#anyway. screaming crying throwing up trying to find a drawing process that doesn’t take one million years continues

[ruushes]

artisanal hand-crafted durge memes

#nox #shadowheart #karlach #gale #wyll ravengard #astarion #bg3 #my ocs #my art #alway feel a little sheepish tagging characters who aren’t rly the focus or are barely there but ik people use it to blacklist too so 🤷 #anyway. screaming crying throwing up trying to find a drawing process that doesn’t take one million years continues #actually pretty successfully this time! these were all fairly low effort #they only took one million years bc i can’t focus on one thing at a time to save my life #oh and #blood #gore #trying to get better abt tagging that

[jdrizzle15]

Her Second Return

Just like all of you, and especially my fellow Penny fans, I am absolutely devastated by the Volume 8 finale. I had been in quite a state these last few days, utterly heartbroken, and actually nauseous at times. It feels strange to me to be legitimately grieving a fictional character, but it’s not a bad thing to feel this way. To me, this just shows that CRWBY loves her just as much as us to have written her so well that we connect so completely with her, that it feels like we lost an actual piece of ourselves when she’s gone.

But as you can probably tell by the title, this mega post isn’t gonna be about accepting this end, not in the slightest! Today I want to share canon evidence that can point towards another return of our beloved quirky red headed cinnamon bun! I’m here to spread this hope that I and others in the Nuts & Dolts dolts Discord server have!

I have this separated into many different sections to keep these thoughts organized. With that said, here goes…

A Father’s Words:

In Episode 7 of Volume 7, ‘Worst Case Scenario’ we learn the origins of Penny’s aura, and thus her soul. We also learn that it takes more aura each time she’s brought back. This leaves open an option that could be used at a later point.

Many people theorized that Pietro could indeed revive Penny one more time, which he would absolutely do. But there also lies the possibility that someone else could donate some of theirs, I’m not sure about this as I feel like it’s akin to blood donation where compatibility matters or there's a high risk of altering her, but the possibility is definitely there.

Now, the conversation in Chapter 5 of Volume 8, ‘Amity’ that Pietro and Penny have is an important moment for both Father and Daughter. It was there to show how her death in PvP all that time ago really did have a heavy impact on him and is still affecting him to this day.

Instead of continuing to pretend that everything is A-okay, like he had done for most of Volume 7, he finally lets his true feelings about how it come out to Penny for what is quite likely the first time. Even going so far as to say "Are you asking me to go through that again?" when she offers to take the risk of trying to lift Amity with her power. He wants Penny to be able to live her life.

This entire scene with Pietro established “this is what will likely happen” even if circumstances are much different now, it doesn’t negate the fact that this is a key part of Penny’s story. Scenes like these have a purpose beyond simply making an eventual death all the more heart wrenching. Her never actually getting to live her life makes those scenes basically moot. It makes them effectively pointless from narrative point of view. Unless there's more to it.

Building Relationship:

The build up between Ruby and Penny the last two volumes has been absolutely phenomenal with a definite destination in mind, and this doesn’t feel like that destination. So much of the arc of this season was to help Penny. This girl that our main protagonist absolutely adores and treasures, it would just be awful to throw all of that out for what amounts to an avoidable end. Why use so much of their precious and very limited runtime on deliberately building up this relationship only to end it abruptly, and permanently, when they’re separated?

In my opinion, RT is definitely smarter now than to intentionally set up what was really looking like a budding gay relationship only to kill one of them for good. If N&D wasn't actually going in a romantic direction, why would they leave in all of the romance-adjacent stuff that they got, that's not how ‘just friends’ act. And that is not something you use such valuable time building up for absolutely no pay off whatsoever...

Representation of Hope:

At its core, RWBY has always been about hope. It’s not at the forefront the whole time, but there's been an underlying theme of hopefulness that has persisted since it began. Some describe the show as a Hopepunk, I personally find this to describe RWBY really well. This genre of storytelling is about caring for things deeply and the courage and strength it takes to do so. It’s about never submitting or accepting the way things are. Fighting for what you believe in and standing up for others. RWBY fits all of this extremely well. How does this relate to Penny? She has been shown to be a sign of hope for everyone, but especially for Ruby, the main main protagonist. A prerequisite for a Hopepunk story is the hope.

Her first death in V3 was something that fundamentally changed Ruby. For the first time in the series, we see our main character all but broken by this event. With the loss of Penny, immediately afterwards, Ruby’s hope followed. She made up for it through determination and force of will. We see it affect her multiple times throughout the journey to Volume 7. But upon her return in V7, Hope reached a high point for everyone, the sheer relief on Ruby’s face is plain to see!

In V8 chapter 5 ‘Amity’, Penny literally raises hope by lifting the arena into the sky so Ruby could spread her message. And when she falls, and Amity with her, the connection is lost and hope plummets again. From there things take a very negative turn with the hack begins to take Penny’s agency.

In chapter 11 ’Risk’ is the point in the arc where everyone is reunited for the moment, so two separate hero stories are no longer a thing at that point in time. For the time being focus seemed to be shifted to care about the characters and how they’re going to solve the current problems. This is also where Ruby reaches her lowest emotional point in the season.

It’s not huge, but it’s interesting how connected this is. Before Ruby and Yang share a good cry over learning the possible fate of Summer, Yang brings up restoring optimism and hope to Ruby after the younger sister storms out of the room in frustration. This is where Penny’s scenes take up the rest of the episode. Getting Penny back in control of her own body and safe again is what makes the ending of the episode much brighter, when just 5 minutes before Ruby had been distraught and scared. This then spills over into the group coming up with the plan to use the staff, putting the main group in a much better mood. Of all the things to go right, it’s interesting that it’s Penny.

Things go wrong with the plan in the end and Penny dies. I find it interesting that once again, Penny got them hopeful in their chances of doing something right. Given said plan succeeded but at the cost of Penny of all people, Penny is shown to be the beginning and end of hope for them

The highest and lowest points for hope seem to directly correlate to when Penny’s around. When she comes back again, hope will return too, just like it had before. And because she’ll likely be back for good this time, the second return will probably be close to when Ruby is nearing the complete abandonment of hope. This would be pretty par for the course of the show honestly.

A little aside, but in a sense, Penny also represents Unity. The CCT in Vale fell after her first death, knocking out global communications and the unifying connection it gave. When it was restored for the briefest moment, she was there. Her body connected so she could allow for its launch, her soul lighting the night to hold up Amity with every ounce of her strength. So of course when the Hack succeeds and she falls, she takes global comms down again with her. At a smaller scale - even at the Hack's second last attempt to control her, she draws everyone in the Schnee Manor together. At the start of the volume, Yang states the one thing that they all agree on is not surrendering Penny.

Unity seems appropriate for one whose first song and wish was for but one friend, who would go on to find so many more in the process, and permit for a moment the possibility of all Remnant becoming friends once more. Where she first died, the name of the episode devoted to her story - Amity, "friendship", from the Latin root amicus, "friend" - she almost lives and dies with the very possibility of a united Remnant. It's no wonder she's a priority target for Salem, the great divider, and it seems natural that her next restoration may very well allow the next bid to bring the world together.

The Void Screams:

Moments after Penny's death, we hear a weird scream in the void space. It was a guttural, pained, angry scream, almost like the void space itself was crying out. All the portals shuddered and flickered when it happened.

Some think that this scream was Salem returning, but that happens earlier than Penny’s death, her return is signaled with cinder's arm acting up. We know this because after the arm finished flailing uncontrollably, Cinder said triumphantly "she's back." If it were Salem screaming, it would have happened after she fixed herself, but it didn't.

And I doubt Cinder would have been surprised or unsettled by it considering she was happy Salem returned not long before it. And why would a Salem scream affect the portals anyway, she has no connection to the staff or it's magic.

Another thing to consider is the fact sound is not transmitted through the portals. Otherwise, they would've heard Oscar and the rest calling for them, or the screams of the citizens of Mantle and Atlas. This lowers the possibility of that scream being from Salem even further.

The sound really seems to be coming from something else entirely within the void, and that something is not at all happy. There’s also the fact that Penny was the only person who died in the void space, everyone else was just thrown out of it like Ruby and Co. The only logical cause to me is Penny. Her body was a product (or byproduct) of the same creation magic that made the void space, her blood seems to have been a trigger.

Now I can't be sure about it, but this makes me feel like Penny is almost a part of creation itself? For whatever this thing is to be so angry, that is the only explanation I can think of currently. But all of this could possibly relate to the Narnia allusion of 'the willing victim killed in a traitor's stead' that others have brought up, which will be covered next.

Narnia Parallels:

Atlas has several parallels and references to fictional places (putting aside real world ones like the United States). One of those is that of Narnia, both on the surface and on a deeper level. It is a land of winter year round, where people struggle to survive and there is a present divide between those loyal to the current Monarch and those who are not. James is a parallel to Jadis, the White Witch, a ruler whose thoughts and cares aren’t exactly centered around the actual well being of the people. The hologram table in Ironwood’s office is designed to look like stone, like the Stone Table which features prominently in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. He has a handpicked cadre of special agents/secret police, like how Maugrim and his wolves served Jadis. Another key parallel is how Jadis’s winter sets in to oppress and kill everyone in Narnia, but the Witch provides aid and protection to her loyal followers. She has all the power to spare harm to others, and uses it only for the loyal. As soon as Mantle splits from James and Atlas, no care is taken to protect them from the cold of Solitas even though he has every ability to turn the heating grid back on. His protection is only for the loyal.

Now that the parallel is established, let's look into the details. Starting with how James plays the role of Jadis.

"I had forgotten that you are only a common boy. How should you understand reasons of State? You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny." These are the words Jadis says in the Magician’s Nephew to justify the blood civil war she and her sister had waged for rulership of Charn, before she came to Narnia. She won that war, technically, but only after the last battle had been lost and her sister had marched right up to her so that they were face to face. Jadis’s troops were dead, her followers had surrendered, and the capital was under full control of her sister. But, she still had one card, one ultimate play to win and prove the throne of Charn was rightfully her. The Deplorable Word, a piece of old magic that killed everyone and everything except for her on Charn. It was monstrous, senseless, cruel beyond measure. But it got her that hollow victory. This mindset, the disregard for the people except as tools for her own will, the ultimate ‘aoe’ destructive move that no one had even considered her using, the unwillingness to stop even when by all practical measures the war is over, is a shocking parallel to James. In many ways, he is Jadis in mindset and deed.

Then there is the shared desire for A Thing that both James and Jadis have. For James it’s the Winter Maiden and control over her. For Jadis it’s the Silver Apples from the Tree of Youth. And funnily enough, the Maiden Powers parallel the Apples quiet well. These apples grant power and a life of eternal beauty, but should not be taken or eaten on one’s own initiative. They must be given, a gift granted by another, or only suffering will come from obtaining them. "For the fruit always works — it must work — but it does not work happily for any who pluck it at their own will. If any Narnian, unbidden, had stolen an apple and planted it here to protect Narnia, it would have protected Narnia. But it would have done so by making Narnia into another strong and cruel empire like Charn, not the kindly land I mean it to be.” Jadis’s immortality, and some of her power, come from the fact that she ate an Apple of her own will after stealing her way into the garden where the Tree of Youth had been planted. She gained the eternal life she had wanted and the power along with it, but she did so by taking it and was cursed because of it. Her skin turned pale and her lips blackened as if she were a frozen corpse given life. She will be trapped in a life of misery and hate according to Aslan- oh hey Cinder, how’s having stolen the Power you always wanted working out for you? Cinder had the power she wanted, but she only got hungrier, eager to claim more and increase her might. But in her pursuit she was defeated and humiliated by Raven, had to steal her way out of Mistral, and then suffered defeat after defeat while in Atlas. Only in the end, when she didn’t keep pursuing the Maiden Power, did she get any kind of victory.

The reason these parallels to Narnia are so important is one of the most famous events of the series. The cracking of the Stone Table and the rebirth of Aslan after his death. ‘When a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.’ Well, the ‘Stone Table’ in James’s office has cracked, and Penny strikes me as a pretty willing victim. She has never actually committed any actual treachery or harm, as she was the Protector of Mantle, and fought for its and Atlas’s people until the very end. And because of her death, the actual traitor, Winter, who loyally served James until he had gone too far, was saved. Through Penny’s self sacrifice, Winter was saved. So now Death itself will start working backward.

(Major props to my friend @catontheweb for writing this section, I was getting nowhere with it, if they weren't there this part wouldn't exist!)

Norse Mythology:

The tree we see in the post credit scene gives off some serious Yggdrasil vibes. Also called the World Tree, it is essentially all of creation in Norse Mythology. It connects all nine realms, including the God realms of Asgard, the human realm of Midgard, and the underworld of Hel.

Humans are born from the branches of Yggdrasil. The web of Wyrd is woven for every person once they're born, and their path is set from there regardless of how many times the souls cycle over. But at the end, they're destined to end up in one of the worlds, for a myriad of reasons.

I believe Penny landed closest to this giant tree. She was on the center platform in the void space, so if that space is directly above the island(?) the tree is on, it makes sense for her to fall by the center nearest to the tree. This would not only open up all kinds of possibilities for the volume in general, but it would also create options for Penny.

The whole of Yggdrasil’s representations fit well into Penny’s story. Birth, growth, death and rebirth. We can count Penny’s appearance in V7 as birth for now, her growth is all her development in leaving =the military and becoming a Maiden, her death just happened, and her rebirth would be her revival. And this is a cycle she’s gone through before.

The Norse god Odin and Yggdrasil have quite a connection. In one story, Odin cut out one of his own eyes to gain knowledge from a pool underneath Yggdrasil. The only one that fell whose eyes alone are incredibly significant to the story was Ruby. So, they could choose to have her allude to Odin by having Ruby make some kind of deal with whatever entity likely rules over this magical place. An eye for Penny’s life.

There’s another story about Odin, Yggdrasil and the pursuit of knowledge. Odin so loved knowledge, that he sacrificed himself in a quest to learn the deeper magic of runes. It was believed one could only learn the magic spells from runes in death. So, Odin hung himself on Yggdrasil for nine days as an offering, and teetered between life and death. After he mastered the last spell on the ninth night, he ritually died and all light was extinguished from the world. Odin’s death lasted until midnight, when he was reborn and light returned to the world.

This story doesn’t fit Penny perfectly, but allusions often don’t. So If she really did land near the tree, she could be another loose representation of Odin’s story here. What she did wasn’t for knowledge, but to save her friends and keep Cinder from getting the Winter Maiden power. She believed it necessary that she sacrifice herself to achieve this end. As we established, Penny represents Hope, so her death means the loss of hope. This parallels Odin’s story of his death meaning the loss of light itself. So if this theory holds up, it would make this death temporary, until her rebirth and the return of Hope with her once again.

Alternatively, Ruby has the potential of loosely representing Odin in this story as well. Odin later uses the knowledge of the runes to do many things, but the most relevant one right now is awakening the dead. Both of these stories are about making a personal sacrifice to gain something that is desired. Ruby would absolutely make such sacrifices if it meant saving Penny.

It is said that Odin lived “according to his highest will unconditionally, accepting whatever hardships arise from that pursuit, and allowing nothing, not even death, to stand between him and the attainment of his goals." This sounds like Penny's arc of accepting the WM powers. This is more just a general connection between Penny and Odin, but I found it interesting.

Side Note: I encourage anyone who’s interested to look into RWBY connections to Norse Myth, there’s a surprising amount of things that feel eerily similar to the show. Likely just coincidental, but it’s fun to think about!

(If I got any of this wrong, I sincerely apologize by the way. I researched as best I could, but I admit it could have been lacking.)

Ambrosius and the Staff:

Ruby told Ambrosius "we kinda wanna keep her around longer than that" as part of her very specific instructions. Then Penny died about ten to fifteen minutes, at the absolute most thirty minutes later in-universe. I don’t know about you, but to me that seems very short to be considered ‘longer than that’. Technically it is, but when writing a story and a character says something like that, you typically don’t just kill the character they were referring to basically right away. It makes sense for a week-by-week watch, but in a volume binge, which many viewers do, it becomes ironic how fast Penny dies after being removed from her robotic body.

The first time we see the staff of creation being used, it's to save Penny. Using the staff of creation to help Penny is a sign of how incredibly important she is.

They’ve even got this entire transformation sequence for her, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to throw all that away two episodes later. In a meta context, it’s a massive waste of time and budget considering the asset creation for Penny.

Penny is a character who has already hopped bodies two times. And now we're supposed to just believe that this time it really is a final death? Just two episodes after we were explicitly told her body isn't what matters, that "Her soul is who she is" and that "the mechanical parts are just extra"? From a writing perspective, it feels strange, like your breaking a promise right after making it. And frankly, CRWBY is better than that, which makes me think this is not the actual end for her.

A possible connection between Penny, Ruby, and the Staff (thus Creation) can be seen in the intro. As Ruby is falling and being dragged down into the darkness, she is shown reaching for the staff. In the void space, Penny is the one with the relic. So with Penny having this strong connection to Creation, and the lyrics “fight for every life” playing as Ruby reaches for the staff, it’s a safe assumption to make, with the knowledge we now have, that the Staff of Creation represents Penny in this particular moment. Which could mean that V9 will be about, at least partially, fighting for Penny’s life.

Musical Hints:

In terms of music, Friend, as a song for Penny, is very dissonant from the episode itself. The song is oddly cheerful for Penny’s recent untimely death, and it overall highlights the wrong parts of death. It’s simply too happy to be a song about losing one of the most, if not the most joyous characters in the entire show. The song also abruptly ends. There’s no outro, and while this could symbolize the fact that Penny died young, it could be that the song itself is unfinished in a story sense.

What do we hear just before the song finishes, though? A progression of notes that sounds eerily similar to the last line of the opening of Volume 8. The notes for “Fight for ev’ry life” and “Who fin’lly felt alive'' share a similar melodic structure, they aren’t perfect clones of each other, but they are incredibly similar, to the point where it seems intentional. Penny may very well be the life that the opening song is fighting for. It is also worth noting that the line “Fight for every life” comes just after “Sometimes it’s worth it all to risk the fall,” which is the exact wording used for the description in the Volume 8 finale. Team RWBY risked the fall, yet, strangely the opposite of fighting for every life happened with Penny’s sacrifice. Perhaps the time to fight for every life has yet to happen, and we will see it come Volume 9.

For another thing, the lyrics for Friend are entirely centered on Penny’s feelings for Ruby, to the point where they read very much like a bittersweet love song. The music itself is incredibly cheerful, as mentioned previously, creating a mood whiplash with the end of the volume. Why would we hear a song about Penny’s feelings for Ruby, sounding like a love song, if her death is supposed to be a tragic sacrifice akin to Pyrrha’s? The song may very well be giving a clue into its future use in the show proper.

If this was meant to be a good bye song, why make it so cheerful and romantic sounding? There's only one part about her dying and even then, it's just too accepting and goes right back into cheerfulness. The song is also pretty hopeful, telling Penny's story in a fairly chronological order. And the part where she talks about sacrifice is quite pointedly followed up by one about feeling alive. It also ends with the super cheerful chorus, the word "alive" being the last... (Remember the episode title: The Final Word)

(I want to thank my friend @shadow-0f-x for writing the majority of this section! I was struggling to choose how to tackle it as I am not well versed in music theory.)

What We Didn’t See:

It is likely that Penny understood Jaune's semblance better than him and figured something out about it’s abilities in the same way that she understood Ruby's semblance better than her. She had plenty of time to observe his semblance up close as he boosted her aura to stave off the virus. Because of that intentionally timed cutaway in the finale, we don’t get to hear her explain herself after her strained “Trust me.” All of that seems really suspicious to me.

Pyrrha Parallel:

Pyrrha and Penny both sacrificed themselves to stop or stall Cinder. Jaune tried to convince the both of them to stop. With Pyrrha, he failed, while with Penny he actively helped her sacrifice herself. Doesn’t make sense for the guy who was determined not to let anyone else do what Pyrrha did, unless of course Penny assured him she’d be alright.

The Moment:

RT including the suicide hotline in the description shows that they're aware that Penny basically committed assisted suicide, seeing it as a noble sacrifice worth doing to save her friends. They're aware, and I believe they're smart enough to condemn that decision to hell and back.

The best way to do that in my opinion is to pull her back into the land of the living and let her witness first hand the consequences of throwing her life away so freely. This would show Penny how her actions affected others so maybe she could learn to truly value herself. To not think herself expendable. It would be bold and unwise to portray this choice as something good, unless it was going to be called upon later and be pointed out for how horrible it really is.

On top of this, Penny was way too content with her death, happy even. There's no way team RWBY is letting her stay content with it. It’s almost as though we're supposed to join Ruby and Co. in calling bullshit on what Penny is saying and doing because no, Penny, this is not how things are meant to work. It's as if Penny was basically saying "I want to die for my friends" because most of the volume had been about everyone else making sure she didn't die. She knows it will hurt them. She knows.

At the peak of it all, a choice like this will totally destroy Ruby. It may very well be her breaking point for Volume 9. Curiously, the moment itself is written like it’s the first choice Penny’s ever made, yet the entire Volume shows this isn’t the case. However, this is the first choice that Penny’s made solely independently and it’s rather pertinent that the choice she makes is a mistake. Outside of giving Winter the Maiden gift and saving the day temporarily, this sacrifice will not have any lasting positive effects. Jaune will be saddled with the grief of killing Penny. Ruby will have to live with losing her best friend and not being able to protect her a second time, and Winter now has the burden of the Winter Maiden abilities, making her a target of Cinder. This is a bad thing, and Penny needs to see the long term consequences.

Transfer of Power:

As we all know, colors in RWBY are really important and get a lot of focus in the show. That means the yellow we see as Penny gives Winter the Maiden Powers was intentional and likely important, no matter how insignificant it may seem. It’s possible that the transfer effect being yellow could have something to do with Jaune’s semblance. When Fria gave the power to Penny, the effect was very much blue, so this transfer should have been green since she was the one giving it this time. The weirdness of this transfer and the focus on color in RWBY really makes it look like something’s up with how that went down.

A little off topic, but Penny saying "I won't be gone, I'll be part of you." makes me think... Winter is smart, so when she gets time to think about what Penny said, maybe she'll arrive at the same question many in the audience came to; if she's literally part of Winter, can they be separated again? If Winter starts questioning that, the possibility of Penny coming back just skyrockets.

Fria actually tells Penny "I'll be gone" before giving her powers up, which is an interesting contrast to Penny telling Winter "I won't be gone". She may have gotten that line from Winter be all philosophical in V7, saying Fria was now a part of Penny, but it hits differently coming from an actual Maiden. S5o it’s possible that Maidens usually actually will be gone, but Jaune's semblance did something to change that.

This could go well with the theory that they won't need to find an aura transfer machine, or build another one, because Jaune will have a semblance evolution allowing him to do the transfer instead. It might actually be that this evolution already happened and the golden light we saw was Jaune transferring penny's aura to Winter in some way?

An observation that I find interesting is when Penny gives winter the powers, not only is the aura yellow but penny completely glows yellow too, and she obviously starts to disappear, but she doesn’t seem to fully disappear, she just glows.

It's possibly a fading out effect and she does fully fade but animation makes bright light easier, and so we don't actually see her disappear because she's dead and not gone. But it does once again emphasize the color yellow here!

And the color is coming from Penny, it does go up Winter's arm a bit, but Penny is clearly the source. This transfer is so weird and I’m not really sure how to interpret it. There's just actually no reason that we are aware of to make the effect yellow here is the thing. Unless it has something to do with either Jaune or Ambrosius, or potentially a combination of both...

Jaune’s Aura:

The way we see Jaune's aura break in the finale is strange. His aura shouldn't be breaking here. It had been long enough since he was boosting Penny, he's had time to recharge, and it didn't look like it was a strain on him at all. Plus, we know he has a lot of aura, so there probably wasn't too much to recharge in the first place.

He has a massive amount of aura, it has never broken before as far as I remember. Even if it has though, that doesn’t make this occurrence any less odd. It should absolutely never be a one-hit KO. We didn't see anything that would've drained it, that should not have been enough to break his aura. Unless he did something - something that would require a huge amount of aura - that we just didn't see. That amount of aura drain is far more than just an attempt at healing would do, Jaune absolutely did something with his semblance that took up almost all of his aura.

Pinocchio Allusion:

As any Penny fan knows, her character allusion is Pinocchio, the puppet who became a real boy. Penny deviates from the allusion by having always been a real girl, as Ruby is quick to point out, but she shares many story beats with her original story including multiple deaths. In the original story, Pinocchio dies from being hung by his own strings due to his poor decision making and he dies. Sounds a little familiar, does it not? This is where his tale originally ended. Readers were unsatisfied with this ending however, so the author decided to change the story by reviving Pinocchio and teaching him to be more careful.

Unlike Pinocchio making all the wrong decisions, Penny often makes the right ones, or ones she thinks is right, when concerning others. While usually a good thing, this has meant Penny almost giving herself up multiple times during V8, her last attempt being successful. This is where Penny and Pinocchio begin to share similarities again. They are both very reckless when it concerns themselves. This carelessness comes from different places, but it ends with the same result of them endangering their lives and even sometimes losing them.

