#no responsibilities. deep talks or silence; whichever it may be it still gives you comfort.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

I'm feeling a little melancholy at the moment, how would Hancock comfort/cheer up a lady sole survivor who is feeling down in the dumps? This can be a headcanon or a drabble, whichever your muse wishes to write and it's a romantic Hancock who's pining for the sole. Both have low self-esteem and sole is shy. Thank you in advance!

Thank you so much for the ask, anon! I love this prompt, and I think I’m going to do headcannons for all the companions based on it at some point, but for now, here is a drabble! Hopefully this is the kinda thing you were looking for, I think I might’ve gotten a little carried away, but I hope you enjoy!

Hancock surveyed his bar, looking over the patrons, and back up to Magnolia as she began her rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night,” and the ghoul's smokey gaze once again fell to the seat in the corner of the Third Rail. 

She was there, nursing an iced beverage in her hand; the amber liquid appearing to be whiskey.

"Tell me Fahrenheit, do people drink whiskey when they're happy?" He turned to the redhead lounging on the couch beside him.

"Depends how much." She stared ahead, absentmindedly swirling the gin and tonic in her hand.

"Three or four glasses in the last hour." He said. She followed his gaze to where it rested, rolling her eyes at him.

"You've been staring at her for the past hour? Tell me, why haven’t you gone over there yet? I know you enjoy a healthy dose of masochism every once in a while, but the self-induced suffering seems pretty constant whenever she’s involved.” Fahrenheit gestured with her glass towards the corner by the bar, where Sole was seated, already close to being finished with her beverage.

“Always so quick to judge. Sole’s a popular gal, I thought she might be waiting for someone. If that was the case, then who am I to-”

“Ugh, if you don’t get your ass over there and talk to her, I’m locking you out of the State House.” Hancock’s hat tipped forward as his gaze migrated to the floor of the bar.

Fahrenheit shifted to sit up from her lounging position. “Alright, what the hell is it with this chick? It’s like she turns you into that kid on the radio. All scared and awkward.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t know what it is either. She’s just… different. I actually give a shit about what she thinks of me, you know? And I don’t wanna lose her as a friend because I was coming onto her too strong.”

“I think you’re just being a pussy about having real feelings for someone.”

“Shit, red, that’s cold. Even for you.” At that, Hancock pushed his hat back to its correct position on his head and stood, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to face the person he had “real” feelings for.

“Fine,” he turned to glance back at Fahrenheit one more time, “You win. But if this goes south, I’m holding you responsible.” He turned and started towards the bar.

“And what it if it goes north?” Fahrenheit called after him, uttering a soft chuckle as he walked away. 

Hancock noticed Sole’s eyes fall on him as he approached the bar and tried not to be too obvious as he ordered another whiskey on ice for her, and one for himself. He was still coming off a mentats high, but he needed something to take the edge off. Grabbing the drinks, he turned deliberately to her.

“How you holdin’ up, sister? You looked a little low there.” He gestured at her now empty glass, reaching out to hand her the new drink.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” She said, smiling weakly at him as she took it.

“That seat taken?”

She looked to her left and shook her head.

“All yours, if you want.”

“Course I do, who wouldn’t wanna sit next to a lovely little thing like you?” She let out a feeble chuckle at his words, and the ridge above his eyes knitted together as he noticed the lack of light behind her eyes as she stared down at the floor.

He took a swig of his whiskey, draining half of his glass in one gulp. Sole looked over and drew her own glass to her lips, grimacing slightly at the bite of the whiskey. The two sat in silence for a bit, listening as Magnolia’s song came to an end and the conversations around the bar grew to a dull roar. 

“Sorry I’m not better company, Hancock.” She uttered quietly. 

“Nonsense. I could sit silently beside you all night, and you’d still be better company than half the commonwealth. But hey, if you wanna talk about it, I know it doesn’t look like it, but I got two good ears over here.” She laughed a little more genuinely at that, and Hancock felt a little flutter in his chest.

“Thanks, but really it’s- Okay, it’s just… nothing.”

“Hmm. Yeah, seems like it. Real convincing there, sister.” She finally looked up to meet his gaze. “C’mon, Sole,” he whispered softly, “it’s okay, you can tell me. After all I done, you think I’m in any position to judge you?” Sole looked away and downed her drink, before placing her fifth empty glass on the table beside the others. He drained the remainder of his own beverage in response, hoping the gesture might help settle her nerves a bit.

Sole took a deep, shaky breath. 

“It’s not… something.” She stopped, looking at him with desperation behind her eyes, willing him to understand without her having to say it. Hancock was many, many things, and he would become almost anything if it meant pleasing Sole, but he wasn’t a mind reader. Instead, he smiled at her and nodded for her to continue.

“It’s… God, it’s just everything. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I used to feel like I had made it so far. When I saw the world after leaving that vault, I just, I don’t know, I just adapted. I moved on and I survived. Even when I learned that 200 years had passed, and I realized that everyone I ever knew was dead, I persisted. I pushed through. I was sad, of course, but at least I could function. Then, when I found out about Shaun and the Institute, when I saw him and... and he was older than me, when I found out how he felt about me, the way he saw me as nothing more than an experiment, I just…” Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, punctuating the end of her sentence. No words were needed now, he understood. He wanted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her tight, to let her know she wasn’t alone, that he was here for her, and would be as long as he was living. Instead, he reached a scarred hand towards her own that rested on the arm of her chair. She shuddered slightly as his fingers made contact with the back of her hand, and he was afraid she would pull away. But she just dropped her gaze to watch as he settled his hand atop hers, his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re goin’ through, Sole.” He said, his dark eyes meeting hers, “But no matter what, I’m here for you. Anything you need, it’s yours, you hear?” She sniffled slightly, and Hancock thought he heard a soft “thanks,” but he couldn’t be sure.

“You remember the day we met?” He said, his thumb still brushing softly over her hand.

“How could I forget? You killed a guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I sure did, heh.”

“What was his name again?” She asked him, a little bit of life returning to her strained voice.

“Finn.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now.”

“Yeah, real jackass, he was.” Sole grinned at that, and Hancock's eyes lit up, reveling in the fact that his words managed to bring a smile to her face, meager as it may be, it beat tears any day.

“You remember why I killed him?” He asked her.

“Cuz he was a jackass?” The ghoul chuckled at that, his hand squeezing hers ever so slightly.

“Close, but that’s not all of it. He was a jackass to you, sweetheart. And that didn’t sit right with me, even then.” Her eyes met his as she began to understand where he was going with this.

“But lemme tell you something, how I cared then? Shit’s nothing compared to how I care now.” He whispered the last sentence, leaning in closer to her. Hancock willed himself to say more, to tell her how much he cared for her, tell her everything he would do for her, he wanted to make a move to hold her hand tighter, or to lean into her even further, to eliminate the gap between them altogether, but he was paralyzed by her unbroken gaze.

“You mean it?” She whispered so softly, he almost didn’t hear it over the buzz of the bar.

“You kiddin’? Every damn word. And just for the record, there’s nothing wrong with the way you’re feeling right now, Sole. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and if anybody else went through the shit that you have, they wouldn’t have made it through day one. But you? You haven’t just survived out here, you’ve made a difference. You didn’t have to, background like yours, you coulda become a fuckin raider or crime boss or some shit and I wouldn’t have blamed you, but no. Here you go, one-upping everyone else who thought they had a tragic backstory and becoming the best damn person in the Commonwealth. Really ruins it for the rest of us rabble, you know.” Sole’s eyebrows creased together and her eyes began to glisten again as tears threatened to spill over. Shit. What did I say? Hancock’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried desperately to think of a way to undo whatever he just did. That feeling soon vanished as Sole fell forward, arms draping around Hancock’s shoulders, as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. He released the breath he had been holding and brought his own arms around to envelop her, squeezing tightly as warmth spread through the expanse of his chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered softly. And Hancock was sure he’d heard it this time.

#fallout #fallout companions #fallout companions react #fallout companions reactions #fallout companions reacts #fallout 4 #fo4 #fo4 reacts #fo4 react #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companions reactions #fallout 4 companions reacts #fallout headcanons #fallout 4 headcanons #ghouls #fallout hancock #john hancock #hancock #sole #sole survivor #f!sole #f!sole survivor #fahrenheit #fallout fahrenheit

[blinder-secrets]

Between Palms

fem!reader x michael gray

warnings: power imbalance, role play, mild nsfw (its a slow burn but hang in there trust me)

wordcount: 4,125

It seemed silly really, a birthday meal at Arrow House, but here you were. Invite accepted and fulfilled, even though you were just there as a plus one. An almost family member. Michael had you living in his house, accompanying him to every event, and yet your finger was still empty of the ring you both knew would come eventually. He’s waiting for the right moment, you suppose. It doesn’t really matter. Everyone knows he’s yours, and you’re his. Even Polly is starting to treat you like a daughter.

‘Is it his actual birthday today?’ you ask Michael, as he takes your coat in the entry way.

‘Don’t know.’ He passes it to Mary, who you’ve only just been introduced to. 'Tomorrow I think.’

You hum. This was the family version then, they’d spend his birthday alone, just the two of them. ‘It’s quite sweet, isn’t it?’ you muse. You’d never have marked either Tommy or Lizzie as the sentimental sort.

Michael snorts. ‘Sweet, yeah.’ From his smirk, you know he doesn’t even remotely agree.

‘The meal is being served,’ Mary tells you, careful in her interruption. ‘If you’ll follow me?’

‘Oh, course, sorry.’ You nod and gesture for her to continue; you’d almost forgotten that the both of you were late. ‘Come on,’ you say to Michael, offering your hand.

He takes it readily, his palm warm and soft against yours. From the look of him, his sharp suits, his set hair and his square jaw, you’d always assumed he would shy away from touches like that. That he’d keep his hands in his pockets and his character professional, impenetrable. But, he never does with you. Whenever you give your hand, he takes it, locks his fingers around it. He’d let you pull him half way across the world, you think. If you tried.

In the main dining room, you’re met by the rest of the family. They’re seated already, talking and drinking around the platters of food, the plates already filled with some expensive cut of meat. The conversation stills as you enter, a few of them beginning to stand to greet you.

‘No, no don’t,’ you say quickly, waving them down again. ‘We’ve got time for that later.’

‘Tommy,’ Michael says, acknowledging him with a nod. ‘Happy Birthday.’

‘Yes,’ you add, ‘we left your gift with Mary.’ You’re sure he doesn’t care what it is, you don’t even know that he’ll ever open it. It’d had felt wrong to go to a birthday party without taking something.

Tommy almost matches your waiting smile. It’s as much of a response as you’ll get. ‘Please,’ he says, gesturing to the two empty chairs, ‘sit down. Get a drink.’

You take your seat which is, of course, next to Michael. Your Michael. He’s holding the chair out for you, ready to tuck it in as you sit. Always the gentleman like it’s second nature. Like he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. You smile up at him in thanks, but he just touches your shoulder briefly before sitting himself. ‘Looks great,’ he comments, eyes down as he scans the lay of food and alcohol before him. His accent’s stronger when he’s with them, like he picks it up at the door. At home it almost disappears, melts into something softer, some remnant of his upbringing. You haven’t decided yet which it is that you prefer. It’s what he says that charms you.

‘It’s nice of you to have us, Tommy,’ you say, leaning around Michael to smile at him.

He’s sitting at the head of the table, as uninterested in the food as you’d expected him to be. His eyebrows raise in response to your comment, and he half-shakes his head, as if to say, oh it’s no problem, no trouble. From the way Lizzie’s smiling beside him, you know that it was all her really. Her idea, her planning. She wanted him and the family to have something nice for once and so here you were.

‘And Lizzie, of course,’ you add. ‘Thank-you.’

‘Our pleasure,’ she replies gently, lifting her glass. ‘Please, eat. Before it gets cold.’

You nod and bring your focus back to Michael, who’s lit a cigarette and is now resting between drags. It sits between his fingers on the table, smoke pulling up and over his plate, swirling his meal in grey. How he doesn’t mind, you have no idea. He may as well peel it open and eat the tobacco instead.

‘Michael,’ you scold quietly, knocking your elbow against his. ‘Put it out.’

He clears his throat and sits straighter, lifting the cigarette for a final taste. ‘Was in my head,’ he comments on the exhale, before taking another sharp, final drag. ‘Think we should do something like this.’

You watch him lean forward and stub the cigarette out, into the ashtray in the middle. ‘Do what?’

‘Have a dinner,’ he says, sitting back again. ‘For you, for your birthday.’

Snorting, you shake your head and turn to pick up your cutlery. The house you have together is nowhere near big enough to accommodate for the Shelby side, let alone your family too. Not that you would invite them anyway. They’d see Arthur and go running, hear Johnny Dogg’s jokes and flush red with shame.

‘Yeah? And who would arrange that?’ you ask. You take a bite and throw him a closed-lip smile between chews. ‘I’m not doing it.’

He shrugs. ‘Well, I will.’  

The beef is cooked perfectly, you cut another piece off as you reply. ‘You’re good with numbers, Michael, not parties.’

‘Alright.’ He picks up his fork limply, too focused on the side of your face to even consider eating something himself. ‘Mum will,’ he says to you, then, turning to her, ‘you’ll help, won’t you?’

Polly scoffs from opposite. You hadn’t realised she’d been paying attention, but of course she had. She never misses anything of interest. ‘Not bloody likely,’ she chides. ‘You’ll have to do something for yourself one day, Michael.’ She’s smiling, teasing with her lips soft and curling, but it still sours him.

‘Fine,’ he says, slouching. ‘No party, then. Christ.’

You almost roll your eyes, but it isn’t often that he suggests something like this. Something flashy. Normally, any gesture of affection he has for you is quiet, private. Tucked away just for the two of you. A big party like the one Lizzie’s thrown for Tommy is entirely new; you hadn’t meant to shoot him down so quickly. Sighing, you soften your voice and say, ‘We can have a party, baby.’ He hums. You put your hand to his face, thumb angled for his chin, but he tilts his head away in the last second.

Before you can complain, Polly catches your attention again. ‘Here, love,’ she says, ‘have some more potatoes.’ She holds the dish up for you, over the centre of the table and the glasses between.

‘Sure, thanks.’

You take the offering and when you pull the dish toward you, the bottom catches on your wine glass. It tips quickly, spilling red over the table, over you. You half expect it to shatter against the edge of your plate.

Cursing loudly, you abandon the dish into Michael’s waiting hands. ‘Sorry, fuck, sorry.’ You stand quickly and the commotion hushes every conversation that had been rolling within the room.

‘You’re meant to drink it, love,’ Arthur laughs, from whichever end he’s sat at — you’re too busy patting your napkin frantically onto the tablecloth to check.

‘God, sorry, sorry Lizzie.’ It’s stained, it’s definitely stained and ruined.

‘It’s on your dress,’ Michael comments, like you hadn’t noticed.

‘Never mind the dress,’ you snap back. ‘The sheet’s ruined.’

Tommy clears his throat. ‘Its just the tablecloth, [y/n], sit down.’

‘It’ll do more damage to your dress, love,’ Lizzie adds, sympathetically. ‘It’s alright.’

You pause, huffing slightly, then sit clumsily back into your chair. It’s always you, it seems, to stand out like this. To be un-calculated, accidental. Every Shelby is so precise, and so careful, and so in control of everything at once, somehow. Michael’s a Gray but he’s got it too, the grace. Lizzie isn’t even blood related and she holds herself the same. What is it about you? What do you lack?

‘Don’t worry,’ Michael says quietly, interrupting the thought by pouring words into your ear. ‘Don’t get yourself worked up.’

You don’t answer him, you just pout and dab at the stain on your lap. The wine’s sunk in deep already. It looks purple, not red, against the fabric.

‘Mary could help,’ he offers, after sighing at your silence. ‘She’ll be in the kitchen.’

You nod and stand, clutching the soggy napkin in your palm. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ you say to the table. Your voice only catches the attention of Polly and Finn, but no-one else challenges you when you turn to leave. It’s just another of your quirks, they must think, just something you do. They either don’t care, or didn’t see.

You hurry from the room with your ears turning hot. Michael will tell you later that you were being silly, worrying over nothing, but right now it feels mortifying. Leaving the room to see a maid about a stain. In the middle of a dinner party, no less.

When you reach the kitchen, Mary startles. Her eyes widen at the sight of you, like your presence alone means she’s done something wrong, like she’s forgotten something and you’re here to chase her up on it.

‘Don’t worry,’ you tell her, gesturing to your dress. ‘I just wanted to see if you had something for this.’

Her expression softens. The gentle folds in her face fall slack and for a moment she reminds you of your grandmother, though she never had the gall to be a gangster’s housekeeper. ‘Is it wine, miss?’

You sigh. ‘Tragically, yes.’

‘There isn’t much we can do for that.’ She hums. ‘But I’ll try, please sit.’

She gestures to the table, and the chairs which are wooden, and bare, and much plainer than the dining set upstairs. It’s welcoming in a way elegance will never be. You sigh into the seat and watch her pull bottles from various cupboards, busying herself quickly. Her dress folds as she does, creasing at her waist, comfortable enough to not restrict her movements. If only yours was like that. The dress you’re wearing is too expensive, and too tight, to be any good for anyone. Now, it isn’t even pretty.

‘Mary,’ you start, stilling her as soon as the idea strikes, lighting itself as a match would. ‘Do you have any spare uniforms?’

Her brow arches slowly, like she’s unsure of your intention and even more unsure of asking for it. ‘Miss?’

‘That I can wear,’ you explain. The thought is rolling, piling up and catching speed in your head. It makes sense really, a worker’s fit for the working woman, an apron for the spills. If the Shelbys can’t find the humour in it, you certainly will.

‘Only the ones the maids wear,’ she says.

You smile. If Michael could see you now, he’d accuse you of plotting something. He’d be right. ‘Perfect,’ you tell her, ‘that’s perfect, Mary.’

If your exit was quiet, unnoticed, then your return may as well have been an explosion. A great tremor to the room and all its inhabitants. You’re barely through the doorway before Arthur’s laugh is bursting from his chest, barking over Johnny’s head toward you. From the noise of it, the rest turn in your direction. Conversation is tossed out the window and onto the lawn. Lizzie laughs, more out of shock than anything else, Polly mutters a ‘Christ’, and you’re sure you catch Finn swallowing his beer like it’s running out. How Tommy reacts, you don’t know, you don’t look.

‘Fucking hell, woman, almost lost me drink over that,’ Johnny says, speaking before anyone else has chance to.  

You reach the table and give a half-confident bow, with your gaze sitting easily on Michael. ‘Would you like a refill, mister?’ you ask falsely, twisting your voice high enough that it hardly sounds like you at all.

