Me when the Terminator novelization describes Sarah and Kyle as two halves of a whole, love and war, pleasure and pain, life and death, but describes them both and the overlap between them as ‘endurance’ I…

I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor. 

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch. 

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now. 

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.” 

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere. 

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.” 

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless. 

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it. 

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory. 

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly. 

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Did you want the straw?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?” 

“Yeah.” 

You can’t be blamed for short answers. 

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways. 

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods. 

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead. 

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed. 

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says. 

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask. 

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.” 

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him. 

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly. 

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes. 

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours. 

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand. 

“Please don’t make me laugh.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically. 

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now. 

Kinda miss Fleur and Alexia bickering 🫣 can I get a request a one short of them getting into a fight

sorry I took ages to do it - I've been trying to think of a scenario. I imagine that the dutch players have had a very miserable international window lol

[...]

I slam the door behind me. 

There are few things in life that cause me absolute devastation, but this week has been one of them. I’m tired, I’m angry, and, what’s worse, I’m resenting the fact that Alexia’s apartment is bright and happy. 

She smiles as she emerges from the bathroom, perhaps not hearing how I entered as I used my own key. 

I take it as smugness. (I want it to be smug.) 

“Hola, mi amor,” she says with caution, heading over to greet me after not seeing much of each other for the best part of a week. She must sense the tension because her smile dampens, victorious glow from winning fucking everything fading away. 

“Hey,” I mutter, tone clipped and curt and dripping with resentment. Alexia approaches, concern beginning to make her frown, reaching out gently to touch my arm. 

I jerk it away from her. 

For the briefest of moments, I feel a long-dead emotion: hatred. I loathe Spain’s success, am jealous of it, and it is not fair that it comes at my expense. Not when we are together, not when we are no longer enemies. 

It was easy to play against Alexia when I was her rival. I could tackle her freely and let my teammates foul her when she was too good to beat, able to watch on without remorse. Seeing her hit the grass brought about a vindictive, satisfied feeling, and I relished in it. 

Being her girlfriend is a lot harder, and it has been a while since I have had to play on a different team to her. It has been a while since we lost to Spain, but, just like they did in August, they have crushed our dreams once more. 

My dreams. 

The Olympics are more special to me than any other tournament, and will continue to be until the games are no longer valued in women’s football. They are my family’s history, the gateway into my relationship with my mum, and they are now out of my reach. 

I huff out a breath, struggling to contain my emotions. “We lost twice so we won’t be going.” I tell her what she already knows but she does not rub it in. “Jaimie is going to qualify.”

Alexia looks at me, piercing eyes seeing through the floodgates I have shut. She must realise that I have cried on the plane – maybe even that I hadn’t stopped crying since we played Germany, only reining it all in as I made my way up the stairs to her place.

“What do you want, Alexia?” I snap as she attempts to touch me again, blinking myself back into reality and hoping I don’t start to cry. 

Clearly, my wounds have not been nursed enough. 

Alexia recoils, hurt flashing across her features before she schools them into something harder. Her jaw clenches. Maybe she thinks I am being immature. “What’s wrong with you, Fleur?” she asks, her voice tinged with frustration. “I know you're upset….”

“Oh, like you care,” I retort, bristling at her words. “You seemed happy to run around with Jenni, celebrating your socks off!” 

Her eyes narrow, patience wearing thin. “Excuse me?” She doesn’t sound convinced that I am the real Fleur de Voss, looking me up and down to check I haven’t been replaced with someone else. 

“You clearly have let it get to you. Have you forgotten what it’s like to lose?” 

“Oh, of course,” she scoffs, “because that has never happened to me before. I was inconsolable after we lost the Champions League final; I didn’t come out of my room for–”

“Please, spare me the sob story.” I roll my eyes. “You’re on top of the world right now, Ale. Spain wins everything and you keep adding to your list of victories, crushing anyone who dares to get in your way. And the worst part is, you don’t even play! You don’t even play, and you act like you have done it single-handedly, with the biggest grin on your face–” 

“Do you think I enjoy seeing you in pain?” She trembles with anger. She shouts, and she hasn’t meant to be the first to do that because she instantly steps back in regret. I may have flinched at the shock of her volume, but now I square my shoulders, daring her to fix my heartbreak. “Do you think it didn’t take all my willpower to not go over to you, to not comfort you, or hug you, or try to make you feel better? Do you think I wasn’t trying to get to you as soon as I could? Or that, in Sevilla, I didn’t look at flights to Germany so that you wouldn’t have to spend the night alone?” She steps towards me. “I know how much going to Paris meant to you, to your family. Believe me, I heard what your mother said to you – even if my English isn’t that good.” 

“Your English is fine,” I mutter, instinctively destroying her stupid insecurity. 

“Fleur, how could you think I take pleasure in your losses? You know me better than that.” 

I shake my head, unable to quell the storm of emotions raging inside of me. “I feel like I don’t know anything right now,” I admit, hardly audible. 

I was going to the Olympics. I was sure of it. 

Jaimie and I were going together, and, although Mum competed for a different flag, we were going to follow in her footsteps; continuing her legacy because she promised me I would be good enough to do that. She promised us both, time and time again. 

She may have left us, but she was the one who wrangled me a spot in the Australian youth teams. She started my international career for me, and I was going to repay her by showing her it was worth it. 

What is it worth now?

“All I know is that I’m tired of feeling like my best isn’t good enough, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s okay.” 

Suddenly, this is about more than just losing the Nations League and not qualifying for the Olympics. This is the fallout of the Ballon d’Or, and we both know it. Alexia seems to have seen this coming. 

“I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me,” she begins, though guilt courses through me because I know it would have been asking the impossible of her, “but I’m here now.”

Smokin’ Hot Husband

pairing: Dad!Husband!Ransom Drysdale x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

summary: Y/n catches her eldest son smoking, and with her being very emotional, it’s up to Ransom to save the day (Protective Ransom‼️) (requested by anon)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Chris Masterlist, Full Masterlist, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“How ya feelin today treasure?” Ransom cooed hugging onto his wife from behind, watching as she skilfully gathered all her ingredients for her famous stir fry, one that she was desperately craving. His large hands travelled down to her 6 month bump, his hands smoothing over it gently as she leant back into his chest.

“I’m feeling fine babe, jus a bit hungry but that’s all baby boo’s fault” Y/n laughed, using their newfound nickname for their next baby, their third one and hopefully a girl. Their eldest was Mark who was 15, then there was Reign who was 8, brothers who definitely got their father’s wit and sly personality whilst also having the loving nature of their mother. The perfect combo to Y/n and Ransom Drysdale

“Where are the other two little shits?” Ransom joked kissing her neck softly, swaying both of their bodies side to side as she finished up her cooking, a proud wide smile on her face. “Ransom! If you must know Reign is upstairs writing for his new fantasy book, and Mark I think is out the backyard? Here i’ll get Mark while you get Reign okay?” Y/n beamed turning around and kissing Ransom fully on the lips, a loud smack echoing through the kitchen, her pregnancy glow making her absolutely radiant in Ransom’s eyes. God how lucky was he?

“Yes ma’am” He smirked watching her walk away, not without his hand slapping harshly onto her ass, even after all these years he still found her irresistible. After getting married quite young, even when he was cut from his grandfather’s inheritance, he built a name for himself with Y/n by his side. His rock.

Ransom walked back down the stairs with assurance that Reign would be down in ten minutes, his brows furrowing when he suddenly saw his wife rush in through the backdoor, her face flushed with tears streaming down them uncontrollably. “Baby? Treasure what’s wrong? Tell me now” Ransom rushed out skipping the last few steps, storming to his wife’s side, she was absolutely inconsolable. Partly due to the hormones but clearly something bad had happened,

“I-it’s Mark, Ran” She hiccuped the palm of her hand on her forehead, the other holding onto her waist to ease the back pain. “What’s happened with Mark? Breathe with me baby, follow me” Within seconds Y/n had started to follow the pattern of her husband’s breaths, letting her calm down just that tiny bit more.

“Ran, he’s smoking! Actual cigarettes too, doesn’t he know how dangerous they are? Did I do something wrong? That’s my baby boy” Y/n cried out, her chin wobbling as sobs threatened every time she spoke. Remembering how just seconds prior, she walked out to see her first born puffing away on a cigarette, one thing she had always asked them not to do.

“shh treasure, you go upstairs and i’ll call you down for dinner, i’ll talk to Mark” Ransom said through gritted teeth, if there was one thing he hated, it was seeing his woman cry. The fact that it was his own son? Oh that just made it so much worse.

