to show them out.” I dip my head in acknowledgement, turning and allowing my form to change. Much like my sisters I can essentially hold my full body form, but also shift into insects to move quicker. However, unlike them where they’re flies, I actually can become moths. Much more elegant, if you ask me, which is the only reason I ever even allow myself to do it.

For the first month after my change I had no control, phasing in and out of each form sporadically. I’ve grown since then, now able to focus it into certain areas if I wanted. It takes less than a minute to find where the racket was coming from. The three of them had taken to terrorizing our newest servant, the poor girl was backed into a corner in the study, brandishing a candelabra as if it would protect her. Judging from the state of her clothes and the blood stains they had already gotten a bite of her.

“What on earth do the three of you think you’re doing?” I seethe, their collective attention snaps to me in an instant. The girl lets out a pathetic whimper as I reform and stalk forwards. Bela laughs, twirling her blade around her fingers as she eyes me up and down.

“We were hungry, sister, what do you think we were doing?” She snarks, turning her gaze back to the shaking child, who curls deeper into herself. Cassandra and Daniela let out small confirmations, unable to keep their eyes on me longer than a moment before turning back towards the girl, eyeing her up like a lion would a gazelle.

“I think you’re all acting like imbeciles.” I snap, crossing the room in an instant and throwing them against the wall before latching onto the girl's shoulder and shoving her from the room. “Go get that bandaged, report to my  Mother immediately.” I demand, slamming the door behind her as she stumbles into the hall before rounding back to my sisters. “You three know better. Mother Miranda had barely left before your little stunt. Can you imagine how displeased our mother would have been if you had embarrassed her?”

Daniela rolls her eyes at my dull threat, Cassandra has the decency to look slightly wounded, but Bela? Of course she isn’t done fighting me yet. She takes half a step forwards, cocking her head to the side and smiling at me. “What? Afraid we’ll ruin your chances at being Mother Miranda's special little guinea pig? As if you deserve that. She should have asked us. We’re far stronger than you anyways.” She states, motioning to herself and the other two.

“Yeah,” Daniela says, crossing her arms and stepping up beside her, “You aren’t as special as she thinks. Anything you do, you know that we do it better.” Cassandra joins them, creating a wall of envy.

“You didn’t even want this, remember? Mother should have just let you die. She could have had us, we’re all she needs.” She tells me. Part of me wants to laugh, another part to scream. I wanted to die, I want to tell them, I wish she had let me. But if they thought they could be so much better, then I might as well show them why they’re weak. In an instant I’ve flown across the room, throwing open the window I had once escaped from, letting a harsh breeze of cold air flush the room. They screech at me indignantly to close it as they scramble for the door. I just smile, moving to stand directly in front of the billowing curtains.

“Next time you three start thinking you’re better than me because you were so prepared for this, I want you to remember one thing. You may have asked for this, but you are not stronger than me. I take more than some wind to hurt. Be careful who you try to play with girls, because unlike the maids, I’m not an ant for you to burn with a magnifying glass. You are, and no matter how much my Mother loves you, I am her real daughter, and out of the four of us? Take a guess who she would save.” With that I allow myself to drop backwards out the window, vaguely noting that they managed to get the door open and get out to safety. A feeling of serenity rushes through my veins as I drop. Finally being able to snap at them felt so good, even if later I end up regretting it. After the day I’ve had, there isn’t an ounce of regret in my body. It felt so good to be so cold, to say what I had been craving to say since they came into my life. They had all but imposed upon a life I didn’t want, tried to shoved me into a corner, tried to take what was mine. I am sick of letting people take from me.

God had dictated to take my life. My mother took my death. They tried to take my mother. Miranda wants to take my body. Take, take, take. No more. If this is the life I have to live, then nobody is taking it from me. Never again.

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #re8 karl heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg x reader #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #re

[pastelsandpining]

Whumptober Day 1

all trussed up and still nowhere to go

“you have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

kingdom come - corrupt!zelda au | part 2 

warnings: survivor’s guilt, trauma, gory imagery/body horror (descriptions of Ganon), injury mention, burn mention, blood mention, nausea, head injury, loss of consciousness, acceptance of death, binds, manipulation

____________________

Looking out at the rolling plains, the baby blue sky, the lively green grass, and the flourishing wildlife nearly everywhere he could see, it was hard to believe that Hyrule was decimated a century ago. Where life bloomed now, death had once spread, and it was anything but beautiful when the fields were burning—when guardians and monsters alike chased down any and all living things. It was hard to take down powerful beasts and even more so when they didn’t stay down.

But just like those vile creatures who only wanted to cause chaos, Hyrule never really died either. It was the quick and clever thinking of Princess Zelda that saved them all by containing the beast of Calamity inside of the very place she once called home. She was a thing of myth some hundred years later when people recalled her beauty or her bravery. If it were not for the moons scorched with blood, or the chilling cry of a colossal demon, or the guardians still roving over the land, one could find themselves thinking that the story of Hyrule was nothing more than a cautionary fairytale. What moral could come from such devastating times? Do not run from fate, or you will end up as caged as the Hyrulean Princess? Do not put heart above duty, or you will fall just as the legendary hero? Or perhaps, do not put trust in things you cannot always control?

Really, there was no lesson to be learned. Destruction would come as it did, and there was nothing they could’ve done to stop it. At least, that’s what Link told himself on the many nights he was found unable to sleep, too haunted by the ghosts of his past and terrorized by the stalling sensation of guilt. How solemn that sounded, how pitiful. He did not want pity. What good did that do him, when he’d already lost everything? He’d fallen once, and that cost him his friends, his life, the place he called home–pity would not bring that back. Hymns of brave soldiers and lost princesses would not bring that back. Stories that turned a traumatizing cause of devastation into a life lesson would not bring that back.

The only thing he wanted, months after waking in a shrine to a beautiful voice and with a fractured soul, was peace. He wanted to toss the sword of legend aside and never look at it again. He wanted to curl up in the bed of his Hateno home and sleep for another hundred years, or at least, until the pictures of a burning kingdom and the unholy screeching of Calamity Ganon disappeared just long enough for his mind to go quiet. He wanted to try to be normal, for even just a moment. No hero, no revenge, nothing of the sort.

It was a shame that the image of what he wanted was incomplete without the princess he’d once devoted his heart and soul to. He could not remember her in the way he would’ve liked. Link was granted a glimpse of her face here, a whisper of her voice there, a ghost of her touch when the loneliness became too much. On the few occasions he remembered more, when he could see her so very clearly in a moment framed in time, it felt almost like a dream. A dream that he didn’t want to wake up from. And just like a pleasurable dream that left one feeling warm and special, Zelda slipped through his fingers like liquid, faster than he could process and unable to be stopped. In its wake was a blank space of aching emptiness, right where he knew she should be. She was all he had left, the one thing that could connect him to the world he lived in, because without her, he had no purpose. He had no guidance. He was nothing.

So Link scoured the whole of the continent, from icy tundras to scorching deserts, climbing active volcanos and harnessing what the wild gave him, to grow stronger. He tamed the Divine Beasts and freed the shackled spirits of his long lost friends. He offered his company to the princess on the nights of the blood moon, where she would warn him and assure him that he was doing well, and that she was alright. He sought out the legendary Sword that Seals the Darkness and underwent trials upon backbreaking, painstaking trials to prove himself worthy of the full power the Master Sword was capable of. 

And then, he hesitated. He hesitated because he could not recall what Calamity Ganon looked like, or was capable of. Freeing the Divine Beasts became something horribly tedious, something that stoked a new sort of trauma in him, because the Scourges were certainly not for the faint of heart. The first time the malice surged past him and combined to form a twisted amalgamation of a beast, Link thought he was going to die again, with no hope for recovery this time. Every blight was grotesque, dripping with the glowing incarnation of hatred, and over twice his size. Their sickly skin stung to touch, leaving angry red burns everywhere it could. Their weapons were brutal and chaotically, skillfully wielded, and it was by miracle alone that he’d survived this long. There was nothing quite as agonizing as being shred alive by an ancient demon, only for his fire-filled nerves and ragged skin to stubbornly patch itself back together before his very eyes. Mipha’s Grace should not have been used so kindly on him.

For as much trouble and agony the Scourges were, they were only extensions of Calamity Ganon, small pieces of the monstrosity awaiting him deep within Hyrule Castle. Just thinking about it rendered him on the brink of a panic attack. Princess Zelda had faced it utterly alone for decades, so what if he failed to do the same? What if he could not defeat the beast, and would therefore be responsible for yet another destructive wave? All of the friends he had made, all of the new life that’d bloomed, it would be devastated by his hands if he could not slay the Calamity. What of Princess Zelda, then? Surely it would kill her, too. Picturing her expressive green eyes dulled by the kiss of death made Link feel so nauseated that he could not eat for hours. 

Shamefully and pathetically, he put it off. He searched for that hundredth Korok Seed, he filled the Hyrule Compendium, he ran every single errand and helped every single person that he could, all the while wishing that the darkness of night or comfort of walls could hide him from Zelda’s ever watchful gaze. It did nothing to quiet the screaming in his skull, the longing in his chest. It was only when his guilt had him by the neck that he swallowed his nerves and stormed Hyrule Castle before the courage could leave him.

Every room was empty. Sad, decrepit, and empty. Of course, the Calamity would want the biggest stage it could find and so, to the top floor of the castle he climbed. The guardians were pesky and the monsters relentless, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the beast, free of its prison, towering over him like it was starving and ready to feast.

He thought he saw a glimpse of golden hair, precious and fleeting, just outside of his peripheral vision, but the Calamity lunged for his neck and Link was forced to throw himself to the side, searching for any opportunity to counter the attack. For a monstrosity of a size that rivaled the Divine Beasts, it was quick. 

A jump at the wrong time, a split second too late, caused the Calamity’s ancient axe to slice through his skin. It was nothing more than a nick, but it stung enough to make him stumble and gasp, clutching at his arm through his rapidly soaking shirt. In the pause it took for him to steady himself, Ganon had crawled up onto the second floor like some ginormous spider. It looked ready to pounce on him and, Hylia above, there was nowhere he could hide. It would crush him easily. 

But it did not crush him. He wished it had, because it aimed the rapid red dot of a guardian’s laser on his chest, sending a spiral of panic through his spine and into his stomach, where it curled and lurched and made him want to vomit. He raised his shield, but the blast sent him spiraling through the air until his back hit a solid beam, knocking the wind right out of him. The Master Sword was sprawled uselessly out of his grip and he reached blindly for it, but his supporting arm slipped out from underneath him and his head hit the ground with a sickening crack. His vision was blurred. He wondered why he could see something walking towards him, something far smaller than the Calamity. It was Hylia, perhaps, coming to resolve his hideous fate at last. He tried to summon Mipha’s Grace, tried to will the strength back into his body, to will the excruciating pain away, but then Hylia was crouched before him, and her fingers felt so lovely and comforting in his hair that he wanted to fall headlong into her touch. He wanted to let her take him away.

“That’s it,” she cooed softly, brushing the bangs from his forehead. The motion was so jarringly familiar, the voice was haunting—this was not Hylia. “My dear Hero, look what they’ve done to you.”

Link choked on his attempt to speak, trying with everything in him to move, to take her hand, to see her clearly, but her hands pushed him gently back to the Sanctum floor and he groaned, his voice strained with pain. 

“It’s alright, Link,” the figure assured him, threading her fingers through his hair again like she was trying to subdue him. “The pain will fade soon, I promise. Can you do something for me?”

Death must’ve been approaching. He tried to nod, to tell her he would do anything for her, but the heavy ache in his head made it hard to do much of anything. She must’ve gotten his answer somehow, though, because her hands were cupping his face.

“You have to let go,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “Let go, Link, and I will catch you.”

She sounded so sweet, so incredibly lovely, and she felt so warm. Link felt his body relax, going completely still beneath her hands, and he wondered, vaguely, if they had all been wrong. If she was not sealed, but dead, ever waiting for her knight to join her so that she may be the one to welcome him into the afterlife. Princess Zelda’s green eyes came into clarity for no longer than a second, but comfort washed over him and he was quite happy that, for a second time, she was the last thing he was going to see.

There was a high pitched ringing in his ears and his head was swimming. Link tried to fight the grogginess that kept his eyes from opening, but he had very little success when the light was painful and his head was pounding. He raised a hand to rub his eyes, but the rough and tattered surface of what must’ve been a rope rubbed against his wrists, leaving them stinging with a brush burn he already knew would scar. That was his first indication that this was not his only time fighting his way back to consciousness. The pain brought him a little more clarity, even with the panic welling up in his chest.

He could see the Sanctum floor below his head, but trying to turn it to get a better look at his surroundings made him wince and squeeze his eyes shut again. He took a shaky, shuddering breath and, in one quick motion, tried to force himself to sit up. All he’d managed to do was make himself dizzy. His vision swam again, leaving him vulnerable and impaired, and he could do nothing but lie there as still as possible, waiting for the feeling to leave. When it did, it took the ringing in his ears with it.

He heard soft humming instead, backed by the horrid squelching of malice and a rumbling that chilled him to his core. Link tried slowly to tilt his head and immediately wished he hadn’t, because Calamity Ganon was among the last of things he needed to see right now. The beast was sitting, if one could even call it that, on the floor just below a balcony, right across the room from him. It seemed content to just sit there, watching him through orange, evil eyes. He tugged on the restraints again, sending another spike of pain down his spine, but he was stuck. Should it pounce, he would be done for.

But it didn’t. It sat there, staring him down. He thought he could make out a smile, cruel and unsettling and awful. It unhinged its jaw then and made a noise, a screech of unimaginable volume, and Link curled in on himself with a quiet whimper.

“I was just beginning to wonder when our guest would come out of his slumber.”

His eyes opened, wide and wild, and he tilted his head up towards where he thought the voice had come. There, sitting on a throne in the deck above the Calamity, sat Princess Zelda. It was the first time he’d seen her clearly in over a century. He could not breathe then, choked by his swell of emotions and the scratchiness of his throat. 

“Then again,” she continued, tilting her head with a cruelly beautiful smile, “our little hero is prone to sleeping in. Do be gentle with him, Ganon, and try to keep your patience.”

Those words meant nothing to him, but the Calamity turned its ugly head back towards Link and growled. Zelda clicked her tongue, beckoning the beast into silence, and it struck a horror into Link so deep that he felt the ache in every joint of his body.

Calamity Ganon was obeying her.

____________________

masterlist | whumptober by day | whumptober by collection | original post

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #you have to let go #legend of zelda #fic #survivor's guilt #trauma #gore #injury #burn #blood #head injury #nausea #acceptance of death #loss of consciousness #manipulation #corrupt!zelda #zelink #i feel like i have too many tags #can never be too safe i guess #idk im new to this #botw #that too

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal Story - part 5

This is it guys, this is why the characters got names! I hope y’all like it <3  

CW: branding, burning, forced to watch, emeto (pretty brief and only at the end), whumpee restrained to a table, nonsexual noncon touch, hurt no confort again but that will change eventually I promise lol

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump (let me know if you ever want me to stop or start tagging you ♡)

Part one is here, continued from here

-

Fire is strangely beautiful, Liam thinks, watching it flicker and dance in the hearth. A kind of painful beauty that hurts to see, the idea of touching it enough for gooseflesh to rise, but pretty nonetheless. 

He wishes he could be like fire. Not because of its beauty, but because it produces no shadow. No darkness comes from the flames, only light. And pain, when touched without notice. If he could be like that, only light and self-defense, maybe all of this wouldn’t hurt so much. Chase’s leaving, the dread of what each of his breaths might bring as time passes, the plummeting of his stomach every time he hears footsteps outside his room’s door. 

The flames crackle, and Liam wonders why it is he can’t shake the fear off, as he remembers the guards bursting into his room and pulling him out of bed, leading him outside as Liam pretended each step didn’t make him want to scream. That was minutes ago, and yet the fear still drums in tandem with his heart, pulsating turmoil into his bloodstream. Why feel fear when all it does is make things worse? Wouldn’t it be easier if he could just be at peace in those moments between pain, before it comes? But instead, his mind or his body or his soul decides to fill him with dread – only another layer of horror he cannot avoid.

Jonah was waiting for him when they brought Liam inside a weirdly cozy living room, leaning against the fireplace and watching Liam’s uncertain footsteps as he was pushed down to lie on a steel table placed in the middle of the room. Eyes glued to him as Liam was restrained until he could no longer move. His gaze went straight to the fireplace and stayed there since, watching the flames as memories of electricity, lighting up his every nerve until he nearly lost his voice to screaming, flashed before his eyes. The memory is still fresh enough to freeze him into not resisting. What a pitiful sight he must be.

“Hello there,” Jonah smiles, taking casual steps towards him and stopping by his side to watch from above, hands in his pockets as if having someone tied to a table in his living room is nothing out of the ordinary. “How are you today, Liam? Has your voice returned after our last encounter?”

He lifts his gaze to find the man’s eyes blinking innocently at him.

“You are sick,” Liam rasps out, shaky and small, but the words are there. He might be restrained and scared, but he is not broken. He isn’t. Right?

“That’s a yes, then. Very good, I like to hear you,” scream – he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence for the word to be heard. Liam feels sick. “Now let’s call our mutual friend, shall we?”

Liam narrows his eyes as Jonah types something on his phone. He can’t be talking about– 

“Chase!” Jonah says to the camera Liam only now notices a few paces away, held by another one of Jonah’s men. He tries to hear more, but Jonah comes so close to the camera and talks in such a low voice that all he grasps and holds on to is the name. 

Jaw clenched and stomach churning, Liam stares at the ceiling, letting the wave of bitter rage break against him without resistance. It wins the battle against fear for one moment, and that’s enough for him to seize it with every last bit of willpower. It is better to be angry than frightened, and he’s had enough of the latter for a lifetime.

The frantic beat of his heart turns into aching memories of Chase’s lies, promises of love he never intended to keep, each word meant to trick Liam into being a fool. Twice. Once months ago, then again when he genuinely, stupidly, hoped Chase would pick him instead of a job. Fucking ludicrous. 

But bitterness can only do so much to keep fear at bay, and when Jonah’s voice reaches his ears again, not even a minute later, it comes crashing back and flooding his veins with pointless adrenaline.

“He was a very good boy if you want to know. Just stood there, still and obedient as we buckled in the restraints,” he says to the camera, stopping beside Liam once more, placing a hand on his head. “Say hi to Chase, Liam boy.”

“Fuck you,” he spits. Fuck both of you, he means to complete, but Jonah’s hand is already closing on his hair, drawing out a pathetic little whimper from his lips.

“Language, Liam.”

He closes his eyes and waits for the hand to let go. It’s all he can do. Still, his hands twitch uselessly by his side, palms turned to the ceiling closing in fists, knuckles scraping against cold steel.

“I guess this is a lesson for both of you, then. For Chase to not be a prick and for you to behave better, my pretty plaything.”

Eyes snapping open, he glares up at Jonah, feeling indignation bubble up inside of him.

Jonah doesn’t even see it. He is too busy looking at his phone with an unamused expression before handing it to one of the guards. 

Is he talking to Chase? Is Chase delighting in seeing Liam like this, helpless and scared?

The part of him that refuses to give up entirely shakes its head, remembers gentle touches and tender gazes that couldn’t possibly have been faked. The other part, the one that grows each day he spends in this hell, purses its lips and scoffs at his naiveness. If Chase cared, he wouldn’t have left him here. 

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah says, painful grip turning into deceivingly soft fingers that run through Liam’s hair in mock sympathy. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

He tries to fight it. Of all the things he’s been put through, he fights the tears that prick his eyes. And just like everything else, he loses. They fall in warm drops down his temples as he turns his head, looks away into the fire again. No shadows there, nothing like the darkness seeping through the cracks of his heart, tainting his soul.

“Now for the fun part,” Jonah declares, sauntering to the fireplace, crouching down in front of it. Something entirely too close to panic pools in Liam’s stomach as he gets back up, holding two iron rods he’d dismissed as fire pokers. As Jonah approaches him, he can see with disturbing clarity how wrong he’d been – the rods’ bright-orange tips shine in intricate shapes. Letter shapes.

“J-Jonah,” he breathes, more sob than word, “please, please don’t.”

Jonah smiles at him, and without saying a word hands one of the brands to a guard before placing himself beside Liam’s exposed arm.

He tries to breathe, beg, say something, but every rational thought disappears as Liam follows the blazing hot shapes with wide eyes, gasping for air that refuses to fill his lungs.

He is almost there, the please I’ll do anything hanging from the tip of his tongue when the branding iron is lowered onto the delicate skin above his wrist. 

Burn could never describe the pain that steals every last bit of himself Liam tries to hold on to. Fire sinks into his skin, into muscle and bones until it reaches whatever lies within, and destroys everything in its path. He screams, cries and wails senseless pleads, but nothing passes through the ocean of agony he’s drowned in. 

He barely notices when the brand is pulled away.

He does when the second one is pressed onto his other arm though. 

Liam writhes and sobs, but there’s no escape, no mercy to be begged for. Only pain to feel, nothing, no one else but pain and pain and pain that swallows and dissolves the world into searing flames that hold nothing of whatever beauty he thought he saw.

-

You know, what really makes me mad isn’t even your fucking stupid idea of keeping things from me. It’s the shit job you did deleting those files. Who do you think I am, Chase?

That was all that waited for Chase when his phone buzzed, along with a link to a live stream instead of a video. No recording this time, no certainty that at least while Chase watches, Liam isn’t in pain anymore. 

“Chase. I see you’re faster now. Pity you’re no smarter,” Jonah sighed as soon as he clicked on the link. “But I won’t go into how fucking idiotic it was of you to delete half the information I asked you to get me,” he hissed, low and angry enough for Chase to feel the words as bugs crawling along his skin, up and down, circling his throat, ready to squeeze. “What’s happening here today is entirely on you. I hope you see and hear and remember every bit of it, sweetheart.”

He felt like screaming when Jonah closed his hand in Liam’s hair and made him yelp. The impulse to clench his fist until it shattered the phone was strong enough for Chase to connect the live stream to the television in his living room and bite on his lip when the image expanded and Liam’s terror became so painfully obvious.

One minute later, Chase nearly threw the phone at the wall when he called the man and Jonah simply looked down at his muted cell phone on the other side of the screen and handed it to someone else.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah said, and Chase seethed, half anger and half guilt boiling inside of him. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

Chase dropped the phone in time to avoid crushing it, but the desk chair didn’t escape his rage. Its broken pieces fell on the other side of the room, doing nothing to soothe the horror building up in his stomach.

And then Jonah grabbed the branding iron, and Chase’s heart missed a beat at the sight, eyes widening in tandem with Liam’s.

“J-Jonah,” Liam choked out, “please, please don’t.”

“Jonah,” Chase said too, unable to hold it in just like anything else in his life, even if he knew he was the only one listening. There was never such a thing as restraint when it came to Liam. If only Chase had seen it sooner. “No–“

When the iron descended on that soft, silky, perfect skin above the restraint circling Liam’s wrist, Chase fell on his couch, legs too weak to hold his weight. 

Liam screamed, loud and raw and utterly hopeless, back trying to arch and being pulled back down by too tight restraints before it even left the table. His body spasmed, trying to escape the blaze, but there was nowhere to go, and it took only a moment for the despair to turn into sobs and tears.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but those would star Chase’s nightmares forever. Jonah pulled the iron off Liam’s now bright red skin, and Chase couldn’t bear to look at the letter-shaped burn. He also couldn’t help it. 

When Jonah exchanged the used iron with the second one, Chase felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Please, p-please, please,” Liam begged, so little Chase barely heard it, so dazed he didn’t think Liam did either. 

He echoed it though.

“No, please don’t.”

But no one heard him, and the second branding iron was pressed to the inside of Liam’s other arm, and his mouth opened in a silent scream Chase heard nonetheless.

By the time the second one is pulled away, Chase is kneeling on the floor, hands covering his mouth and tears threatening to overflow.

It is nothing compared to Liam, though. His mouth hangs open even as the iron stops touching skin, and soft sobs wrack his slim body as his glassy eyes leak a constant stream of tears into his hair.

Chase doesn’t even move when Jonah’s voice leaves the speakers again.

“So? Do you like it?” he asks, a manic grin stretched across his lips as he points to Liam and the camera walks toward him. 

It focuses on his face first. Sweat, tears, pure agony written all over it. His eyes lay open and unfocused, lost to the pain. The image slides down to his heaving chest, restrained arms, until it stops above both his wrists.

Chase turns to the side and vomits at the sight. 

Two bright red burns mar the perfect skin he had once worshipped with lips and tongue and feather-light touches that never felt like enough. 

Jonah chuckles, and the live stream ends in that ghastly image of two letters forever engraved on Liam’s skin. Flourished and elegant, a C stands out on his right arm and an R on the left one. His initials. Chase Raymond. 

Chase pukes again, and then curls up on the floor and weeps.

(next)

#whump #whump writing #branding #branding whump #fire tw #burn #burning whump #burning tw #betrayal whump #betrayal story #emeto #but very brief #captivity #captivity whump #nonsexual noncon touch #whumpee held hostage #freeze response #forced to watch #recorded torture #torture #restraint #angst #i know i'm overusing the 'forced to watch' trope but hey it fitted too well... i promise this is the last one with it for a while tho ;)

[novelconcepts]

Looking forward to whatever you`ve been writing on! I always wondered what Judy`s reaction would have been in `on the hunt (for who I’ve not yet become)` when they eventually told her. Like how did that go down. Or something to do with their story after the fic finished idk I just really loved that story.

“I can’t do this.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, frowning. They had been, until this moment, walking in more or less perfect tandem--Dani trying to whittle down her usual stride, Jamie moving at twice her natural clip--a steady flow of forward until just now. Now, with Jamie pulling up fast, her hand in Dani’s performing a sort of rubber-band-snap trick to keep them both on the pavement.

“What do you mean, you can’t do this?”

“This.” Jamie, grim-faced, gestures down the block. The house is still just out of sight, the car parked a truly ridiculous distance away. Jamie’s idea; If she sees us, she’d muttered, we won’t get a moment’s peace to figure it all out. 

“We have to tell her sometime,” Dani points out. “I mean--we do, don’t we?”

“Yes. No. Doesn’t have to be now, does it? Why don’t we just--just wait until we’re sending out wedding invitations. Or invitations to my funeral. Or never.”

Dani, despite herself, grins. It’s not that Jamie doesn’t get nervous--it’s just that Jamie doesn’t tend to show it. Not like she does, all sharp intake of breath and tight-clenched fists. Jamie’s nerves are quiet, smoothed over, tucked into the motion of hands which are never left idle. Jamie’s nerves are an unexpected kiss, a fumble of motion, the constant urge to put those feelings somewhere productive.

Now, she’s standing stock-still on this too-familiar street, one hand loose in Dani’s. Stock-still, looking for the first time in years like the child who had gazed balefully around a foreign living room. 

“Christ, she’s gonna fuckin’ disown me.”