His eyebrows lift, eyes widening, and then they drop again, quickly, like nothing’s happened. His face hardens slightly. Then, he turns away, facing forward, and he goes very still, and very quiet, and you don’t quite know what he’s thinking. You thought he’d laugh, or at least make some snarky comment about not mingling with the help. Instead, his eyes sit on the whiskey in his hands like you aren’t even there.  

‘What the hell you got that on for?’ Arthur asks, amusement in the crinkles by his eye. ‘Eh?’

You force a smile at him. ‘Thought I’d give you something to dream about, Arthur.’

There’s few snorts in response and then Tommy puts them to rest. ‘Alright, alright, sit down,’ he says, lighter than you’d expected, ‘unless you’d like to help serve pudding.’

‘If it gets me on the payslip, I’ll consider it,’ you reply, pulling your chair out to sit.

Michael doesn’t acknowledge you still. The plates are cleared, your wine glass is upright again, refilled, and then dessert is brought out. Everything in order as Lizzie’s itinerary no doubt demanded. By the time everyone’s eating again, your outfit is entirely forgotten about. There’s no comment on the plain black dress, no jokes on the white apron that pulls it tight to your waist, no awareness of it at all. You almost regret not wearing the matching hair-band, maybe if you did Michael would have had something more interesting to say.

When the other guests are suitably distracted, he finally leans into you, whispering harshly by your ear. ‘What’re you wearing?’ he asks. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s frowning.

Your eyebrows pinch, gaze on the spoonful of tart that you’re chasing around the plate. It’s very obvious that you’re wearing what the maids wear. It’s a joke, Michael, ever heard of that? ‘My dress is ruined,’ you answer. ‘I’ve left it with Mary to work on the stain.’

‘And you couldn’t find anything else to wear?’

‘No,’ you say firmly. ‘I couldn’t.’

His jaw flexes. He downs the last of his whiskey like it’s laudanum and you’re the ache. He wants to say something, you can see it, but he holds himself back. He shakes his head like he’s knocking it down, forcing it into his throat with the liquor.

After that, the pair of you eat in silence, and when Tommy invites the party to move into one of the more comfortable rooms, you stand in silence too. You let the rest of them go ahead of you. When Polly passes on her way out, she says, ‘That’s something I’d have done when I was your age,’ and even though she’s being friendly, you wish she hadn’t. The last thing you needed now, was to be told that you were acting like your boyfriend’s mother.

You follow the crowd out of the dining room with Michael behind you. Before you can get much further, he catches your wrist, tugging you back and sideways into one of the shorter hallways. It’s dimly lit, a hardly used corridor between rooms that you’d never been to, never even noticed. He sets you against the wall, careful despite the firmness of his grip, and then his hand lifts from your arm to sit flat on the wallpaper by your head.

‘Are you trying to embarrass me?’ he says sourly, words forced over sharp teeth.  

You frown. ‘No? Why would I?’

‘This.’ His chin dips and lifts again, gesturing to the uniform. He isn’t sneering but it’s implied.

‘I had to wear something, Michael.’ You had no idea it would offend him so much. You hadn’t even considered that it’d upset him, embarrass him. It was a stupid joke and a way out of a wine-stained dress.

He breathes heavily through his nose. He’s close, very close. The heat coming off him is warming you too, making the skin beneath your collar sticky with sweat. He lets his gaze sink down your body, then drags it up again, slowly.

‘What’s the problem?’ you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes find yours and harden, the angles of his jaw setting like he’s forcing it to. Oh. Oh, you think, oh, that’s what this is. It doesn’t offend him, he isn’t insulted. He’s embarrassed because you’ve found something out about him, you’ve brought something to the surface that he hadn’t even known himself, and you’d done it in front of his family, without warning.

You smile. It stretches slowly across your cheeks as the realisation solidifies. ‘Does this turn you on, Michael?’ you tease. ‘It that what it is?’

His eyes squint slightly but he says nothing. That’s a mistake — his silence just encourages you, dares you to push it further. You’re right. Now you know you are. You see it in the sharpness behind his expression, in the weighted breaths against your skin. In the way he steels himself before you.

‘Who would have thought?’ you purr, tilting your hips forward.

You catch the material of your dress at the waist, pinching it, so that your movement pulls the hem up your legs. His chin drops. The dress is bunched enough to reveal your thighs, just high enough to show the top seam of your stockings. With his free hand, he pushes carelessly under the apron and lifts, scrunching it by your hip to give him a better view. The air puffs out of his nose like he’s breathing manually, like if he doesn’t force it he’ll stop all together.

‘Have I embarrassed you, Mr. Gray?’ you drip, honey pouring from your mouth, sinking into him like an opiate. It’s new, but it’s easy. It comes naturally. Perhaps it’s always been like this; without you realising, without you caring. A power imbalance that you both liked.

You’re looking at his lashes when his eyes dart back to you. ‘Stop it,’ he warns. The apron falls down again, his hand pulls away from the wall. ‘Don’t.’

‘Why?’ You’re enjoying it too much to pay any attention to his order. ‘Would you prefer I call you Sir?’

He swallows. You bite down on your lip as you wait for a response, half-convinced that he’s about to storm away and leave you there. Then, slowly, slowly like he’s fighting and losing, letting it flood the cracks, letting it pull him under, he leans into you. His palm cups your cheek. His head drops to put his mouth just below your chin, angled and ready by your neck.

‘Say it again,’ he coaxes, voice rough over your throat.

Your breath shakes, quiet, fragile from your mouth. ‘Say what, sir?’

He exhales sharply but it catches, and for a moment it sounds like he’s growled. Your Michael, growling, with his breath hot and heavy against you. If you took drugs, this would be yours, this would be your fix. You run your hand up his side, under the jacket and over the waistcoat.

‘Do you like it, sir?’ you ask.

‘Fuck.’ The words drags out of him, scrapes through his teeth like he hasn’t realised. ‘Bring it home,’ he says, pulling his face up to look at you. He looks serious, so serious, and so desperate that it should be ridiculous.

‘What?’

‘The dress,’ he answers tightly, ‘the outfit. Bring it home with you.’

You’ve won. Somehow, you’ve won. You’d put on a uniform you had no right to wear, and now Michael was begging for you to bring it home. Desperate to have you like this, again, just for him. And you would, of course you would, you’d be an idiot to deny him something like that. To deny something so mutually beneficial. You’d get your dress back from Mary, and thank her kindly, and then take the maid’s clothes home without saying anything else. But, that was no fun now, that didn’t see to the ache that had started to build between your legs. That didn’t feed the hunger. You had Michael alone, in a darkened corridor, needy and tightroping between disciplines, teetering on the edge of his restraint. That’s too rare, too good to lose. You won’t let it end yet.

Instead, you pout your bottom lip and say, ‘Don’t you want me now? Did I do something wrong, sir?’

He groans, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

You’re impatient so, tiring of the gap, you pull him forward so that your hips are together. He’s hard, you realise, taut against his trousers. You’ve barely touched him and already he wants you, his body craves the way yours does. ‘Kiss me,’ you say messily, quickly, forgetting all about the persona you’d adopted. ‘Kiss me, Mikey.’

‘Hm?’ he hums, putting his other hand to your face, holding you still as he settles his attention on you again. He pushes back until your spine is straightened along the wall. ‘What was that?’

The slip in character hadn’t gone unnoticed. It’d broken the tension enough to give him the upper hand, to finally let him make his play.

‘You don’t talk to me like that,’ he says. ‘Do you?’ The words pour out of him thickly, whiskey and languid control melting across your cheeks, over your lips.

‘Sorry, sir,’ you reply.

Now, it was your own breath that came stiffly, unwilling to move of its own accord. Your chest rises against his because you tell it to. The pressure from his crotch grows, firm and wanting against the dip in your hip.

His tongue runs between his lips once. He’s following your expression carefully, noting each shift, each hesitation. He can see you’re cracking, you’re sure of that. The look he has is the look of a man who’s already won. One that has want he wants, but enjoys the sport of taking it. He puts his nose to the hair by your ear and breathes in deeply, sending goosebumps along your skin. ‘Ask properly,’ he says, his voice low, rumbling.

You swallow quickly. You’re flushing hot. There’s fire in you, flames curling and rising, pulling upwards from your thighs, your stomach, swallowing your heart before it can stutter a beat. ‘Please,’ you start, ‘please kiss me, sir.’

‘Better.’

His eyelids flutter once, as he looks to your lips, and then he’s kissing you. Hard. Harder than he has for a while.

Your hands go to his wrists, hanging onto him as he holds you, as he kisses you into the wall, into the house, through the brickwork and into Elysium. You moan against him and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, wanting more. Needing more.

‘Not a sound,’ he pants as he pulls away. His grip on your face disappears and then his hands are on your thighs, roughly, desperately. His palms settle behind your knees and tug them up, lifting your legs off the ground and putting them around his waist instead. He takes your weight like it’s nothing; uses his hips and his own body against you to keep you upright, between him and the wall. ‘Not a fucking sound, right?’

You nod, frantic, already reaching for him again, already pushing your mouth to his for the taste. For the whiskey. For the heat and the need, and the tongue between your teeth, for his cock, hard and ready against the softest part of you.

He pushes the dress up abruptly, piling it and the apron over your stomach. ‘I want to hear you say it,’ he breathes, forcing it between kisses. ‘Say you’ll keep quiet.’ His touch is searing, alight with something so untapped, it’s raw. Primal.

‘I’ll be quiet, sir,’ you answer pliantly. Willingly. He could ask anything of you now and you’d give it to him, you’d bleed it into his palm like molten silver. ‘Please fuck me,’ you beg. ‘Please, sir.’

He growls again and this time it’s on purpose. His face buries into your neck, into the base of your throat. He kisses the skin hungrily, wet and biting, lustful. He takes you and you let him, you invite him to, because you always have wanted it, the imbalance. The game was fake but the power is real, the submission is honest. Cultivated. It was him over you, always, and you liked that. You wanted that more than anything and now you had it, scorching between your fingers. Burning you into the wallpaper.

You moan; his hand goes to your mouth firmly, flat palm against your lips. An order without words. Quiet, he says, stay quiet. All you have to do is oblige.

#michael x reader #michael gray x reader #Michael Gray imagine #michael gray #peaky blinders fanfic #RIGHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT I WAS A BIT CHEEKY WITH THIS ONE #me writing cock one single time: im a smut writer now #let me know what you htink!!!!

[vintagedaydreams]

True Love Never Runs Smoothly Part Six (Carlisle)

Part Six for the Carlisle version!

Yes, I know that I usually update Marcus’ story first, but Carlisle’s just came so much easier this time around. So! Treat for those who are following this story arc!

This chapter was not beta’d, nor was it proof read. #Wedielikemenhere

Without further ado – or delay – the Carlisle update.

@kettnerjanea @jelly-fishy-babie @the-graceful-ace @amwolowicz @batsdothings @waxingmoonstone @littlebabybatthings @mauvette268 @sagittarius-flowerchild @katsav17 @batsuperflashmartianwonderman @imyourapocalypse @bethanymccauley @bepo-is-sorry @raindancer2004 @ashiemochi @artaxerxesthegreat @bloodsweatandsnapple

  You were not in a good place. Okay, physically, you were in a beautiful room in an ancient castle in Italy, but mentally and emotionally? You were just this side of traumatized.

Realistically, you knew that vampires drank from humans. And realistically, you knew that not all vampires enjoyed your company, (the last few weeks in Forks had been testament enough to that), but to have a vampire attack you and try to drain you while in said beautiful and ancient castle in Italy?

Not cool.

Very scary.

All you wanted to do was go home. Go home and seriously forget that anything remotely supernatural existed. Your life would be so much easier. So much…quieter.

That’s what you wanted. Quieter. Easier.

And that’s why you were leaving. Today. Screw any diplomatic anything. You were out.

You were changing back into the clothes you wore here, since you didn’t want to take anything that wasn’t yours and never packed anything for this sudden trip, when a knock resounded through the room.

You froze, not sure if you wanted to scream or cry.

Couldn’t they just leave you alone?

“Come in,” you finally sighed, tugging your shirt on and plopping down on the bed.

The door opened and Aro glided in. Literally glided in. How the man wasn’t gay was still a mystery to you. He was the most feminine vampire you’d met so far – including Rosalie.

“Cara mia!” came the delighted exclamation, as if he hadn’t seen you in years. “How are you doing?”

You crossed your arms, more as a comfort gesture than any hostility.

“Fine, all things considering,” you said after a moment.

Aro’s happy smile faded and he nodded, gesturing to the bed next to you for permission to sit.

As much as you would have liked to decline, it was his castle after all. So you grudgingly nodded.

“It is the ‘all things considering’ that I’d like to talk to you about,” the flamboyant monarch said after he had seated himself with more pomp and circumstance than you were sure was necessary. You were just a human after all.

When you didn’t say anything further – honestly, you were a little scared about what he was going to say next – he continued on.

“My brothers and I have been talking and we do not feel that an Innocent such as yourself should be made to suffer from the side effects of a Neglected Bond.”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“And….what does that mean?” you whispered after a few minutes of Aro just sitting there, staring at you.

“It means that we have come up with two solutions to your…predicament. You are free to choose whichever solution you desire, though I am sure that with your spirit and your independence, you are not going to like either one. However, in a situation like this, with these players and these circumstances, these were the only two solutions that my brothers and I could come to any sort of agreement on.”

You waited with baited breath and Aro seemed to gather his thoughts.

Which you knew was bullshit. The man was a three thousand year old vampire – he didn’t need to stop and gather shit. He knew exactly what he wanted to say and how he was going to say it.

Dramatic asshole.

“What are the choices?” you finally ground out, tired of waiting and breaking the silence first.

“First,” Aro started, all business and any earlier levity gone, “you must promise to chose and abide by one of these choices. It is not only out of duty as Rulers, but also out of concern, that we have set these decisions. We are giving you freedom to choose, which is something that very few beings get. You have the ability to choose whichever path you feel is better for you, but you will have to obey the stipulations that come with each choice to the letter. Any variance that we are alerted to, and we will choose your fate. Do you understand?”

You gulped, not used to being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from such a powerful being.

“Y-yes,” you swallowed, heart kicking up a few notches as your imagination started to run wild. Everything from being turned by the end of the day, to dying as a human, filled your mind.

“Now, cara mia,” Aro soothed, voice honey sweet and more affectionate now, “know that we have your best interests in mind. Neither choice was meant to hurt or inconvenience you, but rather to help you. A Neglected Bond is not a pleasant thing to go through. And while you should – hopefully – feel less of the symptoms since you are human, there will be some side effects all the same and those may affect you more drastically since you are human.”

You gave a shaky nod, eyes wide and heart hammering.

“The first choice,” Aro started, manner again businesslike, “is to stay here in Volterra. My brothers and I have been around for collectively, around nine thousand years, give or take a few centuries. We have gathered a lot of information and ‘tricks of the trade’ so to speak, and have a few ways around some of the more nasty effects of the Bond. We also have members of our Guard that can help as well, making us a rather indispensable resource for those Neglected.”

You weren’t sure what your face was doing, but it must have been telling enough, for Aro gave a small chuckle that was devoid of humor.

“I didn’t think that would be the route you wanted to take.”

You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful,” you started hastily, not wanting to offend the vampire that had been ridiculously good to you since you came here. You just didn’t want to stay here any longer! Nothing with them, but this place…it just reminded you too much of all this Bond catastrophe.

At least at home, you could try and pretend your life was normal. Much easier to go back to what you were doing before, than try to carve some normalcy out of an ancient vampire castle.

“Rest assured, Young One,” Aro said with a friendly pat to your hand, “I am not offended. I understand your reasoning. Like I said, I did not think that you would want to stay here. However, I am almost certain you will not find the decision so easy to make once you hear of the second option.

Your other choice is to return home, but to have daily contact with the Cullens – Carlisle more frequent that the rest.”

Now you knew what your face was doing – it had to match the rage and betrayal that was rushing hot and heavy under your skin.

“Of all the dirty, underhanded tricks!” you snarled. “You know how they have treated me, how he has treated me and now one of your stipulations is that I am in constant contact with them?! How is that not going to harm me?! How is that having my best interests at heart?!”

A loud, deep growl sounded out from the vampire in front of you and all of your rage fled in the face of pitch black eyes and bared fangs.

“It is because we have your best interests at heart that we are making you choose between these two paths, Y/N,” Aro growled loudly, sounding more predatory and…monstrous, that you had ever heard any vampire sound. Even the one that had attacked you in the corridor.

It looked as if his control was hanging by a thread and you felt a fission of fear run through you.

“It does not please me to think of you back in Forks, with the coven that is responsible for your current condition. However, Marcus seems to think that you would do well, flourish even, back at home where you have some comfort and confidence.”

The way his voice snapped towards the end made you think that if it were up to Aro, you wouldn’t have a choice and you would be staying in Volterra. Permanently.

Which almost sounded like a better idea.

“You will need to decide soon, cara mia,” Aro’s voice broke through your thoughts, once again sounding soothing and affectionate.

You looked up and were met with ruby red eyes.

“The Cullen Coven is heading back to Forks later tonight – after dark. If you are wanting to return to Forks, it must be with them. Otherwise, if you are staying here, we can make sure you have ample time to say your goodbyes to Bella and young Edward.”

You worried your lip between your teeth – Aro was right. The choice was not quite so easy once you were aware of both choices!

And they really weren’t giving you a lot of time to make a decision either. No rush. You just had a few hours to decide your future and how exactly you wanted to negate some of the nastier affects of the Bond.

You frowned.

“Aro? You’ve explained to me how staying here in Volterra would help with the Bond’s affects, but how would me going with the Cullens and seeing Carlisle almost every day help if he’s the reason behind the Bond being affected like this?”

“Even though my dear friend is the cause of this, his very presence will help stabilize the Bond. While the Bond can read intent, it takes awhile and for the most part, at least at the beginning, close proximity to your Intended can and will relieve the symptoms. Simply being around someone from Carlisle’s venom every day and the vampire himself at least every couple, should satisfy the Bond for now.”

“For now?” you echoed warily. “Then what happens?”

Aro hummed, a small smile lighting his face. “That is for another time.”

At your indignant protest, he held up a cold, marble hand and said firmly, “There is a very strong chance that Later will never happen in this situation. Rest assured, we will be monitoring everything and should it get to the point where we need to step in for your safety and health, we will. But it’s best to not even get into that until the time comes. Unnecessary worry solves nothing, Y/N.”

You gave a slight glare, but let it go. If the man didn’t want to tell you, there was nothing you could say or do that would make him tell you. Though, you didn’t think that knowing all the facts about something that was affecting you negatively right now was ‘unnecessary worrying’. More like ‘smart battle tactics’.

Damn dramatic vampires, always having to keep you in the dark about something.

Would it kill them to actually be forthcoming about something before it became an issue?

Probably.

