#I was so worried about pain and about healing right and the shape and the look and sleeping and meowmehwmewowow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingerbloof · 4 months

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red (astarion x fem fighter!tav)

contents: light smut, fingering, tav getting injured, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of other companions (Halsin, Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Gale), bathing/skinny dipping in a hot spring Astarion being an absolute sweetheart, use of safe word (hard stop), non-sexual intimacy

author's note: gahhh finally i got this request finished! this is a anon request from my smut prompt list (which you can find in my masterlist!) it's more fluff/hurt/comfort than smut, because i wanted to change it up a bit since its been rather smutty on my blog thus far, but regardless, i hope you all enjoy! (image taken from @dailyastarionpics) word count: 3,821

It was yet another excruciating day of traveling Faerun, and unfortunately with no leads on curing your ceremorphosis. You and your party drudged their feet sluggishly back into camp, wishing for nothing but the sweet release of sleep. Even though the sun was already starting to peak over the horizon and morning dew started to bead on each blade of grass your tired feet landed on.

Karlach, half asleep already, started the pointless fire as Shadowheart went around to heal everyone. Once she made your way to you, her eyes widened. She brushed silver bangs off her face so she could look at you clearly. Her face grew with worry as she spoke.

“Tav… How did that happen?” She asked, pointing to your ribs. Your face scrunched up in confusion as you looked down at yourself. You then see a horrific wound that wrapped from the front side of your ribcage that wrapped around to your back. You stare at it wearily, blood dripping down your skin and mixing with the dirt under your feet.

You suddenly grew pale as you felt the adrenaline from your last battle start to wear off. You tried your best to keep your composure. Years as a fighter taught you that there was no use in submitting to any wounds you may have gotten from battle. Lae’zel admired that about you, which is why it surprised you when she looked over from her tent and raised her eyebrows in surprise and rush over to you.

“Tsk’va! Tav what the hells happened?!” She asked, a very rare worried tone in her voice.

You let out a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. “It’s just a… scratch,” The last word was soft and breathy, then you felt your body begin to sway, and your surroundings blur, until darkness clouded over you. The last thing you heard was your beloved fanged partner shout “Darling!” before you submitted to the pitch blackness of unconsciousness.

***

You woke up with a groan, pain shooting through your side. You open your eyes slowly, the world slowly coming back into focus. You were snug in your bedroll, shirtless, and caked in sweat. The injury you got must’ve infected you at some point and gave you a fever, which was now thankfully breaking.

You looked down at your injury and saw that it was quickly healing, probably thanks to the help of both Halsin and Shadowheart. Careful stitches held your broken flesh together, which you knew was thanks to Astarion, whom you barely noticed was right next to you reading a book. You started to sit up as he snapped his book shut and shifted so he was on his side facing you.

“Easy, darling!” He said concerningly, laying you back down slowly. You looked up at him with sleepy eyes as you allowed him to lay you back down. “You’re still in a bit of bad shape, no sudden movement, alright?” He said soothingly, running his slender pale fingers through your hair and laying a kiss on your forehead.

You sighed softly with a bit of frustration, leaning into his kiss. “I’m fine, my love…” You said, your voice low and gruff. “‘Tis but a flesh wound, I promise.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “‘My love, I don’t believe a ‘flesh wound’ would cause you to collapse from blood loss and get… twelve stitches,” He said, glancing briefly at your injury and counting them quickly. “We also had to pull a rather big chunk of metal out of your side…” You sigh again and carefully cross your arms over your chest, pouting at him. “I’ve had a lot worse, you know,” You said in a snarky tone, pointing to the big gash in your face that you had gotten years ago.

He gasped and placed his hand over his chest in a sarcastic manner. “Oh, I’m so sorry! It seems I have forgotten that such a strong bodied fighter such as yourself doesn’t need any comfort,” He said cheekily, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk as your face flushed bright red.

“I-I didn’t say that!” You pouted even more, turning your head away from him. Regardless of your strong outer shell, he always brought out your very well hidden soft interior. He was the only one who could do it, and knowing that inflated his already massive ego.

He laughed heartily at your reaction, gently taking your chin in his cold hand and turning your head back around to face him. “You are utterly adorable,” He cooed, giving you a quick smooch on the lips. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up, darling. No offense, my love, but you smell like death.”

You frown and sniff yourself briefly, the smell of stale blood and sweat assaulting your nostrils. How embarrassing… You nodded, and he very carefully helped you up. He pulled off his own nightshirt for you to wear, and linked your arm with his so you didn’t stumble.

As you exit your tent, the assaulting rays of the afternoon sun almost blind you. You squint in the light and use your hand to shield your eyes as Shadowheart and Halsin quickly rush over to you both, relief washing over their faces.

“Tav! You’re awake, thank Selune!” Shadowheart beamed, cupping your face gently. You smile warmly at her and chuckle. As your best friend, other than Astarion of course, Shadowheart was always giving you sweet friendly touches. You adored having someone like her around.

Halsin was next to speak, his large frame thankfully shielding the sun from your still very tired eyes. “Thank the Oak Father… We were worried your injuries were far too grave for us to heal alone. Good to see we were wrong,” He smiled warmly at you. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged as you leaned against Astarion a bit more. “I’m okay, it just hurts a bit. We’re going to the river to clean up quickly,” You respond, reassuring them that you were fine. “Of course if she’s alright enough to do so,” Astarion chimed in, lifting your shirt enough for the healers to take a look at it.

Shadowheart hummed and reached her hand out, chanting a soft “Te curo” as a soft blue light wrapped around your injury. This eased the pain quite a bit, and from the looks of it, her simple healing word seemed to have closed the gash up just a bit more. A sigh of relief left your lips as you said a silent thank you to her.

“I think she will be fine, but I do recommend going to the hot spring, the warmth of the water and the healing properties of nature should make her feel good as new,” Halsin said. Astarion smiled at both of them. “Thank you, we shall take our leave for now, then,”

As you both turn to head towards the spring, Halsin spoke out to you once again. “Would you two mind if I joined?” A small but sweet smirk on his face. Both you and Astarion chuckled. You had both indulged yourselves with Halsin before, so it was always on the table when the time seemed right. Astarion looked to you to silently ask if that was alright, and you shook your head. You just wanted him right now…

Astarion replied on your behalf. “Mmm, tempting, but not tonight, druid. I hope you can understand.” Halsin nodded, fully understanding. “Of course. Enjoy yourselves, both of you.”

After walking for a few meters you found the spring. Neither of you have seen it before, so you both took a moment to soak up the view. There was a beautiful waterfall in the distance that led to the river, and mountains could be seen just beyond it. Moss covered rocks were placed conveniently around the steaming body of water, perfect to sit on to dip your feet in, and the trees hung low enough to lightly diminish the harsh ways of the afternoon sun from your view.

You smiled and sighed softly at the view. It was breathtaking. Astarion, however, was entranced by a different view. You.

You felt his eyes upon you and looked over to him, your eyes immediately locking with his. You tried to play it cool, looking back at the spring before you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” You asked softly. He stepped closer to you, gently placing his hand on your hip and carefully pulling you closer, minding your wound. “Not as beautiful as you, my love,” He purred softly, placing a kiss on your forehead. You flush deeply, and not just from the steam of the spring.

You both stay there for a moment, enjoying each other’s company. He sighed a contentful sigh as he pulled away from you briefly. “Come now, my love. Let’s get you all cleaned up,” He smiled. You nodded and started removing his shirt from yourself, but he quickly stopped you, taking your hands for a brief moment. “Let me, my dear,” He gently lifted the shirt off of you, careful not to let you lift your arms up too far. The shirt pulled off of you, revealing your bruised and injured body. Crusted up blood flaked over your skin, but regardless Astarion still looked at you like you were the most beautiful being in all the Relms.

Your small clothes came next. He slowly slipped them down around your ankles leaving you bare. Astarion soon followed suit, yanking down his pants and slowly stepping into the warm water. He reached his hand out to you and you took it, following him into the water.

You sigh in relief, the warmth of the water immediately relaxing your tired muscles. You stepped further into the pool, sinking down until the water was just above your breasts. Astarion went back over to the rock he left his trousers on and pulled out a bar of soap, which you hardly even noticed he grabbed. You raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Let me guess… Stolen?” You jabbed, crossing your arms lightly. Astarion half shrugged nonchalantly. “Only from Gale,” He responded with a chuckle. You roll your eyes and shake your head playfully. You weren’t surprised, he always took the opportunity to take anything important as he saw fit, especially if it was from Gale. He made his way back over to you, getting the bar of soap wet and lathering it in his hands. “Turn around, my love,” He said softly, taking your shoulders and spinning you in the water gently so your back was to him.

You comply and briefly dip yourself further into the water to wet the rest of your body. As you stood back up he placed a soft kiss on the nape of your neck and started his work. He scrubbed away the grime and flaked blood off the backs of your shoulders. You hum happily, wrapping your arm around to gently wrap your fingers around his beautiful silver locks. He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you further into him. He placed soft kisses along the shell of your ear as the lather made its way to your chest and torso.

He continued to clean you innocently and sweetly for a few more moments until he turned you around. The way the suds of the soap encompassed your breasts and the golden rays of the sun making your wet skin glow flipped a switch inside of him. You were the most ethereal thing he had ever gazed upon.

You were entranced with him too. The sunlight bounced off of his beautiful pale skin, and he almost appeared to shimmer in it. His ruby eyes glinted as he looked at you, nothing but love and devotion filling them.

“You know…” He started softly, tracing the backs of his knuckles down your arm, gazing down your figure. “I can think of some other ways to relieve some tension, darling,” His voice was a hungry purr now, honeyed words floating sweetly into your ears like a soft lullaby. You nibbled your bottom lip as you watched his movements as his hand creeped down to the front of your thigh. Once again, you tried playing it cool, despite the ever growing heat in your core. “W-What do you mean?” You asked softly.

A low chuckle left his lips. “Don’t be coy, darling. You know exactly what I mean,” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as his fingertips gently grazed across your folds, making your breath hitch in your throat. “What’s the matter, my sweet? Cat got your tongue?” He hooked his index finger to part your folds and catch against your clit, brushing against it gently.

You grabbed his hand in an attempt to push his fingers against your swollen bundle of nerves more to get some much needed friction. He stiffened his hand, not allowing you to move it. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting in yet another devious smirk.

“Patience, my sweet,” He purred next to your ear, his other arm snaking around and gripping your ass gently, pulling you further into him.

You stumbled a bit into him, clearly flustered by his bluntness. Uncharacteristic for someone of your class and background, but you didn’t care. Astarion brought a side out of you that you haven’t felt safe enough to channel in years, and you were very grateful for him for it.

He chuckled at your apparent shyness, placing soft kisses along your ear making you shiver. “S-Star…” You whimpered, making him groan. He loved that nickname, and you always knew the right times to use it. “Yes, darling? What is it?” He replied smugly, his feather light touches grazing your folds again, making you tense up.

“Please…” You mumble, making him groan in playful frustration. “My darling, we’ve gone over this multiple times… You must– say it with me now… use your words,” You shyly said those three cursed words along with him. As he said, you have gone over it multiple times, but you were much too stubborn to give in and actually tell him what you wanted. That was, until you were too desperate for him not to care anymore. Just like how you were right now.

“Astarion,” You said sternly, trying to keep up your strong facade. “I want you to touch me. Use your fingers. Please.” The last word you spoke was soft and breathy, your stubbornness bending like a hammer to hot steel. He grinned, his fangs glinting in the glow of the setting sun. Gods, he is beautiful…

“Of course, my love. Whatever you need,” He purred, his fingers finally placing soft pressure against your hard clit. You gasped softly as he used those two slender fingers to massage soft circles into it. You shivered, despite the hot steamy water that surrounded you both, and grasped onto his shoulders, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

He gently ran his fingers through your hair as he continued to stroke the fire in your core. To the innocent bystander, it might’ve looked like you were just having a sweet romantic hug in the water, but down below the surface, he was giving you endless pleasure, quickly bringing you to the point of no return.