In the Disney movie, Pinocchio dies by drowning after going to rescue Geppetto and washes up on the shore (like the beach in V8’s post credit scene). His father is devastated and takes him home to grieve, but as a reward for his selflessness in rescuing his father, the Blue Fairy returns and brings him back to life, as well as granting him humanity. Penny sacrificed her life as well, and it stands to reason that she should be rewarded for it, much like her allusion was.

Penny got her maiden powers from someone with blue aura and then gave her powers to someone with blue aura. So it could be that not only Ambrosius, but Fria and Winter as well represent the Blue Fairy. It could be set up for Winter helping to bring Penny back to life once more. It’s an out there theory I admit, but it’s not outright impossible either. The Blue Fairy in Pinocchio saved him three times that I know of, so RWBY having three representations does make sense.

Geppetto wished for him to live as a real boy, but it depended on what path Pinocchio took. This is very reminiscent of Penny and Pietro. Pietro wants to see her live her life, and surely with him absent in V8C14 that didn't work, despite Penny choosing. Her father did not see her happy enough to live her life, and will only be able to learn her death through others. But Pinocchio's themes were life and being alive. So the likelihood that this is not her end yet is quite high!

A Girl That Fell Through the World:

Penny could be the girl who fell through the world. The girl in the story fled the consequences of a choice. The only person who chose her ultimate fate was Penny. The others were pushed into the void, but she chose to die. The consequence of her choice is Ruby’s grief first and foremost, which Penny won’t see. The girl who fell through the world does come back though, and the world will be changed severely with Penny’s absence. Alternatively, it could also be Penny coming back to Wonderland or wherever they currently are, as long as it’s unrecognizable to her.

What Returning Brings:

Others might say another return would have no story relevant purpose, but I wholeheartedly disagree. Penny gives a profoundly youthful, joyous, and wondrous outlook on the world and story that we hadn't seen since Ruby in Volumes 1-3(not the end), Penny returning would bring a much needed levity back in after the despair they will undoubtedly be going through. While not necessarily a huge thing in most other shows, for RWBY, a show largely about keeping up hope, an ounce of such relief is a necessity.

As much as I hate saying it, Penny’s death does actually make some narrative sense because she had to pass on the Maiden powers. (They could have done this in a number of ways, and I personally think they chose rather poorly, but I digress.) Throughout this whole volume, we can see Penny seemingly being set up to join the main cast, but would have been too strong with the powers. This also accomplishes ridding her of the burden of responsibility that comes with being a Maiden and lets her obtain the freedom that’s so important to her character.

Once she returns, seeing this grief that her actions caused, particularly to Ruby, will get her to realize more that her actions can have serious repercussions. She made a choice, but that choice hurt the people she loves. She must have known that it would but I’m not sure she ever realized just how much.

I didn’t want this post to be heavy in the shipping department, so I largely left it out, but I am going to say this one thing that could have an impact. If Nuts & Dolts is on its way to being canon, which this volume makes it feel highly likely, this could be a catalyst.

It could prompt an arc for the both of them in which Penny learns to live her life fighting for her loved ones, rather than sacrificing it for them. A relationship could potentially start from there. And Ruby seeing Penny learn these things may also help her to stop doing the occasional but very dangerous and reckless things she does. Ruby witnessing Penny coming to terms with what she did to the people that care about her would actually make her stop to think “wait, is this how everyone else would feel if I got myself killed?” That would be a very important moment of character growth for her.

I’m certain there are other significant things that Penny returning can bring to the show. And there are definitely more sections I could add to this. At this point though, assuming anyone even made it this far, I think I’ve been going long enough already. So let’s just roll into the outro!

As painful and hopeless as it seems, I'm choosing to trust them with this because there is absolutely no way they didn't see backlash coming. The way this finale went makes me think that they calculated for backlash and aren’t jumping into something they don’t have a plan to recover from. Whether this trust is unfounded or not remains to be seen, but I don’t think it is currently. I do think, however, that the cause of this backlash was a major misstep. Now that it has happened though, they have a chance to do something good with it.

I know for a lot of you, trust in CRWBY has been damaged, some even irreparably so. And for those that feel this way, I don’t blame you. My trust in them took a hit too, but isn’t broken completely yet. There are many ways that they can bring her back that would make sense with the narrative, they have the ability to make it right, and after going over all of the hints and general weirdness of things many times, I think they will.

I'm feeling pretty confident now and I really didn't expect that to happen at all to be honest. But discussing and theorizing with the discord server seriously helped get my hopes back up surprisingly fast! It’s actually thanks to all of them that this gigantic post even happened! So thanks a ton my fellow Dolts! And a special thanks to!!

@arcana-amicus

@catontheweb

@cosmokyrin

@gaydontmesswithme224

@jammatown919

@shadow-0f-x

They really helped get this thing across the finish line!

And thank YOU for reading all~ of this! I sincerely wish it gave you some of the hope and confidence that I now have!

#RWBY #rwby vol8 #rwby v8 #rwby spoilers #Penny Polendina #nuts and dolts #mechanical rose #a little #Essay #more like dissertation #I haven't written this much in #probably ever actually #Have HOPE people!

[gohyuck]

the purge: society

pairing: firefighter!san x reader

genre: purge au, angst, some fluff

warnings: mentions of violence (especially violence against cops), murder, blood, injury, weapons (guns, knives, metal baseball bats)

word count: 2.4k

note: this was originally meant to be a drabble and it’s still pretty short so i didn’t get to elaborate on the characters but honestly maybe i’ll explore a purge universe with ateez someday because this was fun (i’ve never watched any of the movies though so i’ll have to get on that)

“What the fuck?” 

He hadn’t expected to see anyone left alive on this street.

“Shut up and get down,” You hiss, reaching your good arm up to grab onto the man’s jacket collar before unceremoniously pulling him towards you. He stumbles, falling gracelessly onto you. A scream bubbles up in your throat as he accidentally puts pressure onto your already free-bleeding bicep, but you get ahold of yourself just in time, only letting the quietest of wounded moans escape you. 

“You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to kill me before talking to me all night - oh, shit,” The stranger trails off, swearing when you effectively stop him from speaking further by placing your switchblade right under his skin. It’s only then that he even pauses to take you in: your back is up by the police car door, sure, and your left arm has a massive gash in it, but you’re armed. There’s a pistol laying idly in your lap, kept company by a metal baseball bat. 

Not to mention, the knife at his neck. 

“What the hell are you doing, walking around unarmed and with a first aid kit? Also, how the hell are you unarmed and with just a first aid kit? What the fuck?” You let the questions out in a rapidfire fashion, and he can’t help but clock the slight rasp in your voice. It’s easier to recognize than the pained wheeze you’re trying very, very hard to suppress, but neither escape him. He’s trained to notice the little things, anyways. 

“You need to bandage that shit up,” The man ignores your questions, moving his head just enough to miss your blade but also enough to be able to look you in the eyes. “How long has it been bleeding?”

“That’s none of your business,” You grit out. “Answer my questions or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

“If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be panicking just yet. His gaze is sincere, but it’s too solid to be that of a bona fide idiot. You suck in a breath of air. Threatening him would be so much easier if he didn’t seem like a nice guy. It’s hard enough to live through the night, you don’t need guilt on your hands, and you know you’re going to feel guilty when you kill him. And you will kill him.

You need that first aid kit. You’ll do anything for it.

Anything, starting off with lying. 

“Sure,” You reply, steeling yourself for any sudden movements he might make now that you’re faking amicability. Maybe he’ll believe you to be vulnerable and try for your pistol or your bat, or maybe he’ll be properly cruel and finish off your arm. You don’t want to think about it. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve actually affected him after all. “Now speak.”

“Not unarmed, there’s a police-issue pistol in my jacket and a tactical knife in my jeans. I’m not totally nuts. First aid kit’s for my buddy, though, I’ll be real, you need it way more than him.” There’s something resembling concern in his expression as his eyes flit between your torn arm and your face, but that barely interests you. You haven’t truly registered anything after ‘police-issue’.

You lean in, pressing the edge of your knife against the skin directly above his adam’s apple. For the first time since you’d cornered him, your mystery purger’s breath hitches. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. It’s no matter. You no longer regret the fact that you’ll have to tear his jugular out yourself. 

“You’re a hog, huh,” You stare him down, any sympathy you might’ve had gone. For a moment, it seems as if he has no concept of what you’re saying. A second passes, though, and his gaze clears. 

“Firefighter,” He responds, though the word is garbled due to him attempting to keep his movements to a minimum. You pull back slightly, very slightly, to let him explain. “I… found a dead cop, jacked his pistol. I’ll show you my ID, if you want.” 

“Let me see it.” You nod your head at him as if giving him permission to live a little longer, though you both know full well that identity theft and identity fabrication are legal, too. Might as well see how much effort he puts into a fake. The man waits until you pull back just a bit more, enough to let him slowly reach his hand into his back pocket before producing a lanyard. 

You grab it out of his grip with your hurt arm, not willing to move your knife too far away from his throat. You simply don’t have a good enough read on - you glance down - San Choi, ACT Firefighter, Employee ID: 018-102-4 to allow yourself any leeway with him. 

His gently smiling face stares up at you from the plastic card, protected only by a clear sleeve connected to a red lanyard. San’s photo has black hair and an undercut, styled so his forehead is on display. A pair of dimples makes a guest appearance, and, overall, he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. The ID looks real, too, so maybe you aren’t totally fucked. 

The San under your knife has bleach blond hair that almost falls over his eyes, though you suppose you can’t blame him for skipping out on the hair product tonight. He seems slightly tanner than his photo, his skin beautiful even now as dust from the aftermath of the explosion starts to settle against it. 

Right. The explosion. 

Recalling the events leading up to you meeting San forces you to remember that you have a gaping, bloody gash in your left arm. You’re honestly lucky to be alive, having ducked and used the car you’re against for cover from flying debris after a building down the block had exploded. You’d just finished driving your knife into a cop’s side - third cop of the night, eighth of your career as a purge cop killer - to make sure that he was dead when you’d heard the bomb go off, and you’d dropped before even thinking about it. Something had hit your arm on the way down, and when the adrenaline had finally left your system, you’d taken note of your blood-soaked sleeve. 

You’d closed the car door after that, sealing your third murder of the night in the vehicle just so you could lean up against the door. It had been 6:31 in the morning then, and you had figured that someone would come by and kill you in the last moments before legality ensued again. You’d assumed that you’d fight, of course you would, but your arm being totally fucked definitely put a damper on your belief in your ability to overcome anyone or anything else. 

Instead of the disgruntled, trigger-happy purger you’d expected to eventually find, though, you’d been found by San Choi. San Choi, who’s currently staring at your wounded arm like it’s grown eyes and can stare back. 

“Come on, let me fix it up,” He pleads, lifting the kit up with the hand that’s farther from you. “You might not trust me, or whatever, but the purge is about to end as it is. I have a paramedic friend, Seonghwa, who’s taught me the basics of -”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell him, though you’re quickly losing your bite. He obeys regardless. God, your arm really, really fucking hurts. Before pulling your knife back, you check the watch on your wrist. 6:47. Stay alive for 13 more minutes, 780 more seconds. You’ll be fine. You take the shakiest breath you’ve ever taken. 

You pull your knife away from him. 

Nothing happens. 

“I’m going to use an alcohol free wipe and then wrap gauze around your arm, okay? You’ll just have to hold out until we can get you to a working hospital after that,” San speaks as if he’s talking to a child, or a scared animal, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t seem like a purger, but you technically are one. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to attack on a whim if you were him. He, very slowly and with his hands in your full view at all times, opens the kit and pulls out the requisite materials. 

“Gonna need you to rip your sleeve off above the cut.” He continues, leaning back as you bring your knife up to your clothes and slit the cloth right above your wound. You tear the remainder of the sleeve off your arm before throwing it behind you somewhere. San gently grabs ahold of your elbow - his palm is calloused in a way that tells you he lifts regularly, and you’re sure of this as he discards his jacket and you watch the muscles ripple in his arms under his thin black shirt - and places the wipe against your cut. 

Your reaction is instantaneous: now that you’re completely past the adrenaline stage, the feeling of something, anything against the gash has you reeling to cry out. Before you can even process that you’ve made a sound, a hand presses hard against the back of your head, shoving your mouth against San’s. 

He doesn’t know how else to shut you up. 

His lips are chapped, but the sensation of being kissed so suddenly jars you out of your pain. San attempts to pull back, and you can already feel the apologetic wince he’s about to give you, but he brushes over your wound with the wipe again and your pain doubles back. It’s you that pulls him in this time, pressing your lips to his sloppily but forcefully as if it’ll alleviate the burn in your arm. 

Kissing him only slightly muffles you at best, but you no longer care. The purge isn’t over yet. You could both die at any second. Hell, San could kill you at any second. His hand moves from the back of your head to cup your face as he leans in towards you to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped, yes, but they’re soft. He tastes like mint and copper: there’s a cut in his lower lip. You don’t mind. 

San pulls away for a moment, but only does so to grab the gauze from the kit. Once he’s wrapped it around your arm once, twice, thrice, he leans back in and your mouth accepts his own eagerly, your other hand coming up to drape over his shoulder. Neither of you know why you’re doing this, kissing a stranger with such fervor as one of you bandages the other up, but you both know that there’s really nothing else to do. 

It’s only after he finishes taping you up that the two of you pull away fully. His eyes are still just as kind as you’d thought them to be at first, though his lips are far more swollen than they’d been mere minutes prior. You admire your handiwork, eyes tracing his features as he admires his own, thumb very, very gently running over your gauze. Both of you raise your heads to smile sheepishly at each other at the exact same time.

Three things happen in rapid succession. 

“Good?” San’s voice is barely above a whisper, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just as you’re about to speak - 

“San!” A voice, low and hoarse, interrupts you, and you look up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at the space between your eyes. You’re frozen in place for a split second before you start reaching for your own pistol. Your fingers brush the grip when - 

The clock strikes seven, and sirens go off all around you, signalling the end of the purge. 

The gun is out of your face. Your hand moves off of your own.

“San,” The owner of the gun pays you no mind, suddenly, his entire focus on San. The gun-owner reaches a hand out, and the firefighter beside you takes it, allowing himself to get pulled up to his feet. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, Yunho, I’m totally good,” San responds, giving the taller man a cat-like grin of reassurance. Yunho’s got a fireman’s helmet on, and you suppose it’s good as protection. He must be a fellow firefighter, then. He’s tall, and though he’d seemed nothing short of severe mere moments ago, he seems softer, kinder now that the purge is over. The transformation is enough to give you whiplash. His right hand is wrapped in bandages, and this catches San’s sight at the same time it catches your own. “What the hell happened to you, though?” 

“That policeman you killed had buddies,” Yunho replies with ease, but you don’t miss San’s wince. Seems like he hadn’t just happened upon that police-issue pistol. You can’t help the small grin that fights to make its way across your face. “They tried to get into the station, we had to fortify ourselves. We’re mostly fine, just that Woo’s lost a finger. He’ll live once he stops whining about it. We were mostly worried about you, honestly, taking fucking forever just to find a first aid kit. Who’s this?”

Yunho moves the topic of conversation over to you so naturally that you barely even realize what has happened before San is reaching a hand out to you to pull you up to a standing position. You grab ahold of your pistol, though you shove the bat off your lap before allowing yourself to be brought up. Without thinking, you practically plaster yourself to San’s side. Now that he’s for sure what he told you he was, and now that you’re no longer in danger of dying, you can’t help but feel inexplicably connected to him even though neither of you know each other. San wraps an arm around your waist naturally, and neither of you miss Yunho’s eyebrow raise. Neither of you acknowledge it, either. 

“This?” San asks rhetorically, turning his head slightly to look at you. He’s smiling again, and you find that you want to see it more often. Maybe you’re experiencing the onset of delirium. You hope not. “This is…” 

“(Name),” You reply, being honest. There’s no need for you to lie. Besides, you owe San answers, right? You stick your uninjured arm out, letting Yunho shake your hand. San’s grip tightens around your waist. 

“I’m (Name).”

#first #five #tags #dont #work #san #san fluff #san angst #ateez san #choi san #ateez angst #ateez fluff #san x reader #choi san x reader #san smut

[morgana-ren]

Just Business

Summary: You’re a loan shark looking to expand your enterprise to the League of Villains. Lucky for you, Dabi might just be willing to hear you out. As long as you can prove your loyalty to him, that is. 

Rating: E for not everyone. Explicit. Do I release anything else?

Baby’s first Dabi fic. Just testing the waters, folks. I know nothing about this man. Literally nothing.

Money lending is such a nasty business. 

Some poor sap shuffles in nervously shifting his fingers and recites some rehearsed script about why he needs the cash and how he’s good for it, and then you throw him a wad and pretend to make up some important deadline. He thanks you profusely and thumbs through the cash as he leaves, and you’ve still got your heels kicked up on your desk as you tell a goon to keep an eye on him. 

Sometimes their reaction to your ‘charity’ varies, but one thing always stays the same. They can never pay it back. 

Some run. Some try to hide. Some bolt the second the cash hits their fists, boarding the first train out of town. Some genuinely try to do the right thing. The result is the same. 

You track them down. Your boot, their neck. They cry, you extort. 

It’s not about the money. It never is. Wealth is fine and good but no amount of monetary fortune can amount to having another thread in the network web you’re building. You’ll let them off the hook and they’ll spy for you, lie for you, even put their neck on the line because they have no other choice. Info is worth infinitely more than a petty loan, and what you invest in their short sighted schemes is repaid tenfold. 

You knew something was up with the shifty little prick the second he walked in the door. He asked for an exorbitant amount and could never meet your eyes when he told you just what he planned to do with it. It sounded too rehearsed, even for your usual clientele. Almost like someone told him what to say and just how to say it. 

In this business, you learn to call a spade a spade, but even as he sat on his knees with his gaze shifted away from you and practically screaming tells, you felt there was something deeper. A truth buried deep within his lies. Something interesting. Something you wanted to know. 

You give the poor bastard the money. 

Sending a runner to watch his schedule confirms your beliefs. He walks into a dilapidated abandoned building not long after leaving the meeting with your thick wad of cash in hand and leaves with only a few bills, though he looks relieved for his trouble. You have his face, his name, a dossier on his entire life. He’s far too unguarded for someone into something so nefarious. Someone sent this little gnat into your domain and didn’t expect you to follow the thread. They were mistaken. Whoever this man works for, he’s the only lead into something deeper. 

Your little flies swarm the building only to find it empty. No trace of who you had been dealing with, no clues to lead you to the heart of your curiosity. Only dust splayed across concrete and a fire with the ashes still warm. 

All your contacts and all your pull only give you one lead: the League of Villains. 

A down-on-their-luck outfit of outcasts and outlaws. Their leader had been making some big moves with a large financier some months ago, but things turned disastrous and no one had heard a peep since. It doesn’t surprise you to hear they’re rebuilding, but what intrigues you is that they’re making such risky pulls to do it. Borrowing money they clearly cannot pay back from a loan shark with a reputation of ruthlessness. 

It should make you mad, being ripped off and deceived like that. 

It doesn’t. 

If anything, it tickles you. You didn’t even have to put out any feelers and they had loitered into your web. You’d had your eyes on them for some time, curious about their leader and their members. They could prove a worthy investment, if given the chance. You never had an in with them since they never needed your services, but it seems that they hand delivered one in desperation.

It becomes a matter of baiting and trapping. 

You wait and you listen. The debt date approaches and it’s only a matter of time. It doesn’t surprise you when the same man wanders back into your office and hands you a thick stack of bills, more than twice what you had offered him. You most definitely are surprised to find him returning but you accept his offering with a smile, running your finger along the bills to keep up appearances. 

“It seems you find yourself quite wealthy! You simply must tell me how you’ve made such a grand turn around!”

He swallows hard at your compliment, raising a hand to the back of his head and scratching nervously. “Luck, Ma’am. Nothing more. I find myself in fortune and simply wish to repay your great kindness.” 

“Of course.” You smile at him, allowing him to take his leave. Now the real game begins. 

Your little spies follow him as he weaves through the streets into the industrial part of town. He ducks into another decrepit building, closing the door firmly behind him. He emerges a few moments later only to tuck a receipt of payment and a few more bills into his shirt. The pace he has is slower now, more relaxed. He believes he’s free, shaken clean of your webbing and can breathe without fear now. 

How wrong he is. 

The look of terror on his face as you block his exit from the alley almost makes you feel sorry for him. He immediately becomes defensive, backing up several feet despite the absence of your body guards. He’s not afraid of you. He’s afraid of who is watching. 

“What are you doing here? I paid you!” 

“You have.” You acknowledge, bowing your head. “I’m not here for money. I simply ask for information. That’s not so terrible, is it? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“I don’t know anything!” 

“But of course you do!” You draw closer and he trips over his own feet, falling flat to the alley floor. “That money wasn’t for you, was it? You have no prospects, no family or land or investments of your own. Only a crippling gambling debt, yes? Paying debt doesn’t accumulate currency, so clearly you must have had some grand scheme. I’m very interested in your process.” 

You bend down, venom gathering behind your fangs as you stroke his petrified face with a cool finger. “From one brilliant mind to another. I’ll keep it a secret. I promise.”

“I- Well-” He looks around anxiously, stumbling over words but so close to breaking. It won’t take much on your part to get him to crack. 

Or it wouldn’t have, anyway. 

A bolt of vibrant blue flame speeds toward you from around a corner almost quicker than you can process and it’s only barely that you manage to dodge it by shoving yourself clumsily backward. The unbelievable heat from the blast doesn’t escape you, and you cover your face as the alleyway erupts in fire, engulfing your only lead in flames and incinerating him before you could make a move to save him and whatever it is he had to say. The smell of charred flesh is overwhelming and despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but smile. 

A tall figure walks fearlessly through the inferno, hands in his pockets and seeming almost bored as he kicks over the ashen figure that was human only seconds ago. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted this idiot.” 

You stay silent, face shielded from the encompassing heat by your palm as he approaches. Inky black hair and a pale body covered in muldering skin, maroon scars stapled together with metal and sheer force of will. His threadbare coat billows around his feet as he trudges down the alleyway toward you. His eyes are a striking shade of blue, focused on you with an empty expression. 

The ends of your hair have singed and your face itches, but it’s nothing compared to the accomplishment you feel. You had a feeling that toying with some strings might bring the cat out to play. 

“So you’re one of the League.” 

You stand up, brushing the dirt off your knees and stabilizing yourself on the wall despite the overwhelming heat. 

“Sure. You’re that babe that lent us the money, right? That was nice of you.” He stops just short of you, arms withdrawing from his pockets and igniting with indigo flame. “Now why don’t you scram? You got your money, what happens from here isn’t your business.”

“Oh, it’s not all business.” You coyly tell him, running him once over with your eyes. “Sometimes it’s just pleasure. Are there other fine, strapping young lads like you in the League or am I just one lucky girl?”

“That depends.” He scoffs, puffing air out of his stapled cheeks. “Do you get any better at prying for information or is this the best you can do?” 

“Oh!” A dramatic gesture and you cross your hands over your heart, already coating your hands in sticky, silken thread. “You wound me!” 

“I’ll wound you a hell of a lot worse if you don’t get out of here.” His fist clenches, and a burst of ever increasing heat emanates from the fire engulfing his hand. “Last I checked, fire still kills spiders.” 

“You’d burn down your own home to kill a single little spider? I’m flattered.” 

Before he can retort, you kick one of your feet out behind you, jumping toward him and latching your legs around his midsection. Your hands are quick to wrap around his own as he tumbles to the ground, burning through the layers of webbing drooling from your fingers. The viscous cobweb coats his palms and successfully extinguishes his flames, if only for a moment. It won’t be long, but hopefully it will give you the time you need. You slather the mixture onto the ground next to his head, immobilizing his arms and trapping him beneath you. 

He looks panicked for a moment, trying desperately to activate his quirk, but it can’t get the air his fire needs to breathe through your gossamer web. You keep steady on his bucking hips, as chuckling he tries to pry his hands free of your thick, durable weave. Once he realizes it’s not going to happen and you haven’t killed him yet, he seems to relax, if only slightly. 

“So, it’s not just a nickname.” He muses, teal eyes focused on your fangs through your grinning lips. “You know, I kill spiders when they’re in my house.” 

You throw him a faux pout, grabbing his jaw with your middle finger and thumb and holding him steady as you inspect the staples that line his jaw. “You’re so cruel. I’m just trying to protect my web. You can’t truly blame me, can you? You’d do the same.” 

His hips thrash again and this time you don’t hold back the little moan it coaxes from you, His pupils dilate and for a brief second he seems frozen. At least before a smarmy smirk tugs at his upper lip. “You got your money, doll. I’m starting to think this isn’t business after all.”

“Maybe it’s not.” You lean down, running your tongue across the textured expanse of his neck and stifling a giggle when he stiffens. “Maybe I see potential in your little group and I want in.” 

“That’s nice of you.” He juts his face toward you only for you to pull back. “But it’s really not up to me.” 

You withdraw your hand from his jaw and run it down his chest instead, fingertips slowly stimulating the rough, scarred skin beneath his neck. “Then who is it up to?” 