But no matter. Right now, you had a decision to make. Stay here in Volterra, never see your home or work or friends again and have some vampire voodoo make it to where your Neglected Bond was manageable or go back home to your house, work and friends but have to stay in constant contact with the group of vampires that pretty much made your life a living Hell for the last few weeks.

Both of these choices sucked.

“Why can’t I just go live in England by myself for the rest of my life?” you muttered on a sigh, running a hand through your hair.

It would make your life so much easier – consequences of a Neglected Bond be damned.

“Caius will be pleased to know that you are not a fan of either my choice or Marcus’,” Aro commented lightly from beside you and you gave him a Look.

“Good for Caius,” you deadpanned, feeling a well of frustration bubbled up inside of you. Vampires did remember that human brains couldn’t compute and think things as quickly as vampire brains could, right? Like, humans were much slower at everything. Including decision making. (The fact that you were naturally a procrastinator didn’t matter right now.)

Aro suddenly stood, making you startle and look up at him.

“I will leave you to it, Y/N. A guard is stationed outside your door – simply notify them when you have come to a decision and they were notify the proper people.”

“Thanks,” you said automatically, mind already racing through the pros and cons of each decision, feeling the deadline moving steadily closer.

Damn vampires!

-----

So, never again were you going to make life altering decisions about your mental and emotional health on so limited a time frame.

Your bottom lip was bleeding from you chewing through it and you were pretty sure your hair could win a country music award with how much it was all over the place from you pulling at it and running your hands through it.

But you did it.

You had come to a conclusion.

It wasn’t easy and you hoped to never have such a sucky choice again in your life, but you did it.

You would be going home to Forks with Edward, Bella and the Betrayers Six.

As much as being in Volterra would probably be better for you in the long run, right now you needed familiarity. Stability. And your own bed.

The rest would sort itself out.

Besides, you were supposed to be in contact with someone who shared Carlisle’s venom every day. Edward would fill that void just fine.

And then every couple of days, Carlisle could…stand on the back porch or something.

As long as he was close, that should satisfy the Bond. Probably. Maybe. Perhaps. You really needed some more information on this.

Especially if it was going to dictate your foreseeable future.

With a gusty sigh, you straightened your spine and headed to the door to alert your guard you were going home.

Hopefully, you could find Edward and Bella before having to see the rest of the Cullens.

After alerting your guard as to your plans, you were instructed to stay in your room until someone could come fetch you.

Fetch you? Out of everyone in this castle, you were not the one acting like a child!

But you agreed and took a seat on your bed again.

This was actually helping you to realize you made the right decision. If you stayed in Volterra, you wouldn’t be able to stay in your room 24/7. You’d go insane!

A knock sounded at the door and then Edward entered.

“Eddie!” you exclaimed in legitimate relief and joy, hopping off the bed and running to hug him.

A normal person!

Well, as close to normal as any vampire could get at this point.

A low chuckle echoed through the room and you couldn’t help your entire body relax. It just felt so good to be with someone familiar!

“Make sure you don’t touch Aro on the way to the plane,” Edward said with a huff of laughter. “You’ll end up hurting his feelings at your anxiousness to get away.”

You pulled back enough to see Edward’s face, your mouth opening to deny that you were that anxious to get away – Aro had been so good to you, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt his feelings! – but Edward gave you a crooked grin, beating you to it with a soft, “Teasing, Y/N. Aro knows you are just happy to get home.”

You scrunched your nose up at Edward; he would tease you right now.

But it worked and you felt yourself feeling more like yourself than you had in weeks.

You could do this. It was going to suck, especially at first, but you could it.

“Everyone is ready and waiting by the jet,” Edward said quietly as he ushered you out the door and down the hallway. “I thought we would arrive last and then we could leave as soon as we get there without having to wait for anybody.”

You nodded in thanks, squeezing his arm in gratitude.

“Bella is already there?”

“Yes,” Edward confirmed, “she’s holding her own against them. I think she was honestly excited for me to leave and get you – she’s been dying to have some ‘quality time’ with everyone. I guess the last time she yelled at them wasn’t enough for her.”

You gave a snort of amusement, so thankful to have the support of both Edward and Bella. They really were going to be your rocks through this.

It didn’t take long for you and Edward to come up on the jet. The rest of the Cullen Coven were standing fairly close together, though you noticed Jasper and Alice a bit farther away from the group.

Bella stood farthest away, facing the golden eyed vampires with her hands on her hips.

You seriously loved that woman.

“She’s taken,” Edward murmured to you with a grin and you rolled your eyes and shot back, “You’re a lucky bastard.”

Edward’s chuckle was drowned out by the starting of the jet’s engines. The Cullens slowly began migrating to the ramp leading up to the jet, giving Bella a wide berth to your great amusement.

To your surprise, though you weren’t sure why it surprised you, Aro was there to see you off.

“My brothers would have loved to be here as well,” he assured you and you fought not to roll your eyes. You could just bet. “However, they are needed for a sudden, unexpected trial. I did want to see you off before I go and join them; do be careful and remember what we discussed, alright?”

You gave a small smile, not really enjoying the reminder of the whole ‘listen to our rules or we’ll decide your fate’ thing, but…it was nice to know that you had a group of people watching out for you.

You untangled your arm from Edward’s and walked the few steps forward to give Aro a hug. He really had been amazing to you since your arrival days ago.

“Thank you,” you murmured into his chest as his arms came up to wrap around you as well.

“Of course, Cara Mia,” he returned, giving you a last gentle squeeze before you took a step back. “You are an honorary Vampire and one of us now,” he continued with a smirk. “Please, do come visit us soon – no matter the outcome of your Bond.”

You gave a soft laugh, seriously touched that he seemed to give two figs about you.

“You can count on it, Aro. Thank you.”

The King bowed his head and then called to the small number of guards in the area before making his leave.

Edward came back up to you and gently steered you towards the plane where the ‘family’ of vampires who had made your life Hell for weeks, hated your guts for something completely out of your control, and then suddenly tried to get in your good graces after a scolding from vampire royalty, were waiting.

What an amazingly awkward plane ride this was going to be.

#Carlisle x Reader #Reader Insert #Volturi Rock #Edward is not a douche #Twilight Imagine #Twilight Reader Insert #Carlisle Imagine

[quentyl]

What does ATLA tell us about Ursa?

For context, originally this started as a response to an ask. I felt like I couldn’t answer properly without going over Ursa’s portrayal in the show first, ergo this very long post. I’ll answer the actual question later.

Ursa only appears in one episode of the show (not counting Azula’s hallucination), has about a dozen lines, and apart from that is mentioned just a very few times. That’s not much, but there’s still a lot we can infer from that limited screen time.

Without further ado, let’s talk about Ursa as a mother first:

In her first scene, she’s sitting with Zuko on the ground and feeding turtle-ducks, giving off an aura of tranquility, relaxation and effortless grace. Even contentment. This is how the show chose to introduce her to the viewer: as someone who can laugh with her kid, be affectionate, and enjoy a peaceful moment.

Of course, she’s not just affectionate and sweet in this scene, she’s also protective. She says it plainly: “Zuko, that's what moms are like. If you mess with their babies, they're gonna bite you back.” At that moment, she was just joking with Zuko, but it foreshadows what she’s going to do a few days later, when the Fire Lord himself tries to mess with her baby: she bites back like a true mother. Ozai said that she did “vicious, treasonous things” that night. She herself, just before her disappearance, basically admits to having done terrible things, and she can’t leave without telling Zuko why, she needs him to know: “Everything I've done, I've done to protect you.” It’s interesting to note the plural here (“vicious things”, “everything”). So, though we aren’t shown anything directly, the show still seems to insist on the fact that Ursa got her hands dirty to save Zuko, that she killed Azulon herself and actually might have had to do other unpleasant things to accomplish that. So in spite of the lightness that seems to emanate from her at first, there is a dark side to Ursa.

Wrt Azulon and Ursa’s personality, there is another moment that is telling: when Zuko fails his demonstration before the Fire Lord, she does not hesitate to go over to comfort him, acting as if they are alone in the room. As if the most powerful man in the world isn’t watching, as if this isn’t a formal audience, as if she isn’t wasting the time of the Fire Lord. She tells Zuko that she loved watching him, as if it wasn’t Azulon’s opinion that mattered. She just throws propriety and caution through the window, Zuko’s hurt feelings eclipsing everything else in her mind, and forgets to give a fuck about her lord’s opinion (or her husband’s for that matter).

Ursa is also presented as her children’s primary authority figure, the one who’s charged with watching over them, giving them news, and preparing them for surprise meetings. But more than just an authority figure, she’s presented as the main good influence in their life, the one who teaches them about right and wrong. She makes Zuko play with Azula because she thinks they should bond as siblings (from the way Azula manipulates her using this, we can assume it’s a point Ursa has stressed as important in the past). She teaches Zuko to see things from others’ point of views (the mom turtleduck), she admonishes Azula without losing patience when her daughter shows lack of consideration for her uncle’s life, she reprimands her more strongly when she’s being deliberately insolent.

To summarize the above points: Ursa in the flashbacks is (almost) portrayed as the ideal parent: gracious, affectionate, playful, comforting, fiercely protective, authoritative, respectable, and the person who provides moral guidance to her children.

Ok but what about “our mom liked Zuko more than me” and “my own mother thought I was a monster” and “even you fear me”? Well, first things first, these are Azula’s thoughts, years after her mother abandoned her in order to protect her brother. While we have to respect her feelings, they do not necessarily match who the real Ursa was and thought. In particular, I think the Ursa we saw in the flashbacks didn’t seem to think of her daughter as a monster, or to be afraid of her at all - or she wouldn’t have forced Zuko to play with her (she does wonder “what is wrong with that child” but that’s in reaction to Azula making a deliberately provocative and ominous comment: she’d been acting borderline treasonous and kinda worryingly obsessed with the succession). Personally, I think that it’s more likely Azula who sees herself as a monster, not Ursa, and she projected that unto her mother because Ursa was the one who taught her how to distinguish between right and wrong and she believes that her mother wouldn’t have approved of the person she chose (and keeps choosing) to be.

That said, Zuko absolutely may have been Ursa’s favorite (studies found that most parents have one). Zuko himself doesn’t argue the point with his sister, and Ursa’s character description on the old Avatar website supports this (Zuko is flat-out described as “her favorite child”). Note that this doesn’t necessarily translate into Azula being treated unfairly by her mother. All we know for sure is that 14 years old Azula feels her mother liked Zuko more and that this thought hurts her deeply (personally, I tend to think that it hurts Azula more as a teenager than as a child, because it ties into her teenage self's deep well of anxiety about being unlovable in general - a “monster”).

The rest under the cut.

Now that I’ve gone over how she was portrayed as a mother, I think it’s time to delve into her and her husband’s dynamic, and how it fits into her relationship with their kids:

(Disclaimer: note that Ozai and Ursa never interact during the flashbacks, so to know more about their relationship we have to read the subtext - and since it is subtext and not text, basically everything below is technically just my interpretation, and at best I can only argue that it is the most fitting interpretation.)

Let’s go back a moment to “What is wrong with that child?”: Ursa sounds genuinely puzzled here. But she shouldn’t be puzzled, she should be alarmed. “Fire Lord Azulon. Can't you just call him ‘Grandfather’? He's not exactly the powerful Fire Lord he used to be. Someone will probably end up taking his place soon.” - this isn’t just Azula being insolent and stanning her dad, like her earlier comments. Ursa should have taken the second part, “someone will probably end up taking his place soon”, as a warning. But she doesn’t (at least not at that moment). She just silences Azula and doesn’t immediately think “oh shit my husband is planning something” or even “what kind of fuckery has my husband been discussing in our daughter’s earshot”. Instead her reaction shows that she is kinda clueless about what’s going on. She seems to think the issue is just Azula being a weird child, and doesn’t immediately link her words to Ozai. So what we can infer from that is that Ursa, before that day, wasn’t very... aware of Ozai’s ambitions. At best, she knew he’d like to be Fire Lord without realizing that he actually does intend to do something about it - sorta like just because you know someone is jealous of their sibling’s sport car you don’t suspect they’re gonna kill them to steal it. The idea of Ozai attempting to take the throne is just not on her mind like it is for us, the viewers, when we’re listening to Azula talk about how her dad’s glory days are coming.

Note that Ursa is not the only one who didn’t expect such a move from Ozai. Azulon is furious and surprised at Ozai’s impudent request.

This disconnect between Ozai’s ambitions and Ursa’s simple enjoyment of life is also shown through her relationship with his older brother: it’s clear from the little we see of them that Ursa and Iroh get along very well. Ursa seems very fond of him: she’s happy to read his letter, laughs at his joke, admonishes Azula for her callousness regarding him (“it would be awful if Uncle Iroh didn��t return”), and is genuinely heartbroken for him when she learns of Lu Ten’s death (”Iroh has lost his son”). These scenes are telling us that Ursa isn’t in on Ozai’s plans, and wouldn’t support him if she knew of them.

But Azula supports him, wholeheartedly. Azula wants her dad to be Fire Lord because clearly he deserves it. There’s something a little unsettling about the fact that Ozai’s little girl knows what’s in Ozai’s heart and what’s on his mind, his dark designs, but his own wife doesn’t. Was she spying on him (we see her do just that at least once) or did he just take her into his confidence (also very likely, it looks like they do spend time together without their other family members)? Whichever way she came by her information, it immediately creates a chasm between mother and daughter - because suddenly they’re not on the same side anymore, politically. And the worst thing is, Ursa isn’t even aware of that chasm - or at least, she doesn’t seem to understand its importance yet (even though Azula tries to tell her).

To go back to Ozai and Ursa, by the time of the flashbacks not only are they not on the same page politically, they’re also not aligned on the matter of parenting. Ursa admonishes Azula for words that could have come directly from Ozai’s mouth, were he honest. They also don’t react in the same way at all to Zuko’s fumblings: while Ursa is just sorry that he feels bad and is proud of his tenacity, Ozai is unhappy about him even attempting a demonstration. So however their arranged marriage started, they failed to become a unit on the two most important fronts of that contract.

But note that while Ursa makes a show of comforting Zuko, Ozai’s disapproval is actually subtle - the viewers see it because the camera makes a point to focus on it. I don’t think Ozai was full-on abusive toward Zuko yet at this point, when Ursa was still in the picture. Copy-pasting from a previous meta: “In these flashbacks, Zuko didn’t seem scared of his father yet. He wasn’t afraid to perform before him, to cry and lament his failures before him, or to be comforted by Ursa before him. He didn’t seem overly worried to have embarrassed him in front of Azulon himself. He wasn’t afraid to demand answers from him after Ursa’s disappearance.” So it is very possible that Ursa wasn’t very aware of the depth of his disdain for their son, just like she wasn’t very aware of how intensely (terribly) he desired his father’s throne. Before that fateful day, it seems Ozai kept the monster inside himself hidden.

So what happened between them the night of Ursa’s disappearance? One thing that is really important to note, I think, is that Ozai was ready for a takeover before Ursa decided to do anything. Not only does Azula basically spell it out before Ozai even makes his request to Azulon (he did not intend to wait patiently for his father to die of old age, he intended to replace him “soon”), we see after the fact that he has at least the head Fire sage in his pocket (“As was your dying wish you are now succeeded by your second son” - that was most certainly not Azulon’s dying wish). When telling the story to Zuko, Ozai rejects the whole thing on Ursa, saying she was the one to propose a plan - but the flashbacks imply he had one himself beforehand whether it involved her or not.

Ursa somehow found a way to get to Azulon in the middle of the night. How did she even have access to his chambers? Did she kill the guards too? Is she a secret ninja or did she somehow trick them?

Even though Ozai was in on Ursa’s plan (by his own admission), he still banished her for it. Now he didn’t do that to save face, since the official story is that Azulon died of natural causes (it’s actually less suspicious if his wife doesn’t disappear on the same day). It could be a weird thing like Ozai actually did feel some love/attachment for his father, or respect for his position as Fire Lord, and felt he was somehow duty-bound to punish her for his murder even if he himself incited her to commit it (maybe he let her do the dirty work so that he can still feel like he himself is clean?). Or he banished her to silence her or keep her from assassinating him next (the justification he gave in the comics).

But then, whatever his reasons for banishing her, the question becomes why didn’t he kill her instead? He did not spare her to avoid bad press or some form of retribution, since as far as the public eye is concerned him killing her and then making her body disappear would look exactly the same as what he eventually did. Ultimately, she’s much less of a hazard dead than alive somewhere out of his control. At the very least, he could have kept her prisoner. So, unless there’s some other variables we’re not aware of, I can think of two explanations. The first is that after she left Zuko’s room that night, Ozai did actually kill her (or attempted to and she somehow managed to escape) and just lied to Zuko during the Eclipse - though I’m not sure why he would lie in that particular context. The second explanation - brace yourselves! - is that Ozai let her go because back then he still had ~feelings~ and couldn’t quite bring himself to kill her.

Subtext does, in fact, support the idea that Ozai did once feel something for Ursa, whether this is the reason he spared her or not. In animation everything is a choice. The people who made Zuko Alone decided that on the morning of his triumph - his father’s death and his impending ascension to the throne - Ozai wasn’t celebrating or plotting. He was brooding while thinking of his wife, just standing still at a spot where we know she used to spend some time (she’s sitting there when she receives news of Lu Ten’s death). Even if he wasn’t sad, at the very least he was contemplating what he lost in order to get what he wanted. Which means that there was something to lose there, that he could have chosen another life, but did not. The writers could have elected to show him pretending to be mourning his late father, or plotting, or preparing for his coronation, or not to show him at all, but they didn’t. This is a characterization choice.

So I know this is controversial but I do believe Ozai chose power over love (the opposite of Aang in The Guru). It’s also hinted at via Zuko’s idyllic memories of his childhood - of their family vacations on Ember Island. At one point, Ozai was willing to devote some effort to being a husband and a father, enough to take his family to his summer house and give Zuko a few happy memories with his father - the memories that he desperately clings to years later.

It could also maybe tie back to “what is wrong with that child?” i.e. Ursa not immediately recognizing that her husband was the problem. Maybe Ursa was unable to see how far he’d fallen because she remembered the person he used to be at the beginning of their marriage, and maybe this is also why she accepted to leave her children in his power and didn’t even warn Zuko about him or anything. The last thing she ever says to Zuko before leaving forever is “no matter how things may seem to change, never forget who you are” - she might be telling her son not to turn out like his father, if she feels like Ozai forgot who he was. These are all just possibilities though.