With you being inexperienced when you started being intimate with one another, it never took you long to reach an orgasm, especially if he was the one touching you. He chuckled as he felt your body tremble against his. Your blunt fingernails gently dug into his skin as you felt your orgasm creep closer and closer. Normally, he would make you ask to come because he relished in the sounds of you begging. However, given the circumstances, he decided to play nice with you today.

“That’s it, my pet… Let go,” He whispered, kissing along your shoulder gently. His pace quickened, earning him a soft airy gasp from you. Your breath wavered as his fingers continued their quickening pace against your clit, your legs starting to tremble. “A-Astarion…!” You choked out, grasping onto him for dear life. He hummed in approval as his pace quickened once again, making your eyes snap shut and let out a delicious, loud moan.

Your orgasm crashed into you like the waterfall behind you crashing into the river, your whole body twitching and spasming. You almost fell over from how hard you came, but thankfully Astarion’s stiff body kept you upright. He slowed his pace, riding you through your orgasm and whispering sweet praises into your ear. “There you go, my sweet… What a good girl you are,” He peppered kisses along your neck as he slowly withdrew his hand.

You panted as you looked at him. Your face was beet red, and your brow was starting to bead sweat from the heat of the spring and your orgasm. He smiled sweetly down at you and caressed your cheek. “Would you like more?” He asked, as you felt his cock throb against you. You nodded eagerly, slipping your hand down beneath the water to stroke him gently. He took your wrist and shook his head.

“Please, my dear… Allow me,” He purred. He gently guided you over to a nearby rock to the shallower end of the pool. “Bend over here, darling,” He gently coaxed. You were quick with your actions, yet careful. You didn’t want to reopen your wound. You gently bent over the rock, arching your back slightly for him. He came behind you and stared at your swollen cunt, dripping with ecstasy and still twitching from your previous orgasm. He ran his hands across the swell of your ass and down the sides of your thighs, groaning softly. “Beautiful…”

He took his cock and gently pressed the tip against your hole. “Are you ready, my sweet? Are you ready to be stretched by my cock?” He asked, his tone sweet and innocent despite the filthy words. You nodded eagerly, arching your back a bit more in an attempt to push yourself onto him. “Y-Yes… Please, I need you…” You replied, your voice full of desperation.

The eagerness in your words was all the confirmation he needed. He slowly started to roll his hips into you, pressing each inch of his cock further and further into you. You moaned loudly as you stretched around him and clenched. He hissed in pleasure at your tightness as he thrust slowly in and out of you, closing his eyes. You growled softly at the feeling of you. “Gods, Tav… You feel so fucking good,” He said, pressing into you harder, earning a loud yelp from you.

Sometimes, especially in moments of insatiable desire such as this, Astarion could be a bit rough with you. It was almost like he went feral from your sounds and the feeling of you pulsating around him. Thus, you have agreed upon a word that either of you could use if things got out of hand. Neither of you had to use it yet, but if he kept up this harsh, rough pace, you would have to use it.

His speed increased, thus his roughness. The pleasure started turning into a soft, manageable pain as the tip of his cock pounded against your cervix. He must not have noticed your body tense, because he kept going, wrapping his hands around your waist, accidentally touching your stitched wound.

That is what made you say it.

“R-Red!! Astarion, red!”

His eyes snapped open as he stopped, pulling out of you quickly and turning you around gently, his face broken with worry. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry… Did that hurt? Are you okay?” He asked, checking your wound briefly to see if he had accidentally reopened it. You panted softly, trembling a bit. You winced softly with pain. “I-It was just my injury… I think I’ll be okay,” You reassured him, feeling bad that you had ruined the moment. He shook his head. “No, darling… Let’s stop, I don’t want to cause any more harm to you. I-i don’t know what got into me, I-”

You noticed he started rambling a bit and… Tearing up. You had yet to see him cry about anything, so this surprised you. Your face grew with worry as you caressed his cheek. “Hey… It’s okay, I’m okay,” You said gently. He leaned into your touch and shook his head again. “Gods I am so sorry…” He apologized again, his voice laced with guilt. You kissed him sweetly on the nose and smiled at him. “My heart, I’m okay. Thank you for stopping when I said it.” He chuckled at that. “Of course I stopped. I want nothing more than for you to be comfortable,” He said gently, placing a soft peck on your lips. You kissed him back and smiled warmly. You had never had anyone who cared about your safety and wellbeing as much as he did, nor him with you. You both felt so safe together, and absolutely nothing could ruin that.

He pulled away slightly and took the bar of soap again, coaxing you over with his finger. “Come, my love, let’s finish getting you washed up.”

After you both bathed, you stayed in the spring for a few hours, talking about everything and nothing and enjoying each other’s company. The moon had risen a while ago, bathing you both in its faint blue light. You stared up at the moon as you sunk down into the water to your shoulders. You barely noticed the wound anymore, and you felt relaxed and very well healed.

Astarion had gotten out a few minutes ago to dry off. He stared at you and had a devilish idea. He smirked to himself as he slowly slipped back into the water, trying not to make too much noise. He snuck up behind you, totally oblivious. Just as he was about to splash you with water, you flipped around and got his face and hair soaking wet, making him groan in frustration. “Gahh, my hair! My beautiful hair!” He pouted, making you laugh hysterically. “Sneaking up on a fighter, really, my love?” You said through laughs. He scowled a bit, then started to laugh as well. “Foolish idea, I know…” He admitted, wading closer to you. “But you didn’t have to ruin my hair…” He whined. You grin evilly at him, lifting your hand to his head.

“No, no! Stay back, you!” He shouted as he tried to get away from you. You chased him around the pool for a bit, laughter and playful banter filling the night.

Halsin and Shadowheart were silently watching you both from the clearing just before the pool, smiling sweetly. “She seems to be doing a lot better now, doesn’t she, Halsin?” Shadowheart queried, making Halsin chuckle as he replied. “What can I say… Love certainly is the best medicine.”

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 1 year

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COD monster men

Requested: Yes. By me. I requested this cause I wanted it.

Warnings: spice, angst, blood, some fluff, Alejandro watches you sleep

A/N:

Ghost - Vampire

For Ghost, it’s all too easy to forget what he is until he’s in the heat of battle, blood on his clothes, stroking that ever present hunger that burns inside of him every second of every day. He’s afraid to be around anyone right than, his hands shaking as he licks the blood off of his gloves in whatever dark corner he can find, far away from prying eyes. He’s so so hungry, so desperate for it that he accidentally bites through his gloves, drawing blood from his own skin. It’s never good, makes his belly twist and turn til he vomits it all back up. Sometimes he’s so desperate, so hungry, that he bites himself on purpose, puking be damned. That’s nothing compared to the pain of a stomach so empty that he feels like he’s going to die, a feeling he’s felt all too much in his life, even when he was human.

And then he sees you, waddling around in army gear, approaching him cautiously, a medkit in your hands. You tell him how you’re a medic, how you need to evaluate him for injuries.

He tries so hard to get you to just buzz off but you insist on staying, so he reluctantly lets you sterilize his fingers despite knowing that they’d just be healed within the hour. But there was something soothing about the satisfied look on your face when you were done, his fingers taped up oh so carefully. He looks at them for a moment, trying to remember the last time anyone had showed him such concern and gentleness. Probably…..yes, it was probably Tommy and His Mother, from so many years ago. The 1950’s, he believes.

He looks at you, not noticing as you get fidgety the longer he stares. He…..he likes it. Your care, your worry, your gentleness. It overpowers the hunger that begs him to rip your throat out, to bathe himself in the blood that would gush from you. To drink himself so full of you that maybe he could have those things, be those things. Maybe it would soften up his insides and he could really feel things for once.

Please, make him feel something.

Soap - Selkie

The first time Soap lets you touch his seal skin, he almost has a panic attack. Years of generational trauma, of the fear of a human touching and stealing their skin, of stealing them away from friends and family, raping and abusing them. Everything in him is yelling to yank his skin back from you, to hide it far far away from your eyes. But he doesn’t. He knows you wouldn’t do that. Sweet sweet you who is so gently petting at the snout of his skin, a look of wonder on your face.

And despite the panic that he’s fighting, he decides that he likes the sight of his skin wrapped around you, almost like you’re a selkie yourself. He knows he can trust his skin around you, because you would never hurt him. Never hide it from him or tether him to the land when he wants to be in the sea. Knows you won’t commit the atrocities that many people before you have commited.

He likes the sight of you holding his skin, entrusting all of himself with you.

And, as you pull out the small black box that he hid in the folds of his fur, he hopes that you’ll entrust him with all of you as well.

König - Werewolf

König couldn’t remember most of what his first change was like, only the pain. Blinding mind numbing pain as bones broke and healed, taking on new shapes, stretching his skin and growing hair, more hair than a Sasquatch. His Oma had to explain it to him when he woke up like that one morning, mid way into his transformation, screaming and crying, praying for death because surely that would be better than this pain. His Oma shushes him, cradles him even when he begged her to go away, her warm hands on his oversensitive skin only making everything worse, driving him even further into overstimulation.

And it was the same with you now, crying as you held him through his transformation, pawing at you, trying so hard not to let his claws sink into you and rip you to shreds just to distract himself from the pain. You were so sweet to him, cooing in his ears, rubbing your hands over his fur, trying to help him. And when he looked at you in the finishing stage of his change, you looked like an Angel sent from heaven. Something otherworldly, beautiful and strong, having pity on the animal he is.

And he knew he never wanted to let you go. Never ever again. His angel.

Alejandro - Incubus

Alejandro sighs as he crouches over your pliant body, gently caressing your cheeks with big rough hands. He had waited so long to get you like this, peacefully sleeping away as he invaded your mind, showing you the most deliciously sinful images of the two of you together. Twisting and whining and crying beneath him, or even above him in a few cases. And oh, the sexual energy that started floating off of you was the best he’d ever had, only growing sweeter the longer he tormented your sleeping brain. It was such a tease, not just to you either. He had to watch you crying out under him, wanting to touch you so badly that it hurt. But he wanted your permission. Wanted you to willingly let him in so he could wreck you for anyone else. Destroy you so beautifully that you could never be put back together the way you used to be.

And when your beautiful eyes opened up, looking at him so cutely in your sleepy pleasure drunk haze, he knew that he too would never be able to go back. That you’d ruined him for anyone else, made him addicted to you and you alone. Nobody else would ever compare.

All he wants now is you. So please, let him have you.

#cod #call of duty #mwii #mw2 #simon ghost riley #Simon ghost riley x reader #Simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #König #König x reader #Alejandro Vargas #Alejandro vargas x reader #Cod monster au

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beaulesbian · 2 months

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[egghead spoilers, up to chapter 1110]

Sanji's humanity & Zoro's strength

(or lack thereof) - a theory of possible conflict between Luffy's wings before the end of Egghead arc. Long post ahead. Like.. very long post.

So the new chapter had a very interesting new "banter" between Sanji and Zoro, but no, actually just Sanji, because there was no usual back and forth quips followed after.

Yes, this whole post started because of these few panels: (" ...!!")

After rereading the chapter more times I realized, Sanji's not even speaking to Zoro or knows that Zoro can hear him. He's talking about Zoro, and calling him a burden to the team.

Which is just baffling to me? (fair, maybe I'm looking too much into it and next chapter it would be explained in different way) but for now, I need to put this out there and make my own small (long) theory on this.

There's lot to be said about the word burden here, and I will get to it later in the post, but for now, let's start with Sanji and his eyebrow!

It wouldn't be a perfect story if Oda didn't tangle threads of each respective characters from multiple arcs before and brought them up together later on during one of the most difficult times when Strawhats and Luffy are facing off with so much danger (reminds me of Sabaody but in a very different way).

In this instance Sanji's past could be brought up again, something that started worrying him since his fight with Queen in Wano, and especially given that his left eyebrow has been changing its shape quite a lot during the run of the Egghead arc.