“That would be the boss.” He grins, one hand breaking free of your web and immediately finding purchase in your hair. You go to grab his wrist but he tuts you, threatening you with a familiar warmth on your scalp. Long, skinny fingers coil around your roots and yank your head back, and eventually his other hand breaks free, coming up to grip at your waist. “And he’s going to want nothing to do with you.” 

He pulls you down closer to him, the moist heat from his breath collecting on the side of your neck as he keeps you steady on top of him. You can feel him hardening between your legs and you can’t help but wiggle your hips to bolster the sensation. 

“What do I need to do, then?” 

“I’d be willing to put in a good word for you,” The hand on your waist slides down to grip your ass, clenching the fatty skin and slowly moving you back and forth atop his hips. “If you’re okay with working for it.” 

“You’d be so generous, yeah?” You gyrate your lower body against him, feeling the head of his cock poking your clit through his rough jeans. 

“You’d be surprised what I’ll do if you make it worth it.”

“I guess I have no choice then.” Your tongue runs over the point of your fangs, swallowing back all the venom you’d had so ready. Sometimes it’s easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar, and you had the sweetest honey of all right between your thighs. 

“Say the word and I’ll let you walk away, babe.” His fingers loosen their hold on your body but don’t relinquish entirely. “But if you don’t, I’m going to need you to prove your loyalty.”

You push his body down with your chest until the back of his head meets the gravel, allowing him to keep his hold on you. “I’m very loyal.” 

Your tits squish against his pecs and he sneaks a less than inconspicuous peak at them, cock throbbing against your apex. “Prove it.”

You don’t need any further prompting. He almost protests as you shake his hand free and scoot back farther down his legs, at least until he realizes what you’re doing. Your deft fingers work at the buttons of his jeans, yanking them down to his thighs before resituating yourself and working on your own buttons, pulling at them painfully slowly. Once you’ve both exposed yourself to the open air, you can’t help but look at his cock, thick and bobbing against his stomach. It’s one of the only parts of him that isn’t scarred and latched with metal, but the weeping tip looks so inviting. Every bone in your body wants to take him in your mouth and make him see God through sheer force of tongue, but you’ve got a job to do and there’s no time for play. Not this time anyway. 

You sit up on your knees until he’s aligned with your hole, sinking down just enough to tease him with your tightness. He groans, trying to pull you down further, but you’re not having it. You arch your back, keeping your knees steady and allowing only the very tip of his cock to enter you. 

“Fuck- hurry it up, would you?” 

You grab his hands and push them down by his head again, sinking down on him as slow as you possibly can. His eyes roll back in his head, and he hisses all manner of curses as you situate him nice and snug between your suffocating walls. The head of his cock prods at your cervix as you sit on top of him but the fullness stuffed between your thighs forces a breathy moan from you. 

He gives you no time to adjust to his girth, pumping his hips up into you as you’re still catching your breath. “Shit! You’re pretty fuckin tight, babe!” A shiver rolls down his back as his hands move to your hips and try to force you harder up and down against him

“So impatient.” You croon, licking up his neck again before sinking your fangs deep into the rough tissue. 

“Fuck!” 

He’s almost ready to shove you off of him before you start rolling your hips, letting his cock burrow deep into your silken cunt again and again, running your tongue along the column of his throat and nipping softly to gain his trust. You’re not trying to poison him, not now. Your job right now is to gift him pleasure, and so you will. 

“Risky-” He huffs in your ear, one hand smacking down hard enough on your ass that you yelp. “Toying with me like that. I can guess what those fangs can do.” 

“If only you knew everything.” You sigh, letting his hands go in favor of pulling back, your palms finding his knees behind you as your back arches and puts your tits on display for him. 

He can’t resist. The only thing separating him from your chest is a flimsy shirt which he quickly disposes of, heating his fingers enough that the fabric begins to shred before he swiftly pulls it apart. He quickly takes advantage of the fact that your milky tits are within reaching distance, latching on to a nipple and sucking almost painfully. 

A high pitched keen escapes your throat as he puffs and hollows his cheeks, slobbering on your chest with one hand on the crook of your shoulder to keep you anchored close. His cock pummels your insides, pelvis stimulating your clit as you ride him. You’re clinging to control but you can feel it slipping with every sloppy lick of his tongue and every brutal thrust of his hips. His heaving becomes more and more erratic, moist breath practically burning your chest on the odd second he pulls away to watch your face. Your eyes close and you lose yourself in the euphoria of his cock, letting him hit you deep and hard just where you need it. Eventually, he releases your nipple from his mouth and you figure you’re both about to cum. 

That comes to a screeching halt when he slows his pistoning, grabbing your waist with both hands and keeping you from riding him either. 

“What the hell!” You whine, trying and failing to chase your rapidly disappearing orgasm. 

“Dabi.” He hisses, bringing a hand up and kneading your breast with fingers that are too hot to handle, squeezing your nipple and sending another jolt of hot pleasure between your legs. 

“What?” 

Your teeth are clenching, active frustration boiling in your gut. You were so close. Somehow he knows, but he knocks you off of him, watching with mirthful eyes as you land on your butt beside him. Instead of mocking you, he sits up and quickly pulls off his coat, throwing to the ground behind him and spreading it around haphazardly. Before you have time to question, he lurches forward, grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the fabric beneath him. 

“I wanna hear you say it.” He says, maneuvering your legs open and placing his thick cock back at your drooling cunt. “When you cum on my dick, I wanna hear you say my name.” 

He refuses to move until you acknowledge him, so you do. 

“P-please? Dabi?” 

“Good girl” He purrs, plunging inside you again so fast you hardly have time to recover. The hand around your neck heats and you scream, at least until a pair of charred lips forces themselves against your open ones. He pounds into you with renewed energy, slamming with a force that jerks your head back with every thrust. The hand that isn’t firmly clasped around your throat finds its way between your legs and rubs in tight, calculated circles. His slick tongue worms into your throat, licking the front of your teeth.

“You’re cute-” he huffs into your open mouth. “I might keep you around. You’re more useful to me as a whore than a loan shark. Is that what you want, doll? To take my loads in your warm little holes? I’ll take real good care of you.”

You want to tell him no. You have a business, a mission. But as he drills deeper inside you, you’re so close to saying whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t stop. The electric warmth between your thighs is rapidly building, coiling up and ready to burst and you’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps fucking you. 

Some part of him must sense this, because he pulls away from your throat, weaving his fingers up through the crown of your head again and pulling you up to face him. His eyes are glazed, sweat dripping down his temple and he huffs breath through his nostrils that’s practically steam at this point. 

“Beg me to cum.” 

“Please-” 

His fingers work against your clit but just enough to keep the pleasure from fading. You need it faster. You need it harder.

“More!” 

He hums and licks up your lips, slipping his tongue between your teeth again for a brief second. “What’s the magic word?” 

The fingers on your pussy heat slightly as he applies more pressure, watching you through heavily lidded eyes as you writhe and squirm. 

“D-Dabi!” 

“Such a good girl. Say ‘Dabi please let me cum!”

It’s degrading and filthy but fuck you want it. Plus, remember, this is just business. Right?

“Dabi! P-Please let me cum on your cock! Please! I-I need-!” 

He bites down on your bottom lip before the words can leave your swollen tongue. Your body wiggles restlessly as you wait for him to give you what he promised. 

“Good girls get rewards.” 

His hips pull back and shove almost impossibly deep inside, forcing a loud cry from you before he slams mouth down onto yours. His fingers work overtime on your engorged clit, utilizing the wetness seeping from your hole as his cock thrusts in and out. His tongue worms past your lips again and explores every inch he can reach, chuckling as you moan shamelessly into his mouth. 

Though he starts off with a precise rhythm, it quickly becomes erratic as he chases his own pleasure while delivering yours. The hand at your apex is working overtime and the one in your hair is warm enough that you’d likely be a bit worried if you had the mental capacity. He uses both of them to maneuver you to his precise liking, fucking into you like you’re a pliable little doll built solely for his pleasure. 

He’s mumbling incoherently, breathing hot and heavy against your cheek. Your needy moans and whimpers only drive him to move faster and harder as your own hips work double time to meet his powerful pulsating. If you weren’t the one making the noises, you never would have believed it was you. 

“Fuck- shit! Gunna cum nice and deep in your pretty little cunt! Gunna make sure you’re dripping for days-“ He cuts off partway through to let out a heafy groan as you clench your muscles tighter to milk him. “God, so fucking tight-“

Your orgasm is approaching quickly, pain from his bony hips digging into the fleshy fat of your thighs barely a whisper compared to the white hot pressure building at the base of your spine. You can feel his cock twitch against your cervix with every punch against it and you know he’s close too. 

You dig your nails in, fingers clamped against his shoulders and using his movements to build your own momentum. The cacophony of moans between you two becomes louder and more unhinged, him whispering depraved fantasies in your ear that only drive you further to completion. Your head falls back down to the ground as you lose the ability to keep it up any longer, cord finally snapping and unraveling as he throws you over the edge. 

You practically scream as he continues fucking you through your orgasm, legs constricting ever tighter around his narrow hips as you push yourself up harder to chase every ounce of sensation he has to offer you. Stars dance behind your shut eyes and your entire body buzzes with prickling bliss that radiates from your core. You can’t feel the pain in your knees from the asphalt before he flipped you or the localized ache from him ripping at your hair; only the overwhelming, pulsing euphoria as he continues to hit that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you as you ride out your peak. 

His animalistic grunts turn even more primal as your walls flutter around his thick cock, clenching and pulsing around him until he can’t hold back the tide of cresting pleasure anymore. Hot cum floods your insides, so warm you swear it nearly burns you. He continues pumping as it begins to leak from inside you, obscene squelching echoing from the point of entry. He turns his head, finding the crook of your neck and biting down hard enough you cry out, marking you one last time as he continues to stroke himself with your cunt until every last drop has been drained. 

His cock throbs for a moment before slowly softening inside you as he tries to see straight. You’ve yet to open your eyes, only twitching in overstimulation as he withdraws his hand from between your slippery thighs. He allows you to catch your breath for a moment before lightly pushing himself up off of you, careful not to hurt you. 

You slowly regain the ability to move your body and rollout from underneath him, wobbling legs dropping you back onto the cement instead of allowing you to stand when you try. It’s a struggle to pull up your pants since your legs have decided they no longer want to work, but somehow you manage to get them pulled up and buttoned, Dabi’s cum seeping from between your thighs and staining onto the fabric. Dabi himself hoists himself to his feet, using the wall as support. He’s trying desperately to seem unaffected but you don’t miss the falter of his legs like a newborn fawn when he first rises to his feet. 

“Thanks doll, that was fun.” He somehow manages to bend over and grab his coat from the floor, snaking his arms through the armholes and readjusting it over his chest. “I think I’ll be in touch.”

You raise your head, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You think?”

“I dunno.” He shrugs, beginning his walk back down the alleyway where he came from. He turns to look at you one last time, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I might need some more convincing.” 

#Dabi x Reader #nsft #Baby's first dabi fic #do not be too hard on me this is low effort and just to test out Dabi lmao #I edited sorta kinda I swear #Not a whole lot but you know #Reader has a spider quirk that gives her fangs and lovely webbing she can make from her pores #ahaha I’m a fucking pathetic failure.

[jaskiersvalley]

Ok so this is an idea that's been plaguing me but couldn't find it in fic anywhere. Feel free to not write it btw, I just had to share it with SOMEONE. Anyway, imagine a de-aging curse that wears off gradually and in the process, the cursed individual gets older. Like, aging years in a night while staying mostly the same during the day. Imagine the angst potential of Jaskier meeting a pre-Blaviken Geralt who's chatty as fuck. Imagine him meeting Geralt who's just heard of the sacking of KM.

You. I love the way you think. Because this is an idea that I had been toying with about three fandoms ago but wasn’t writing at that point so it never came to anything. Now you come along and reignite the spark. Thank you for the excuse to write it!

CW for injury and past abuse (of the witcher trials kind)

If Only Every Day Was A Birthday

In the grand scheme of things, it was a dumb as fuck thing to do. A ring of toadstools had cropped up on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen one winter morning. Naturally, it was Jaskier who found it and decided that this was within his skill set to deal with, primarily in the form of charming the fae with his songs, charm and overall delightful existence. Even worse, it worked. The witchers watched him chatter away with their less than desirable guests, filling a whole morning with stories, songs, poetry and even a few cruder jokes. In the end, Jaskier talked about birthdays and how sad he was for his witchers that they had forgotten when theirs should be celebrated.

“We wish to reward you for your time,” the fae crooned, getting ready to leave.

“Oh thank you but I couldn’t possibly accept. I have everything I need to make me happy right here.” Jaskier shot Geralt a soft glance.

“Very well. Your reward can be transferred. May the birthdays be as good as you described.” Just like that, the fae melted back into their realm and the toadstools withered.

Looking around, nothing had changed so Jaskier shrugged. Maybe the fae were mistaken or their reward was something like a cake being delivered on a certain day. Cake was always good, Jaskier hoped it would be chocolate. If only the gift had been a simple cake. Nobody was any wiser until the next morning.

“What the fuck?!” Lambert’s shriek was heard throughout the keep and everyone rushed to him in a panic.

In the hall where they had a tendency to gather after dinner, there was a child sleeping in Geralt’s chair. The very chair he had fallen asleep on in fact.

“Where’s Geralt?” Jaskier asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

The child stirred and blinked sleepily up at the men peering down at him. Brown eyes, brown hair but the features were familiar despite the changes.

“Fuck.”

Child Geralt was chatty as anything. He happily followed them all around, was inquisitive and playful. Jaskier watched him beg Eskel to throw him in the air again or for Lambert to spin him. Even Vesemir was approached with a request to read him a story for an afternoon nap. Maybe the fae were onto something, Geralt had needed a break from everything and if this gave him a chance to enjoy life, Jaskier wouldn’t dream of begrudging him a few days.

Only, it wasn’t just a few days. It was all fine for the first few days. Eskel especially seemed happy to dote on Geralt, carried him around on his hip and even showing him how to cook things in the kitchen. Truthfully, Jaskier was a little enamoured, especially when he walked into the kitchen to see Eskel had Geralt sat on the counter, a whisk clutched in tiny hands as it was licked clean diligently.

If only things could have been so simple. Nobody expected Geralt to wake up on the third morning in tears, crying out for his “mama” and rushing around the keep, trying to find her.

“It took him a while to settle here,” Vesemir said sadly. “He was loyal from a young age.”

Each day, Geralt changed a little, grew older. A tension settled around the witchers that Jaskier just didn’t understand. On the whole, after that one day of Geralt tearfully looking for Visenna, he seemed to settle. A little quieter but still bright eyed and eager to please.

Then Geralt woke up with a black eye, a gash across his arm and looking generally miserable.

“Training.” That was all Lambert had managed to grit out before he stormed out. “Means he’s about eight.”

A birthday a day. Jaskier swallowed at the realisation and the knowledge that it was his fault. He watched from the sidelines as Eskel patched Geralt up, brought in a cloth packed with snow to put over the bruising. In a way, Jaskier envied Lambert and the fact he could just storm off to deal with his emotions. It wasn’t a luxury Jaskier was afforded. This was all his doing and he wasn’t a coward to run from his mess.

The next day the bruising and the cut were gone. However Geralt was timid, especially around Vesemir, kept his eyes to the ground. The only one who could coax a smile from him was Eskel. Not even Jaskier’s singing and attempts to pull Geralt into activities seemed to do much. That night, Geralt went to bed and the others sat in a heavy silence around the hearth.

“He’s what, 10 tomorrow?” At least Lambert had come back but he was no less agitated. If anything, he seemed to avoid Geralt at all costs. “I really hope this spell wears off tomorrow.”

The spell didn’t wear off. A bloodcurdling scream signalled the fact Geralt was awake. As one, the witchers were rushing to the room he had been given considering he didn’t remember his own and Jaskier couldn’t face leaving what had been their shared room.

“Don’t go in,” Lambert had warned but it was too late. Jaskier had peered into the room and blanched. There was blood. So much blood. Eskel was sat on the edge of the bed, holding Geralt down who was crying red tears, fingers flexing, trying to fight off the grip so he could claw at his own face. A foot caught Eskel in the ribs and he grunted but didn’t let go of Geralt.

There was hope in Jaskier that maybe the pain would last maybe a few minutes. At worse, an hour. He was proven wrong when the gurgle screams and cries lasted into the afternoon. Not once did Eskel leave him. It was only as midnight came that silence fell across Kaer Morhen once again. That night, Jaskier stayed outside Geralt’s room, the sheets had been freshly changed from filth sodden to something cleaner. The Lambert had dragged Eskel to his room and Jaskier was grateful he didn’t have witcher hearing. Even his human ones could pick up on the dry sobs coming from the room.

In the morning, a yellow eyed but still brown hairs Geralt greeted them with his arm in a sling. As Jaskier made conversation with him, he could hear Vesemir’s murmur of “one down, four to go” and that was the most chilling thing Jaskier had heard.

Sure enough the next day was more choking screams. Eskel looked haggard and they didn’t even snap at Jaskier to get out. Even though Vesemir tried to give Geralt potions to numb him or even knock him out, they didn’t seem to work. Three days of torture. On the second day Eskel barked at Lambert to take over and he hurried out. Each night found not just Lambert and Eskel curled up but Vesemir and Jaskier also ended up in the pile. It wasn’t a pile borne of good moods and love though. Some nights Jaskier watched the witchers, they all looked lost in their own heads, hollow and haunted. It wasn’t a good look on any of them.

White hair on a young teenager looked odd. But Geralt didn’t seem too fazed by it, he looked almost proud when he next woke up coherent. He was also a lot more inclined to tussle with Lambert and Eskel, gleeful in their battles. Even when he woke up with broken bones, on one memorable morning a locked jaw, he still seemed in good spirits. On the surface, the others were too but more than once Jaskier had walked in on Lambert and Eskel looking downtrodden.

“I’d forgotten how bright he was,” Vesemir said, leaning against the wall next to Jaskier while the others were engaged in some kind of strange wrestling that seemed to end up with Lambert and Geralt teaming up against Eskel and tickling him until he was on his knees and laughing while begging for mercy. “The Path had not been kind to him.”

It was an understatement. Watching Geralt grow up and become a witcher was difficult enough. To see him each year, sometimes cocky and sometimes lean with a spark of fury burning through him was fascinating. Until he woke up sullen and quiet. Still a young man but so much more like what Jaskier knew.

“I should have been there,” Geralt murmured and looked at the other witchers. “We’re all that’s left.”

That evening was somber, Geralt leaning heavily against Lambert’s shoulder as they drank.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Lambert murmured darkly. “But you learn to live with it.”

The next day Geralt seemed better but the others were clearly suffering, unable to shake everything that each of Geralt’s birthdays was bringing up. And just when Jaskier thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

Things had been going vaguely okay in their own way. Injuries, aches and pains came and went. Until Geralt woke up and didn’t get out of bed. He was scarily thin, looking worn and in pain on a level beyond physical.

“Renfri,” Eskel had muttered and, without another word, slipped into Geralt’s bed, curled up behind him.

“The year the whole Butcher of Blaviken shit went down, Geralt didn’t come home for winter. Never did tell us where he went or what happened.” Lambert cast a look into the room where Eskel was holding a shaking Geralt. In the end, Vesemir brought them up food and drinks, a second serving for Geralt when he saw how emaciated he was. Everyone ended up curled together in Geralt’s bed that night, quietly grateful that Geralt did actually come back from that disaster.

Not that the next several days were much better. Gone was the cocky, confident Geralt. In his place was a ghost. He ate, he replied is spoken to but stayed out of the way. Lambert was the one to track him down to any hiding place and try to forcibly draw Geralt out.

“It’s what I wish I had done all those winters,” he admitted quietly in the dark one night.

When Geralt laughed about a week later, Vesemir looked ready to cry. He hurriedly excused himself to the kitchen and Jaskier followed.

“He’ll be back to his usual soon,” Vesemir said, trying to keep himself busy by starting on dinner preparations - only three hours too early. “It gets better from now.”

“What changed?”

“You came along.”

Sure enough, Geralt slowly blossomed again. Not at all like what he was, he was more thoughtful, much less likely to rise to Lambert’s asinine riling. But he was no longer a storm cloud haunting the halls of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier went from a terse “bard” to “Jaskier” to “Jask” and, in the end, he was “mine” which was a relief.

They lost track of the years, not like any of them knew exactly how old Geralt was. But the last few days of the spell were only trackable by the scars Geralt’s skin bore.

“Do you think it’s worn off?” Eskel asked one morning.

Geralt gave him a funny look. “What’s worn off?”

So probably not. It was another two days before Geralt sat up in the middle of the pile eyes wide and he growled.

“Fucking fae.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #long post #cw: blood and injuries #cw: witcher trials #tldr: geralt relives all his (unhappy) birthdays

[trash-writings]

Could I request a nsfw story where Risotto finds out that his small, innocent fem!S/O has a vibrater and he uses it on her? Maybe some praise/pet names 👉🏻👈🏻Thank you in advance! ❤🤠

Ohhhhh honeeeeyyyyyyyy. I had a TIME with this let me tell you. I apologize in advance for how long this is. 

Disclaimer: I do not speak Italian and used google translate, please don’t come for me!!

One thing you never expected once you’d started “officially” dating Risotto Nero was for him to ask you to move in with him. You always thought that maybe you’d be the one bringing it up and then annoying him until he finally gave in. The move went well and with minimal nitpicking arguments about where certain furniture looked better. You waited until Ris left to hide a few of your personal items. You knew he probably wouldn’t care too much about you keeping toys around the house, but also you didn’t want to have to discuss the uncomfortable topic with him so close to moving in. 

Ris had always been very possessive and jealous of others, so you suspected he might not like the idea of you getting yourself off alone; even if it was to the thought of him filling you to the brim with his cock. So, you hid the toys from him in your bedroom. He rarely spent time at home, so truly anywhere would have been fine. You thought… 

“Stellina, are you home?” Risotto’s voice fills your ears with one of his favorite names for you as he comes in the front door. You look over to him surprised to see him home so early. He usually worked late into the night, and this time was spent alone. 

“Where else would I be?” You ask once you greet him with a kiss on the cheek. You have to pull him down by his hat and stand on the tips of your toes to make your lips even gently brush his skin. He towers over you, making you feel safe whereas it once was intimidating. 

“I don’t know how you spend your free time, honestly. I only know the parts of you that belong to me…” He teases reaching his large hands down your stomach to the outside of your shorts. His middle finger pressed tightly against your clothed cunt, making you ache for more of his touch. 

“Liar.” You say firmly knowing how attentive to you he always is; in bed and otherwise. “Did you come home just to fuck me then leave?” You pout your bottom lip out. Ris’ dark eyes watch as your lip pushes out. He grins before picking you up so he has easier access to your mouth. 

“No, that’s not it,” your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you up. His teeth take your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently. You wrap your arms around his shoulders making it easier to hold yourself against his body. You don’t realize he was taking you to the bedroom before he throws you down onto the bed. 

"La mia vita la mia anima” his Italian pleases your ears as he kisses your neck softly. “Why do you hide things from me?” As he speaks his hand slips into your shorts, his fingers teasing your wettening clit. His breath is hot against your neck, taking over your senses between his lips and his fingers. 

“What do you mean?” You ask as you desperately try to hold yourself together from his touch. He slowly rubs circles on your clit making you moan softly and close your eyes. 

“Don’t play dumb,” he scolds slightly louder making you open your eyes. When you look at his face you see he’s not angry. In fact, he looks quite calm and composed despite the hot mess you’re becoming below his large figure. 

You pout your lip out again, knowing he can’t resist. “I’m not playing dumb,” you plea truly unsure of what he’s getting at. Your mind is too consumed with his fingers starting to speed up to even process when he pulls out your tiny pink vibrator you thought you’d hidden well. The light humming noise it makes draws your attention to his free hand. 

“Ah, does this spark your memory?” His grin makes your nervousness spark up further. “Why would you hide such a cute and fun little toy from me, Stellina?” He pulls his hand from your shorts standing up at the foot of the bed. 

“I thought maybe you’d be upset that I had it…” you say covering your face to hide your embarrassment.  

“La mia vita la mia anima, I would never be upset about something this silly.” His words reassure you and you peek between your fingers to see he’s already removed his clothes down to his boxers. “It can only add to the fun I can have with you.” 

Before you can respond his lips are on yours as his hands work at undressing you. Your body feels cold against his hot skin, making you crave his warmth deep inside of you. You whine when his lips leave yours, and he only chuckles looking down at you with those deep eyes. Arching your back to push your hips against him earns you a disappointed look. 

“Patience,” he says softly before removing your lacy underwear slowly, leaving you bare beneath him. He turns the vibrator back on drawing your attention once more. 

“What are you going to-” he presses the pink vibrator against your puffy clit making you moan loudly. 

“What was that?” He teases in your ear as you moan louder. The combination of being at his will, your vibrator, and the pending orgasm making it too hard to focus on what he says. You close your eyes as tears start to sting the corners of them. Ris’ lips and teeth slowly nip at the skin of your neck, adding to your pleasure. As you feel the waves of your orgasm approach you let out a long drawn out mesh of Risotto’s name and fuck. 