So I think that’s about it: what I can infer from the show about Ursa’s relationship with her husband and children. Before I conclude this post though, I also want to talk a little about Ursa’s family before her marriage, because I find this fascinating:

Ursa supports the war effort. I don’t think you can find a joke about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground funny unless you’re fully on-board with the Fire Nation’s imperialism. The writers didn’t have to show us this tidbit - it’s irrelevant to the rest of the episode - but they made a point of including it. It becomes even more interesting after we learn that Ursa descends from Roku and that Zuko didn’t know it. You don’t just forget to mention to your kids that they’re the Avatar’s great-grandchildren - this information was deliberately kept a secret. So there can be several possibilities:

Ursa wasn’t raised by Roku’s family i.e. she was raised by her other parent’s family, or she grew up in an orphanage, or she was adopted by some other folks. In this case, she might not feel any connection to Roku, if she even knows he’s her grandfather (Iroh knew but I don’t think this means we can irrevocably assume Ursa did too).

Ursa was raised by her family to support the war in spite of Roku’s position: this means that either Roku’s entire family basically disowned him and sided with Sozin, at least in appearance, or the family was divided in two with only one part rebelling against the throne.

Ursa was raised to support Roku, but she made up her own mind and decided she didn’t like being taught to hate her nation and Sozin was right, in spite of her family’s opinion.

Whatever the case, Ursa eventually just disappeared and no one seems to have made a fuss. So she either didn’t have any family left at that point, or she did but they were so alienated that they didn’t care, or she did but they were too utterly powerless to even demand an explanation.

#ursa #azula #zuko #ozai #atla #the fire nation royals #azulon #roku #iroh #this is long even for me I think #if anon is reading this: #sorry for not replying to your ask #I felt I had to write down my thoughts on her show appearances first #also i'm late but yk real life #if anyone wants to discuss any of this i'm very open #idk if anyone has the energy to read this #there isn't even a particular point #mp

[softladyhours]

Eric Derekson x Touch-starved!Reader

Summary:  Eric notices that something might be up with Y/N. He immediately becomes the embodiment of ‘they must be protected at all costs!!’. Meanwhile, the feeling is mutual uwu

Pairing:  Eric Derekson x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, a lot of talk about pee at the beginning (?), innocent intimacy, and two (2) pining idiots

* * *

I FINALLY DID IT!!!! I don’t write a lot but I love this boy with every fiber of my being and my touch-starved self wanted to project so here we are lol.  Hope you enjoy it! If you do, feel free to like and/or reblog, but please do not repost without giving proper credit!! Thanks y’all and, as always, feedback is appreciated!

* * *

   Eric was really regretting his life decisions.  His big new years resolution was to stay hydrated, and he was doing really well!  But, pair this with a day full of back-to-back meetings at Egos Inc. and Wilford’s excitement for a weekly dinner engagement with a certain not-ego, and you end up with Eric’s current predicament: anxiously pee-dancing in silence outside of said not-ego’s only bathroom.

 “Oh, just hold it in until we get to Y/N’s!  They have a bathroom at their apartment and it’s only, what, a ten minute drive?” Wilford had insisted as he gently shoved Eric out of the office building’s doors and into the parking lot. ‌“I wanna get there before Dark eats all the hors d’oeuvres!”‌

 Of course, the eccentric journalist had neglected to factor in rush hour traffic (easily turning ten minutes into twenty-five at the very least) as well as the fact that, even after traffic, they were running an hour-and-a-half early.

 After no one answered their knocks at your door, Wilford used a spare key to let himself and Eric inside.  Most of the lights were off and it almost seemed as if no one was home, if it weren’t for the music blasting from the back of the apartment.  It wasn’t until then that Wilford thought to check his watch.

 “Oh my,”‌ his eyes widened before he facepalmed, chuckling at himself.  “I suppose I was a little too excited to see our dear Y/N that I‌ completely lost track of time–we’re much too early!”

 Usually, Eric would have been mortified at such a revelation, but he was a little too focused on his bladder and how he felt it was going to rupture at any second.  

 “Th-that’s nice, but can you, well… where’s the, the bathroom please?

 “Oh, right!  In the hall, first door on the left!” Wilford took off his shoes and plopped himself down on the sofa, getting comfortable.  Meanwhile, Eric rushed in the right direction, only to have his heart–and possibly his bladder–damaged beyond repair.

 As he approached, he realized with horror that light seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door and that the music that was coming from behind the locked door was barely masking the sound of running water.  You were taking a shower.  Terrified to intrude, he hurriedly checked the other three doors in the hall hoping for some kind of saving grace.  There was an office, a linen closet, and your bedroom.  Fighting back tears, he returned to the door of the only bathroom in the apartment. ‌‌ Even if he could gather the courage to knock you wouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise, so he settled for silently praying to any and all higher powers that you wouldn’t be too long.

 Twenty excruciating minutes later, the running water stopped and the music was turned down.  Desperate to not wet his pants, he timidly knocked.  The music stopped.  Silence.  He knocked again and spoke up.

 “Hey Y/N? It’s Eric and I’m really sorry to intrude but–”

 The door unlocked and swung open, revealing you in all of your towel-wearing glory.  It was all Eric could do to keep himself from throwing himself past you and towards your toilet.

 “Oh, hey Eric!  You’re early!  You really scared me for a second–”

 Not able to hold it back anymore he nearly yelled,‌  “I’MREALLYSORRYBUTIREALLYNEEDTOPEE!”

 A little taken aback, you finally processed his words and the obvious urgency and quickly stepped out of the bathroom,‌ ‌“Oh, of course!‌ I’m so sorry–” ‌

 He rushed past you, almost not noticing the wall of thick, humid heat as he entered the bathroom before slamming the door, unzipping his fly, and finally releasing the agonizing pressure.  As he finished his business he took a deep breath of relief.  That’s when he fully processed just how hot it was.  He was already sweaty and his shirt was already starting to cling to his torso.  It was suffocating.  And a little concerning.  

 Eager to get out, he washed his hands and opened the door, instantly meeting the relief of cool A/C.  Also you.  In a towel.  Oh yeah, that had happened.  He was suddenly grateful for the flush from the heat that probably (hopefully) camouflaged his actual blush.

 You were smiling and laughing a little. ‌ “Feel better?”

 He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in nervous embarrassment.  “Yeah‌ I, I feel a l-lot better, thank you, uh, s-sorry about that.”

 You chuckled, patting him on the shoulder before moving past him to finish getting dressed, closing and locking the door behind you.

 It was the next day and Eric couldn’t stop thinking about you.  Well, to be fair, you had been on his mind a lot lately anyways, but he was still a little hung up on seeing you in a towel, to be honest. ‌And also your incredibly hot showers.  How did you not look like a lobster?

 “I don’t.”

 Eric looked up from his desk to see Google looking back at him, both parties visibly puzzled.  “Huh?”

 Google’s monotone voice replied, “‌I share no physical resemblance to a lobster, literally or metaphorically, nor do most people.”

 Eric’s cheeks heated up, realizing he must have been talking to himself.

 “Uh, sorry,‌ I-I didn’t mean to say that out- out loud,” he explained.  Google just shrugged before returning his focus to his computer.  Before he could stop himself, Eric found himself catching the search engine’s attention–on purpose this time.

 “Hey, uh Google?  I have a question…”

 “Yes?” Google asked, not looking up from his screen.

 “Why do some people take really hot showers?”

 The android sat up straight and turned to face Eric before reciting his findings: “An article from Lifehack.org says that ‘According to the researchers at Yale University, people who take a long-hot shower or bath may do so to subconciously ward off feelings of loneliness and isolation’.” ‌Looking unimpressed, he returned to his work.

 Eric felt a pang in his chest.  He wondered if you actually felt that way.  He tried to convince himself that you were probably fine.  But part of him couldn’t help but worry. ‌You were amazing! You didn’t deserve to feel lonely! And you weren’t going to.  At least, not if he had anything to say about it.  

  For one brief minute, his anxiety had vanished, replaced with an almost foreign sense of determination.  He picked up his phone and typed out a text, asking if you wanted to hang out after work.  He still didn’t know if he would actually confront you about the loneliness thing, but he could at least be a good friend and spend time with you and hopefully show you how much he cares.  Before he could psyche himself out, he pressed send.  Then that brief minute was over.  The impact of his anxiety made him want to puke.

 Meanwhile, you were in your apartment.  You had finished your work early and had just gotten home.  Exhausted, you decided you would have a quiet night in, with maximum comfort.  Feeling inspired‌ (and not wanting to try to relax surrounded by clutter), you quickly went around your apartment, doing a quick clean-up: throwing away those leftover soda cans, washing a few dishes, tossing some dirty clothes in your clothes hamper, making up your bed, etc.  After everything was fairly neat, you got ready for the most crucial aspect of relaxation.  A nice, hot bath.

 Getting some clean pajamas and underwear ready, you started the hot water running.  You grabbed your phone, to pull up your favorite relaxing playlist, when you got a text from Eric:

Hey, do you want to hang out after I get off work?‌‌  We could stay in or go out–whichever you prefer!

 Shocked, but not in a bad way, you think about it for a moment.  This seemed a little out of character.  Eric was almost a hermit unless someone else took the initiative–or unless one of the other Egos dragged him along.  You smiled to yourself at the thought.  

 You had been meeting Wilford and Dark for dinner every couple of weeks to maintain contact since, between your job and their lives at Ego Inc., life could get hectic.  Though, a couple of months ago, they had talked to you and, after your consent, started bringing Eric along.  They had explained his timidness and that they thought it would be good for him to get out of the house and hang out with someone whose face didn’t suspiciously resemble that of a certain famous YouTuber.

 And so you were introduced to Eric Derekson.  Wilford had teasingly warned you that Eric was almost as “heartbreakingly handsome” as he was, to which you just laughed.  Then you met him.  His shy, sweet nature had seized your heart strings and nearly yanked them from the muscle beating in your chest.  Pair that with his, frankly, beautiful face (and butt–no, you weren’t proud you had checked the man out but, to be fair, it’s a really nice butt) and you were smitten.  But you played it cool and, as the two of you got closer, he slowly seemed to grow more comfortable around you, which warmed your heart (and your face), but this proposition to hang out was still a milestone.  Especially if he meant just the two of you.  

 The thought made your heart flutter, but you pushed it down.  You couldn’t risk getting your hopes up.  Besides, before anything else you were his friend, and friends hang out together.  So you took a deep breath and typed out your response, deciding that you wouldn’t mind sharing your quiet night in with Eric.

That sounds nice!  If you want to come over to my place we can order pizza and hang out.  Maybe Netflix or something??

 Eric nearly passed out from relief.  You had almost immediately replied and one, you seemed happy (maybe even excited?) about the concept of hanging out and two, you wanted to stay in (he was terrified you’d be in an extraverted mood and try to take him out dancing or something–you had teasingly threatened to take him clubbing a while back–even though he knew you’d never do that to him, his anxiety still hated the possibility).  He sighed, releasing the tension from his body before arranging the time he would come over.  You had proposed six o’clock, knowing he got off work at five. ‌He agreed. ‌

 As he set his phone down, his face heated up and a new type of anxiety filled his system with butterflies, the good kind though.  He smiled to himself.  He really was excited to spend time with you.  You were so kind and gentle with him, but never condescending.  Stunning and confident, but never arrogant.  Not to mention he could just go on and on about your intelligence and sense of humor.  From that first dinner, he knew he was wrapped around your little finger. ‌Although, thankfully, he’s managed to not make too much of a lovesick fool out of himself.  So far.

 You were lounging on the couch look at your go-to pizza place’s menu when someone knocked on your door.  Getting up, you quickly unlocked the door to reveal Eric, looking as handsome and nervous as ever.  Smiling and greeting him, you opened your arms for a hug that he immediately accepted.  He had never been used to hugs before he met you, but he always enjoyed yours–you were a really good hugger.

 You pulled away and closed the door, leading Eric to the couch to sit and decide on dinner.

 “Ok, so,” you turned to him, “I have a coupon for two large pizzas, a couple of two liters and one of those dessert pizzas, what do you think?”

 Eric grinned. ‌ “‌That sounds amazing.”

 “Awesome!”

 You called the restaurant, ordering the feast.  Then, while waiting for your food to be delivered, you and Eric talked.  He caught you up on the Jims’ latest antics, you ranted about the drama at your workplace, and by the time the pizza got there, the two of you were giggling like idiots over who-knows-what.  As you set out the food on your coffee table and reaching for the tv remote, Eric spoke up.

 “You know, it’s really nice hanging out with you.  We never have time to talk like this.”

 Smiling at the sentiment, you replied, “Ditto,” making you both giggle.  “For real though,” you said, “I’m enjoying myself too.  You’re pretty cool, Derekson.”

 His cheeks started to tingle, but he fought off the blush.  He wanted to talk to you, seriously, before you could turn on the tv.

 “Hey, uh Y/N?‌”

 “Yeah?” You replied distractingly.  Suddenly you weren’t quite sure where you had left the remote and were scanning the coffee table and food packaging.

 “Can I- can I talk t-to you for a, a second?”

 You immediately stopped scanning upon hearing his stutter.  He rarely stuttered around you anymore so when he did, you took it seriously. You nonchalantly leaned back into the couch, sitting and getting comfortable, giving him your full attention.

 “Yeah,” your voice was a little softer.  “What’s up?

 His brow was furrowed and he couldn’t quite look at your face.  “Do you, uh, remember th-that time I‌ nearly wet my-myself?”

 You lips quirked, concealing the smile that wanted to spread across your face at the mental image.  You felt kind of bad, but it was really cute.  Not to mention his reaction to seeing you half-dressed…

 Your cheeks heated up, but you played it cool.  “Yeah, what about it?”

 He sighed. ‌ He didn’t seem nervous, which was odd, but more frustrated or confused.  “You take really, really hot showers.”

 Squinting your eyes, you gave him a puzzled look, trying to conceal your smile.  Realizing that sounded wrong, his anxious countenance returned with some stuttered apologies.

 “I-I meant that you, uh, you– when I went in th-the bathroom, it was really hot. Like, like suffocating!” 

 “Ah, okay,”‌ you were silent for a moment, not any less confused than before.  “So what are you getting at?”

 Eric’s blush darkened. ‌‌ “I just remember um… I- I uh…” he noticeably refuse to look in your direction now, trying to find his words.  You patiently waited–you could tell he was getting frustrated by himself.  After a moment, he closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

 “Apparently some people t-take really long, really hot showers to cope with, with loneliness and I‌ guess I- I just wanted to make sure that you were, that you’re okay.”

 You had no words.  He reluctantly opened his eyes to look at you, silently hoping with everything fiber of his being that, just this once, he didn’t screw up.  You looked at coffee table with an expression just a little too tense to describe as neutral.  Eric was about to apologize and try to salvage the night ahead when you relaxed your face, closing your eyes and sighing deeply.

 When you opened your eyes you turned to face him again.  He hadn’t noticed until that moment just how tired you looked.  Sure, you had the faint beginnings of bags under your eyes, but what shook him to the core was your eyes.  As you let your walls down, your eyes seemed to age a couple of decades within a few moments.  Where there was usually a sparkle had grown just a little too dull.

 “To be honest with you? I’ve been struggling a bit lately.”

 Eric could practically feel his heart start to fracture in his chest.

 You continued, “Like, it’s nothing major, but I’m just tired.  Things are starting to weigh me down more, if that makes sense…?”  You shifted, not entirely comfortable with admitting to hardship, but Eric stared at you intently, nodding slightly for you to continue.  Having anyone’s (but especially his) entire attention on you like this felt so intimidating and… intimate.  You weren’t used to it by a long-shot.

 “Really, I’m okay I just… I guess I’m a little lonely.  I didn’t realize what I was doing, with the hot water, I mean, until you said it, but yeah…” your voice faded off and your embarrassment started to color your cheeks.  “Part of it is that, I have really physically affectionate tendencies but I’m also really touch-starved.”

 Eric look confused.

 “Well, for one, I haven’t had a significant other in a long, long time and I’ve never really been in a touchy-feely group of friends before so, even though I love it and want it so bad–”

 “You’re not used to it,”‌ he finished your sentence.‌  “So… you get embarrassed.”

 “Precisely.”

 Eric nodded and muttered, almost to himself, “‌I get that.”

 Silence fell for a moment before you spoke up.

 “Thank you,‌ Eric.”

 He looked at you, confused.  “For what?”

 “For checking in on me,”‌ You replied, grinning in spite of yourself.  “I mean there’s not really much to be done, but I‌ appreciate it a lot.”‌  You grabbed a plate and loaded it with some pizza before trying to find the remote again.

 Eric watched you fondly, with a quiet “You’re welcome,”‌ before an idea came to his head.

 “We, uh, we could b-be cuddle b-buddies.”

 You almost didn’t hear him and it took a moment to process what he was saying.  When you did though, you were pretty sure a tomato would be jealous of your face’s shade of red. ‌When you turned to face Eric, though, he was about the same so that made you feel a little better.  He smiled at you nervously, awaiting your response.

 “Ok,” was all you could get out.

 He was a little shocked.  But definitely relieved. “Really?!” He mentally scolded himself for sounding too excited, but he couldn’t help it–he was!

 “Uh, y-yeah that sounds really good!”

 And so you finally found the remote while‌ Eric fixed his plate and after a quick, stutter-y deliberation, you turned on a movie.  You paused before looking at Eric, who was already looking at you.  You both smiled and giggled a bit, instantly relaxing the tense atmosphere a little bit.

 Turning your attention to the movie, you slowly adjusted so that you were sitting up, but leaning against Eric. ‌ He eased his arm onto the back of the couch behind you, allowing for a closer proximity.  Red as lobsters and so full of butterflies you almost couldn’t eat, the two of you watched the movie.

 As the movie progressed, you both started to relax and feel more comfortable.  Even though you were still having issues with normal breathing, it was so so so nice.  When you finished eating, you placed your dishes on the table and readjusted.  

 He ended up laying down with you laying on top of him, with you resting your head on his chest, near the crook of his neck while he rested one hand on your back and caressed your arm with the other.  You were so warm and soft in his arms, like a weighted blanket.  And he adored your occasional little sighs by his ear that would make his breath hitch, just a little.  And his shoulder was such a wonderful headrest while his heartbeat was so soothing to hear underneath you.  But every time he adjusted to wrap his arms around you a little more, your heart skipped a beat. It was the most calm, relaxed, and serene exhilaration you had ever experienced.

 After the movie ended, you quickly started another.  This time, when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he ended up spooning you.  He had grown comfortable with the new closeness surprisingly quickly and almost dragged you onto the couch, excited to hold you close.  This gesture alone made you nearly explode from happiness.

 He wrapped one arm around your waist and rested the other under your head.  He ended up absentmindedly rubbing your stomach while nuzzling his face into the back of your neck.  After you adjusted and were finally breathing somewhat normally again, you relaxed into the curve of his body and, before long, fell asleep.  Meanwhile, Eric felt like he could combust with joy.  He had yet to tell you exactly how he felt about you, but this new arrangement was definitely a huge step forward.  

   When he was sure you were asleep, he tentatively placed a soft kiss to the back of your neck before getting comfortable and falling asleep.