Here's just few panels throughout end of Wano up to current Egghead chapter, where Sanji' left eyebrow is in the focus on the pages:

Chapter 1029 was the first part where Sanji was thinking his body might be undergoing some changes he couldn't control -broken bones insantly healed, stronger and faster than ever before, due to him beforehand using the Germa suit which possibly triggered this sort of superhuman modification he wasn't really aware of until then. When he realized he couldn't remember certain memories, he panicked, thinking he might be changing into something similar like his brothers, a scientific weapon created by his father. The worry and panic was all the more present because he thought he hurt someone without his knowing, and that'd slowly take away his kindness and sense of humanity. (Too bad I hoped the changes his body might be undergoing would only be realization of his non-cis gender status, but maybe that's still on the table for sometime in the future.):

^In this second panel his face is on purpose shadowed, which was the last time he was shown in that chapter,

and only again was in chapter 1031 - where his eyebrow changed:

and it takes him to think about Luffy and what his purpose would be if something so important of him would change. He knows why Luffy went after him in WCI, he knows what values are important for Luffy and his crew, and of course he doesn't want to be reminded of his family and his brothers and act as they did. He chooses the humanity, the kindness that Luffy loves in him.

Even to the extent to call Zoro and make a deal with him - to kill Sanji if anything would go wrong with him. "If I'm not in my right mind, I want you to kill me." That much trust he has in Zoro to protect the crew and Luffy!

Of course Zoro wouldn't do anything reckless without a good reason, but part of their banter and understanding each other would be to promise something like that - echo of Thriller Bark and the range of how far Zoro would go to take on someone elses pain. It's a promise to win their separate fights, but also this was something that Sanji put out there for Zoro to take notice of. (I will come back to that later.):

(still the "bad eyebrow" - he had that the whole chapter 1031).

After his fight with Queen (where it was also cleared what his actions were and weren't), he was only shown two times until he woke up, and both times he had his eyebrow back on good side.

1036 & 1044 (hearing Luffy awaken his powers):

All the way up to Egghead he seemed to have his eyebrow drawn this way, and it started to change only during fights -

ch 1075, still good eyebrow, tho.. ehh this behavior.. whatever:

ch. 1078, protecting his crew from Seraphim, bad eyebrow:

in between chapters 1090 - 1105 (most of which were flashbacks and Sanji nor Strawhats were shown) he appeared with his typical eyebrow:

and it changed again in ch 1107 - when he was again protecting Bonney / fighting against Kizaru:

interesting was chapter 1108 where he's standing between Saturn and Vegapunk, and he's describing Saturn with "he's less and less human by the minute" while his own face was obscured, (I mean.. interesting choice of words and what character said it, huh?):

and the next page he still has the bad eyebrow:

in chapter 1109 it's back on his typical side, where it continues from previous chapter of Sanji carrying Vegapunk- so at some point it must have shifted back (and I'm curious if these changes would be noticable in the animation). At this part he's watching how Saturn is summoning the other Gorosei to Egghead:

Which leads me to the point from above with Zoro.

chapter 1110 and their interactions (for me) was just off. I like their usual banter and bickering, it's funny (if it's in the manga and contained to few panels to make sense, not so much in the anime, but i'm not going into that now), but the thing to call anyone of their crew a "burden" just doesn't fit right. (Especially after WCI... c'mon Sanji, and especially to someone like Zoro, who's always the first one to think about the crew.)

I would understand it if he laughed along with the words to elevate their seriousness, or said something like "Finish it up, Mosshead, we need to get moving." but no. He calls him a burden. And again as I mentioned, it pretty much could have been even Sanji not realizing Zoro can hear that.

These words (in my opinion) were chosen on purpose for multiple reasons:

First we have the Zoro vs Lucci fight that goes on for a while in the real world - in the One Piece world it might be just few minutes - plus we don't know how tough were the fights with the Seraphim which let others be injured.

When Lucci attacked, Zoro immediately thrown himself with him away from the rest of the crew. Zoro was possibly stalling with the fight for time to leave. I feel he could have finished that fight earlier but that wasn't the point. The point might have been to hold him back from his crew.

also this was possibly the only fight after King where Zoro could test the limits of his powers and haki, just like Luffy in the Udon prison in Wano was basically training, this (and the Seraphim fights we haven't seen) could be something similar for Zoro.

Some people think that just because of these characters getting new powers it means they already understand how to use them/how it works, but that's usually not the point of how stories go - there can be progress and there can be setbacks, growing up but also falling back down, which makes the stories more interesting.

The words that Lucci used against Zoro were basically the same thing that Sanji said to Zoro few chapters later:

Amongst them he pointed out the Strawhats inability to cut off one of their own out of their crew to save others - like Lucci left Kaku behind just chapters before this fight when he attacked Vegapunk and Stussy (and Sanji trapped Kaku in the bubble prison). It's a play on very different characters and how they think and act to show clearly how they different they are.

The words burden or dead-weight really stood out, already when Lucci said it in chapter 1107, and the fact that they were targetting Zoro - someone who always blames himself (in his mind, not usually out loud) for not being strong enough, and someone who always has protecting his crew at the first place, was interesting in the connection to Sanji repeating basically the same words in the latest chapter.

I will probably make a different separate post only focusing on Zoro and his fear of being weak, but for the purposes of this post, just to pick a few moments where it's important in the manga:

One of the first time I've noticed how much Zoro keeps berating himself with words like "not strong enough" "too lax" "still too soft" "if I'd been stronger/ faster/ better..."

was just after Little Garden arc, where he almost cut off his ankles just to keep fighting. Time after time the crew encounters strong enemies and Zoro gets a new understanding how far up is the limit that he has to reach to keep the crew safe, so he keeps training. ch. 129:

When Luffy went to fight Crocodile and Zoro was worried and kept training on the way to Alubarna, this banter between Sanji and Zoro felt typical between them - it's about the two way street, the back and forth (that's why that new chapter and insult from Sanji feels so foreign, there's no reply, not quip back - only silence and some sort of determination, which isn't good nor bad, just.. weird.) ch. 179:

and after the final fight of Alabasta, possibly one of the first times I really started paying attention to how much it gets to Zoro, this question of how strong he needs to be. (along with what possibly was one of the first introduction of his haki and how he began training the Observation haki, disguised as meditation in the terms of the early manga) ch. 213:

Thriller Bark was one of the biggest arcs in this sense of Zoro and his protectiveness towards the crew and Sanji knows that - he knows what happened there, he even wanted to sacrifice himself in stead of Zoro for Luffy (but this is beside the point here, and I talked about it in other post before).

Zoro took on himself Luffy's pain, and after that arc he still went right to train as soon as he could despite being still injured, ch. 490. "still too weak!"

which goes through to Sabaody arc.

Chapter 510 until the end of that arc is just painful to go through again. Luffy was worried for Zoro and didn't know the scope of his injuries, while Sanji knew and was concerned in his own way too - that is another thing of how they care, sometimes wordlessly but there is that understanding of what to mention or not. ("Burden" still shouldn't be one of the words to use between them, not that far into the story.)

Now - fast forward to Punk Hazard where one of similar moments played out - Zoro telling Luffy not to goof around because they got in the New world and needed to take things seriously.

It was one of those small moments where Sanji was actually one of the few people shown with reaction to Zoro's words and his urgency, ch 678:

Sanji saying "He's so tough on himself" really puts into perspective how he sees Zoro - he knows what he's been through, and knows to what extremes he's willing to go to protect his crew.

He's definitely not someone who would carelessly call Zoro "a burden" even in the time and place and situation they found themselves on Egghead, if anything, he was supposed to be one of the first ones to know how serious is Zoro always about protecting the crew. (Even in the beginning of Egghead, Zoro stayed at first on the Sunny because "who will save them when they will need saving.")

There's few others scenes and parts where Zoro questions his worth and strength, especially in later Wano, calculating what needs to be done so they have strength to face off with Kaido, ch 980:

and later against King, ch 1033 "it was my strength that was lacking!" while unlocking his Conqueror's haki, still unknowingly:

The fact that it's been happening pretty much since the beginning of the story - how Zoro views himself as not strong enough, yet persisting in always getting stronger and protecting his crew - means so much for what character Zoro is and how much he values and loves his crew (just like all the other Strawhats in different ways), and also, as I've been catching up so quickly with the manga, there's been that hope for some call out of this behavior, to poke it where it hurts, to see what would happen if someone turns those words Zoro possibly feels in his mind against him out loud. And that's kind of what's been happening lately - and I'm curious what impact will this have on both Zoro personally and on the other Strawhats, depending who will be around for the conclusion.

Zoro is one of the few strawhats really thinking about the future, plans and what they need to still fight through, carefully calculating what his opponents might be doing, how strong they are and how much of a problem it would be to go through them.

And Sanji normally understands that, he knows how Zoro works and the other way around, that's why he still protected him when Zoro was injured, (if anything, in this moment Zoro could have been something like hinderance or annoyance to Sanji, yet he never said something like that), ch. 1015:

Even on Egghead, where there was temporary truce with Lucci and Kaku, Zoro pointed out how to recognize the Seraphim's weaknesses, and apologized for 'wasting their stamina' - again, calculating on his strength, ch. 1077:

Zoro isn't just fighting for the sake of a fight, he does have his dream and does know what's important to focus on (he himself always keeps the crew in focus when it's important!)

So it's difficult to have a conclusion about the whole Zoro vs Lucci fight without knowing what is Zoro thinking - hopefully in next chapter we will have more info on it (that is number 1111 - Zoro's birthday and bounty! so I hope it will be a big focus on Zoro again). But even beside that, it was obvious in such short time two people around him suddenly called him a burden to his team - something he takes very close to his heart and mind, something that will hopefully have some consequences for us to see and read, because as Oda is choosing words definitely carefully to have the right impact, two very similar words like "burden" don't seem like a coincidence.

To wrap this up - with Sanji telling this to Zoro felt different than their usuall banter, and as I said before - maybe because Sanji wasn't even speaking to Zoro. At the same time, on Wano Sanji gave Zoro a clue that somehting was happening with him, the fact that there was a panel with just Zoro's ear twitching and then being silent, thinking, and not replying to Sanji with anything that would hint to us about his state of mind, and it could mean he's also aware of some difference in Sanji's acting.

The way he says this reminds me of the what Sanji was thinking during his fight with Queen - "what would be more useful to Luffy, regular flesh-and-blood body? Or a cruel, cold emotionless warrior of science." Even for this small part of seeing him speak with Jimbei and hearing what Zoro was up to until then, he speaks without almost any emotions beside anger? Even with his eyebrow not indicating the change, precisely, it doesn't have to be connected in this way, except physical fights, but there could be something still changing within Sanji to make him act this way, a way that really isn't something we've seen before. I think if in next chapters he speaks to Nami, Robin or some other woman without his typical over-the-top pleasanteries, it could indicate how much of a problem this could be for the Strawhats.

So we have Sanji's need to stay human and kind, the pact created with Zoro to kill him if anything felt wrong; and we have Zoro - someone who's biggest purpose from the beginning was to protect the crew and Luffy, while many times we've seen him question his own strength, and now two people in the span of like 5 minutes in the One Piece time are calling him a burden.

It will be interesting to see if this is heading towards a clash or conflict between Luffy's wings while Luffy needs the support to fight / flee from the Gorosei.

To end this too long post, I feel it's very on point for One Piece not to have a sole focus on just one character going through it™ in one arc, but it's always a few crumbs here and few hints there. This sort of conflict would be perfect to deal with both of Zoro and Sanji's respective fears - because this is very much about fears in their minds, while at the same time if they can resolve this, it would only strengthen their crew once again.

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 15 days

Text

V The Mysterious Wayne Family

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2

“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car.

Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat?

Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium.

…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day.

“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”

Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?

That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were.

And Danny hated how easy they had it.

Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.

Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay.

He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.

Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood.

Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”

Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack.

“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”

He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”

“He can suck a cock then!”

Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”

“Done!”

The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here.

If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it.

Corrupt bastards.

Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”

“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.”

“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”

“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.

“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”

They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right?

Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes.

It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.

The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.

Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones.

If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number.

Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham.

Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly.

Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”

He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)

Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”

He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think.

Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood.

Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”

“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”

“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response.

Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.”

Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?

They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.

There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”

Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick.

Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”

Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”

Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked.

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”

“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”

Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”

“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily.

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him.

“I’m not!”

“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”

“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!

“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point.

Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”

Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.”

Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.

He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”

Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”

“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”

Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.

“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door.

Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”

“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”

“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.

“Master Richard.”

“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”

“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”

Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.

“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”

“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”

“I–”

“He bites too.”