He pulls the toy away from your clit making you whine loudly and dramatically hit the mattress in a pouty tantrum. 

“I never said you could cum. Not before I fill you up, anyways.” He kisses your forehead softly before removing his boxers revealing his large cock. By now you’d expect to be used to seeing him in all his glory, but the shock of his sheer size always gets you. “Now come here,” he gestures for you to move to the end of the bed. 

You move to the edge of the bed on your stomach, so you can open your mouth for Ris’ cock. He lets out a heavy breath as you slowly wrap your lips around its sizable head. Your tongue slowly teases the soft skin making him moan. 

“Brava ragazza, that’s it.” 

You hollow your cheeks making it easier to take some more of his cock in your mouth. You know you won’t be able to fit it all, but your hand can do just as well on the rest of his length. The spit from sucking on him makes it easy for your hand to jerk him off; making him moan loudly for you as he praises you for taking his cock so well. 

“As much as I want to cover your pretty little face I am desperate to be inside of you, dolcezza,” he pulls himself from your mouth before lifting you up and placing you back down on the bed. He slowly rubs the head of his cock against your wet lips before letting spit drip from his lips to his cock and your cunt. 

He slowly slides his cock into you, the nearly uncomfortable stretch making you cry out. Even after all this time, it takes time to get used to his size at first. His lips whisper sweet praises to you for taking him so well before he begins to fuck you slowly. 

“More,” you beg after a few moments letting him know you’ve adjusted. “Please, I need more, my love.” 

As he thrusts roughly into you, you dig your nails into his back. Risotto loves feeling you desperately cling to him as he fucks you. It doesn't take long for him to bring you close to your orgasm again. Being left unsatisfied from before only made it all the easier for you to near your end. 

“Ris, gonna… cum” you whine feeling yourself squeeze around his cock. He thrusts harder into you, making you scream his name as you cum around him. Your sight goes blurry as the waves of the orgasm crash through your body. You release him as your arms collapse beside you, your legs shaking around his torso. 

“Così carino,” he praises slowly continuing to fuck you. “I’m so close, can you take more?” His fingers slowly stroke your cheek, wiping away some stray tears that gathered on your cheeks as you came. You nod slowly. 

“More, please,” you say softly. He smiles before beginning to fuck you harder once more. The overwhelming pleasure makes your tears fall again, but nothing in you wants him to stop. His thrusts become sloppier, harder, and deeper marking his climax is near. 

He thrusts once more inside of you, stopping as he curses in Italian. His warm cum fills you, already spilling out from around his cock. The fullness is nearly too much. You pant beneath him, feeling the warm cum drip down the lips of your pussy to your ass. 

Ris’ lips quickly cover your face with kisses as he softly praises you for being so good for him. “Next time, I won’t be as nice if you hide things from me…” he warns in a sweet warm tone contradicting the phrase. 

“Maybe I’d like that.” 

#risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #risotto x reader #jjba #jjba headcanons #jjba requests #jjba golden wind #jojos bizarre adventure

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (56) || atz

You don’t even have enough time to scream.

Time seems to slow down just for you, your eyes instinctively drawn to that spot, right there at your right hand, above the bump of your knuckles, where you can see the raised bone beneath soft skin. The silver tip of the blade seems to hover in the air, a mere hair’s breadth from your delicate, human flesh… your lips form the words even before your mind does, but it’s already too late.

“Please, no.”

The blade sinks into your hand.

The feeling, at first, is simple, easy to describe. You feel cold steel against your skin for a split second, paper thin, before the knife enters your hand, cleaving through your flesh with so much ease – almost like warm butter, you think, dazed. Then it shoves through something solid, and you can hear the crunching sounds of the blade puncturing the bones in your hand right next to your ear, ringing through your head again and again… but it doesn’t seem to hurt. You blink, once, twice, mildly confused.

What happened–

Then the pain sets in, and suddenly, screaming doesn’t seem like enough.

Pain as vivid as anything you’ve ever experienced explodes from the wound like white hot firecrackers searing into your flesh, it tears at your skin and screams at you and overwhelms your mind in a cacophony of sheer, bloody pain. You don’t know where the agony begins and you sure as hell don’t know where it ends. It simply comes again and again like sea waves that pound relentlessly at the shore, torturing you indefinitely… it doesn’t end.

“Oh? Does it hurt?” Gunho coos gently and you choke out a sound that sounds inhuman even to your own ears – a twisted, unearthly scream from the depths of hell itself. Even through the blinding pain, you can still feel the metal embedded in your hand, the bones there shattered by the force and pinning you to the deck; even the slightest movement sends shockwaves of torment running down your body.

“Chin Hae!” You hear your captain scream from somewhere in your haze of pain and you cry out weakly, fighting the overwhelmingly instinctive urge to pull your hand to your body and curl up around it to protect the broken limb. But then Gunho steps on your hand, twisting it under the heel of his boot and carving a larger, irreparable hole into your body. You scream again, trying to yank your hand from under him even though doing so hurts so much you can’t see or think straight. You scream and scream and scream, tears cutting through the grime on your cheeks and you can taste salt and iron on your tongue, but you can’t move an inch, nailed to the deck of the Treasure by your own hand.

Gunho frowns down at you, one hand reaching down to card gently through your hair and you scream, thrashing in a desperate attempt to get away from his touch even if it means tearing your body apart. “I know, I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I can’t have you running anywhere while I go after your captain.”

Your captain.

He wants to go after your captain.

Horror and blind rage nearly fills you and for a stupid second, you nearly tear your own hand from the ground in fury; you’d never let him touch your captain. But you’re powerless to do anything as Gunho turns to face your captain, who too, is pinned to the deck with a knife through his sleeve, and there’s no way he’ll be able to fight Gunho off even in your wildest dreams…

“Captain! Run!” You scream out through your tears, your only hand lunging forward and fisting as tight as you physically can in the coarse fabric of his trousers – you refuse to budge an inch in the slightest. Your captain glances over at you in desperation as he sees the state you’re in, the expression on Gunho’s face darkening at your refusal to obey his words.

“ I really wanted to do a good job and bring you in to Commander Kang alive, but I suppose there’s no choice if you’re being difficult.” He crouches over you, drawing another knife from his belt and even beyond the chaotic symphony of pain, fear and adrenaline, terror curs clean like a razor sharp arrow arrow through all of it. “Let go.”

“Chin Hae, let go! Listen to me!” Hongjoong screams at you from behind Gunho, but you neither hear him nor listen, his words echo around in your skull like the ringing of an empty bell before they fade into nothingness. His voice cracks from desperation as he yanks at his sleeve, trying to free himself, but he won’t make it in time.

You know that too.

Let go! Your mind echoes his words, screaming self preservation at you. Let go, let go, let go!

But you can’t.

Instead, the world seems to collapse on itself around you, reducing the entire universe to nothing more than you and yourself. All of a sudden, as if you’re standing in the eye of the hurricane of chaos, a tiny voice speaks up, completely calm and still. You know this voice.

A pair of green eyes stare into yours behind your closed eyelids, burning a hole into your very soul. You know those eyes.

Green as spring’s rebirth, green as the beginning of life.

If you are going to die in the very end, you might as well do it for someone you love. At the very least, this way will be fast and quick, my dear… just let it end...

Right, you think dazedly. I’m dying anyway. So what if it happens now and not later?

“Chin Hae! I said, let go!” Hongjoong practically shrieks at you as he rips his arm from the ground and the sound of the tearing fabric rents the air, but at this point, Gunho’s knife is already poised right above your heart, ready to pierce through your beating heart.

Beating heart?

It feels like being underwater, those first few second when you first submerge your head beneath the waves. When sound disappears only for the space it once occupied to be filled with resounding, eerie silence, do you realise how much you’ve taken it for granted, how the absence of it is terrifying to even your own ears.

Right now, as you search desperately for the beating of your own heart…

You find silence instead.

Before it can fully sink in, the implication of what this could mean, Gunho is ripped from you and thrown bodily across the deck with a shout of fury that’s all too familiar. Your hand stings with heat from the friction burns left on your palm, but you don’t have time to bother with them right now. Yanking yourself upright, you turn towards the source of the commotion as fast as you can.

Gunho’s raising himself to his knees, eyes bright with mirth, sheer, manic excitement painting his face. Even though one of his wrists is bent backwards at a strange angle that can only mean that he’s badly injured, he doesn’t seem to feel it in the least, drawing his sword easily with a grin that borders on crazed.

“I see you’re still as robust as ever, brother.”

“Yunho?” Hongjoong stares at him in shock. And true to Gunho’s words, Yunho is indeed standing there, completely underdressed for battle with only a simple cutlass hanging at his waist. Just standing takes more effort than he can spare, you can already see the sweat dripping from his forehead and neck, the skin there flushed from exertion and paper white. Yet here he is, holding himself upright with sheer force of will, eyes burning with indomitable fire.

“Leave my crewmates alone.”

“Yunho! Stop! The poison will spread through your body if you keep moving and you’ll die!” You cry out, panicked at the state he’s putting himself in, but Yunho cuts your words short with a single sentence.

“There’s no point to being alive if it’s not with all of you.”

Your mouth falls open at his bold words.

“You want to kill me, don’t you, Gunho? Then come at me.” Yunho raises his fists, but you can see his knuckles trembling from the strain. Gunho takes a single, incredulous look at his older brother and laughs at him, his voice ringing out over the chaos of the battle happening on the main deck.

Then the smile melts right off his face to reveal something darker, more terrifying lying beneath that facade of youthful charm that scares you more than you thought it could.

“Are you kidding me, brother? Are you looking down on me?” His voice turns into liquid ice, burning with frost as a snarl leaves his throat. “You won’t even draw your sword to fight with me? You think I’m not capable enough of holding my own against you?”

Yunho doesn’t waver in the least. “I’m not going to kill you.” He says firmly, unmoving. But Gunho doesn’t take that kindly, in fact, it only serves to rile him up even more, his sword practically shaking in his rage.

With a scream, he throws his blade to the side and lunges right for Yunho, tackling him to the ground. The two brothers crash onto the deck with a heavy thud that you feel all the way down to your bones, rolling along as they beat and thrash against each other with all the ferocity of two wildcats aiming to kill.

“Yunho!” You cry out in alarm, stricken with worry for him, but before you can do anything, Hongjoong runs towards you, checking the hand of yours that’s pierced to the deck. Your fingers twitch weakly, as if trying to tell you they’re alright, and Hongjoong’s face falls, biting on his lower lip so hard a drop of bright crimson blood wells up there.

You want to tell him that you’re okay, that you can barely feel the pain there anymore, but your captain’s head falls, eyes unable to meet yours. “I promised I’d protect you, but you ended up getting hurt because of me… you fool, Chin Hae. You absolute fool.”

“Sorry captain,” you croak, not apologetic in the least. “But I couldn’t just not do anything, not when you were there and Gunho was just–”

Before you can say another word, Hongjoong is ripped from your grasp. Everything happens in the span of a single second, a blur of shapes and colours too fast for your eye to process, and in the next instant, what you see horrifies you.

Gunho’s standing against the rail, forearm pressed against Hongjoong���s neck and yanking upwards. Your captain is left dangling in the air, feet kicking out furiously and clawing against the bare skin on Gunho’s forearm, his face turning purple from lack of oxygen and gasping for air, leaving trails of blood running down the younger man’s arms. But Gunho doesn’t even flinch, raising a knife to press beneath Hongjoong’s throat, his eyes completely merciless.

“Will you fight me now for real now, brother?”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

[cupcakefoggy]

Absent - Grindelgradence

My pinning ceremony for my nursing school graduation was cancelled due to COVID, then the virtual one was also cancelled and I’m crushed. Figured I’d check in on my new OT3 and see if they’re handling disappointment any better than I would...

It’s a hot, messy August night and Credence doesn’t care, he’s so excited he could almost scream. He changes hastily in the bathroom at work, button-down shirt and crisp tie underneath his lab coat. This is the most important day of his life...well. After his wedding day, he thinks with a smile, touching the thin gold band on his left hand. He can’t wait for Gellert and Percy to see him right now.

There’s a reception before the actual ceremony. He waits by the punch bowl, texts them both three or four times. He blames New York traffic when he hasn’t yet caught sight of his husbands by the time the procession begins. The new students parade into the auditorium. Credence takes his place on stage. With the lights in his eyes, he can’t see if his partners have made it or not.

The ceremony begins. The students receive their coveted NYU patches on the shoulders of their lab coats and recite the Nightingale pledge by artificial candlelight.. He swears if he listens hard enough during the closing remarks he can hear Gellert’s low, rumbling laugh in the crowd, but no one comes to greet him after the ceremony. He waits, twenty minutes, thirty, forty. Every time the auditorium doors swing open or the reception hall door slams he looks up, but he never sees either one of them, and every time his heart breaks just a little more. His friends ply him with sympathy, offer to take him out with their families. 

No. He doesn’t want their families, he wants his. They have to be here. They promised they’d be here. He feels spoiled and mean for being disappointed right now, his heart hammering against his ribs, disappointment warring with self-disgust. You greedy little boy, his mother’s voice hisses in his head, a stark contrast to the fantasy of his husbands engulfing him in a hug before they take him to his favorite restaurant for a celebratory dinner.

The keynotes speaker, the head of the school of nursing, is last to leave; sees Credence standing there in his lab coat and patch, gently asks if he needs a ride. That’s when Credence gives up and decides it’s time to go home.

He takes the subway home, wondering the whole time how this happened. Percy is organized to the point of actual paranoia and Gellert never misses an opportunity to brag about him (and embarrass him) in public. How could they have forgotten? He looks down at the patch on his shoulder and he’s morbidly thankful for the New Yorker tendency to ignore anything that’s not your own personal business, because it means no one on the subway cares that he’s crying his eyes out. 

He remembers the day he came home with a flawless report card, must’ve been in fifth grade, and his mother burned it, telling him don’t take so much pride in worldly accomplishments. Is that, he wonders now, what they’re trying to tell him? Is this Gellert and Percy’s way of reminding him you’re not special, we’re done babying you, hundreds of thousands of kids your age go to nursing school, we’re not going to throw you a damn parade? He cries, hard but nearly silent, and soaks the sleeve of his lab coat drying his tears as he gets off the subway and walks the last few blocks to their apartment.

He gets home and finds that the lights are all off, save the tiny one over the stove in the kitchen...which is a mess, with dishes piled high in the sink, flour and sugar dusted over the counter, milk spilled on the floor. Credence’s heart melts when he sees the cake on the counter: two square tiers, frosted in NYU’s signature purple and white, a border of little sugar stethoscopes and red crosses surrounding the words Congratulations, Credence! written in Percy’s flawless cursive. He doesn’t have to smell or taste it to know it’s his favorite flavor, strawberry lemonade.

Disappointment turns to worry. They didn’t forget. Something is wrong, then, and Credence has a pretty good idea of what it is. He runs to the bedroom and finds the lights mostly off here, too. Gellert looks up when he enters the room. There’s a bundle of blankets lying beside him with its head in his lap. Gellert is slowly, gently stroking said blanket bundle and Credence doesn’t have to ask, but Gellert tells him anyway: “I’m so sorry, mein schatz. It was a really bad one this time...”

Credence doesn’t waste a minute. He shucks his lab coat, drops his bag to the floor and crawls up onto the bed on the other side of the blanket bundle and carefully rests a hand on the trembling back of it. "I’m here, Percy,” he says softly. “I’m right here. It’s okay. We’re all safe.”

The blanket-bundle only shakes harder, and Gellert joins in. “We’re both here now, whenever you’re ready to come out,” he tells Percy soothingly. It takes perhaps another half hour of gentle reassurance before Percy emerges from the blanket-bundle with red swollen eyes, and Credence feels his heart break all over again.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Percy says to him, followed by, “I made you a cake?” As if Credence requires an offering in order to grant benediction.

Credence lies down beside Percy, slides one arm under his neck and wraps the other around his waist, drawing him in close. “I saw the cake,” he says as he strokes Percy’s hair. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Percy relaxes against him, hearing the unspoken I understand, I still love you in his words. On his other side Gellert lies down too, and wraps one arm around them both. He mouths flashback at Credence; Credence had long worked that out but he acknowledges it with a tiny nod.

“I’m sorry,” Percy says again, and his shoulders shake as he repeats, sounding as if someone is choking him, “I’m so fucking sorry, I lost time, I don’t know what happened. You must be so furious with me, sweetheart, I’m so--”

“Sh-h-h. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Credence holds him close, tucks Percy’s head under his chin; nothing soothes Percy more during a panic attack than being able to hear the sound of his husbands’ heartbeats. “You’re safe,” he tells Percy softly. Gellert snuggles up behind him, letting Percy feel that he is surrounded on all sides by people who would do anything for him. “Half the families didn’t even come,” he lies. “It wasn’t that big a deal. It’s not like graduation or anything.”

Gellert’s eyes meet his and Credence knows that Gellert, at least, knows he’s lying. But it doesn’t matter. Percy seems to take comfort in it, and that’s all he cares about. He knows Percy will want to make it up to him. Credence will let him. They’ll celebrate tomorrow, and any remaining traces of disappointment will be swept away like cake crumbs off the coffee table. But right now this isn’t about him, Credence thinks. Right now, Percy needs him.

Percy drifts to sleep in his arms and Gellert waits until then to ask him in a whisper, “Are you all right? Do we need to talk?” Credence shakes his head. The hurt has long disappeared. He knows they would have been there if they could. Percy can’t control what triggers his panic attacks or flashbacks any more than Credence can control what sets off his own anxiety, and he doesn’t break down like this very often. Something happened, and they’ll need to talk about that later, but right now all he cares about is that Percy is asleep, breathing slow and deep and even, and now Gellert is smiling at him, the pride shining through his eyes visible even in the dim light.

“You’re going to make such a fantastic nurse,” Gellert tells him, leaning across Percy’s sleeping form to drop a kiss on the temple of Credence’s head. He feels the place where Gellert’s lips touch his skin, feels Percy’s breath against his neck, and this, he thinks, is all he needs.

#grindelgradence #grindelgraves #gravebone #gradence #fanfic #fantastic beasts and where to find them #modern AU #credence barebone #ezra miller #gellert grindelwald #mads mikkelsen #percival graves #colin farell #panic attacks #disappointment #college AU #heartbreak #fix it #ot3 #credence/gellert/percival

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Speak No Evil (Part 16)

The fit she throws isn’t the one that Seicho had expected. What she had expected were pillars of fire and a barrage of cutting words, etched heavy-handedly into the sand. She thinks that the one she got is infinitely worse.

They are miles away from the volcano and the woman knows it. She sees it in her mute screams of frustration and rage. Those soundless cries put a unique sense of discomfort in her like no other at all. The woman is truly suffering in silence in every sense of the phrase and Seicho wonders if it is even possible to relieve her of it. She tries anyways. Tries despite how much the woman must irreparably and unapologetically resent her.

The woman’s face is red, strained, tearstained. Seicho pulls her into her arms and squeezes. Tighter than she has ever. Tighter than she has even held her own sister. She couldn’t save her from herself. She can’t save this woman from herself either. But she can at least try to get this woman to try to save herself.

She presses the woman’s cheek against her chest. Her sobs send tremors through Seicho’s body. She is somehow tense and limp all at once. And those tears; she wishes that the woman could make a sound, it would be so much less unnerving. All the same she doesn’t want to even imagine how tormented they would sound.

Seicho doesn’t know what else to do she rests her head on the woman’s and rubs her back over and over again until her cries let up at least a little. She is so terribly broken. Behind all of that resentment and beneath-the-surface rage is mountains of hurt. Perhaps fear. Certainly hopelessness. The only sound she hears are the woman’s soft, gasping breaths and occasionally small wheezes that are perhaps what is left of her ability to vocally cry. She hates these the most, they sound painful. She hopes that they aren’t truly so, the woman is in enough pain.

“Let’s get you back home.” Seicho finally says after at least twenty more minutes of letting the woman weep freely. “Your brother’s probably worried.”

‘He doesn’t care about me.’ She drags her pointer through the dirt. Her hand is still shaking, Seicho feels it when she takes it in her own.

“We’ll see about that.” Seicho mutters softly as she scoops the woman into her arms once more. She huffs, even with a good break, the woman is growing quite heavy in her sore arms. With luck she will begin walking on her own again soon. Though it would seem that she has thrown all of what was left of her energy and motivation into getting to that volcano. She is fresh out of willpower.

.oOo.

It is strange to be back on Fire Nation land. The sand sifts like snow but it is so very different. Everything is different really; where the tribes had smelled, pure, fresh, and clean, the Fire Nation is tainted. Not necessarily in a bad way but the air isn’t pure it is dashed heavily with smoke and spices and cooked meat, there is a bite of sulfur that she is no longer used to.

It is loudner too, much more bustling and clamoring. Where there had been arctic fox yowls and yips there is now the howl of vendors shouting over one another to draw attention. The crunch of snow beneath feet is swapped out for the crunch of gravel beneath carts. More people are out and about and TyLee almost longs to get right back on the airship and take Tuya’s offer to visit again. She knows that she will eventually, just not so soon.

Evidently, she isn’t sure where she is going to go now. She isn’t sure what the Fire Nation can possibly offer her when all of the real excitement is to be had in the frigid mysteries of the poles and their glaciers.

Maybe she will go back to performing. Perhaps theater or dance or try to join a band and sing. That is what she will do, she decides. She will dabble in everything that she can, try a bit of this and then a bit of that until she finally discovers which hobbies suit her best. Until she discovers what she truly loves not what she has been forced or coerced into loving.

Once she does that, she will muster up the courage to confront Mai. Just maybe she will find the bravery to confront Azula again, this time unwaveringly. And perhaps she will end up severing old bonds completely. It might be that, that is part of the healing process.

.oOo.

Seicho cares for her much more than she ought to. She does most of the foraging and cooking. She sets up all of the shelters. Occasionally Azula lights a fire for her. But mostly Azula lays quietly. Resigned. There isn’t really anything for her to do. She hasn’t anything to work for, nothing to aspire to be. She doesn’t have the compulsion to find anything. She has no purpose nor capacity to care. And yet she has failed to end herself and, by extension, the expanse of bleak and unremarkable nothingness laid out in front of her. She sits with her legs drawn up to her chest and stares almost unblinkingly into the fire.

“We’re about a day away from the beach.” Seicho remarks. “The one we met on.”

She had gotten the point the first time. Perhaps Seicho thinks her stupid. And perhaps Seicho is right. She doodles lazy spirals in the dirt.

“How can I help you?” Seicho asks. “I want to, but I don’t know how.”

Azula shrugs. She isn’t sure either. She isn’t sure that she wants help. She might very well like to watch herself fall and fall until she falls away completely. There is the faintest little itch, a residue of her former self that compels her to cling on for just a little longer. It is easy to shut out.

But Seicho doesn’t let her. She takes her hand and holds it against her cheek. Azula isn’t sure what the gesture is supposed to mean. A sign of affection probably, but Azula isn’t used to that anymore. Isn’t sure how to take it.

“I’m glad that you didn’t make it up that volcano.”

For the first time in a few days Azula responds. She replies with a simple, ‘why’.

Seicho shrugs. “I just like you. I just have a feeling, ya know?”

She doesn’t.

“I like telling you stories.” She continues. “You’re the only one who listens. I mean really listens. Everyone pretends to listen to me they say ‘mmhmm’ and ‘yeah’ but they don’t really listen. They always talk over me…”

Then Azula supposes that she has found the perfect companion.

“And you don’t do that.”

She makes out to scrawl a, ‘because I can’t’, but Seicho continues. “You might not be able to talk but you can still ignore me…”

Oh she highly doubts that…

“But you don’t. I bet that if I asked you to repeat everything we’ve talked about you’d be able to write it all out. Because you don’t just listen, you pay attention.”

Finally she writes, ‘people know how to ignore you?’

“They’re really good at it.”

‘Maybe they can teach me.’

Seicho laughs. Azula isn’t sure if it is a bitter laugh or a genuine one. “Thanks for listening to me ramble. I guess it was kind of a hostage situation.”

Azula nods, indeed it was. Though she supposes it was probably one of the better wastes of her time. At least this time around her failure won’t result in raised voices and shaming words.

Seicho is unusually quiet for a very long time before she finally asks, “do you really want to go?”

Azula furrows her brows.

“If you want to...you know, I’ll let you do it. I won’t leave until it’s over but I’ll let you do it. If it hurts that much…”

It takes her a moment to put two and two together and her stomach grows queasy when she does.

“I mean I don’t want you to but I guess that it’s kind of cruel to make you live if…”

Azula shakes her head. She doesn’t think that the woman means it. She can’t, not after everything.

“So, is that what you want?”

Azula swallows. Suddenly she isn’t so sure. She is sure of one thing, she just wants everything to stop hurting.

Seicho seems to smile. “It isn’t, is it?”

At last, Azula shakes her head no.

Seicho grins wider, “I was hoping that you’d say that.” And then much quieter, “I had a feeling that you would.”

More than anything, Azula just wants the pain to stop. She just wants to feel loved and lovable. She just wants to stop hurting everyone around her. A sense of control would be really nice too and a touch of dignity and honor. Confidence.