#eric derickson x reader #eric derekson #eric derickson #markiplier #mark fischbach #markiplier fanfiction #mark x y/n #markiplier x reader #mark fischbach x reader #markiplier egos #markiplier eric #markiplier egos x reader #egos x reader #egos #markiplier alter egos #eric x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #mark x reader #reader interactive #touch starved reader #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #also he!!!!!!!!!!!

[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (vi.)

A/n: I wrote and rewrote this because it wasn't good enough. It's short and still not that great, actually. Also, in sorry for the ending

Summary: idk what Shawn and y/n expected to happen when they end up in his room together after a night out.

Warnings: it's like maybe 5% smut, also angst but like what else is new (and it might only be angsty to me tbh)

Word count: 2k

***

My legs are draped over his on the bed while we laugh about absolutely nothing. It's clear we're both still trying to sober up, but we've also come a long way from how gone we were at the bar. He's playing with my fingers while we talk and I can't help but lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.

"Tired?" He asks and I only grunt in response, my eyes already fluttering shut.

"I should go back to my room." I whisper, afraid of breaking the comfortable silence.

"Stay," Shawn pleads.

"Come on, rockstar. You know I can't."

"You can have whichever side of the bed you want. Just… please stay?"

I wish it took more convincing, I really did. But I mutter out an okay and now we're under his covers and even though he gave me the choice of either side, I make my way to where he lays, cuddling into him, my head on his chest. His hand is combing gently through my hair, lulling me deeper and deeper into sleep. But then his hand strays from my head and I feel the ghost of his fingertips playing with and pushing at the hem of my shirt. And then they graze my skin, the warmth of his hand causing me to shudder at the contrast between his core temperature and mine. He's not doing it to get anything, though. I know because his movements are lazy, there's no underlying intentions, he's simply just doing it because he can. And I don't stop him because it feels good, his rough, calloused skin against my smooth hip.

"You keep doing that and I just might kiss you," I mutter into his chest, toying with his necklace.

"Then I guess I'll keep going," he says, amused. I hum as his whole hand slips under my shirt, rubbing gently over my tummy, his pinky slipping into my belly button and back out with a small laugh eliciting both of our mouths. I sit up, my hand resting on his chest.

"Shawn," I stop. I know I should tell him no. Because I know this shouldn't happen. That it'll change everything for us and I don't want that. But my want - my need - for the intimate contact overpowers my better judgement and before I give myself the chance to second guess myself, I lean in and I kiss him for the third time tonight. And it somehow feels even better now, when we're both just here, completely vulnerable in front of each other. There's no one watching us this time, betting on how far we'll go.

It's soft, my hand still holding its place on his chest, but both of his cradle my face, deepening the kiss. And before I know it, I'm on top of him, my lips trailing down his jaw and neck. "Is this a bad idea?" I ask when our lips connect again.

"This," he takes in a sharp breath when I pull on his bottom lip with my teeth. "This is the best idea we've ever had."

---

I wake up around 6:30, the sun still hidden by the night for another few minutes. My clothes is strewn across the room in messy piles. My bra near the chair by the window, leggings beside the bed, my shirt is god knows where, but that doesn't totally matter because Shawn's is adorning my body right now (and it seems to be the only thing on me besides his heavy arm.)

I struggle a little to get out from under his grasp, but manage to do so with only a small fight to keep him asleep. A couple protests leave his parted lips, but he stays asleep, soft snores following his words. I let out a deep breath and search the still semi dark room for my abandoned clothes. My head pounds as I try to slip on my bra, and I almost topple over when I pull up one leg to shimmy into my panties. I'm as quiet as I possibly can be as I pull my phone and room key from the bedside table. I'm about to just leave the room without a second thought, but I stop short and turn back to the beautiful boy's sleeping figure.

Shawn's on his stomach, arm outstretched as if my body were still under it, face turned to the side I was occupying. I press the softest kiss to his temple and murmur, "It was fun, rockstar," before taking my stuff and exiting the room.

I lean against the door once it's latched shut and sink to the ground. "Jesus, fuck," I mumble into my knees. I had sex. But I didn't just have sex. I had sex with Shawn! My friend! My employer! I feel gross, like I ran a few miles in the sticky, humid air. My hair is matted to my forehead and neck, and I just overall feel dirty. So I somehow manage to pull myself off the ground and into the restroom. The rush of the water hitting the porcelain tub echoes through the brightly lit room and while I wait for it to warm, I strip to nothing. I dare myself to look in the mirror, even for just a second and when I do, I'm nearly thrown back by my reflection.

My face is flushed, but that's no doubt from how I was laying in his bed. But my hair, it definitely looks out of place, like it was being pulling one minute and caressed the next - which I was. My eyes travel further down, noticing the ungodly amount of hickies that coat my body - on my neck and shoulders, around my breasts, an entire line of bite marks trail down my stomach, and just when I think that's all of them, I see the ones on the insides of my thighs and my face is red for a whole different reason.

The memory of last night comes in a little fuzzy, and I may not remember everything, but I do remember this:

He works so well with his fingers. They start by tracing delicate patterns on my chest and down my stomach, but when they get to where they're most wanted - most needed - they become a little less gentle. They leave me arching my back as they curl inside me and I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. But it's not just his hands that are making me feel things I never have before.

His tongue. Oh my heavens, his tongue is magic. Shawn starts slow, cautious, still giving me time to tell him no. But I would never. And after a few minutes of agonizingly slow kitten licks, he becomes bolder, licking and sucking and inching his fingers in and out of me at an ungodly, borderline pornographic pace, causing equally as erotic moans to leave both our mouths. And I know I shouldn't look down, but I do it anyway and what a sight that is. I swear I could come undone just by looking at him. He's laser focused on pleasing me, his mouth and fingers working nonstop all while he holds my body down with just one hand, and stares up at me with those dark, lust filled eyes.

The Shawn I've always known is gone and replaced by this hungry, ravenous man who lays between my legs. But in the midst of our drawn out moans I hear, "You're just so fucking pretty like this," and I know he's still here. But those words are also enough to send me over the edge. I'm yanking on his perfect curls as he helps me ride out my high. He pulls away with a final lick and I whimper at the lost contact. He's smug though, a smirk transforming his face as he moves off the bed.

"Where are you going?" I ask, still breathless.

He chuckles, pulling something out of his bag. "Can never be too careful, mea vita." He comes back, condom between his fingers and I sit up, tugging at his boxers before he can get back on the bed.

I sigh and let the still warm water pound against my aching muscles. Last night was… it was everything I ever thought it would be and more. But it can't happen again. Not on tour, not back home. It was a mistake. But if I could go back in time, I know I'd make it over and over again.

---

I'm just finishing off my makeup when there's a knock on my door. I pray it's not Shawn, but when I see who is behind the door, I take it back.

"Connor, what do you want?"

He holds up his phone, a white flag lighting up his screen. "I'm calling a truce." He shrugs with a lopsided smile, "I miss my best friend."

I can't help but smile at his proclamation. "Okay," I pull him into my room, wrapping my arms around his waist. "I miss you too." I say as the door slams shut.

"So," he plops himself down on my still made bed. "Can we talk about last night?"

I cringe, "you came in here with a truce. Don't go back on your bullshit."

I just want to know that you're being careful. Okay? With the way things were escalating with you and Shawn at the bar, you can't expect me not to be a little curious."

"Con, please."

"That was one hell of a kiss you two had. And god knows what happened in that bathroom, and I don't- I don't want to know any details. It's just that, if something did happen, I want you to feel okay enough to tell me."

I claw at his shoulders while he continues to push his way into me, hitting somehow deeper with each thrust. I'm breathless as I let out moan after moan into his sweaty skin. "You feel so good," he swallows an oncoming moan from my throat when his tongue slips effortlessly into my mouth.

I sigh, "nothing happened," I lie, brushing out my tangled hair.

He didn't say anything for a long time, but I know he was processing it. He didn't believe me. "Okay," he mutters finally. "Can we go down for breakfast?"

I hum out an affirmation. "I just need to get my shoes."

Everyone's already downstairs, except for one. Shawn. And by the constant buzzing of my phone, I can guess why he's not with us all now. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and see the four texts that light up my screen.

Y/n where'd you go???

Why aren't you answering your phone?!

Y/N!!

Can we talk over breakfast pls?

"Everything okay?" Connor asks from across the table and I startle at the sound of his voice, not having realized that he was watching me.

"Yeah, no. Everything's fine. It's just Mom checking in. Guess I haven't been good at keeping her up to date with my whereabouts." I shove my phone in my back pocket, ignore the new wave of messages. If he really needed to talk, he'd come find me.

---

When he does finally come down, it's clear he isn't too thrilled, and I wish I could bring myself to go talk to him. Tell him that even though last night was perfect, being tangled in the sheets with him, it couldn't happen again. I don't get the chance though. Because not even two minutes later we're being ushered outside to the two waiting vans.

The crew is piling in, squeezing into seats, to head to yet another talk show performance, and Shawn visibly frowns when he sees I've taken my seat near the window. The seat next to me would be his on any other day, but today's it's taken by Connor.

We manage to get a few blocks from the hotel before my phone buzzes in my pocket again. I sigh and pull it out, reading the text over and over again.

Why are you avoiding me?

I'm not confident enough in my answer, so I tuck my phone away without a response.

***

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[aquilaofarkham]

wolfsbane bloom

Trevor is bitten by a werewolf; Alucard and Sypha offer their support while the night of his first full moon creeps up. Eventually, he discovers that vampires do in fact get along far better with lycans than he expected. For bitchardarmitage.

rating: teen and up (canon-typical violence, blood, coarse language, brief mentions of death/suicide)

word count: 4,406

This will be easy, this will be quick. He’s done this sort of deed before. With every trudge forward, the heavy snow crutches beneath Trevor’s boots. He looks up through the trees; the creeping darkness of dusk turning into night makes them look more like the iron bars of a cage. The whip and sword hanging off either sides of his waist along with the crossbow across his back weigh him down. But he keeps moving - better to finish this now before the dead bodies start piling up.

Trevor blows into his hands, trying to warm them while taking a moment to exam his surroundings. Snowflakes descending from above gently blow onto his face and get caught on his eyelashes. Apart from the sound of his footsteps, the woods are silent. Dead, uncomfortable silence. He keeps an ear out for anything that might break it; a twig snapping under the weight of claws, the rustling of leaves against coarse fur, or the low growl of a creature that’s somewhere between human and animal.

Eyes glance towards the murky skies, settling on the bright full moon, before turning back down at the series of paw prints leading deeper into the forest. Far too big to belong to any normal wolf. It’s been a while since Trevor found himself on the trail of a lycanthrope. “Out of practice” is an apt descriptor regarding this recent endeavour. He’s not worried, though. His arrows are made from silver, his blade purified in wolfsbane, and the Morningstar still sings when he wields it. This should go easily. This should go quickly.

It’s not long before Trevor hears the very noise he’s been searching for. Readying the crossbow, he carefully spins around to face whatever is lurking in the bushes behind him. He takes aim and lets out a deep breath. The frigid air transforms it into a long huff of smoke. Trevor keeps both arms steady, his patience steadfast yet quickly running out. Until the foreign sound moves. First, he hears footsteps off to his side, then back behind, then to his other side. Circling him, over and over again. Stalking its prey.

The hunter keeps his feet planted to the ground, moving them only slightly, preparing himself for the right moment. The same noise continues, followed by that growl he needed to hear. Another breath and the footsteps stop. Trevor is granted a few short seconds before his own prey lunges forward. He rolls out of the way, kicking up clumps of snow. Raising his head, he looks directly into sickly yellow eyes belonging to a mass of dark fur, elongated limbs, and a snout full of teeth blackened with blood. It snarls, keeping its distance, biding its time, before making its second attack.

Trevor is much quicker. With the crossbow loaded, he takes his first shot. The short arrow drives itself into the beasts’ shoulder, barely an inconvenience. Then comes a second and third. Trevor reloads the weapon and takes aim just as fast as he dodges each vicious assault. Streams of blood and saliva drip from the lycan’s fangs. Those bits of silver have only made it angrier.

It doesn’t give Trevor a chance to reach for the Morningstar. It seizes the opportunity, wrenching the crossbow out of his hands and pins him against the deep snow, its jaws snapping at his face. Trevor tries holding it back, but only manages to slice open both palms. Teeth dig into his shoulder and neck. Trevor is thankful for the pain despite how much it burns. Instead of wearing him down, it motivates (or rather forces) him to grab his sword and burrow its tip between the creature’s ribs.

An agonized howl mixed with a whine echoes throughout the forest. Awkwardly yet with enough strength, Trevor’s blade pierces its neck, nearly getting caught amongst all the fur and flesh. Blood gurgles in the lycan’s throat, hacking it up in large globs. Last breaths before its heavy body collapses.

Trevor lies in the snow, blinded by snowflakes. Quick, yes, but far from easy. He sits up with a long groan and turns to his handiwork. The crossbow is in pieces, blood drenches the ground, and the beast is nowhere to be seen. In its place is a human body; naked, thin flaxen hair, and pale skin stretched to its limit over bones. They lay motionless, their life spilling out through their chest and neck.

The hunter doesn’t move, nor can he look away. It’s so rare for him to see a sight like this. There’s no sense of victory, but what should be felt then? Guilt? It had to be done. They were trapped. Whoever they were, he set them free. But what point is there in telling himself this? All Trevor can think of is a different reminder. The monsters he hunts, that his family hunted, must have been human. Even vampires were human before.

“Poor bastard.” He could give them a burial - not a proper one. Still, they deserve that much. But another sting crawls down Trevor’s arm. He places a hand against his torn-up shoulder; tender, wet, and burning. Tearing away the ripped fabric, his eyes widen at the wound left behind by the lycan’s teeth. All he can say is an exasperated, breathless “fuck...”

He’ll live. That’s what he’s terrified of.

--

Trevor walks back home, the pain in his shoulder reduced to a dull throb numbed by the cold air. He placed the body in a deep snowbank before retracing his steps. There it will freeze for the rest of the winter then thaw and decompose when spring comes. Or perhaps the wolves, foxes, and bears will find it; whichever happens first.

The only light guiding him is that of the full moon. Trevor sneers up at it. He knows the next one won’t be as beautiful or kind - unless he does something. He read his family’s bestiary as though it were a children’s bedtime story. He’s well aware of all the legends even those that contradict each other. The lycan travels on its hind legs, they are agents of the Devil, so on and so forth. 

One thing remains constant: kill the beast before it leaves its bite, and the curse will be broken. A harsh realization just as Trevor approaches home. He marches up to the front door of the Belmont manor, still half rebuilt and looking more akin to a large cottage than the grand building it once was. Strangely enough, he prefers this home to the one he was born an raised in. A warm hue of candlelight shines through the windows while smoke gently rises out of a short chimney. The other occupants are awake and waiting for him.

This is what Trevor was dreading. They’ll ask questions the moment they see him. They’ll look at his torn shirt with dark red stains, the teeth marks upon his skin, and the panicked expression on his blood-drained face. They care so much and worry for him even more, which is why Trevor will try avoiding them. He walks into the warm house, shaking off the snow that clings to his hair and clothes.

As he takes his first steps down the hall, Trevor stops. He notices a set of two faint voices coming from the reading room. Shit. Almost forgot; he needs to go through there in order to reach his bedchamber. His hand covers the wound. Be quick, keep your eyes down, and don’t draw attention to yourself. Three pieces of advice he remembers from the years spent as a wanderer. He should never have to act this way around his friends, his family, but it is necessary.

Trevor darts into the room, keeping to the walls lined with shelves. The glances he makes at his companions, who sit comfortably with books in their hands, are brief. “There you are,” greets Sypha. Her light jovial attitude lessens when she receives no reply. “So... everything went well, then.”

“Fine.” Trevor should know by now that a single, dismissive word has never been enough to convince either of them.

“That’s it?” Alucard lowers his book. “No boasting, no trophies of your victory? It’s not like you at all.”

“I’m tired.”

“Trevor, your shoulder...”

“It’s nothing.”

“It should be tended to. Come on...”

Trevor gently shrugs off Sypha. “Really, it’s not worth the trouble.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” Alucard may jest like he always does, but his tone sounds just as concerned as Sypha’s. Trevor’s face begins to sweat, he feels suffocated. He needs his room. It’s the only way he’ll be able to think clearly.

“I’m going to bed.”

“At least bandage that wound.”

“I’ll do it eventually.”

Sypha scoffs. “Always so stubborn-”

“Stop.” The response is far louder than Trevor wanted. Sypha and Alucard stare. His empty stomach heaves while the pit of his chest grows tighter, hurting him. “I appreciate the concern... but I really am tired.” He can’t even muster up a simple “goodnight” before rushing towards his room. Trevor shuts the door, his hand a death grip on the knob and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle. Maybe the darkness will help focus his mind.

All options are weighed; none good, all bad, some even worse. Trevor returns to what he’s already accepted. Withdrawing a dagger he always keeps tucked in his boot, he checks the sharpness with his thumb. This is the only way. If he wants to spare others from the curse - if he wants Sypha and Alucard safe - it has to be. 

The door creaks open, Sypha comes into view, and Trevor quickly hides the weapon. Even in the shadows, he can tell that her anxious expression has worsened. “You were bitten,” she says. There’s nothing for him to deny.

“Show me what’s behind your back.” Her tone is bold, direct, yet gentle and Trevor cannot ignore it (he never could to begin with). He reveals the dagger slowly, almost shamefully. The first emotion Sypha feels is anger; how could he do this? How could he come to such an abrupt conclusion concerning his life without first talking it through with either herself or Alucard? She hoped Trevor had grown past this sort of reckless thinking. Evidently, he may never.

Sypha feels Alucard’s presence close behind her. Anger subsides into empathy as they walk into the room. Perhaps there is reason as to why Trevor came to a hasty decision. He’s a Belmont after all, born and bred as a hunter, knowing exactly what a lycan’s bite will do to a man. Still, it’s a decision they refuse to accept.

“Trevor...”

“Sorry. I... I didn’t want you to worry. But I have to do this.”

“No, you do not.” Sypha sits beside Trevor while Alucard carefully checks his shoulder, wincing as delicate fingers prod at the wound.

“It’s not infected yet, but it is very swollen and still bleeding a little. Put some pressure on his shoulder, I won’t take long.” He says to Sypha. Before Alucard can leave to continue playing the role of doctor just as his mother did, Trevor speaks up.

“There’s no point. Stop troubling yourself.”

“Not another word out of you. I’ll be right back.” There’s that blunt, aggressive tone Trevor has heard many times before, especially when directed at himself. It’s only because Alucard cares; he’s grown to care deeper and harder than ever. The dhampir then snatches away the dagger at an unusually quick speed. “And I’m taking this with me.” Only because he cares.