After making sure she got upstairs alright, Ransom stormed out to the back porch, seeing his 15 year old sat on the swinging chair looking guilty and glum; clearly anticipating his father’s arrival. Now Ransom wasn’t a scary parent, but he was protective and strict, step out of line and he’d be sure to put you back.

“C’mere Markie, now please” Ransom grumbled rubbing his creased forehead with his fingers, watching his son slowly shuffle towards him with his head down. “Where the fahk did you get these son? You know what these can do to you right? I can’t believe you’d do this, you’re barely 16!” He said raising his voice by a little, but not shouting, that’s not how he did things.

“T-they’re my friends Dad, I just thought it’d look cool-“

“Cool if what? You end up sick cause of your lungs and your poor mother and I have to come save you? I thought we told you the consequences of smoking, you know what it done to your mother’s family. I’m so disappointed, you’ve upset your ma and you know she gets emotional now that she’s nearly in her last term”

“I know, i’m sorry, didn’t mean to upset Ma. I just wanted to fit in a bit more”

“Not good enough son, not good enough at all. What are you sorry for?” Ransom asked bending down to his height, his lips held tightly into a line. “I’m sorry for disrespecting both you and Ma, and for putting myself in danger”

“and?”

“I promise not to do it again” Mark said holding his hands behind his back, his father’s old cream sweater hugging his body like a blanket. “Like hell you won’t, now go on and apologise to your mother” Ransom grunted pulling the red faced boy into his arms, kissing him gently on the head before pushing him inside. Not without throwing the cigarettes into their outside campfire.

Slowly following behind Mark, Ransom smiled as he saw Y/n pull their first born into her arms, kissing his face repeatedly as she continuously told him off softly “Don’t scare me like that again, ya hear me?” “Please don’t ruin your body like that baby, took me 9 whole months to make it”

“I’m sorry ma, I really am, please forgive me” Mark said now tearing up, fiddling with the bottom of his mom’s sweater, feeling her fingers wipe away his tears. “You’re my baby, I could never be that angry at you, you just scared me honey” Y/n whispered kissing him on the forehead one last time, then whispering that he and his brother could both go down for dinner first.

Ruffling his brown hair as he walked past, Ransom walked into their shared bedroom, his wife’s arms instantly reaching up for him cutely. “You handled that so well hubs, definitely better than I did” She laughed with tears in her eyes, standing up to fully hug him, his chin resting atop her head as his arms engulfed her tightly. Her strong coconut scent filling his nostrils as she lifted her head to look up at him, placing a kiss onto his chin affectionately.

“Well, we raised them well, s’jus our job to make sure they learn from their mistakes. I’m just glad they got your emotional vulnerability, and I hope our little butterfly does too” Ransom spoke softly, his fingers brushing against her growing stomach, feeling the tiny butterfly-like flutters hitting against his hand. His hopefully, baby girl, kicking against his hand.

“Oh she’ll be just like her daddy, I can feel it” Y/n smirked kissing his lips gently, her lips basically ghosting over his to tease him, giggling when she felt his hand push her into the kiss. Their kiss only being interrupted when they heard their two boys call for them downstairs, their little Drysdale troublemakers.

———

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I had an absolutely harrowing dream about Spy x Family last night, which I'm now inflicting on all of you.

I dreamt that Anya got kidnapped and put into some sort of science experiment program thing, and Loid figured out who took her and went to go find her without telling Yor. He was mere inches from saving her when he got hit with an amnesia sleep dart, and when he'd woken up, he'd forgotten who he was, but also Anya as well.

Worse than that, the scientist dude doing the experiments convinced him he was a member of staff who'd had an accident and that he worked there, and it was his job to enforce security around these telepathic mutant kids. And that makes sense. Right? He's strong and fast and good with weapons. Why wouldn't he be some kind of enforcer in a dangerous facility like this?

So there he is, going about his life, herding kids between cells and science experiments. Unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong. And then there's Anya, watching her Papa not recognize her. Turning his face away from her when she pleads for him, cries for him to remember her. To remember the mission.

Meanwhile, Yor is roaming the city, knives out, trying to find her fake family. Returning home to a lonely Bond. Bond who knows where they are -- who can feel Anya's distress -- but can't tell Yor because she doesn't have Anya's powers.

The spy organization is also going nuts trying to find him. Agent Twilight just doesn't go missing. He always checks in. Sometimes a little late, but he always claws his way back to them in the end, and if one day he doesn't? Well... it's always been assumed he'll die in the line of duty. It's a risk they all knowingly take.

I'd love to say my subconscious concocted a happy ending for all of this, but it didn't. The last thing I remember was Anya finding a way to escape with some other kids over a wall, except the wall was too big and Anya was so much younger than all the other kids so she fell and Loid caught her because he's Loid, he always catches her.

Maybe my brain would have chosen that moment to spark the recognition behind his eyes, but that's also when @mothman-etd's alarm went off, and Holly Mop came bounding up to the head of the bed wanting morning cuddles.

So here I am, bereft and moderately inconsolable over the knowledge that I don't have time to write for another fandom, no matter how much I want to fix the sad scenario my brain concocted for me while I was asleep.

I didn't even fuck up my meds or anything. It was just a really vivid, really sad dream. At least when I usually have this kind of hyper-detailed dream it's because I took my morning meds at night like an idiot, but noooo. Brain said fuck you, have some sadness. Asshole.

His Sapphire princess (III)

After the night in the brothel Rhaenyra is married to Laenor Velayron to protect the birth of her child. who in the years to follow is the only one of Rhaenyra's children that is believed to be his, she is loved by all in the red keep, even queen Alicent adores the girl, so when Rhaenyra proposes a marriage between Aemond and Rhaenyra's daughter Visenya, Alicent happily agrees.

The children having been best friends in their youths are more than happy to be wed but when the incident at drift mark occurs things change, will it be for better or worse?

word count: 1,444

CW: mummy issues, incest, mentions of death, daddy issues, neglicent parents

Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen (can be read as x reader)

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire charecters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all charecters are his  except for my OC    

                                                       Visenya

The week spent at Dragonstone was dull, the sky was grey as was the mood. Her brothers missed the keep and she missed Aemond. She begged her mother day in and day out to visit him, to fly to the keep if only to stay for dinner. But to no surprise her mother refused her. She did not think she would see him for years, that was until the news came. She should not have been happy, but she was to see him, her Aemond, her betrothed.

But the context of seeing him was sombre, her Aunt Laena had passed in the child bed, her child with her. Her father was inconsolable, driving himself further and further into his cups. She seemed to be the only one, aside from Ser Qarl, who cared for him. Her mother and brothers morning the tragic deaths of the Strongs, or for her brothers their father. She was the one to make sure he was fed and bathed for those few days they prepared to leave. And once that was done, she would give her mother comfort. Her mother refused to see her brothers after she heard the news, so Visenya was whom she clung to, whom she hugged and cried with. Visenya was mourning too but was forced to put it behind her, she had no relation to either of the death and though Harwin had been a true father figure to her, her brothers had lost their real father, though Luke did not know that. For four days she wiped their tears, kissed their cheeks, saw them feed, bathed, and put to bed. And not once did her mother thank her.

They left for Driftmark five days after receiving the news, her mother a new woman, putting the death of her lover behind her, and being there for her sons, not her daughter whom she shunned once again, pushing her towards Laenor. He was depressed, once they reached Driftmark it only made matters worse.

Now standing at the cliffside of Driftmark Vaemond Veleryon droning on in Valyrian, in what was meant to be a tribute but instead became a way to mock her mother and brothers.

“We join today at the seat of the sea to commit the lady Leana of house Veleryon to the eternal waters…” she tuned him out, uninterested in the scathing glares, only focusing once again when a man, whom she guessed to be her Uncle Daemon, began to laugh. At his wife’s funeral, smirking as if it was all one huge joke. He only stopped when he made eye contact with her, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

She looked away, searching the crowd for Aemond.

                                                        Aemond

A week and a half apart had been an utter tournament, for Aemond. Aegon had refused to levee him be, chasing after him nagging in and on about both of their betrothals, begging to swap even.  

“We have nothing in common” Aegon whined, downing his fifth cup of the day.

“she’s our sister” he reminded, searching for Visenya over the sea of people.

“You marry her then” Aegon sneered, “then I would get to marry Visenya, me and her have much in common” Aegon spoke voice in a daze and began searching in the crowd for her.

“I would perform my duty if mother had only betrothed us,” Aemond said “but I am to wed Visenya and that shall not be duty, brother, but love,”  he said it so surely, as if it was written in the stars, perhaps it was.