But first things first. She lets Seicho give her a small squeeze before she pulls out her parchment and brushes. Slowly and elegantly she scrawls upon the parchment, ‘Azula.’

Seicho cocks her head and Azula points to herself.  Seicho smiles, “your name is Azula?”

She nods.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #TyLee #Tyzula #Fanfiction

[shanastoryteller]

Trick or Treat Shana!!!! Could you maybe do something Naruto related? I love how you spin the show

Naruto insists that theywere the best of friends from the beginning, inseparable from the moment thathe knocked her over while running from an irate shop keeper at the age of five.

Sakura rolls her eyes andinsists that it was only once they started the academy at the age of seven thatthey became real friends.

It doesn’t make much ofdifference about which one of them is right. The end result is the same.

~

Sakura doesn’t really have a crush on Sasuke. For one,she’s used to loud and bright and cheerful, and his stoic angst just gives hera headache. For another, Sasuke thinks Naruto is an idiot, which he kind of is,but he’s her idiot, so. That being said, competing for his attention with Inois usually a lot of fun, and there’s a thrill of triumph at her shrill cry ofdespair at Sakura being put on Sasuke’s team instead of her. Unfortunately,it’s pretty much immediately overwhelmed with the knowledge that she’s been puton a team with her best friend and a silent, stubborn jerk.

She meets Naruto’s gazeacross the room, and he shrugs in ‘what can you do’ gesture. Sakura sighs,because in her ideal world she’d have been put on a team with Ino and Naruto –even Kiba would have been okay – but training with Sasuke is going to be such apain.

“Troublesome,” shemutters. Shikamaru (who is well aware of her true feelings and always has been)laughs.

~

On top of the roof,staring at their new sensei and trying not to snort at the bit of chalk duststill in his hair, Naruto looks at Sasuke out of the corner of his eye. Handsshoved in his pockets and shoulder’s hunched, he just looks kind of …. lonely. Naruto’s pressed up next to Sakura from shoulder to hip, but it’s kind of justoccurring to him that he’s never actually seen Sasuke touch anybody before,unless it was sparring.

He’s knocked out of histhought process by Sakura elbowing him in the ribs. “Hey!” he rubs his side,but doesn’t move away from her. “What was that for?”

“Sensei’s talking toyou,” she says, glaring, but he’s known her way too long not to notice thespark of amusement hidden in her eyes.

“Oh, right. What?” heblinks.

Kakashi’s eye is stillclosed and it looks like he’s grinning under the mask, but Naruto is verycertain he’s irritated. It’s what Naruto does best after all. “I said, you gofirst.”

“Go first for what?” he asks. Sakura coughs to hide a laugh. He knocks their shins together.

“Name, likes, dislikes,dreams …” Kakashi repeats.

Naruto thinks if helistened carefully he could hear the man gritting his teeth. “Oh. I’m NarutoUzumaki! I like Sakura, and training, and ramen, and Iruka-sensei! Idislike….uh,” he scratches his head, eyes squinting. He’s probably laying in ona little thick, but Sakura is nearly turning red to keep from laughing so it’sworth it. “I dislike the four minutes it takes ramen to cook, and the Councilbecause they give Jiji headaches. I’m going to be Hokage!” He ended thisdeclaration with throwing both hands up in victory signs.

Kakashi blinks. “…Right.Pinky, you next.”

“Okay!” Sakura chirps andflutters her eyes at him, and now it’s Naruto’s turn to keep from laughing.“I’m Sakura Haruno. I like Naruto, cooking, and reading.” Naruto shoots her awounded look, and she rolls her eyes. “Training is fun too, I guess. I dislikepeople who are mean to my friends. My dream is to be a top class kunoichi, andprove that ninjas from civilian backgrounds can be just as good!”

“Yatta!” Naruto andSakura high five.

Kakashi is blinkingprobably more than he needs to. If he’s thrown off by them now, Naruto isseriously looking forward to working with him, even if he’s late always. “Okay.Your turn,” he jerks his chin towards Sasuke. Both Naruto and Sakura turn tolook at the last Uchiha in interest, because as far as they’re aware Sasule’sonly hobbies are training and being a bastard.

The kid grunts andstraightens part way from his crouch, “Sasuke Uchiha. I like getting stronger.I dislike being weak. My dream is to rebuild my clan and avenge their deaths.”

Sakura slumps so most ofher weight is on Naruto. He pats her shoulder, and they don’t have to look ateach other to know they’re both having the same thought:

We’re doomed.

~

Kakashi is, if he’s beinghonest with himself, intrigued by this group of genin. They’d all hidden whenhe’s said the test was about to begin, but Sasuke’s off on his own while Narutoand Sakura have hidden themselves up the top of one of trees at the edgeof the clearing. With a little bit of chakra, it’s easy enough to pick up theirconversation.

“-Academy! This isinsane!” That’s Naruto, far too loud for someone supposedly hiding.

Sakura responds, tornbetween frustrated and whining, “I know! A genin against a jounin –“

“Oh not just any jounin.Copy-Nin Kakashi, he’s S-Ranked in the Bingo Book. He’s also Ex-Anbu.”

Kakashi blinks, becauseno one below Chunnin should have access to a Bingo Book, and anyways how the fuck does Naruto know he used to be anANBU?

“Naruto, how the hell do you know that?”

“Who used to babysit me?”Naruto returns. Kakashi isn’t even seeing the words in his book anymore,because Naruto wasn’t actually supposed to know he was being watched by Anbu.And if, as an organization, they’d been beat by a kid, he was turning in hisheadband.

“Huh,” Sakura says, “Anytips?”

“He smells like dogs and,unlike most of ANBU, almost never like blood,” Naruto offers, dry.

Sakura groans, whileKakashi mentally puts down training with the Inuzuka for Naruto whether theypass or not based on his sense of smell alone. “So he’s either really, reallyinsanely good, or watching you wasn’t healing time.”

“Watching me was alwayshealing time,” Naruto says immediately, and for being a supposed dead lastNaruto is proving himself to be an annoyingly perceptive little kid. “Why elsewould they waste Anbu on me? It was a mission, but a mission with like, zerorisk. And Kakashi-sensei is really,really insanely good, so there’s no way they’d waste him on me if he couldperform other missions. “

“Unless there’s apersonal tie between you,” Sakura says, and hoo boy, wow, what a smart littlekiunoichi in training she is. He’s going to destroy her.

“You know,” he sayscheerfully, shiriwaming to right next to them, “You two should be more quiet ifyou’re trying to hide your position.”

“AAAHHH!” Naruto screams,and then falls out of the tree. Sakura follows Naruto down, more controlledin her decent, but they both hit the ground softly, rolling to their feet andrunning across the field without breaking momentum. He throws a katon jutsoafter them, and the fireball goes wide, but Naruto still yelps and ducks.Kakashi leans against the branch, and hopes it will have the effect of drawingSasuke out as well.

Kakashi leaves a clonelazily reading Icha Icha in the tree, and goes to trail the genin. He findsthem in another clearing, this time with a low level notice-me-not jutsu aroundthem. Of course, it’s only effective if the person doesn’t know who they’relooking for, but it’s a nice try.

“We need a plan,” Sakurais saying, “We can’t just hide from him, we’ll never get the bells from himthis way.”

“We can’t get the bellsfrom him at all,” Naruto sighs, “He’s a jounin,”

“Theoretically, a fewgenin can take out a jounin.”

“Yeah, maybe, but certainly not alone. Andwe’re awesome Sakura, we’re great, but –“

“We’re no match forKakashi-sensei,” Sakura agrees, slumping.

Naruto huffs and thensquints, looking eerily close to where Kakashi is hiding. He crosses his arms,“I could just send a couple hundred shadow clones at him to wear him down?”Kakashi really hopes Naruto’s exaggerating, but he read Iruka Imuno’s report,so he knows he isn’t.

“You know, we could ask Sasuke for help,” Sakura says.

Kakashi blinks. This ispromising.

Naruto snorts, “Oh, yeah,like he’ll go for that. You heard him, he’s all avenging lone wolf.”

Sakura grumbles, “We’lljust beat him up until he agrees.”

“I don’t want to waste mychakra beating sense into Sasuke. That could exhaust even my reserves.”

“Naruto, you justsuggested making a few hundred shadow clones. I’ve literally seen you expelchakra from your hands for hoursbecause the shimmering was more amusing than Iruka-Sensei’s lecture. Yourchakra reserves are never a cause for concern. Your chakra control on the other hand –“

“Oh, shut up,” he shovesher, but they’re both smiling. A sudden scream of thwarted rage echoes acrossthe clearing, and Kakashi blinks as his clone is dispelled and he gets thememories of Sasuke leading him into a trap that he never would have fallen for, but his shadow clone apparently didso cheerfully and waved at Sasuke as he was expelled.

Both Naruto and Sakuraare looking towards the sound of the scream. “Well,” Naruto sighs, “at least we know where he is.” He stands, holding out a hand to pull Sakura to her feet.“If he tries to kill us on sight, I’m blaming you,” he says, already dartingaway.

“If he succeeds, I’mblaming you,” Sakura counters.

Kakashi silently followsthem. Even if Sasuke flat out rejects them, he still might pass them. Narutoand Sakura clearly understand the value of teamwork, and clearly not just witheach other. That’s valuable, especially in ninja so young.

#naruto #prompt answers #prompts are closed #this is #long #aikohitsugaya #asks

[hesesols]

of soap suds and broken dishes

Summary: There will never be a right time for some conversations. In which Rukia has some exciting news to deliver and the timing is ... less than ideal. 

Rating: T

FF/ao3 

x

Chapter 1: Timing Is Everything

Her hands started shaking even before her mind processes the gravity of the situation.

The plus sign on the pregnancy test stick is staring right back at her and no amount of heavy breathing; thigh-pinching; fervent prayer that this is all a bad dream she's ten seconds from waking up from; is going to change that.

She gulps.

Ichigo.

Ichigo needs to know.

She needs to tell him and part of her is scared shitless of what he's going to say.

She doesn't tell him.

It's not intentional on her part- at least for the first few days after she found out.

It just slips her mind sometimes about her new condition and then there's the fact that she could never seem to find the right time to tell him. This doesn't feel like the sort of thing that is light enough to be shared over the breakfast table or when they're cuddling in bed with their bedclothes on, mind switched off, body wrapped around each other.

Outside these hours, their lives are bound to the vigorous demands of the mundane world and its limitations. Time is finite in this world. Him with his busy university classes and lab sessions, her with her odd shifts at the local coffee shop and double-life as a seated officer of Gotei 13 meant that dinner is sometimes take outs and pizzas served on cheap plastic plates, wine in everyday mugs, excuses they make to ignore the presence of the growing pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

That there are mornings when Ichigo will jump out of their bed with a curse and start throwing on wrinkly clothes from the day before, screaming about how he's late as he shuts the front door with a bang that's loud enough to rattle the whole building but not before he rouses her, barely awake and squinting from the brightness with a goodbye kiss.

That there are nights when she will come back after a week-long stint in Soul Society and the ache of separation hits her more than she would care to admit but Ichigo leaves the light on. He greets her with his pretty eyes and hungry kisses and they'll spend that morning and the next in bed, making up for the lost time in the coil of their needy bodies.

This is a snapshot of real life for the two of them living together in relative anonymity in the Human World. She loves Ichigo and he loves her. Society has come a long way since feudalistic times and what Nii-sama doesn't know won't hurt him.

.

Take away the Shinigami aspect of their lives- the crazy out-of-this-realm misadventures they get swept into, wars between worlds waged and won in the span of a summer holiday, the battle scars adorning their bodies and they're literally as normal as their next door neighbours, human and barely out of their twenties, trying to find their place in this strange cruel world, somehow made warmer with Ichigo's hand in hers.

Being with Ichigo just makes her happy- happy enough to live in the now and not think ahead. She doesn't want to ruin what they have, doesn't want to upset the resemblance of a normal life she's constructed and cocooned herself in within the confines of their tiny apartment.

They haven't even talked about the future in so much as to where they would live after he graduates from college. Springing this on him just seems cruel- cruel when his life is only just beginning, about to take flight and she's gone ahead and done the unthinkable to clip his wings.

What if he's disappointed?

.

What if he doesn't want the baby?

.

The last thought renders her physically sick. Sud-covered hands reach instinctively for her baby bump that's barely showing.

For now, anyway.

.

Give it a few more weeks and he's bound to notice something. He's not that dumb (or at least she hopes he isn't). There are only so many times she can say no to the casually-offered beer and wine or mumble something along the lines of that time of the month to disguise the however many trips to the bathroom before he catches on.

.

.

.

"I'm home."

The sudden noise makes her jump and she loses her grip on the slippery half-washed dinner plate. It clatters to the floor, broken.

.

Shit!

.

Swearing comes entirely second nature when she cuts herself on the edges.

"Rukia?"

"In here," she calls out to him, holding the cut finger under the running water. Truth be told she's more upset about the broken plate- there were four in a set with matching bowls and now they're one short- than her injuries. The cut doesn't even look deep and the bleeding is bound to stop soon.

"Let me see."

Ichigo seems to think otherwise as he unceremoniously drops his bags and the heavy groceries by the door, eyebrows furrowing deep as he crouches down next to her, inspecting her wound.

Though calling it an inspection may have been a stretch.

He barely even glanced at it before he's hollering at her to stay put while he grabs the first aid kit.

"You're being ridiculous! It's just a cut!"

He should know better- what with his experience of violence and theoretical knowledge as a future physician. She's been through worse. They both have. Cuts that are deep enough to see gaps of bones in between, torn ligaments, broken bones, ruptured organs, a fist through the stomach- the memory makes her shudder now more than ever. He shouldn't be fussing over her for a flesh wound that barely registers on her scale of pain.

But he doesn't let go of her hand and merely grunts when she calls him a fool for making a big deal out of something as trivial as this.

"It'll heal quick. I don't s-"

She hisses, surprised by the sudden sting of antiseptic over broken skin. His gesture is uncharacteristically apologetic when he presses a kiss to her knuckle.

.

It doesn't make sense.

She's suffered much, much worse in her line of duty. He knows she has and she has survived, grew stronger and thrived. With every cut and blow that aims to knock her down, she rises up, bloodied and valiant to meet the next challenge. Yet she doesn't think she has ever seen him quite so serious, cleaning her cut and dwarfing her hand in his like she's soft, fragile like glass and twice as likely to break. Lord knows that she has never been neither of those things.

"I'm sorry. We don't have any bunny plasters but Yuzu left some Hello Kitty plasters in the first aid kit the last time she restocked it for us and I think you'd like them- why are you crying?"

Tears.

She can't remember the last time she felt them running down her cheeks. Have they always tasted so salty?

Through the burn of them, she sees his panicked face. His fists clench tight and grip at her as he holds her- shuddering breath and all, waiting for her to still and quiet so she can tell him who to hurt and who to maim.

This idiot!

Look at what he's reduced her to- this teary-eyed walking bundle of hormones who tears up because her boyfriend/baby daddy gave her some Hello Kitty plasters when she cut her finger.

"I'm pregnant, you dolt."

Ichigo wears his heart on his sleeves and the vulnerability on his face- the sheer multitude of emotions- shock, awe, joy, love, above all, love- when he absorbs the impact of the news and embraces his new reality is enough to make even a hardened warrior like her choke on the waterworks.

His eyes widen and the grip on her tightens as he presses her deeper into his embrace.

"H-How long?"

"It's early."

She thinks she's barely passed the sixth week mark.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to!"

Her hands fist at his clothes. She has lost count of the number of times when she wanted to reach for his hand under the covers as they spooned against each other and whisper it soft and slow into the night and put it to rest.

But every time she wants to open her mouth and speak, doubt makes her swallow those words whole because-

.

What if this isn't what he wanted?

.

This isn't something that they've planned for and she is too in love with the tranquillity of the moment, the peaceful look on his face, smiling at her- like she makes this life worth living for, to even consider ruining it. Is it wrong for her to think that the news can wait for another day if only to make tiny beautiful moments like these last a little while longer?

"…There just doesn't seem to be a right time to tell you."

He deadpans, "and you think now is the perfect time for us to have this conversation?"

There are soap suds in her hair, dirty dishwater stains on the front of her shirt. He has dark circles under his eyes, stinks of alcohol sanitizers, looking tired like he hasn't slept well for days. In the background is a precarious mountain pile of dishes to be washed waiting in the sink, shattered pieces of a broken dinner plate on the kitchen floor that still needs to be swept away.

Them in the comforts of their own home- the very essence of their domestic mundanity stripped down to the bones- messy, loud, less-than perfect; but at its heart, once the initial embarrassment of her housekeeping skill or the lack-there-of passes, is love.

.

She sighs, resting her forehead against his chest. "This is all your fault. This would have never have happened if you listened to me when I told you it's your turn to do the dishes."

"You could have waited?" he challenges, "You know class ends early for me today."

Rukia rolls her eyes as she informs him rather drily, "We ran out of clean plates two days ago."

Laughter rumbles low and throaty from him, his heartbeat thrumming steadily from his chest- a symphony strung along with bits of heart and soul, hopes for tomorrow that sooth her.

When the laughter dies, he buries his face in her hair, soaking up the warmth of her tiny body with his. He holds her, drawing lazy circles on the skin of her bare arm, tentative as he asks.

"Rukia. Were you afraid that I'd be disappointed? Or angry?"

She squirms in his arms, ashamed almost when she tells him, "A little of both."

A snort followed by a fond exasperated "Idiot. I love you and I promise to love you and to love our child forever and always and-" his breath catches, his world whirling, and he's looking at her like she's made of starlight and moon dust and- "you're carrying our baby!"

The hard lines on his face soften, his hands clearly shaking and the disbelief from the happiness that threatens to leave him in tears as he presses kisses to her- "We're going to have a baby."

The heat of his open palm is reassuring on her still-flat stomach. She smiles, mirroring his joy, and keeps his hand there, holds it in place with her own.

"We're going to have a baby."

.

There is never going to be a right time she realizes.

But that's ok.

It's ok if he's there with her, holding her hand through it all. As long as he's there with her, she thinks, she is brave enough to do anything. They can take on the world and be none the wiser for it.

He is her rock and he grounds her. Now more than ever when her soul feels light enough that she just might float away.

.

.

"As far as your brother is concerned, this baby is conceived immaculately. Agreed?"

She snorts and kisses his forehead. As if Nii-sama is the person he should be worried about!

Clearly her absentminded idiot is forgetting about his overly enthusiastic father and the man's over-the-top antics and flair for drama during the bi-monthly Kurosaki family dinners, scheduled to happen sometime this week.

Rukia humours him anyway. He'll catch on soon enough.

"Agreed."

FF/ao3

Reblog, review, like or comment or even ask to send some love my way  :D

#ichiruki #ichiruki month 2020 #IR month 2020 #of soap suds and broken dishes #mine #fanfic #us against the world #warning: FLUFF #all is well #686 who? #day 9: us against the world

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Communication Issues (AT:TTSIMBCMEOAYSFIL)- Chapter Four and Epilogue

Ao3,   MasterPost

Ah, the finale!!! Finally it is here!! My brain hurts from editing all this fuckery in one day :/

Relationships: Romantic Analogince, implied romantic Moceit

Warnings: Arguing, yelling, swearing, miscommunication (obviously,,,), crying, an overindulgence of fluff, naps.

Word Count: 8,136

The door to the main house might have snapped off its hinges- but it doesn’t matter, and you don’t care. You throw it open with excessive force, essentially falling outside as you trail behind Virgil. He’s quicker than you by far; he’s practically a blur, in fact. 

You think Janus is calling after the both of you. After notifying Virgil of the situation, he’d been trying to calm you down, but evidently that hadn’t worked. You don’t even glance back at him, sprinting as you come upon the Clubhouse. 

As soon as you reach it, you fall against its wall, dizzy and panting. Virgil is already there, waiting for you to be ready. Or, perhaps he himself is just nervous, because he hasn’t attempted to push the door the rest of the way open. As it stands, it’s open just a crack, casting a sliver of golden light outwards. 

Virgil speaks up, and you can easily confirm that it was his nerves stopping him. 

“What… what do we do now?”

You glance at him, just from the corner of your eye. A small, anxious smile contorts your face.

“Well, we have him cornered, don’t we?”

Hesitantly- and perhaps confusedly, as he has no way of understanding just what you’re referencing- he nods.

“Well, it seems the time has come to profess our love for him,” you say it simply, as though that’ll make it somehow easier for any of you. You want to believe it’ll be as simple, if only for your own sanity. 

Virgil opens his mouth, clearly aiming to spit out some contradiction, but at this point the blood rushing in both your ears has cleared enough for you to actually hear the world around you. And what you hear, from inside this quant shack, is desperate and feverish arguing. 

Virgil steels his expression, inhaling sharply. He stretches his arm out and shoves the door open, crossing the threshold on long, unsturdy legs. You follow his lead without a moment of hesitation. 

As soon as you enter, you see him, right across the room from you, and you aren’t in the least prepared for it. 

He (blessedly) hasn’t noticed you or Virgil, yet. He’s much too busy ranting incoherently at Patton, who is… also here, for some reason.

You can’t make out a word he’s saying, and there’s no way to tell if Patton can either. He’s shaking, pale and clearly panicking. But it’s him. He looks a wreck, the poor thing, but he’s really here.

You glance at Virgil, seeing his reaction matching closely to yours; lips parted in shock, face slack, his hands fisted at his sides. You’d take the time to admire him, too, if not for your current circumstances. Instead, you inch a bit closer for his support, tapping his wrist to draw his attention. He takes your hand without question, holding it so tight it’s nearly painful. 

Luckily or unluckily- you can’t be sure- the burden of speaking up doesn’t fall on either of you. Patton spots you but a second after you enter, catching sight of you over Logan’s shoulder. His eyes widen, his expression caught between relief and terror. Whichever it is, it’s very toothy. 

You try to flash him a smile back, but he’s already turned his attention back to Logan. 

“Logan-! Logan, listen, please?” He cuts the rambling off, tentatively reaching to grab the logical trait’s trembling wrists. 

“What?” He snaps back, harshly.

Patton takes a deep breath, staring intensely at the floor. When he looks up, he makes direct eye-contact with you first, and then Virgil, his shoulders hiking up anxiously. You steel yourself as Logan follows the gaze, turning around and finally seeing you. 

His eyes are big and round, his arms are shaking. His gaze sweeps over you both, stopping quite obviously on your connected hands. 

You worry, briefly, that he’ll slam a mask down over his face, as he so often has before to contain such strong displays of dismay as this. But Logan does quite the opposite. In less than a second, that shocked and vulnerable expression is swallowed up by a furious ire, one that you can’t help but shrink back at. Virgil squeezes your hand, as much for your comfort as it is for his own. 

Logan’s mouth opens, and you almost believe he’ll yell at you- scream his lungs out and hurl insult after insult- but, yet again, he challenges your expectations. 

“Patton, let go!” His eyes constantly flit between Virgil and you, but he refuses to address either directly, “Let me go, I’m leaving!”

Virgil’s frozen in place. You draw breath to speak, but Patton makes a very aggressive and un-Patton-like gesture that pretty clearly communicates one thing: Shut it, Princey. You take the order, folding your unoccupied hand just under your sternum.

“Logan, just hear them out, please? Please trust me?” Patton pleads, one of his hands closing over Logan’s shoulder in a sturdy grip. The facet’s struggling lessens; he breaks his death-glare at you long enough to turn on Patton, his look softer but not by much. 

As if to give more incentive for Logan to trust him, Patton releases his arms, stepping back and giving him space. He holds his hands up, palms out, in a show of peace.

“I- I don’t think this is a good idea,” Logan hisses it out in a rush, like you and Virgil aren’t meant to hear.

It’s at this point that Virgil tries to interject, but yet again Patton waves his hands around angrily. It’s a strange form of some made-up sign language that probably means something like: For the love of God let me handle this for two seconds before you jump in. Virgil, too, takes the order.

“If it doesn’t go well, then you come right back to me, ‘kay? I’ll take care of you, and you can tell me you told me so all you want, and I’ll never ever make you do anything like this again,” Patton gently assures, resting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “But I really think you should let them explain themselves. It might help more than you think it will.”

“I- How do you know-?”

“Because they-” he looks pointedly at you, and you try not to shrink any further into yourself at the intensity he carries, “-have been so worried about you. Oh, don’t give me that look, they have- you know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I thought it would hurt you, kiddo.”

That mollifies Logan a good deal, he’s leaning into Patton’s touch. His gaze flickers to the both of you once more, eyes narrowing, before he’s huffing out a sigh.

“Okay. I- okay.” 

Patton grins briefly, much too wide and much too cheery for the circumstances, and he draws back. He walks, slowly, from the couch to the door- to you. He pauses, sending you and Virgil A Look. He leans in, not for very long, and whispers so only the both of you can hear. 

“I know what’s going on here, and I do believe you. I want to believe that you have this handled. But if you two ever- and I mean ever- hurt that boy again, even if it’s an accident, then don’t you expect me to vouch for you again.” 

His expression is deadly serious. 

You nod, as hard and as fast as you can.