Alucard leaves Trevor with Sypha. Every uneasy breath causes his body to tremble. Hands curl into fists, nails digging into palms, as he tries forming his anxious thoughts into words. He holds himself back from grabbing tuffs of hair and bashing his head against a nearby wall. For being so careless, so stupid. “You really don’t understand...”

“We do understand. That’s why we’re both going to help.”

“Sypha, listen.” Trevor finds the strength to look her in the eyes. “When I turn, I won’t be able to stop myself and people will die. You and Alucard, you’ll...”

Sypha can’t bear to hear him talk of death and dying any longer. Enough, she thinks. “No one is going to die. Not your or anyone else. All three of us have seen enough death to last us lifetimes. We will help you through this.”

Trevor’s energy is spent. There’s not much he can do except trust her words - weakly. Alucard returns with his arms full of medicinal supplies: a basin of water, a cup of ointment made from honey and frankincense, gauze strips, and a needle with some thread. He works swiftly, diligently. Cleaning the wound, smothering it then sewing everything up. Trevor winces until the last bandage is tied. All he can think about is pain, that of tonight and that which will follow in the near future. Sypha squeezes his hand as Alucard rubs his hunched back.

Their simple actions ease the pain. Trevor hopes it will last for as long as it can.

--

There is much that can be done in a month’s time, yet not enough. Sypha immerses herself within books of the lycan mythos, some of which are older than the Belmont lineage itself. She reads of Dacian wolf cults, the cursed wolf king Vereticus, and poor children, seventh of their family, doomed to become beasts. How to track and kill, not help. Not save. But Sypha has many other books to tear through. If there are any alternatives, anything to suggest that Trevor might be spared his fate, she will find it. Alucard does the same and uses the notebooks left behind by Lisa, searching for a way to ease the eventual transition. Better yet, a way to stop it entirely.

It gets harder for Trevor with each passing hour. He tries, god knows he does. Carrying on with his hunts and errands, treating the days as though they were ordinary, postponing the inevitable. Distractions to keep himself at least half sane. But then there are the nightmares, common occurrences for a Belmont. Not these, however. Not the ones where Trevor chokes on blood and flesh or when his skin tears as easily as the thinnest parchment. He wakes up every morning, his stomach clenched and the taste of bile in his mouth. The closer the full moon approaches, the worse they become. Trevor can’t go about the days as normal.

Just as the last rays of sunlight shine through the stained-glass windows of the manor, Alucard finds Trevor in his bedroom. He sees him lying on his side, back turned, and the dhampir wonders how long he’s been like this. “No luck again?” The hunter asks before Alucard can announce himself.

“... Sypha and I made a tonic that will help with the pain when you transform.”

“But won’t stop it.” One pause is the only answer Trevor needs. “You shouldn’t put yourself through this much work for me.”

“Yet we do.” Alucard joins him on the bed. “And despite what you might think, we do it willingly.”

Trevor remains in his half fetal position, eyelids heavy. If that statement was meant to brighten his mood, it hasn’t. Alucard and Sypha have done so much for him. Enough that he feels he will never be able to repay them in full. Despite his honest attempts, he’s become a burden this past month and it will only get worse.

He finally sits up, his hair a bedridden mess. Alucard receives the first real glimpse at his bloodshot eyes, unchecked stubble, and cheeks devoid of blush and colour. Trevor turns to him, saying without words, “I know I look like shit”.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“It comes and goes.”

“For how long?”

“... an hour. If I’m lucky.”

“Are you afraid to sleep?”

“Does it seem like I’m afraid?” But Trevor already has the answer. “You’re right... you’re absolutely right as always. I’m so fucking scared. I can’t sleep because I’m scared of what I’ll see, scared of what I’ll feel, I’m scared of what’s going to happen in the next few days... I’ve never felt this much fear in my entire life. I feel sick and weak and...”

Alucard pulls the hunter in close, wrapping his arms around his broad back. “You know...” Trevor pushes his cheek against the dhampir’s shoulder. His sobs are quiet, repressed, which is just like him. “Contrary to what most people believe, vampires and lycans gets along very well.”

“... is it because you both turn into wolves?” Trevor asks, his voice muffled.

“The similarities certainly help. But it’s more a matter of solidarity between creatures of the night.”

“So what you’re saying is things would have gone a lot smoother between us at the very beginning if I happened to be a bloody werewolf.”

Alucard laughs and gives him a light hug. “A joke... and a bad one at that. Haven’t heard one of those from you in a while,” he hums. “Does this mean you’re feeling a little better?”

“I’ll feel better when all this is done and I can actually sleep.”

Without putting up much resistance, the dhampir guides Trevor’s heavy head onto one of the pillows. His tearful eyes shine like glass. “Then sleep.”

“I can’t, I’ll just see more of those... fucking awful things.”

Alucard ponders for a moment. Trevor will think of his next action as over sentimental. He might even poke fun at him, claim he’ll use it as blackmail, but he does it out of genuine affection for the idiot. Lying beside him, Alucard drapes the fur blanket over their bodies. “I’ll stay here until morning. I’ll help you sleep.”

Trevor lets out a defeated sigh. He places his head upon the dhampir’s chest, pleasantly surprised at how soft and warm it feels. The slow rhythmic breathing also helps put him at ease. Alucard’s fingers stroke his hair as lips ghost over the hunter’s forehead. “You’re not weak for being scared. We’re all scared. But we’ve made preparations and we’ll take all precautions. You’ll still be you, even after everything. The same foulmouthed, smelly... brave Belmont you always have been.”

He could go on, but Trevor’s eyes are already closed.

--

Near the manor, nestled under the hard winter earth, lies a cellar. Dark, chilled, and large enough to house over a dozen adult bodies. It was made for storage, but Trevor has found another use. One that will help save lives when the full moon rises this night. He can only hope.

Standing in the middle of the stone bound room, refusing a lantern or torch, he faces Sypha and Alucard. They seem apprehensive, uneasy, every quiet negative emotion. Even Alucard walks with an uncertain foot as he hands Trevor a small bottle. If the library books and their contents aren’t going to help him, perhaps this will. He uncorks it and pours a bitter tasting liquid down his throat, emptying the container. He’s drunk far stronger things in the past, but nerves almost cause him to retch everything back up.

“We should stay with you,” Sypha suggests. Trevor shakes his head, still reeling from the tonic.

“No. Just make sure the door is locked and bolted shut.”

“How will we know if you’re alright?”

“Won’t know for certain until tomorrow morning.”

“We can’t wait all night!” She glances at Alucard who doesn’t say it out loud, but agrees nonetheless.

“Then you’ll know everything happened like it’s supposed to when the screaming stops and the growling starts. It’s not gonna be a pretty thing to hear, I’ll tell you that much.” No one is in the mood for Trevor’s joke - if one could call it that. Not even Alucard has the energy to scold him. “But you can’t come in no matter what. Nothing goes into that room and sure as hell nothing comes out. Understand?”

Sypha and Alucard reluctantly understand. They look towards the stairs leading to the outside world. It’s late evening and the moon still be rising soon. A quick yet tight embrace is the best - or at least the easiest - goodbye they can give Trevor before exiting the cellar. Alucard closes the door, bolting it with a heavy clank. He and Sypha sit at the bottom of the steps; they’ve always hated waiting. In their shared experience, it never seems to be for anything good.

They pass the time in silence. Night arrives slower than expected. Sypha holds her knees to her chest, a shivering ball of stress while Alucard keeps his back against the wood and iron door. Small flakes of snow drift down followed by the cold light of the full moon. 

Before Sypha can ask if it’s started yet, they hear something coming from behind the door. Pained, restricted moans as though Trevor were holding them back. A series of “fucks” hissed through teeth grinding together. Longer it goes on until they turn into screams. Vocal chords strain and tear, becoming inhuman. Sypha’s hands cover her ears but she’s seconds too late. It’s in her head now. The banging, ripping, clawing, and crying have forced their way inside. Against her own wishes, Sypha’s mind pieces together a grotesque puzzle of what might be happening within the cellar.

Some of the wood on the door suddenly cracks, not enough to break it open but a few more and it just might. Alucard’s eyes go wide. He immediately uses his body in an effort to keep it shut. Although having faith in his immense strength, Sypha offers her help. They share the same prayer: let this end.

The violent banging stops and the piercing screams quiet down. All that’s left is the same silence as before - Sypha and Alucard feel no comfort. They bring their ears close to the door and hear it. A guttural snarl belonging to a very, very big animal.

“Alucard...” Sypha whispers. “Do you remember what one of those manuscripts we looked at said?”

“Which one?”

“The one about northern lycan myths. It said something about calling out the creature’s name...”

There’s a tense pause before he remembers the passage. “If one should love the beast dearly, speak its true name and its humanity shall be restored.” The same text also suggested tossing the lycan’s human clothes in their direction. Alucard doubted its validity even when they first found it. “I don’t think...”

“We should at least try it. Please.”

Alucard’s furrowed brow softens. Of course it’s a risk, but he loathes the alternative of waiting until morning while Trevor stays locked in a dangerous body he can’t control. And listening to Sypha’s gut instinct has never led any of them astray before. If it doesn’t work, there’s always the clothes option. Cautiously, Alucard unbolts the door.

Sypha walks in before him, a small flame emanating from her fingertips. The steps they take are short and careful until a low drawn out growl stops them. Light reflects off ice blue eyes shining in the surrounding blackness. Backed into the farthest corner is a beast with thick fur, its posture cowered yet threatening, ready to strike if tested. Clearly a wolf, yet unlike any wolf the two have seen. Everything is too large; its head, limbs, teeth. From where Sypha and Alucard stand, they instead see a mouth full of daggers.

“Trevor Belmont.” Reaching out his hand, the dhampir is the first to say his name. The creature snaps its jaws, its barks deafening.

“Trevor, it’s us. You remember, I know you do.” Sypha stays close to Alucard, keeping the flame lit while her other hand prepares a different spell should they need it. The lycan lowers its head and crawls towards them on all fours, the hairs of its belly scraping along the floor. “Trevor...” Alucard repeats, stunned at how close they’ve gotten. Scared that one mistake could ruin all their chances. It sniffs his hand and blinks. No longer does it growl. Alucard and Sypha are tired of waiting but they must do it one last time.

Their hopes are rewarded when Trevor softly bumps the top of his head into the dhampir’s palm.

--

He doesn’t come out. Not into the forest nor the house. Trevor holds full awareness of what his body has become, but the fear of losing command haunts him. He cannot risk going outside. He won’t wander amongst the dense forests only to come across a village and succumb to any violent urges that might be screaming for release. So, he stays in the cellar curled up in his corner of stone and hay, alone.

A soft whimper escapes as one of Trevor’s oversizes paws covers his eyes. It was difficult convincing Sypha and Alucard to leave him alone without the use of words. All he could manage was a few persistent whines while he pushed the outside. They’ve been gone for a while.

Suddenly, out of the quiet, Trevor hears the door creak open. He raises his head, ears perking up and expects to see either a blue clad Speaker or a golden haired dhampir. Perhaps they’ve come to keep him company or bring him food. Yet in their place, Trevor is greeted by a wolf like himself. This one however is much smaller with yellow eyes and fur whiter than the snowy hills surrounding his home. He sits up, recognizing this creature.

Alucard enters the cellar, his nails tapping against the floor with every graceful step. The two take their time in familiarizing themselves with each other’s new forms. While the white wolf circles around him, the lycan remains hesitant. Until Alucard gives the side of his head a couple gentle licks and Trevor feels his muscles relax. You’re still you. Even after everything. Trevor doesn’t know if that’s what Alucard is truly thinking, but his actions seem clear enough.

They nuzzle their snouts together; maybe this is what was meant when he said vampires and lycans get along better than most humans believe. Trevor would be content to stay here all night, as long as Alucard stayed as well, but the white wolf has other plans. He trots over to the door and waits. Tentatively, the lycan trails behind him up the stairs. A passing breeze ruffles his fur. They stare at each other before Alucard bounds off through the trees. Trevor follows.

Running will do both of them some good.

#castlevania #trevor belmont #alucard #adrian tepes #sypha belnades #trevorcard #trephacard #netflix castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #my writing #*cvfic #OOF sorry this look so long!! i didn't want to burn myself out like i did last year ;;

[studiobeebo]

hi !! could i have a continuation of the tutoring mirio scenario, please?? he’s so cute hdhdhdhs

Of course!! and yes he is The Cutest and The Dorkiest and i love him (if you guys haven’t read it, this is the scenario anon is referring to!)

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“…Is it really that wrong?”

At Mirio’s sheepish response, you couldn’t help but burst out into laughter while shaking your head at him. You had just gone over how to do these types of problems the day before, but it seemed he had already forgotten. While others might find this frustrating, you, for some reason, found it so dorkishly cute that you couldn’t help but laugh, the only thing causing you to quickly settle down being the fact that you didn’t want to embarrass him too badly.

It had been a little over two months since you began tutoring Mirio in management while also helping him out with some other classes, but the two of you were quick to drop the formal setting of after school meetings in the classroom and instead just started meeting up in the commons area at the dorms. It became a sort of tradition for both of you to bring along an armful of pillows, blankets, and snacks and make yourselves a comfy little nest before getting to work on studying. When you first started doing this, you ended up feeling a bit embarrassed on your first day meeting together casually. You had always admired Mirio, but over the past weeks you came to realize that what you were feeling was a bit more than just ‘admiration’, so on your first casual meeting you decided to get a bit dressy, convincing yourself that it was just so you could still keep a level of professionalism, but in reality you just wanted to impress him, and you absolutely did.

When Mirio first saw you in a cute skirt with a polka-dotted blouse to match while he was left standing there still in his pajamas, he felt like a lucky, bashful idiot. He had to consciously keep telling himself not to stare, much like the very first time the two of you had met up for tutoring sessions, but this time his confidence had time to grow so he was able to utter out a compliment while trying his best to make it seem like he wasn’t flustered in the least bit, which turned out to be a very difficult task since for the rest of the day, he kept having to ask you to repeat yourself because he’d get lost in his thoughts while staring at you with a wistful smile on his face. From then on, you learned that it was okay to dress more casually, and from there, your entire relationship became more casual and the two of you had gotten much more comfortable with taking as much as half an hour breaks just to chill and talk to one another.

Obviously, you still had to be teaching him something though, and that’s what led you to attempting to teach him how to do the same exact math problem for the third time this week. Little did you know, Mirio had learned how to do it the first time around, but he loved that melodic laugh that left your lips every time he acted clueless, and when your laughter slowly settled and you were left with that little ghost of a grin on your face, he swore he got butterflies in his stomach. That wasn’t where the deceptions stopped though. In reality, it only took about a month to get him back on track in both of the classes you had been tutoring him in and after that, the teacher mentioned to him that he could stop with the tutoring sessions if he wanted to, but he couldn’t think of any better ways to spend his time with you, so he declined and decided to keep going. Well actually, he could think of other ways he wanted to spend time with you, but in the area of finally confessing and asking you out on a date, he was still completely stumped.

Over the past two months, you had done wonders on improving how he felt about himself. His self esteem had gone up quite a bit, especially since now that his grades had improved, he felt more well rounded and he was proud of the mantle of being a member of “The Big Three” rather than feeling like he didn’t quite deserve it. Not only that, but every once in a while the two of you would talk about deeper things, and through one of those talks where he had let slip that sometimes he felt unsure about his abilities, unbeknownst to you, you ended up rattling on about how impressive and brave he is to always strive to live up to expectations. It may have not seemed like much, but your words meant a lot to him. He’d never thought about how the fact that he even aspired to be the best in all that he could be the best in was something that not many could even dream of attempting, and once he started thinking more like you, he saw every little step forward as a success rather than thinking he needed to push harder or better.

“Mirio?”

Crap, he was totally spacing out again.

“Huh? Sorry, was just thinking suuuper hard about this question.” He joked sarcastically, knowing well that you knew he probably wasn’t actually thinking about the problem.

“Oh suuure. Well, I asked if you wanted to take a break for a bit.” You laughed out, sitting up from your slouched position on the couch and stretching your hands above your head. Recently, you noticed that Mirio had been getting a bit more spacey than usual, and while you didn’t mind all that much, it made you a bit worried and you always had the itch to ask him if everything was okay, but then you’d chicken out in fear that he’d be annoyed at you for trying to pry into his life since, after all, you were still his tutor, but you were really starting to wish you weren’t ‘just his tutor’. Even some of your friends started to notice that your mood had been very cheery and uplifting lately, and when you finally confessed that you believed it was because you got to spend more time with your, dare you say, crush, you were bombarded with date suggestions and things like that. Just thinking about such a thing made your heart race a bit, but you still didn’t have the courage to even confess that you had feelings that were more than just ‘friendly’ for him.

Luckily, he seemed like he was just as in need of a breather as you were since he let out a dramatic sigh and fell back into the couch the two of you were seated on. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, yourself looking over a few notifications that had popped up on your phone and Mirio staring at the ceiling in thought. See, over the past few months of knowing you, even though a lot of it was spent talking about math problems or other things like that, he’d actually been paying very close attention to every casual conversation the two of you had, because in the back of his mind he was still always planning on the fateful day when he’d finally get the guts to ask you out. Every time he thought he was going to do it though, he’d end up falling back and just telling himself that it was too early and that he didn’t know enough about you to plan out a perfect date yet.

However, over the past couple weeks, he noticed that you mentioned some upcoming horror comedy movie that was coming out soon at least five times, and when he made that connection with the fact that you were also a fan of going out to eat, he thought he had the perfect date idea and all he had to do was ask. That was going to be the hard part though.

“Oh hey! I almost forgot Ghost Yeti is coming out this weekend!” You gushed, ironically breaking his train of thought while he turned to watch what he figured would be you watching the trailer for the hundredth time, but when he saw you looking at movie times and ticket prices on your phone, his stomach dropped a bit, knowing that if he didn’t act soon you’d either go by yourself or find someone else to go with.

“Have you seen the commercials for this? It looks hilariou-”

“We should go see it!”

…

Months of planning. Literally, months of planning the perfect words to say and the perfect date to take you on, and he ends up just blurting out an idea, cutting you off in the process, that the two of you should go do something together. Suddenly, his insecurities began seeping back into his mind as he felt like he totally just messed up. Was that too simple? Should he have said it in a different way? What if you already had plans to see it anyways?

You on the other hand had a whole different train of thought going as you just stared at him in shock as you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Your initial response would have been to blurt out an equally excited ‘yes’, but then you began to doubt yourself until you had convinced yourself in under a minute that he probably meant that in a friendly way, or maybe he thought you were going to see it alone and he pitied you.

“..Together?”

You almost physically hit yourself for asking such a dumb question, but it would have sounded even more strange to try and take it back now, so instead you just stared at him with hopeful wide eyes, but that look was enough to give him some hope of his own that he didn’t actually just totally blow this.