His brother scoffed, having always had some preference for Visenya, he was four when she was born and refused to leave Rhaenyra’s side out of fear of losing sight of her. And when she began to walk, he followed her everywhere, and never truly stopped. But it was Aemond she shared a coat with, a wet nurse and their lessons. Whilst Aegon followed, and he and she ran hand in hand.

As they got older Aegon began to court her in a way, finding flowers and gifts to sway her. There was unspoken tension between the brothers, both what to have her, to show her who was better for her. But Aemond had won, he and secured a way to forever untie them, marriage. But Aegon’s new interest in wine and the discovery of brothels made him have altered his motives, Aemond was unsure of what exactly, but Aegon had found a new pursuit of Visenya, one he as of yet had no contest in.

“It would strengthen the family, keep our Valyrian blood pure” Aemond reminded him, wanting to take his brother’s attention off Visenya.

“she’s an idiot”.

“she’s your future wife” Aemond retorted, “you should show her some semblance of respect”.

“We do have one thing in common,” Aegon said,  sparring Helaena a small glance as she played with her bugs, whispering words they did not understand, “we both fancy creatures with very long legs” Aegon’s eyes had once again found Visenya, before running off to chase one of the serving girls.

“Aemond” Visenya nearly shouted. walking quickly up to him once the service was ended. she pulled him into a hug, mumbling into his hair “I missed you”

“Me too” he hugged her back, refusing to let her go.

“how have you been” “did you like my letters” they spoke at the same time,.

“I’ve missed you too much, the keep is too quiet without you and i now understand why Aegon hates to attend his lessons, they are so full without you there”?

“Oh course, maester Arychn does not know the meaning of the word fun” Visenya giggled,  “Dragonstone is beautiful, but the sky is grey and it is cold and all we eat is fish. Aemond, I hate fish” she made a gagging sound “before I did not like it so much but now it is revolting”.

Aemond laughed, grabbing her hand.

“I meet Rhaena and Baela earlier” Visenya started, turning to face Aemond “did you know their mother Laena claimed Vaghar when she was five and ten”.

He nodded, of course, he did, having no dragon all he did was read of them and their riders “she was the dragon of Visenya Targaryen, the oldest living dragon, the queen of dragons” he nodded, speaking in awe

“Rhaena fears her, she spoke of how her mother intended to pass Vaghar to her but” she leaned in to whisper in his ear “she still remains unclaimed, imagine me on the king’s dragon and you on the queen of dragons”.

And he did, them flying through the sky, hands reaching for each other at impossible distances.

“I know her mother has only just passed but a dragon is not inherited”. 

Aemond nodded, already forming a plan.

“Is that Dameon?” he then questioned looking over at the silver-haired man staring at Visenya.

“yes” Senya  nodded “Is he waving at me?”

“I think so” Aemond agreed “I have heard stories of him, they call him the rouge prince, and of how he defeated the crab eater in the steppestones” Aemond blabbed “you should talk to him, he seems to want to speak with you”. 

she nodded, letting go of his hand and hesitantly walking forward.

                                                       Visenya 

“Prince Daemon” she greeted, before looking back at Aemond to see the reassuring smile on his face.

Daemon was leant against a wall, looking her up and down before smiling and releasing a small chuckle, “Visneya, was it?” 

“Yes,” she mumbled

He hummed, moving forward, “You are the spitting image of my mother, aside from your eyes” he spoke, stroking her cheek and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “You have my eyes” he spoke, tilting her chin up.

She didn't want to meet his yes, she knew what he meant, she looked down, catching a glimpse of dark sister and letting out a small gasp “is that dark sister?” 

He chuckled again, letting go of her chin, “yes, do you want to see it?” 

She nodded, a smile gracing her face. It was beautiful, pure Valyrian metal, the sword of her namesake. “Ser Harwin had started to train me” she mumbled “Mother refused to let me learn with my brothers, so Harwin used to sneak me lessons whenever he could”

Daemon nodded, a smile filling his face “and are you any good?” he teased

“I could knock you on your arse given the chance” she joked, daemon let out a loud chuckle, humming.

“im sure you could”

“Visenya!” she heard her mother call, walking up to her “go to bed”

“But its earl-”

“Go to bed” Looking down, she nodded, “yes, mother”

next chapter

Drabble request for Super Soap Sunday:

Origin story of the Soap MacTavish mohawk, 500 words or less...GO.

First Flight of the Scottish Hawk

Ooohhhh I love this!!! I may be one of the few that actually loves Soap's hawk, and this just gives me full range to go creatively nuts with this. Thank you!

Warnings: Mentions of loss at the end. Nothing more than ridiculous MacTavish household shenanigans throughout.

This turned into something I honestly didn't see coming. I couldn't stop writing, and I let the creativity flow through me. If you all like it enough I will expand on it more. Much love 💛

Massive thanks to @deadbranch and @d3athtr4psworld for your input.

Word count 1.4 k (Oops, got carried away again)

If there is one thing you should never do, don't ever dare John MacTavish to do anything. Period.

It's simple, really. All it takes is a few choice words and a push in the right (or wrong) direction and John MacTavish will go full beast mode.

You can thank his sister, Charlotte for the crested motif.

--

After completing basic training at the tender age of 16, John returned home with nothing but a triumphant chip on his shoulder and, more noticeably, a trimmed line of peach fuzz along his scalp.

While his mum and dad couldn't be more proud, his siblings on the other hand were chomping at the bit to get a rise out of him.

Hamish, the oldest of the boys, chimed in first.

"Ye look a'that, mum. Lil John's come back all growned up." He jabbed, before wrapping his arm around his neck forcing him into a tight headlock.

"Not n'the kitchen, Hamish! You'll break tha bloody cabinets!" Mum exclaimed while pushing her two oldest boys into the hall.

"Got'a test tha' strength ma! Can't..oofff" He was swiftly cutoff by John's elbow into his stomach. The two were now fully engulfed in a standing wrestling match.

"Fuck. Off. Hame!" Each of John's words were grittngly emphasized as he wrapped his hands around his older brothers arm.

"Gonnae be a whippin' fer the both a ya if ya donnae knock it off." Mum's warning fell on deaf ears, as this went on for another 10 minutes. By the end of it, both boys had endured the verbal wrath of a furious Catholic Scottish Maiden. (COs can't hold a candle to a pissed off mum)

The twins, Michael and David, couldn't be bothered with real world nonsense. They were too busy with the neighborhood boys playing their own version of 'modern warfare' deep in the backyard woods.

Albiet mildly gruesome in itself, fellow parents enforced a strict 'no guns' rule within the ranks. Imagination would rule the day once more. Sticks were a better option, anyway. And video games were non existent in the MacTavish household.

"Git out me sight, tha' lot'aya!" Patriarchal Rules over all.

Last, and on both ends of the birthing spectrum were Charlotte and Genevieve. John found them in their usual hiding place, the knitting room.

Genevieve, or Evie, as she was so lovingly referred to was only 4. A 'precious surprise' dubbed by mum, and the absolute light of John's eyes.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh Evie?" He could never strain above a whipser when he called to her. And as he knelt down his arms stretched out and awaited her usual 'mighty bear hug'.

But it never came. As she looked him over, her precious green eyes began to water, her face slowly began to contort into a seldom seen melancholy, and then she cried.

"Smooth, Johnny." The sarcastic venom in Charlotte's words was immeasurable, yet still held within it that familiar sibling banter.

"Ooh, no Evie. It's still me. Still yer Johnny." He pleaded as he quickly tried to console her.

"Git out ya arse! Ya makin it worse!" Charlotte chided him as she knelt down to pick up her now inconsolable sister.

"Ah, c'mon Char. Donnae be like that."

Heartbroken is the only word that came to her mind. And being the oldest, she now had two 'children' to console.

"Jus' giv'er a minute, Johnny. She's only seen ya at home. Not like, this." She waved her hand at him, accentuating the difference in his appearance and demeanor. She also lessened her tone, for both their sakes. She'd make a good mother one day.

"Ya think I look tha' different, Char?"

"T'me? Nah. But I knew why yer were gone, Johnny. Evie didn't."

Of course, he'd ask only her this question. Besides their usual sibling rivalry, John looked up to his oldest sister the most. Craved for her approval above all others. Even more so than his parents at times.

"Aye. Is it tha hair, ya think? Bit of a shock t'myself if ya ask me."

"It donnae help yer cause, Johnny. Ya do look like a fuzzy bowling ball."

"Haud yer wheesht, Char!"