“Dick–”

“Hard.”

“Richard–”

“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”

“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”

“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Dick, I–”

“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”

“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”

“Bruce–”

“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”

“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”

“That’s not what I meant—!”

Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”

Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”

Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?

Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”

Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”

Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”

“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”

Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”

“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”

“...Carry on.”

A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged.

Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child. Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*

Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond? Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies

Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing* Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?

Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dpxdc #constantine jr au #c: danny fenton #c: nightwing #c: tim drake #c: alfred pennyworth #c: bruce wayne #c: jason todd #fictag dgvg

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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 7 months

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hello! could i get astarion comforting tav/reader headcanons please? maybe they're just stressed out and overwhelmed-

A/N: I’m down so bad for soft!Astarion, it’s not even funny lol

⭐ Astarion Comforting Tav Headcanons ⭐

So of course, Tav is EXHAUSTED. I mean being a leader is hard, and being a leader in charge of saving yourself and others from a mindflayer parasite is even harder.

There’s just so much to worry about, so much to plan, so much to… Argh!

Tav’s head is pounding and to make matters worse, every healing member of the party is fast asleep. And then to top it off, there’s Astarion not so subtly suggesting that he could use a ‘drink’. Of course, that teasing demeanor all but vanishes once he sees the state Tav’s in.

Astarion spent decades manipulating people- he knows how to read them. And he can easily perceive when someone is overworked or in pain.

He asks Tav what’s wrong, joking that he needs his source of sustenance to be in tip-top shape. When Tav doesn’t rise to the barb, he switches tactics.

Instead, Astarion brings them away from the campfire and into his tent. He sets them down on a plush pile of pillows and tries asking them again, more sincerely this time.

If Tav has enough wherewithal to answer, he listens intently- no cutting in with jokes or teasing. If Tav is too overwhelmed to speak, it makes no difference. Astarion still gets the gist. He may not know exactly what’s wrong, but he understands what it’s like to feel stressed, and constantly under pressure to perform.

If Tav needs to cry, he lets them sob into his shoulder, ignoring that pesky voice in his head chiding Tav for staining the fabric. He’ll rub occasional soothing circles onto Tav’s back, and just let them let out all the frustrations that have been building up over time.

Once Tav is all cried or yelled out, he’ll make sure they’re resting comfortably, fluffing the pillows, and bringing them soft blankets before searching amongst his things to find the right combination of perfumes and scented oils to help Tav relax even further. He places drops of lavender and bergamot on Tav’s wrists, gently massaging the oils in before repeating the process on both sides of their neck, on the pulse point just behind their ear. The combination of smells has a soothing effect, lulling Tav into a state of restfulness.

After ensuring Tav is cozy, Astarion sets down somewhere close- distant enough to give Tav their space, but near enough that he’s within arms reach should Tav need them.

After all, tomorrow is no doubt another long day of adventuring, fighting, and heroics. And Astarion knows that while he can’t stop the next difficult battle from coming, he can at least offer Tav some reprieve in the meantime. He knows that sometimes all you can do is feel your feelings and take a moment before getting up to face your demons all over again.

#astarion x tav #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 astarion imagine #astarion #bg3 #hc

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year

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I would love a fic with Aemond and a blind!reader. I think it would be an interesting relationship dynamic! Maybe she lives at the castle? Daughter of someone who is on the court or of someone who works there? Free reign!

How could you be so blind?

Aemond x blind!reader / AO3 Link

A/N: sorry it took me soooo long to get to this one, but I wanted to take my time with it! It's not long, but it's cute fluff <3 thank you for requesting this!

Warnings: none, just fluff, Aegon being Aegon

...

“My Prince, are you alright?”

Criston Cole was about to swing his weapon again until he realised that the Prince had dropped his shield to his side, his other still gripping the handle of his sword overly firm. Aemond hissed at the feeling of the cold metal on his new wound, dropping his shield almost instantly at this uncomfortable ache.

Aemond grimaced and looked down at his hand, groaning at the sight of a new, line shaped wound that extended across the back of his hand. It had been his own fault and he’d known it. He was reluctant to remember how many times Ser Criston ever told him he should not hold his shield the way he does, otherwise the force of a strike may injure his hands. And yet, he had not listened before and here he was. Blood dripping down his hand and soaking against the leather cuff of his clothes, the sting continued to overwhelm his left hand.

“It is alright, only a scratch” Aemond said through somewhat gritted teeth.

Criston had known him for too long to know he was putting on a brave face, as he always did.

Abandoning the weapon, Criston shook his head.

“Let me see”

Aemond stood back, almost tucking the wounded hand behind himself, pretending as if it never happened.

“I am alright, let’s continue”

“My Prince, I cannot allow you to train injured. You may injure yourself further”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Aemond had to accept that once again Ser Criston was right. There was no use in continuing to train with blood dripping from his fingers and a pain like no other shooting to his joints. Though he refused to go quietly, that much was certain.

With several huffs of annoyance and pain, Aemond abandoned his own weapons and training to sit in at the maester, who after cleaning the blood from the wound, simply applied some salve and cloth to keep the area away from dirt.

Quickly feeling the beginning of a migraine coming on, the last thing he needs at his lunch hour is his brother echoing down the hallway, even the sound of his voice proving to annoy the second son further.

To his utter dismay, Aegon was not alone, and in through the stone hallways echoed the pointed shoes of his mother and sister, all uncharacteristically together.

“Aemond” Alicent’s sweet voice echoed slightly across the room, smile fading once she saw how his fingers were pressed against his head, “are you alright?”

Aemond almost felt bad. Not wanting to concern his mother this way.

“I am fine, mother. There is no need to worry”

Aeogn threw a lob-sided smile in his direction, sitting down to retrieve a trusty cup of wine.

“What happened to your hand then?” he smirked, “Ser Criston finally get the better of you?”

“Aemond, your hand” Alicent lifted his hand to inspect, only for her son to tear it away, not wishing to burden her with his injury.

“It is nothing, I have been to the maester for the wound. It will heal with time”

Alicent knew better than to push any further and at the same time, did not want to baby Aemond as he progressed into adulthood. Her brown eyes looked down at him for a moment and gave him a comforting smile and knew to drop the conversation altogether.

“Well, at least give our guests the courtesy of a smile when they arrive” Alicent said quietly, picking at her skirts and making for the doorway.

“Guests?”

Alicent turned to Aemond, brows furrowed in confusion at his question. She had told him about it just the night before.

“Yes, we are to receive a new member of the Small Council”

“Even I remembered and I am several wines deep” Aegon smirked, downing the cup in his hand.

Aemond groaned, eye rolling to the back of his head and the heel of his hand pushed harder against his forehead. Of course, he had completely forgotten and his mood at the moment did not permit meeting new people.

“Mother, I am in no mood…” Aemond started. Alicent’s smile dropped and she joined her hands,

“Aemond” her voice was more stern than he was used to, and his good eye looked back at his mother, “at least just be there. You do not have to say anything”

Alicent made for the exit and Aegon revelled in the idea that the oh-so-good second son had upset his mother in this way. Usually it was Aegon bearing the brunt of a mother’s scornful gaze, but it was nice and refreshing for him to gloat a little.

“Yes, brother” Aegon staggered to his feet, completely ignoring their sister as he pushed to follow Alicent, “Put on a good face. Although that may be difficult for you”

Helaena followed without a word, almost hating this as much as Aemond did. Once alone, he let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself groggily to his feet, taking as much time as he needed to follow behind. He really was not in the mood for this.

He paused before entering the foyer, already hearing the echoed voices of a new man speaking in pleasantries and useless small talk. Hand laced behind his back, he took his place behind Aegon and Helaena, eye slightly closed to resist the sharp pain of the light that might make his headache even worse. Barely even listening to the quiet echoes of his mother, the clatter of heels on the stone floor rapped at his aching head more so.

“Your Grace, this is my daughter”

There was a short silence before a small, quiet voice responded, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. Please extend my thanks to the King for granting my Father this position”

Alicent seemed genuinely stunned for a moment, finding her words, “The pleasure is all mine, my Lady”

Scrunching his eye closed, expectant to make his greetings shortly, Aemond opened his eye a slither, seeing the blurred silhouettes of the Lord and Lady before his mother. He could not make out the woman, blocked by the form of her father as his back faced them.

“And may I introduce you to my children, Aegon, Helaena and Aemond”

Aemond made the effort to open his eye more so. The man was portly, but tall and sent a bow and a small smile, the woman next to him having an unusually strong hold on his arm. They stood before Aegon first,

“Prince Aegon” her voice was quiet still, despite being so close and he could see her extend herself to curtsy before his brother.

Aegon, as per, had that stupidly drunken grin on his face, searching the woman’s face before him. Cocking his head slightly, he smiled back and kissed her hand, her expression never changed.

Before Helaena, both of the women curtsied and the silver-haired woman seemed to regard her closely in front of her, perhaps seeing something others did not. But she remained silent and with a similar temperament, greeted her quietly.

Aemond had not known what to expect when the father and daughter duo landed upon him. Of course, Aemond nodded in greeting to the Lord first before allowing his good eye to land on the woman next to him. Her arm was linked with her father’s, fingers gripped at the sleeve. As if not knowing exactly where she was stood, she took a baby step forward towards Aemond, eyes vacant and staring ahead.

“Prince Aemond” she greeted quietly. As with custom, he took her other hand softly and placed a kiss to it, his eye never leaving her face. She never moved once, save the ever-present chaste smile on her features. And while she stood before him for a moment, he studied all her features, a touch of curiosity tugging at him greatly.

“My Lady”

He had surprised himself with the greeting, having not thought before the words left his mouth and something tight like a vine wrapped about his chest.

“My Lord, shall I introduce you to the King, to make your pleasantries” Alicent piped up to cut through the air.

The father simply nodded without a sound, tugged back by the whisper of his daughter.

“Father, might I walk about?” she asked, eyes still straight ahead, vision not shifting.

As if forgetting he nodded, “Your Grace, might the Princess Helaena accompany my daughter through the Keep?

It is a new place, your Grace and she does not know her way about”

Alicent smiled comfortingly and gestured to her daughter, who uncharacteristically raised her head and smiled at the prospect of female company.

“Of course. Helaena, darling, would you?”

Helaena nodded enthusiastically and had that child-like smile on her face now, hopping over to the woman as her father gently placed her arm in Helaena’s. He watched almost in pride as the two women walked away, the murmured whispers of the young women audible to those walking by.

“Thank you, Princess. Do be slow with me, I fear my feet cannot keep up” the woman laughed, her hand finding its natural place in Helaena’s.

As the pair walked away, the brother’s were left with two differing versions of curiosity. Aegon with a smirk on his and Aemond’s blank, with the desire to fill his head with more of her.

“Blind, most of her life. Shame, she would be quite pretty if not for that”

Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye.

“You are insufferable”

Aegon furrowed his brows, almost offended, “What? Perhaps it is a blessing she is blind, so she does not have to see your miserable face”

Tsk.

“Better my miserable face than your constant indecent quips”

Aemond felt his fist clench uncontrollably behind his back. Aegon half-turned on the spot to google his brother, one eyebrow raised as if mocking.

“What has gotten into you, brother? Cuntstruck already?”

Aemond could practically feel the burning behind his forehead now, getting more and more agitated at his brother’s neverending mocking.

“Perhaps I sympathise” Aemond said flatly, his broad body facing Aegon now, “or perhaps I am just sick of hearing your voice”

“Either way, I do not give a fuck. Frankly, it amuses me to think there is one good eye between you”

Aemond could hear how proud his brother was of himself as Aegon slinked down the hallway out of sight, careful to not push his brother too far. But far enough it seemed, as Aemond felt his teeth pierce his lip in annoyance.

He scanned the hallway, hoping to at least have looped back to bump into her and his sister. But there was no sign of them until much later, when Aemond happened upon the two young women in the gardens. The sight before him made him smile properly for the first time in a while, seeing his sister talking erratically and excitedly. She was knelt before the woman, hands placed out to her to allow a caterpillar Helaena had found to crawl its way onto her skin.

“Oh, it tickles” the lady said, her body tensing and trying her best not to laugh, shaking in her attempt.