She looks like she believes it, the only thing that keeps Dani from laughing outright at the idea. She believes it, and there’s a small, simple hurt on her face at the idea--her jaw held tight, her shoulders hunched. Dani presses a hand to her cheek, leaning in until their foreheads meet. 

“She won’t. You know she won’t. You’re her kid.”

“He’s her kid,” Jamie corrects, breath skidding across Dani’s lips in a way that--even at this inopportune moment--makes her pulse race. They’ve been building this beautiful thing together for a few months, and the heat of it never quite seems to fade. “I’m just the baggage.”

“Stop.” Dani kisses her once, softly. “Stop doing that. No falling back on bad habits, Jamie. She’ll be happy for us.”

She says it, and she means it, as if there isn’t a tiny spark of absolute terror kindled in her own heart at the idea of telling Judy O’Mara the truth. That Dani has not moved all the way to Vermont to share Jamie’s little apartment out of friendly camaraderie. That Dani has spent the last few months shaping a life around not only school and new friends, as she’s told Judy over the phone, but around learning just how well she and Jamie fit together. 

They do. They fit so well. Jamie’s bed--their bed--has become the kind of safe haven she hadn’t known she could find anywhere. Jamie’s fingers toying with the braid of a worn old bracelet is like coming home. 

“Come on.” She squeezes Jamie’s hand, kisses her again, lets the warmth of Jamie’s body steer her toward courage. “Like a band-aid, Jamie. Just rip it off.”

“Better idea,” Jamie says, though her legs are moving reluctantly forward again. “We go back to the hotel, I rip other things off instead, we forget this whole stupid idea.”

Tempting. “After. Come on, you haven’t seen her in how long?”

Jamie doesn’t answer. Hand in hand, they walk, and with every house they pass, a few more years seem to cycle back. They are twenty-three, newly bound, and they are seventeen, unaware of one another, and they are twelve, camped out under too-few stars. 

They are on the front step, Jamie’s hand falling away, tucking restlessly into the pocket of her jacket like she’s terrified to be seen gripping Dani’s. Dani presses the tips of her fingers lightly to Jamie’s back for a moment. 

“Deep breath. She loves you.”

“Gonna fuckin’ find out,” Jamie mutters. 

The door swinging open feels like a portal to the past, Judy O’Mara’s small frame somehow seeming as expansive as it had when Dani had been eight years old. Her face wears a few more lines these days, but wears them well--the pride of a woman who has loved hard, raised good kids, made a place for herself in the world that feels warm and right. Her eyes are wide, her mouth falling open in a delighted grin, even as Dani raises a hand in a small wave.

“Surprise?”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to town!” She pushes through the storm door, hugging them both in a single sweeping motion that nearly knocks Jamie off the porch. “Oh my god, you should have called, I’d have made a feast!”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” Jamie mumbles, but Dani can see her smiling. The Judy O’Mara of her anxious mind can’t withstand, even for a second, the truth of the woman. 

“A feast for lunch, then,” Judy says without missing a beat. She leans back, takes Jamie by the chin, turns her head gently from side to side as though looking for new scars. “You look good. Healthy. You finally learn to cook?”

“She did,” Jamie replies, tilting her head toward Dani. “Sort of.”

“I make an excellent roasted salmon,” Dani proclaims, “and...very little else.”

“Well, come in! Come in, tell me--I mean, you have to tell me everything, right? Oh, I wish I’d known, I would have moved some things around, told Mike the game could wait.”

“Game?” Jamie seems frozen on the porch, her face unreadable. Judy is moving deeper into the living room, her back to them, and Dani takes the opportunity to slip an arm around Jamie’s waist to guide her over the threshold. 

“Baseball. You know how the boys are.”

Never interested in baseball, Dani thinks wryly, remembering all the times Eddie had complained that nothing ever happened in a sport that slow. 

“They won’t be back until tomorrow, they drove all the way to Indiana for the thing. Silly,” Judy is saying. “Come on, into the kitchen, I can at least get you girls something to drink.”

“That’s, uh. That’s all right, actually,” Dani says, following the familiar path back to the big kitchen table. It feels a little less expansive now, a little more worn; the wood is pocked in places, scuffed and weathered by decades of plate and fork and cups laid down without coaster. “We really just came to see you.”

“Oh, that’s sweet to say.” Judy makes a flapping gesture without looking, busy at the kettle. Jamie, grimacing, sinks slowly down in her old seat as if pulled by magnetic force. “But I know how much you must miss Edmund. Even after it all...you know. He still loves you so much, Danielle.”

"I’ll bet,” Jamie says in a low voice. Dani kicks her very gently under the table, amused when Jamie arches a brow that says oh, there will be consequences for that later. 

Can’t wait, she thinks with a dizzy, rather inappropriate burst of desire, her hand creeping over to rest on Jamie’s knee. There’s a stabilizing sensation to the act, reminding her in no uncertain terms: this is who she is now. This, not Eddie’s long-lost girl, but someone lucky enough to be so in love with Jamie, it sometimes puts an ache into her chest. 

“Not to say you should be getting back together,” Judy says, running steel straight up Dani’s spine. 

“You--you aren’t?”

“Oh, Danielle, it’s been such a long time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed, you know, when it happened--but I always thought, in the back of my mind, how many childhood sweethearts really work out? You grow up. You grow apart. It’s natural.”

Jamie is grinning, biting the inside of her cheek, her knee beginning to shudder under Dani’s palm as her boot rocks against the tile floor. Dani squeezes harder.

“Well, that’s--that’s sort of the thing,” she says. “The reason we wanted to visit. We, um. We’ve--well--”

Judy is doing that mom thing she’s always admired, carrying three steaming mugs to the table without spilling a drop. She takes a seat across from them, beaming with every inch of her face, and Dani thinks, Love. This is what love looks like. This will be okay. 

“Judy, I--I wanted you to be the first to--I mean...”

There are words here, she knows with frustration. Words, not even so big or so complicated, if only she can pluck them from the air. Just say it, Dani. Just say--

“I never thanked you properly,” Jamie says. Her voice is impossibly steady, her face passive. Beneath the table, her leg has stopped its jittering dance at last. Judy looks surprised, Dani’s teeth clacking shut on her own stammering. 

“Why do you say that, dear?”

“’Cause it’s true,” Jamie says simply. “Never did. All those years of feedin’ me, keeping clothes on my back, never once making me feel...unwanted. Didn’t have to do that, Judy. No one was making you.”

Judy’s surprise is inching toward some emotion Dani can’t quite pinpoint--pleasure, that Jamie is saying this now, or pain, that Jamie thinks for a second she wasn’t worth it. “Sweetheart, of course I--I mean, you’re my kid. You know that.”

“Wasn’t, though,” Jamie says, almost earnestly. She’s leaning across the table, her hand moving to press Judy’s. “Was just some wee mess stumbling into your life, wasn’t I? And not always grateful, besides. I was--I don’t know what I was, half the time, but I was always lucky. So fucking--sorry, sorry, so utterly lucky. Was smart enough, at least, to figure that out.”

Judy’s cheeks are bright, her eyes brimming. She seems quite unable to speak, which Jamie seems to take as a relief. Her voice is rolling with surprising emotion, pushing a little faster than is normal, save for her most vulnerable moments. 

“I was lucky you took me in, and lucky your family was willing to open up for one more. And I was...really lucky for this one.” Her eyes cut to Dani, her foot curling beneath the table around Dani’s ankle. “You brought me to her. Don’t think I can ever be grateful enough for that.”

Judy looks almost puzzled, though she’s smiling. “I’m glad to hear it. I always had a feeling, you know. That...you were a good match, somehow. You balance out. It’s important, having a friend like that.”

Friend, thinks Dani with a mouth gone dry. Best friend, sure. Best friend I can’t imagine ever being without again. 

“You brought me to her,” Jamie repeats, almost stubborn, though she’s smiling. “I’ve never loved anyone more. Don’t think I could, given all the time in the world.”

The air seems to go still, the kitchen suddenly rife with small noises Dani’s never noticed before. The hum of the refrigerator. The trickle of water down the drain through a leaky faucet. The tap of Judy’s slipper against the floor. 

“Please say something,” Jamie says. “I don’t honestly know how to--”

“Eddie had an idea,” Judy says quietly. “When you were all still, gosh, back in high school. Long time ago, it seems now.”

Dani is nodding reflexively. Jamie isn’t moving at all.

“There was...a party? I think. Almost didn’t let you all go, it was against my best judgement, but--I figured, if you were together, what harm could come of it? And then Eddie came home early. Tried to pretend he wasn’t drunk, like he’s ever been good at lying, and wasn’t angry.”

Her voice is almost dreamy with memory, her back leaning against the chair as she raises the mug to her lips. She isn’t quite looking at either of them.

“I asked him where you two were. I remember being furious that he’d leave you alone. And I remember, very clearly, him saying something strange. Danielle doesn’t need me when she’s got her. I remember that so well. Danielle doesn’t need me when she’s got her.”

Jamie swallows audibly. Her hand is still resting on the table, inches from where Judy’s was not so long ago. She looks as though she’d very much like to give in to the oldest Jamie-urge in the book, to push up and bolt from the house without looking back. Dani traces her kneecap through her jeans, fingers pressing firmly until Jamie draws a deep breath. 

“I thought it was so odd,” Judy goes on. “That he’d say something like that. But he wasn’t in his right mind, and by the time I heard you sneak in--yes, Jamie, you were never as subtle as you thought, dear--he was fast asleep. No one said anything else about it, and I thought maybe you’d just gotten into a fight. Young love is like that. It can be so jealous.”

Not always, Dani thinks. If Jamie was jealous--and she’s sure she was, to a point; there are some feelings too big and too natural to ward off completely--she tried not to let it show. Jamie’s love has always been sunlight, reassuring and steady and there even when clouds roll in. 

“This is why,” Judy says, looking Dani in the eye. “Isn’t it?”

“Why he was mad?”

“Why you broke it off.” Her eyes never blink, never stray, her gaze as solid as the table. “You said it was because you didn’t love him the right way. I didn’t understand what that meant, but I knew you knew. Always knew your own mind, Danielle. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of.”

Dani breathes, trying hard to quell the dizzy rush in her head. “Judy, I--”

“She doesn’t think she needs anyone taking care of her,” Judy goes on, like she hasn’t spoken. “Never did, even when she barely came up to my hip. Always thought she had it handled.” Her gaze slides to Jamie’s face, her lips curving. “Isn’t that right?”

“Right,” Jamie says, sounding breathless. 

“But you took care of her anyway. Every step of the way. Wouldn’t listen to me or anyone else, but she always listened to you, didn’t she?”

“Right,” Dani says, a helpless grin working onto her face. This feels like a dream. This feels like a story not quite within her own control. Judy sighs, sips her tea. 

“Well. There’s nothing more to it, then, is there?”

“There isn’t?” Dani asks. Judy pushes up from the table, shaking her head. 

“I only have one question.”

The silence is too loud, punctuated by hum and drip and tap. The silence is going to drive her crazy, Dani believes, and drive Jamie to run, and this is all going to fall apart because she so desperately needed for Judy O’Mara to know them--

“Will you be staying the night?”

“What?” Jamie says, in the same moment Dani blurts, “Sorry?”

“Staying the night,” Judy repeats. “Jamie, we’ve converted your room into a sort of hodgepodge storage-guest combination, but you can just throw all those boxes into the hall. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing the sleeping bag.”

“I--” Jamie is shaking her head very slowly, as though trying to clear water from her ears. “I--no, we’ve got...a hotel...”

“Oh, that’s just silly.” Judy waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll take the room. No sense spending money, you already came home.”

Home, Dani thinks, her heart pounding. Home, here, in the O’Mara house--an address she’d never quite claimed, but the place where all her fondest memories live all the same. The place she grew up. The place that brought her to Jamie. 

“Have you stopped in to see your mother yet?” Judy asks. “I can invite her to dinner, if you like, I haven’t caught up with her in...months, now, probably--”

“You’re not,” Jamie begins, the words drying up before they can truly escape. Judy pauses at the sink, her hand tipping the remnants of her tea toward the drain. 

“Not what, sweetheart?”

That word, more than anything, seems to unbind Jamie’s calm. That word, a simple endearment spread back through their lives like so much love in two syllables, belonging to Judy and Judy alone. Jamie swallows again, presses a hand to her jaw, closes her eyes.

“Upset,” she croaks at last. Judy raises an eyebrow. 

“My kids are happy. What on earth would I be upset about?”

It’s not a good time, Dani thinks as Jamie slumps against the table in mingled relief and exhaustion, to say I told you so. Later, she thinks--when they’re nestled in a bed just a little too small for their adult frames, when Jamie is looking up at her with glazed delight, when they’re trying their best to make a kiss sound like silence. Maybe she’ll do it then. I told you she loved you. I told you. 

Now, watching Jamie slide from the table, move across the kitchen in a daze, slip her arms around Judy in a firm hug, Dani thinks--not for the first time--that family is as much a choice as it is a gift. That Judy has always chosen well. That Jamie has learned from the best. 

Told you, she thinks, feeling perfectly at peace. 

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #AU one-shot #not entirely sure how to tag the ones that are extensions of my own pre-existing work #nor am I sure how they're going to find their way over to AO3--possibly will throw all the extensions into a single piece #and all the others into the confetti one #regardless I hope this is what you were looking for #going back to the childhood AU was a trip I forgot just how much I adored that story

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.36 - End

A Chance Meeting

08/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 10,158

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, creepy dudes

A/N: The end. 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are always welcome.

*pictures relay only style of clothing and not physical appearance/race

Silken sheets that are cool to the touch. A roaring fire. The heartbreaking smell of peony blossoms.

A wooden bucket—your wooden bucket—full of ice-cold water.

A chill warmed by a feverish heat wrapped around your back.

All of these thoughts-no. They’re more like memories.

All of them have come to you over the course of a year.

They grow more elusive as they come.

Before you thought you could almost see a garden with an ocean of pink peonies in varying shades of blush to wine.

Now, after months of having these strange visions, they have become condensed into single colors at random. The most frequent is a shade of gold. A circle of blue.

You think these memories might be important but you cannot grasp onto them long enough to make any sense of them.

There’s also the fact that you know they cannot possibly be memories.

You have never seen a garden of peonies.

You’ve had plenty of chill in your life but a warmth like the one you’d recalled at the beginning of the year when the winter cold had been at its worst is as unfamiliar to you as the looming manor on the hill above the village.

With a small groan, you stop and set the bucket down. Your arms are strong enough to carry it but after so harsh a winter, you’d be a fool not to take care.

You’d only just managed to make it out alive after devoting so much time to your little one.

You suppose the golden hue you keep remembering is similar to your baby’s hair. Just a shade or two off. Just as beautiful.

The estate sits looming at the peak of a hill that sits almost a mile away from the village.

The manor itself, you can see, has been expanded. It has the appearance of a small castle now with towers and battlements. The parapet walls that now surround the structure offer crenels to whatever guard the now small castle may need.

It had sat there abandoned for so long, the lord once given task to watch over it and Bright Rise as well as several other small villages in this part of the kingdom having left.t

With the primary building made of wood, the added masonry has really given the old place new life.

What magnificent furnishings must it have? Gilded and ornate probably. Chairs worth more than everything you own.

What type of person has taken residence there? Is it someone you’d know?

Someone beautiful probably. A handsome lord and his gorgeous lady. Both of them probably members of his Majesty King Anthony’s court.

Do they have children? A young little lord or lady running around causing mischief.

You find yourself smiling, made happy by the image you paint in your head.

It makes you only a little sad that you picture yourself there. Your baby in your arms. Your husband…

My husband?

Silly…You don’t have a husband.

But you yearn for something you very nearly miss. Something you know you should have. Something…precious.

“Hello there, little mouse.”

You gasp, startled out of your daydreams and turn on your heel in search of the horrible voice.

With a stuttering heart you spot Phin, standing with his grimy hands in his tattered pockets.

“What do you want?” You ask him, voice cold but wavering as you grow wary.

Already you’re searching with a quick glance for the nearest route of escape.

You hunch over, grabbing your bucket and attempt and fail to stifle your groan of effort.

Phin lunges forward, his hand thrown out towards you. It makes you flinch. You keep your eyes shut as you wait for the blow.

It never comes.

Slowly you peek, searching for Phin's extended hand and find it wrapped around the rope handle of your bucket.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused and fearful. “Let go.”

“I can treat you right, little mouse. I can give you proper protection. I’ll even pretend that bastard brat of yours is mine.

“I’ve been patient. I may not be able to wait much longer.” His voice is like sludge, creeping down your spine raising chills of terror as it goes.

You yank on the handle, urging him to release it. You meet his gaze, matching his threat with your own angry stubbornness.

You will not give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Even with your little one…you can’t.

He keeps holding it, refusing to let go until you feel like you’d rather drop the water and come back for more later.

He drops the rope and you stumble back a step, not having realized how much you were actually pulling on the bucket.

Some water spills but you’re just thankful to be free of Phin and you rush away to be even further. A glance back when you’re close to your small home shows you Phin still standing where you left him.

He’s watching you.

You hate him.

Getting inside, you shut the rickety door tight, resting your forehead against the splintered wood as you wait for your heart to stop pounding.

From behind you a sudden “goo" chases the tension and fear from your body. Your shoulders relax.

With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you turn in search of the cooing source.

Nestled into a bed of hay, covered with a thick blanket of navy fabric, is your little one.

A hair of golden hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean have enraptured you. Stolen your heart and changed your world.

“Are you finally awake?” You gush, moving to place your bucket by the crumbling and unlit fireplace before you make your way to him.

His chubby little legs kick away his tunic. A plain brown piece of linen you’d stitched together to keep him clothed.

At six months, he’s nearly outgrown it.

When you offer your arms, he throws his weight to his left until he can roll onto his stomach and then reaches for pivots towards you.

Sliding your hands underneath his arms, he grabs you and you lift him up then place several kisses to his chubby baby cheeks.

He's gorgeous, your baby boy. His smile is sun bright and the gleam in his eyes is sharp and observant.

The expressions he wears on his little face are familiar. They pull and tug at something too but you can’t focus on it long enough to care.

Your boy is your world and that’s all you need to know.

“Is my sweet boy hungry?” You wonder while moving for the bucket of water you’d lugged into the hut.

You dip your hand in and for a moment relish in the feel of the water on your hand. A sudden desire to be submerged in steaming hot water that smells like a spring garden overcomes you, but it’s gone by the time you gently swipe across your little one's face.

He protests you cleaning his face. Whining a little and twisting in your arms until you’re done and wait with both arms supporting him for his sputtering to stop.

He looks at you and after taking another moment to overcome his displeasure, he smiles again.

You chuckle and move to grab the swaddling blanket you’ve set aside for his use alone and sit with it in your lap as you lean back a little to expose your breast to feed him.

A song you feel you almost dreamt slips from your lips in a soothing hum. With your eyes shut you can almost see a beautiful gown sweep around your feet.

Strong arms hold you close as they lead you around a crowded room.

The image is like a dream too, part of the song you’re humming. You’ve never been in so vast a hall, tables laden with food and the satin gown you wear is softer than any rag you’ve ever worn.

No. You’ve never been bathed in such luxury.

This hovel is your home with its mostly dirt floor, loose cobblestones shoved around in spots you’d set aside to keep dry.

No windows. A door that hangs off its hinges. A straw bed. A patched roof.

As your son feeds and you allow your mind to put away the dream of nice things, you assess the hut you’ve made your home.

You’re almost certain that you’d had it in better condition before. The door had hung straight, the rickety fireplace had been sturdy and homely.

The floor had been more even. Your straw bed had been less lumpy.

You’d had another small shelf with your plates and cups. Your sewing kit safely stored in the cupboard below.

Your home had not been grand but it had been comfortable. It had been yours and you’d cared for it delicately and made it a sanctuary.

When had it changed so much?

As you attempt to remember when this place fell apart your mind is forced to confront several other unanswered questions that you seem to think on often but always forget.

It’s almost as if the thoughts are pushed from your mind until they are brought to the surface once more.

The one question that started it all…the one that had made you pause. You still remember the miller’s wife, staring at you at the small grocer's shop while you waited to pay for your bushel of potatoes.

“Oi, orphan. How much longer ‘til you have the babe?” She'd asked, her eyes narrowed as she considered your swollen belly.

You'd stroked it, smiling fondly at the little life growing within you.

“A fortnight.” You’d answered, happy and content despite your poor living.

“Ah, and who's the father?” She'd asked, then waited as your smile slowly fell.

You’d stood there for a few minutes, waiting your turn but lost in thought at the question that had never once occurred to you in the seven months since your belly began to grow.

“I…I don’t know.” You’d admitted to her and her eyes filled with a solemn worry.

“Looks like they finally cornered you. Didn’t get a look at ‘is face?” She'd wondered and it was then that you realized what she thought.

Your precious baby, your little growing bean, was the product of one of the village men forcing himself on you.

But it wasn’t true!

As you sit with your son in your arms, rocking him back and forth as he eats, you know without a doubt in your mind that your son was made with love.

You can feel it within your very soul. There was passion and love and devotion in his making.

A golden aura, warm and encompassing that gave you your own little ray of sunshine. But even though you know this you cannot see his father.

There is no father. Only your Joseph.

He stirs in your arms. You find him smiling, finished with his meal. And just like that, your thoughts are lost to his special allure.

“All done?” You ask him and he yawns.

You begin to wrap him up in the blanket you’d made for him and bring a basket from the corner of your hut.

It’s a decent size with straps sewn into the wicker so that you may put it on your back.

You place it before you, balanced between your legs and gently lay Joseph within. You make certain he's wrapped up tight and kiss his cheek before you fit a domed lid on top.

The lid covers his head and keeps him safe from the summer heat.

“We'll check the traps and then come right back.” You promise him and lift the basket onto your shoulders, listening as he coos long baby words that say nothing.

It’s like he’s talking to you, the quiver of his voice moving up and down with inflection as if he knows what he’s doing.

He takes a breath and then starts again, “Oooh-awhhhh-wahhhhhh-ooooohhhhhhh…”

You can’t help but smile, your skin greeted by scorching sun as you start your trek into the trees behind your home.

“Let's check the traps by the pond first, then we'll check the bog by the road.” Joseph coos along with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The view is spectacular.

It’s downright scenic from up here so high on the hill. Even if the beautiful valley is slightly tarnished by the village below.

It’s part of the reason he decided to keep the purchase.

Several months ago, Steve had found the deed to the manor on Sunbright Hill.

He'd sat for nearly an hour while he'd considered the paperwork, trying to remember why he’d made the purchase of such a dilapidated plot.

The lord that had once resided here had apparently vacated when he'd married a lady of considerable wealth but she preferred the Capital city to Bright Rise below so, they’d left and never come back.

Slowly the manor began to rot and the village, without its caretaker, had also fallen into poverty and corruption.

The farms were all but dead. Only two were still in use and had the season failed once in the past few years, the village would have surely fallen.

“Steve?” Bucky sighs, moving into the renovated den.

Steve stands by the large arched windows behind his massive oak desk.

The chair is angled towards the glass, distracted as he's been lately, he can’t seem to get any work done.

“Steve?” Bucky says louder.

Steve blinks, pulled from his brooding to notice his friend. He turns and waits, saying nothing.

“She's here.” Bucky smiles.

Steve’s heart gives an eager stutter as his own bearded face breaks into a wide smile.

“Where?” He asks, moving towards his oldest friend.

“She’s with Nat in the dining room. She was hungry.”

Steve is already out the door, stomping with wide steps down the hallway, then another and another, down a staircase then to the east side of the manor towards the dining room.

It’s a long room, a table long enough to sit at least forty people takes up most of the center space.

Each wall has been adorned with tapestries and paintings, an iron chandelier with sixty candles hangs at the center of the room, currently unlit.

Instead, windows on both sides of the room sit open, a cool breeze blowing in to cool the manor from the summer heat.

As Steve thrusts the doors open, he spots a grouping of his closest friends. Sam, Wanda, Pietro, Peter who is actually squatting beside the chair they are all surrounding, and Natasha in the one beside it.

In the chair is a cherub. An angel. A literal princess dressed in pale pink. Her golden hair, a shade darker than Steve’s is pinned back on one side with clasp of small and ornate white peony blossoms.

“Maggie!” Steve calls, the honey in his deep voice soft and flowing as his heart swells in his chest.

The toddler turns her head, searching aimlessly as his voice echoes around the room. Her right hand full of jelly and toast as she’d sat munching, she now opens and holds her fingers wide as she isn’t coordinated enough to recognize when the food has fallen from her tiny grasp.

Everyone is watching her, despite the presence of their King and Steve cannot blame them. Her eyes find him and she releases a high squeal of excitement before she turns in her seat to take hold of the arm.

“Wait, Maggie, your hands are a mess.” Nat says, her voice full of amusement.

But little Maggie has no patience for cleanliness with her papa so close.

“Papa!” She screams, turning to look at him as she stands on the chair.

Her lips wrap around the name with a slur, her talking improving but still just beginning.

Nat continues to wipe her hands as Steve laughs and moves for her, arms extended.

Maggie bounces on her feet excitedly. Her pink dress swishing with every move.

As he reaches her, she allows herself to fall into his arms and he catches her, spinning her once as he presses a long kiss to her cheek.

Maggie laughs, her hands wrapped around Steve’s head so tightly that Steve wonders if her strength is increasing or it’s just his imagination.

“She has been asking about you all week.” Nat says, rising and then turning to Bucky as he approaches her to give her a kiss.

“We'll give you some space.” Wanda offers then moves around the chair towards the exit.

Steve stops his turning to watch her go, Pietro following.

“Will you be going back to Broklin?” He wonders, wondering if the twins only came to escort Maggie.

“No. We'll visit with Tony.” Pietro nods, then both of them stop at the door and bow before heading off at what must be Pietro’s run.

“How was the journey?” Steve worries, turning his eyes on Nat.

“It was fine. She was a little fussy last night but as soon as I explained that we were coming to see her papa, she converted her energy to enthusiastic impatience.” Nat chuckles. “She really has been asking for you. ‘Papa where?’, ‘Where Papa?’, ‘Papa, Papa, Papa…’. It’s almost as if it’s the only word she knows.”

“She’s never been away from him for so long.” Bucky observes, both he and Nat watching as Maggie places her little hands on Steve’s cheeks, her fingers exploring the edges of his beard while Steve admires her little face.

“I’m sorry, my treasure. I just wanted to make sure the manor would be ready when you arrived.” He tells her.

She seems to understand as she tilts her head to one side and throws her hand up, bent at the elbow as she babbles a string of words only she understands.

“Do you forgive me?” Steve begs.

Maggie giggles sleepily then leans forward to lay her head on his shoulder.

Steve strokes her tiny back, caressing her hair a bit as her eyes begin to close.

“How long will you stay, Nat?” Steve asks, his voice dropping a bit in volume to respect his sleeping toddler.

“Long enough for you and Sam to go and come back. Bucky and Peter will help me with Maggie.” She nods, looking for her faithful friend and Knight.

She spots him in another seat, head in hand, elbow on the table as he dozes lightly.