The playful jesting slowly began to smooth the lot of them. Evie's sobs eased into soft whimpers as she turned to face her brother once more. Her forehead rested into Charlotte's neck as her eyes once again roamed over her brothers familiar face.

"I donnae like it, Johnny." The high-pitched quiver in her voice nearly broke him to tears. He swallowed hard, forcing those feelings down into the newly formed gullet deep within his chest.

"I know, Evie. It's only fer a little while." His soft blue eyes matched hers, glistening in the dim light as they continued their conversation in wordless speech.

A slow tremble began to form in her lower lip. Quickly she released her grasp around her sister's neck and stretched out to him. It may not have been the bear hug he was expecting, but the comfort of her on his chest more than soothed that aching heart within him.

"The people've spoken, Johnny. What'ya give'm, eh? A typical buzz cut, stylish pompadour, a fricken mohawk?" Charlotte's jab struck a nerve, the evidence all over John's face as his brows furrowed in utter bewilderment.

She answered with her own expression, that sly curl to her lip that John was all too familiar with.

"Donnae do it, Char. I'm warnin' ya."

She had to. In the presence of Evie, Charlotte knew not to speak such fowl language. Silently, she mouthed and provoked him.

'I. Fucking. Dare you.'

That's it. That's all it took. The right words in the wrong direction, by the right person. John couldn't refuse. And like a baited fish, Charlotte swung him in and quickly mounted her victory atop her mental walls.

Six months passed before John returned home again. Military life suited him well. So did his new hairstyle.

It was the typical MacTavish family reunion; mum and dad always the proudest parents in all of Glasgow, ridiculous hairdo aside.

Hamish greeted him with the classic headlock, which again was followed by the verbal chastising of their Iron Maiden mother. (John would tell her one day she'd make the perfect Drill Sargeant)

The twins were currently grounded in their room for saying 'naughty words' in school. John didn't poke too hard, but got this gist it was something about 'God forsaken homework.' The usual teenage behavior.

He sought out his two favorite lasses with overwhelming vigor, finding them yet again within the walls of the knitting room.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh!"

"JOHNNY!" Evie's squeal may have nearly burst his eardrums, but he would gladly go without all sound just to remember that beautiful voice.

He had barely crouched down before she swung her arms around his neck, throwing that much needed 'mighty bear hug' against him.

"Easy Evie, ya ain't such a lit'le lass anymore." His playful strain made her tighten the death grip around him, and he gleefully recipricated.

“Ha? Th’army turnin out softies now, eh?” Charlotte called from the corner as she effortlessly hung her newest knitted masterpiece on the wall, a large afghan in the most brilliant forest green hues.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid, Char.”

“Watch it, Johnny. Tha lit’le rapscallion on yer shoulder gotten a knack fer echoin th’lot of us. Gonnae be eatin soap fer dinner if she keeps it up, yeah.”

Evie strained her neck and forcefully stuck out her tongue in retaliation. The banter was a welcome grief to John. He’d never admit it, but he missed his daily chastising from his oldest sister during those hard days in the field. CO’s could learn a thing or two from the scolding mouths of a MacTavish woman. 

“Ya lookin good, Johnny. Besides the rooster crest. What’re they callin’ya, ‘Mornin Wood?’”

“That’s classified.” The bite in his retort didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohh, look a’mister fancy pants ov’r here.” Charlotte threw her hands up in taunting surprise. She’d never admit it, but she missed throwing those playful insults at him below the chest. It was an ebb and flow that no other seemed to be able to grasp.

“Donnae matter, Char. Only needs one approval, yeah. What’ya think, lass?” John turned to face the green-eyed angel within his grasp, her eyes slowly studying the features of him, finally focusing on the thick crest atop his head. 

“I like it.” 

“Thas’all I need. Gonnae keep it, yeah. Jus’ fer you, Evie.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Aye. Pinky swear.”

Her voice was the lullaby that tamed the savage beast. The silent tempest on the shores of a violent sea.

John wrapped his finger around hers and gave into the overwhelming power she had hung over him. Evie smiled, and buried her face within his neck. The vice-like grip around him doing nothing but melting that hard metallic soul growing within him.

“Ya gone’n don’it now, Johnny.” Charlotte’s quip was sharp, yet softened as it flowed freely through the air.

John responded in equal softness, an eerily reminiscent silent jab.

‘Fuck. You.’

25 years and a full military career later, Captain John ‘Soap’ MacTavish sat lonely at the bar, pondering the ice within its liqoured embrace and watched as the waves of liquid slowly melded within themselves. He was within pleasant company, something he had truly missed over the remaining years of his career.

He heard the cadence of footsteps first, their possesor non other than the legendary John Price himself. 

“Ya know ya got to drink it for it to work, yeah.” 

“Aye. Jus’ takin my time with it.”

A somberness flowed freely through them, no longer wanting or needing to keep old wounds bound and at bay. Price scanned the crowd once over before returning his gaze to the scarred and crested veteran, both looking more worse for wear within the golden age of their careers.

“Ya know, Soap. I’ve known ya for over 20 years. And somehow I never thought to ask.”

Price paused as Soap brought the cold and perspiring glass up to his lips.

“Why do ya keep the mohawk?”

Soap turned to face his war hardened comrade. A silent shock washed over him as the quiet memory of her surfaced into the realm of his periphery. He sat motionless for a moment, spinning the glass within his hands as her name gracefully returned to the soft tissue of his lips.

“Evie. I kept it for Evie.” It felt like a hymn, to speak her name again after so many years of silence. The sound of it wafting into the wooden rafters before cascading and disappearing into the boisterous cacophony around the bar.

“Who’s Evie?”

“She was my sister.” Soap’s chest tightened as the words fell out of his mouth. 

“Was?”

The slip of the tongue caught him off guard. Soap met Price’s gaze and held within it a cold blue steel. 

“Touchy subject.” Price titled his glass, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone again at the bar with his thoughts. 

An ache formed within his heart. A void that was filled with her memories and locked away from the world's prying eyes. 

His fingers slowly turned the tumbler on the weathered bar while his eyes slowly began to focus on the smallest finger of his hand. Bringing it up to his face he studied its features as a chemist studies the inner workings of molecular bonds.

The slightest curl of a smile formed on the corner of his mouth as the sound of her voice ricocheted within the recesses of his mind. And the green, those bright green eyes like the mossy hills of the Scottish highlands. 

Edited 2/5/24 to include remastered Soap Squad 🧼

“Pinky swear, Evie.”

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @ghosts-goldendoodle @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @sadstone-s @haurasha @mykneeshurt @designateddeadend @luismickydees @kkaaaagt

omg requests are open? yay! ☺️ i know this is an angsty one, but could you write the demon bros’ reactions to mc’s death? :( it’s an angst kinda day lol. but if you’re not comfortable with that, i totally understand :) have a nice day!

I love angst so much bro you don't understand

I tried to keep how MC died vague, so it can be however you please

How the brothers react are somewhat based on how my family reacted when my uncle died, I was Beel in this situation, unable to cry and feeling horrible about it only crying weeks after the funeral because it finally all hit at once

GN! MC

Warning: Death, mentions of lesson 16, mild suicidal thoughts (all of them to some degree), depression, dissociating 

LUCIFER:

The news shakes him to his core

He slips on a calm mask to try and help his little brothers but inside is a warzone

As soon as he’s back alone in his room or office he breaks into tears and collapses against the door blocking it off with a strong spell to prevent his brothers from seeing him in this state

Even after losing you he refuses to drop his pride and show weakness

Especially to his brothers

Puts back on the mask and continues to carry the family through your funeral 

Shoves himself into his work, you aren’t there to drag him away from his paperwork and tuck him into bed to sleep after 5 days of nonstop work anymore

Works himself to the bone trying to forget about you

You’re just a human, you would have died eventually, why does this hurt him so much?

Eventually he starts neglecting his brothers too and hides in his office crouched over towers of paperwork

His heart aches, but he refuses to budge

MAMMON:

If you thought Lucifer was bad, Mammon is worse

He didn’t even have a mask to slip on, he simply fell straight to his knees and screamed 

Sobbed into Lucifers shoulder while his brother tried to comfort him whilst dealing with his own grief over your loss

With comes grief, comes bargaining

Mammon scoured the realms looking for someone, anyone able to bring you back from the dead whole

He didn’t want a zombie you, no he wanted you back, personality and all

But he couldn’t find anything

At your funeral he was inconsolable, clung onto your coffin and having to be dragged away by Lucifer, and Satan kicking and screaming

He prayed for the first time in eons for father to bring you back to him

But he never answered, he never does

Falls even harder into his gambling, two steps away from gambling away what remains of his soul just to feel something but horrible grief

Keeps your hoodie, and sleeps with it at night, sometimes in your old bedroom that smells like you

He wishes he was with you; he would do anything to be with you...