“Er..yeah? If you-If you wanted to! You’ve been talking about it a lot so I figured you wanted to see it! Well obviously you wanted to see it but–” He stopped himself before letting out a deep breath while trying to reconfigure his thoughts so he didn’t spend the next ten minutes rambling. “I guess the question isn’t really if you want to see it or not, it’s more if you’d want to see it with me?” He paused again, but right when you had opened your mouth to agree, he cut you off one more time after remembering what else he was going to add on to convince you going out on a date with him wouldn’t be a waste of time, but you had been convinced of that the second he opened his mouth.

“And we could get ice cream! Or milkshakes, whichever one works!”

The ecstatic smile on your face filled him with hope and a bit of pride, but it wasn’t until you nodded your head that he was completely convinced.

“You had me before you even mentioned food, Mirio, but you really know your way to a girl’s heart.” You laughed, the bright smile on your face already beginning to hurt your blush stained cheeks.

It was his turn to laugh, though it was more like a laugh of relief mixed with excitement for him, and his worries began to fade away with every second he watched that smile linger on your face. He almost felt silly thinking about how much thought he had put into this whole ordeal, but with the positive answer he got, there was no way he could regret anything that had pulled the two of you closer over the past two months.

“..So it’s a date then?”

Your question caught him off guard, but with a renewed energy and confidence of a hero and a man who just scored a date with his crush, he couldn’t deny that word if he wanted to.

“Yup! It’s a date!”

#mha #my hero academia #mha imagine #mha scenarios #bnha #boku no hero academia #mirio togata #mirio togata x reader

[bloodinhershoesrpg]

WHEN THE CURTAIN DROPS…

Born in a lightning storm, you were, welcomed into this world at its finest state of ambiguity between thunderous bolts and seconds of silence, making it difficult to say if you would be a child of light or one of darkness. From a very young age you would be branded as a born creator, swelling your parents with pride and filling the air with the convoluted sound of your music — geniality, they called it. To be able to make art of whichever instrument fell into your eager hands had to be a blessing, in defiance of not being in the capacity, then, to read anything cohesive from what was written on a music sheet: yet simultaneously prone to fall victim to self-delusions, the grounds your curse lied upon. Such was the ardency of your passions it was anything but rare for you to become remarkably peeved by the disinterest of others in regards to the things you would have blissfully died for, flabbergasted by the dullness that turned their eyes to voids whereas yours would sparkle in ravishment. “That’s quite an ego that daughter of yours has!” a phrase so thoroughly overused you could feel each bitter letter slip through your teeth in perfect sync; notwithstanding, they were far from being mistaken, far from being mistaken indeed. Only the world would show you just how much a pampered child has to suffer to deserve the title of genius.

…YOU SHOW YOUR TRUE COLOURS

It mattered little how much the family of darling Norah-Grace Monroe would boast, nothing would ever help her in terms of social interactions, from pre-school to high-school, your grimaces of discomfort before whatever opinion you would mark as ignorant and unworthy would filter even through the kindest of smiles. Your pedestal was set up high, and by the time you came to notice the decrepit state of it, those you thought to be your subjects had already set you on much lower grounds. Your effervescence would consume you whole, to be replaced by a thick and impenetrable layer of self-doubt and anxiety which would lead many to think the wonder of you was replaced at some point of your adolescence. Staggering girl no more, that girl had been bumped and bruised against the cold ground of her own aloofness. What was left? Those are thoughts not to waste any sleep for anymore; long story short, the once-promising music composer in the making would end with a profession which in her most whimsical years would have been seen as mundane. The day would come you would find yourself at the gossamer doors of the Queen Victoria Ballet, not as a musician but a bookkeeper, staring at the magnificence of their timeless dances from a well-known spot of yours. Which would it be, you wonder, dearest? Well, the outside, that is.

VICTIM OR CULPRIT?

If the most debaucherous cringe at the sight of you, don’t you fret, they are far from hating Norah Monroe; it’s just your reputation of budget-cutter killjoy that has concealed your image under a dark cloud. The administrative manager of the ballet is obligated, nonetheless, to watch after the finances of a household that was once on the brink of ruin; to be responsible for that weight should be about enough to give this Nicole Kidman look-alike a couple gray hairs. Not to mention the blood related incident which has brought along not just the entirety of the West Midlands police corps but a pulsating feeling of panic. May your forty-ninth birthday be anything but your last.

IN RELATION TO

MAXIMILIANO FERRI: When he speaks of Moscow, Paris, Prague... it all makes you feel a little more alive. You were never one to dwell on fantasies much aside from the ones featuring yourself, and perhaps that is exactly why even if you have momentarily fallen behind with work you still choose to stop and talk — if only that had been you instead! Something about him reminds you so much of your father; it could easily be the reflective look on his face, his capability of staying calm amidst a disarray of distressed screaming child-adults. Hence why you worry so much about his health, and how this entire mess could affect it. CLOVER MITCHELL: For the rest, you are nothing but the busybody of the ballet house, here comes the one true exception to the so-established rule. Many were reluctant to have Clover joining the team and what is known as your little trifecta, taking in consideration their rather blurry history and the issues it could bring along; would you be the one to shake your head no, there would not be one wardrobe designer as good as them in the ballet’s possession. It was a good thing you decided not judge, for the day is yet to come you are able to call someone as close a friend as you have gotten to call them. A comfort, an ease, a daily reminder. ELIJAH GRANVILLE: A household name often comes with a menacing gaze and an overpowering desire of turning whichever cause it happens to support and/or sponsor into their very own. That is the worst case scenario, in reality, at times it feels like the sky could fall onto the opera and little would Elijah care; it was an ace up your sleeve, to reassure this helpful connection with the Granville man in times of need when the opera thought itself slightly troubled, he could be easily thanked for the surfacing of it. With the mild inconvenience of his attitude and those under his gracious sponsorship more often than rarely trying to take advantage of the aforementioned resources.

WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW

Chances of Survival: Above average Applicant must be open to portraying egomania, inferiority complex Faceclaim is slightly negotiable

Starring: Lila as Norah Monroe

A delicate silence filled the office the blonde woman occupied on a daily basis, briefly interrupted every once in a while when her long, pale fingers typed numbers and other data in the white keyboard resting on the surface of the antique mahogany desk. The contradiction seen in the old and lavish furniture that had been adapted to fit a modern and minimalistic technology was one of the things Norah found most interesting, not only about her office, but of life in general. Complex and intricate subjects were often the ones that caught her attention, just like the people she surrounded herself with. Just like herself, even if most individuals couldn’t see it. Norah-Grace knew she wasn’t the most easy-going person in the company, which danseuses and co-workers never failed to acknowledge every single day. She was also the one keeping the bloody ballet on its feet which, of course, wasn’t acknowledged enough. Perhaps she wasn’t even doing it right. The blonde woman knew she had flaws, just as everybody else did ( even if hers were far from being as terrible as the ones her acquaintances eternally attempted to hide ), but that was no reason for them to dismiss her in such ways. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first place in which Norah’s good qualities passed unnoticed. In fact, she was sure she could pinpoint the very exact moment in which her parents’ attention began to drift away, making her younger sister the recipient of their love and pride.

The first eight years of Norah’s life were perfect. Alfred and Grace Monroe -  her beloved parents - would spoil her and fulfill her every wish; from fancy toys she’d seen in magazines or tv, to expensive classes with the most renowned tutors of London, whether it was dancing ballet or playing violin, piano or guitar… She had it all. Her peers ( as her teachers called her classmates, even though they were anything but her equals ) would often find a way to make her stand out as the misfit, the outcast. “Envy,” Norah would repeat herself at such a young age, “they don’t understand you.” But she cared little about them and their inclination towards mediocrity. They all had poor skills and she’d make sure to let them know how far she was from them, and they could hate her all they wanted, but they’d never reach her. All the love and comfort she needed, was back home with her parents and a her newborn sister. Little did she know this would last only five more years, when her sister began to develop her talent. Even Norah recognized the young one had a gift, but she considered it was nothing compared to what she herself had. Alice played the piano beautifully, but why was she more celebrated than Norah? The elder sister played beautifully as well. Perhaps not as fast, perhaps not as neatly… Perhaps not as good.

Norah took a deep breath, her bright blue eyes blinking away from the screen. The numbers had gotten overwhelming, and so she knew it was time for a short break. To go for a walk on her own, after such a dreadful incident and its perpetrator on the loose, was out of the question. Her nerves were on edge and made her jump to the most inoffensive of noises. Therefore she decided to pay Maximiliano a brief visit. Even if this whole thing had her patience running short, making her more irritable than usual, he’d be able to delight her with one of his stories that, no matter how many times she’d heard them, they always carried her to new places. She would love to take a peek of the rehearsals, but her presence wouldn’t be welcomed after the so-called unnecessary cuts. Her fragile pride had no time for that kind of treatment. It was enough for her to be seen as dull or boring, or even evil, thanks to the measures she’s seen herself taking. What else could she do? Let them have lavish costumes and scenarios? Leave them be so they waste all the money left? That would mean she failed at her job, but Norah-Grace Monroe did not fail. She couldn’t fail, not at this.

For now, she’d have to ignore their mediocrity even if deep, deep inside, it affected her. At least, there was a fact Norah relished, and that almost always helped her ease her anxious thoughts: To be underestimated is an incredible gift.

#literate rp #skeleton rp #lsrpg #murder rp #norahmonroe #taken. #female. #alive. #takenf.

[onormalflicka-blog]

Not Alone pt. 1

Everyday seemed to drag on endlessly as I felt like nothing good would happen. I went to school everyday and sat at the back of the room so no one really ever knew what classes I was in. It is always the same. No one ever sits next to me until he sat next to me one day. What is he name? Who is he? Does he know who I am? I have no idea about him. I just hope he does not treat me like others. I have some differences from other people. I am partially blind and deaf. I have glasses but I still sit in the back. I wish I could just hide. -THAT DAY- I found out the boys name. It is Kim Himchan and he is part of a gang called B.A.P. I found this out from my only friend. Another girl named Natasha Bang, the sister of the leader. Apparently Himchan is like the mother of the group and is very understanding. Which is why he sits next to me, so he can understand me more and therefore help me. Natasha told me that the other boys do not really like that he sits with me but they understand that I probably don’t have the easiest time in school so they allow it. Four days a week I go to Natasha’s house and she helps me relearn how to write and read. I sometimes heard noises from downstairs that Natasha says are very loud. She goes and tells the people downstairs to be quieter. I always tell her that it is not very and she tells me it will be easier to work in silence. Silence. I hate that word. That is a word that has described my entire life for a very long time. I was in an accident when I was little and lost my hearing and most of my sight. Today is no different. “Natasha. Do they know that I am here?” I ask. “No they don’t. That is why we come back earlier so they won’t ask you too many questions that you can’t understand.” she responds, reminding me that if people talk quickly around me I can not understand what they are saying. I wish that they would know that I existed. Maybe then I could get to know Himchan. -THE NEXT DAY- “Y/N Y/L/N?” the teacher calls loud enough for me to hear. “Present.” I say quietly because I am afraid of how my voice sounds. I have not heard my own voice since I was very young and people try to describe it to me but I can never imagine it. They it is lower for a girl and that I have a nice laugh and that my words have a lot of feeling in them. What does that even mean? Maybe one day I can get surgery to bring back my eyesight and hearing. One day. “Y/N-ah?” I hear a voice quietly say. It was Himchan and he placed a note on my desk and said something quickly before leaving. I tried to read it but my eyes had been getting worse and so I would have to wait until Natasha came to take me to m next class. A few minutes later she arrived and I asked her to read it to me. It read Hi Y/N-ah my name is Kim Himchan and I was wondering if you would like to meet sometime. I can talk to my friends and ask if you could come over to our leader’s house sometime. I am part of a group know as B.A.P and we really like meeting new people. Our leader has a sister you could hang out with if we are busy. Just send your response to this number. ___-___-____ Hope to see you soon, HImchan Natasha finished reading and said, “Yeah the leader does have a sister even though he doesn’t act like it.” I did not say anything because I did not know what she meant. “Maybe at your house I could meet them today?” I inquired. “Maybe Y/N. But remember your grammar and let me do most of the talking.” she said. Natasha is always worried that when I meet her family they will think I am weird and not let her tutor me. I hope that that does not happen when I meet her brother and his friends. “By the way, my brother, Yongguk, has a twin named Yongnam. You probably won’t be able to tell but I can help you find ways to tell them apart.” she said. I nodded my head in acknowledgment. I did not know she had twin brother and I just found out she had one when I asked her about Himchan. How much do I not know? Is it because of my condition? -LATER THAT DAY- At the end of school I met Natasha at the main gate. “Are you ready for this? Are you sure that you want to meet my brothers and their friends?” she asked. “I’m sure. Won’t they be suspicious if they never find out why you go home early and tell them to be quick only four days a week?” I said. “True.” she replied and we were on our way. She led me to her house and up to her room where she tutored me. That day we were going to be working on social situation and how to lead a conversation with someone who does not know your condition. What a more perfect then today to do this considering I am going to meet the boys. They arrive in a chorus of noise and what is apparently yelling about a game they want to play and what they want to eat. I hear a few things like “cherry tomatoes” and “cheesecake” and “you are going to ruin your appetite” from the noise buzzing in my ears. Natasha says that we should wait until they calm down a little so no one attacks us when we go downstairs. That’s when someone knocks on the door. “Natasha?” a deep male voice says, “Are you in there?” I can tell that Natasha is flustered but I nod and she opens the door. “What do you want Yongnam?” she says as she opens the door revealing herself and me in the background. “Who is that?” the man asks. I can not tell if it is one of her brothers or not because I do not run around. I do not want him to see my eyes because they scare some people. “Yongnam this is Y/N. I tutor her. Turn around Y/N. He won’t be scared of you.” Natasha says making me feel a bit more comfortable. I slowly turn around and stand up. “Hi my name is Y/N. It is nice to meet you.” I say trying to come off as normal as possible. “Hi my name is Yongnam and I am Yongguk’s twin and Natasha’s brother. It is nice to meet you.” the boy said. I glanced over to Natasha and she signed me what he had just said. I signed back to her saying that he talks really fast. I had yet to show him my eyes because they do not look normal. “Y/N? Can I see your eyes? I am sure that they are beautiful.” he said. I turn my head and nodded then opening my eyes I held my breath ready for the gasp or scream of terror. “I love your eyes Y/N. You should show them more often.” he said. “Thank you. Usually people are terrified when they see my eyes because of the color.” I said. My eyes are hazel but they look almost white in some places because I of my partial blindness. Yongnam asks me to come meet the boys and leads me out of the room that I have spent many hours in learning how to read and write again. As we are descending the stairs I hear “YAH! WHO STOLE MY CHEESCAKE?!?!” from one of Yongnam’s friends. When we reach the bottom of the stairs I can see the outline of six boys and someone is trying to strangle someone else. Yongnam clears his throat and the boys freeze, or that is what Natasha whispered in my ear. I often ask her to tell me what is happening around me so I do not miss anything or run into anyone or anything that I can not see. “Um. May I ask who are you?” I faintly hear someone say. Before I can answer Yongnam says, “Boys this is Y/N. Natasha tutors her here and that is why she asks you to shut up when you are trying to kill each Daehyun and Youngjae.” I guess the boys who are strangling each other are Daehyun and Youngjae then. “What do you expect? He took my cheesecake.” a nearby voice says and I close my eyes. “Give her some space Daehyun. Sorry to scare you Y/N. I am Yongguk. Boys introduce yourselves.” a deep voice says. “Youngjae” “Daehyun” “Zelo or Junhong whichever you prefer” “Jongup” “Himchan” five voices say quickly. “Y/N you can open your eyes. These boys are like me, they won’t be scared or say anything mean” Yongnam whispers to me. I have to turn to Natasha for the signing because he whispered it too quietly. I nod and open my eyes and hold my breath. Even with the reassuring words of Yongnam I still am afraid of what they will say or do. “Your eyes are so beautiful Y/N.” says the boy named Zelo. “Thank you. I don’t show my eyes to many people that I have just me because of obvious reasons that you can see I’m guessing.” I say hoping for the best. The boy gives me a confused look and dismisses it. Natasha always tells me to be honest but it scares me that if I am honest what will people think of me? At least they have yet to find out that I am deaf and blind. I do not even want to think about what they are going to say or think. Yongnam does not even know and he has seen Natasha sign to me and write things on my hand or stand in my line of functional vision. “Y/N? Y/N?” I hear faintly from the boy named Jongup. “Yes?” I say hoping he does not realize that I could not hear him. “Come in to the kitchen and help us make some food. You know how to cook right?” he asks making my heart race. Yes I know how to cook but I have not for since I was five years old. “I’m sorry but I don’t know a thing about cooking.” I say hoping that he will not ask again. “That’s okay. We will teach you. Come one.” he says confirming my fear. At that moment I feel a strong hand grab my wrist and I scream. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” the boy says and leads me to the kitchen where the other boys are making something. After sitting and the kitchen while the boys made some food. Natasha led me into another room and asked me when I was planning on telling the boys that I was partially blind and deaf. I told her that I did not want to tell them and she said that I would never get to know Himchan and the others if they did not know me first. So I agreed to tell them once they finished eating their food. We went back into the room with the boys and sat down. Once they finished eating I got their attention by saying, “I have something to tell you that will make some things I have said and done make sense.” I could feel their eyes burning into as Himchan said, “Whatever you need to say is fine with us. All of us have heard a lot of things.” His words did not make me feel better one bit because he sounded disgusted as he said it. “Um. Well you see I have some…problems. I am partially blind and deaf. The reason Natasha is tutoring me is so that I can try to have the most normal life as possible until my sight and hearing is completely gone. I should have told you sooner and I am sorry for not being honest.” It felt amazing to get that off my chest and all I heard was silence for the minutes after. I hear Yongguk say, “We are glad you told us Y/N. Is there anything we can do to help?” That made me feel a little better but sadly there is nothing that can help me now. I tell him that and another boy named Youngjae says, “What happened to you that caused all of this?” That earned him a slap from all the others so I felt guilty. “There is no need to smack him. It is a valid question and I understand why he asked. To answer you I was in an accident at the age of five that killed my parents and made me slowly start to lose my hearing and eyesight. The doctors told me that by the time I turn twenty I will become blind and deaf. Unless they find some treatment I will never see or hear as well as most people ever again.” Relief rushed over me seeing as not many people know anything about me. “Wow. You are so strong Y/N.” Himchan says making me feel better. “Y/N can I talk to you in the other room for a minute?” Himchan asks. “Um. Sure.” I say and I feel his hand on mine and he leads me out. “Y/N. I would like to ask you something.” “Okay. Ask away.” “I was wondering maybe if you would like be my girlfriend.” “Oh wow. Himchan I would love to but what would the others think. Also my uncle would not allow it.” “Allow me to talk to your uncle. I think you should come live with Natasha or one of us. We could help you find treatment if your uncle will not.” “Would you really do that? I would have to find out when he is going to be home.” “What do you mean? Is he not home right now?” “I don’t know. He goes out with his friends and colleagues a lot so I don’t always see him.” “What? So you mean to say he doesn’t care about your treatment or anything?” “Yeah. Oh gosh look at the time! We should head before the others start wondering.” “Okay but I am going to talk to your uncle and the others about giving you a better life.” “Thank you Himchan.”