“He's been doting on her.” Nat explains. “Too much, perhaps?”

Sam huffs a laugh as he crosses his arms across his hard chest, tugging on the crimson tunic he’d quickly dressed himself in this morning.

“He’ll be angry we went to visit Morgana without him.” Sam observes and Steve can’t find it in him to deny it.

The romance that had bloomed between them had seemed to come out of nowhere for him.

In the back of his mind when he’s been laying in bed with Maggie beside him, he can almost remember a conversation about their eventual marriage. When he brought it up to Nat—he was fairly certain the topic had been discussed with a woman—she admitted to the thought never even crossing her mind.

She’d praised the match and teased Peter afterwards, but it has left Steve with another unanswered question.

So many…so many strings that he’s tried to pull on only to find the way blocked.

Maggie coos in his arm, another bout of baby babble in her sleep that pulls him from his pondering.

“We’ll head out in a few hours.” He tells Sam who straightens up and nods. “I would like to go now, but I want to spend a bit of time with Maggie before I leave her again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours with Maggie turned into thirty minutes.

The longer Steve sat with her in his arms, the more eager he was for her to wake.

He’s missed her but knows that she’s tired so in an effort to get the visit over with and return to his smiling princess, he tucks her into her crib in his bedroom then hands her care over to Nat who sits by the window while Bucky sees them out.

“How long will you be, your Majesty?” Bucky wonders, keeping pace with Steve’s quick and long stride.

“Not long. I’ve only to invite him to the ball in two weeks and we’ll return. I’m certain we’ll be back before dinner.” Steve assures him. “I hear you and Natasha are considering adopting a child?”

Bucky smiles. “There is another option, one that Natasha is most eager to try but I think I’ve convinced her to reconsider.”

Steve regards his friend skeptically.

“Truly, I think I have. She met with a witch a few weeks ago and apparently there is a way for Natasha to regain her ability to have a child.” Bucky explains, his expression a little darker.

Steve’s confusion is evident in the narrow of his brow. Despite his curiosity, he keeps his eyes fixed ahead as they move along the south hall to the stables.

The fall of their shoes echoes along the empty corridor, still only half decorated as it was only finished a few days ago. Steve can still smell the fresh clay between the stones underneath their feet.

He’ll have carpets put in to quell the sound.

“Isn’t that what you both want?” He wonders.

Bucky shakes his head. “I want her to be happy. She thinks I want a child of my own. Naturally my own. But I don’t care if the child is mine by blood. I just want to love her.”

“Magic like that of which she speaks comes with a hefty price.”

“That’s why I refuse to accept it.” Bucky sighs, the worries of his world evident on his shoulders.

“The price is too high?” Steve wonders, finally looking to his friend.

“We would be granted the ability to have our own child, but the mother would have to relinquish years of her own life. Five is what the witch told her. So, if it were Nat’s fate to die at the age of sixty, five years would be taken from that and she would die that much sooner.” Bucky laments, shaking his head in denial. “I cannot condone it.”

Steve sees his friend thinking things through, biting his lip as he wonders if he should speak what has consumed his mind aloud.

He gives in, “I know that it’s her choice. If she should want to do it, I only have some say in it. If having a child truly born of us both is what would make her happy then I would have no choice but to comply, but I would rather adopt a child who we will both love as our own anyway and have my wife for five years longer.”

Steve’s heart gives a painful ache.

Something in Bucky’s words makes him sad and breaks his heart.

My wife…Steve repeats in his head, the memory of feeling proud at that very thought overtaking his senses.

“Is it Margaret again?” Bucky wonders, stopping as they reach the end of the hall. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Steve reaches up to stroke the spot on his chest where he can feel his heart beating. Every thump it gives sends more agony into the pit of his stomach making his head hurt.

Is it Margaret? Steve doesn’t think so.

The first time someone had asked him if it was Margaret he was mourning he admitted it was because it was easier than to tell his friends that no, it wasn’t his dead wife he was thinking of. In fact, he wasn’t sure who it was he was thinking of.

He shuts his eyes now, overcome with the sweet scent of oils. Lilac and juniper. Peonies. Fields of them. A garden full, just like back home.

A smile flitters past his sense. The image nearly chokes him. A laugh. A pout. A tear stained face made blurry as he can’t recall its beauty.

Maggie in womanly arms, pressed gently to her breast.

These elusive images that skim his mind are not Margaret. Everyone seems to ignore that Maggie is too young to be Margaret’s or perhaps they simply don’t care?

It’s almost a silent agreement that Maggie’s mother is not Margaret but who exactly she is, no one cares. No one will think on the possibility long enough for it to matter.

Even Steve loses focus after a few second of torment.

Even now, as his heart breaks painfully, Bucky puts his hand on his shoulder and gives him a shake.

Just like that, the images that pained him only moments ago are gone.

Steve smiles, breathing in deep before exhaling in a huff.

“I’ll be quick. I want to be back before it’s too dark.” With a nod from Bucky, Steve hastens his way into the stable.

Sam already has his horse saddled and waiting.

He hops on, adjusting his posture as he takes the reigns then turns to give Bucky one final wave.

“Keep my daughter happy until I return.” He orders.

Bucky waves them off and watches until they clear the large gate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands are shaking with rage. Yet another night with nothing caught.

All of your snares are in fact, broken. A deliberate cut made to the wire you’d spent so much money on.

You think you know exactly who it was that came out to ruin your work. There’s only one person who would benefit from sabotaging your efforts to feed yourself and your boy.

The image of Phin standing across the field from your home, staring at you is burned into your mind.

If it weren’t for Joseph, you would happily starve before you accept Phin’s hand in marriage.

As it is, it isn’t only you. In order to feed your son, you must eat. With no one coming to you for mending—which you are also sure is thanks to Phin’s interference as it has only been happening the past few weeks—you have no money to buy anything. No grain. No bread. No meat.

If you do not eat, your son will starve.

You clutch the broken snare in your hand, squeezing so tight you can feel the wire dig into the palms of your hand.

Were they not so rough, you may have cut yourself.

You take a quick peek at the basket carefully nestled between the rough trunk of tree and large berry bush. Your little one still dozing peacefully and safely covered by the basket’s lid.

While he sleeps, you know you must be quick with the snares by the bog. It isn’t too far so you decide to let him sleep in the shade and make your way through the trees to the road’s edge.

It’s a very short walk. Should he cry you’ll hear him perfectly and be able to run back to him in less than ten seconds.

The sun beats down on the road here and the bog is nearly dried over from the heat of the summer sun.

Normally the mud within is a thick sticky paste that one can easily be caked in. You even remember fetching a purse for the old woman who used to care for you when you were little.

As you stop by its edge, you wonder where the old woman has gone. You attempt to recall the last time you’d seen her but the last memory you have is fetching her purse from the mud pit.

Forcing her from your mind, you look to the two snares you’d set up between two trees and right at the edge of the bog.

The one at the edge has also been cut. You kick it angrily before you move to the other and find that it has also been tampered with.

“Fuck!” You mutter, hating Phin with every fiber of your being.

You try to picture him beside you, laying claim over you as his wife. You think on the life you will live, trapped in your home, and expected to fulfill his every whim, wish, and desire. He will rule you with a heavy hand, command you to obey, and take what he wants from you with violence if need be.

Terror roots you to that spot between the trees, hunched over as your hands shake with anger at the lack of options for you and Joseph.

There is the other choice, the one you’ve refused to make because where might you go? Here in Bright Rise you at least have a roof over your head.

Soon fall will come, then winter after that. If you choose to leave, you might be condemning yourself and your son to a death by freeze and you can’t do that. You can’t make such a reckless choice with him so little still.

You gather as much of the wire as you can, carefully wrapping it around an empty spool you’d kept just in case, hoping to keep your anger from shifting into sorrow.

As you work, you can hear the sound of hooves behind you. Two horses at most. Perhaps three? The sound of shifting gravel too close.

There’s the clearing of a throat before a steady voice speaks. “Excuse me, might I trouble you, miss for some directions? My guard and I seem to have become lost in these backroads by the village.”

You sigh, still consumed with rage with Phin, but rise and turn to face the man who addresses you.

He’s godly, this man with golden hair and a beard to match. His eyes are piercing. Storm blue as they stare you down and you fidget with the spool in your hand as your heart does a sudden and unexpected dip into your belly where it explodes into a flurry of butterflies.

Voice choked in your throat, you look away from the beautiful man and tried to clear your head.

“His Majesty, King Steven has asked you a question, miss.” His guard says, shocking your system into an automatic curtsy as you intentionally avoid their gaze now.

“I’m sorry!” You gasp, worried you might have given offense.

“Sam, it’s alright.” King Steven says, his voice soft and coaxing.

You take a quick peek at his guard, another handsome man with deep umber skin and a soft bronze glow. His gaze is a little sterner but kind all the same.

“We did not mean to startle you.” King Steven says, the gentility in his voice luring you into taking another look at him.

When your eyes meet, you find that you can’t look away.

“I-I was checking my traps.” You relay, feeling stupid suddenly for giving him information that he has not asked for.

“I can see that.” King Steven nods, a small smile tugging up half of his full pink lips.

He’s exquisite. His dress is fine, luxurious satin and silk. His tunic is a royal blue, a silver stitching along every seam in what looks to be a small wavy pattern.

It looks familiar and your hand absentmindedly moves with the pattern of the stitch as if it remembers how to make it though you’ve never sewn on anything so fine in your life.

King Steven’s eyes notice the movement and he watches your hand before you remember yourself and speak again.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, you asked me a question.” You gasp, dropping the spool at your feet and moving around the mud pit to stand at the edge of the road, much closer to where he and his guard tarry.

King Steven smiles again, sending your heart into a pitter patter.

“If you head down this road, you will reach a fork with three smaller roads. You’ll want to take the Eastern most road for nearly four miles before you reach a second fork of two roads. Take the left and follow that road and do not stray. You will reach the Capital before noon.” You say, pointing as you give instruction.

As you finish you drop your arm and bring your hand to tug at the worn leather of your belt.

King Steven stares at you, smiling for so long that you look down at your feet and are suddenly aghast by the state of your shoes and skirts.

You’re so dirty that you’re ashamed to be seen by them. With a bite to your lip, you turn and hurry back around the mud pit to pick up your spool.

“Thank you.” King Steve says, his wide shoulders relaxed. “Might I pay you for your assistance? What is the customary amount? Five silver pieces?”

You throw out your hand to stop him, embarrassed to take payment for so small a favor. “No!”

Gasping you watch as the spool flies out of your hand. It hits the front of his horse then topples onto the road where it rolls along further down the rocky path.

King Steven dismounts as you rush forward in chase of the wire.

Both of you reach it at the same time but King Steven is first to bend over and take it.

“Oh, please…” You gasp, worried about the dirt and muck that must be caked on the tool. “You’ll dirty your hands.”

As King Steven stands upright, he dusts it off then offers it to you. “A little dirt never killed anyone.”

Your senses are assaulted by him and for a moment all you can do is stare at his hand as he waits for you to take your wire.

He smells like evergreen woods and oranges. No…limes…You’re not sure! It’s a citrus of some sort and it overwhelms your mind. His voice is deep and smooth. It works its way into your bones and nearly turns them into jelly.

“Will you not take it?” He asks, shaking the spool a little.

You look up to meet his gaze but find that his smile has disappeared. In its place is a look of severe concentration.

Is he angry with you? Have you insulted him by waiting so long to take your property?

The look in his eyes is intense. He looks almost as if he’s trying to recall an elusive memory.

You know the feeling…

Quickly you take the spool, ignoring the moment your hand brushes his. He must notice how rough your hands are. He must mix with ladies whose hands had never once known the strife of physical labor.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” You curtsy quickly, avoiding his gaze and move around him.

A hot, vice-like grip takes hold around your wrist.

You stop, turning to look at his hand then up to meet his gaze.

Gone is the look of confusion, replaced by a furrowed brow and what can only be hopeful searching within his storm blue eyes.

“Steve?” His guard warns, confused by the moment almost as much as you are.

“What are-” You whisper, voice so weak you’re surprised you can manage to speak at all.

You clear your throat and search for the courage to say your piece.

You don’t like this. The way his presence almost consumes you. His touch is burning, and you’re not sure why you feel as if you’ve also been waiting a lifetime for it.

“Unhand me.” You plead, twisting your wrist in his hand but refusing to look away from his slowly shifting expression.

He smiles and your heart stutters, fear of what it might mean making you yank a little harder, but King Steven uses the momentum of your pull to step towards you. He wraps his free arm around your waist, dipping his head down as he presses fevered lips against your own.

You’re frozen in his arms, wide eyes staring at his own now shut. His lips are fierce, his kiss is hard. It hurts a little and it takes you a moment to feel the warmth of their touch.

He drops your wrist and wraps his other arm around you, hand pressed to the back of your head as he tilts his own to one side and coaxes your lips open with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

The taste of him stuns you, your body freezing as your mind is assaulted with images all blurred together into one precious life that you’d most assuredly lost and now found again.

Your eyes grow blurry, tears flooding from the corners as your lips finally respond to Steve’s kiss.

With a gasp you pull away, sobbing once as you gobble up the sight of him.

Steve’s hands caress the sides of your face, stroking your hair and cheeks as he also devours your visage.

“I found you.” He whispers, throat tick with emotion.

You sob once more, arms pulling him towards you as you give in to the shocking relief you feel to be in his arms once more.

Your heart breaks as you clutch him close. Over a year of lost time with not only him but…

“Maggie!” You exclaim, voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s perfect,” Steve assures you, pulling back to meet your gaze once more. “She’s growing bigger every day. She has your sweetness, your love of jams and jellies.”

Steve laughs, so happy that his own tears fall too. “She calls me Papa, and she calls Sam birb.”

You laugh, shaking your head already knowing that Bucky’s to blame for that.

“I don’t think it’s that funny.” Sam suddenly says, pulling both your gazes towards him.

“Sam…” You smile.

“I’ve kept watch over her, just as I promised.” The recognition in his eyes is heavenly.

“How did this happen?” Steve asks, continuing the caress of your cheeks. “How did we lose each other.”

You sigh, licking your lips as you prepare to explain when your heart suddenly drops, and you remember another pair of storm blue waiting in a basket. “Steve…”

Without warning you turn and race into the trees, running as fast as you can to make sure that he wasn’t a dream.

You find the basket where you left it and pull it away from its hiding spot before you remove the lid, happy to find your little boy still fast asleep.

“Y/N!” Steve calls, racing up behind you where he skids to a stop. “What is it, my flower? What’s the matter?”

He sighs heavily when he finds you, moving to place his hands on your shoulders, needing to feel you it seems.

“Don’t run away from me like that…” He pleads, and your heart aches for him but this is much more important.

“Steve,” You begin, and turn to reveal the six-month-old baby in your arms. “You have a son.”

The step back he takes you attribute to shock. The heartbreak and confusion on his face you have only yourself to blame for.

“How-?” He asks, shaking his head as he stares at the tiny prince in your arms.

“Steve…” You begin, suddenly fearful of what he might say when you confess the deal you’d made with grandmother.

“No.” Steve cuts you off, reaching out to trace the shape of your arms through the dingy dress you wear. “Not here. Let’s go home.”

“To Broklin?” You wonder, relieved that he’s eager to resume your lives together.

“No, I-do you remember when I asked you if I should purchase your little hut?” Despite speaking to you, his eyes are still trained on your son.

Slowly, as he speaks, his hand skates across your arms until he can stroke Joseph’s little cheek with one tentative finger.

“Yes.” You frown, disapproving of the purchase as it isn’t your land to begin with.

“Well, when you forbade me from buying it, I bought the manor on the hill instead.” He confesses, finally meeting your gaze.

“Oh.” You’re stunned.

“I thought that it would be nice to have somewhere in Malibia to call our own. Visiting your family is something that I wanted you to feel free to do. I wanted to give you a space you could come to, somewhere near your home.” He explains sweetly sending your heart into a tizzy.

“Steve…” You reach up, pressing your palm to his warm bearded cheek while keeping a firm hold of your little one with the other.

“Come on.” Steve urges you, leaning down quickly to kiss you then pulls away slowly almost as if he doesn��t want to. “Our princess is waiting.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She’s as beautiful as the night you’d held her close, memorizing the little wheeze in her breath as she’d drifted to sleep.

She’s bigger. She’s walking, unsteadily but moving. She’s talking, indeed saying ‘Papa’ but she says other things that you’ve already picked up on.

Her little chubby limbs have stretched a bit and you can’t believe you’ve lost so much time with her.

Tears are still streaming down your cheeks while you sit here, staring at her sleeping face.

Steve’s hands support her little back as he holds her to his chest, his back resting against the ornate wooden headboard of your bed.

“She’ll know you soon enough.” Steve assures you as you nod and quickly wipe the tears from your eyes. “She was so little.”

“I know.” You reach out, caressing her little head before you look down at the even smaller boy between you both. He’s chewing on his fist, little legs up in the air as he quietly plays by himself.

He’s so good at just being alone, you feel terrible about it because you know that it’s your fault. You’ve needed him to be independent as you worked hard to earn money for both of you.

When he meets your eyes, he coos those long wordless streams of vowel. He’s talking to you, probably relishing in the plush mattress all four of you lay on.

“Shh, my sweet boy. Your sister is sleeping.” You stroke his little chest and he takes hold of your hand as he kicks his legs in excitement.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, and you know it’s finally time.

“I’m ready now.” You sniffle, meeting his look of somber confusion. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

It takes you less than five minutes to explain. Grandmother’s vision. Her actions to see it in greater detail. The truth of his imminent death. You tell him that you begged for his life and that night when Grandmother had interrupted your sleep, she’d come to tell you that she’d found a solution.

“She said the magic would ask for payment. Something that only I could give.” You hope that he doesn’t hate you, his expression unreadable as he watches you with his brooding brow all scrunched and focused. “I thought that it would be my ability to see or walk. My hearing perhaps? Or being able to speak…I never thought that it would take you and Maggie from me.

“My life perhaps? But not my memories of you. Not knowing you.” You sigh, waiting for his rage to show.

What you get instead, is a calm conversation and a gentle pout.

“But it wasn’t only your memories. It was everyone’s. The magic wiped your existence as my wife and Queen completely.” He observes.

“Yes.” You agree. “Even the villagers in Bright Rise acted as if I’d never gone anywhere. How can magic be so powerful as to erase me completely from so many minds?”

Steve shakes his head, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Maggie’s back.

“It was such a risk for you to take.” Steve frowns, his gaze piercing, and the guilt you’d felt building since you’d stepped foot in the manor crests. “How could you make such a choice without consulting with me? I’m your husband.”

“I know.” Your lip trembles. “I’m sorry. It all happened so quickly, and I had so little time to consider the consequences of my choice. All I knew was that your future was certain. You would die protecting the world and I could not give you up to it. If I had the power to save you, of course I would use it. So long as I knew that Maggie would have you, I could stand any future I had to live.”

“Even this one? Both of us separated forever?” Steve counters, holding a mirror to the past year of your life.

You shake your head, new tears springing forth as you look down at your boy who has fallen asleep once again.

“I thought I would have to marry Phin.” You admit, voice quiet so as not to disturb your little ones.

“Why?”

“I’m fairly certain he was orchestrating it. No one in the village were taking work from me to mend their clothing and today, you found me checking my snares for small game, but someone has been breaking them. Cutting the wire or simply tearing it down.

“He wanted me to be hungry enough to marry him and the bastard knew that I would do it, for Joseph if not for myself.” Your anger taints your vision red, Phin’s detestable face a memory you wish you could forget.

Mentioning your son brings Steve’s eyes back down to him. He takes one hand and reaches down, placing his finger into Joseph’s tiny open hand. He grasps his papa’s finger, a tiny fist full of surprisingly sturdy strength.

“Now that we’ve remembered, I’m panicked by the idea that you might have found a new Queen in my absence.” You confess, chewing nervously on your lip.

“Bucky and Sam suggested it. They brought Sharon around me often to try and convince to take her on, but something prevented me from doing so.” His words send your heart into your feet, your head is suddenly splitting.

Glad as you are that he doesn’t seem to have found a new wife, the possibility of it make you feel almost sick to your stomach with anxiety.

“I think perhaps I knew in some way, deep down, that I was already married. The very thought of sharing my bed with someone else drove my skin to crawl. I felt guilty, as if I were committing some grave sin.” He admits, unrelenting in his stare.

“I would not have blamed you…” You whisper, almost fearful to speak the words. “…if you had taken a new wife. If you’d had another child with someone else. I would have had no one to blame but myself.”

“No one could ever take your place.” He assures you. “Even though I didn’t remember you, your presence was greatly missed. I may not have known what it was I was yearning for, but I was wishing for you every moment of every day.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the pleasure his words give you to soak deep down into your bones.

Even though he doesn’t ask, you’d also felt the exact same way. Something had always told you that somewhere was a home waiting for you to take your place. Never would you have guessed that it was a castle in the next Kingdom over.

“Were you frightened?” Steve wonders, drawing your gaze once more.

You find him watching Joseph once again, his thumb stroking the little one’s hand.

“Expecting him all on your own?” He clarifies.

“I was afraid of how I’d take care of him.” You smile, reaching to stroke the length of his little nose. “I knew I would be alright birthing him. It was long and taxing. But he was with me so suddenly. It was over before I even knew what was happening. The miller’s wife came to check on me and she helped me for a few days after, but I had no other choice than to push on. I was up and caring for him and myself before the week was out. That’s when my fear came.

“I knew that I had to feed myself in order to keep him fed and healthy and I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it with the village set so resolutely against me. An unwed mother with a bastard child?”

“I’ll have it burned to the ground.” Steve declares suddenly.

You smile wide, your heart melting as you watch the intensity in his gaze as new love blooms for his son.

“I wish you had spoken with me about Agatha’s vision before you made any decisions.” Steve laments, an anger growing in contrast with the new love.

It effectively wipes aware the happiness his love gives you as you regret having kept him in the dark.

“If I’d told you,” You begin, voice breaking and weak as emotion gets the better of you. The sound of it brings his gaze back to you and he seems to soften with it. “You would have kept me from doing what needed to be done. There was no question of saving you, Steve. I had only just found you. Our baby girl only just born. I could not lose you.”

Shutting your eyes, you let your head fall, burying your face into your pillow.

“Imsuhsawree.” You sob, muffled against the fluff of the bed.

The silence feels endless until you’ve just about made up your mind to look at him again when a sudden snort of laughter cuts the tension with ease.

You whip your head to face him, searching for the source of the laugh only to find Steve with his hand over his mouth as his body shakes with silent laughter.

“You’re laughing?” You gasp in disbelief; certain you must be seeing things.

Your husband cannot possibly be amused in this moment while your heart and soul are drowning in guilt and grief.

“I’m sorry.” Steve chortles, a whisper of giggles as he tries his best not to wake Maggie. “Forgive me, I…”

You frown at him, displeased with his humor but he reaches for you with his hand and hooks it behind your head in a soft caress.

“It’s not funny.” You insist.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “It isn’t. I’m sorry, my flower. I’m just…so happy you’ve returned. I’ve missed you so much.”

And just like that, he’s forgiven.

The four of you lay there in bed for hours. Though your stomach is empty, you refuse to bring your hunger to Steve’s attention. Even though you know very well just how much he will be upset with you for it, you can’t bring yourself to tear your little family apart so very soon.

The sun is only just setting when Joseph decides it’s time to eat. He whimpers, a soft murmuring of whiney breaths until the air takes shape and his cries begin to grow louder.

Beside him Maggie also stirs, staring around with wide eyes as the crying rises in volume and she’s brought out of her blissful slumber.

Steve wakes last, while you are already scooping your little boy into your arms and propping yourself up against the headboard to feed him, he rubs his face and glances at the window.

“It’s already so late.” He realizes, turning back to you and Joseph while Maggie twists her body until she can lay on her stomach and then throw herself back to sit on her bottom.

Her eyes are glued to Joseph as he latches to your breast and begins to suckle. Your breasts are sore, and the pain is worse than you remember it being with Maggie, but you have no time to focus on the pain.

You make sure he can eat easily, watching him for any signs of distress.

“Did you get her a wet nurse?” You wonder, letting your eyes drift to Maggie who still sits watching you feed her brother.

“I did.” Steve nods, lifting the girl back up onto his lap. “She was so little.”

You look away, a quiver in your bottom lip as you try to push past the heartbreak that you hadn’t been there for your daughter like you’d wanted to be. “Yeah.”

Steve is familiar with you enough that he knows you don’t want to dwell on it and changes the topic quickly.

“Shall we have dinner in here? I don’t want to share either of you yet.” He confesses, stroking the back of Maggie’s little head.

“Yes.” You nod, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the mention of food because Steve frowns.

“Damn it, Y/N.” He gripes and gently places Maggie back on the bed before he marches towards the doors. “If you were hungry, you should have said something. After your meal, I’ll have Natasha draw you a bath.”

The prospect of a full belly and a luxuriously hot bath which you hadn’t realized you’d grown so fond of is so dreamy that your heart gives a clench and once more you feel so very happy you just might cry again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How’s your bath, my petal?” Steve checks, moving to the edge of the bed once more as the children sleep on.

After their dinner they’d quickly begun to play. They’d explored each other’s boundaries and Maggie had made Joseph cry only once for a few minutes before they were sharing Maggie’s soft cloth dolls.

They each sleep with one in their hands, huddled close together at the center of the bed.

“Is the water too hot?” Steve pulls over a small yellow footstool, sitting upon the soft cushion.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and dips his left hand into the water, testing the temperature as you lay yourself back against the large copper tub.

“Your hand is going to smell like peonies and rose oils.” You tease him, bringing your hand up above the fragrant water.

You take a peony petal and carefully tuck it behind his ear, gentle drops of water skirting down into his beard as the pink stands in pleasant contrast to the gold of his hair.

Biting your lip, you comb it back, tracing the shape of his jaw with damp fingers.

“Even though I didn’t know you, my heart and soul yearned for you.” You whisper, sliding your hand down to rest upon his shoulders.

“And I you.” He smiles, eyes shut as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I wonder,” You begin, pulling back to examine and rememorize every inch of his face. “Now that we are together again, whether this will negate in some way the effect of the spell?”

This thought raises a new worry in you. A fear that by meeting again you have somehow doomed Steve to die.

“Even if it has, I will not part with you again. I won’t die either.” Steve promises, but how can you take him at his word.

Magic is wicked and it will take its price one way or another.

“I have to speak to grandmother.” You counter, your gentle caress of his shoulders turned into a desperate cling.

“She’s gone.” Steve says, sending your heart into a pit within your belly. “No one has seen her since all of this started. However, there is something that I found in my office back home.”

Steve rises, moving towards his cloak left to rest on the back of a chair at the opposite end of the room.

When he returns, he holds in his hand a sealed piece of parchment, folded twice to keep its contents secure. The wax seal is a deep purple, her insignia that of a cat, back arched and head tilted up as if to yowl towards the moon.