He dreams of you every night, and wishes he had the courage to tell you the truth

When Lucifer locks himself away, Mammon steps up as big brother, taking care of his grieving little brothers even though all he wishes for is to be with you again

LEVIATHAN:

The professional NEET is back and sadder than ever

The second he heard the news he started dissociating, like a robot he walked right into his room and sat down in his bathtub and stared at the ceiling

His brain couldn’t handle the grief, and he had to be dragged out of his room by Lucifer just to eat or take a bath

He fell completely into depression, and refused to come out

He tried to fill the void with more games, or anime, but everything reminded him of you

At your funeral he sobs, unable to even approach your coffin and cries even harder during Mammons fit

He goes practically catatonic after the funeral, and doesn’t come out of his room for a whole week, during this time Lucifer locks himself away

Mammon is now the one dragging him out of his room for food

Levi cries in Mammon’s arms, begging him to find a way to bring MC back, that’s all he wants

Mammon holds his little brother, and they cry together on his floor at the helplessness of it all

ASMODEUS:

Upon hearing the news, he stands up and leaves to his room he doesn’t want his brothers to see this side of him

He screams, he sobs, he breaks the mirrors in his room, he throws everything around, he tears the canopy of his bed down, and rolls around on the dying flowers sobbing

After this his second instinct was to pretend you never existed

He cleans up his running, smeared makeup, repairs his room and heads to the clubs to forget about you

He parties hard

Everything and everyone are now a tool to dull his grief 

But nothing fills the void in his heart you leave behind

No matter how many people he takes to his bed, nothing helps, and this is horrifying to him

Its only now after you’ve passed does, he truly realizes how much you’ve changed him and how much he’s fallen for you

At your funeral he doesn’t hold back, sobbing inconsolably and clinging onto Mammon after he’s dragged away from your coffin too

After your funeral he’s changed once more, he refuses to go out and indulge in his sin, he just lays in bed and stares at the ceiling hoping you’ll come back through his door and ask for another make over or a spa day

Mammon drags him out of his room occasionally to eat, but he sees how tired and sad Mammon is too...

SATAN:

Hearing the news, he on the surface is calm, but just like Lucifer, this is a mask so he can try to be a rock for his brothers

As soon as he’s alone in his room he unleashes his demon form and goes apeshit, nearly tearing down his part of the house in his unbriddled rage

He doesn’t even know what, or who he’s mad at, is he mad at you for dying?  Or God for letting it happen?

For once he joins up with Lucifer, he tries hard to be a rock for his brothers to lean on during this time of grieving but crying makes him feel angry

He scours his books for a spell, or anything to bring you back to him...to his brothers

Like Mammon, he’s unable to find anything of use and breaks down into another fit at this

During your funeral he helps drag Mammon away from your coffin, and resists his urge to tear this whole funeral down by the foundation and light it all on fire in a helpless bid to get you back

After your funeral, he retreats completely into his books, hoping he missed something, that maybe there is a way to bring you back one day

He won’t stop till he finds it

He doesn’t even realize Lucifer had retreated either until mammon is the one dragging him down for dinner

He doesn’t even have the strength to be smug, he only feels worried for him

BEELZEBUB:

Images of Lilith flash in his mind as soon as the news breaks

He couldn’t save Lilith, and now he couldn’t save you

Eats even MORE to fill the void in his heart, by filling the endless void in his stomach, but it doesn’t work

Nothing works, even exercising, which made him feel so happy, or Fangol makes him feel good anymore

But he just can’t seem to cry, he feels like maybe he’s broken, he feels such grief, but he can’t cry, even when he’s alone

He feels like he’s just coasting along on an endless ocean, no land in sight

Starts eating more inedible things, like dry wall, nails, etc

Actually, starts eating the wall in his room

During your funeral, he just stares at your coffin, unable to even cry, watching all of his brothers break into tears, but despite his heart hurting so badly he just...can’t cry

He becomes somewhat of a rock for his brothers, mostly Belphie due to this

Its only weeks later, does he finally start to shed his first tears over your death, just trying to go about his regular routine, something reminded him of you, and he dropped to his knees

And sobbed, and sobbed...and sobbed

BELPHEGOR:

All though this time it wasn’t his fault, no matter what happened to you he blames it on himself

I mean he did kill you once, and that action haunts his every waking, and sleeping moment

He starts sleeping even more, in fact there’s not a time he’s awake much anymore, he’s practically fallen into a coma and during this time Beel takes care of him

In his dreams he’s with you again, and that’s why he refuses to leave them and get up

He wants you back so badly, neglecting his health completely

The only time he wakes up is for your funeral, looking down at you one more time he collapses to his knees at your coffin and falls asleep right there next to it

Beelzebub picks him up and carries him away from the coffin, and that would be the last time his brothers ever saw him awake if it weren’t for Mammon

Mammon takes up the duties of Beel, taking care of Belphegor when Beel can’t and forcing him to wake up and face reality to eat dinner and get some sort of food inside of him

Belphie misses you so much, and for this he hates his father even more for taking you away from him, for taking Lilith away from him

Cries in his sleep due to dreams of you, hoping that when he wakes up your death will be all a bad dream, and you’ll be back in his arms again...

my dearest darlingest marina i need you to know you have broken me quite thoroughly and i might never ever forgive you for it as long as we both shall live ! ❣️

to clarify- ive been saving "let's fall out of love" to read later ever since you posted it cuz i didn't feel ready- didn't think i was emotionally stable enough to read it then. well, tonight ive been clearing out my list of unread fics from last year aND GODDAMN WAS I EVER RIGHT ABOUT THAT.!!!

started getting all weepy and shaky before that first courthouse bathroom conversation and i didn't ever stop 😭 sobbed so hard and for so long at the unfairness of it all (for both of them !) i gave myself an asthma attack and had to stop reading.. what really broke me was e's bittersweet and somewhat detached realization on the courthouse steps that all their kids had flocked to laney during the divorce. couldn't stop thinking abt how badly i would've wanted to tell jesse off for being sharp to his daddy, and the knowledge that elaine COULDN'T, that it wasn't quite over yet and she still had to save face for a bit longer despite how much it killed them both, despite being the only person who could truly understand just how deep elvis was hurting right then and having been the one who'd made a whole life out of loving him hard.......... the idea of him resigning himself to having lost that forever (false) and her having to go against everything in her nature to let him ache a while longer,, oh it just shattered my spirit to bits right then and there. oh god im gonna start crying again just thinking about how lonely they both made each other 💔💔💔

im literally inconsolable, even with the reasoning behind it/ knowing how it ends beforehand, and having those future timeline fics to fall back on did nOT SAVE ME like . dear GOD woman how is that even possible?!?? if i had any shred of humanity left in my body id wax poetic for three more paragraphs abt how that speaks to your truly absolutely outstanding talent as an author and worldbuilder, but alas i think i cried out everything that was keeping me sane sometime in the last half hour and now i have to go lie facedown on the floor in my hallway and die abt it all instead 👍 fantastic work as always i love all your work so much forever etc etc 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

ps: it took me the better part of an hour to type all this out since ive lost the water content of approxinately a small ocean w my tears and am doing physically poorly in response 🫠🫠 so thanks for ur patience in this trying time 😔🙏

I spun around in circles upon reading this like my poor coon dog when she had a stroke -jovially of course. Like this is the stuff every writer dreams of getting for feedback but holy smokes, your talent for screaming? Beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve always told you how much I appreciate your time and enthusiasm to tell your thoughts Mary Hope, and now is no exception. My babe and co-author @elvisabutler deserves the pleasure of reading what we’ve wrought, as well. I’ll be halving all your medical and psychiatric expenses with her. 😏

Tbh, despite knowing both imminent and longterm reconciliation was to happen after this segment, we were just as cut up about tearing them apart as you were to read it. In fact, it was worse than all the lead up fics where the passive aggressive accumulation of grievances came across as hurts but ultimately only aggravations. This is just…PAIN. Funny how what was untenable before a tragedy suddenly appears to have been idyllic after it. Anyways.

Thank you for reading, here’s some Kleenex, albuterol and do know the sequel to this divorce is in drafts, so not finished AT ALL but it is in the works.

Not that it’ll hurt much less than this one. 😈

Honestly in the second vivi au (where Steren ends up in vivi’s universe early on in his journey) I think it’s even. Worse for Nerevar and Voryn.