The sound of Helaena’s genuine laugh brushed through the spring trees and the other woman’s too as the insect crawled up her arm.

“Does he have hairs?” she asked.

Helaena looked up wide with glee, “This species do, they use them to sense vibrations in the ground, since they have no eyes”

The woman nodded in understanding and a silence fell onto the Princess, her expression immediately falling, “I am so sorry, I did not mean to offend!”

Helaena looked worriedly at the woman before her, fearing that she was too nice to retaliate to what the Princess perceived as a cruel joke.

But the woman simply shook her head, letting a quiet laugh escape, “There is no need to worry, Princess. I thought nothing of it”

The woman’s hands hovered over where she thought the caterpillar was, picking the small creature up with her delicate fingers to lay in her palm. Satisfied that her new friend had not been offended with her words, Helaena smiled and took the creature back to lay him back in the grass.

“I am grateful for your company, Princess. Thank you for taking me around the Keep, it is difficult to memorise on my own”

Helaena shook her head, “It is alright, my pleasure, my Lady. I hope we can become better acquainted as friends”

Helaena smiled hopefully, “I would like that very much”

She almost squealed with delight at the prospect of a friend, squeezing her hands tightly.

“If you will excuse me, I will see you tonight for supper”

The young woman nodded, ever a smile on her soft features. She could hear the soft footsteps of the Princess walking away, a sigh escaping her chest as the sound of muffed leaves swayed in the wind.

Aemond had watched the entire time, mouth slightly open as if to say something. He would not like to admit it to himself, but he was curious about her. She seemed to have a cheerful personality and a smooth, sweet laugh that claimed the dark silence in the air around her. And at first, Aemond was shocked to hear that she was blind. Were it not for her motions, he would never have guessed.

Her eyes were light and clouded, not dissimilar to a bright white cloud in the sky.

“I can hear you, Prince Aemond”

His heart stopped in his chest as her head turned in his direction, a breath caught in his throat at being caught. Was she lying this whole time about her sight? Surely there was no explanation other than this, he thought.

Then she left a giggle free, “I can hear your footsteps and breathing. I don’t think you are as light-footed as you think”

His chest unclenched at her joking nature, a smile once more making its way slowly on his face, knowing that she would not be able to see and mock him for it.

With this acceptance, he approached her and stood before her seated form.

“I apologise, my Lady. I did not mean to pry”

She shook her head, “Not at all. Would you like to join me”

Pulling his cuffs back over his wrists, he sat beside her, eye never leaving her.

“Your sister is lovely”

“Hm” he hummed in response, “I think she is happy to finally have some female company” his fingers ran over the bandage on the back of his hand, “I have never seen her so happy”

She clasped her hands together on her lap, using one of her thumbs to run over the other. A nervous gesture perhaps?

“It will be nice, seeing as my father has been graced with his position”

“Your family intends to stay in residence”

She nods slowly, “I believe so”

“Good”

Aemond spoke without even thinking, panic settling into his head and neck getting hot once he realised she bit her lip, smiling to hold a giggle inside, “Uh-u…I only meant that…it would be good to know you better. If we are to share the same table”

She nodded still smiling, knowing how flustered he had been.

“Thank you, Prince Aemond” she paused, “although, I do not think your brother feels the same way”

Aemond was about to open his mouth to say something, kicking himself that she had heard what Aegon had said.

“I urge you not to worry. I have been blind long enough to grow thick skin” she smiles again, and Aemond wonders how someone can be so happy.

“It is still no excuse for his words”

She scoffed, “I don’t think he cares if he offends me or not. I have learned to live with it”

I have learned to live with it, those words echoed in his head for minutes after she had said it. And he felt all but vulnerable again, like a child.

“I was not born blind” she said, answering the question before Aemond had the opportunity to consider even asking it.

“Although, I was too young to appreciate having sight. It’s funny isn’t it?” she turns to him, but unknowing where exactly he was, her eyes were still focussed past him.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused, “What is?”

“That you don’t appreciate what you have until it is gone”

It was Aemond’s turn to scoff now, and he did, turning away slightly.

“I’m not sure I would consider it funny” he replied, slightly hurt that he could relate perfectly.

“Perhaps funny is not the right word, then”

She placed her hands on the bench at the side of her to readjust, unknowingly brushing her hand passed Aemond’s and she flinched, as if he were hot to the touch.

“I apologise”

He murmured a response.

“I use my hands too much” she excuses herself again and he has not observed this until she just said it. But she did reach out for things to check what exactly it was, “It is how I see” she laughs at her own joke, and Aemond feels the mischievous air radiate off her, already feeling as if he knew her better.

“Do you see any light?” he asks, genuinely wondering.

She does a half nod, “I see silhouettes of people. If I focus very well I can see your outline, but even that has gotten worse”

“If people allow I sometimes touch their faces, to see what they look like” she pauses, using her hands with her speaking, “But people usually find that quite strange”

Aemond nodded, understanding what she meant.

“Does it help you?” he asks and he smiles when she returns with a sharp nod, her cheeks rounding up with her smile.

“My hands are my eyes” she continues, and he relishes in the sound of her voice, “when the eyes are affected, the hands reach out for what is before them”

She spoke in such riddles, sometimes it confused him. Or rather her words were like poetry, as if she had rehearsed what she was going to say. Perhaps that was something Aegon might want to start practicing.

Aemond puts his hand in the air before her, hovering over hers.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

She has a confused look on her face for a moment before bumping her hands up to meet his large one, hers were so small in comparison. She emitted a small oh in surprise at feeling his hand was so close to hers and Aemond could see the pure concentration on her face as her delicate fingers ran over his injured hand. Her touch so soft that it did not feel in the least bit painful.

“I feel…” she paused for dramatic effect, “...a hand”

Aemond scoffed at her joking nature.

“Sorry” she half-joked, hands still on his skin. He watched as her fingers studied at him in patience.

“Your hands are large, good for fighting and holding a sword.

Hm…your fingertips are coarse. And you have callouses on the heel of your palm. Perhaps you like to train a lot.

Hmm”

Her hands made their way over one side to the other, pausing as her fingers rested on the bandage.

“You’ve hurt yourself and the bandage is fresh…

No scars other than that. This is not your dominant hand”

Aemond raised his eyebrows, half-shocked and half-impressed at her ability to draw such conclusions. Like those palm readers in King’s Landing.

“You have slender wrists…you were a small child”

Aemond observed her now and her face, her tongue slipping over her lip to concentrate once more. When she is finished, she does not retreat her hands.

“Very good” he said after a short silence and that smile graces her once more.

Taking in a sharp breath, he turns his body to face her, taking her hands in both of his easily. With his thumbs massaging her palms, he lifts them to place at his jaw.

“What about here?” he asks.

He can tell she is shocked that he has allowed her to touch his face. And she wonders if she should refuse him, feigning nervousness. But curiosity of her own gets the better of her and she is in no position to refuse a Prince. So she applies pressure to either side of his face, but still soft to Aemond.

So much so his eye closes at the feeling of her ghostly hands across his features.

She traced his jaw, cupping his angular chin, and he no longer wishes to watch her as she does this. Instead opting to disappear in this feeling, her warm hands upon him.

Her thumbs symmetrically glide on his undereye, one tracing the contour of his eye and the other the pattern of this leather eyepatch. And then over the bottom of the scar. But her touch doesn’t falter, as if it is the most usual thing in the world. Her fingers fiddle with the strap of it for a moment before passing over his nose and then to his forehead, and all memory of the migraine he once had was completely gone. Her touch was healing and the throbbing began to dissipate back into his muscles.

He almost sighed out loud as her nimble and small fingertips found their way into his hairline, passing across the follicles and eliciting a feeling of pure bliss. Perhaps it was the feeling of being understood. Or perhaps it was just having the soft, delicate touch of someone.

Her fingers passed over his locks and he opened his eye once again to look at her. He knew she would not be able to see it, but he was smiling contently down at her.

Her hands retreated, remaining suspended in the air between them and she swore she could feel the current of his breath against them.

“Well?” he asked quietly.

Her tongue came to lick at her lips again as she formed a reply in her head.

“I think you have had a difficult time”

Her words hit him deeply, not like a kick to the chest but that feeling of having the curtains drawn quickly and being woken. He felt his very outer shell begin to peel away, like a peach that she had sunk her thumb into. But not pried open, but rather overripe and splitting of its own accord. Merely needing the touch to splay open.

He swallowed thickly, a feeling of comfort washing over him, knowing that he was being truly seen.

“And you have beautiful hair”

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phi8 · 1 year

Photo

A bit of Star Wars fanart! A conversation between Ahsoka and Anakin after The Mandalorian Chapter 13: The Jedi. This one goes along with a bit of writing, check it out below or here.

Ahsoka broke the piece of dried meat she was eating into a few smaller parts. She let her consciousness expand and felt the birds and lizards around her camp site, a singular simian alien at the edge of her awareness. The trees rustled and their anticipation for the coming change of season was apparent. She felt the Khyber crystals in her lightsabers hum and reverberate the life around them. Even the rock on which she had unfolded a clean napkin had its signature in the living force. Savoring the taste of the jerky, she thanked the beast from which it had come.

“Ahsoka,” a voice called out.

“Master,” she responded. It became easier to become aware of him each time she did. “Good to see you,” she said, right before he materialized into the world.

The pale blue visage of Anakin Skywalker shifted uncomfortably. “I told you to stop calling me that, I don’t deserve it.”

“You are the guy who’s become one with the force, not me,” Ahsoka said with a little smirk. “... Anakin,” she finished with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down on a log across from her. As was the case with Obi-Wan and his master and Yoda, Anakin was strangely physical when he appeared like this. Ahsoka could feel how he was affected by gravity and that he would rather sit than stand. But she could also see right through his wispy shape.

Similarly, Anakin could tell that Ahsoka had been wrestling with something. “You have something on your mind?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka said. She swallowed the last piece of her meal and wrung her hands. “Grogu... Turns out he’s still alive.”

“The little kid that the council was always so mysterious about?” Anakin paused, then flickered out of existence briefly. With a pained expression now on his face, he continued, “I always figured he got caught when... When you were on Mandalore.”

“We shared a connection, apparently someone managed to sneak him out of the temple.” She looked at him. “His life hasn’t been easy,” Ahsoka said. She didn’t manage to keep all of the accusation out of her tone.

Anakin nodded. He was of the force now, supposed to be in ultimate balance with the galaxy. Ahsoka noted he really didn’t look it.

“He’s gotten himself a father figure, a Mandalorian. It’s pretty cute. But the guy wanted me to train Grogu.” She looked down at her lap. “And, and – Anakin, Grogu reminded me so much of you.”

“The little baby Yoda reminded you of me?” Anakin said a bit incredulously.

“He’s powerful, and filled with fear and passion. Fear to become lost again, to lose this new parent. We’ve seen what such fear to lose someone can -,” Ahsoka interrupted herself.

Anakin sighed. He didn’t have lungs anymore, but it still hurt. There were some downsides to being granted eternity. He was forced to be faced with the consequences of his actions, all the people he had hurt.

He leaned forward and put his hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder. To her the sensation was one of warmth, not one of touch. “So you turned him down,” Anakin said softly.

“Yes.” She looked at him. Both being this connected to the force, they could feel the compassion they felt for each other. Healing and forgiving would take time, but it would come. “I promised to help them though, and since I’m not comfortable training him I sent them to Tython.”

“Tython? That dingy temple with the seeing stone?” He sat back a little. “But who would respond to a call from a place like that?”

“I think Luke will find them.” Ahsoka said. Her lekku twitched, and the guilt she felt was visible on her face.

“Oh, I see,” Anakin said, smiling a little. “You wanted to check in with me because you sent a potential Sith Lord to my son.”

“When you put it like that...” Ahsoka smiled as well and hit Anakin in the arm, which fully connected. He let out a soft gasp, as he would have in life.

“Don’t worry about him!” Anakin continued. “I don’t know if you noticed, but that young man is capable of some incredible things. In fact, it was his love, his passion, that made him a better Jedi, made him able to save me.” Anakin’s form glowed slightly as he talked about his son, as though the thought of Luke made his spirit more bright. “If anyone can train Grogu, it’s him.”