You reach for your towel nearby and dry your hands then take the letter as Steve holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere I go, hoping it would yield some explanation as to why I have been feeling so…empty.” He tells you, picking up his stool and moving to place it a bit more near the head of the tub where you sit. “Scoot forward.”

You do as he asks, staring at the letter and consider what its contents might be.

Steve’s hands disappear beneath the surface of your bathwater and emerge with a small porous sponge. It’s rough at first but with water and under Steve’s heavy hand, it becomes malleable and he begins to stroke your back, cleaning the peasant grime from your body.

“Why haven’t you opened it?” You wonder, turning it over almost expecting it to billow with glittering smoke.

“I attempted to many times. I couldn’t. The seal would not break. See there at the bottom of the fold?” He instructs.

You turn it over to look at the side with the seal and spot the small loopy writing at the bottom. The penmanship is so exquisite, you’re almost certain now that grandmother had indeed once been of noble blood.

For the Queen of Broklin.

“For me?” You gasp.

“I think it will only open for you, petal.” Steve explains as he leans closer to get the tops of your arms and then following the flow of muscle over your shoulders and down along your sides slowly.

Eager now, knowing this letter is meant for you, you tear it open and the seal breaks without fuss.

“Can you read it?” Steve wonders, no note of teasing in his voice.

Like you, he must be wondering whether so long a time away from life at the castle has made you forget everything you’d learned.

“I think so.” And with bated breath, you read, glad that you’d tried so hard to learn and only slightly surprised that you understand every single word she’s written.

If you are reading this note, it means that I was right.

First, believe me when I tell you that every word I spoke of King Rogers’s death was true. There is indeed a threat that would take his life and that of your father’s and King Thor’s as well.

I thought that perhaps King Rogers’s death would be enough to convince you that what we needed to do would be necessary and I am glad to say I was right.

What I did not tell you is that I knew the price to be asked would be the life you’d built within the castle in Broklin. I could not bear to tell you that you’d spent all that time suffering and building a family with him only to have it ripped from you.

Somehow, I don’t think you would have changed your mind even if I had.

After you spoke to me of your connection with the Asgardian king, I was wary of what it might mean for your future as Queen in the kingdom. There was only one chance to break the curse dealt by the spell to save your husband’s life and that was if you and he were always meant to be together.

Soulmates, I believe they call it. Two halves of one whole, set at opposite ends of the world to meet each other in just the right way to create what we know as destiny. In this case, the opposite ends you were placed in were poverty and wealth.

Your husband had every advantage in life while you had none. You were given no loves in life and King Rogers was given one big enough to eclipse the pull you would have for him when and if you met.

At the time, I worried that King Thor might be your true mate. The two of you were so well suited and perhaps I’m right? But if you’re reading this, it means that you and King Rogers found each other once again.

By some miracle, he or you have lifted the curse, and you can once more be together to live your lives and King and Queen of Broklin.

A fate you might not have found had I not thrown my purse into that bog by the road. I hope you appreciate my efforts, girl. I have worked very hard to walk you through this life but must now leave you to shape it on your own.

Don’t worry. I might not be with you every day, but should you need me, I will come. You don’t need to send for me. I’ll know. And rest assured, your husband’s life is safe.

There will always be evil in the world and he will always rise to fight it but be content to know that his life you most certainly have saved. Take care.

-Grandmother

You read the letter at least three times before Steve’s chin finds your shoulder, the scruff of his beard pleasantly rough against your skin.

“What does it say?” He wonders, tilting his head to kiss your neck.

You fold the letter and toss it away so that it won’t get wet, then lean back until you’re relaxed and can turn to look and admire your husband’s storm blue eyes.

“It says that no matter what might come to tear us apart, you will always find me.” You smile, reaching up to scratch underneath his chin.

Steve’s lips curl up on one side, a dashing smirk if you ever saw one.

“Always.”

#king!steve x reader #medieval fantasy au #royal au #arranged marriage au #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #steve x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #king!steve x reader fanfiction #king!steve x you #steve rogers x you #pseudo princess #avengers x reader #pseudo princess pt36 #shreddedparchment

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

#yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfics #yoongi x reader #agust d #d-2 #king! yoongi #warrior! yoongi #daechitwa #daechitwa! yoongi #yoongi fics #yoongi fic recs #bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic recs #seokjin #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #namjoon #jungkook #min yoongi #bts fantasy #bts fantasy au

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Title: Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The sun feels warm despite the light breeze rustling the leaves as you tilt your head up, propping it against the back of the bench and close your eyes. You can pick up the sounds of children playing nearby, the distant noise of the road half a mile away, and the movement of the trees as you bask in the moment of peace.

When you finally sit up straight once more, you can see Aaron and Jack still standing at the side of the lake, feeding the ducks. You'd taken it in turns, staying with him as he went through the two loaves of bread. You wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find ducks sitting in your front lawn, having followed your far too generous son home.

From beside you, you hear a low rumbling laugh as Jack chases after some of the more aloof birds, trying to get them to partake in his offering as well. Smiling easily, you look up and meet John's eye briefly before you both return to watching Jack terrorize one of the swans in his insistence on feeding it. Must be on a low carb diet.

Satisfied that he was still occupied and Aaron didn't seem to need to tap either of you in, you turn back to your bench companion, fixing him with a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at you, before slumping back and wordlessly giving you permission to ask what you'd been dying to know ever since he'd arrived earlier that morning.

"So, how's it going with Denise?" You draw out the girl's name, a teasing smile on your face. You know that whatever happened must be good. When you'd asked him that, first thing at his arrival, only to be interrupted by Jack's excited voice at his Uncle's arrival, John had merely muttered that he'd tell you later. If he didn't want Jack overhearing, it had to be good.

John shifts, turning and leaning his side against the back of the bench so that he can face you better, leg bent up onto the seat. At the look of bated glee on your face, he shakes his head, quickly dissuading you of any positive sentiments regarding what he was about to reveal.

"I ended it," he admits with a sigh, watching your face crumple in disappointment.

"Why, what happened?" you prod, clearly displeased. You'd thought things with him and Denise were going well. They'd been on three dates already and based on what John had told you and Aaron last time, she was promising. Far more promising than Heather from two months ago. He'd brought that one along to Emily's birthday party that you'd hosted at your new place, and from the moment she'd opened her mouth and made a comment about how Instagrammable your foyer was, it had been downhill.

John's face morphs into a rueful sort of smile. "Honestly? She was a little too freaky for me."

You let his words sink in, the incredulous pull of your eyebrows betraying exactly how ridiculous you found his statement.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He knows how that sounds to you, especially coming from him. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around once more to make sure that Jack isn't about to walk in on anything he shouldn't overhear. "Let's just say we weren't compatible?"

You scoff, but let him get away with just that. Maybe later, after dinner and drinks, he'd be more forthcoming around the details. Though what this girl could've possibly done that was too freaky was beyond you. John wasn't exactly a prude.

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying. Maeve has a few friends that work with her at the lab. I can ask her to see if any of them are single. Cece might know some people she'd be willing to hook you up with – none of her friends, of course. Or, maybe we try online dating? Though it's an abhorrent cesspool of the worst society has to offer, but who knows, maybe someone will emerge as a good candidate."

John smiles at your hopeful tone, allowing you to continue chatting about the various ways he could go about snagging a girlfriend. He knows a large part of your insistence on finding someone for him stems from guilt. He and Aaron had talked about it, with your persistence in finding him a girl growing in magnitude and intensity the closer it got to your impending nuptials. It was as though you were scared that him seeing you marry someone, without having someone by his side, would tear him apart. He's been stalling having that conversation with you. He's not about to crumble at the sight of you marrying someone that isn't him. Hell, even Cece wasn't worried about him anymore. The last time he'd seen her and her kids for brunch, she'd actually given him her own bill of health to attend your wedding. Aaron was right – he had to talk to you about it soon.

" – and well of course we'd get Pen to run a background check because who knows with the internet really. Should try to avoid the catfishers or the crazy serial killers with a vendetta against beautiful blond men – "

Your tirade is interrupted by someone calling your name, causing both you and John to start, breaking away from your conversation to look in the direction the voice had come from.

"Cedric!" Your face turns up at the sight of the man making his way towards the two of you, bearing a smile that could light up any room. John's eyebrows rise, recognizing the name from a few weekends back when he'd been over.

You pointedly ignore his expression as the both you stand to greet Cedric as he approaches, looking wonderfully windswept in jogging clothes. Of course he jogs on a Saturday morning.

The only reason John even knew about Cedric was because he'd been around for the Great Champagne Debacle of 2012. After yet another delivered case of Dom Pérignon, Aaron had had an entirely uncharacteristic breakdown, insisting that you communicate with Cedric Kensington and inform him that you were very much taken and did not need him or his champagne.

"If it's about getting the shipment, I'll get you a monthly shipment," he'd protested in the face of your refusal to go out of your way to call someone you'd briefly dated to inform them that you were taken, thank you very much. You'd told him that it wasn't as if Cedric was placing the order himself. More than likely, he had asked his assistant to do it once and had simply forgotten to tell her to stop once the two of you had ended.

It had been entirely bizarre to see Aaron so worked up over something seemingly small, and you refused to placate whatever insecurity was behind it. Annoyingly, John had been on Aaron's side of it all and the two of them had drank a little too much and added Cedric's name to the mailing list for wedding invitations. Cedric Kensington was a complete class act. The shipment after that was accompanied by balloons and a giant Congratulations sign, much to both of their shame and your complete amusement. It wasn't Cedric's fault that the men in your life were incapable of understanding when someone was kind and giving without expecting a single thing in return.

"It's good to see you again," he greets you with a quick peck to your cheek before turning to the man beside you. "This must be Aaron, congratulations man." He sticks his hand out towards John to shake.

"Thankfully, no," John responds, meeting Cedric's outstretched hand, a smirk on his face as he looks at you to clarify. This was hardly the first time someone had made that particular mistake, especially given that both Jack and John had light hair compared to Aaron's darker locks. You suppose you could see how people made that particular mistake, and the three of you were starting to get a sense of humor about it. Some joke about sister wives had made the rounds one time too many, resulting in you pelting the two of them with pillows with Jack as your second in command.

"Cedric, this is John," you clarify, trying and almost succeeding at hiding your exasperation with him. "He's a friend. But Aaron is actually –" You break off to look around, spotting him and Jack a little further away from where they'd been the last time. You'd really like for your husband-to-be, to meet the man whose champagne him and his new best friend had gotten drunk off of. The story of how John had earned that title had resulted in more than one person upset with Aaron. Namely, you, who had to corral the two of them back home – a feat that was remarkable and which you did not get nearly enough credit for accomplishing on your own – and David Rossi, who until that moment had considered himself to be Aaron's best friend and had not taken kindly to being dethroned. Aaron was still making it up to Dave.

"I'll send him over," John says, nodding at Cedric before walking towards the lake to trade spots with Aaron. Jack still had some bread left to go.

"How're you?" you ask, turning back to Cedric. Of all the men you'd dated between John and Aaron, he was hands down the favorite.

Cedric fills you in on how the business was doing and in turn you were able to share an abridged version of how you were doing as well, as the two of you waited for Aaron to make his way over.

"With the consolidation, I think I'm going to be in DC a lot more," he shares, unknowingly planting a seed in your head.

Right then, you feel Aaron walking up behind you, and turning, in the distance you can make out John chasing after Jack as he races to feed that one difficult swan.

"You must be Aaron," Cedric stands straighter and meets Aaron's eyes, reaching a hand out towards him. "Congratulations, you're a lucky man."

Aaron smiles at that. "Oh, I know."

You watch as the two of them smile and shake hands, exchanging pleasantries. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't have been able to tell that your fiancé had been incredibly bothered by this man only a few weeks back. You can only imagine what John had said to him when he'd gone over to send him your way.

"Hope we'll be seeing you at the wedding," Aaron remarks, an arm winding around your waist.

Cedric smiles and nods. "It's already on my calendar."

"Good!" you exclaim. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He chuckles and agrees, no doubt knowing you're about to set him up with someone.

As Cedric takes his leave, Aaron turns to you slightly bashful, his eyes finding yours with the hint of an apology in them. "He seems like a nice guy."

Your elbow meets the soft part of his stomach as you duck out from his hold. "He is a nice guy. Honestly," you huff, shaking your head. "You and John need to cool it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who added his name to the list," Aaron protests, unwittingly bringing up an argument that was only freshly buried. He hurries to catch up with you as you make your way towards the lake.

"Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop the guy who did, now did you?" You try to keep your face severe in an attempt to get him to grovel just a little bit more, but your amusement at the entire turn of events ends up betraying you.

With a soft laugh and a shrug in apology, he moves his hand down to hold yours as the two of you continue to walk towards where Jack has now managed to talk John into carrying him around atop his shoulders so he can feed (terrorize) the birds attempting to fly past.

"You want him to meet Garcia?" he guesses, brow quirking up in some interest.

You nod. Elliot Greenberg and Penelope had broken up a few months back, citing irreconcilable differences on both their parts and they'd both been rather hush hush about the matter. You figure setting her up with Cedric – well renowned tech tycoon – might help cheer her up. Plus, he was obviously looking to settle down. Who knows, it could work out.

As you approach, both Jack and John turn towards the two of you.

"Mom! Uncle John said we can go to the Zoo tomorrow. Can we?" Jack's cherubic cheeks and hopeful smile look down at you from atop John's shoulders, eyes pleading with you to take him to the Zoo once more so he could sit in front of the giraffe habitat for an hour.

No matter how long it's been since he started calling you Mom, it still tugs at your heartstrings. However, that didn't mean you were about to take that kid to the Zoo for the third time in as many months.

You raise a disapproving eyebrow at John, as Aaron goes to help Jack off of his shoulders. "Sorry buddy, Mom and I have an appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow," Aaron tells him, setting Jack down with an exaggerated groan. "But, you know, I bet Uncle John would love to take you on his own."

You meet Aaron's eyes with a matching smirk, knowing he had no intention of going to the Zoo tomorrow either. If the two of you could wrangle John into free babysitting for the day, then all the better. You were sure the two of you could manage to find some way to occupy yourselves.

Jack's hopeful gaze turns up to John who rolls his eyes at both you and Aaron before telling Jack that Of course he'd take him to the Zoo.

The four of you walk back towards the parking lot, John and Jack racing up ahead while you and Aaron bring up the rear hand in hand. On the drive back, Jack manages to convince you to stop and pick up ice cream and a DVD for the night. Sometime during the latter half of the movie, nestled against Aaron's chest, your eye wanders over to Jack and John on the other couch. Jack's splayed out all across John's space, feet wedged in underneath John's thigh. You can tell he's about seconds from passing out and you weren't too far behind. Your eyes meet John's, sinking into a quick, easy smile before he turns his attention back towards the screen. You end up staring a moment longer, taking in the sight of him and Jack being close in a manner you wouldn't have thought possible even six months ago.

From behind you, Aaron shifts, adjusting you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. You look up to see his deep brown eyes tracing your features, having long forgotten the movie on the screen. It's like he knows exactly what you'd been thinking, his eyes flickering momentarily to the other couch before returning to yours, a peaceful smile gracing his face. With a quick squeeze to his arm, you shuffle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep.

#irreverentseries #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader

[billyrussosbitch]

Her.

Alright, I needed Darkling angst. So I whipped this up over the past few hours. I apologize if any of it has errors? It wasn't beta'd.

Warnings: Major character death, suicide, self-inflicted wounds, non-graphic descriptions of blood, severe depression, hallucinations.

Word Count: 1,470

Characters/Pairings: Aleksander Morozova | The Darkling / Alina Starkov, mentions of Malyen Oretsev, mentions of Baghra

Summary: A rewrite of the ending of Ruin and Rising, in which Alina is destroyed along with the Fold, and leaves Aleksander to mourn.

That searing burst of light. The one that brought her to him. So painfully similar to the one that took her from him. The parallel was disgusting, it made his stomach churn with the mere thought of it. Perched on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, with his palms pressing against his eyelids, he could see it perfectly.

The absolute anguish on her face when she drove the blade into her best friend, and supposed lover. He knew that otkazat’sya boy was nothing compared to him. Him, the most powerful man in all of the world. Him, the most powerful Grisha ever known to man.

Her, his only equal. Her, the one who was meant to rule by his side. Light, to balance out darkness, to bring peace. Not only to Ravka, but to Aleksander’s troubled mind.

He’d waited centuries for her, and he had to watch as she tore herself apart at the seams, the light fighting to get to the surface, unafraid to destroy the only thing stopping it - her very being, her skin, her bones, keeping that light from escaping.

She’d obliterated herself, and the Fold with her. In one fell swoop, the Darkling lost everything that had mattered to him. He lost his only chance at redemption, his only chance at saving Ravka, and providing sanctuary for Grisha in all of Fjerda and Shu Han combined. With her, he could have accomplished anything, but the only memory he had of her was the blindingly white strands of hair, woven between fibres of Grisha steel, to form a fetter. She’d made him stronger, but he still had no harness over the light, even though she’d gained control over the shadows.

Each cry of “Alina,” that slipped past his lips brought a fresh wave of pain with it. After his initial scream that day on the Unsea, his throat was left raw for days. He was unable to hold it back, quartz eyes immediately flooding with tears, flashing darker with anger, before the terror returned.

Everything he wanted lay at his feet.

Limp, pale, gone.

Even lying dead against the gray sand, she was still the image of beauty. Her hair seemed to form a halo around her head, bringing contrast to the lifeless eyes that had once matched his own fervor.

He could hear the chants of “Sankta Alina!” for hours, playing on repeat through his head, as a constant reminder of what he lost.

He was a fool, to think he could love, and have love in return. After all, who could love a monster like him? She’d said it herself, he was turning her into something worse, and he knew that. He couldn’t touch that smooth skin without darkness blossoming over it, inky tendrils leaving his fingers and spreading over her like webbing, trapping her there. When he lifted her body from the sand, the black covered her, leaving her in a shroud of darkness, while he brushed past anyone who dared to try to stop him. The tears weren’t falling anymore, but the tracks that were scored through the dirt and blood smeared on his skin remained, causing filth to gather in the little ridges left along the scars on his cheek.

He’d denied it, for the first few weeks. Kept telling himself that he’d turn around and see her, as they’d visit each other through that tether, and she’d be unharmed, waiting for him to take her into his arms. A little part of him knew that was gone, knew that the connection was severed. It left him feeling hollow, just a husk of the man he was before.

His mother had warned him about this, about getting too close, and letting someone in. Now, she was gone too. The only Grisha aside from Alina who could actually understand him, was dashed across the side of a mountain. Shattered, and broken. Just like he was.

He’d sworn off any sort of romanticism for hundreds of years, but he couldn’t stop the flicker of hope he got when she was brought to his silk pavilion in Kribirsk. That hope had bloomed into something greater, the heat had spread each time he laid his hands against her, and pressed their lips together. Each time she uttered his name, something in him shifted, begging to be let out. He wanted to love her the way she deserved, but she wouldn’t stop at anything to protect the world from him and his creations.

Aleksander wanted to be by her side every moment of every day, he wanted to spend this dreadful eternity with her, just to find some sort of relief in the knowledge that he was not alone.

But now he was. And that concept was so suffocating this time around, that he could feel it sinking in, seeping into his bones and every molecule of his being, cementing him in his misery, slowly but surely.

The only way he’d be able to escape it would be to drown himself in his darkness, to take his own life with the gift his mother had given him, and helped him to hone. It almost didn’t seem fair, that to be the most powerful, also meant to be the most hurt, but something about the irony of it all brought a wry smile to the Darkling’s lips.

He could have anything he wanted, except Alina. She’d been wrenched from his grasp just moments after he’d gotten her. They’d spent nearly two years with knowledge of one another, but it seemed like the briefest flicker in time to him. The months since her death dragged on, and it took everything within him not to set the paintings of her ablaze, to massacre anyone who tried to murmur her name, and beat down those who wanted to pray to the fallen Saint. Aleksander wanted her to himself, selfishness be damned, he felt he’d earned this glimmer of happiness, of home that he found within her. He was not among the countless Grisha who admired the Little Palace, and spent their lives growing and dwelling there. He was the one to bring it up from nothing, and to invite others to find safety on the grounds. It was somewhere for the children to learn, to hone their powers, and to grow stronger.

He’d grown stronger through near-death experiences, and learned to use the Cut out of necessity, not while searching for praise from an instructor.

None of it seemed fair, and that’s how he found himself walking in circles, screaming into the shadows he’d let plague his room, begging for something to end him, because he didn’t know if he could do it himself.

“Come back to me, Aleks,” it was just a whisper, but the sound of her voice was enough to stop him in his frantic pacing, and send a chill rattling down his spine. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined it, but the thought of turning around only to find nothing was worse than the fear currently shocking through him.

“I need you,” he didn’t recognize his own voice. What used to carry a wave of calmness over anyone, was now scratchy, broken up by gasps for air, and pained whimpers. He fell to his knees, and his hands wove into his hair, tugging to distract himself from the feeling of his lungs burning with each breath.

What pulled him from his thoughts, however, was a hand laying on his shoulder, as delicate as always, and guiding him to turn around.

She was there, that soft, radiant smile pulling the edges of her lips upwards, while she looked over the man on the floor.

“You and I… Just you and I.” She paused, and his heart stuttered, lips parting and closing again as he tried to find words. “Isn’t that what you want?”

All he could do was nod, and watch as she guided a knife of Grisha steel into his hand. He knew what he had to do, and with her there?

He was sure he could do anything.

She said his name, and that was all he needed. He didn’t even feel the pain from it, or notice as blood spilled from the wound, staining the velvet carpet beneath him. All he could see was her, hear her whispering gentle praises, and feel the trace of her fingertips against his jaw. The usual warmth didn’t accompany her touch, and he questioned if she really was there, but it was too late. She’d helped him with the one thing he had left to desire, and he couldn’t find it in him to complain. The last thing he felt was her lips brushing his forehead, before he became one with the darkness surrounding them, letting it engulf him, and bring silence to his suffering.

#the darkling #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #darklina #shadow and bone #grishaverse #angst #i'm sorry? #but not really

[yan-twst]

Hello! You write scenario with vampire Vil, so... can I ask for vampire Rook this time?

rouge

warnings: mentions of death, blood, general yandere themes

word count: 2,588

a/n: the asker didn’t specify yandere here but, the vamp vil scenario they are talking about here was yan so uh, i’m making this a yan rook scenario.

----------

It’d been a while since any human dared walk into his home. It was akin to a mouse walking right into a trap, a bear stepping in a beartrap; surely by now all the villagers knew that those who entered a vampire’s lair were bound to never return. Killed, devoured, drained of their blood by the creatures who stalked the night- from time to time they’d find corpses, pale, cold and stiff, their blood drained to the last drop and expressions morphed into horrifying screams of terror for eternity.

And yet, he could see them as they nervously walked the darkened mansion with nothing but a candle on their hand, hot wax occasionally dripping into their hand and making them hiss in pain. He’d noticed them walk in; he could’ve leapt the second they stepped inside, he could’ve killed them at any moment, but he’d chosen to let them wander inside. Perhaps it was the sheer oddity of the situation, or maybe the hunter’s desire to observe his prey; whatever it was, Rook silently stalked the shaken human throughout his own mansion, watching as they cautiously looked around.

They were tired, clothes wet from the rain and dirtied with splotches of mud- they’d taken off their shoes, perhaps not wanting to leave footprints or dirty the carpets, but the rest of their clothes were soaked in rainwater. The heat from the measley candle they’d taken from a candleholder was clearly not nearly enough to warm them up- Rook rarely set up fireplaces, his undead body not needing the warmth mortals did- but now he wondered if they’d run towards one like a moth to a flame, in their current state. 

They were disheveled and exhausted, visibly scared- if he had to take a guess, he’d say they were a young villager who got lost and tried to find shelter in his adobe assuming it was abandoned due to its darkness and solitude. They very clearly had no clue they’d walked into the vampire’s den, judging by the fact that they were venturing in deeper; they had no weapons and no protection, they weren’t a vampire hunter or a soldier in any way, just a lost civilian who wandered into the worst place possible.

He watched for longer than he thought he would. There wasn’t anything interesting about this human, there shouldn’t have been, they were no different to the countless people he’d killed for sustenance before- they were prey and he was predator, easy as that, and yet he found himself almost fascinated. The way the moonlight filtering through the windows would illuminate them as they passed a window, their heavy breathing that combined with the chattering of their teeth as their body kept on growing colder and colder; there was something about them that kept Rook’s interest, far more than any other human had.

They were beautiful.

He’d lived a long life- he’d seen his fair share of lovers of all genders and backgrounds, met nobles and common folk alike who boasted appearances that went on to be legend- Rook had always chased for beauty, always seeking that ethereal concept; he’d turned more than one human into a vampire just because he believed their beauty had to be preserved, he’d collect decorations and paintings for his home to surround himself in art. And despite his current subject of interest clearly being a frightened commoner, dirty and shivering, he could sense it- by their quiet footfalls, their hushed breathing, the panic in their eyes, they were beautiful. How had such a human been living in proximity to his mansion without him realizing? He’d hate to think of the possibility that, had they not gotten lost today, he could have never met them and they’d have simply kept living their life until their time came to join their fellow humans in death; he was perhaps lucky fate had other plans for them, as they’d waltzed right into his grasp.

“Good evening, lapin.” Stepping out of the shadows, Rook finally spoke up- the terrified squeal that left the poor human echoed in the hall, almost dropping their candle in fright. They’d probably assumed the house was empty, and to suddenly come face to face with someone in the dark had almost been enough to frighten them to death. 

“A-aah, oh dear lord, are you the owner of this house...? I truly- I didn’t mean to intrude, I just- I went out to forage for some food for my family, but then it began to rain and night fell, and I couldn’t find my way back, and-” their panicked ramblings made Rook chuckle, as he waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss their justifications.

“Oh, no need to worry, I understand your plight. The forest can be so tricky once night falls, non?” he said, and he watched as relief melted into the human’s face, as they perhaps thought they’d managed to find an eccentric but kind nobleman’s home. “Besides, it’s dangerous for a weak thing like you to be out there at these times- the beasts that lurk the night would certainly make a feast out of you.”

“... Y-yes, I guess so.” they seemed shaken by his comment, perhaps their mind wandering to wolves or bears, or perhaps by the even grimmer image of their fellow villagers being found dead with two fang wounds in their neck, attacked by creatures of the night. It seemed to be the later case, as Rook instinctively licked his lips as he watched them bring a hand to their neck, perhaps remembering the images of carnage they’d seen on corpses left behind. “The village priest says it’s dangerous to walk around at night because of the vampires... He told me to wear my rosary and to carry holy water with me, just in case, but- lord, have you seen the state of the victims? I don’t think anything could protect the poor people who run into those beasts.”