In the first one they meet him and they’re like “????” Concerned about him but trying to awkwardly bond before they get their memories.

In the second one Azura is like “hortator. You and your husband had a child in another world. He had to fulfill the prophecy. He was trying to kill himself so I brought him here.” And they’re a normal level of concerned like “we had a kid???? He wanted to die???? Where is he????” And Azura said she tried to bring him somewhere closer but there was some strange interference and so he’s still on Tamriel just further and to give her time to find him but in the mean time Steren’s parents’ souls will enter them and they’ll gain their memories.

And at first it’s anxiety inducing wondering what he’s like and if he’ll be okay. Telling the guards and people across Morrowind his general features to look for. They’re worried but functional.

And then the memories start flooding back and this is no longer a hypothetical.

Voryn remembers first and he’s inconsolable. His baby—he tried to kill his baby! Their baby! His baby that now wanted to end his own life just to be loved by them but now he’s lost and alone in the world again. What if he tries to kill himself this time?! What if he’s hurt?! Voryn can’t even hold him and know his little star is finally back in his arms and safe because his baby is MISSING

And Nerevar is trying to comfort Voryn and reassure him as he goes through the grief of missing out on their son’s life when he starts to remember too. Little things at first. A slightly different body he had in that world. The night Steren was conceived. How badly he wanted a family of his own—a family with the man he loved. How anxious he was while pregnant and how much he cried knowing he couldn’t keep his little baby. How he couldn’t even name Steren without knowing he’d need to bring him back with him and knowing that if he did Steren wouldn’t be safe there. Remembering sleepless nights not coping well post-partum because all he wants to do is see his son and bond with him and kiss his lil head. Showing up to Kogoruhn in the dead of night just to lay in Voryn’s bed beside Steren’s cradle finally getting to sleep knowing he was right by his son.

And then dying at red mountain. Haunting him. Watching him grow up alienated and alone. Not knowing who his parents were. Not knowing he was Nerevar’s and how much Nerevar loved him. Seeing him get married but still chafing his past and dying from it. Seeing Steren born again and knowing at his core this was his son again, his baby, and not getting to hold him and comfort him. When he cried as an infant not being able to rock him and soothe him or feed him. Not being able to change him or teach him to read or have him ride on his shoulders again.

Having to watch him be arrested and shipped off to Morrowind. Fearing for him. Now memories of this reality and the other one blur as with dread he realizes Steren is stuck fulfilling the prophecy. Getting corprus. Uniting the great houses. Only getting to talk to him once he gets the ring and being unsure if he should tell him everything. Finally confessing as Steren gets his own memories back but not even getting to hold his crying son properly.

Nerevar’s come slower in bits and pieces, a lot while he’s asleep, some while he’s trying to work and quickly he becomes non-functional. There’s too much. Too much grief. Voryn can barely keep it together trying to suppress the grief but Nerevar has lifetimes worth of it and things in that world were so similar yet so different. Sometimes his body feels wrong and he has to bite that instinct back. Sometimes he tries to work and remembers watching helplessly as Steren died in his son’s first lifetime and breaking down sobbing. Voryn had to start using his powers to make him rest or he won’t sleep at all.

When Azura tells them in a panic that vivec has him in Morrowind they are RUNNING. Furiously preparing to depart. Skyrim and the empire try to deny them entry when Nerevar sends word and he tells him “my son is there and if you try to keep me from finding him I will show you just how I drove the Nords out of Resdayn”

They’re so relieved Azura found him. So distraught that he might not be safe. Sometimes they’re both too anxious to sleep. They’re both angry and in grief no one else around them can really understand. Luckily they have each other but they want Steren. They want to see their little boy happy and safe again

HELLO LOVE!!! @bebbie-bilinski AGAIN!!

ok like we discussed this is def gonna be a more hurt/comfort oriented request :P

as always regressor!stiles and cg!derek at the loft haha

ok i was wondering if you could maybe do something where stiles is upset -very upset- we're talking ugly crying inconsolable throwing pillows full speed at walls that sort of upset tho im not too sure as to why he could be upset maybe its all the stress of having near death experiences thanks to the supernatural world or maybe its due to thinking about past trauma too much (or take some creative liberties! u know i'll eat it up regardless) im thinking stiles will be big during this and derek tries frantically to help in whatever way he can and once hes calmed down hes just too exhausted to do anything else but regress and recuperate from all the big emotions :P then its all derek asking what stiles wants to get comfy and big ol clueless stares from stiles cus he has no idea what he wants lol im not sure if id rather they be alone when stiles regresses or maybe peters there too anyways theres obligatory cuddles in big comfy t shirts and!! itty-bitty-baby regressor stiles coded pretty please (´∀｀)♡ ! god im so sorry this is so long i hope that was detailed enough!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ remembering ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| stiles stilinski & derek hale & peter hale || read on ao3

notes: this got requested and hour ago and I’m already answering it & it’s midnight, someone pray for me

warnings: set after s3 before s4, mentions/talk of void stiles, crying, angst, hurt/comfort, pet names, Peter being referred to as “papa”

-

Derek watches in horror as Stiles scream sobs in the middle of the lofts living room, his hands are grabbing at his throat as though he can’t breathe, body halfway bent in on itself as he only grows louder. Derek doesn’t know what to do. Stiles had texted him asking if he could come over, saying he felt upset and maybe a slip coming, Derek of course replied immediately saying he’d be waiting.

What Derek didn’t expect was to open the loft door to Stiles already crying, thick tears staining his pale skin and hiccuping breaths leaving his chest. Derek had tried to pull Stiles into his arms, the little usually clings to Derek when upset, but he got pushed away from. There’s been no explanation as to why Stiles is so upset but that doesn’t seem to matter to Derek, he’s too heartbroken to think about it.

“Stiles, Stiles please breathe, it’s okay.” Whether or not Stiles can even hear Derek’s voice is really up for debate, Derek keeps trying anyways. His own tears threatening to spill when Stiles’ knees shake and he drops to the ground, Derek right by his side.

“I can’t- I can’t Der, I can’t!” Small red lines appear on Stiles’ throat where he scratches at the skin, Hale catching his wrists before it can get any worse. The last thing he needs is to try and preform first aid while Stiles is in this state.

“Can’t what? What is it baby? Talk to me.” It shakes coming out of Derek’s mouth, hating how Stiles cries even harder.

“It’s too much! I don’t want it!” Stiles sobs before falling into Derek’s chest, screaming as loud as he can get before another sob bubbles from his throat.

“What don’t you want? You gotta talk to me, let me help.” Derek’s voice is hoarse with desperation, allowing Stiles to hit at his sides after Derek releases his wrists.

“All of it! I- I remember it all Der, I don’t want it, please. Please make it go away.” The begging tone and pleading eyes sent Derek’s way is enough for his breath to catch. He suddenly knows what this is all about, void Stiles, the hell that happened last year and still haunts his little night and day. Hale can’t imagine what it felt like to have someone control Stiles’ mind like that, but he knows what Stiles tells him, and that alone is enough to make Derek nauseous.

“It wasn’t you, it wasn’t you baby. It’s okay.” He soothes the best he can despite knowing how little it really does. Nothing can fix what happened, or the results it left behind.

“I don’t want to remember, I hate it. I wanna go back, let me go back.” Stiles’ hands cling around Dereks neck, fingers pulling at the t shirt he has on so tightly the material could rip.

“Go back where?” If there’s a place Stiles wants to go that’ll comfort him Derek will move hell on earth to get him there.

“To before. When- when void didn’t exist, to before it all happened.” Oh.

“Oh honey…” Derek has no words to say, he can only pull Stiles up into his lap more and rub his hand down the brunettes back. There’s still small whimpers and tears spilling from Stiles, Derek hates that he can’t make it all feel better, that he can’t take this kind of hurt away. He wishes he could hold Stiles’ hand and watch his veins turn black as he drained Stiles of his pain, but this isn’t physical, and there’s no easy fix to it.

“I want papa.” There’s a tremble when Stiles talks, he’s obviously dropped into his regression, a younger headspace from what Derek can tell just by his voice. And he wants Peter. Derek knows Peter went out to the grocery store at least an hour ago, he hopes he’ll be getting back soon.

“I’ll text him, okay?” Stiles nods along, eyes already drooping with exhaustion from his overwhelmed state. The attire he has on can’t be comfortable, jeans and a t shirt is fine while big but Hale knows Stiles will want something softer in his regressed state.