Anakin stood up, face turned to the night sky of Corvus. “But here: you called a Jedi knight from the beyond for advice and counseling?” Looking back at Ahsoka, he made a little bow and said, “just go check in on Luke at some point. You get to make sure you made the right decision, see if the kid is doing well. And Luke can needle you for more advice.”

“Yeah, he’s very eager, isn’t he?” Ahsoka said, her expression softening.

“It’s unbelievable. He won’t let Obi-Wan and Yoda have a single bit of rest, always asking is this right, what did we do in such cases... He even figured out how master Qui-Gon’s views are different and how to find the compromise between them” Anakin got a sad smile on his face and said, “he’s so much like Padmé.”

Ahsoka felt Anakin fading away in the force, like he suddenly didn’t have the willpower to maintain his form here anymore.

“Do not worry, Ahsoka,” Anakin said faintly, “Luke is more than capable, and yours is a different path.”

“Thank you, master,” she said to the chilly night.

#ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #star wars #the mandalorian #star wars fanart #art #my art

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seeker-of-stories19 · 8 months

Text

Jaime & Khaji Da Headcannons

- Khaji makes a habit of naturally and even subconsciously adjusting Jaime’s body to make it more adaptive, it takes a lot of arguments and reminders for Khaji to stop giving him extra limbs and eventually they compromise on night vision and sometimes fangs/claws

- Khaji still secretly does it at night to pull Jamie’s blankets back up when he insists on sleeping in bed because he will kick them off if he gets hot

- Jaime only wears his Gotham law hoodie at home because he’s worried Khaji will destroy it and it’s his biggest comfort item

- There’s definitely an element of horror in having his body invaded in such a traumatic way, but oftentimes the thing that freaks Jaime out more is that it feels so right. He can’t remember and doesn’t want to imagine what his life would be like without Khaji Da

- Jaime routinely spaces out while talking to Khaji and literally won’t respond to his family. It freaks Bianca out a bit but Milagro and Rudy love messing with Jaime and totally take advantage of it to scare him

- Although one time Rudy jumps on him from behind and scares him so bad he gets electrocuted again, even though Khaji knows he’s not a threat they think Rudy deserves it for making Jaime scared

- After that they stick to hiding his stuff when he’s spaced out communicating with Khaji

- Jaime goes to ridiculously extreme lengths to hide the extent of his trauma because he’s terrified of having to explain what Victoria and Carapax did to him

- Eventually his family starts picking up on it and accommodating him without him asking about it, not coming up behind him, letting sit closest to the exits, not making him wear ties or anything tight around his neck

- It gets to the point where Jaime slowly starts venturing out of his room after panic attacks and nightmares, so he isn’t alone and his family learns that the best way to support him is just looking out for him and not asking about it

- Although there are definitely moments when weird things trigger Jaime and it makes them wonder why having stuff touch his neck causes him to lock himself in his room for hours or blast off to sit on top of a building somewhere

- Khaji is the only one who knows what really happened to Jaime on the island and they’re very protective as a result

- Jaime will absolutely have a breakdown if Khaji takes more than two seconds to answer him because he’s terrified of losing that connection again

- The longer they’re bonded the more Khaji learns about human emotions and experiences, eventually they’re able to contextualize the horror Jaime feels over their bonding and feel guilt for causing him pain. They still don’t understand it in truly human way but they know they hurt him a lot physically and mentally which goes against their purpose

- Jaime spends so much time and energy looking for clothes that won’t show off the bumps along his spine, definitely has to wear stiffer fabric than he likes so it lays somewhat normally

- There’s definitely a period where he tries sticking kinesiology tape over Khaji to try and make the shape less obvious because it’s too hot to wear long sleeves and they burn it off immediately

- Finally after months Milagro points out that if people ask he can just tell them it’s a back brace or some type of medical equipment which makes him feel very stupid for not thinking of it sooner

- He has a lot of scar tissue around where Khaji latched onto his spine even with the advanced healing because of the trauma it put on his body. He also has jagged scars all over his back and shoulders with some stretching down his arms and legs from the electricity since Khaji didn’t have enough resources at the time to heal him fully

- Definitely at least one occurrence where he scares a stranger half to death walking to his car at night because his eyes are glowing yellow

- Jaime saying we instead of I when talking about things, “We’re so tired” and “Gracias we appreciate it”

- Khaji is incredibly attached to Jaime as well, having bonded more intensely to him than any previous host and like Jaime they’re also terrified of being separated, although they know it is an inevitable part of their reality

- Jaime’s family being so confused by what a symbiotic relationship is and definitely asking some invasive questions on accident

- Jaime is sort of permanently torn between horror and affection toward Khaji, a constant tug of war between the violation of being forced to share his body and not truly have control over his body and choices and the fact that their connection feels undeniably right, the understanding on a level he doubts any other human being can comprehend experiencing

- But even on the bad days he doesn’t blame Khaji, they were simply doing what they were programmed to without any understanding of the pain or trauma it would cause

- And he knows they understand it better now and regret ever causing Jaime damage

- Clothes never stop being a problem, he ends up putting all the basics in an Amazon list and reordering a cheap wardrobe every couple months

- On nights he goes to events with Jenny or other nicer things he just prays he won’t transform and accidentally destroy his one suit

- Even though he can never convince Khaji to stop burning his clothes they always protect the necklace he wears of his fathers

- No matter how long they’re bonded Jaime still answers Khaji out loud sometimes, when he’s at home it just leads to some confusion and teasing but he gets some nasty looks in public for mumbling nonsense to himself or talking over people in conversations

- Clicking/chirping sounds when he’s happy

A/N I totally didn’t expect to get this many likes so thank you, maybe I need to do headcannons more often! Anyways please feel free to add to these in reblogs if you have any more ideas and use any of these that inspire you in your own stories! But if you do tag me or send me AO3 links so I can see!!!!!

#jaime reyes #reyes family #khaji da #blue beetle #headcannons #dc

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goosefruit · 5 months

Text

healing

vanessa shelly x reader

tw: smut, vanessa’s stab wound, fingering, squirting, bottom!vanessa, basically trying to navigate sex while she’s recovering from an injury

a/n: not my best work but i’ve had this idea in my head for so long so i wrote it

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

‘Grateful’ didn’t even begin to describe how you felt when Vanessa was finally discharged from the hospital.

She was there for roughly a month, half of which she spent in a coma. You stayed by her side the entire time, only leaving to use the bathroom and shower. There were times when you were afraid that she would never wake up again.

But now that she was back home, you took care of her like a princess. You brought her breakfast in bed every day (though she insisted she could walk, you knew it took her a great deal of effort), prepared baths for her, and sang to her when she had trouble sleeping.

Two weeks into this recovery process, you had woken up to her whimpering and writhing in the middle of the night.

Thinking she was having another nightmare about her father, you wrapped your arms around her, carefully avoiding her still-tender scar. However, upon getting a closer look, you realized that she was wide awake.

“Is the pain keeping you up?” You were already reaching towards the nightstand where a bottle of painkillers was readily available.

“No, baby,” she choked out. “It’s my pussy. It won’t stop throbbing, and I can’t fall asleep.”

If it weren’t for the agony in her voice, you swore that you would’ve made fun of her for acting like a bunny in heat.

“Have you…orgasmed at all in the past two weeks?”

“I tried! So many times. But every time I got close, my abs would tense up, and then I’d be too busy worrying about the pain from my wound to finish.”

“Nessa, my love,” you positioned her so that she was sitting up with her back to your chest. One hand drifted down to her inner thigh, rubbing it through her pajama pants. “May I?”

She nodded eagerly as she wiped at a tear that had formed in the corner of her eye. The both of you had missed this so much, but you promised yourself that you would only make love to her again once she had completely recovered.

Was this breaking that promise? You didn’t want to hurt her, but she seemed like she would be hurting more if you didn't start touching her soon.

So you allowed your hand to move closer to her center as you captured her lips in a kiss. She gasped into your mouth when you ran a finger down her clothed slit. Her pussy was soaked to the point where you could easily feel the wetness through her pants.

“Aw, my poor baby,” your middle finger traced the slightly protruding shape of her clit. “I’m going to make you feel so good, okay? You just try to relax every muscle in your pretty body.”

With your help, she slipped out of her pajamas so that she was completely naked, patiently waiting with her legs spread as you took off your own clothes. Since this was the first time you were having sex in a long while, you wanted to do it unclothed and properly.

You were on top of her now, trailing kisses up and down her body. Upon reaching her abdomen, you took the time to press your lips all around the bumpy red patch on her right side. She had been afraid to let you see the scar when she first woke from her coma, thinking it’d gross you out. Now, all you wanted to do was show her how perfect you thought every inch of her was.

“Fuck, yeah…” she let out a blissful moan as you circled her entrance, dipping your fingers in just far enough to rub against her sweet spot.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” You whispered as you slid two fingers all the way in. Vanessa thrusted her hips up out of habit and cried out from the strain on her injury.

“Shit!”

It ended up taking you several different positions until you found one that she was comfortable in. She laid on her back with her hips propped up on a pillow while your fingers pumped rhythmically in and out of her.

“You tell me if it’s too much, my love.” Your free hand squeezed her breast, mouth leaving little marks on her neck.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N. Fuck, it feels so good. I missed you so much.”

The hand that was playing with her nipples reached down to gently rest on her hip, reminding her to relax. At the same time, you went up to kiss her passionately. Her favourite way to cum was with your tongue in her mouth, so that was how you were going to do it tonight.

When you finally felt her walls tighten around your fingers, she whimpered as her muscles spasmed. The relief that she had been seeking all week long was so overwhelming that tears rushed to her eyes.

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” You checked her face for any sign of pain.

“No, no, don’t worry. I’m fine,” she panted, eyes closed as a few aftershocks washed over her. “But…I think I squirted.”

The wet patch on the pillow below her confirmed her statement. How cute.

“Give me a second, I’m gonna clean you up.”

You brought a damp washcloth from the washroom to wipe away the stickiness on her thighs. By the time you were done, she had already passed out on the bed.

Spooning her, you whispered sweet nothings in her ear. You told her how strong you thought she was, and how afraid you were of losing her. You must’ve whispered ‘I love you’ a hundred times by the time sleep overtook you.

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly smut #wlw nsft #wlw smut #vanessa monroe

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nr1chaedickrider · 2 months

Text

In my imagination, you're waiting lying on your side - it seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye.

In many ways, our memories shape who we are. They make up our internal biographies—the stories we tell ourselves about what we've done with our lives. They tell us who we're connected to, who we've touched during our lives, and who has touched us. They provide important details of who we are and who we would like to be.

for @namojoon.

The process of healing wounds is long, painful and exhausting.

Sometimes it hurts even more than what has happened.

At least that's how you would describe your healing process.

You look through the window of your small but pleasant house.

After Momo died - or rather, was murdered - you decided to stop serving as a knight for your kingdom for the time being.

Of course, you promised Tzuyu that she could always come to you in an emergency, that you would forever be a knight serving her kingdom without hesitation.

Letting go was difficult, sometimes you even had the feeling that Momo was still standing in front of you, laughing, crying and doing everything with you.

Maybe you still haven't let go completely, maybe you never will, you just know (or at least hope) that things have gotten better.

You still wonder what happened to Sana.

Even if you partly don't want to know, a part of your body -

a tiny part of your body -

worries about her.

And you hate yourself for it.

You walk through the kingdom, making a, well, daily detour by her grave.

You kneel down in front of the grave, brush down a leaf.

Every time you are there, you make sure that it stays clean, that there is no damage.

Somehow you have the feeling that you have to do it, but you don't mind.

"I love you" you whisper, your hand slowly stroking the engraved words.

You've partly gotten into the habit of not reading what's written on it, maybe it's a sign of ignorance.

But you just feel better if you don't have to read the words every time.

You don't always have to be reminded.

'Hirai Momo, a fighter, a person full of love'

You hate reading it every time.

You sigh softly and get up.

One last look at her grave - even though you know you'll be back tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and so on.

You wipe away the tear that runs down your cheek.

The path to the village is quiet, the birds are chirping, the wind is almost non-existent.

You greet the people who walk past you and realize that they still treat you differently.

Their eyes are full of concern.