Oh, it was so ironic- perhaps like the tragic comedies that sometimes ran in theatres in larger towns that he so adored. Watching the human talk about how scary and rough vampires were, thanking him for saving them, completely unaware he was biding his time until he’d sink his fangs into their flesh. He wouldn’t kill them yet, no, not yet; he had to consider if they should join his immortal ranks- after all, his sudden attraction to them had to mean they had the potential to shine bright. Perhaps he could turn them and keep them as a companion; bring them over to Vil so he could fix them up, or-

“... my betrothed was insistent I didn’t go out tonight, but there was no food left and nobody’s getting paid until next week, so I simply had to go see if there were any eggs or berries in the forest...” Rook’s eyes snapped open at the human’s words- a betrothed. It shouldn’t have been weird, not at all. Humans live so shortly, they marry fast and try to form families before their time runs out; in a small village, someone as beautiful as this human would certainly already be preparing to marry.

It made sense, and yet he felt a wave of jealousy permeate through him. For a vampire, Rook had never been one to particularly demean humans- he’d kill them, sure, but he wouldn’t go as far as to terrorize them for fun, or act as some other vampires did and consider them worms beneath him, inferior to immortals. But the flash of rage that coursed through him was undeniable. Usually he was content to hold beautiful things at arm’s length, to gaze at them, to keep around; he’d never been bothered if an ex-lover moved on, not if any of the humans he turned found other vampire lovers of their own. And yet this human, who he didn’t even know the name of, who he’d just met, was somehow bringing forth emotions foreign to him.

“Oh? Lapin, are you to marry soon?” he asked, trying to keep himself sounding friendly. The question seemed to make them cheer up a bit- despite the fact they were clearly shivering, too shy to ask if he could perhaps direct them to a fireplace.

“Ah, yes! I got engaged some weeks ago to someone close to me...” they blushed as they spoke, and despite the fact their face was adorable like that, the fact that someone else was causing it brought an acrid taste to Rook’s mouth. “... we’re going to get married next month, in the local church, and-”

“... Well, what a careless lover you have, then. Don’t they know that if they let their precious roam lose, they might be stolen by someone else?” Rook chuckled, a bit more darkly than usual. His words made them stop in their talking, as if confused. He went on. “If a rabbit runs lose on the forest, nobody should be surprised when the crow snatches it for itself.”

“... That’s, um-” the fear was back in their face now, eyes panickedly looking around; good. He much preferred that look on them, rather than the lovesick expression when talking about their betrothed. Perhaps this was bloodlust; maybe it’d been too long since he’d drank- it made no sense for him to find himself infatuated with a human like this, and yet the sight of their neck and their terrified gaze made him feel more alive than he’d ever been.

Without much of a thought, he pinned them to the wall- their scream was piercing. Perhaps they thought he was a creep, or maybe they’d finally connected the dots about his pale skin and the empty manor and realized he was a vampire; whatever it was, they didn’t vocalize it, instead choosing to scream for help. Even their scared screams were melodious, somehow; he didn’t know if he could truly blame hunger for the way he rejoiced in their squirming and crying.

“Now, now, lapin, you can’t blame me for this. If you’d kept on walking past my humble abode, I wouldn’t have seen you- I didn’t plan on hunting tonight. But what can one do when the prey saunters right into one’s grasp, hm?” he said breath ghosting over the juncture of their neck and shoulder. They struggled; but the coldness had numbed their body, hours of walking leaving them weak. Even at their peak, no human could overpower a vampire easily, not one as strong as Rook. “I’m afraid you can’t get away with no consequences just because you’re beautiful, lapin.”

Their blood was delicious. It had been too long since he’d gotten to indulge like this- to pin his prey down, to drink their blood leisurely without having to think about being caught, from the comfort of his own home. It’d been too long since he’d found prey he enjoyed so much- usually the human’s panicked cries and sobbing and begging were nothing but background noise, and yet, for once, he found himself spurred to bite down again and again by the helpless whimpering of his victim. His blond hair tickled their neck, the elegant fabric of his attire becoming damp upon coming into contact with their rain soaked clothes, but he paid it little mind.

“S-stop, please...! I don’t- please, no, don’t... kill me...!” they were hiccuping as they cried, feebly trying to fight back- by now, the natural numbing of his saliva had to have taken away the pain, but nothing could soothe their fear. Rook had never been bitten, having been born a vampire; but he’d been told the bite hurt, and then it went numb, only to then become pleasurable. If his little human was feeling any pleasure from the bite, they didn’t show it- their whines and cries could have very well been born from sheer fear or from an unknown pleasure.

“Ah, mon lapin, your words tempt me so,” he lifted his mouth, lips stained red with warm blood. Usually, villagers around him were malnourished or sickly- but this particular human’s blood was rich, comparable to the best he’d had. Rook never had qualms on turning a human; the value of human life, the importance of mortality, the essence of being human, those were things he cared little for; but he didn’t want to stop drinking this blood. And yet, the thought of them laying dead in the ground didn’t please him either; there was no proper way to preserve a corpse, not without the aid of magic he didn’t currently have in hand- and despite the nights being cold, the days were becoming increasingly hot; if he killed them, their beauty would fade so fast... “Say, lapin... Do you truly wish to live?”

Teary eyes stared right into green eyes with slit pupils. He could see himself in the reflection of their eyes- pale skin, red coating his mouth and chin, piercing green eyes almost glowing in the dark, his blond hair framing his face. They were shaking, only held up by his hands that pinned them to the wall- at his question they sobbed and nodded, begging, please spare them, their family needs them, please-

Before they could mention their betrothed and sour his mood again, Rook quickly bit down on his own tongue. His fangs drew blood easily- it tasted coppery and rather gross, but he wasn’t that unused to the taste of his own blood. Vampire blood was not tasty, at least not to other vampires, and it didn’t serve to quench their thirst; he almost lamented covering up the taste of the divine blood he’d just ingested with his own lackluster blood, but there was at least an use for his immortal blood.

When he lowered his head again to go at the wounds he’d created, the human writhed under him, probably assuming he’d changed his mind and decided to kill them. Rook hummed pleasantly as the taste of their blood coated his wounded tongue- and at the same time his own blood coated their injuries. He licked at the two puncture holes, making sure his wound kept on bleeding into them; he had to make sure it got into their bloodstream, after all. He knew it’d worked when the skin around his mouth grew hot, and a piercing scream fell from the human’s lips. Vil had told him once that being turned into a vampire was the most painful thing he’d ever felt- the burning, the cold, the feeling of their body dying and yet continuing to live; it almost pained him when he reluctantly lifted his mouth from their neck and watched their painstriken face as they shook and screamed in sheer pain at the feeling of their body turning.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok...” he said, letting go off their wrists and caressing their hair. Perhaps out of fear or pain, or maybe deep in a delusion brought on by the excruciating pain, they hugged him weakly. Oh, he could get used to this; perhaps it truly was time he got a companion for himself. Sure, it was lamentable he hadn’t even caught their name as a living human; but there’d be plenty of time for them to get acquainted with him.

After all, this wasn’t just his way to preserve their beauty- he had selfish purposes for his actions. For once, perhaps, he’d keep them by his side; if he’d gifted them immortal life, it’d only be fair they spent said time with him, right?

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #rook hunt #yandere tw #death ment #blood tw

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

Stay

A Sami and Kevin Fanfic

_____________________________________________

4070 Words No Pairings Present (Zowens if you squint)

As Kevin lays in a hospital bed after Money in the Bank, he finds himself confronted by one Sami Zayn. But has Sami come to gloat? To enjoy Kevin's suffering yet again?

Or is there something else motivating his visit?

No violence or smut, but there is some foul language so, Rated T?

The worst thing about ladder matches was the fucking ladders.

Well, maybe not the ladders themselves; ladders were a useful tool in everyday life and carried no ill will of their own. But when you put them in the hands of the type of angry, violent assholes who filled the locker room of the WWE, it never ended well.

To be fair, Kevin Owens was one of those angry, violent assholes and he was happy to use the ladders to commit such acts himself but as he lay in a hospital bed in Fort Worth Texas battered, beaten, and with an injured neck that didn’t want to work courtesy of Seth Rollins powerbombing him through one of said ladders, he couldn’t help but curse the existence of the damn things.

Still, he wasn’t in much pain. He wasn’t feeling much of anything, really. Kevin was never one for painkillers outside the hospital; he'd been in the industry long enough to know that they could lead you down a dark path of no return and that was the last thing he wanted for himself or his family. But, as long as he was in the hospital, they were fine. Plus, if you got yourself into enough trouble to wind up in a hospital bed, you were likely at a point where they were a necessity.

This was one of those times.

On top of the painkillers, he was tired, so tired. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, but it couldn’t have been long. Two days at the most. They’d taken the neck brace off at some point, although they’d warned him to try not to move his head much. He’d been sleeping on and off ever since arriving, but it never seemed to help. He wanted to sleep more, the utter exhaustion from the past few months having caught up with him.

His body was broken. Between his injured arm, his injured knee, and now his injured neck, he was ready for a vacation. He’d intended on taking one several weeks back but Sami, that infuriating bastard, couldn’t be left alone for more than a week. Kevin had been drawn back in again, this time for a Last Man Standing match, in an effort to end Sami’s reign of terror once and for all.

It hadn’t worked. He’d beaten Sami down until he couldn’t get up again, sure. But his original goal of fixing Sami went unfulfilled, and Kevin realized it always would. You couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped and it was clear Sami didn’t want his help. He was too deranged and paranoid to see that Kevin gave a damn and, whatever, it was what it was. Kevin was shit at trying to help people anyway, he had no idea what made him think he could help Sami in the first place.

Best just to leave him to his insanity. He’d burn himself out eventually.

Hopefully.

Still, a break was a break, nearly literally in this case, and as he lay in the hospital bed half asleep, he couldn’t help but think that the room would be better with company. And as he stared up at the ceiling of the hospital room, contemplating another nap, he got his wish... in the worst way possible.

Kevin heard him before he saw him.

“You're an asshole, Kevin Owens,” he heard the voice say as he entered the room.

Kevin’s eyes shifted over to look towards the door.

Yep, it was definitely Sami Zayn, as bitter as ever.

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut.

Great, he thought, completely disgusted, the last fucking person I wanted to see.

“Go away,” he grumbled. His voice was raspy and weak and it only served to piss him off more. Being weak was never something Kevin tolerated from himself and being weak in front of Sami? Unacceptable.

Still, Kevin knew he didn’t have the strength left for the appropriate amount of rage warranted, so he would just have to make do with what he could give. Staring up at the ceiling once more, Kevin responded.

“I’m not dealing with your shit today,” he told Sami. “I’m tired. Whatever the hell you want, it can wait till Friday.”

A chuckle escaped Sami’s throat as he replied, “Oh, and I care so much about what you want. Really, I do. Oh, hang on, no I don't.”

Kevin sighed. If he’d had the strength, he’d already be out of his bed, strangling the lunatic. It was true that Kevin cared about Sami, but as he’d stated before, Sami wasn't Sami anymore. At the very least, he wasn’t his Sami. His Sami was an angel, kind, loving, protective, and all the things that Kevin secretly wished the powers of the universe had given him the capacity to be. But this new Sami? He was one big ball of psycho and just being around the bastard made Kevin want to throttle him.

But the truth was, there was nothing he could do about Sami being there. Sure, he could call the nurse to have him removed, but Sami would just cause a scene like he always did, and Kevin didn’t need any more stress. The best option was to ignore him until he went away.

He closed his eyes once more and said nothing.

Fuck him, he thought.

He feeds off attention. Don’t give it to him.

Kevin heard Sami drag a chair across the floor to sit down beside him.

“Besides,” Sami said, “I’m loving the look. You stuck in a hospital bed? It’s such a wonderful birthday present. A bit late, but really, great job, Kevin. A for effort. You outdid yourself this year.”

There was something about the tone in Sami’s voice, something that Kevin couldn’t quite put his finger on. Kevin pushed it from his mind. Whatever new flavor of insanity Sami had brewing he didn’t care.

Still, Sami didn’t shut up.

“I mean, I’m sure that’s what it was. A birthday present. At the very least it’s a gift from the universe. Karma for everything you’ve done to me. And it is so sweet. Sweet, beautiful Karma.”

Kevin was rapidly losing his patience. He wasn’t going to shut up. Granted, he never did, but like an idiot, Kevin had hoped this was the exception.

Mustering up all the energy he could but still not looking at Sami, Kevin responded, “Is that why you came? To gloat?”

“Gloat? Gloat?” said Sami, the mania not leaving his voice, “Why wouldn’t I? It isn’t like you didn’t try to break my back two weeks ago.Again. I mean, I have to hand it to you, credit for staying true to form. It isn’t enough to betray me time and time again, the consistency for you trying to end my career is admirable.”

There was definitely something about Sami’s tone. Kevin was trying valiantly to try and ignore it but the more the redhead ranted, the harder it got. Through the weariness, Kevin tried to place it. Once upon a time, he’d have been able to read Sami like a book without the need for words or other lesser means of communication. But whatever hellscape Sami’s mind had become, there was no understanding him anymore, even with words. Still, Kevin needed to try.

Anger? Well, that was surface level and to be expected. Hate? Again, par for the course between them. Regret? Possibly, but they’d put each other through so much by that point that their entire history was coated with regret. It was nothing new for either of them and it wasn’t what he was hearing now.

“Although, I have to say, Kevin,” Sami continued, “trying to end your own career? Odd choice. Brave, and entirely on point for your level of bullshit but still – odd choice.”

As the statement left Sami’s lips, the tonal shift became more evident than ever and, suddenly, Kevin realized what was happening.

Concern. That’s what was burning at the edges of Sami’s voice. Concern.

Suddenly, Kevin couldn’t avoid looking at Sami any longer. Pushing through the grogginess and haze, he turned his head to look at his former best friend. As he did, Kevin realized that, as tired as he felt, Sami somehow looked even more tired. His face was haggard and his already wild curls looked messier than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days and the sight caught Kevin off guard like a kick to the stomach.

Still, Kevin didn’t care. He knew he didn’t. Not even a little and if he could just convince himself of it long enough for Sami to leave...

“You look like shit,” Kevin said.

Sami’s eyes fell to the floor, the façade starting to break. “So do you.”

Kevin couldn’t deny it anymore. Sami was worried about him.

And somehow, that made everything so much worse.

Don’t say anything,Kevin’s mind was screaming. Just let him leave. Don’t engage, don’t say a word...

“Are you... worried about me?” Kevin asked, despite himself.

Goddammit.

“NO!” Sami replied fervently, shaking his head as his eyes darted off in another direction. “No, of course – no, no! Why would I – no. No.”

It was far too many “no���s” to be a denial.

After a moment, Sami settled down again, his eyes once more on the floor. There was a knot tying itself up in Kevin’s gut, a familiar ache that Kevin loathed with every fiber of his being. He hated that knot, but he could never seem to escape it. As much as he told himself, swore to himself that he didn’t care, it always came back. With every stunner, every beatdown, every apron powerbomb atrocity he committed against Sami, he felt it. He’d fought against the feeling for over a decade by that point but it was relentless, carving up his insides and leaving him empty.

It felt a hell of a lot like guilt.

Kevin watched as Sami rubbed his face with his hands.

“Sami...” he said warily, but he was immediately cut off.

“I mean, I hate you!” Sami exclaimed, his voice turning wild once more. “I hate you with every fiber of my being! Every part of me, every single strand, every single sinew stands in defiance against you and what you have spent your life doing to me. You represent everything that is wrong with the WWE, and you are everything that is wrong with my life! You’ve been holding me down for so long, why the hell do I care?!”

For a moment, Sami’s crazed eyes locked with Kevin's, and Kevin realized two things immediately. First, Sami had accidentally replaced the word “would” with “do” in his rant and, second, Sami knew that he had and suddenly needed a way out of it. As quickly as they met, Sami’s eyes were gone again, slammed shut, and turned away from Kevin.

“I don’t care,” he muttered. “I really, really don’t. I just -”

Sami tensed up for a moment as if trying to restrain himself from something before letting out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair, and relaxing slightly. He was still pointedly avoiding Kevin’s gaze and as Sami rubbed his nose with his hand a nagging thought crept into Kevin’s mind.

It was the kind of thought that, were things different between them, might have meant something. The kind of thought that, was Kevin’s heart not already hardened against his former friend, might have given him hope. It was the kind of thought that chewed at your soul, stabbed you in the chest, and left you feeling raw and gutted inside.

He knew he should ignore it and any other lies like it. They couldn’t be true, the universe was too indifferent to muster up that level of cruelty. Were Kevin a wiser man, he’d have thrown the idea into the metaphorical dumpster, tossed in a burning match, and slammed the lid shut. But when it came to Sami Zayn, Kevin had never been a wise man, and the thought kept building and building until it was roaring like a freight train in his brain.

Somehow, the thought told him, likely against his will and buried deep in the shattered and broken mind of his ex-best friend, Sami still loved him.

It was a horrible thought, and as it tore through Kevin like a chainsaw he realized that a far worse fact lay buried beneath that.

Despite everything he had convinced himself of, all of the violence and aggression, rage and bitterness, he felt the same way.

Fuck.

Kevin stared at Sami, the silence between them almost tactile. It was no good. Kevin knew as much. Whatever they might have had long ago, it was gone now. Whose fault it was didn’t matter, although he knew in his heart it was mostly his. His friend, his Sami, the man he loved so much and who Kevin once would have gladly laid down his life for knowing that he would do the same, was gone. Immolated and turned to ash amidst a thousand paranoias, conspiracies, and obsessions. But as Sami sat beside his bed, his shoulders slumped and what Kevin swore looked like tears in his eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance, some excruciatingly small chance that they could be mended; Made whole once more.

Put back together.

They sat in silence for several long, agonizing minutes and Kevin watched as Sami fought the moisture in his eyes, steeling himself before finally shaking his head, scrubbing his face and eyes with his hands roughly, and hunching over in defeat.

Kevin couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to say something, anything to break the tension.

What came out of his mouth was a question.

“Are you alright?”

Such a stupid question.

Sami didn’t respond at first, and Kevin watched as he bit his lip angrily before, strangely, he let out a small chuckle. Then another, followed by a laugh, and before Kevin could react, Sami was laughing. Rising, escalating laughter that reeked of the insanity Sami had been suffering from for so long. Crazed, maniacal laughter that shook Sami's whole body, and, as he cackled, he started shouting.

“Am I ok?” he hollered, “Am I ok? The man in the hospital bed asks me if I am ok!”

Anger filtered into Kevin's heart. What the hell was the asshole laughing at him for, all he asked was...

Sami bolted to his feet kicking the chair out from under him.

“YOU DIDN’T MOVE!” Sami cried out, and suddenly, he wasn’t laughing anymore.

Kevin’s eyes went wide as Sami’s laughter choked and sputtered turning into something that was entirely different and burned itself into Kevin’s brain.

“You didn’t move!” repeated Sami, waving his hands as the tears in his eyes threatened to spill over, “You landed on your head, bent in half and you didn’t move! I mean, it was just for a second, but I thought...”

Kevin wanted to say something, anything to calm Sami down, but his tongue felt thick in his mouth and the words got caught in his throat.

Sami’s words were soaked with pain as he continued. “... I don’t know why the fuck it matters, anyway, we aren’t friends. You didn’t... I don’t think we ever were, you just used me, used us for years until you were done with me and - and then... but we...”

Sami trailed off and Kevin watched as he fought to regain control. It struck Kevin as odd that he was fighting, that he was even trying to calm down. Sami had been ranting and raving for so long that Kevin had assumed he’d just stopped giving a damn about civility. But standing at Kevin’s bedside, Sami’s hands were now clenched into tight fists at his sides, with his body stiff, his eyes closed, and a face straining under the pressure to keep it together.

And, somehow, the impossible occurred.

Sami succeed.

Kevin watched the visible signs of Sami’s battle against his own mind start to subside and an uneasy calm fell over the redhead. Sami relaxed a bit, taking several long breaths before continuing.

When he did, he sounded nothing like the Sami that Kevin had grown accustomed to. He wasn’t Kevin’s Sami either but, somehow, it was as if a middle ground had been reached.

“I know it was Seth,” Sami told him. “Seth powerbombed you, that – you didn’t choose that, and I can’t hold it against you. It happens. But even on Smackdown, with the ladder there, and all the other crazy shit you’ve been doing? You’re going to injure yourself. End your career. Or worse…”

Sami trailed off once more, wiping his wet eyes.

Kevin knew Sami had a point, some of his antics from the past few years had reached new and creative levels of stupidity, outpacing the risks he so willingly took in his younger years. And yes, time and time again, he’d managed to injure himself in the process.

Still, it wasn’t all on his shoulders and Kevin’s jaw was tight as he replied.

“You know, I remember someone shoving me through a pair of tables a couple weeks ago,” he said.

Sami’s eyes were once more on his shoes as he responded.

“I remember some asshole powerbombing me through a pair as well. You wouldn’t happen to know who that was, would you?”

There was so much hurt in Sami’s voice that it broke Kevins’ heart. The anger was feeling dissipated and KO could feel his soul shattering into hundreds of mirrored fragments, shards of a past, present, and future devoured by fury and hatred, each reflecting back a stark reminder of who caused this, who was to blame.

He’d done this. He was the one who turned Sami into who he was now. Sure, the mental breakdown had a hand in it but Sami’s fall from grace was entirely on Kevin. He was the one who dragged Sami into his world all those years ago, determined to “fix him” and “bring him to the light”. All he had done was pull his best friend into a darkness that Sami had yet to come back from.

And still, as far as Sami had fallen, as much as he had crashed and burned, somehow Kevin was still managing to hurt him more.

Kevin’s voice was low when he finally responded.

“I never meant to -” Kevin paused for a moment, modifying the sentence in his brain, “ - worry you. Sorry.”

Sami scowled, shaking his head. “Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it, Kev. Not anymore. We have gone so far past sorry. So damn far.”

Kevin tried valiantly to shut down the part of his brain that was screaming at him. They’d gone too far, it was true. Anything they might have once had was irreparably broken. His gut was twisting as he realized it but there was a voice in his brain screaming at him to try anyway. Do whatever it took. Apologize more. Get on his knees to ask forgiveness. Plead. Beg. Hell, just kiss the guy if that’s what it took. Whatever was necessary to bring Sami back into his life. Sure, his Sami might be gone forever, but watching Sami struggle not to care, fighting back tears as Kevin lay in a hospital bed?

Part of Kevin believed that there might be enough of his Sami left to pretend they were ok.

And, at the moment, that part was winning.

Looking over at his former friend, Kevin’s brown eyes were full of love as he spoke his name once more.

“Sami...” he said.

The way the name came out, passing over his lips like a tragic reminder of what once was and what he wished could be again. It was a promise that Kevin would never give up on Sami, regardless of what new hells they might put each other through. A sacred oath that no matter what fate or any other force might do to them, Kevin would keep fighting to save them both.

Worst of all, Kevin knew it was a prayer. A prayer that, against all odds, there was something still worth fighting for.

That’s what you do with angels, isn’t it, he thought, the regret in his heart twisting like a serrated blade.

You pray to them.

Sami’s eyes returned to Kevin’s once more and KO realized that he was right. There was so much hurt, rage, and yes, insanity there in those hazel orbs. But Kevin had spent so long staring into them over the last two decades that he knew, in his heart, that his guardian angel wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

Fallen, yes.

But not dead.

And at that moment, Sami’s fight against the tears in his eyes was lost and they brimmed over, rolling down his cheeks.

“Don’t,” Sami said, his voice equally as sad as Kevin’s, “Just... don’t.”

“What?” Kevin asked.

Sami’s voice was cracking as he replied. “Don’t talk like we’re friends.”

Despite himself, a smile began to break through Kevin’s soul-torn expression

“I just said your name,” he said.

“I know.”

For the briefest of moments, Kevin thought he saw Sami smile in return when, just as before, the moment was wrenched from him as Sami broke away, turning his head aggressively to send a clear message that he was having no part of Kevin’s attempt at kindness.

“No,” said Sami firmly, “No, this isn’t happening. You don’t get off that easily, you shithead. We’re done here.”

Without looking back, Sami turned and started walking towards the door.

“Stay,” Kevin blurted out before he could stop himself.

God, you’re hopeless.

Sami stopped in his tracks, still facing the door.

“Why,” he asked. “Give me one good reason.”

Sleep was beginning to wash over Kevin. He fought it, he had to. He wasn’t ready to let go of... whatever the hell was happening between them. He had to stay awake, even if it was only until Sami was gone.

He didn’t want it to end.

“I’m waiting,” Sami said. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t just walk away.”

There was no anger or attitude in his voice and Kevin couldn’t help but think Sami sounded as tired as he felt.

“Because I... I want you to stay,” Kevin admitted. It was all he had.

With a bitter chuckle, Sami turned his head sideways to say over his shoulder, “I said a good reason.”

His voice weary with pain and exhaustion, Kevin said, “I don’t have one. Stay anyway.”

Kevin watched as Sami tensed up for a moment as if ready to throw attitude once more before he slumped and let out one final shaky breath. Wordlessly, he turned around and, retrieving the chair from where he’d kicked it, set it upright and sat down.

Nothing more was said. It was better that way.

Looking one final time at Sami in the chair, Kevin couldn’t fight the need for sleep any longer. He wanted to memorize the sight, Sami beside him for the first time in years peacefully and without them hurling insults, powerbombs, or helluva kicks at each other.

It wouldn’t last; Kevin knew that and Sami had to as well. By Friday, none of it would matter, they would be back to hating each other. Or, even worse, not caring at all.

At least when Sami was wailing on him, Kevin was close to him. Fight forever, that’s what they always said. When he was fighting Sami, they communicated on a level few could hope to comprehend. At Wrestlemania, there was an energy in the air, as if they’d found a canvas to paint a masterpiece on that would rival the greatest works of Rembrandt or Van Gogh. When he fought Sami, it still felt like home.

Sami loving him was the greatest gift of all. Sami fighting him was a close second. But indifference?

That was the worst fate imaginable.

And as sleep started to consume him, Kevin gave a silent prayer to any angel that was listening, Sami or otherwise, that that wasn’t the future that awaited him when he woke up.

The heavy silence between them faded away to foggy nothingness, and Kevin felt himself drift away.

The final thing he registered before unconsciousness took him was the feeling of a hand wrapping around his own.

#Fanfiction #Zowens #Shanie's Fanfiction #WWE

[godess-ofthe-underworld]

Love Finds Away

(sequel to “see You Again) ( A Harry Hook x reader story)

Part 10

When the dresses were all delivered and Evie Hadley and Ruby were ready, they headed down to the docks.

The whole way there Hadley couldn't stop staring at the Isle, only hoping that he felt the same way she did. She toyed with her necklace, not having the guts to take it off, but this time instead of tucking it away from view, she let it dangle over the top of her dress. Evie and Ruby both noticed her sullen look and shared a glance themselves.

Making their way up the docks, music and lights were blaring, causing Hadley to squint until her eyes adjusted. A blue velvet carpet lined the entire dock, leading to the massive yacht that cotillion was being held on.

The blue carpet was lined with press from start to finish. Hadley put on a fake smile as they stepped up the camera flashes momentarily blinding her.