With that, Derek decides Stiles should change and quickly picks him up to walk them over to Peters bedroom, knowing that Stiles will want to wear something of Peters if he’s not here. He always likes to have something of one of his caregivers on, whether it he Derek’s hoodie or Peters shirt all depends on who Stiles is feeling clinger towards.

“Which one do you wanna wear?” The top drawer of Peters dresser is open wide enough for Stiles to see each t shirt folded neatly, Peters always been a precise person and his organization never fails to portray that.

“Do you want me to pick for you?” After a long beat of silence where Stiles only stares blankly into the drawer Derek figures he’d have a better bet choosing himself. Stiles nods in approval before Hale grabs the cranberry red t shirt that he knows is oversized even for Peter so it should be hanging off of Stiles, how he likes his shirts to be when small.

“Alright buddy let me text your papa and then we’ll get you out of those clothes.” A quick text messily explaining everything that just happened gets sent out quickly to Peter, he replies immediately, assuring Derek he’d be home as soon as he could and that grocery shopping would have to wait.

-

Once Stiles is changed into a small pair of pajama shorts and Peters shirt, him and Derek curl into the couch together. There’s a kids show playing lowly but neither are paying attention. Stiles is chewing the collar of Peters shirt, having refused a tether or pacifier, and Derek’s busy focusing in on Stiles’ heartbeat. It’s normal, not spiking in anxiety or panic, he should be relaxing with that information. He can’t. His brain is too busy running through what possibly could’ve happened to trigger Stiles like that.

It could’ve been his own overthinking, that’s happened a couple times, but never lead to that intense of a reaction. Derek prays silently that it wasn’t somebody saying something to upset Stiles, or a random bout of flashbacks as that always leaves Stiles restless for at least a few days if not a full week.

“Munchkin! What happened?!” Peters booming voice cuts through Derek’s thoughts and he’s quickly met with Peter barreling over to where the two are on the couch. Stiles instantaneously climbs off of Derek to cling around Peter with a happy giggle at Peter hugging him in close. At least he’s calmed down now.

“Are you okay sweetheart?” Seconds pass where Stiles just stares at Peter, the older Hale obviously growing more concerned as his brow furrows and Derek swears his eyes couldn’t grow any wider.

“Papa!” Stiles finally bursts out and latches around Peter again, it makes both the caregivers give out a small sigh of relief and chuckle at Stiles’ endless need for affection and his lack of communication skills in baby space.

Derek knows he and Peter will have to talk about what happened once Stiles goes to sleep, which shouldn’t be too far away with how tired he looks. The questions buzzing in his head will have to wait to get answered, and Peter might genuinely never let Stiles leave the loft again, but for now Derek leans back into the couch and tries to relax. Peter gives him a knowing look, that one that says he can feel how much tension Derek still holds about the situation, he lets Peter knock his shoulder into Derek in support. They’ll figure it out.

Mayhem | Bob Floyd

Summary: The team gets word of Ice's passing and Mayhem takes it the hardest.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Mitchell f!reader (callsign: Mayhem)

Content warnings: Character death (Ice), angst, hurt/comfort, drinking, a slightly happy ending given the circumstances I guess?

Spotify playlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |

A/N: It hurt me so bad to write the beginning of this. I know it's going to be a lot worse when I write Ice's funeral and the mission, though. When I tell you I cried when I picked the gif and proofread this chapter-

It had been a few days since your first date with Bob, and the two of you constantly talked and spent time together outside of base. The team had started to catch on, but it didn't seem like Mav had started to notice.

"Hey, Mayhem, did you hear about the Admiral?" Hangman asked. He sounded serious, and it confused you.

"Is he here?"

"I think Mav's gonna tell us."

"Um, okay."

You sat diagonal from Phoenix and Bob now, which placed you closer to Hangman. You tried not to think about that too much. Mav walked in and he looked more serious than usual. Phoenix looked at you and you shrugged your shoulders. You were just as confused as everyone else in the room.

"I have an announcement to make. It's better that all of you hear it from me before you hear it from someone else. Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky passed away."

Your heart sank. Don't think, just do. You stood up and ran onto the tarmac. The tears started to flow as you sat under your plane. You were practically inconsolable. You weren't paying attention to the things that were going on around you until you felt someone wrap you in their embrace.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," Mav said. You got up and shoved him.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" You yelled.

"I didn't want you to worry. He told me not to tell anyone. You know how much he cared about you."

"I don't know what to do."

"Well, I'm gonna send you home for the day. It's not a good idea for you to fly right now. We'll talk later, okay?"

You nodded your head and walked back inside. Everyone was looking out the windows, watching you and Mav talk things out, and you felt slightly embarrassed. Bob and Rooster stood in front of you as you grabbed your bottle of water.

"Are you okay? We can drive you home if you want," Rooster offered.

"I think I'll be fine. It's not that far of a drive, either. But thanks, though."

Bob put his hand on your arm in a comforting way and you slightly smiled.

"Do you want me to come over later?" He asked.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I'll text you."

You could see the look in Rooster's eyes as he finally made the connection that you and Bob were dating, and it made you chuckle. Bob tensed up when he realized what was going on, but Rooster clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'm okay with it."

It was easy for you to lose track of time when you got back to your house. The first thing that you did was change into sweatpants and one of your Navy t shirts. It didn't take long for you to find a comfort show to watch. You didn't even know that you were tired until you woke up from the accidental nap about two hours later.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Granted, all you did was read the book that Bob got you, but it helped you pass the time and it served as a pretty good distraction. You turned on the news and heavy storms were predicted for the next day. Maverick texted everyone that training had been cancelled, and Bob texted you that he was on his way.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Bob stood there with Rooster, Fanboy, and Phoenix behind him. You welcomed them all in and watched as Rooster put a pizza and beers on the counter. Bob pulled you aside and wrapped his arms around you. The only thing that you could focus on in that moment was the steady pace of his heart beat.

"I wanted to do that earlier," he said.

"Yeah, me too."

"Hey, Y/N, did you really watch The Fosters all day?" Rooster asked.

"Leave her alone. That's a good show," Fanboy said.

You sat on the couch in between Phoenix and Rooster and started to change the channel. That caused an argument about what movie would go with the pizza, and you had stopped caring. Fanboy finally grabbed the remote and picked Bohemian Rhapsody as the movie that you would be watching.

The Live Aid scene came on and you and Phoenix were both pretty drunk. She laughed as you got up and took her with you.

"What are you two doing?" Bob asked.

"Dancing it out. Come on."

Part of what made it funny was that none of you actually knew how to dance. The other part was that the living room was fairly small, so you were constantly bumping into the coffee table. As the movie ended, you grabbed your phone and played a Lady Gaga playlist. The first song that came on was Bad Romance, and you recorded a video of everyone singing along to it.

"Okay, I'm going to bed. Phoenix, you can sleep in the guest room. Rooster and Fanboy, have fun arguing over who gets the couch."

"Where's Bob sleeping?" Fanboy asked. Bob went red in the face and looked straight at the floor.

"With me, obviously," you said.

"Well, goodnight. And don't have sex!" Rooster yelled as you and Bob went up the stairs. You somehow kept a straight face until you closed the door to your bedroom.

That was when you and Bob almost fell over in laughter.

Taglist:

@peaches-1999 @tallrock35 @paintballkid711 @luckyladycreator2 @multifandom-fangirl4

Whumpcember Day 3

Tags: @whumpcember

Prompt: Storm

Characters: Viggo Grimborn/Ryker Grimborn

Pairings: None

Word Count: 181 Words

Summary: Ryker has come to find Viggo's PTSD gets worse when there's a storm. On this particular night he learns why it gets so bad.

Ryker held a trembling and sobbing Viggo tightly in his arms. As of right now his little brother was inconsolable. Ryker couldn't make out a word of what he was saying. The raging wind and rain wasn't much help either. In fact, the thunder was only making it worse.

"Viggo, I need you to calm down. Just take take your time to and use your words when you're ready."

Viggo let a strangled sob escape his throat while he gasped for air to try and sooth his nerves. Ryker smiled fondly and waited quietly for Viggo to explain what was wrong. Viggo took one final deep breath and wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt.

"I don't want to go back in the room!" cried Viggo "Please don't let Caldor chain me up..." Ryker frowned and placed his hand gently on the back of Viggo's head.

"I will never let him come near you again," assured Ryker "And if he somehow manages to lay a single finger, I will personally make sure he has nothing to touch you with."

Just thoughts.