The only thing people think of when they see you is -

"Poor her. I wonder how she's doing"

And you don't know whether you should think it's good or bad that that's all they think about.

"Y/n!" someone shouts, you turn around and see Chaeyoung walking towards you.

"I've been looking for you for the last few days, can you come with me?" she asks.

You're confused, but nod. She takes you by the wrist and pulls you along as you both walk to her house.

She sits you down on a chair in her living room as she walks around.

You know she often has a lot of energy - but this much?

She comes back with a small bottle, the contents liquid and yellow in color.

She looks at you after placing the bottle on the table in front of you.

"Okay. You have to listen to me, let me finish, because it's going to sound weird at first," she says, and you nod.

"Have you ever heard of the theory of the multiverse?" she asks.

You shake your head - you've never been interested in all the theories, you've always preferred to think about what's happening in the present, what "makes sense" to you.

"Okay..." she starts to say, thinking before continuing,

"So, basically, the theory is the idea that the observable universe, the universe we're in right now, is only a part of the whole reality, and there's supposed to be a multiverse that contains numerous possible universes," she explains, and you look at her, slightly confused.

Chaeyoung takes a breath and tries to say it as simply as possible.

"It may be that you can travel through universes to see other situations and worlds, do you get the idea?" she asks.

"I think... but why are you telling me this? and why the bottle?" you reply.

"How can I say this..." she mumbles.

"Since... Since Momo is gone, I've been working on something, and I think... I think you can travel through the multiverse with this potion," Chaeyoung replies.

You look at her and feel your mood change completely when she mentions Momo.

"But... But why are you telling me exactly?" you ask.

"Because I need someone to try it out... and I think you deserve it the most. Because if it really works, you can see Momo in other universes.

In ones where she's not dead," she says.

In which ones where she's not dead?

You swallow as you look down at the floor, then back up at Chaeyoung.

"How likely is it that it will really work?"

"Pretty much," she replies.

"I'll do it," you say.

"Really? Are you sure? It could be dangerous"

"I have nothing to lose anyway"

Chaeyoung nods.

"No one can see you while you're traveling, which means you can go anywhere you want. But after a certain time, you may end up in another universe"

"Okay"

"Drink it, and when you feel dizzy, it will start to work" she says.

"I'll stay here and make sure everything goes well"

You nod and pick up the bottle.

"Okay" you say, but somehow you say it more to yourself.

You pull the cork out of the bottle and the pungent smell immediately hits your nose before you drink it.

You put the bottle back down and take a deep breath.

In and out.

In -

And out.

But before you can concentrate more on your breathing, you feel a stinging sensation in your head.

Chaeyoung is standing next to you, paying attention to how you're feeling.

"I think-"

You can't finish your sentence as your eyes suddenly close and it feels like you're being thrown around.

Your eyes open as you see lights everywhere, some colorful and some so dark you can't even call them lights anymore.

Your body floats and you try to look around, but your head won't move.

You try to reach somewhere, but you fall to the ground before you can do it.

The first thing you feel is grass under your fingertips.

You slowly open your eyes and look around, but the only thing you see are trees.

You stand up, pacing back and forth before you hear voices.

You walk through the bushes to see who's talking,

And even though you expected it, it's still so strange.

In front of you is Momo, holding a sword.

Opposite her - it's you.

It's like the first time you saw her.

"You shouldn't be here," says your other self.

"Says who?" asks Momo.

You run towards her and attack her, but Momo quickly moves out of the way.

This is a universe where you and Momo are enemies.

Just like at the beginning.

You continue to watch as the two of you fight each other.

Blades clashing, the tension high and thick.

"What are you doing here?" your other self asks through clenched teeth.

"What are you thinking? Hm?" Momo asks teasingly.

It looks like you've had enough, because you push her away -

and thrust the tip of the sword into her throat.

You are startled when you see it, Momo falls to the ground with a stupid grin on her face.

"That-...that was a mistake...," she says, choking on her own blood and your other self pulls out the sword.

The sight of Momo hurts your heart.

It reminds you too much of the night she died in your universe.

The fact that this is another universe though, calms you a little.

Your other self leaves Momo alone and walks away.

So you go to her, even though she can't see or feel you.

Her gasping for breath worries you as you kneel before her.

"Momo..." you whisper, even though you know she can't hear you.

You're actually just talking to yourself.

It's as if she's looking at you - and a part of you hopes so, so much that she'll somehow realize that you're there, that she'll somehow feel you.

You sigh softly, but not a disappointed sigh.

Momo stops breathing - stares into the distance without any emotion on her face.

The sight could make you cry.

But before you can look at her any longer, you feel something strange in your body.

The effects of the potion kick in again.

You stand up and look down at Momo one last time.

Your eyes close as the lights start to flicker again.

And again it feels like you're being thrown around.

You land on your knees on a floor, a stone floor to be precise.

Your eyes open and try to adjust to the light.

As you look around, you realize that you are in a church.

Upon closer inspection, you realize that it is the church in Tzuyu's kingdom.

You stand up and look around.

It is empty - except for two voices that break the silence.

You walk towards it - and see a confessional.

And then you see yourself, on your knees.

Your head is bowed as a priest comes to you.

"Why are you here, my child?" he asks in a calm voice.

"I have come to confess my sins, Father. I'm afraid I've done something bad." you reply, your voice has a hint of fear in it.

"What have you done?" he asks.

Your other self takes a breath and then starts talking.

"I was seduced by a woman. It's as if she stole my heart and took it as her own. I can't think of anything but her.

And I don't know what to do, father."

When you hear your words, you don't know how to react.

You wouldn't claim to be a religious person, but seeing you ask a priest for help somehow hurts your heart.

In this universe, you can't accept that you love Momo.

In this universe, you are afraid.

And this feeling is a little too familiar.

"My child, don't be afraid," the priest begins to say,

"It's good that you've come here to confess your sins to the Lord,

And he will forgive you for loving a woman. Pray for him every night,

and he will help you to stop,

and your heart will be yours again."

You bite your lower lip, not knowing how to react.

You'd like to tell your other self that you should do what you want.

That it's completely stupid to listen to the priest.

That you should keep loving Momo.

As long as you have the chance.

But your other self nods, thanks the priest for his help and leaves the church.

You run after her, wondering where she's going.

"Y/n!" Momo shouts, running to you with a smile.

In this universe, you two are not knights.

"What were you doing in church?" she asks.

You're just two friends.

You shake your head and say that it was nothing important.

Momo doesn't ask any more questions, but takes your hand and says that she has to show you something.

She pulls the other you away and you are now standing alone in the village.

You look around and see Tzuyu walking around smiling.

It somehow makes you happier to see that she's doing well.

But you notice something -

She's holding a man's hand?

You look confused, and then it occurs to you.

Not in every universe is she with Dahyun.

And you think that's why Dahyun looks so sad as she walks alongside Tzuyu.

It somehow looks weird - seeing Dahyun and Tzuyu not linked together and giggling like teenagers in love.

Your confusion disappears pretty fast as the man gets distracted and Tzuyu shoots a smile at Dahyun.

Her cheeks flushed when she smiles back, her hand on Tzuyu's for a second until she pulls back to not raise awarness on them.

Dahyun is not a queen in this universe, but just a normal girl.

A normal girl who is hopelessly in love with her friend.

And somehow it reminds you a little of your situation.

You sigh slightly.

You walk in the direction Momo pulled your other self towards, but you fall to the ground and can't walk any further.

The effects of the potion are already kicking in again.

"So fast...?" you ask yourself as your eyes close.

The same thing happens again -

Your body is thrown back and forth, the lights flicker and after a certain amount of time you land on the ground.

The first thing you hear Momo's voice.

Then yours.

And finally -

Sana's.

Sana's voice?

Hearing her talk, so happy, without a care in the world, makes you angry.

And how you wish she could see you, because if she could, you'd kill her with your bare hands.

Without hesitation.

You get up and walk towards the voices.

The closer you get, the more you can hear what they are talking about.

You hear laughter -

and moaning?

Moaning?

And when you stand in front of them, you are more shocked than you have probably ever been.

Momo's hand is in your pants, Sana's mouth is on your neck.

In this universe, all is well between the three of you.

No hate, no sadness, no one betraying the other.

You keep staring at them - it's like you can't take your eyes off them.

Somehow this is a dream.

Maybe even the universe you would prefer to live in?

"I love you," Sana says, leaving kisses all over your body.

"I love you," says Momo as she pushes her fingers in and out of you.

"I love you too," you moan.

Sana loves you?

Momo loves you?

You love them both?

It's as if all your negative thoughts about Sana are gone - you just want to jump into her arms.

The sight brings tears to your eyes, seeing how this is your dream universe.

And somehow you are glad that you can feel yourself getting dizzy and that the potion is starting to work again.

Your eyes close.

When they open again, the sun blinds you.

You get up and look around you.

A small river, a meadow with beautiful, colorful flowers.

There are no houses nearby and you wonder where exactly you are.

You walk around a bit and realize how this place resembles the tales of paradise.

"Where am I..." you mumble.

Several meters further on, however, you finally see people.

Two people, to be precise.

And as you get closer, you see it.

Mina and Sana?

"Mina," says Sana, as if she had been looking for her for ages.

"Sana," Mina replies, with a smile.

While Sana is dressed fairly normally, Mina is wearing a white dress.

The fabric looks quite thin, fine patterns are depicted on the dress.

She looks like an angel.

"I've missed you so much" says Sana, her expression so... soft?

"I missed you too Sana" Mina says and comes closer, her arms open and Sana almost runs towards her.

They hug, and you even think you hear a sob from Sana.

The two slowly let go, Sana looking at nothing but Mina.

"I'm so sorry. I wish you were still here..." Sana says, wiping a tear away from her cheek.

"Don't be sorry Sana," Mina starts to say.

You question whether you're even in a universe right now, or whether you've landed here on a spiritual level,

However, this is Sana's last farewell to Mina.

You are here in a place where the dead can communicate with the living.

"It's not your fault Sana,

or anyone else's," she says.

Sana nods a little, the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"I love you," says Mina.

"I love you too. Forever and ever." Sana replies.

As you listen to them, it all starts to make sense.

Sana didn't love you, or Momo, or anyone else.

She loved Mina, and she died.

That's why Sana was so angry with Momo.

"I will never forget you, I will never stop honoring you, until my last breath I will think of you." Sana says and Mina takes Sana's hand in hers.

Mina has a reassuring smile on her lips.

"Thank you for being here," says Mina.

"I wish you could stay here longer, but your time in paradise is slowly coming to an end Sana" she says, her thumb stroking Sana's hand.

"I know," she sighs slightly, but then smiles at Mina again.

"So this is our final goodbye?" asks Sana, Mina nods.

"I'll always be with you" says Mina.

Sana nods.

"I love you." she says again, and before Mina can say it back, Sana slowly dissolves and disappears.

Mina looks down at the floor and repeats Sana's words to herself.

When she looks up again, she looks you in the eye.

You look left and right to see if anyone else is standing there, but no.

She's looking at you, no one else.

She walks over to you and stops right in front of you.

"You're Y/n, aren't you?" asks Mina.

"Y-yes. You can see me?" you reply, and she nods,

"Have you been listening to us?" she asks.

"Yes,

I didn't know you and Sana had such a relationship" you say, Mina smiles a little.

"She doesn't like to talk about it. But yes, I was her lover" is Mina's answer.

You nod a little, trying to understand everything that has just happened.

Trying to understand how you can talk to a dead person.

"Momo told me about you," she says, breaking the silence.

"She told you about me? You talked to Momo?" you ask.

"Yes. I was watching when... when the accident happened" she answers.

"She told me that if she could, she would do anything to see you again," says Mina, raising her hand.

"Your potion is slowly losing its effect" Mina puts her hand on your forehead and you wonder what exactly is going to happen now.

But before you can ask anything, your eyes close.

As they open, you are blinded by a bright white light.

You stand up slowly and look around, but see nothing.

Everything is white, the floor is straight without any bumps or curves, and nothing is in sight.

This place looks like it does in dreams, when you try to escape but can't.

The more you walk around you realize that it makes no sense, everywhere is white and you are completely alone here.