Evie, being the natural when it comes to this sort of thing, took the lead with Doug, who had joined them at some point.

Hadley stood back allowing Evie to answer the questions being thrown their way. Just before they reached the ship they stopped in front of a group of reporters

"Evie! Hadley! You both look gorgeous tonight!"

"Did you design the hair accessories and Hadleys arm band?"

"No actually." Evie started touching the clip in her hair. " All of the accessories tonight were made by a very special person, Miss Dizzy of the Isle" Evie smiled into the camera knowing Dizzy would be watching for them.

They moved on after answering a few more questions.

Stepping onto the boat the music was louder and the main deck and upper deck were crowded with students dancing away.

Hadley found herself looking out at the isle. Which was in clear view from the side of the ship. She watched as the thunder and lighting rumbled.

Ruby linked arms with her startling her out of her gaze. She pulled Hadley to the middle with the others waiting for Mal to arrive.

Small chatter was exchanged until the guards along the stairs raised their trumpets to signal her arrival.

"The future Lady Mal" Lumiere proudly announced.

The whole deck erupted in applause as Mal stood at the top of the stairs.

Her once full ball gown dress was now cut into a high-low fashion, the front hem doned the same royal blue lace as the bodice and her shoes stood proud and tall. Her recently dyed purple hair was braided down the side and over her shoulder with tiny accents in between each weave.

She slowly made her way down the steps a look of pure terror on her face as everyone's eyes watched her every move.

Evie stepped forward to greet her at the bottom.

She took Mals hand and walked her to the center of the deck.

"How are you feeling?" Hadley asked as they reached them.

Mal gave a nervous smile.

" you know… kinda like.im going to throw up.."

The five chuckled lightly as the guards raised the trumpets again.

"King Benjamin" Lumiere announced as Ben made it to the top of the steps.

The whole ship thundered with applause as he made his way down the steps, rather quickly as Hadley observed.

Mal met him at the bottom smiling up at him, but his smile wasn't present.

"Mal, I really wish i had time to explain"

The spotlight shone at the top of the steps. There was a collective gasp from everyone on deck.

Ums stood at the top step in a beautiful teal mermaid style dress. Seashells and other sea accents adorned the frilly teal ruching. Her long braids had been carefully tied into a neat bun on the top of her head.

Ben smiled wide as Uma began walking down the stairs and jogged up the first few taking her hand and helping her down the rest of the stairs.

He stopped them at the last step and bowed to her kissing the gold ring that used to be on Mal's finger.

Uma giggled as he stood straight and took her hand leading her out to the center of the deck and right up to Mal.

Hadley completely droned out the conversation about Uma diving through the barrier and what not, claiming that she was in love with Ben and he with her.

When the two began dancing Mal curled into herself, hurt etched all over her features. Hadley rushed to Mals' side as did Evie. The two clung to her shoulders trying to comfort her. The boys huddled as well rubbing Mals arms.

"Ya know I'm not too thrilled I risked my life for him," Carlos said a little louder than the music playing.

Lonnie came up behind Mal holding Ruby's hand.

"We're with you Mal" Lonnie said as Ruby nodded.

Jay placed a hand on the small of Mals back and started leading her to the steps.

"Come on. Let's get outta here."

The others agreed following the two.

Just as they reached the bottom of the steps, Uma stopped dancing with Ben turing to the retreating vks.

"Hey, Hadley." Uma spoke over the music.

Hadley stopped when she heard her name, the rest following.

"What Uma?" Hadley nearly growled; in her anger Hadley's hair sparked and ignited.

"He feels the same way ya know."

Hadley's look of anger quickly morphed into one of confusion, her hair still holding a faint glow.

Uma smiled "But don't take my word for it."

Uma looked to the top of the staircase with a large smile. Hadley and the rest followed her gaze.

Hadley nearly stumbled holding on to Carlo's jacket to steady herself, her jaw dropping.

Everyone around the ship's deck was gasping and whispering. The other vks looked just as stunned as Hadley, looking from her to the top of the stairs.

Harry was nearly unrecognizable; his Isle clothes had been traded for a burgundy suit matching blazer and pants, white button up shirt and black vest. His usually out of control hair was neatly side swiped. Hadley noticed that he still had on his boots.

Harry's eyes, which still had a bit of eyeliner still around them, searched the group at the bottom before locking with Hadleys.

He made his way down the steps, the vks parting when he made it to them giving him a path to Hadley, but watching his every move. Lonnie put a hand on Jay's shoulder when he went to lunge.

Hadley took a step back when Harry reached her.

"Harry… what.. What are you doing here?" Hadley stuttered.

"I had ta know if it was true." He mumbled.

"If what was true?" Hadley asked.

"What ya said on the Isle, right before ya tossed me hook over the dock. When ya said ya.. ya love me… i need ta know if it was jus' a trick ta get away or if ya really mean it." Harry's eyes bore into hers. She thought she almost saw a tear. She could hear the people closest to her begin whispering wildy.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her friends starting to head up the stairs and saw Evie nod in her direction. Hadley placed a hand on his arm guiding them to a more secluded corner. Hadley looked at her hands as she dropped her arm, nervously twisting the rings around her fingers.

"It wasn't a trick Har, just really bad timing now that I think about it." Hadley let out a small breathy laugh. She could see Harry's shoulders drop slightly. "But it was never a trick." Hadley looked up at him. "It's true, I do love you. I've loved you for a long time; I just… never knew how to tell you." She looked down at her hands.

"I never wanted to risk losing you. You've been my best friend for a long time and you've never failed to make a day better." She looked up at him.

"Har, you're the one thing that has kept me going since I left." She let out a watery laugh, with tears welling in her eyes.

"I love you."

Harry cradled her jaw with his palm as his thumb gently glided across her cheek. Hadley closed her eyes leaning into it.

"Haddie… I … I love you too."

Hadley's heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Harry ducked his head slowly bringing it closer to hers. He was close enough that she could still smell the sea and metal permeating from his jacket.

She sucked in a sharp breath just as his lips were about to collide with hers.

However…. Their moment was interrupted by a shriek coming from the deck.

Gotta love cliffhangers.... I can’t believe we’re already on part 10! If if you liked part 10 please comment and like for part 11.  As always, you can read the illustrated version over on my Wattpad (@phelpsphan).  If you would like to be added to the tag list please message me!

Summary: You would think that six months in Auradon would do any villain kid good.  Well, not Hadley.  After the events of the Coronation, Hadley's mood took a downward spiral; and for one reason, guilt.  She'd broken a promise and left her best friend on the Isle of the Lost.  How will she handle seeing him again when certain circumstances bring her back to the Isle? Will she finally tell him what she really feels?  

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Descendants.  Hadley and the plot between her and Harry are mine. 

Tag list: @unded-bride , @fangirlforever2412 , @itsnottilly 

#harry hook imagine #harry hook x reader #harry hook #daughter of hades #disney descendants

[cavalierious-whim]

Whelp (FE3H)

Sylvix | Pre-Game | Canon-Compliant AU | Teen

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate. But Sylvain's not just a wolf, he's also a boy, and all he wants to do is enjoy his youth.

----

A/N: So let's consider this: Crests aren't a boon, they're a curse. What's it like to live with that? This is the first in a collection of stories called 'Of Crests and Curses'. The storyline is that of the game, which is why I've tagged it Canon-Compliant AU. Read here on AO3 for better quality! And follow mere here on Twitter.

----

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate.

A boon, gifted to the bloodline by the Goddess. Nearly feral with rage and born to ravage the battlefield as beasts, the Gautier family see themselves as harbingers of death: if you meet one in battle, then you’ve met your end.

Time wears on and views change. The Gautier blessing is now a blessing only to their own. The rest of the world whispers of a curse instead, carefully concealed behind titles and lordship. Those who carry the burden are nothing but beasts, bred to bring death and destruction upon their foes, relishing it.

The Margrave Philippe Alexandre Gautier has a reputation to uphold. He’d done his duty for King Lambert, loping across enemy lines and battlefronts, and then later, he’d held the North against Sreng. He still holds the North against Sreng.

But, Philippe’s reign of terror is regrettably over; his bones ache a little bit more with every shift, and his nose isn’t good for much nowadays.

Miklan is a disaster. He’s got the bloodlust required of a Gautier but no crest to match it. Phillipe frowns at the mere thought. It’s a pity. Gautier men need that bloodlust, they thrive on it, but the beast is also required to temper it. When left alone, it’s more like gunpowder, prone to exploding when you least expect it. A careful balance is required.

There’s a scream from the other room and his head snaps up, fighting the instinctual urge to go be with his mate. Not quite a man and not quite a wolf, but that deep-seated connection thrums through his heart. The midwife won’t let him in and he does his best to maintain hope.

And so, Phillipe waits, pacing the long corridor of the Gautier fortress. Even in the summer months, Gautier can be frigid, the bitter cold seeping deep into the stones of his home.

Eventually, the screaming stops. The midwife opens the door and Philippe slips in quietly. There isn’t any crying, but his wife doesn’t look distressed. She holds a bundle close to her, her face tired and red and sweating.

When Philippe peeks into the folds of the blanket, he sees fur, wet and sticky, a deep auburn red.

“A crest,” says Philippe to his wife. “Our--” He pauses and waits, looking back to her, his tongue-tied.

“Son,” says his wife, her voice raspy from hours of crying out. “Our son has a crest.”

Pride swells within Philippe as he takes the bundle from her breast. Their son is a small thing, his eyes still closed. His maw is wide open, pink, and toothless gums on display. He’s the most beautiful thing that Philippe has ever seen.

But more importantly, he’s the most useful.

“There are big plans for you,” Philippe says, petting the downy fur at the crown of his son’s head. “Big plans indeed, my precious Sylvain.” Philippe pulls the boy closer so his son can learn his scent.

Yes, incredibly useful indeed.

#

If there’s one thing that Sylvain Jose Gautier can’t resist, it’s a good tail wag.

Well, that’s a lie. He also loves a really good smell, the kind that sticks in your nose all day. Or a really good cut of steak, tender and juicy and more on the raw side than not. Okay, so, there’s a lot of things that Sylvain loves and it’s too hard to pick just one, so he’ll try to enjoy them all, he thinks.

Fraldarius Manor isn’t as large as his home, but it’s busier. Servants bustle to and fro, guards stand here and there, and there’s a massive assortment of sights and smells and noises and--

Sylvain knows that he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but his foot twitches, ready to explore. Small as the manor is when compared to the Gautier Fortress, there’s not a doubt in his mind that it holds more secrets than he could ever sniff out. He’s excited to try.

There’s just one problem.

Before Sylvain can even turn to him, his father reaches out and grabs the back of his neck firmly. He doesn’t have a scruff in his human form, so Sylvain winces. Not painful but it doesn’t feel great, and Sylvain resists the urge to wiggle out of his father’s grasp like a slippery little snake.

“Sylvain,” says his father in a hiss. “Quit your fidgeting.”

Sylvian whines in response, but it only causes his father to grip a little bit harder. He’s not angry, Sylvain thinks. It’s just a warning, Sylvain tells himself. Sylvain doesn’t get very many warnings.

“Duke Fraldarius is meeting us here at the entrance and he’s bringing his sons. Be on your best behavior.”

“I don’t want to meet his sons,” says Sylvain, lips pulling into a terse frown. He wants to sniff out things, to explore, to get stuck in tight little places. He’s got a sense of adventure that itches to be scratched, nearly as bad as that one time he’d gotten fleas as a toddler.

“You will,” says his father, his grip pinching. Sylvain doesn’t whine this time, his mouth snaps shut in a grimace. It’s better to not show pain, to just put on a brave face and bear it. Finally, his father lets go with a sigh. “There’s plenty of time to satisfy your curiosity later on. Until then, behave. We are Gautiers. Act like one.”

Act like one. Sylvain huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Familiar words that he’s tired of hearing. Sometimes, Sylvain feels as though it’s the only thing that his father knows how to say. Gautier, this, Gautier that. Gautier boys are expected to hold the north and strike down their enemies.

Gautier boys are expected to do a lot of things that Sylvain has no interest in.

He doesn’t want to strike down any enemies, he wants to find that delicious grilled meat whose smell is stuck in his nose. Besides, there aren’t any enemies here at Fraldarius Manor. His father has spoken at length about the Duke and his kin. The Fraldarius family has long since been framed as something to both admire and admonish; their loyalty to the crown is unmatched, but also their downfall.

“Watch them carefully and learn,” said his father one night. “Learn from their drive and then their folly, and combine that with our strength. You will be unstoppable, pup.”

Servants of the Fraldarius household watch him and his father warily, skirting around them with a wide breadth. Their guards aren’t nearly so feared, but then again, they aren’t wolves. Sylvain had once asked his father about it.

“They know what we are, and so, they fear us,” said his Father. “As they should.”

Sylvain doesn’t want to be feared but he’s got little control over it, so he makes do. He’s ten and has other things to worry about, like the way that mud squishes between his paws.

Duke Fraldarius takes his time to greet them, but eventually, the double front doors open wide. The duke is a rat-like looking man, with thick and wavy hair, but a thinning goatee. A tall, slightly gangly teenager treks behind him, and their group is rounded out by a boy who looks younger than Sylvain.

They all have wild, wavy dark hair, but the boys have theirs tied back and out of their faces. The older boy looks tired but stands alert, and the youngest hides behind him, grabbing onto his thighs as he sneaks a peek.

“Philippe,” says the Duke with familiarity. He steps forward and they clasp hands, and for the first time in years, Sylvain sees his father smile the slightest bit. They must be actual friends. Amusing. Sylvain has always thought his father had none.

“Rodrigue,” says Sylvain’s father. “Thank you for having us.”

“Nonsense,” says the Duke. “There’s more than enough room and coming here is easier than traveling to the palace.”

Sylvain’s father nods. “When does his Royal Highness arrive?”

The Duke lets out an annoyed huff. “I have no idea. The King does as he wants, which includes showing up late.”

“So he’s late, then?” The Margrave laughs. “And Count Galatea?”

“Nearly here,” says the Duke. “The Count will be bringing Ingrid of course, to spend time with Glenn.”

Sylvain can’t help the face that he makes when he hears that. He’s never met Glenn or Ingrid, but his father has spoken of their betrothal before. Sylvain risks a glance at the older boy that stands before them. This must be Glenn. Sylvain’s not sure what he expected, but the somber-faced and weary teenager that stands there isn’t it.

He looks boring.

“How is the arrangement going?” asks the Margrave.

“Well, I would think.” There’s a pause as the Duke casts a glance in Sylvain’s direction. “I wish you luck in your efforts, of course.”

At his words, it’s as if his father finally remembers that Sylvain is there. He reaches out and presses his hand against Sylvain’s head, ruffling his hair. “I have no doubt,” says his father. “After all, Sylvain possesses a crest and good breeding.”

The Duke’s little smile twitches slightly at that, but then he nods in agreement. “Let’s lead you inside then and get you settled. We’ll talk about such things later. I’m sure you’d prefer some rest.”

“I’d prefer to explore,” says Sylvain before he can stop himself. His father’s smile slips and Sylvain can nearly smell the annoyance that radiates off of him.

The Duke, however, looks genuinely amused by this and before the Margrave can reprimand Sylvain, he says, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

#

Glenn, as it turns out, isn’t boring at all.

The Duke had asked his sons to give Sylvain a proper tour of the place, but the moment that Rodrigue had turned his back, Glenn cocked his head to the side, gave Sylvain a wide smirk. “I bet that’s not what you want to do at all, is it?”

Sylvain likes to explore and Glenn likes to pull pranks and cause mischief. The two of them together are a hellish pair and they’ve barely begun their antics.

“So, what about your little brother?” asks Sylvain. They’re skirting around the eastern edge of the manner, Sylvain walking atop a parapet with Glenn following alongside below him.

“Felix?” asks Glenn. “What about him?”

“He’s not here?”

Glenn lets out a long and deep laugh straight from his belly. “Felix would never,” says Glenn. “Not unless Father made him. He’s too much of a crybaby.”

“A crybaby?” Sylvain then remembers how Felix had hidden behind Glenn’s legs. “How boring.”

“I pray to the Goddess every day that he’ll grow out of it,” says Glenn. “What’s the point of having a little brother if you can’t wreak havoc together?”

Sylvain can’t imagine. Glenn cares for Felix, something that Sylvain’s never seen in Miklan. Miklan only has curses and balled fists for Sylvain, and he’s learned the hard way that it’s easier to run and hide than try to play.

But then, Sylvain’s reminded of his father’s wish to befriend the boys. He opts to smile wide at Glenn and not think of Miklan. “I’m not your little brother, but I am younger than you.”

Glenn shoots him a smile back, but it’s a little more lopsided and a lot more conniving. “Want to go cause some mischief?”

“Not really,” says Sylvain, “I smelled some grilled meat earlier that I have to find.” He pauses, giving Glenn a knowing look. “But you know, if you want to cause some problems on the way there, I won’t say anything.”

Glenn reaches out to nudge his cheek affectionately. “I knew that I liked you the moment I saw you. Come on then; I’ll show you where Meryl’s stall is.”

“Meryl?” asks Sylvain.

“Meryl,” confirms Glenn. “Only the best cook in this entire complex. No doubt it’s her food that you caught a whiff of.”

Glenn leads him along the western side of the grounds. It’s not like the Gautier Fortress which is all cold stone and even colder weather. Fraldarius Manor is warmer and brighter, part stone and part wood, and bustling with activity. It’s like two different worlds, but Sylvain already loves it here because there’s too much to see in just one day.

And Miklan isn’t there, which is a bonus.

“You said that you’d smelled it,” says Glenn. They’re watching the stall from afar, leaning against a column. Trying to look inconspicuous. Glenn succeeds rather well, but Sylvain fails to capture his ease, looking awkward instead. The servants find it cute, giggling softly as they walk by.

“Smelled what?”

“The meat.” Glenn waves to the stand. “We’re not exactly near the entrance gate.”

Sylvain’s mouth parts slightly. “Oh, that.” He shrugs. “It’s part of being a wolf, I guess. I have a really good sense of smell.”

“Wait, the wolf thing is literal?”

“Haven’t you read the histories?” Sylvain frowns. His father’s made him practically memorize entire books; centuries of stories about Gautier men and women leveling the battlefield as Death incarnate.

You know, typical bedtime stories.

Glenn watches him for a moment, hand on his chin, thinking. Then he says, “I’ve always assumed that it was more of a metaphorical thing.”

“What’s metaphorical ?” asks Sylvain. Glenn laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, pup,” says Glenn in jest.

Sylvain makes a face. “Ew, no, don’t call me that. That’s what my father calls me.”

“All right, all right.” Then, Glenn gives him a mischievous grin. “Hey, I know how good your nose is, but how good are your stalking skills? You know, getting down low and sneaking up on prey?”

“As good as any wolf’s,” Sylvain says, sticking out his chest haughtily. It’s a lie. Sylvain hasn’t gotten a lot of practice in, but he wants to impress Glenn.

“I’ll distract Meryl while you sneak up and grab a couple of meat sticks grilling over the coals.”

“Wouldn’t she just give them to you, if you asked?” Glenn is the Duke’s son. There’s no way that the vendor wouldn’t just comply with his request.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Sylvain shoots Glenn a conspiratorial glance in return. He decides right then and there that he likes Glenn, and wishes he were his big brother instead. Maybe Felix will want to be his brother too.

#

Sylvain hasn’t met a lot of girls in his short life, but he’s fairly certain that most aren’t like Ingrid.

He’s read books, both fiction and non-fiction. Girls and women have their place within packs. Sylvain thinks of his mother, lovely and demure, always dressed nice and smelling like flowers. Quiet unless she’s spoken to, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The only person that his father genuinely loves, most like.

And then there’s Ingrid, a wild child covered in dirt and dust, smells like sweat, and whose eyes gleam with a challenge. She wears trousers like a boy, she wields a wooden lance, and she curses like a sailor when Glenn knocks it from her grip.

Sylvain’s mouth falls open in surprise. Ingrid’s only a year younger than him and at nine, she shouldn’t say such things. But Glenn doesn’t mind, shooting her a menacing little wink, and Sylvain is certain that he’s figured out who she learned such words from.

It’s not that women in the Gautier family don’t fight, only the wolves do. And there hasn’t been a female crest bearer in the Gautier line for decades. Ingrid isn’t a wolf, therefore seeing her in the training grounds with the rest of them is a bit of an adjustment.

Sylvain learns that he likes things that are a little different, though. His father drones on and on about propriety and the way that things are supposed to be, but Sylvain only finds expectations to be confining. He longs for the freedom to be himself and do what he wants.

He knows he won’t have long to enjoy it.

“What’s he staring at?” asks Ingrid rudely, and Sylvain realizes that she’s talking about him.

“You,” says Glenn, unapologetically. “And all those sticks in your hair.”

Ingrid gasps, running her hands through her blonde locks, but when there are no sticks, she lets out an annoyed shriek, throwing a rock at Glenn. Glenn throws his hands up and runs the length of the training yard, Ingrid chasing after him.

Not for the first time over the last few days, Sylvain wonders what it’d be like to have a brother like Glenn in his life.

And then, Sylvain thinks of Felix. Glenn had told him that Felix was a crybaby and scared of everything. Sylvian’s barely seen the boy-- once or twice, and the moment they lock eyes, Felix hides away again. Behind Glenn’s legs, behind their father, around a corner or even running from the room entirely.

Sylvain frowns. Crybaby indeed.

“Ridiculous, chasing each other around like that.” Sylvain turns to his father who stands beside him. The Duke is on his other side.

“Philippe, it’s harmless,” says the Duke. “They’re children.”

“It’s never too soon to learn manners.” Sylvain’s father gives him a pointed look. “Take Sylvain for instance. Always properly behaved. Always an example.”

Sylvain hides a smile behind a cleverly placed cough. The Duke smiles at him, just a little quirk of his mouth. So, maybe he hadn’t hidden his smile well enough. Rodrigue then gives Sylvain’s father a disappointed tut. “I’ll say it again: they’re children. Let them enjoy themselves. Eventually, they’ll answer the call of duty and they’ll never have time for fun again.”

Sylvain’s father huffs at that. “There’s no room for fun when you’re a lord.”

“There’s a little bit of room for it,” says the Duke, measuring a small gap between his fingers.

“You sound like his Royal Highness.” The Margrave sighs wearily. “That’s not surprising though.”

“His Royal Highness knows how to balance work and family.”

“Speaking of family, where is Felix?” asks the Margrave.

“Ah, Felix,” says the Duke. “Off hiding, no doubt.”

“Hiding--”

“It’s nothing, really,” says Rodrigue. “He’s young yet and he’s shy. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sylvain used to be shy.”

“Used to be?”

“We fixed it.”

Sylvain’s not smiling anymore. Instead, Sylvain’s thinking of kneeling on his knees for hours on end during his father’s meetings, listening to political talk. He’s thinking of reciting lines and missed meals when he’d cowered before another adult. Not really in fear, but overwhelmed by smells and sights and sounds.

He’s not overwhelmed anymore. Sylvain’s learned to tune things like that out.

Sylvain thinks about what his father likes to say.

“It’s not a matter of whether you want to, it’s that you will. Until then, it’s on your knees.”

Sylvain tells himself that his father isn’t cruel, that this is just the way of the wolf, but the older gets the less he believes. Just like Miklan. Sylvain knows that it’s not normal to throw fisticuffs at a boy half your size and age.

But if he tells himself that it is, it’s easier to pretend.

The Duke’s gaze slides from his father to him, and his lips tug downward slightly. Sylvain thinks that Rodrigue is good at reading people, and maybe he sees more of Sylvain than Sylvain wants him to.

“I’ve been thinking,” says the Duke, “What if Sylvain came to stay with us during the summer? He would be exposed to a different part of the court and different advisors. He could spar with Glenn, and perhaps even Dimitri. Spread his legs, as it were. And, it would give you and Amelie a break; I daresay you haven’t had one since your boy was born.”

The Margrave considers this for a moment so long, that the Duke continues.

“It might be good for Felix. He has no one else his age aside from the prince. And I know that you’re all about opportunities.”

“Perhaps Felix can come to the Fortress and spend winter with us, then. We’ll make it an exchange.”

The Duke considers and then nods. “I’m amenable to that.” They shake on it, a strange gesture that Sylvain’s come to learn as a show of good faith.

Except, anything that concerns his father is rarely in good faith.

“Sylvain,” says the Duke, snapping him back to attention. “Why don’t you go off with Glenn and Ingrid? I’m sure that you can learn something.”

Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the mention of Ingrid, mostly because girls are gross and Ingrid is the grossest of them all, but anywhere is better than being here. So, he scampers off.

#

Sometimes, Sylvain forgets how natural it feels to be a wolf. He spends so much time as a boy walking awkwardly on two feet, that he forgets the relief of sinking his paws into the soft earth.

And you know, claws are pretty neat too.

“Sylvain?” hisses Glenn when Sylvian pads around the corner. Glenn had told him to sneak out from his room half-past ten for some late-night fun. He hadn’t been expecting Sylvain to show up like this.

Sylvain runs a circle around Glenn’s legs. He’s the size of a large pup, not fully grown into his paws. Long and lanky legs, massive pads, and a head that’s just a little bit too large for the rest of his frame. He’s got growing left to do. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth as he beams at Glenn.

“Are you smiling? I think you’re smiling. Oh, that’s a little weird.” Then Glenn pauses, pointing down the corridor. “I’ve already got Ingrid waiting around the corner.”

Ingrid doesn’t like dogs, Sylvain learns, but she’s not afraid of them. It’s just that she prefers horses. Ingrid relaxes a little when Glenn explains that he’s Sylvain, and then her eyes narrow as though she realizes how odd it is that he’s a shape-shifting werewolf.

She keeps a solid three feet between the two of them at all times.

Glenn doesn’t have much of a plan aside from wandering the manor grounds. “Even though it’s been nearly a week, there’s still a lot that I want to show you,” says Glenn as they round a corner.

“Glenn?” The three of them freeze at the sound of Felix’s voice, and Glenn shoots Sylvain a panicked look.

“Change!” hisses Glenn, shaking his hand at Sylvain. “Change back!”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Felix must be afraid of dogs. Or animals. Or anything, really. And, while his wolf form feels as natural as the moon high above them, he hasn’t quite mastered shifting back.

Sylvain had once asked his father if they were human or if they were a wolf, and his father had only laughed, citing that it was a ridiculous question. They were human, of course, gifted the boon of Death. Sylvain had told him that being a wolf had felt better, and his father had given him a weird look before a feral smile covered his face entirely.

Then, Sylvain’s father had quoted some archaic Gautier family motto and promised him the Lance of Ruin upon adulthood.

Sylvain snaps to attention, trying to pull his human side forward. He imagines standing on two feet, unbalanced and awkward. He thinks of blunted teeth and a shorter tongue, and a dull sense of smell. He blinks, pulling forth those feelings, urging his body to shift back into place. His bones creak and he pants.

It’s not a fun transition and it’s slow going.

“Sylvain,” warns Glenn, which spurs him into action.