#bap #kpop scenarios #bap scenarios #himchan #yongguk #youngjae #zelo #daehyun #jongup #yongnam #natasha #blind au #deaf au

[reaganwarren]

A/N: This doesn’t have a tag or a title outside of character tags and the justiquill ship tag, but this is a continuation of that one night stand story. Continuing for “Gay Simon Blackquill Week.” Posting it early because I can. First part here: http://reaganwarren.tumblr.com/post/153196672780/an-i-love-my, second part here: http://reaganwarren.tumblr.com/post/155134212480/an-thought-i-forgot-about-that-au-where-simon. I also reference a comic I really like because as a prosecutor who studied psychology, if he’s worth a damn at the psyche stuff, he’d have Inside-Out figurines to help children he may or may not be interviewing for cases to help them communicate their feelings better. I just . . . can’t remember the url of the comic artist because my memory is shit. 

A/N: EDIT: I FOUND THE COMIC! http://cprartsalot.tumblr.com/post/131546447070/blackquill-insists-that-they-are-merely here it is! @cprartsalot is the artist and I really liked the idea so yeah. pls support them and their art! 

Apollo stepped out of the elevator and walked up to where he had been told Simon’s office was. He took a deep breath, then reached out and knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” came Simon’s gruff tone. 

Apollo grabbed the doorknob and turned it. 

Simon looked up, his eyebrows subtly furrowed, then he saw who it was. His eyes widened, his brow un-knitted, and he otherwise sat frozen in his chair. Taka turned his little bird head so he could get a better look at Apollo. 

Apollo stood in silence, waiting for Simon to say something. But when he continued to not say anything, Apollo cleared his throat, hand tightening on the doorknob. 

“Hi,” Apollo said. 

“. . . Hello.” 

“Are you busy?” 

“N-no, not really. I’m not working on a case right now, at least.” 

“Can we . . . talk, then?” 

“Yes. Of course. Um, please, sit down,” Simon said, getting up and going to a smaller desk that was against the wall. 

Apollo closed the door behind him and looked around the office. Samurai swords hung on one of the walls, and a Steel Samurai poster was pinned on the other side. On Simon’s desk were a couple photos and some little figurines from that Disney movie about the personified emotions. In the photos, there was a recent one of Simon and Athena and a much older photo of Simon before his imprisonment with Aura and Metis. 

The table that Simon had gone over to held a traditional Japanese tea set with a much more modern water heater. Simon turned the water on to boil, then opened the tea leaf container. Apollo could smell it from where he sat. It did smell good.... 

But he didn’t think he’d be able to drink any of it. He was far too nervous. 

Simon then returned to the desk. Taka sat on his perch, watching them closely. That wasn’t helping Apollo’s nerves, either. 

“So, um,” Apollo started, finding it easier to look at Simon’s face since Simon . . . seemed unable to make his eyes lift up from staring at the desk top. “You . . . were the one to send that bouquet to the Wright Anything Agency, right?” 

Simon nodded. 

“I was.... I would have delivered them in person, but I didn’t want to compromise your working relationship with Athena....” 

“No, no, you did good!” Apollo said, blanching at the idea of Athena learning about any of this. “I appreciate the discretion! Um - !” 

Apollo cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. 

“So, um, did . . . did you ask the florist to make it however they wanted or . . . did you ask them to make it a specific way?” Apollo asked. 

Simon seemed to have enough control over his speech to avoid stuttering or pauses in his speech. When he spoke, it was in full sentences, with no unintentional breaks. 

“I know enough about flower arranging to know what types of flowers I needed to use to convey my apology....” 

“. . . Then, um, the . . . the white lilies. I, uh . . . was told by someone that they mean . . . that they mean . . . .” 

Simon turned a bright red. 

The water started to bubble significantly more than before, and Simon took it as an opportunity to get up and fix the tea. He poured the water into the pot, then picked the tea tray up and brought it over to the desk. He set it on one side of the desk, closed and removed the laptop he had on the other end of the desk, then put the laptop into a drawer. He busied himself with the tea cups, though the tea itself would still need to seep for a few minutes. 

“. . . You need not concern yourself with that. I mere want an opportunity to make it up to you.” 

“. . . Prosecutor Blackquill, you keep talking about apologizing and . . . I don’t get what you mean. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I mean . . . it’s one thing for me to go around having one-night stands. I haven’t been a virgin in a long time.” 

The word “virgin” made Simon seem all the smaller, which felt so . . . off and strange. He was used to the “Twisted Samurai” being a tall, menacing fixture in the courtroom. 

The man before him was hunching over an empty tea cup, not lifting his eyes to meet his own. 

“It’s a completely different situation for someone who hasn’t had sex ever to have a drunken one-night stand with their friend’s coworker. I mean, it could’ve been worse, but....” 

“Please do not concern yourself with that. That’s my responsibility and my responsibility alone,” Simon said. “It wasn’t like you had known. On the other hand, I do remember quite a bit of that night, and I know that I took an experience that I had not rightfully earned.... Please allow me to make it up to you.” 

“Um.... I’m not following.” Experience? Not rightfully earned? They were just drunk at a party and one thing led to another. What was he talking about? 

This was supposed to be Apollo apologizing for being partially responsible for Simon’s first time being a drunken one-night stand when . . . apparently the prosecutor hadn’t been quite prepared for it. Or else this wouldn’t be this big of a deal. 

It was just . . . so unnerving to watch Simon be so small in his own office. 

He didn’t like looking at him and knowing he felt bad for something he had done with Apollo.... Something that Apollo had very much enjoyed. 

“Will - will you go on a date with me?” Simon asked, finally lifting his head up. 

“H-huh????” 

Simon suddenly moved to pour the tea into the tea cups. Apollo just stared at him. 

“The - the way these things are supposed to work is that people go out on dates, then learn to feel comfortable with each other, then have a mature conversation about expectations of the other, then move on to the - the sexual aspects, and - at the very least, let me take you out on a date. Please.” 

Apollo stared at him, and Simon stared back. 

Apollo took a deep breath. Then he sighed heavily. 

“Just tell me one thing, okay?” 

“Y-yes?” 

“Did you . . . enjoy the night we had at least? This isn’t because it was terrible for you and you’re assuming it was terrible for me too?” 

“Wh-what? No, no, it’s nothing like that! You were wonderful!” 

Simon seemed to realize what he had said. He first moved to cover his face with his hands, then thought better of it, then didn’t know what to do with himself or his hands. He ended up grabbing the tea cup and taking a gulp of the hot liquid. He did not flinch, and when he set it down, he had an empty cup. 

Well, damn. 

“. . . Okay. I’ll go on a date with you. Dinner and a movie sound all right?” Apollo asked. 

“. . . That sounds perfect, Justice-dono.” 

“When I go out, I tend to pick one, and my date picks the other. Do you have a preference over picking the food or the movie?” 

“. . . I’ll let you pick whichever you’d like to pick,” Simon said. 

Well . . . that didn’t help much. 

Apollo sighed again. 

“Let me give it some thought and I’ll keep you posted... How does this Saturday evening look to you?” 

“It’s open,” Simon said. “I’ll . . . I’ll pick you up?” 

“Sure. I’ll give you my apartment address.” 

Apollo looked for a piece of paper and a pen, and Simon quickly produced it for him. Simon drank more tea while he watched Apollo write down his information. 

“I’ll see you Saturday then. I kinda have to get back, but . . . thanks for the tea, anyway,” Apollo said, standing up. 

Simon stood up as well. 

“Thank you . . . for coming by,” Simon said, meeting Apollo’s eyes once more. 

Apollo was the one to have a hard time meeting Simon’s this time. 

Apollo left quickly, starting out at a walk, but by the time he reached the elevator, he had broken into a run. He actually chose to take the stairs instead. 

His thoughts were moving too fast, and he was worried if his body didn’t go just as fast that he would start having a panic attack. 

He may have had two boyfriends, but he really didn’t do the whole dating thing. He didn’t . . . do the romance thing well. This just . . . didn’t feel like it was going to go well, and what if it didn’t make Simon feel better, what if this ruined what little positive relationship they had had beforehand? 

And all because Apollo’s idea of a good time was casual sex and going about his business as usual. 

But he did remember what Simon had said. ‘You were wonderful.’ 

Apollo blushed. Well . . . at least he had had fun. Even if the man wasn’t allowing himself to just . . . enjoy what it had been. 

#ace attorney #simon blackquill #apollo justice #justiquill

[ogoody]

My Thoughts

I took the time to write out my thoughts lately. These thoughts will be pretty raw so the grammar and structure might be all over the place. I wrote them on my phone. I’m posting these on my tumblr to live forever

What brings me to writing my thoughts out is I feel I may not be able to fully express my feelings when I actually talk. The ideas are concise in my head but in the moments of conversation on this critical topic of my life, I'm fumbling with my speech because theres so much in my head and so little room for conversation to fully convey my thoughts without getting sidetracked or lost in my own scramble. I'm not good with dates or specifics so details in this may be off by a little but the sentiments are all 100% pure to my heart. I have came to the critical realization of my life over the past approximate 5 years. It has been building with the experiences in those years. I started dating Erica march of 2010. We dated for approximately 9 months. It was my first relationship and I dealt with so many insecurities and made so many mistakes at the time. I should have never let her go, but I did not mature to understanding my behavior and wanting to fix it until it was too late. My whole life, when confronted with immense conflict, I would take on the typical fight or flight response but in the most basic ways. My fight responses where mostly when I could physically fight an issue. I took my flight responses for everything else. I had low tolerance for anything contrary to my beliefs and comfort. I was also very unforgiving of others. These are some of the aspects of my personality that had a major contribution to the biggest mistake of my life back then in leaving her. I realized this about myself fast-forwarding to after my 2nd relationship. I had a short relationship with a girl I used to go to school with. When I'm able to reflect on my relationships post Erica, they were all me trying to get over her, but I never did. My 2nd relationship was one of the more clear indicators of my poor behavior of dealing with issues back then. With my 2nd relationship, it wasn't much longer after breaking up with Erica, that I hopped into that realationship. Around the whole break up with Erica, I was very angry and I wasn't receptive to her until around beginning to date my second girlfriend because I wanted to try and make her feel the pain I felt. I remember feeling down about it the whole time but putting on a front to everyone else like I didn't care and as if I was moving on fine. I jumped into that relationship so fast, I don't even think I ever took my second girlfriend on a date before declaring we were in a relationship. I may have not even taken the girl on a date during the short relationship. I remember Erica talking to me during that time because she never gave up on me despite the verbal abuse I dished out. I cursed her out and made up the worse things I could that I knew would cut deep and hurt her. I remember detailing "love" for some other girl that I really was just infatuated with. I even detailed things with my 2nd girlfriend in hopes to make her jealous. I'm embarrassed by those actions heavily. Going off the embarrassment sentiment, another tangent detail that built my critical realization was the moment, in my opinion, that was the beginning of the end between us. I blamed Erica for everything and felt hatred towards her for everything that transpired for me to break up with her. I had absolved myself at the time despite my actions that most embarrassing night. It was the first time I blacked out from drinking and my actions were terrible. At the time I felt like I should have been forgiven because I blacked out and all the blame should be placed on another individual but when I was able to reflect and put myself in Erica's shoes, my opinion changed. She stayed with me despite the horrific event. I couldn't imagine seeing her behave the way I did and show the same level of understanding and patience as she did with me. I for one had often shown my jealous ways throughout the relationship. Here I was being the one to shake up things despite promising to never be like any of the shitty guys of her past. Had I not blackout that night, maybe I would still be with her. So up til now in this timeline of things, Erica showed me how real her feelings for me where and how much more mature she was. I was clouded by anger and it took me awhile to see. She never gave up on me despite my verbal abuse and even before that and before the breakup, she showed patience with me. I carried on about things between us like it never happened and she was still dealing with the pain I imagine. To me, I didnt do my part at the time and I was the cause for things to get shaky between us. I forgive Erica for any wrong she did during the time and it is not anything I would hold over anymore if we were to get back together. I hope she can fully forgive me as well. Over the years Erica showed me the true nature of her love for me. Through it all she remained by my side whichever way she could. I made attempts to get her back ever since the ending of my 2nd relationship but she was being loyal to her new man. I continued to lust after women in my failures to bring Erica back by my side as my girlfriend. We maintained a good friendship over the years. I used to think we could never be friends if we broke up. I was thinking purely out of jealousy that I wouldnt be able to see her with another man and still think of her favorably. I still cant stand to see her with someone else but I was proven wrong bc I have the same love for her now and much more respect and admiration for her. A small side story I missed that also showed Erica's love for me, was her dropping off a birthday card to me on my car one morning. It caught me by complete surprise. It was definitely another eye opener moment that she still cared for me despite my wrongs. The strongest moment in our history which awakened more urgency in me to get her back by my side was the loss of my brother. The day it happened I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was awakened early in the morning to frantic knocks on my bedroom door. I was always a heavy sleeper and it wasn't the first time I slept through clear commotion of police at the front door. My sister was crying saying to come downstairs she thinks something happened to Krys. As I went downstairs I see my dad distraught trying his best to keep it together while clearly not present as the officers are talking to him repeating themselves. He had a blank look over himself. I asked my sister what happened and she said he died. I collapsed to that stairs in shock and sat there for a good few minutes completely lost. I came back to when my sister and mother went upstairs to my parents room. I followed up shortly after them and when I came to them they were crying in each others arms. They turned to me and collapsed in my arms. I held them for a good few minutes still in complete shock but able to notice they felt so light in my arms. My mom lifted up to go make phonecalls and my sister followed after. I dragged myself to my room and collapsed on the bed letting the tears soak my bed. There was a cold silence in the house when my tears stopped for a brief moment. Everyone of us was laying in our beds stuck in complete silence. I rolled over and reached for my phone and without a hesitation of thought I messaged Erica. The first person I could think of to reach out to in that moment was her. She came by to visit me in the coming days and she showed love and support during that incredibly difficult time. When I came to think of that moment after things calmed down, thats when I realized even more how I needed Erica back. Here she is still by my side, doing more than necessary. She even broke down about the tragedy. I had meaningless dating experiences post this period of time and ive shared my loss with all of them. None of them showed anywhere near the level of genuine care about it. They only ever said sorry about my loss. They didn't ask a lot about it nor see how I was holding up after it. Even my other ex-girlfriend before the incident and other female infatuations didnt show anywhere near the same care about it when they came to hear about it. This woman who dated me for 9 months and dealt with me in my worst behaviors was still here for me in more ways than I could have asked for over the years. She kept showing me the love I know I'll never find anywhere outside of my family. She was also the person I felt most comfortable with because I shared the most true feelings and parts of myself to her over the years. She always got me. The urgency to try and get her back in my life kicked in for me but it was still unattainable for me over the years. Every time I tried to get her back, things would go cold after awhile. It was hard to get her to come hangout with me and conversation would fizzle out. I felt like I was being a burden and adding stress each time so I would fall-back from the pursuit. I was hopeful because there was trouble between her and her boyfriend over the years, so I thought maybe one day she would be single and date me again. I thought that it was best for me to keep reaching out from time to time so she wouldn't forget me and fully go the distance with him. I didn't want to be the cause for them breaking up, if they would so happen to break up. I wanted her to come to the decision absent of me and feel more so done with that relationship and open to giving me another try. When you have a loss so close to you, you're consumed with death. It seems like it will be forever...I hope not. Everyday when I'm thinking about my brother, I'm thinking about everyone else left here close to me and how I don't want to lose them. I don't want to be angry at people anymore either. I don't want to lose Erica and I sure don't want to lose her or leave this world myself without having rekindled our relationship and showing her how much I love her. I also fear leaving this world with she and everyone else not knowing how much I love her. Another mistake from the time we dated is she never got to meet my family or many of my friends. I was scared my parents weren't accepting of interracial dating so when I told Erica about it, she was terrified to meet them and in turn she was never introduced to them in the light she should have been. Erica only ever met my brother. I one day, when the time is right, no matter how things turn out between us, I will tell my parents this is Erica, the woman who will forever have my heart. Venturing closer to recent times in my realization for the level of my love for Erica, it brings more detail of my dealings with girlfriends and dating. My 3rd and 4th girlfriends were pressed for relationship goals. They wanted to be married so bad that they were pressing to stay with me despite our differences. Erica was the only girl I felt truly liked me for me. All three exes post Erica were extremely distraught over me leaving them. #2 & #3 were to the level of suicidal. It bothered me greatly after #3's suicide attempts, it took me awhile to get back out there to feel available to date. I felt like there was something wrong with me that was doing this to women. Its not til after more dating pursuits and the 4th girlfriend that I truly realized the problem. I was wasting everyone's time all these years. I can not love another woman. All the women I have dated were at impossible odds. I measured them all up to Erica. None of them could come close to making me feel for them like I do for Erica. They have no chance. Its the most sure impossible thing in this world to me. I tried to front about it all these years. My third ex even pointed it out to me one time and I denied it in defense. We were friends for a short while after breaking up. I was mostly friends with her out of guilt because I felt terrible about wasting her time, leading her on and driving her to suicidal actions. She was always inquiring me about my dating life and this was the period of time I just couldn't find myself open to dating. She would insist I try finding someone saying I deserved to be happy. I happened to have been on one of the periods of me feeling hopeful for Erica again and I mentioned it to her. She kind of went off on me about it. She was like no wonder we didn't work. You're still in love with her and I never stood a chance. I denied it for her sake but I knew it was true. I was in a somewhat similar rut after my recent break up. I lacked hope for dating anyone and sure nuff finding love. In this time I was just reflecting a lot. Erica messaged me one day and it clicked to me. There isnt a single person that makes my heart jump when i see their name come across my phone. My heart dropped to a place I never felt before however, when I saw a picture she sent me. She sent me a picture of herself laying on the beach. I noticed a ring on her ring finger and I felt so broken at that moment. I congratulated and said congrats on being engaged. It's easy to portray that excitement in text. But in reality I was in the worst ways possible. Much to my surprise however she wasn't engaged and I was relieved. Everything I've been feeling over the years was all coming to a head. I can't live without her. If she does end up with someone else I won't ever be right. So after all of the pain I caused these women, I finally stopped fighting myself. I cant pretend like I will find another love. It doesn't add up to me. It is simply impossible. You can throw someone viewed by a strong percentage of other people to be beautiful at me, even perceived to be the most all around individual. They can not and will not be able to have me. Erica is the one for me.

#love