“Thank you so much, Pat, I owe you one- I owe you so many,” Virgil whispers back, leaning towards Patton as he steps away from you. That firm, scolding expression melts into fondness at the words, and Patton shakes his head. He turns his back, and with that, he leaves. The door clicks politely shut behind him. 

And it’s silent.

Logan won’t look at either of you, determined to glare at the rug instead. 

But he’s not going anywhere. 

But neither is this interaction. 

But he’s here.

Where can you begin?

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Virgil blurts, and yeah, that might be a start. Not an eloquent one, but asking for that would probably be a bit over-expectant anyway. 

Logan doesn’t respond to the apology. His shoulders hunch up further, his arms hugging around his middle. The anger is practically radiating off him in waves, such a fierce passion that it’s kind of screwing with your senses in that area.

But, you realize with a start- he isn’t just angry. No, it’s more complicated.

You look at Virgil, for confirmation. You find it in his mismatched eyes, swirling with someone else’s emotions as well as his own.

Logan’s scared. 

“Spe- Logan,” you stammer, “I know that this seems, uh, not good, but we really didn’t mean to upset you. The timing, it was just-”

He snorts, humorlessly, standing up much straighter and crossing the room in just a few long strides. He glowers down at you, then up at Virgil, face flushed. 

“Well, I’m sure you regret it now. It’s not quite as funny anymore, is it?”

“It wasn’t funny at all!” You shout. 

“Oh, I’m inclined to agree with you, Roman.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it!”

Logan makes a very, very awful and frustrated sound, tugging a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I’ve come to see that many things I thought that I knew about you are wrong!”

Virgil shoots a concerned glance between the two of you, but you talk over him all in a rush.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, if you’d just let us-”

“Let you what? Mock me again? Make a fool out of me?”

You growl, sharp and animalistic, tugging your hand out of Virgil’s and gesturing wildly. And then you make a bad decision. 

“How are you such a horrible fucking listener!?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, sucking in a breath as though you could take them back in. Virgil gasps, short and shocked, and his eyeshadow darkens down his cheeks like a waterfall. 

It’s quiet only long enough for Logan to really process, to really work himself up, like he’s about to berate you with even more fervor. It’s almost frightening.

“I’m a bad listener?! Because I seem to recall that the both of you, last time I tried to talk to you, laughed in my face! How’s that for ‘listening’, hm? Did you even think about what I was-! When I was trying- I was trying to say-”

Virgil’s panic abates enough to make room for confusion. He leans forward, cautiously reaching for Logan.

“What were you trying to say?”

Logan winces at the distortion, hitting his hands away before they get anywhere near him, snarling.

“That I cared about you, so much, and I- I wanted to do well by you, even though I knew it would only hurt me in the end. Because I wanted you to be happy together, and that was more important than- than my own feelings. I had to leave you be, I knew it, but you just wouldn’t- you-!”

He’s not making any sense, dammit. He loses steam, drawing in gasping breaths. Exhaustion bogs him down, making him look weak and frail; he’s growing resigned to the situation, and his own words, as though he thinks they’re already out of his control. 

It breaks your heart.

“I wanted it,” he gasps, “I wanted a part of what you had, badly. But I knew how ridiculous that was, and I was trying to tell you as much. I was giving you the out, so to speak, from me and my company, but you...” 

It’s as though all his anger from mere moments ago has evaporated like steam. He’s curling in on himself, his face tilted down. His voice shrinks to barely more than a whisper, nearly inaudible.

“You didn’t have to laugh at me.” 

Virgil jumps, like he’s broken from a trance, and wordlessly jolts forwards and scoops Logan up in his arms. The side struggles, but Virgil’s grip is unrelenting, nearly lifting him off the floor.

“Okay, that was your time to talk, now it’s ours,” he gives you a very serious Look, “Right, Roman?”

“Oh- yes, right,” you step forward, much less confidently than Virgil, and wrap your arms around the both of them. It is the Pinnacle of an Awkward Hug (mostly because Logan has not stopped trying to escape), but Virgil seems to think that it’s the right course of action, and you don’t have any other leads to follow. 

“Okay, point one: we weren’t laughing at you because you- uh, cuz you had a thing for us, I guess.”

“We were laughing because you were being stupid!” You tack on, somewhat-unhelpfully, “You thought we liked each other more than we like you, that was the stupid part.”

“Yeah,” Virgil nods,“Cause you were right about one thing, L. We- uh, we like each other. A lot-” you snort at the phrasing. He gives you a sharp glare before continuing. “-But we like you, too.”

Logan stands frightfully still, his arms pulled up uncomfortably in some weak attempt to keep distance between his body and both of yours. 

“What- what are you talking about?”

You meet Virgil’s eyes in question. He nods, shifting so he can wrap an arm around your waist as well. 

“We love you, Teach,” his breath hitches, but you choose to take it as a good sign, “I love you, so much. You both- both of you have done so much for me- oh, how couldn’t I love you?”

“You get me,” Virgil adds, smiling sweet and warm at you as he speaks to Logan, “You’ve always been there for me. You know how to, uhm, deal with me, better than anyone, I guess. So, yeah. I love you. And Ro.”

Logan pushes back against the both of you again, but this time it’s not an escape; it isn’t a fight. You let go of him, and Virgil in the process, and allow him to step back. He doesn’t go very far.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, fragile, his head tilted to one side.

“Which part are ya stuck on, L?”

He glances at you, a positive whirlwind of emotion fighting behind his eyes. 

“You… I understand the both of you being romantically involved,” he starts, slowly, holding fingers up like he’s keeping track of points of data. “And I believe I understand my- my misinterpretation of your previous outburst, which is certainly a relief- though it does make me feel a bit silly for how strongly I reacted.”

“Oh, we’re all overemotional divas, sometimes,” you wave a dismissive hand, smirking at him. In return, he offers a small and unsure smile, and nods. 

“Yes. I just don’t quite get. Um. You- you and me?” His eyes widen after he says it, and you see a spark of something upsetting in them. It takes him a good deal of effort to say the next part: “You aren’t doing this just to console me, are you?”

“No!” You and Virgil shout in unison, horrified. 

“But you two are already perfect for each other!” He protests, “Your casual affection, your shared interests, your banter-”

“You say all that like we don’t have that with you, too!” Virgil interrupts. 

“That’s different.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Is it? Or do you see it that way because you can watch us, but you can’t exactly watch yourself?” 

Logan quickly becomes concentrated on the question, opening and closing his mouth in lieu of a response.

“We can watch you, though! Like  the way you and Virgil always seem to talk without ever talking, and just, like, shrugging at each other. It’s kind of creepy,” you point out. Virgil hums in agreement, a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah. You and Ro’s whole poetry thing is literally- like, there’s no platonic explanation for that. It’s gross.” 

“I-” Logan cuts himself off, his eyes widening, “Perhaps you have a point.”

“We do. Look, it took you yelling at us about how obvious we were being for me to get off my ass, to actually do something about my crush on Princey here, which probably says something about perspective.”

Logan hums, thoughtfully, a surprisingly subdued reaction. You feel a striking amount of pride well up in your chest. You bump your shoulder against Virgil’s as a sort of high-five, a gesture that he returns with a smirk. This is honestly going better than you thought it would! (...Though you were under the impression that this conversation would end in tears or violence, so that’s not a very high bar).

“You love me,” Logan says at last, his expression blank. 

“Yup!” You confirm, popping the ‘p’. 

“Ah. Alright, then.”

He pauses. And continues to be paused. For time enough that you grow unsure of yourself. Is he… processing it? You really don’t know what’s going on in that brain of his when he gets quiet like this.

“Yes,” he confirms nothing in particular to no one in particular, “I feel very foolish now, in retrospect.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil chuckles.

“I’m not sure what to say,” Logan’s face breaks into a smile, wide and brilliant, “I just- wow, this could have been so easily avoided,” he places his hand on his temple, staring into space. He trembles a little, and you fear you’ve somehow managed to get him crying again. But then he doubles over, his arm around his stomach as he giggles uncontrollably. His laughing turns wheezy very quickly, as his breathing is interrupted constantly by little shouts of amusement. “Oh, this was all so absurd!”

You watch him, and very suddenly you remember a scene much like this, weeks and weeks ago. You understand exactly how he felt, then, when he saw you laugh for the first time in a long time. 

At this moment, his happiness is the only sight to you, and it is a beautiful one. 

Virgil lets out a soft laugh alongside him, hiding it behind his hand and biting his lip. Soon, though, he’s losing himself, and that sets you off too- and within seconds all three of you are cracking up laughing. Tears in the corners of your eyes, hands clutching stomachs, the works. 

You aren’t even sure what’s so funny! And that’s exactly what’s so funny!

It takes a while to settle down and sober up. You wind up on the floor, actually, before you calm down. You think Logan might be on the ground, too, but you aren’t very spatially aware. 

Virgil gains control of himself first, predictably. 

He rights himself, coughing into his fist, and fixing his hair. 

“So you’re okay?” He says to Logan, out of breath. 

“I have no idea,” Logan wheezes in response, “But I love you both very, very much.” 

And that seems to be about the jist of it, for all of you.

Epilogue:

The second you’re back inside, you fall backwards onto the couch without a second thought, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids hard enough for it to hurt. A groan- part exhausted, part relieved- rumbles up from your throat, and you sink your fangs into the side of your cheek to stifle it. You’re tired, sure, but you aren’t as much of a fucking drama queen as your- your boyfriends, actually. Cuz that’s a thing that just happened.

Fuck if you know how, by the way.

You feel the cushion by your head dip, the smallest bit, at about the same time that the cushion by your feet contracts abruptly. You huff, because you’re still a little bit of a drama queen, okay, and you’ve earned that right.

Long, spidery fingers tangle in your hair, brushing back your fringe and undoing your spiked up ponytail. At the same time, again, your legs are lifted just slightly before being dropped into a lap, and a large, calloused hand rests on your ankle. 

“I think I’m gonna sleep for, like, five months,” you mumble, letting your arms fall to the side and shoving your face into the couch cushion.

“While I’m fairly sure you were being hyperbolic,” Logan says, his hand catching on a tangle in your hair and slowly working it out, “I wouldn’t be opposed to some rest”

You snort. An obnoxious noise, but they seem to be like it anyway, so you try not to hate yourself too much for it. 

Roman makes some sounds that vaguely indicate he wants to talk. You wait. He’s quiet for a good, long while, his nails scraping along the loose threads of your ripped jeans. You crane your neck up to squint impatiently at him; him and Logan have this bad habit of disappearing into introspections mid-conversation, and it’s very annoying.

“I-” he starts, stops. Makes more sounds. “Hmm.”

You wait. After about ten seconds, you kick him (very lightly!) in the ribcage. 

“I was just wondering,” he finally says, glaring at you, “If you two are really feeling alright. What’s on your minds, or- how are you?”

Ah, there it is; the deceptively simple check-in question. Logan’s hand tenses in your hair, almost imperceptibly. You reach one of your own up to meet his, tracing your claws around his knuckles soothingly. 

“Um, better than earlier,” he says, “Much better, actually. Though I’m still a bit on edge, I suppose.”

Roman nods, a very soft look on his face, before glancing at you. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, too, and it almost makes you squirm. You let go of his hand in favor of fussing with your sleeves.

“’M good. Comfy,” you mutter, attempting a shrug despite your horizontal position. 

“Are you sure?” Logan prods, leaning over you concernedly. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, grinding your teeth. 

“I don’t know. It’s fine.”

Yeah, that’s not gonna work.

“It’s not a big deal.”

Getting further away, Virgil.

“I’m really fucking tired, okay?” Alright, a little harsher than strictly necessary, but that’ll do. It gets a laugh, at least. “Like, I’ve got no idea what I’m supposed to say or do anymore, and I don’t have the energy to think about it. I am happy, though. Or, like, relieved. I guess I wish I were happy under- I dunno, different circumstances?”

The hand in your hair moves, slipping from your swoopy bangs and cradling the side of your face upside down. You let Logan tilt your head up. It’s a very odd sight, seen from such an angle, when he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back, you feel at least a little less like a living corpse.

“Gross,” you sigh. 

“You know what I think?” Roman muses, tapping rhythmically against your leg. 

“I never do in the slightest,” Logan replies.

“You can do that?” You ask.

He whacks your knee. You hiss. He ignores this.

“I think,” he carries on, “That we would be less tired if we took a nap,” he stretches his arms up with a yawn, as if to emphasize his point.

“That would be nice,” Logan agrees, “If it weren’t for the fact that I’d… prefer not to return to my room at the moment.”

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, again, before speaking up.

“I’d also prefer that you not do that. And we all know my room isn’t a good place to sleep.”

“Nor Roman’s, really. It’s very energetic.”

“Right, so-”

Whatever you’re trying to say is cut off as Roman once again lifts your legs up, shifting them to the side. He kicks off his boots, shifts around a bit, and proceeds to drape himself all over you inelegantly. You make a few vague noises of complaint and discomfort before he finally slots himself into a somewhat acceptable position on top of you. It’s not too difficult; he’s burly, but he’s still so very very short and bendy. You wrap an arm around his waist, holding him to yourself.

“So we’re staying here, cuz I already got settled,” he says with finality, his face pressed just under your collarbone. You arch your head back, toeing off your own sneakers and letting them fall to the floor as you look up at Logan. 

“Can’t argue with that, can we, L?” 

He looks distinctly exasperated with you, but you know him well enough to see that it’s really thinly veiled adoration.

“I could argue, should I be inclined.”

“That’s for sure,” Roman mutters, “We could get you worked up about anything if we’re annoying enough, specs.”

He’s very huffy about that comment (Roman has a point, though), standing up and stopping short when Roman whines at him.

“Where are you going?” He drags the last word out. You poke him in the ribs to make him shush. 

“I’m getting you a blanket, and a more suitable pillow for Virgil. You can hardly sleep comfortably like that.”

Roman groans- which is also an annoying noise- and snaps his fingers. A light, large, and fluffy blanket falls over the both of you instantly, in conjunction with something puffy and soft expanding beneath your head. You hum, sinking further into the conjured objects happily.

“Ah, right,” Logan mutters to himself.

“Good? Good, now come here,” Roman disentangles one of his arms from around you to make grabby hands at Logan.

“Oh, it looks cramped as it is. You know, I’m not that tired, anyway.”

You’re the one to get annoyed with him this time, making a sloppy gesture with your free hand. The couch stutters in place, almost like a glitch, before eventually succumbing to your will. The cushions extend way out past your cramped up little spot, making the large piece of furniture look more like an oddly shaped bed than anything else. 

“Good enough for you?”

Logan blushes brightly, refusing to make eye-contact with you. He mutters out something that might be an ‘it’ll do, I suppose’, or some other slightly stubborn assent, and shuffles over to you. You lift the edge of the blanket up when he reaches you, letting him fit himself comfortably against your side. He does so reluctantly, prompting you to drop the covers in favor of grabbing him by the hip and pulling him against you, pressing your face into his slightly ruffled hair. His breath hitches. You fight the urge to laugh.

Roman hums contentedly, uncurling from you just enough to clumsily get a limb around Logan’s shoulders. You’re decently certain that he’ll wake up whining about how sore his arm is from the position, but you leave that worry for later, letting yourself finally, finally relax.

Logan lays with his arms pressed awkwardly between his chest and your torso, but the tension steadily eases from him. Within minutes, he’s wrapped around you and Roman, nestled into your shoulder. You do laugh, just a little, when he does something akin to nuzzling you. You rub small circles into his hip with the tips of your fingers, slipping further and further from consciousness as you do so. 

You hear Roman muttering something, but you aren’t sure if it’s directed at you. All you are sure of is that his voice is rumbling and groggy, soothing you even further into sleep. The last thing you feel, before finally slipping away, is a messy kiss delivered to the side of your neck. 

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

You aren’t really unconscious, but you wouldn’t consider yourself ‘awake’ either. You lie comfortably in a middle zone between the two, surrounded by an amazing, burning warmth that starts with your skin and sinks deeper into your core the longer you feel it. You turn your face into it, shifting your body to press that much closer to the heat.

But then, a very small little part of that heat decides to jab you sharply in the shoulder. You groan, batting it away. It persists, prodding you a few more times. You huff, prying your eyes open with a good deal of spite towards the source of disruption.

It is- predictably- Roman. Grinning, loopy Roman, whose face is just inches from yours. You might move back, but Virgil’s chest only accommodates for so much space, so you have to accept the compromising position. 

“What?” You hiss, trying to surreptitiously rub the sleep from your eyes. 

“You look so cute when you’re sleeping,” he answers, dreamily. 

“You’re creepier than Remus, has anyone ever told you that?”

You feel a small bit of pride at just how affronted Roman looks. 

“It’s not creepy,” he argues, “It’s romantic.”

“Close enough,” you respond, smirking at him. He glares balefully at you, but it’s very difficult to take him seriously when he looks just as tired as you feel. Speaking of: “Why did you wake me up, then, if I’m so aesthetically pleasing while asleep?” 

He actually looks a bit sheepish at that, giving an awkward one-armed shrug. 

“I don’t know, I just… I woke up and got this urge that I should maybe. Talk to you,” his voice breaks out of whisper repeatedly; he’s atrocious at volume control. Virgil stirs, grumbling something unintelligible and tightening his grip around the both of you, but he doesn’t seem to be waking. 

Roman gives a long pause, just to make sure he’s in the clear, before continuing. “It seemed important. Maybe it’s not, though.”

You give a breathy little laugh, rubbing against his ribs with the pad of your thumb. It’s a strangely intimate gesture, and one that- until recently- you never thought you’d get the privilege to offer. 

“You’re very impatient, Roman.”

“And you aren’t?” He inquires, quirking a brow. You ignore the comment. 

“What did you want to talk about?” You whisper, much softer, more serious. He meets your eyes for just a second, hesitating. There’s a pause of a good few minutes- in which his fingers play on the knolls of your spine and his eyes become increasingly unfocused- of absolute noiselessness. You wait patiently, not quite minding the peace of it.

You might be falling asleep again when he does find the words to answer, bringing you to attention suddenly. 

“I missed you this week.”

The words, short and simple they may be, drop a heavy weight onto you. You can’t identify the specific feelings- maybe guilt? Or remorse? Perhaps frustration? Well, regardless, something twists in your gut. The feelings are almost relieving, because even if they’re horrible, at least they’re there, which is quite refreshing from this past week. 

You exhale, shaky. 

“I missed you, too. Although, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if it was a week or not.”

Roman’s face flits from bittersweet to confused in a matter of seconds.

“What do you mean?”

Your face heats in embarrassment. You bury it in Virgil’s hoodie- which is admittedly a childish reaction, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that.

“Don’t tell him,” you gesture to the being you’re currently clinging to, “I don’t want him to concern himself too much.”

Roman purses his lips, making a small and concerned noise in the back of his throat. 

“Well, how bad is it?”

You sigh, a defeated and borderline pathetic sound.

“I just… I seem to have lost track of time, this past week. Truthfully, you could tell me it had been just a few hours, or that it had been a month, and I’d believe you.”

He gasps softly, which you think might be a little bit over the top, but alright. 

“Logan, are you saying-”

“I had no idea how long I’d been in there, yes.”

Roman’s quiet- deadly quiet- for a horrible stretch. You look up at him, knowing that you’re probably more of an emotional wreck than you’d like to be. To your surprise, the first thing he does is make a whining-crying sound, adjusting so that he’s holding the side of your face in his hand. He presses your foreheads together, breathing in a hitched and shallow way. Have you made him cry? Goodness, maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, if it has this kind of effect on him. 

You’ve always hated seeing him so distraught. He looks so much better when he’s grinning, when he’s happy and proud. But something about the rawness of his look now- it’s almost painful. 

“I can’t believe I-” his voice cracks, “I should’ve done something sooner. Oh, mi amor, if I’d known, I-”

“No, that’s not fair,” you interrupt, in nearly as broken a tone as his. “I’m the one that kept myself in there. I- I made you leave me alone in the first place!”

Virgil shifts in his sleep; you bite down on your lip, harshly. 

“Oh, please,” Roman snaps, but he’s also taking care to stay quiet now, “When you first found me in such a sorry state, the both of you were at my side in an instant. I should’ve known to do the same. I really should have broken your door down, no matter what Patton said.”

“Wait-” you nearly laugh in surprise, “You and Patton had a conversation about sieging my door?”

He gives you a teeny little smile, a shadow of pride lingering in it.

“It wasn’t a conversation so much as it was him physically restraining me, but you get the idea. You know, I probably could have pulled it off if I tried at night instead.”

“I’m sure you could have, Roman,” you say, looking oh-so fondly at this reckless, ridiculous creature that you’ve somehow fallen in love with. The tension this exchange started with is quickly disappearing, much to your relief. “Although I don’t know if you would have gotten through to me, unfortunately. As it is, Patton is a very good mediator.”

Roman chuckles softly, his face screwing up in embarrassment. 

“Yeah, we could use one of those, couldn’t we?”

You hum in vague agreement, angling your head enough to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He gasps again, this time very obviously trying to be Extra, and he pulls back sharply. You roll your eyes at the shocked face he puts on, but you can’t hold up your frustrated façade when he leans in again and peppers your face with kisses. You fail quite spectacularly, in fact- your face flushes bright, and your smile grows uncomfortably wide. It feels wonderful, to finally have this, after the wanting and wanting and wanting. 

Roman pulls back properly after that, his eyes twinkling and crinkled at the corners. You notice now the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and his forehead, so often covered by makeup. You’d ask why- they’re beautiful- but that might be rude. You resolve to admire them quietly, while he gives you the opportunity. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight now, of course,” he purrs, massaging just under your eyes with his thumbs. You get a glimpse of bubblegum-pink nail polish before they fall closed, your sleepiness returning to you.

In your half-asleep, warm, adoring state, you find yourself muttering a sickeningly sappy sentiment- obviously, if you were in your right mind, you’d never say it- just before drifting off. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

<<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>><<<!!!>>>

Your back hurts, your arms ache, and you really need to pee. You’re also acutely aware of a heavy, uncomfortable weight pressing down against your sternum. You force your eyes open, only to find them stinging and also sore, somehow. Like, they’re eyes, how are they even allowed to do that?

A groan escapes you. You’d very much like to rub your face, but unfortunately your arms are trapped by that pressing weight on you. 

The memories of what happened and where you are flood back to you then, bringing a small smile to your face despite your discomfort. Logan and Roman are pressed into either side of you, their hands intertwined and resting on your stomach. It’s obnoxiously sweet- seriously, you might gag. But, like, in a good way. 

The cuteness of the situation is enough to distract you for approximately thirty seconds, because then a sharp pain shoots up from your lower back. Yeah, this is ridiculous, you need to get up. 

You try- very carefully- to shoulder your arms free. You manage it after way too much awkward maneuvering, and then you really don’t know where to go. You’re squished between them, and all three of you have gotten your legs very tangled together. The position is odd, but maybe if you could just find your center of gravity, you could teleport? But that would risk dragging one or both of them with you, and that probably wouldn’t be a good way to wake up, would it-?

Logan stirs next to you, lifting his head up with a small, sleepy sound.

“V?” He mutters, his typically slicked-back hair springing up in messy curls, falling into his face. 

“Oh, hey,” you give him an apologetic look, watching as he gropes groggily for his glasses, “Good, uhm- morning?” You glance up at the clock, confused by the timeline this author has fucked up so completely. You slept through the night, and it’s about five-forty in the morning, apparently. Much earlier than you’d ever wake up, but to be fair the three of you fell asleep at a 3rd graders bed-time. 

Logan grumbles something unintelligible, locating his glasses on the floor by the couch-bed and shoving them onto his face. 

You take the opportunity to free yourself from the little nest you’ve made, struggling up onto wobbly legs and leaning on the arm of the couch for support. Jesus Christ that was horrible for your back. 

“What…?” Logan trails off, looking at you with squinted eyes behind his thick frames. The sight makes your lips quirk up in something like a smile.

“Nothing, L, I just had to use the bathroom,” you explain, keeping your voice hushed so as not to disturb a noticeably snoring Roman.

He nods, once, before shuffling back to his spot on the couch. He flops down, kicking his legs under the covers and curling up against Creativity. If you were more prone to cuteness- which you aren’t, for the record- it would probably be a little (a lot) bit adorable. 

“’M not goin’ back to sleep,” he grouses, unconvincingly, “Just… laying down… to wait.”

Wait for what? You don't ask, choosing instead to settle your eyes on the sight of your two partners huddled close together. Okay, so it’s cute, so what? Lots of things are cute, no one has to make a big deal out of it!

You exhale through your nose, breaking your gaze from them long enough to actually move on to what you got up for. It doesn’t take long, and when you return you hover by the couch for a moment. 

A sort of restlessness- a very familiar one- has made its home in your chest. You rub at your eyes almost harshly, itching at the gunk caught in the corners. In all your soreness, you find it pertinent to stretch; arms above your head, then down to your toes, and in a few motions you're in a somewhat impromptu yoga routine.

By the end of it, some ten or fifteen minutes later, you feel a little bit less like a sloppily patched-together ragdoll of ligaments and muscle. You seat yourself gingerly in the corner of the sectional, just close enough to the pair of snuggling sides that you can run your spindled fingers through Roman’s hair. 