Sylvain’s a boy again the moment that Felix rounds the corner. He’s wearing a loose shirt, half-tucked into a pair of trousers. His hair is tousled but his eyes are awake and alert.

“You’re playing without me,” accuses Felix, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed right at Glenn.

“Felix, it’s late,” says Glenn, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. He shoots Sylvain a look that’s half relief and half worry.

“Ingrid’s here. We’re the same age.” Felix pouts and Sylvain finds it adorable. Not that’d he’d ever tell him that; Felix might be a scaredy-cat, but being perceived as one is his biggest fear. He tries to bluff, playing it cool. Especially around Glenn.

“Ingrid is--” But Glenn doesn’t finish, because Ingrid kicks him in the shin.

“If you say that I’m special, I’ll kick you again.”

“But you are--”

Ingrid kicks Glenn again and Glenn lets out a groan of pain. Sylvain winces because he knows that she packs a punch, even with her tiny size. Not that Sylvain’s much bigger. Felix rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“A brute, isn’t she?” asks Sylvain in jest, leaning toward Felix.

Felix moves toward Glenn in response, half hiding behind his leg. Sylvain sighs. Felix knows Ingrid, he’s used to her because of her betrothal to Glenn. Sylvain’s still new to him and Felix is a boy that likes the well-familiar. He doesn’t like change.

Glenn sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I wasn’t planning on babysitting tonight--”

“You said you wanted to play,” says Sylvain.

“And I do, but three against one? That’s a little unfair.”

“Then we’ll just explore,” says Sylvain. “That’s what I wanted to do anyway.”

Glenn thumbs his chin and then cracks a smile. He ruffles Felix’s hair, and then Sylvain’s, and then he presses a dainty little kiss against Ingrid’s knuckles. She makes a face and mimics vomiting in response.

“Exploring it is then,” says Glenn. Then he leans over slightly, his tone pitching soft. “It’s too late to be out of bed though, so we’ll need to keep quiet, alright?”

Ingrid’s eyes flash at that. “Beyond the gate then?”

Glenn shoots her an impish smile. “Beyond the gate,” he confirms. “Just a bit. Should be fine if we all stick together.”

Felix is the one that looks troubled. “Glenn, we’re not supposed too--”

“That’s the point, little brother.” Glenn gives Felix a steady look, brows raised. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to go back to bed.”

“No!” The three of them shoot Felix a look after his outburst, and Felix fidgets behind Glenn’s leg. “I’ll be fine,” he then says bravely, face held high and pert little nose in the air.

Glenn shuffles them to the front gate, a finger held to his lips. He’s on good terms with the gatekeeper, chatting a few friendly words and then slipping a few gold coins into his palm. Then the gatekeeper winks at the kids before turning a blind eye.

Ingrid and Sylvain bounce on their heels, but Felix walks rigidly beside Glenn.

“There’s nothing out here to be concerned about. We’re close to the manor,” says Glenn, ruffling Felix’s hair once more.

“It’s--”

“Spooky,” cuts in Ingrid, a delightful little grin spreading across her face.

“I was going to say that I wasn’t scared.”

“It’s alright, you know,” says Ingrid, matter-of-factly. “Glenn will protect us.”

Glenn does, not that it’s hard. The three of them are eager to enjoy their outing, so they play by the rules and keep close to his side. They don’t go far, barely dipping into the trees. They chase each other around, digging underneath rocks and even climb low-hanging limbs.

Even with his dulled senses, Sylvain follows the smells of the wild, his heart beating wildly. He’s entirely unused to the freedom of exploring. While his father actively encourages his wolf, he also keeps him on a tight leash. Ingrid inches closer to him, seemingly having forgotten that he’s more wolf than man, asking him what it is that’s caught his attention.

Felix still shies away when Sylvain tries to engage, albeit with a brave and determined face. He even meets Sylvain’s gaze head-on.

“Glenn’s read me the stories, you know,” Felix says. “I know all about your family.”

“Our fathers think we should be friends.” Sylvain nearly laughs at the way that Felix’s nose crinkles in response. “They are friends themselves.”

“Ugh. Who’d want to be friends with my father?”

Sylvain does laugh this time. “Who indeed?” Rodrigue seems nice at a glance, so different than his own. Sylvain can’t imagine the Margrave with a friend; he barely sees him with his mother. Felix doesn’t come closer or say anything else, but he doesn’t go to hide behind Glenn either.

When they slip back through the front gate, the Duke and the Margrave are waiting for them. Rodrigue stands with his hands clasped behind his back, but there’s a soft hint of a smile on his face, amused.

The Margrave isn’t amused. He stands there tall, arms crossed over his chest and his face hardened into a frown. Sylvain winces at the sight; his father had already been in a sour mood and this will only worsen it.

Glenn stands tall and says, “Father--”

Rodrigue holds up a hand. “Out late I see, and with the others in tow. I hope that your little adventure was fun?”

Glenn’s mouth snaps shut and he nods. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve played my share of games when I was younger,” Rodrigue says, “but never the night before Royalty is due to visit. I usually waited until Lambert was here.” A pause. “Are you trying to get out of your duty tomorrow?”

“Of course not,” says Glenn.

Rodrigue watches him for a long moment and then sighs. “Phillippe,” says the Duke, turning towards Sylvain’s father. “What are we to do? Extra training? Perhaps a proper spar with Dimitri?”

Glenn turns a little pale at the suggestion and Sylvain doesn’t understand the hesitation. Training with the crown prince doesn’t seem like a too-terrible punishment. Sylvain thinks of worse ones, looking to his father.

He’d rather a bout with the prince.

“You can handle your sons,” the Margrave says, leveling Sylvain with a stern gaze. “I’ll handle mine.”

“They were only having fun. Nothing too egregious, surely.”

“Propriety is still expected,” says Sylvain’s father. “There’s much to be expected from the heir of the Gautier line.”

“Phillippe,” says the Duke quietly, “perhaps--”

“I will handle it,” repeats the Margrave.

Rodrigue drops the subject and nods. “Of course. I didn’t mean to impose.” There’s a pause before he continues with, “My boys will extra rounds in the field tomorrow with Dimitri. You should send Sylvain.”

“Rodrigue,” warns Sylvain’s father.

The Duke turns to Glenn. “Boys, off to bed. Ingrid, you too. I’ll speak to your father in the morning.” He turns to take his leave but then stops to give one last look at Sylvain. Hesitating. But, in the end, all he does is big them a good night.

The moment they’re alone, Sylvain’s father lashes out and grabs the back of his neck roughly, like he would his scruff. Then he tugs Sylvain along, back to the rooms where they’re staying.

His father loves him, Sylvain tells himself. He tries to think of those good moments; being taught how to shift. How to sift through scents and recognize a pack. How to track your prey.

The worse memories always weed their way in, though. Punishments that bend the will, but don’t entirely break it. Just enough to crack the slightest bit under pressure. Like Sylvain kneeling against raw grains of rice.

Or throwing him into the ring with Miklan and coming out with bruises instead. Miklan likes to hit and Sylvain isn’t quite fast enough to always avoid him.

Eventually, his father deems the lesson learned and Sylvain rises on tired limbs. He brushes the rice from his knees as his father calls a servant to come to sweep them up. Sylvain goes to bed, legs aching, but not nearly as busted as he feels.

Your father loves you, he thinks. Your father cares. This is how he teaches.

The older he gets though, the emptier the words feel.

#

Dimitri is a short little thing with blonde hair styled into the world’s worst square-cut bob. He stands there in the training grounds, feet shuffling awkwardly as he holds a wooden training lance in his hands. Glenn reaches out to ruffle his hair.

Sylvain shoots the crown prince a smile and a wave, and Dimitri returns the gesture, a small smile on his lips. He’s the same age as Felix and a few years younger than Sylvain, but unlike the youngest Fraldarius boy, Dimitri isn’t terrified of everything.

He’s just reticent about sparring.

“Glenn,” says the Prince, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“I agree,” says Glenn bluntly. “The last time we sparred with each other, you broke my rib. I’d prefer the dummies just as much as you.”

Sylvain gapes at the idea that Dimitri could have landed such a hit on Glenn. Dimiri is smaller and slim when compared to the wiry muscle of Glenn. And it’s not that the elder Fraldarius boy is that much older or larger, but he’s more honed in his ability.

Not to mention it’s Glenn’s job to protect Dimitri, not the other way around.

Felix watches the lot of them, standing closer than usual. He and the prince seem to get along well. Ingrid, on the other hand, watches Dimitri through narrowly slitted eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re holding it wrong,” says Ingrid, pointing to the lance.

“Oh,” breathes Dimitri, changing his grip on the practice weapon, fingers tightening just the slightest bit. There’s a sudden crack as the wood splits between his palms, and Dimitri’s left holding to splintered pieces of teakwood in each hand.

Sylvain’s mouth drops open in surprise, but everyone else seems to have expected it.

Glenn sighs. “Well, better the lance than me this time around, right?”

“This is why I prefer the dummies,” says Dimitri, resigned. He motions for a new lance.

“Glenn, put him in the ground,” says Ingrid none-too-lightly. She’s always rooting for Glenn and Sylvain suspects that she doesn’t find their betrothal as gross as she likes to pretend.

“He’s the prince,” hisses Felix, leveling her with a disgusted look.

Ingrid sniffs. “Put him in the ground, please,” she amends. Then she rolls her eyes. “It’s your job to follow him loyally. I’ll talk about him however I like.”

“Ingrid,” says Glenn, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Your highness--” starts Sylvain.

“Dimitri, please,” says the prince. Then he looks at Glenn. “Glenn, do we have to?”

Glenn winces, looking off to the side where his father sits in the shadows. Sylvain’s father is there too, sharing a pot of tea, his dark gaze penetrating as he watches on. Waiting. Expecting. Sylvain swallows thickly.

“It’s a punishment,” sighs Glenn. He rubs at the back of his neck. “We snuck out last night.”

Dimitri looks a little put-out. “You couldn’t wait until I arrived?”

“Well, the plan was to sneak out again, but I think that’s been speared in the foot.” Glenn pauses, eyeing the new lance in Dimitri’s hands warily. “Just keep it below the neck and above the belt, okay?”

Sylvain snorts out a laugh, Felix turns bright red in the face, and Ingrid looks between them utterly confused. Girls, Sylvain thinks.

Sylvain and Felix stand off to the side, watching Glenn and Dimitri stand opposite each other in the center of the field. Glenn isn’t afraid, but he’s hesitant, and once the match is started Sylvain sees why.

Dimitri hits hard without meaning to, seemingly unable to hold back his strength. Sylvain’s watched Glenn spar with others over the last few days, but never quite like this. Glenn usually charges into the fight, blade raised and mind focused, calculating several moves ahead.

With the prince, however, he’s on the defensive, dodging to the side and trying to avoid a glancing blow. You broke my rib, Glenn had said earlier. There’s power behind Dimitri’s sloppy swings and now Sylvain can see just how he’d managed it the last time he and Glenn sparred.

Ingrid looks annoyed that Glenn is only blocking hits instead of giving them, her mouth tugged into a disapproving frown. Felix watches, enraptured. Sylvain knows that he wants to be a knight just like his father and brother. And, just like Felix who’s read about the Gautier family, Sylvain’s read about his in turn.

The Fraldarius’ are born and bred to protect the crown. Felix is no exception.

Finally, Glenn sees an opening and lashes out. Dimitri skids to the side, barely avoiding a glancing blow. He retaliates, sweeping his lance to the side in an arc-- and entirely misjudges his move.

Dimitri trips over his own feet, stumbling slightly. His lance swings wide, flinging towards Sylvain and Felix. He doesn’t see the two of them, preoccupied with finding his footing and narrowly avoiding Glenn.

Sylvain doesn’t think as he feels his bones shift and change, as instinctive as the rough howl he lets loose. One moment he’s a boy and the next he’s a wolf, his coarse fur ruddy under the midmorning sun. He darts forward and grabs Felix by the hem of his shirt and yanks him back with his teeth.

Felix tumbles overtop Sylvain. Everyone in the training yard freezes: Glenn’s eyes are glued to Sylvain. Dimitri stumbles in the opposite direction upon the sight of Sylvain as a wolf. Ingrid stands before Glenn, high-alert like she’s the one who’s going to protect him instead.

And then there’s Rodrigue and Sylvain’s father, the Duke pulled to the edge of his seat, mouth parted as his gaze flashes to Felix, worried. Because he knows that above all, Felix is a crybaby and scared of everything. A ticking bomb, really.

Sylvain’s father doesn’t seem angry, he seems proud, smug even, like the speed of Sylvain’s shift had pleased him. It’d been second nature, Sylvain acting entirely out of instinct.

He sits back on his haunches, heaving heavy breaths. Waiting for Felix’s inevitable yowling. But it never comes. Felix sits up and regards Sylvain with bright eyes and pinking cheeks. He looks at him with a strange mixture of awe and wonder.

Glenn is the first to seem confused.

Then, Felix stands and ambles over to Sylvain. Sylvain barks, tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleased that he’s at least prevented a terrible head wound. Or a fatal one, considering Dimitri’s apparent strength.

Felix rushes forward and wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck. “Puppy,” he breathes, incredulously. “You’re a puppy.”

Sylvain wants to take offense to that, but he doesn’t. It’s the closest that Felix has gotten to him over the week and all it’d taken was for him to just be himself. Felix’s hands tighten in his fur, scritching over his skin and Sylvain just can’t help the way that his leg kicks at the touch.

Rodrigue looks utterly baffled. Sylvain’s father looks like he’s eaten a lemon and Sylvain can already hear the monotonous speech about how wolves are proud creatures, not pets. But, at that moment, Sylvain rather likes being like a pet, his lineage be damned. His father talks a lot about his future and legacy, but this is the first time that he’s felt like he means something.

“I’ve never been able to have a dog,” says Felix into his fur. “But I guess a wolf as a friend is even better.”

Sylvain licks the side of his face and instead of cringing, Felix laughs, a soft sound like a calm breeze on a warm summer morning.

That’s when Sylvain falls in love, even if he doesn’t yet realize it.

#felix x sylvain #sylvain/felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction #fe3h

[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

#void screaming #ignore

[lockdownfest]

Lock Down Fest Masterpost PART I (20-30 March)

1917

feed me just enough that i’ll never need a cage by Cunninglinguist. (E) 7.4k,  Tom Blake/William Schofield. “Come on.” Sco stops walking, runs a hand over the faintest marking on a tree trunk. “It’s just a little farther now.” “I’m coming.” Tom huffs a sigh, yanking his shotgun strap over his shoulder so the barrel lands in his hands. They’ve been on the road for nearly a week now, an unfortunate consequence of their last shelter getting swarmed by an army of dead ones. Though skinning rabbits to eat over hastily made fires and taking turns sleeping against trees, spending the days and nights consumed with fear, and jumping each time a stick cracked were hardly desirable circumstances, it certainly wasn’t their longest or harshest stint on the run. They had endured worse, by far, and Tom had no doubt that this particular stretch of time would come to an end when Sco said it would. He knows the way, he always knows the way. Plus, Tom wouldn’t want to spend this time with anyone else in the entire world.

If The World Was Ending by RisingShadows. (not rated) 3.7k, Tom Blake/William Schofield.  When a dangerous virus begins spreading across the country William Schofield and Tom Blake quickly find themselves the last two standing of the team working in their lab.

AKB48

#unmeida by summoninglupine. (G), 788 words. Sashihara Rino/Watanabe Mayu, Kashiwagi Yuki/Watanabe Mayu.  Ready for an all-girl vacation in Okinawa, Watanabe Mayu doesn't see why she has to be the one to nursemaid their sick tour guide. Things would be different, she is sure, if Yuki was there!

ALL FOR THE GAME

I see truth somewhere in your eyes by DeyaAmaya. (M) 2.8k, Kevin Day/Thea Muldani, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, other background relationships. In a moment of insanity, Kevin decides to check Instagram. In the multitude of inane celebrity posts telling the mass people to stay home, he finds a lovely, recent photography of Thea. Someone from their College took it. The lighting perfectly captured the dried tear tracks down her unmoving face. Kevin disregards the emotional caption and instead checks the date. 18 March, the night he-  (The night he thought he had a hallucination.)

Quarantine and exy by Fornavn.  FANART. (G) 116 words, Andrew/Neil.  The monsters is stuck at home while coved-19 is terrorizing the world. They are bored.

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

Alone and in a Circumstance by middlemarch. (T) 700 words, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Marilla Cuthbert & Anne Shirley, Diana Barry & Anne Shirley. Anne had a key, so she let herself in, quiet as a mouse, arms laden with bags from the market. Her sophomore class's papers on A Tale of Two Cities were poking out almost jauntily from the quilted bag Diana got her for her birthday.

AVENGERS ASSEMBLE

Worry by Neverever. (T) 2.4k, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark.  During the pandemic, Steve wants help the best he can but immuno-compromised Tony worries about his company and his health.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Poetry and Plants by the_many_splendored. (T) 1.9k, Adam/Belle. It's amazing how much you can open up to a person when you're locked in a bookstore reading together.

BELLEVUE

Knives and Lighters by goreds. (M) 2.1k, Annie Ryder/Peter Welland.  Annie Ryder finds herself in Bellevue's psychiatric hospital. She pretends to tolerate the whole experience, even if she really hates it. When a new, quiet guy comes to the ward, though, she finds herself intrigued.

BLACK SAILS

If this is Our Last Night by remuirius. (E) 2.3k, Captain Flint/John Silver. Silver and Flint are locked up together on the Walrus. Certain of their looming death at an enraged crew’s hands, Silver finds the courage to do things he’d only dreamed of until now.

BLACKKKLANSMAN

Someone Like Him by cowboykylux. (M) 2.2k, Flip Zimmerman/Reader. 'If there was one thing true more than anything else about all the reasons you loved him, it was that once your husband had his heart set on something, he was going to accomplish it.' Or, a sudden snow-storm cancels your plans for a date, and Flip Zimmerman decides that nothing, not even snow, will get in the way of treating you to something special.

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA

Tell me it won’t always be this hard by Graendal. (T) 4.3k, Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto. He’d met Midoriya a few months ago during a field trip to the library. The kids had adored him, of course, even the ones who were usually shy about participating in new activities. Midoriya had a way of projecting a sense of all-encompassing safety and comfort with just his smile.Shouto had adored him too, maybe, even back then. A silly crush that had only grown during every subsequent field trip — which is truly absurd, considering the vast majority of their interactions at the time consisted of occasional eye contact while singing children’s songs.But now that they’ve spent hours talking almost every day for the past few weeks… calling it a silly crush might be an understatement. The idea that he’s actually been able to help Midoriya through this is inordinately pleasing.If there’s a silver lining to this at all — for him personally, at least — it’s that he’d seen Midoriya’s post requesting a virtual board game buddy. And that Midoriya is a patient enough person to teach Shouto how to play everything from scratch. He’d actually seemed excited at the opportunity.Maybe the opportunity for any sort of ongoing social interaction is worthy of excitement. These are strange times.

CALL THE MIDWIFE

Sanctuary (In Each Other) by WednesdayGilfillian. (T) 2.6k, Bernadette-Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner. Set during the Christmas Special in S2. Specifically, during the unsettled night that Shelagh turned up on Patrick's doorstep.

CAPTIVE PRINCE

When We Went from Strangers to This by Aerica_Menai. (T) 3.5k, Damen/Laurent. Laurent is really sick, and decides to shut himself in his apartment and deal with it alone. His downstairs neighbor, Damen, gets worried enough to check on him, which went just fine - and then Damen got himself locked in. Featuring Star Trek TOS, coming outs both accidental and intentional, and Damen being his usual sunshine puppy self.

DCU

would you lie with me by Glove23. (G) 660 words, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne. Bruce catches a virus, and Diana and Clark come to help him.

DEADPOOL/SPIDERMAN

Avengers Monopoly by MsCaptainWinchester. (E) 1.4k, PeterParker/Wade Wilson, James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers. The Avengers are quarantined in Avengers Tower, and Peter and Wade see this as the perfect opportunity to try the new Avengers Monopoly set. They have their own house rules for property negotiation. No one told Tony. Oops?

omg they were quarantined by Jdragon122, LunaStories. (M) 2.6k, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson. Spidey has a cold and Deadpool, being the sexy boyfriend he is, goes to take care of his baby boy. But they're under quarantine and oh no, there's no more lube? What should they do?

Superheroes Don’t Get Scared by DefendersofMCUniverse. (T) 3.6k,  Peter Parker/Wade Wilson. Peter, fresh out of college, gets invited to the tower to stay in one of the guest floors that has been left unoccupied for some time since the previous tenant ‘hero’ decided to leave for unknown reasons. Of course, a few weeks into living there and getting into a routine, the last hero pops onto his balcony. Peter offers for him to stay on his old floor because the dude looks like he could use a familiar place, and also dude is kinda terrifying, and like hell he is gonna admit that to the other heroes in the tower.

DETROIT: BECOME HUMAN

Games. Family. Love. by heizl, NickEllis1314. (G) 1.8k, Carl Manfred & Markus. Because of some rebellious protesters, Androids, and owners of said Androids, were ordered to stay inside. It'd been a long day of restlessness, and boredom, and Markus was almost genuinely excited to get Carl to bed so it could all finally be over. Carl wasn't exactly tired yet though, so they reminiscence for awhile.

DOCTOR WHO

What We Did During Our Quarantine by badxwolfxrising. (M) 4.6k WIP, Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler. Rose and the Metacrisis Doctor return to Torchwood from Bad Wolf Bay and are placed in a mandatory 72 hour quarantine. However will they pass the time? }:-)

DRAGON AGE II

shaking fingers, open palms by asexualf. (T) 2.4k, Fenris/Merrill. Kirkwall has issued her people remain in their homes until the sickness overtaking the city is gone. As always, the Alienage suffers the most under this new rule - and those who enforce it.

EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES

Three in a room by Tagus Knoll. (T, Underage) 4.6k, Kazuto/Darius Maynor/Chester Hayes. When Kazuto finds out they all have to be in the same room, he didn't expect that Chester, Darius and him end up dating.

FALL OUT BOY

‘Cause Everything Else is a Substitute for your Love by PadawanRyan. (G) 1.9k, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz.  Patrick and Pete are each self-isolating with their kids during the coronavirus pandemic but well, Patrick’s in Chicago and Pete’s in LA.

quarantine, or: how to land a boyfriend in 14 days by TooRational. (T) 6k, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz.  Patrick turns his head in Pete's direction and sees him, Patrick sees him, and his frown goes up a notch, and a fisted hand settles on one hip in that typical Patrick-is-a-grandma-pose, and Pete grins and runs full-tilt into Patrick's arms, disbalancing them both until they slam into the side of the house, tangled and half-frozen and definitely soon-to-be-bruised. He interrupts whatever rant Patrick had prepared that starts with 'you idiot' by tucking his frozen nose into Patrick's neck and sucking the warm air coming from Patrick's skin into greedy lungs, and grins even wider when Patrick yelps, offended as he always is by a breach of his personal space.

FIRE EMBLEM SERIES

Shelter from the Storm by Dameceles. (T) 4k, Elincia Ridell Crimea/Tibarn.  It's a dark and stormy night when Elincia lends aid to Tibarn. He wants to return the favor, but she doesn’t have wings.

FRONTIER

Fever 1793 by goreds. (M, MCD) 2k, Samuel Grant, Cobb Ponds. Cobbs Pond and Samuel Grant experience the yellow fever epidemic in Philadelphia, 1793. One of them gets better.

FROZEN

It all comes out in the wash by middlemarch. (G) 1.1k, Anna/Kristoff.  She'd knocked. Really, she had. It was their en suite bathroom, the room he said was over-the-top and extravagant and aggressively tiled, so it wasn't exactly her fault that she'd effectively barged in on him.

GAME OF THRONES

The Luckiest Man in the Whole F***ing World by OrangeTabby. (M) 7.2k, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark. Sandor Clegane is in isolation at home after picking up the virus in the line of duty. Luckily, he’s got his cat for company and plenty of rubbish TV to stream. Then Stranger decided to go next door for a visit…. A story about friendship, food, romance and dubious television. And a pandemic.

GARGOYLES

Cabin Holiday by Isimile. (M) 1.2k, David Xanatos/Janine “Fox” Xanatos, Owen Burnett/ David Xanatos/Janine “Fox” Xanatos.  After everything that happened, they decide to spend a week away in a cabin, to relax and to perhaps talk about their relationship. They're unexpectedly snowed in, which triggers memories of the Unseelie War.

GILMORE GIRLS

How dare the robins sing by middlemarch. (T) 900 words, Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano, Dean Forester/Rory Gilmore, Dean Forester & Jess Mariano, Luke Danes & Jess Mariano. The two of them, the diner, for how long? At least the coffee shipment had made it in time. What he wouldn't have given for a fifth of Jack-- or anyone else. Literally, anyone.

HAIKYUU!!

Anchor by farfetched. (G) 5.3k, Semi Eita/Tendou Satori. Spreading their arms out either side of them, they stare at the ceiling. This is pulling on them in so many ways they didn't expect; laying here, on Tendou's floor, in Tendou's clothes, right down to their underwear because who expects a lockdown to get enforced overnight? They didn't bring anything much. They should have. They ought to chance going home. But they can't, so they don't. Home is an empty place right now anyway, and here there is food and laughter and music and in between all that is their realisation that they're not so over this Tendou thing after all.

Lockdown by needles. (T) 1.5k, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru.  You never know what will escape from a box when you open it, just ask Pandora. For some it may be a disaster, for Iwaizumi could it be a golden opportunity?

Lockdown With A Fox by runningfromrealitytoanime. (T) 4.1k, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi.  Sakusa Kiyomi was a very careful person when it came to cleanliness so what happens if a certain setter with no sense of hygiene crashes at his place when Japan goes under a 2 week lockdown period?

HANNIBAL

Crumbles of unfulfilled expectations by Cinnamaldeide. (M) 11.9k, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter and other multi. Collection of ficlets of the length of a tweet or two ❀

Professor Graham’s Cheekbones Hotty & Extraordinary Foodie Husband by TheSilverQueen. (T) 3.3k,  Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter. Online classes due to the quarantine are Professor Graham's students learn that: 1) Professor Graham has a cute dog; 2) Professor Graham is married; and 3) Professor Graham's husband is smoking hot.

HARRY POTTER

A Long Night on The Bus by CuriousEmWanders. (E) 3.5k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter. In which Draco & Harry are Auror partners stuck on a bus overnight. Draco has some memories that cause him to make some choices. Smut ensues, obviously.

A Pandemic by Theodore_Writes. (T) 611 words WIP, Luna Lovegood & Weasley Family. A new strain of Dragon Pox breaks out becoming a global pandemic. Many were unaware due to Fudge covering it up in an attempt to look better as a minister but when Xenophilius Malfoy/Lovegood reveals to his long time friend Arthur Weasley about what is happening around the world the entire Weasley family is horrified and takes immediate action. This is the story of what happens when a pandemic hits the Magical and Muggle world's.