"Y/n" you hear a voice behind you calling after you.

You don't move, don't breathe, don't even dare to blink.

"Y/n" the voice repeats.

You slowly realize that this moment is not a dream.

It is real.

You slowly turn around and look her in the eye.

Momo is standing in front of you.

Her clothes match the white surroundings, and you hate it.

She's dressed like Mina, like an angel.

You stare at her, trying to breathe evenly.

"Momo?" you say, but it comes out more like a question.

"It's real," she replies.

It is real.

You slowly calm down, or rather try to.

In some way it feels like the first time you saw her -

You unsheathe your sword and slowly walk towards the noise. Peering through the bushes, you see a knight.

Or rather, a female knight.

Her rather long black hair is tied up in a ponytail. Her forehead is covered by a fringe. You only see her side profile, but it's like she was gifted by Aphrodite. While she breathes, her plump, pink-ish lips slightly part. Her sword is stuck in the grass next to her. She sits on a bigger stone, her armor less than yours. Her chest and stomach are protected, a helmet in her left hand, but you can see her well-trained arms. A few veins peek out on her hands, probably because of the heat.

But wait a minute. She is a knight. A stranger in your kingdom, which you are supposed to protect.

You got too distracted and she used that.

Flashbacks of the first meeting come into your head, your mind full of them.

You walk slowly towards her, as if she were dangerous, as if she were an enemy you should be afraid of.

"I never thought you could be so emotional," says Momo, turning her head in your direction, which is now partially submerged.

"Me neither," you admit.

"It's strange. Being here, in the water. With you." you say and look at her too.

"We're enemies," she replies and laughs a little.

Unfortunately.

You think, but it scares you to say it.

You're standing right in front of her.

She's standing in front of you.

No imagination, not those stupid dreams you've always had since she left.

She's really standing in front of you.

"I feel like we've just met for the first time," you say, Momo laughs a little.

"I feel the same way," she replies.

You feel the tears coming.

Before you regret it, you move closer.

You kiss Momo on her lips, your hands on her hips, the grip so strong that someone could think you're afraid she'll suddenly just disappear.

And that's exactly your fear right now.

She kisses you back.

You kiss Momo.

Memories of your first kiss come flooding back.

You close the distance between the two of you, her soft lips on yours as she dares not move.

This time it's different.

It's not a stupid dream you're having because you're confused about your feelings for Momo.

It's all more real.

And you want it, so, so much.

You slowly pull back, Momo smiles at you.

"I- I missed you so much," you say as tears run down your cheek.

"I missed you too, believe me," she replies, wiping away your tears.

"I think about you every day, and... and I always visit your grave and and-" you start sobbing, completely overwhelmed by the situation.

Momo interrupts you.

"Shh... I know, trust me"

"I was there when you visited my grave, when you were talking.

I'm sorry I couldn't answer your questions," she says.

"Why not in this one?" you ask.

"Why couldn't you just find me in this universe?" you ask.

"I wish so much that I could have found you in this universe. So much." she says.

"You're so strong for handling it so well"

"But that's the thing. I don't handle it well,

Every time I just want to sleep, I dream about you." you reply, feeling the tears growing.

"Either I dream about you smiling at me. With that stupid grin that I miss so much..." you take a deep breath,

"Or I dream of your face covered in blood"

Momo looks at you,

and suddenly her face is covered in blood.

Sana's sword is suddenly stuck in her head before she pulls it out.

She topples over, onto the dirty ground, onto the grass.

She doesn't move, just lies there.

Not a single breath, no stupid grin, nothing.

"I dream so often about that one night..." you say quietly, your voice cracking while you try to hold back your tears.

"I know," Momo replies.

"I'm so sorry you had to watch it happen like that."

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too, so much," she replies.

You look at her, slightly startled, confused, surprised.

It's the first time Momo has ever said that she loves you.

The first and the last time.

"You have to go slowly," says Momo.

"The effect is wearing off"

You nod slowly.

"So this is our final goodbye?" you ask, Momo nods.

"I'll be with you forever" Momo says and hugs you tightly.

This time she is the one who is afraid that the other will dissolve.

"I will think of you and love you forever," you say.

You feel yourself getting dizzy again.

Momo sobs quietly, her nails dig into your body.

"It's okay," you say, even though you're still crying, but you try to calm her down.

"It's okay," you repeat.

It all feels so light as your eyes close.

You can't feel any arms on your body.

Momo no longer feels the body she was hugging.

Your eyes open rapidly and you look around.

Chaeyoung stands up from her chair and looks at you.

You look at her and wipe a tear away from your cheek.

"You made it," she says.

You nod.

"The potion worked..." she says and picks up something to write down, probably something about this experiment.

You get up slowly and walk to the front door,

"Before you go," Chaeyoung says -

"The idea for the multiverse, and for this potion,

actually came from Momo"

You look at her and smile,

You close the door behind you and leave her house.

In this Universe, you live without Momo, and you're starting to accept it.

Because deep in your heart, you know that she is always with you.

So when you hold out your hand while walking home,

you know that she is holding it.

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onyourowndaisymae · 8 months

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an unofficial pact mark

content + warnings: fluff, implied romantic simeon x reader but can be read as platonic, minor mentions of jealousy, mc has visible pact marks, mc is tattooed, simeon and mc decide that simeon needs a pact mark too

word count: ~ 800

an angel's wings were always a sight to behold.

there's a fluffiness to an angel's wings that a demon could never quite have. not even lucifer, birdlike as the remnants of his fallen angelhood were, could compare to the sheer weightless charm of the fluttering appendages.

simeon's boyish giggle rang through the open field. a breeze blew through the celestial realm, rustling grass and clothes alike. his cloak was draped over your shoulders, ornamental jewelry clanking like windchimes as your chest shuddered with laughs. the two of you shifted again to put his back to the breeze.

"oh dear, this wind certainly isn't helping."

"don't worry! we'll get the photo!"

you lift the camera up to your eye again. like a sunset or twinkling stars through stacked lenses, the camera can't ever truly capture the radiance of his wings.

they're large, much bigger than you anticipated, fitting for an archangel like him with it's imposing wingspan casting an equally impressive shadow among the wildflowers. rows of fluffy feathers stack on top of one another to create a bountiful expanse of pure white beauty. they rustle unconsciously against the wind. they are such a graceful extension of the angel you loved-- although he was a little bashful to have such interest for a part of himself he usually kept tucked away, simeon lets you gawk as much as you wanted between attempts to get the perfect reference shot.

but back to the issue at hand.

it became apparent to you somewhere along the line that simeon was a bit jealous of your pact marks. something about the brothers having a sort of claim over you made the angel frown, gaze tracing over the visible marks with displeasure when you sat together watching movies at purgatory hall. it was even longer before he voiced this to you. it wasn't so much that he didn't want you to be close to the others-- although sometimes maybe it was like that, even if he didn't say it-- simeon was jealous of the way they all got to leave their mark on you without him. angels didn't make pacts like demons, so there was no physical proof of simeon's devotion to you.

seems unfair. he'd never complain to you about it, though, because there wasn't anything you could do about it. ... right?

silly supernatural creatures. their minds always went to extraordinary solutions of magic and sorcery. never once did they consider some of the more "primitive" solutions to their dilemmas, but that's what you were there for.

click!

the shutter snaps loudly. you pull back and glance at the screen. it's blurry, like all the others, but that's not anyone's fault. the radiance of his supernatural features is hard to capture on film, magical or not-- there was simply no way you'd get a clear shot... but the one you got was pretty cute.

he's grinning, hand up to cover his eyes from the sunlight permeating each inch of the heavenly realm. his wings are outstretched into the empty field, blurred by angelic magic on the camera, but clear enough to recognize as his own. you can't help but smile. it's a good picture. you can already picture your tattoo artist filling in the blanks with delicate shading and shapely linework.

"i think we've got it."

simeon wades through the field to curl up against your side, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"it's a little blurry... will that be good enough?"

"we'll make it work."

a call, a wad of cash, that blurry reference photo, and a quick visit to the human world later-- you had a makeshift pact mark to show your favorite angel.

the pain of the needles had long since ceased, leaving your skin to heal through time and various unscented lotions. the pain was not new to you, yet each new tattoo always drew "ooo"s and "ahh"s from those closest to you. this time, it's simeon gawking over you, gloved hands carefully holding your arm and grinning at the delicate lines embedded in your skin.

"gorgeous," he murmurs.

the tattoo didn't capture the full grandeur of his wings. that wasn't the artist's fault-- nothing could replicate the vision of seeing his beautiful wings in person. but the inked image on your inner bicep clearly pleased the angel next to you.

"now i always have you with me, too," you coo quietly, not wanting to interrupt how deeply he's admiring the art on your skin.

"did it hurt?" he asks.

"a little. but nothing i can't handle."

his thumb rubs against the nearby skin. the grin on his face is contagious-- now you're smiling, too.

"thank you for this," he murmurs, eyes glittering in the warm light of your room. "i can't tell you how much it means to me."

you can't help but press a soft kiss against his temple and nuzzle in close, rubbing your nose against his cheekbone to make him laugh.

"anything for my favorite angel."

#the simeon brainrot is starting to chip away at me #he deserves the world and i intend to give it to him #i just love wholesome simeon #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x reader #obey me fluff #otome

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gffa · 9 months

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Dick sneaks out to chase down a case about missing girls that Batman and Robin have been working on, ending up solving the case and freeing the girls by himself, while Alfred frets with worry about how Dick's putting himself in danger and throwing away his youth on this crusade and how he puts so much on his young shoulders. And now I'm thinking about just how many times I've seen Alfred step in and steer Bruce towards a gentler demeanor when dealing with Dick's determination to go down this path's crusade. How often we talk about Bruce could not have stopped him from it, that Robin was a leash on the kid, rather than putting Dick in harm's way for his own need to fight criminals--but the same is true of Alfred. He watches that kid, he worries about him, he's afraid that Dick is throwing away the years of his youth on this fight and if he'll regret, he never relaxes because he knows Dick's two seconds away from sneaking out to go fight people grown adults who are legitimately trying to kill him. But Alfred also sees the same thing Bruce does--that they're not going to stop someone that determined. And Alfred sees even further than Bruce does sometimes, in that Dick's desperate to prove to Bruce that he can be trusted to do this job, to justify the trust Bruce has placed in him, and that Bruce needs to gentle himself with the kid, even when he's terrified that Dick could have gotten himself hurt. Yeah, Dick put himself in danger without Batman there to watch over him, but he did it for the same reason that Bruce started this path, too. That Bruce didn't put that spark of angry need for justice in that kid, Dick came by that all on his own, the night his parents were murdered, and neither Bruce nor Alfred were pulling him into something that he didn't want, they were instead giving him shape and form to channel that need. Alfred has never liked this choice of theirs, to dress up in costumes and go punch criminals in the face, but he doesn't stand by out of passivity, but instead because he recognizes that Dick was going to do something and this was the best he could do to help shape the kid into something that would survive it. Including stepping in to help him behind Bruce's back or straight up saying, "Yeah, I helped him and you are going to be gentle with him, because that kid is desperately trying to prove himself to you and you're the only stability he has and you of all people should know what he's feeling about needing to help people." Alfred can't force either of them into a life that he would prefer for them, he can only help provide guard rails on the roads they've chosen, but what a difference that has made for them both. I love Bruce and Dick's relationship, I love it because the question of, "Where do you take a character who fights crime because of the trauma of his lost parents?" has a fascinating answer in, "You have him--step by painful step--grow into being a parent himself, learning to open himself up to being gentle with people he loves and fears losing, to learn to trust those he loves even though they might die." and, when Dick's own losses are mirrored in Bruce's, driving the parallels home even further, it's so important for Bruce to learn to be a father to this kid, as his own father figure nudges him back onto the right path. Alfred is such an important part of that character arc for both of these characters, he is part of the thematic bridge of parents and children that runs through the Batman family of stories, and his role of guiding Bruce into being a better father--to heal from the loss of Thomas and Martha Wayne who should have been there to guide him--by telling him, in the most British gentleman way possible, to look the fuck around and see what's going through that kid.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #robin year one #long post

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namazunomegami · 1 month

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Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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redahlia-writes · 6 months

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

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