You pull your legs up beneath you, sitting criss-cross and summoning your headphones and laptop. They’re a bit far across the mindscape, but they come easily enough with a sharp pull. 

You settle in with a good horror flick, pulling your headphones over your ears and letting yourself zone out. You stay that way for an indeterminate amount of time, idly watching the suspense that plays out on screen while carding your hands through Roman’s hair (no matter how tempting it would be to ruffle Logan’s curls, you resist the urge, knowing that he can’t stand touches to his head). It should be boring- maybe even aggravating, sitting still for so long when you are the embodiment of jitters and jumps- but it isn’t. It’s something… peaceful, maybe, would be the right word. Or content, as you are with them, waiting patiently for Roman and Logan to awake.

And they do. Well, Logan does, about half-way through the film you’re watching. He props himself up on his elbows, straightening his glasses and looking up at you. 

You hit the spacebar to pause, sliding your computer off your lap and onto the cushion beside you. 

“Good morning. Again,” you send him a teasing smirk, watching him move up into a sitting position very slowly. 

“Good morning,” he replies, his smile awkward, “I must have been more tired than I first assumed.”

You hold back a small laugh, giving him a feigned look of importance.

“Well, you know what they say about assuming.”

“As… Sue, ’n me…” Comes the mutter from below your hand. You look down, somewhat surprised, to see Roman turning over in a semi-conscious state. You have no idea how awake he actually is, or if he’s just a weirdly perceptive sleep-talker- but either way you burst into a bout of startled chuckling. 

That seems to wake him properly, his head jolting up with a cut off snore. You pull your hand from his tangled hair, watching as he struggles to orient himself.

“Good morning, Roman,” Logan greets.

“Mornin’, Babe,” he responds gruffly, making Logan’s face flush red. He coughs, awkwardly. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, Babe,” you mock, the statement serving to darken his blush considerably. To be fair, your statement isn’t entirely untrue; your boyfriend is very fond of pet-names, so you’ve become very accustomed to them. And possibly a bit appreciative of them. 

Roman’s managed to sit up enough to slump back against the couch cushions, taking the blankets with him and wrapping them around his head. His eyes are narrowed enough that they look closed, and you are reminded of just how much he hates waking up early.

“Why are we awake?” He growls. 

You shrug noncommittally, gesturing to the still-elongated couch on which you all sat. 

“My back hurt.”

“We did fall asleep at about eight, last evening,” Logan points out. His eyes widen just after he does, pressing his index and middle fingers against his temple in sudden frustration. “Oh this will be horrible for my sleep schedule!”

You snort, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

“Ah, yes, the worst of our worries.”

He glares at you, and your smile widens. Partially because messing with him is funny, and partially because you know your fangs make it hard for him to focus (which is also very funny). 

“I- Well, it’s crucial to keep a consistent sleep schedule, because you need to-”

“‘Maintain your circadian rhythm, to ensure a higher quality of living’,” you and Roman parrot, in near unison. You hardly blink at the coordination, but Logan seems very startled.

“Ex-actly,” he mutters, bemusedly.

“You can spare us the lecture this early, Teach,” Roman tells him, “Cuz we already seem to have it memorized.”

“Ah,” a beat. “Good.”

There’s a short, companionable silence; Roman is still waking himself up, Logan seems deep in thought, and you briefly turn your attention back to the movie. A few minutes pass, and Logan stands. You look up at him in question as he shifts the couch back into its normal form, making his way across the room.

“Someone ought to get started on breakfast by now,” he says plainly, disappearing into the kitchen. You shrug, shifting your headphone back over your ear and settling in. 

Roman sinks out some ten minutes later, clattering around upstairs as he gets ready for the day. The morning sun is now clearly visible, the light filtering through the blinds. It probably won’t be long before Patton’s up and about, bringing with him the energy that the day really needs to get started.

When Roman returns, dressed up in some fresh clothes, he drops down beside you and leans his head on you. He presses his ear against the outside of your headphones, watching the movie over your shoulder. 

It’s nearing the end, so of course he has to ask you question after question after question about the plot. You pretend to be annoyed, but you answer them anyway, letting him gradually piece together what’s happening. His commentary is, as always, never-ending and loud, but again you tolerate it. It’s more fun like this, anyway.

The whole time, you can distantly hear crackling, and very clearly smell something delicious from the kitchen. Logan’s always been the best chef out of any of you, even if he doesn’t use the ability as often as he could- something about the technicality of it, or the precision needed, or whatever it was. 

You and Roman are bickering over the credits by the time he’s finally done, coming back into the room smelling of bacon and batter. You look up from your (pretty pointless) argument, smiling at him. 

“Hey, L.”

Roman glances up briefly, flashing a smile before going back to his impassioned diatribe that you were only half-listening to in the first place.

Logan hesitates by the doorway. You can feel his eyes boring into you from those few feet away, drawing a very exasperated sigh from you. You back out of the credits with a couple aggressive taps, giving a pointed look to the still-rambling Roman. 

“What?” He snaps, scrunching up his nose. You narrow your eyes before not-so-subtly directing the glance to your third, still hovering just inside the living room. Roman follows your gaze, his argumentative look turning quickly to exasperated understanding. 

“Hey, specs!”

Logan jumps, obviously having been locked away far into his own head. 

“Are you comin’ over, or what?”

He doesn’t move, but he does look a hell of a lot more embarrassed.

“Breakfast is ready. I- um, I didn’t want to… interrupt…” his voice goes quiet, he glances down at the carpet. 

“Alright,” Roman announces, a bit loud considering how close he is to your ears but okay, “What have we told you, Teach?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shutting your computer with a click and setting it onto the coffee table. “C’mere, stupid, and pay attention to us before everyone else wakes up. We’ll eat with them, later.”

He gives a small laugh, but does as he’s told. As soon as he’s within range, Roman pulls him down and wraps a leg around the taller being, essentially placing himself in his lap. You aren’t quite as clingy, this early in the day, but you do press your shoulder to his. 

Logan’s stiff at first, but just as he did last night, he slowly settles into the touch. You figure it’ll probably be this way for the next week or so- because the same happened with Roman, however long ago when this all started. 

That hits you with a wave of nostalgia and deja vu- smothering most of your other thoughts with its familiarity. You and Logan, personally taking it upon yourselves to help Roman all the same, just a lot more platonically back then. You like to think that’s what started it all, even though you probably had a thing for Logan way before then (wayyyy before then). 

You watch, absentmindedly, as Roman and Logan argue over the TV remote, apparently trying to settle on something to watch. It’s as sweet as it is annoying, a common theme that the two of them share in many aspects.

And God, it hits you what emotional wrecks they are. In a rare burst of confidence, you feel proud that you could be there to help these two get their shit together, relationship wise. Despite both of their intelligence, you’ve somehow become the competent partner. 

Partner. Boyfriend. Whatever you’ll call it. It feels nice to say, about Creativity and Logic. 

You sigh, resting your head on top of Logan’s. He looks at you, questioningly, because he can always tell when you get thoughtful. You smile at him, giving a half-shrug, because you know he knows what that means. It’s good, not a big deal.

Roman wins the fight, eventually, if only because Logan’s off his game from being the primary center of attention. Which is even more like your first night together; Roman setting up some queer cartoon to watch while the three of you cuddle on the couch, content. 

You exhale, long and slow. You really have gone soft for them, haven’t you?

But, you really can’t say that you mind. Because...

They’re worth it. 

Tags: @enbyfriend16 @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

#my writing #sanders sides #ts #fanfic #fanfiction #analogince #logince #analogical #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfiction #roman #logan #virgil #platonic logicality #patton #ahahhh im finally done im crying #aaaaAAAAA

[jewel-s-blog]

I gotta bad habit - mafia!au

mafia member!jeno x y/n!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, dramatic arrest, brief suggestive content

WC: 4,244

1% fluff, 99% purified angst

What happens to your quickly progressing romance with mafia member!Jeno when you find out about the truth to who he really is? And what exactly happened in your past that makes the choice to leave or stay so difficult? Most of all, when it comes to falling in love with a member of the mafia, does it really matter what you decide?  

“Don’t go.” You begged after he kissed you gently with your face between his palms. Jeno chuckles at the pout on your lips before placing another quick peck.

“I’ll be back soon baby, I promise.”

“No…” You whine when he finally pushes himself away and sits up from the bed.

There’s not much you can say that will keep him from leaving, that much you already know. So your eyes just follow him as he starts picking up his clothes from the floor and hastily puts them on.

Jeno always did this to you. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a sweet guy, or uncaring, or anything bad really. In fact, Lee Jeno was truly one of the warmest people you knew in this town, and he made sure to show you every chance he got. The only catch was that he never had many chances. He would show up randomly, after weeks of disappearing, and then profess how much he’d missed seeing you. It didn’t help that each visit would be during ungodly hours of the night, which put you even more on edge considering the sketchy neighborhood you lived in and answering the door for anybody was always a risk. On top of that, you’d always thought that if he had really missed you so much, then why’d he keep ghosting you only to show up again days, weeks, or even months later? The answer? Jeno was a creature of habit. And so were you. Just as you were his habit, he was yours. And as you would soon come to find out, he was a bad one.

When he finished pulling his jumper over his head, he was fully dressed again. Clad in black skinny jeans and a black jumper, the sight of Jeno’s all black attire was something you’d grown accustomed to. It was his uniform of sorts—something you had learned after noticing the repetitive color scheme. But still, you admire how riveting he looked, and the thought of how it may be awhile before you’d be able to see him again floods your mind.

“Please,” you plead, “can’t you just stay tonight?”

Initially, you’d thought that this time would be different. Jeno usually had the decency to at least call or text before showing up at your place, most likely to make sure you were actually home. But tonight, he’d really just shown up out of the blue. No call, no text, just came knocking at nearly 2 in the morning. The rational side of you was nervous to answer the door at such a time, but the other not-so-rational-side had an inkling that it would be him standing outside your door, even if you hadn’t heard from him for a good three weeks. 

Nonetheless, when you unlocked and unchained your beaten door, the sight of a rather frantic-looking Lee Jeno caught you by surprise. His eyes were bold, a stark change from the crescents that he adorned for majority of your time spent together. It looked like he was out of breath, as if he’d sprinted all the way to stand before you. You didn’t know exactly what to expect when you opened the door that night, but the words “I love you” falling from Jeno’s lips were definitely not on the list of possibilities you’d had in mind.

It was far different from the usual proclamation of having “missed you like crazy,” or “I really need[ed to see] you.” Of course he did end up saying those things to you at one point in the night, but never before were these phrases led by his profession of love.

And yet, here you were again, watching as he got ready to leave after letting him use you and your bed for a measly hour.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he finishes up his belt, “I really would stay if I could.” His hands drop to his sides as he watches you sit up with the duvet securely pulled to cover your upper body. “Baby, you have no idea how badly I want to get back in bed with you right now,” he sighs.

“Then just stay,” you try to reason.

Reaching out your hands to pull him back to bed only slightly works as he does crouch over to retake your face in his hands and kiss you. But he doesn’t actually sit back on the bed, knowing that if he did, he would have trouble getting out of it again. Instead he opts to repeat the three words that he had greeted you with earlier that night.

“I love you,” he says with closed eyes and his forehead leaning against yours, “I mean it.” You can feel his thumbs caressing delicately along your jawbone, with the remainder of his large hands lightly resting on either side of your neck. 

Things sure do feel different tonight in comparison to your previous rendezvous. If you were to be entirely honest, you did notice little changes each time he came back to see you. A lingering kiss before leaving. Or him having a flower in hand when you opened the door to greet him in the early hours of the morning. You had a feeling things were starting to change, but with the gaps that Jeno left you, nothing was ever certain with him. It was better not to assume things—safer. Perhaps that is why you are still so taken aback by his words as he continues holding you so, waiting for a response. 

You hadn’t said it back to him yet, but it was mainly due to the fact that you hardly had the chance considering his mouth was on yours the moment he walked through your door. But in this moment, you desperately want to say it back. So you take a deep breath, leaning back into him and brushing your nose against his before whispering,

“I love—” 

Just as you begin to reciprocate his feelings, a loud knock resounds through the apartment. And before you can say anything else, there is another loud knocking—no, pounding—on your old door. At the alarming sound, your face pulls away from Jeno’s, much to his dismay. While your body becomes tense at the thought of someone other than Jeno knocking at your door at this hour, he seems much more collected than you.

His hands draw your face to look back at him, and he’s kissing you again. He kisses you so hard that you’re sure it will bruise nicely tomorrow. But you don’t have the luxury of closing your eyes to enjoy the moment as your mind is now racing with thoughts of who could possibly be banging so harshly at the wooden threshold to your apartment if it weren’t Jeno.

“I love you so much,” he says again, a little harsher this time staring into your widened eyes.

Then another loud bang. The sound manages to tear Jeno’s attention from you for a second, and next thing you know he’s throwing your own clothes at you.

“Quickly. Put these on,” he whisper-yells at you, tossing your pajama shorts and T-shirt on your lap.

“Wha-? Jeno, what’s going—?” He doesn’t let you finish your question. 

“Now, ____. Put your clothes on NOW.” His voice is stern, and the boldness in his eyes returns, making your stomach flip and your hands fumble for your shorts.

“Jeno! What is going on?!” you whisper back as you hurriedly pull your shorts on under the blanket. Ignoring your question again and not happy that your upper half is still exposed, Jeno takes it upon himself to yank your raggedy shirt over your head before trying to force it down.

“I got it, Jeno.” You huff, trying to grab the ends of the shirt from his rough hands. “I said, I got it!” The frustration in your voice is all too clear and the situation only grows more tense when you hear a booming voice from behind your apartment door.

“This is the police! Open up!”

In that moment, Jeno notices the shift from frustration to confusion and ultimately shock settling over your features. Your eyes are wide again, and you can’t bring yourself to do more than stare up at the man before you, questioning everything that’s happened in the time you’ve known him.

“Jeno…” you barely say his name.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he replies to you lowly, voice much softer than before, and picks you up from the bed. You feel the strength of his arms as they wrap around your waist to pull your body to his. He’s about to say something else before getting cut off again from the voice outside.

“Police! Open up now! Final warning!”

“Don’t. Move.” He says to you before reluctantly releasing his grip on your waist and leaving your bedroom to reach the front door. For a second your feet are glued to the bedroom carpet, trying to process what he’d just asked of you.

Of course you don’t listen and instead you follow him out as quickly as he had left. But not before Jeno is swinging the door open to reveal exactly what the loud voice had announced moments ago. From there, everything happens so fast that time starts to blur.

There are two officers with guns facing into the apartment and are trained directly at Jeno. Two more police officers cross through your apartment’s entrance and you freeze in the living room when they each grab Jeno by the arms to yank them behind his back. Seeing this, your feet automatically start shuffling you closer, and a near-cry escapes your throat.

“What is this?! What is going on?!”

“Lee Jeno, you are under arrest for aiding in an armed robbery…” one of the other officers begins citing Jeno’s reasons for arrest followed by his rights as he sheaths his gun back in its holster, but his voice is overwhelmed by your much louder one. You don’t know why your first instinct is to defend a man whom you knew almost nothing about other than the menial details he entrusted you with, but you do it anyway.

“Under arrest?!” You practically scream in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

There are warm pools forming in your eyes and they threaten to leak when his eyes meet yours. Having spun him around to handcuff his wrists, Jeno was now facing directly at you under the grip of his two arresting officers. You shakily inhale at the sight—the sight of the man who had just confessed his love to you being arrested for reasons you knew not of.

You’re not sure what comes over you to make you rush toward him, but one second you’re in the middle of your living room and in the next, two police officers are struggling to keep you away from being with the one person you needed to get answers from.

The worst part of it all is that you have this horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach that you may never get any answers from him. So you scream and thrash out, breaking yourself free for just a moment so that you can cup his face just as he did to yours when he told you that he loved you. You should have known the moment you opened the door to him tonight that things were going to be different. You should have known that when his first words to you were “I love you,” that there had to be a reason. You notice as his own eyes grow watery, but the time you have is cut short because you only see his face for a second before you feel your own hands being pulled behind you.

Refusing to let yourself be pulled any further, you let your body fall to the ground and continue watching as he also struggles to do anything to get closer to you. Jeno’s wild eyes are fixated at your broken form on the floor, before calling to you.

“Baby, remember what I said. Everything’s gonna be o-kay,” he says strained against the forces pulling his body backward. Soon the officers have managed to drag him out the door, and before you can lose sight of him a cry flies from your lips.

“No!” is all that you can manage while trying to stand yourself up to follow him. But the hands pushing you down are much too strong against your smaller frame, and your knees hit harshly back down to the hardwood flooring. Another cry rips through your throat, not from the pain in your knees, but from the agony you feel tightening around your chest.

Jeno can’t see you anymore, but he still hears the pain in your cry when you fall back to the ground. His eyes are no longer wild, but squeezed shut in frustration. Few tears fall freely down his high cheekbones when he calls through the hallway, “I’ll be back soon baby, I promise!” His voice reaches your ears, and you think about how he’d said the exact same words not too long ago, but this time you knew they felt…different…like he really did mean it. 

Other than a few more grunts from his struggles down the hallway, you don’t hear any more from him that night. Instead, the only sound you can hear is the one of your own ragged breathing. There are warm streaks running down to your chin, and you all but collapse in on yourself at the exhaustion your body feels from the whirlwind of events the early hours of the morning has brought.

What brings you back to the reality of still having two officers standing above you, is the crackling noise of their radios. You never could understand what was said through those things, and with the state you were in now, there was no way you could even try to make out what was coming out of them. Instead you try to steady your breathing, collecting your mind as you sniff back the loose tears. 

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to cooperate. Can you do that?” The female officer on your right leans down, trying to read body language since your face is pressed into the ground. 

You take a moment before nodding and sitting up. Your breathing has somewhat steadied, and you’ve managed to cease any more onslaught of tears. From there you listen to what the officers have to say to you. And from there, you learn a lot more about Lee Jeno in a few sentences from these strangers than the man himself had ever cared to tell you. 

And it is why you find yourself, six weeks later, looking at the very same man through a thick plexi-glass while holding a call-booth style phone to your ear. 

“Hey baby.” The smile that normally had you falling for Jeno every second of everyday was finally beaming brightly in front of you after more than a month. It wasn’t the longest period of time that you went without being able to catch a glimpse of it, but it sure had you feeling different this time around. 

Unsure of what to say, you just keep looking at him through the glass. It was the first time you’d ever seen him wearing glasses and from what you could tell, they were pretty thick ones. They looked strangely fitting on his handsome face, somehow making him appear even kinder than you once believed him to be.  However, it wasn’t only the glasses Jeno wore that made him seem out of place from the memories you had of him. 

Orange is not a color you were used to seeing him in, especially since you’d never seen him in any color other than black. This new sight before you strikes a chord and you can already feel your tear ducts ready to burst. You can’t breath, and his smile is disappearing as soon as he sees your face in the beginning stages of a sob.

“Baby…wait, don’t—don’t cry. I’m so happy to see you. You have no idea.” He offers a chuckle to try and lift the mood. 

But he misunderstands. You’re not about to cry because you’re sad. You want to cry because of how frustrated and upset you are. 

“You…lied to me.” In the time that Jeno was being indicted, you couldn’t meet with him. You weren’t immediate family or his attorney, so it was hard to find a way to see him any sooner. 

Over the six weeks you couldn’t see him, a lot of thoughts crossed your mind. After learning about his true “profession,” a hefty chunk of you wanted to swear on your mother’s grave to never see Jeno again. You knew what people like him were capable of. You’d seen it with your own eyes on the day that everything you loved was cruelly ripped away from you. No sane person would want to be in a relationship with someone who did the things Jeno did on the regular. 

And you were in a really tough spot now, because no matter how much your friends counseled you to “stay away from him ___,” you struggled to let go. Before, you had cut out any possible dangers in your life to protect the remaining things you loved. But how could you do that now, when the one person you had come to love most was also the one thing you vowed to never get involved with. The wild mix of emotions left you entirely drained most nights, but sleep never came to you, which only succeeded in giving you even more time to stew in your thoughts of anger, heartbreak, and confliction. All those sleepless nights are what culminated the four words you spoke to him through the clunky telephone.

“No, no. Baby, I didn’t lie to you.” At your accusation, his face drops again and he starts shaking his head vigorously. “I—I was only trying to protect you,” he stammers.

“But you knew about everything. I told you everything.” Jeno knew about your past and your fears. You’d told them to him when he would come on nights that you were feeling extra paranoid and had near panic attacks when he came knocking. “And don’t call me that. I’m not your child,” you practically spit at his already hurt-looking face. 

“Okay,” he seems slightly shaken by your curt request, “___……that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you. I only wanted to keep you safe…” 

“Keep me safe? Safe?! It never occurred to you that you were the one putting me in danger?!” The thoughts you held onto for the past six weeks were finally becoming verbalized. But your incredulous tone only sparked further passion in his own response. 

“Of course it occurred to me ___!” His free hand clenched into a fist and fell onto the table just in front of him. You felt the intensity of the action as the table top that was shared on both sides of the glass vibrated accordingly. “That’s why I tried so hard to keep my distance from you! Why do you think I would go months without seeing you?”

And that’s when you really connected the pieces. Back when you were stewing in thoughts, it didn’t occur to you that his absences were explained in his effort to protect you. You’d figured that they were all because of his “duties” and unspoken jobs that he was always gone or too busy. 

“Lee, wrap it up.” A nearby guard states, and Jeno briefly looks away to quickly nod back in acknowledgement. 

But the conversation had died. And you no longer had it in you to dig any further into the man that was Lee Jeno. You just wanted to keep the memory of the Lee Jeno that you ignorantly held before this all happened. Knowing more would only make the decision you were about to make that much harder. Still, he does his best to open you up to him in the little time he has left. But your answers fall short, eyes never really meeting his. So he sighs, knowing that whatever he said next would likely be the closing to today’s exchange.

“I’ll see you again soon, right?”

“Hmm.” You don’t nod or look up, but just hum softly back to him. He waits for something more, and when he’s met with silence he prods,

“Come back soon, okay?”

“M’kay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

There’s a pause before he asks, “Hey baby?”

Jeno’s question has you needing to take a breath, even if it is embarrassingly shaky. 

“Yes?” You finally find it in yourself to lift your eyes as you whisper back to him. 

“I love you.” The corners of his lips turn up slightly, but the smile fails to reach his eyes.

Nothing could possibly stop the nearly silent cry that comes out when your mouth opens next. You drop the telephone and use your hands to cover the bottom half of your face. But it does little to cover the tears that are finally falling from the corners of your eyes.

The two of you sit there with him watching you quietly weep, but then you look away. And as if on cue, the prison guard comes up behind Jeno saying, “Time to go.”

“Just one more second.” Jeno doesn’t look in the direction of the voice behind him, and instead keeps his focus fixed on you. But the guard is already grabbing the telephone out of Jeno’s hand and placing it back on the receiver. 

“You’ve used up all your time for the month already. Limit the people who visit you next time.” The guards’ words are indifferent, and he positions himself to begin escorting Jeno back to the cells. 

Limit what people? you think to yourself. How many other people had come to see him already? You should’ve guessed that his “co-workers” might have dropped by as soon as he was able to have visitors, or maybe another woman even. Nothing was ever official between the two of you anyway. But the way he acts now unfortunately makes you believe the latter scenario to be unlikely. 

“Wait, please.” He begs, but a hand grips under his arm to lift him from the seat on the other side of the glass. “I just need one more second.” Jeno’s index finger is extended, showing that he just needed a spare moment more. 

“Sorry, I already gave more time than I should’ve. And there are other inmates waiting.” Watching this exchange, you see reality and remember that you’ve already made up your mind. It would be now or never.

“…I love you.” You finally whisper back. And immediately, you wish you’d said it earlier. 

Because Jeno can’t hear it. Nor does he see it, because he’s too busy trying to fight off the hands attempting to get him standing. Everything you hear from the other side is muffled, but you can still feel the distress linger in his words. 

The guard on your side of the glass comes behind you as well, and also tells you that it’s time to go. When you don’t hesitate to stand up to leave, you can hear him yelling “Wait!” from the other side. But rather than staying to witness the scene he was causing, you opt to turn away and head for the exit door. You didn’t want anyone here, especially him, to see you more broken than you already were. 

So you leave without so much as a ‘goodbye’. 

Little did Jeno know, that would be the last time he saw you. Little did he know, you wouldn’t keep your promise. That you wouldn’t come back to see him. He waited, but you never showed. Not after a week, or a month, or even a year.

Because if there was one thing you feared most in life, it would be losing everything you had to a criminal. Your city was full of them. And you despised each and every one. He was no exception. They’d taken everything from you once before, and you were certain to never let it happen again. You’d used to agonize every time a knock came to your door, remembering that was how you’d lost everything and everyone you once had. 

For a while, having Jeno meant that most knocks would come from him on the nights he decided to grace you with his presence. But it was so foolish of you to never realize that he was the one you should’ve been afraid of standing behind your door all along.