A Welcome Distraction by MaesterChill. (E) 2.9k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  Draco and Harry get trapped in a Ministry lift. Whatever shall they do to distract themselves?

An Intangible Embrace by Drarrelie. (G) 365 words, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  Harry is bored. Thank Merlin his husband had finally agreed to start using Muggle mobiles after Score was born, or he would've surely gone mad now.

And on the Seventh Day... by slytherco. FANART. (T) 0 words,  During an Auror raid, Harry and Draco are separated from their partners and end up being hunted by the wrong people. Desperate times require desperate measures, so both men are sent to an unmarked location where a temporary safe house was set up for them. Stuck for Merlin knows how long, they have plenty of time to examine their turbulent relationship.

“Are you sure you know how to play that?” by julchen_in_red. FANART. (G) 0 words, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter. Harry and Draco offer comfort and entertainment to their neighborhood under lockdown by performing a traditional wizards' evening ballad on their balcony.

Better Side of the Bed by gnarf. (T) 2k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  It was all Malfoy's fault. Harry could be at the Burrow right now, but instead he was trapped in Malfoy's tiny flat. All because that dick couldn't stop bothering him about a stupid life debt he didn't even care about.

Breaking Point by Drarrelie. (T) 365 words, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  After almost two years as Auror partners, they've learned to function quite well together most of the time. Right now, though, Malfoy seems to be more on edge than ever.

Civil Hands (Unclean) by p1013. (E) 8.5k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter. While he and Malfoy reached something like a truce in the years between the end of the War and now, their Quidditch rivalry has only grown. And with it, a simmering tension that is absolutely not sexual, no matter how many times Hermione raises her eyebrow when Harry's drinking at her and Ron's house. Not even when his head is resting on the kitchen table next to his empty glass, and he's moaning about Draco bloody Malfoy, and his bloody perfect seat on a broom, and his bloody perfect technique.But as Harry stares over his teammates heads towards the Puddlemere United bench, he catches a flash of wet white-blond hair and flashing grey eyes, and he thinks that Hermione's eyebrow might have a point.

Conservation for Beginners by Aneiria. (E) 4.6k, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy. Hermione Granger didn't think twice about taking guardianship of Hoddholm Island for the summer. A deserted, peaceful island among the endangered Golden Snidgets is just what she needs to escape the anxieties that the end of the war brought with it. When Draco Malfoy arrives as the other guardian and they are left to themselves for a month, they both seem to be struggling in their own ways. Can they be there for each other when they most need it?

Exposure by Bridgette_Hayden. (M) 2.6k, Harry Potter/Severus Snape.  Snape and Harry volunteer to quarantine themselves for charity, and to comfort the world. Isolation leaves them feeling exposed. 

Flames by Aneiria. (E) 3.9k, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott.  The whole of the Ministry of Magic and its workers are forced into an in-place lockdown quarantine following a magical accident at the DMLE. When Hermione Granger and Theo Nott are put into isolation away from their boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, how will the triad cope?

G Guess I'm Stuck With You by LittleSixx. (T) 4k, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy.  Draco and Hermione are stuck in a Ministry lift on New Year's Eve.

In a Week by Suchsmallhands. (M, MCD) 12.4k, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin.  Sirius goes under quarantine in his flat, but fortunately he was able to get some reading material and a friend to keep him occupied during isolation.

Into the Wine Cellar by vivi1138. (E) 2.5k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  Harry should know better than to touch random objects that do not belong to him. Getting stuck in a cellar with Malfoy, of all people, leads to an interesting development.

Lockdown with the Malfoys by a_reader_and_writer. (G) 1.2k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy. Dracos's parents are just visiting Harry and Draco for their weekly dinner when the Ministry of Magic announces a total lockdown. Awkward situations happen.

Lockdown Husband by Houseofmalfoy. (T) 4.7k,  Rodolphus Lestrange/Augustus Rookwood. "Got ready to leave after a hook-up for the guy to break the news that we’re on lockdown. We’re stuck together. this is the start of my bad rom-com."

Risk and Reward by nagemeikenu. (G) 2.6k, Rodolphus Lestrange/Augustus Rookwood. Augustus (Gus) Rookwood manages to survive completely alone in a burned down cabin for nearly three weeks. He's rescued by a gorgeous state trooper. Fluff ensues.

She’s A Rainbow by Ladderofyears. (M) 4.8k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  Draco never dreamt that he'd have to give birth without Harry, but when his beloved husband is put under MACUSA quarantine, he finds that he doesn't have a choice. With all the bravery he can muster, the best friend in the whole world and a pilfered magic mirror, Draco discovers that hope can be found even when you least expect it.

Stay with me through the storm by Pinkelephant42. FANART. (NR) 23 words, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  Dragon Keeper Draco finds ways to keep his boyfriend Harry on the dragon retreat longer. Harry probably doesn’t mind.

Ten below and falling by agentmoppet. (E) 8.6k, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter.  In which a pandemic results in Harry being locked in the Astronomy tower with Malfoy while they struggle to find the cure.

The Question of When by Misdemeanor1331. (G) 5.3k, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy.  When a global pandemic emerges, Draco and Hermione are once again called upon to discover a vaccine.

Unlikely Quarantine fellows by Isimile. (T) 861 words, Neville Longbottom & Blaise Zabini.  Neville and Blaise are quarantined together following an accident in their potions class and they get talking.

HAWAII FIVE-O

Spring Break by stephmex. (T) 3.5k, Steve McGarrett/Danny Williams.  Danny had been looking forward to this trip for weeks, ever since the Christmas holidays when he had planned the Spring Break vacation together with Grace. But as much as he’d been looking forward to it, boarding the plane with Charlie's small hand grasped tightly in his own feels slightly off. One thing feeling off is this stupid new virus that you just can’t ignore because the news coverage is all over the place. The other thing feeling off goes by the name of Steve—and Danny is leaving him behind with insomnia and a concussion and the sure knowledge that there is something that Steve is not telling him.

HOUSE OF CARDS

Skilled Hands and Talented Tongues by goreds. (M) 1.2k, Remy Danton/Jackie Sharp/Alan Cooke. Frank Underwood's made enemies, so it's no surprise that Jackie Sharp and Remy Danton get locked down due to a threat during one of their meetings at the White House. But Alan Cooke's there too, which just creates a brand new dynamic.

IT

Isolated by Slashaddict96. (T) 1.3k, Connor Bowers/Richie Tozier.  Richie and his parents get stuck isolated at the hospital when a dangerous outbreak occurs. What's worse it's with his least favorite person

IWATOBI SWIM CLUB (MAZE RUNNER CROSSOVER)

Free from the Maze by runningfromrealitytoanime. (Graphic Depictions of Violence, MCD). 33k, WIP, Gen.  Haru finds himself without his memories except for his name before he was chucked into the Glade populated entirely by boys. As he tries to make sense of his new life amongst the Gladers, Haru realizes there is only one goal in mind: to run and escape the Maze.

KINGSMAN

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by andthenshesaid-write. (T) 2.3k, Harry Hart/Gary “Eggsy” Unwin.  Eggsy and Harry get stuck in a train. Some important things need to be said.

LITTLE WOMEN

a party hardly ever goes the way it is planned by middlemarch. (G) 900 words, Theodore Laurence/Amy March, Friedrich Bhaer/Josephine March.  Teddy had written she must come. He had run out of arguments.

Distances by MercuryGray. (G) 1.5k WIP, John Brooke/Margaret March.  A Modern March AU - In the midst of global pandemic, the March and Brooke families are trying hold it together.

MCU

Bracing by babywarg. (G) 2.5k, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange. In which Tony Stark makes a few declarations in response to a disease outbreak, and brooks no dissent.

Must Love Dogs (Right Here at the End of the Line) by bookjunkiecat. (G) 2.3k, Bucky & PTSD, Bucky & Pal (dog), Bucky & Steve.  During the virus pandemic, an already fragile Bucky has to venture out to pick up more of his very necessary meds. Returning home, he has a panic attack and retreats into an alley. While there he rescues a dog...or rather, the dog rescues him. Once he calms down, Bucky calls a veternarian's office, and reaches a warm, calm man named Steve.

Take Two by heyjupiter. (T) 14.1k, Bruce Banner/Tony Stark. When Tony Stark is injured in Afghanistan, he wakes up in captivity to find that a mysterious American doctor has plugged his heart into a car battery and saved his life. Tony is determined to repay the favor; when he escapes from the Ten Rings, he's taking Bruce Banner with him.

MERCY STREET

I took my Power in my hand by middlemarch. (G) 1.9k, Jedediah Foster/Mary Phinney.  It wouldn't do to consider just what it was that had spilled. It was war, it was a kitchen with a corrupt steward, it was a rapidly warming April in Virginia and the man she wasn't supposed to have any finer feelings for was looking at her quizzically.

MERLIN

Merlin Versus Quarantine by coconutknightshade. (T) 1.3k WIP, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Leon/Morgana. Merlin isn't quite 50 Shades of Done with Quarantine, but he and Arthur do have dry-erase "Day's Since Last Meltdown" boards mounted in the kitchen.

The Night Is So Long When Everything’s Wrong by Hum My Name. (G) 4.2k, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon. One month after banishing Merlin, Arthur's given a message in the form of a dirty red neckerchief. His ex-manservant's been captured and the captors want the king to pay the ransom.Going after Merlin is the easy part. Spending a long night in a small cell with no one but Merlin with him is a bit more difficult.

MIRACULOUS LADYBUG

Love Bug by onetruthree. (T) 3.3k, Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng.  Marinette feels the safest with her friends by her side. But when the dead come back to life, that safety is tested.

Quiet by BookGirlFan. (G) 669 words, Chat Noir & Ladybug. Ladybug and Chat Noir sit on a rooftop in an empty Paris.

MIRAGE

Murder Scarecrow and His Pissed-Off Handler by goreds. (M) 1.7k, Gabriel Taylor/Doug Marsh. Gabriel screwed up a fairly simple mission, and now he and Doug are trapped in a tiny safe house somewhere in Eastern Europe. Sort-of romance ensues.

NCT

I Go Where You Go by CocoaBop. (T) 5k, Dong Si Cheng/Lee Taeyong. Taeyong thought he was prepared for another global pandemic. But this pandemic was different. In just a few weeks of isolation, Sicheng went from the shy, awkward roommate Taeyong rarely saw to his only anchor to the outside world.

OCEAN’S 8

Every Princess Needs a Castle by ShadowHaloedAngel. (T) 1.3k, Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean. Being stuck inside is sending Debbie a little bit crazy, even though she knows it's for a good reason. Fortunately she has Lou and a foster dog to help keep her sane.

Your Princess Is In Another Castle by ShadowHaloedAngel. (T) 3.3k, Nine Ball/Tammy. Nine Ball decides if she's going to be locked down, she'd rather it was with Tammy and her kids.

ONE DIRECTION

and the sun will shine by leighbot. (G) 5.1k, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles. They're practicing self-isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic. Two little boys shouldn't be too hard to entertain, right?

PITCH PERFECT

Basic Sickness by CamGray. (M), 1.3k, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell. Chloe snaps the mask over her face and replies, “I was always smart, you just weren’t paying attention.  Vet school didn’t hurt either.  Now come on.  I’m going to rest, why don’t you go get some work done.  You can’t nanny me all day.  You’ve got more important things to do.” Beca shakes her head.  “What could be more important than this?”  She says, stressing each syllable.

Dry Spell by aliciameade. (E) 2.7k, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell. Tumblr prompt: Just imagine Beca and Chloe casually watching a porno together and when I say “casually” I mean “getting horny and ending up doing it right there.”

High-Speed Connection by aliciameade. (E) 4.1k, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Aubrey Posen, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell/Aubrey Posen. So Beca is a bit of an exhibitionist. So what? What could possibly happen when she decides to play with Chloe while she Skypes with Aubrey?Sin. Sin is what happens.

Ready Or Not by aliciameade. (E) 4.6k, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell. In a time of social-distancing, Beca and Chloe finally find a way to pass the time.

She’s Such a Bad Girl by CamGray. (E) 711 words, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell. “Chloe!” Chloe pauses her singing to call back to Beca. “Yes, love of my life?” Beca rounds the corner. “You’ve sung ‘Work From Home’ every day for the past 128 days. You know I love your singing voice, but can you please, for the love of the Carona gods, do something else.” Chloe pouts. “Well what should I do?”“I don’t know. I’m about to clean the house.” Chloe flips her hair flirtatiously and rests her arms loosely on Beca’s shoulders before saying, “You do too much. You’re not Superman you know.”

Watch Our Bodies Intertwine by tmylm. (E) 7.2k,  Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell.  Beca and Chloe are quarantined (yes, another "and they were quarantined!" fic) in Beca's Los Angeles home. Beca has managed to push away the feelings she harbored for Chloe back in college—they're adults now, she can behave herself. Or so she thinks.

you are my favorite thing by iPhone. (M) 3.2k. Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell.  Beca and Chloe find themselves alone in their apartment after the instruction comes to self-isolate. Set pre-PP3. Just pretend PP3 doesn’t exist.

POLDARK

Tenderness is not like money by middlemarch. (T) 599 words, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Demelza Carne & Dwight Enys.  What was the real crime?

QUEEN

Stay Right Where You Are by Stormtrooperinclogs. (T) 2k, John Deacon/Brian May, Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor.  Brian and John are under government-mandated quarantine because of the virus. What are they gonna do???

RED WHITE & ROYAL BLUE

bend the rules by perfect-porcelain. (E) 6.8k,  Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.  Alex is stuck inside with his roommate Liam and Liam's boyfriend Spencer and he thinks he's going to go insane but when his neighbor in the alleyway across from his window moves in he supposes that the quarantine won't be so bad after all.

Just Checking In by JessJesstheBest. (G) 1k, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.  In an au where COVID-19 happens to Henry and Alex, they try and stay connected through self-isolation.

SHADOWHUNTERS

Malec Malaise by Fluxx. (G) 2.9k, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood.  Magnus has a cold! In the absence of his magic, it seems he managed to catch some common Mundane bug. Well, that should be fine. Nothing a little rest and tea can't take care of... right?

SHERLOCK

Going Viral by trillian_jdc. (G) 1.1k WIP, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade.  Mycroft Holmes has been exposed to the coronavirus and prepares to self-quarantine, which he's very used to. His isolation is accidentally interrupted by Greg Lestrade, who winds up sheltering in place with him.

Thank You John by AnAnYaH. (G), 352 words, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson.  Quarantine day fic.

SHETLAND

Remote Communities by aurorlaura. (T) 3.4k, Duncan Hunter/Jimmy Perez.  Jimmy Perez, Duncan Hunter and their daughter Cassie experience the Covid-19 lockdown in Shetland.

STAR TREK: PICARD

Of Malady and Mother by Boldlynyooming. (G) 4.1k, Elnor & Zani. There was an outbreak of Beluxian flu on Vashti, and Elnor was not allowed to go out.

STAR TREK: VOYAGER

Confined To Quarters by ShayneyL. (E) 1.6k, Harry Kim/Tom Paris. Tom and Harry are in trouble again. Will they find a way to entertain themselves while confined to quarters? (Spoiler: yes.)

Social Distance by MiaCooper. (T) 1.2k, Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway. The terrible trials of a captain in quarantine.

STAR WARS

Fever of Love by ladyofreylo. (E) 8.1k, Rey/Flip Zimmerman.  Rey and Flip shelter in the library overnight during a flu epidemic. Rey believes Flip is part of a racist group, and Flip can't tell Rey he's undercover because it jeopardizes his investigation. He asks her to trust him. Will she? And will she allow him to help her friend's brain-damaged brother escape the clutches of the evil organization?

I Know You by Idrilhadhafang. (M) 739 words, WIP, Poe Dameron/Kylo Ren.  After a dogfight outside the Raddus, Poe Dameron and Kylo Ren are trapped on a planet below, with no memories for either of them and only being able to rely on each other.

Please don’t take him just because you can by middlemarch. (T), 911 words, Finn & Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Finn & Rey & Rose Tico. It wasn't a terrible job, it was the pandemic. Rey kept telling herself that, hoping she'd believe it. Or that it would all turn out to be a bad dream caused by eating government cheese before bed. Still, there were bright spots.

Something To Look Forward To by spacewitchqueen. (G) 1k, Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren.  While self-isolating, Kylo manages to make a new acquaintance. Perhaps even a new friend? Perhaps in time something more.

There’s been a Death, in the opposite house by middlemarch.  (G) 100 words, Kylo Ren/Rey.  Crisis was supposed to bring out the best in people. That was the silver lining, Rey was pretty sure that was the line anyway.

STAR WARS LEGENDS

Cabin Fever by Keldae. (G) 1k, Gen. Theron hates being locked down in one location on the best of days. Being isolated with only a Sith Lord, an irate Wookiee, and (the head of) a protocol droid that won't shut up for company? He's pretty sure he's in at least the second Corellian hell.

Pinned Down by Keldae. (T) 696 words, Female Jedi Knight/Theron Shan.  The only option is to stay hidden inside and hope for a rescue.

The Waiting Game by Greyias. (T) 4.4k, Female Jedi Knight/Theron Shan, Satele Shan & Theron Shan. The worst part about all of this was the waiting. Theron hated standing on the sidelines as everyone else risked their lives. He needed something to do. Anything to keep him distracted from his own thoughts.

SUPERGIRL

Darkest Before The Dawn by Val_Creative. (T) 1.4k, Kara Danvers/Lena Luther.  Lena ends up diagnosed with a serious virus. Kara gets a little panicky about this and worries enough to visit her.

SUPERNATURAL

Fourteen Days and Four Dozen Eggs by Mandala Rose. (E) 5.6k, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester.  As the Milton-Winchester household prepare to hunker down and #flattenthecurve, Dean makes a trip to the grocery store, for what was supposed to be their normal weekly grocery run. After all, they aren't the kind of people to panic and over-buy, right?

Hickory Dickory Dean by Carrieosity. (M) 2k,  Castiel/Dean Winchester.  When Castiel's library has to close because of the coronavirus pandemic, the librarians need to get a little creative in order to keep serving the community. Castiel has no problem recording virtual storytimes, but when it comes to adding in songs and things, he needs to call in a little extra help.

Knock by hit_the_books. (E) 2.5k, Castiel/Dean Winchester, past Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden. Dean and Cas have been living together as roommates for about a year when the COVID-19 pandemic forces Douglas County health officials to issue a "stay at home" order. With Dean working from home and Cas trapped there with him, Dean starts to realize that he doesn't really know much about the younger man he's living with. And then he knocks on and opens up Cas's bedroom door one day and discovers far more than he was expecting.

It'll Be Fine. by ChloeDarling. (G) 1.4k,  Castiel/Dean Winchester.  Forced to self-isolate, Castiel finds himself succumbing to the boredom as he runs out of ways to keep himself entertained. Luckily, Dean Winchester has a plan to save the day.

Next Time, I Choose Death by CeliPuff, Winchesterlovr0508. (M) 1.2k,  Castiel/Dean Winchester.  In light of this pandemic, I decided to write some daily journal entries on how we survived the 14 day quarantine. It’s me, my brother and my best friend, what can go wrong?

No Dent by spnsmile. FANFIC AND FANART (E) 7k, Castiel/Dean Winchester. Because the Impala is the best place to lock Dean and Castiel away when in the middle of another fight. They really need to talk and close the distance created by their stubborn heads. At least, Jack thought so.

Throw Away the Key by CeliPuff, Ketch22. (E) 2.1k WIP,  Castiel/Dean Winchester. multiple other relationships. After his father dies and leaves him nothing but the coolest car ever manufactured, the whole world turns to shit. Caught in the middle of a pandemic while attending the funeral, Dean is told he can’t return home and has to find somewhere else to ride out the mandatory month-long quarantine. Out of options, he calls his best friend Benny.Cas has lived with Benny for awhile - the bed was comfy, rent was cheap... the orgies were just a bonus. It wasn’t a half-bad place to live out a permanent bachelor lifestyle, or an irritating lockdown - but he’s about to get more than he bargained for when Benny takes in a stray.

Outbreak 2019 by spnsmile. FANFIC AND FANART (T) 1.7k, Castiel/Dean Winchester.  There's a spreading virus around and against it the medical staff are in the front lines. Castiel is a doctor and he just texted his husband he's positive of the virus.He awaits his fate in silence thinking of Dean.

THE 100

In Fair Corona by eternaleponine. (M) 8.3k, Clarke Griffin/Lexa. While returning from a service trip abroad, Lexa volunteers to take another flight when theirs is overbooked, and Clarke is forced to accompany her. When someone on the flight gets sick, they find themselves quarantined far from home with only each other for company. Can they overcome their differences and realize that they're in this together?

THE AVENGERS/MASS EFFECT TRILOGY

Stuck with You by sgteam14283. (G) 3.3k WIP, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Female Ryder/James Vega, Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard. Adults can handle being stuck somewhere for a long period of time. For the most part.

THE EXPANSE

How to Have Fun in Quarantine at the UN by goreds. (M) 1.4k, Chrisjen Avasarala/Sadavir Errinwright, Arjun/Chrisjen Avasarala.  Chrisjen Avasarala and the whole of the United Nations, including Sadavir Errinwright, are on lockdown during a pandemic. Mild non-social distancing ensues.

THE FLASH

Between Hope and Fear by Purpleyin. (T) 4.1k, Cisco Ramon/Hartley Rathaway.  During the pandemic, Hartley tries to help. He tries to keep going and do whatever he can, from a distance. Everything is going as well as can be expected, until his world comes crashing down with one phone call from Caitlin Snow.

THE GRISHA TRILOGY

watch the world go by by JemDoe. (T) 823 words, Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov. “The plague of 758 was a very serious issue, made worse by the Fold, Alina. Supplies were so hard to reach to the other side of the country…” “Wipe that smile off your face before talking about a plague that was made worse by your actions, then."

THE HOBBIT

Cave in by Isimile. (T) 1k, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield. Of course the cave in has to happen just when Bilbo is accompanying Thorin to a visit of the newly re-opened mines. Thorin just have the worst luck.

THE LORD OF THE RINGS

Nowhere else by Roselightfairy. (T) 1.2k, Gimli/Legolas Greenleaf. In preparation of an anticipated attack from nearby Dunland, Éomer has ordered that Aglarond go into lockdown.At least Legolas and Gimli are together.

THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES

a melody played in a penny arcade by aguntoaknifefight. (T) 2.7k, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas. Jon is trapped in the Institute. Things change.Or: Peter Lukas’s post-divorce pettiness inadvertently saves the world.

THE SIMARILLION AND OTHER HISTORIES OF MIDDLE-EARTH

A WORLD WITHOUT GRANDPARENTS by bluehair. (G) 1k, Maglor & Finwe.  I really didn't plan this. But it wanted to be written.

THE SOFT DOCTRINE OF IMAGINOS

On the Wrong SIde of the Mirror by Imaginos_Buzzardo_Desdinova. (M) 2.1k, Gen.  Trapped on the wrong side of mirror, Imaginos must find his way back to stop the evil Desdinova. He finds only one other person who also was tricked into the mirror.

THE TERROR

Lift Fire by Gigi_Sinclair. (G) 2.5k, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little.  "Tom doesn't speak, either, until there's a strange grinding groan, the lights flicker, and the lift shudders to an unexpected stop.Oh, you have to be joking, Edward thinks, as Tom says, 'I'd heard they'd been having some problems with this one.'"

Look for the Helpers by goreds. (T) 1.2k, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames.  Dr. Francis Crozier, stuck at home, lends a hand to his sick next-door neighbor, James Fitzjames.

THE TRANSFORMERS

Maybe it’s enough by choomchoom. (T) 2.8k, Drift/Rodimus, Prowl/Starscream. The boys deal with the pandemic.

Quarantined by pipermca. (G) 2.7k, Gen. Even when the Decepticons are forced into quarantine to stop the spread of a deadly disease, Soundwave still has work to do. If only his cassettes would keep it down...

THE UNTAMED

The Usefulness of Bunnies as Messengers is Strictly Dependant on the Bunny In Question by theskyandsea. (G) 2.8k, Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian is quarantined in an apartment with Jiang Cheng and it's going about as well as one would expect. Which is to say, the second Wei Wuxian discovers just how hot his across-the-street neighbour is he jumps at the opportunity to talk to someone else.Even if that talking is through the medium of messenger bunnies.

We’re on a boat and... by chatcolat. (T) 1.4k, Gen. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian get stuck on a boat and accidentally end up talking to each other for five minutes while they wait for rescue.

THE WITCHER

Carefully We Gather by tackytiger. (M) 2.4k,  Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier. They've been snowed in at the inn for six days now, and Jaskier still isn't speaking to Geralt.It's just, killing monsters is what Geralt does. Just because this one came a little bit too close to killing him first, doesn't mean that Jaskier has to get in a sulk about it. And why does he care so much, anyway?

Distanced Dears by jaskiersvalley. (T) 2.2k, Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Geralt of Rivia, Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Jaskier, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer/Cahir.  Given the fact Geralt worked in the Accident and Emergency department, it was highly likely he would catch the virus, even with every precaution. Not wanting to put his whole family at risk, he and Cahir move into Cahir's old flat and they try to weather the storm by themselves when Geralt does get infected.

No More Water, but Fire Next Time by ladivvinatravestia. (T) 7.7k, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier.  Jaskier and Ciri take shelter at a refugee camp following the fall of Cintra, where they find that Pestilence and War often ride together.

oh my god they were plague-mates by wombatpop. (T) 4.3k, Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier. “They’ve closed the streets, Geralt. We’re stuck in here.” Jaskier and Geralt stuck in an inn together. What could go wrong?

The Fortnight by Elizabeth. (E) 7.5k, Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier.  A plague is ravaging the Northern Kingdoms. First Oxenfurt is locked down, and then Novigrad. Geralt is immune, but Jaskier isn't. Rosemary and Thyme is a pretty nice place to spend a fortnight, but it's still a long time to spend with just one person--even if that person is your best friend.A lot can happen in two weeks.

Trouble In Here by Val_Creative. (M) 2.5k,  Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier. Jaskier accidentally barricades himself into Geralt’s room when he’s been cursed, forcing them to isolate together.

YU-GI-OH! DUEL MONSTERS

And they were quarantine-mates by Alecto. (T) 4.8k, Jounouchi Katsuya/Kaiba Seto. The order came down while they slept. Now Kaiba was stranded at Joey's place for the foreseeable future.

YUYU HAKUSHO: GHOST FILES

Six Feet Apart by Penguiduck. (G) 2.4k, Kurama/Reader.  You've only been living in your condo for two months, but you have yet to meet your neighbor. When you're sentenced to working from home due to the recent COVID-19 virus, you step onto your shared balcony for the first time. You meet Shuichi and really like him. The only problem? You have to stay six feet apart.

#lockdownfest #lockdown fest #Masterpost #Week 1 #fanfic #fanart #fanfest #multifandom event #multifandom #multiship #cw: coronavirus #cw:quarantine #long post