Now it is years later. And you have not once seen or heard from him again, but you still have a fear. You fear that one day there will come a knock. A knock on the door to your new apartment. A knock on the door to your new apartment that he’s somehow found. A knock that you fear you will answer despite your better judgment. A knock you will stupidly answer and let into your life all over again simply because he’d finally come to you even when you failed to go to him. A knock from Lee Jeno.

You knew it would come, because it always did.

No matter how long he disappeared for, he had promised you he’d come back.

And even if you’d broken yours, you knew that a man like Jeno would never break his promises.

a/n: Hello readers! Happy Jeno day! I’m sorry if this is a bit belated for some readers as I’m located in PST and did a final edit last minute. This is purely a work of fiction and the characterizations aren’t 100% pulled from Jeno himself (we all know he’s literally a fluffball) but are simply based off an idea. I apologize if there are any errors or typos, it’s 3am and I have a quiz in a few hours to prepare for. As always, feedback is welcome! If you love angst as much as I love writing it, I hope this was satisfctory <3 xoxo, jewel

#I gotta bad habit #jeno au #jeno scenarios #mafia au #jeno angst #nct dream fic #lee jeno #jeno #nct dream #nct #nct au #happy jeno day #please let me know what you guys think!

[hms-chill]

Feeling Deeply

Summary: It's nearing the seventh anniversary of Henry's dad's death, and navigating the succession process only makes that harder, but at least Alex is there to help.

Chapter 1

Alex isn't sleeping, but he's trying to pretend. Jet lag is a bitch, and he knows he'll be up all night, but maybe if he pretends well enough, Henry will be able to fall asleep. Henry's been back in England for a few days already, and even if those days have been full of brainstorming with Bea and Pez, they've also been full of enough meetings with the entities that comprise The Crown to warrant late night phone calls calming him down every night before he can sleep. They've been the sort of meetings that made Henry hug him on the tarmac today with a hug that begged for time alone, when no one would pick at him and he wouldn't have to worry about anything, because it's all be so much and he's so overwhelmed. So even if Alex is going to be up late, Henry needs to sleep, and hopefully, Alex's pretending will help.

Apparently, he's too good at pretending, because Henry gives him an extra squeeze, presses a kiss to his forehead, and carefully extracts himself from the bed. Alex watches through his eyelashes as Henry pulls on sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a pair of shoes before he slips out of the room, and Alex is up and following in his footsteps as soon as the door closes. He follows Henry down the halls, the occasional security team member giving him an odd look, but letting him pass without question.

He follows Henry out a back door, then through Kensington Gardens. It's not a short walk to wherever they're going, but Henry clearly has a destination in mind, and Alex does what he can to keep up. He's just glad Henry is too preoccupied to notice his extra shadow.

He isn't sure how long it takes, since his phone is charging on Henry's desk, but he knows it's been more than a little while when Henry unlocks and slips through a gate and into a garden. Alex has to dart forward to catch the gate before it closes. Henry whirls, looking like he's trying to decide if he should scream or throw a punch or run, or maybe all three in that order, but he sees Alex and his defenses drop.

"Alex? You're... I'm sorry; did I wake you?"

"I couldn't sleep. And then you got up, and I... do you want to tell me what's up? You've... you're stressed, and just sort of generally not doing well."

Henry just pushes open the gate, leading Alex into the garden beyond. Alex steps up beside him, hoping it's not invasive, hoping it's the right move. Henry grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze, and Alex smiles a bit.

"I... I come here to think sometimes, when it's nice out and Kensington feels too close. But while you're here, too, there's... something I need to show you." He's avoiding the question, but Alex gives him a nod of encouragement anyway, so they make their way through the garden. In the light of the full moon, it looks like something from a fairy tale, and Alex would be lost within minutes without Henry's guidance. But Henry knows where he's going, and almost before Alex has time to process what's happening, they're standing in front of one of the biggest sculptures he's ever seen. Henry stops, and Alex lets go of his hand to circle the massive piece of marble in front of him.

"It's huge. Gorgeous. I don't... I can't imagine making anything like it."

"It's been a bit of a white elephant in the collections. It's just one piece of marble; Napoleon brought it back from Russia in the early 1800s, and we only have it here because the National Gallery didn't have a room big enough or a floor strong enough for it. The Waterloo Vase."

"Wait, this is the... this isn't a vase! This is a... a fucking massive marble, when you said a vase..." it feels like there's more to be said, but Alex can't find the words to say it. This is the vase Henry had told his feelings to. This vase, the thing no one wanted until it found a home, the thing too big to stay indoors. Unexpectedly, there's a lump in his throat. He goes to Henry and just wraps him in a hug, and Henry hugs back, one of the hugs that means he needs Alex to stay close for a bit."

"I love you," Alex says softly. "And I'm here for anything you need or want to tell me. I'll be here."

"It's just... we've spent all day yesterday, and most of today, talking about Mum taking the crown. And it's good, I know it is, but it's been... a lot. I mean, my family is always a lot, but spending so much time with them and talking about all the logistics and things, and having everything flattened out and picked apart, well, it's just... I miss Dad. Because every time our family, or lines of succession, or anything comes up, there's this big gap where he should be. And I know he'd... he'd make it all better, because he always did. When we had to go to these things with him, he'd always pass notes or draw little pictures and do all sorts of things to make them fun, but now..." Henry trails off, his face finding Alex's shoulder as he hugs him, and Alex hugs back so tightly he's almost afraid he's cutting off Henry's air supply. There's a sob so muffled in his shoulder that Alex almost misses it, then another. Alex rubs Henry's back and just lets him cry, doesn't say anything, just holds onto and loves the man who loves him enough to overflow the biggest vase Alex could ever imagine.

"I just hope I'm making him proud," Henry says, so softly Alex would have missed it were it not said directly into his neck. "I'm making all these decisions, or at least influencing them, we all are. And I just... I hope he'd be happy with what we're doing. I hope he'd be proud of who I am, and... and who we all are."

"I know he would be. You're the strongest, toughest, most amazing person I know. Any dad would be proud to have a son like you, and from everything you and Bea and your mom have told me, your dad would be over the moon if he could see the person you've become."

Henry is quiet for a moment, then he says, "Thank you. It's... it's just hard, because sometimes, I think I didn't really know him. I mean I knew him as my dad, but as I've grown up and become an adult, I'm realizing that maybe... maybe I didn't know him as a person. And I don't think that's anything anyone can do to change or fix, or anything like that, but it's just sort of hard to not really know how he'd feel about things, or... or if he'd actually be proud of me, or just say he was." Alex hugs him closer, and Henry's hug shifts to one that just needs quiet closeness. Eventually, he sniffles a bit, then yawns massively in Alex's ear. Alex chuckles a bit, giving him a little squeeze before letting go just enough to wipe the tears off Henry's face.

"What do you think about getting a ride back? Feel ready to sleep yet?"

Henry nods, so Alex starts back toward the gate, following Henry's sleepy directions through the garden and asking the PPO who'd stayed outside about getting a ride. Henry's eyes are drooping as the car pulls up, and he nearly falls asleep on Alex's shoulder in the five minutes it takes to arrive back at Kensington. Alex gets him in bed with his shoes off, and Henry's asleep in minutes, his hug on Alex shifting from one that needs him close to a lazy, sleepy hug.

Alex still can't sleep. He'll blame the jet lag, not the lingering feeling that he could be doing more, should be doing more for Henry. He's just not sure what Arthur would do; he's met the man through stories and genes, but he doesn't know him, not really.

When an idea finally clicks, he knows he has to run it by Bea. So, at the risk of disturbing Henry, he wiggles out of the sleepy hug and reaches for his phone, sending her a text before slipping back into place in Henry's arms. Message sent, he lets himself relax and cuddle with his boyfriend, and he's asleep before long, too.

Notes:

The minute I saw how... MASSIVE the Waterloo Vase was, I knew I had to write about it. Seriously; this thing is so big y'all. It's fifteen feet tall. That's massive.

If you enjoyed this and want to support the Hannah Makes Art fund, consider buying me a ko-fi? I know this is a weird time for everyone, but I am indescribably thankful for every one.

#my fic: rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #red white and royal blue fic #angst #hurt/comfort #firstprince

[eldritch-araneae]

Angst prompt: Hat Kid goes missing in Subcon. Filled with worry, Snatcher goes to investigate. He finds her eventually...but something's definitely wrong with her. She isn't acting like herself (A.k.a- She's being possessed) Snatcher can hear Hat Kid crying for help through the possession, but he's at a dilemma because he doesn't want to hurt her in the process of saving her (Sorry if this is too long! ^^')

Hey, guess what? I finally wrote something again, here come the Dadcher ahahah! :D

Thank you for the promt and thanks to @abyssal-glory​ for beta reading and editing!

Ice Shard.

“She’s taking way too long…” you grumble as you pace back and forth inside your hollow tree.

It was supposed to be an easy job: find one lost alchemy journal that used to belong to the florist from the frozen village. You could not go into that place yourself: just one look at the land coated in snow and ice and feeling freezing air were enough to send you into a spiral of panic. Even this warm cloak of yours wouldn’t help much in this situation.

That’s why you asked your kid to do it. She doesn’t mind since it’s not near that cursed manor. And she was supposed to be BACK by now!

You sigh and focus on the nearby auras: you could sense your minions, a few living creatures that still lived in half-dead forest, and you can sense the kid. She is still there, alive and fine.

Still, it doesn’t sit right for some reason.

Alright, you’re just gonna go and take a quick look! The kid is probably fine, she’s probably taking too long because she’s looking in every house or something.

You fly fast, driven by worry and fear. It’s probably fine, you are worrying too much!

You reach the broken bridge. The icy sight is making your metaphorical stomach turn. It’s fine, this is fine! You look in the distance and see Hat Kid. She’s right there, but something is wrong. 

Hat Kid is walking around in circles, her shoulders slumped, almost stumbling with each step she takes, her eyes unfocused. 

You must check on her. Yes, that means going into this forsaken place! With a deep breath you dash forward, trying not to focus on the biting cold. 

“Hey, kiddo!” You try to mask your growing anxiety.”What’s taking you so long? I almost thought you decided to live here!”

No answer from her. You frown, she’s usually quick with witty remarks. You float in front of her.

“Kiddo? Hello, are you there?” you wave your hand in front of her unfocused eyes. Suddenly, they focus on you, and you don’t like this stare. Her gaze is full of icy anger; you know this gaze way too well!

“No…” You flinch back. It can’t be!

“Elias,” she says.  There is no way the kid would know your real name! It could only be Vanessa…but how?!

“You dirty TRAITOR!” she screams and attacks, throwing some ice shards in your direction. You try to dodge, but one shard impales your right shoulder. You hiss in pain, reaching up to pull it out. You hear something coming from below; in the next second, an ice spike shoots out the ground. You dash to the left, barely dodging it and damaging your cloak instead.

“WHAT DID YOU DO THE KID?!” you scream, glaring now at your possessed child. 

Vanessa laughs in the kid’s voice, making you feel sick.

”Oh, nothing much!” she sends another ice barrage at you. Several of the shards managed to scratch you this time. ”Just a little ice and she’s mine! Do you like it?”

Suddenly, something heavy hits you from the back with such force that it sends you flying across and hitting one of the buildings upon landing. 

The panic is getting worse. You start breathing hard, feeling like you’re suffocating despite the fact that you don’t need oxygen anymore. You feel the shackles on your arms, chains around your body, a sharp pain where your legs would be if you still had any. You tremble hard as the cold becomes unbearable, making your right shoulder hurt worse.

Suddenly, out of nowhere something draws your attention away from your panic-driven state. You feel like something is calling, begging for help, feel like crying and screaming. But those feelings aren’t yours, no, you recognize the aura - that’s the kid! Vanessa must have masked her presence within Hat Kid’s aura and made it seem like the child was okay, but now that she’s revealed herself, you can feel the kid is desperately crying for help!

You growl, and despite shaking like a leaf in the wind, you manage to get up. There is no way you will allow this. No one hurts your kid!

You move forward, focusing on the child. Vanessa shoots more ice shards at you but it doesn’t stop you. When you get close enough, you grab the kid’s hands as you try your best to inspect her, trying to find something that Vanessa could use to control her.

The task proves to be difficult as Vanessa keeps squirming, shooting more ice at you and slashing your face. But then you notice a small glint in her left eye. You look closely and see a tiny ice shard stuck in there! 

That’s it! But how are you supposed to get rid of it?! The shard is way too small! You can easily hurt her eye by accident! You could shapeshift into your kid form, but it wouldn’t make it easier, and anyway, you cannot become small. Your own core is preventing it. You cannot use magic as well, the risk of damaging the kid’s eye is even higher in this case!

No option sounds good, but you have to act now.

You coil around her tiny form, making sure she won’t be able to move, then grab her head with right hand. Holding it still, you use your fingers to gently keep the left eye open, using your free hand to try to remove the cursed shard.

“What you think you are doing?!” Vanessa screams through Hat Kid. “You think you can take my new toy away, just like that?!” Icy spikes burst from the ground underneath you, stabbing into your tail. Somehow, you ignore the pain as you pinch the tiny shard between very tips of your talons.

“Don’t you dare, Elias!” the icy witch screams as you carefully pull the shard out of Hat Kid’s eye. Suddenly, kid’s body goes limp.

Looks like it worked. You relax your tail and lift the child into your arms. She’s clearly unconscious, but alive. You bring her closer to your chest and wrap your cloak around her for extra warmth, then teleport to her spaceship, away from this cursed place.

You sit on the kid’s bedroom’s floor, cradling her close. Now that the danger has passed, you become aware of the severity of your injuries. You hiss in pain, but it’s not that bad, nothing that sleeping in warm blankets can’t fix. 

You feel tears rolling down your face as you realise you could have lost the kid for good! With a deep sigh, you wipe them away, feeling relieved that it didn’t happen.

You feel the child squirming in your hold. She opens her eyes and looks at you.

“Dad?” she asks softly, sounding like she’s just woken up from slumber. That’s a good sign, maybe, if you’re lucky, she won’t remember this whole mess.

“Hey, kiddo,” you say gently as you take her hat and set it on the floor, then start caressing her head. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay…?” she sounds a bit confused at the odd question, but then she looks up at you and gasps. “What happened to you?!”

Crap, you forgot that Vanessa sliced up your face and shoulder. There is no way Hat Kid cannot see this.

“Ah, I had a little chit-chat with our favorite Miss Ice-To-Meet-You. Do you remember anything that happened in frozen village?”  Secretly, you really, really hope she doesn’t.

“I…well, no. I only remember stepping out of a house and then suddenly a gust of wind blew into my face and something…got into my eye?” she explains, unsure what else to say.”Did something bad happen? Did Vanessa come and…?” she trails off, afraid to assume the worst.

“Well she came, but I took care of her!” That actually makes you a bit proud of yourself. Normally you cannot do anything against her as fear paralyzes you completely, but seems like you can muster a spark of courage if someone close to you is in danger. “Don’t worry about it…and let’s never go near that frozen village again, okay?”

She hugs you tightly, burying her face into your mane. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find the journal…”

“Shhh…” you kiss the top of her head. ”It’s okay, it’s not that important anymore.”

You sit like this for a while, enjoying the positive contact and being glad that your child is safe.

#a hat in time #dadcher #my fanfics #hurt/comfort #guardian angel #i took inspiration from Snow Queen faitytale)

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 8 [18+]

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: PANIC.

Bess’s face is paper-white, her irises like pin-pricks in her eyes. She stands frozen in the doorway, unable to comprehend what she was utterly unprepared to see upon entry.

“B-Bess?” you stammer stupidly, also barely processing the reality of the situation.

The noise was enough to snap her out of her paralysis, and, like a rabbit freed from a snare, she turns and bolts.

She only makes it a few paces from the door, into the yard, when she staggers to a halt, breathing hard, muscles shaking, her hands clenching into fists. She roars like a lion—a savage, feral battle cry summoning courage she doesn’t have—and charges back into the barn. In one swift motion she crouches, still running, and snatches the pitchfork from the floor.

Brandishing the weapon at the enormous monster pinning you to the wall, she screams, “LET GO OF HER, YOU FREAK!”

She was ready for a fight that she knew she might lose. She wasn’t expecting the horrific brute to just stand there, slack-jawed. She wasn’t expecting you to shriek and throw your arms around your attacker, protecting it.

Her eyes drift down to your legs wrapped around his waist. Your bodies intertwined. Undressed.

Her tight-lipped grimace of fear evolves into a different kind of wide-eyed dread. This wasn’t an attack. Her rescue attempt wasn’t wanted. This was… what the fuck was this?! She drops the pitchfork and runs, and this time she doesn’t come back.

You feel your whole world spinning.

Nothing is real.

You can barely see.

It feels like you’re being strained through a narrow tube, squeezed like an apple in a cider press. You are vaguely aware of some pathetic whimpering noises, which you realize are coming from your throat.

The creature pulls out his flaccid cock from between your legs, and a flood of cum shocks you awake.

“Oh my god, oh god, oh fuck!” you repeat on loop as he sets you down, pacing as soon as your feet hit the floor. “Fuck. Oh my god.” She saw you—she saw you doing that! With your skirts around your waist and—you barely have time to be humiliated (though apparently embarrassment and terror can coexist, evidenced by your burning-hot face) because more importantly she saw him!

The look on her face. She was horrified. Horrified by what you were doing. What did she think was happening? Some kind of satanic ritual? Some dark witchcraft with a demon or evil spirit? That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? That you were being haunted by dark forces—and now they’ll know it’s true! All those suspicions and rumors confirmed tenfold!

Stupid!

You shouldn’t have been so quick to try to defend him from her—if you played along and acted as if he were attacking you, he could have escaped and you could've…

Could have what? Salvaged your own reputation and destroyed his once and for all? No. Your body moved on instinct anyway. Even rationally knowing she posed no real danger to him, you couldn’t let her threaten him without jumping in the way.

“Maybe she will understand,” the creature suggests. This time he is the voice of reason, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder to stop your pacing and muttering aloud. “The girl is your friend.”

You bark a cynical laugh. “Did it look like she understands? Maybe—maybe—if I could explain, but she’s gone. She—” Oh god. Your parents. She must have run straight to the house and told them what she saw!

You risk a peek outside, and glance up the hill. They aren’t storming down from the house at this very moment.

“They hitched the mule to the cart this morning, to bring jugs of milk to town to sell,” the creature explains. In your panic, you’d forgotten. One blessing on this cursed day.

“Bess must have run home, then. At a full sprint, that means we have about five minutes until the whole town is alerted, and about five minutes after that until they break down the barn door with torches and guns.” Finally you’re starting to think again, to plan. “What do we do?”

He clenches his jaw. He had hoped that your promise could come true. That you might be able to introduce him to others, and this time, with your aid, he would not be driven away. Though it was an accident, perhaps being seen by your friend was an opportunity.

But from experience, he knew you were right. That girl was certain to scream ‘monster’ to the entire town, and the hunter who had just sighted him not an hour before would validate her tale, and would be all too happy to learn where the vile creature was living. Any chance of a cordial introduction was ruined. His greatest concern now was your safety—being discovered as his ally placed you in grave danger of being hurt by a mob intent on killing him.

“We must run.”

“But where? There’s nowhere to go! We can’t just show up in a neighboring town—we’ll have the exact same problem, only worse, because I’ll be a stranger to them too.”

“Before our meeting, I wandered for many months in the wilderness, away from the persecution human eyes. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers were my refuge. The caves of ice were a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge.”

“Are you joking? We can’t just run away into the woods—I’ll starve! You might be fine, but I…” You’re breathing too fast, too shallow. The edges of your vision start closing in again. He takes your shoulders, enveloping them in his warm hands

“Food will be more plentiful now, berries and edible greens more abundant. Mousserons are growing. I will take care of you, I swear it.”

It isn’t terribly convincing, at least not to your panic-addled mind. You imagine yourself huddled and shivering on a floor of damp leaf litter, unable to feel your fingers. Goosebumps rush down your arms just picturing your freezing state. Feverish. What if you get sick?!

He senses the nightmares swirling before your eyes, and knows his words have done nothing to reassure you. There’s one more card he has yet to play which may yet abate your fear, though he is loath to admit it. “I know a place we may find shelter. Perhaps a home.”

“How? Where?”

“Geneva. Victor Frankenstein.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Your father? But, you despised him. He abandoned you. What makes you think he would help us now?”

“When I was first given the spark of life by his hand, I arose an uncoordinated, senseless mass of flesh. Endowed of all my present hideousness yet lacking any sign of intelligence, I must, in my infancy, truly have been a horror to behold. My creator could never have imagined I would ever find myself a companion so lovely.

“Such negligence on his part is why I hated him. To create a being capable of sensitive thought, who desired only to be loved, and was too ugly ever to be loved. Why must he have made me able to feel such longing!—such intense emotion!—yet deny me the possibility of companionship? For the maddening solitude he abandoned me to, I wished to inflict upon him suffering matching my own.

“Yet now, any reason I held for anger against him is dissipated. You make me happy to have been created. If the sorrow of my creation is the price to be paid for finding you, then I would happily pay it again. Therefore, for your sake, I can put aside resentment to beseech his aid.

“Perhaps his horror will have diminished now that I can petition myself to him rationally, and have a beautiful, charming mate to attest to my character. He is a scientist. He cannot be so prejudiced against me, whom he created, that he would not be moved by our tale.

“If he is not, regardless, I will not be so easily abandoned this time. He owes me a debt, as a father. He must help. He will help.”

A flicker of hope ignites inside you. If you have a destination—a benefactor—towards which you can run, then perhaps you won’t die like a lost lamb separated from the flock. You nod in understanding. Frankenstein may not willingly offer hospitality, but he will be convinced to give it one way or another—and if your daemon is willing to confront his past for your sake, then you must at least be willing to try.

“OK. I can pack all the supplies I’ll need to survive for a few weeks… warm clothing, blankets, food, what coin I have… and we’ll figure it out from there!”

Yes. This could work, this could really work!

Your spirits kick into high gear. “Hurry—we must hurry! How much time have we wasted talking? You are in the most danger if you are seen. I’ll pack a bag and meet you at my hiding spot behind the boulders in five minutes. Go!”

He kisses you quickly on the lips, and you both dash away to your respective tasks.

 ********

 Your feet pound up the creaky wooden staircase to your bedroom. Your home is small and rustic, but built large enough by your ancestors (out of wood from the surrounding forest) that you were afforded your own private room. It was a bedroom meant to be shared by many siblings, but you were the only one to survive past childhood. Heat filtered up to it from the cast-iron stove through loose floorboards, though on the coldest nights you slept in the kitchen.

It is dark for midday. Even after you throw open the shutters, you need to light a tallow candle to locate your belongings, and start shoving them into your pack. The sky outside is overcast with gray, foreboding clouds.

You look around for the last time at all of your needle-pointing hanging from the walls, charcoal drawings of birds and flowers sketched longingly on a winter day, and pages and pages of writing hidden under the mattress, bearing far too much of your heart to be found. It was a room full of yearning to leave, but it was yours. And you were leaving.

You squish the mass of fabrics down to make room for hardtack, carrots, cheese, and a jug of water you intend to steal from the kitchen. Less space is freed up than you hoped. You pull out a blanket that would have only gotten soaked and moldy the first time it rained anyway.

Will this really be enough to survive? It will have to be, you tell yourself as you sling the straps over your shoulders. It’s time to go.

The sound of voices and hoof-beats drift in through the walls. A jolt shoots through your chest. They were too close. If you ran out the door now, they would almost certainly see you. Shit. You weren’t an especially fast runner, you’d never lose whoever it was in a fair race. You pray they’ll head straight down to the barn looking for the creature, who should already be safely waiting at your meeting place. Then, once they’ve passed, you can slip out quietly and disappear into the trees.

The door opens.

Your hope is crushed beneath the threshold.

Is this it? Are you going to die? Is a mob going to pull you, screaming, heels dragging, from your home and burn you as a witch? Your breath catches in your throat, and you try to swallow but find that you can’t. All you can think is, I don’t want to die.

By a strange miracle, your terror is short-lived. There are only a handful of voices, not an angry mob, and two of them are your parents. Maybe they hadn’t heard yet. Maybe your best friend didn’t stir up a riot to hunt you down and kill you. Maybe, somehow, it was going to be OK.

They call your name. “Are you here? Come downstairs, we have a matter of urgent importance to discuss. Immediately.”

Maybe not.

You finally swallow the lump in your throat, and, tucking the bag behind your bedroom door, slowly descend the creaky stairs.

Your mother and father both have their arms crossed, and a different, yet equally stern expression upon their faces. Your father looks as though he could skin you alive and but would be too annoyed by the effort. Your mother looks at you disapprovingly, but with an odd smile threatening to show in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth—as if she had just won a game you had forced her to play.

As you continue down the stairs, a third person comes into view. A young man with sandy blond hair. Ferdinand. Hairs raise on the back of your neck. What the hell is he doing here? The look on his face is almost the same as your mother’s, except his smile is unrestrained, vicious.

“Hello, darling! Wonderful news. We’re getting married!”

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x reader #the creature x reader #monster x human #my writing #much shorter update I hope it doesn't feel rushed? I wrote it surprisingly quickly #everything starts happening really fast now