Dad died on October 18th. A lot more people showed up to be there, then i thought would of. Lots of people from his church, and his brother n his wife- n some cousins I haven’t seen for years, and my moms sister. I think the worst part was when they turned off the ventilator, and he started to make noise- and that’s the moment it kind of hit me what was happening. Wasn’t fun hearing it, wasn’t fun seeing my mom sob over him and my sister cry.

Will be having a service for him at his church, in November. The church is paying for it all n providing food- which we can’t thank them enough for. Expecting a lot more people then I expected to be coming- I had no idea how many people loved him.

And it kind of just. feels weird. Had a small memorial for him at the church w his bible study friends, and they were sobbing, and telling fond stories about him- n talking about how kind and sweet he was to everyone. And it kind of just hit me how: it feels like we’re mourning two different people. 

Because I don’t understand: hw he could treat them so kindly, and care for them- and then come home and treat my family n I so horribly. I know he loved me and I know he cared about us, but I don’t kno w why we couldn’t get that too. I don’t know why he couldn’t of treated us like that and told us he loved us at home, and told me how proud he was of me when he was here, instead of all the times he called me useless to my face because I forgot to do the dishes or something.

I hear about how he talked about us all the time, and we meant so much to him and its just. feels detached and like I’m hearing about someone else's dad n not mine. I know he loved me, he told me as much the last time i heard him speak. Told me he was proud of me, told me he just wanted me to be happy, and do something with my life- and all i could do was nod and cry because I don't know why he couldn’t of told me that before it got to this.

Told me the last time i heard him talk, that I'd always be his daughter even if I ‘wasn’t anymore’ and i wanted to tell him I’m not- but didn’t seem right. And in a stupid sense I wish I could of been that, and my mom says he never cared, and he loved me all the same: but I just don’t know why he couldn’t of said that instead of That- or why he couldn’t of Told me that Himself.

And I feel mad- because I don’t know why we couldn’t of had that dad those people from church love so much, and talk so fondly about- and I hate feeling like this because its not like I can ask him! I just gt left all this and I don’t know what to do with all of this now.

I just kind of feel numb and detached from all of it, and everyone. yes I’ve cried but I don’t think its been enough- because my family keeps asking me if I'm ok, n when i say im ‘fine’ they give me weird looks. I don’t think I should be fine, i should be inconsolable, i should be sobbing, my dad just died but I rly can’t.

Kind of feels like everything's falling apart, but it probably has been for the last several years, this is just the thing that might bring it all down around me n im just kinda too tired to try and pull myself out of the way. Feels like I’m jsut sitting here- waiting for something horrible to happen, like the next: awful thing to happen because things just keep getting worse.

Anyways. it feels like the universe hates me. so just.

; Too Soon

Overwhelmed by grief after a dark guild attacked his home city, a very young Jellal recalls memories and tries to understand the concept of death.

Happens before his abduction, bits of how I imagine Jellal's backstory

You can also read it on AO3! | Words: 2,275

      

Jellal watched a bird fly high in the sky. White and proud, the animal flapped its wings once, twice, and continued his journey with no care for the boy who witnessed his assured flight.

He was envious.

As he brought his legs close to his torso, he wondered why was the world so cruel. Hunger was monstrous but it was nothing compared to the hole carved in his heart. His pursed lips trembled and he sobbed in silence, because that was all he could do, really. Under the burning sun, he cried; alone and lonely.

Dead.

The four of them were dead.

His only family.

He still couldn’t comprehend it fully. Death was a funny concept for such a young child. All he understood was that he would never see them again, ever. All that was left for him was a wounded shoulder and the memory of his uncle bleeding out. Ani was young. Too young. And Neyla was inconsolable. Somehow, she seemed to cry more than he did.

Perhaps it was because he refused to, not in front of the others. Asmae was mean and would punish him for sure.

Just like his mom used to.

She didn’t even go for him, she stayed to protect the temple during the attack. Mom never came for him, she never did, and would never, now that she was dead.

      

Once, he had waited for her on the stairs right before their little home. It was a few weeks ago if he recalled well. Grandpa had told him to come inside, that she would come home late and that he didn’t need to wait for her all day long.

But during the last evening, they had fought. He had screamed mean words at her, making her so sad she hit him. Jellal was a naughty boy, he knew, but he had wanted to make her feel better. So, he made her a drawing and waited.

Because maybe then, she would tell him she didn’t hate him anymore.

Grandma came home before her, as always, and he welcomed her with a smile; staying outside of the house. He wanted to see his mom more than anything.

When she finally appeared, earlier than Grandpa had supposed, she ignored him. But that was because of their fight. So, he followed her quietly and put his drawing on the table once she sat to drink a cup of tea. She looked at it, faintly smiled, and glanced at him.

She had said “Thank you, Jellal,” with tender eyes, “It’s very pretty.”

Afterwards, they played together. His mother never was a great playmate, so it was nice. Normally, it was Grandpa or Ani that played with him. The women of his family had great roles in the city and were mostly absent.

And his mom didn’t like him much either, because he was mean to her. So, she was even less present.

He remembered, right before dinner, they had sat on the stairs together and watched the sunset. He was so happy! That was until she said, “See, everyone prefers a smiling boy over a crybaby”.

Since then, he never shed a tear in front of them. And would never, because they were dead.

      

After the attack, as the city was destroyed, as the adults carried the corpses and washed the blood away, life was different. Quieter, slower, and weirdly nicer. People were nicer to him, somehow. Jellal was one of the many orphans this chaos left behind. That was why he shouldn’t complain, never.

After having cried rivers on his own and wiped his now dry eyes, he joined the others. He was not eager or excited to be with them, because of Asmae. But Neyla had told him to come back soon; they needed to change his bandages and clean his shoulder.

He got hit by an arrow during the attack, that wasn’t much but it was still torturous. Neyla always looked pained around him, but he didn’t know if it was for him or his uncle. As she washed the wound, he held back his tears until he couldn’t and cried again between whimpers.

Worse than hunger and his broken little heart, his injury left him somewhat disabled. “He will overcome it,” Asmae had said, but it was still horribly painful.

Sometimes, he wondered if all of this was because of him. Maybe he was suffering because he did something wrong. Neyla wiped his tears away with her thumbs, once done.

“It’s over, you don’t have to cry anymore. You can say bye-bye to the pain, until the next cleaning.”

He was terrified at the thought.

Because more than soft hands wiping his tears away, all he craved was a hug.

      

Once, he had asked his grandpa about his father. In Mildea, it was fathers who cared for their children. But Jellal got none. He was fatherless, and since he had joined this drawing class he hated so much, it had become even more obvious. The man who would come for him wasn’t marked nor was his dad. A girl had asked him about it, and he didn’t know what to say.

“Ah,” Grandpa had started, “Why don’t you ask Grandma once she’ll get home?”

He threw a tantrum like the naughty boy he was. He hated this answer so much. Luckily, Grandpa always hugged him the best, and he calmed quickly thanks to it. He remembers begging for an answer and was met by a pained expression.

He was even making his grandpa sad.

Later that day, when Grandma was home and not busy, he came to her timidly and asked her. She looked at him for a short while before taking him and holding him close, on her lap.

“What about your dad, you say,” she pondered, “Well, you don’t have any, Jellal.”

“I know…” he had bitten his lower lip, “But…”

“To be honest, whoever he is, he probably doesn’t know about your existence.”

“Aziza,” Grandpa had warned.

“Because, you see, dear, you are an accident. You were not planned, but you bring us so much happiness that it is not a bad thing, if anything you are a happy accident.”

Grandma had always been very straightforward. But Jellal was little, his grandpa had scolded her, as he held him tight, as the boy wailed.

Jellal was no happy accident since he was making people sad. He was just an accident.

      

Jellal walked down the ruins that were once his beloved neighbourhood. How many times did he wander alone, to go reach the temple on his own, to find his mom? Grandpa never was happy about that, but he never scolded him either.

Neyla had told him to stay with the boys while she went to pray. He was ordered to help with the reconstruction by Salim. But he didn’t want to, his shoulder hurt too much still. So, the older boy simply asked him to sit and wait; Jellal disobeyed.

He wanted to go back to his home. Since the attack, he didn’t see it and he missed it dearly. That was after losing everything that he realised the luck he had.

He missed gardening with Grandpa.

He missed painting with Grandma.

He missed playing with Ani.

He missed sleeping with Mom.

He missed all of that so much, that the mere thought of it brought him to tears. He didn’t want to cry anymore, but he was too weak to hold the tears back like he desperately tried to.

Exhausted by his walk, he finally reached his destination. Everything was silent and cold, although the weather made it difficult for him to breathe. He pushed the small gate and saw the stairs he would wait for his mom on, the inside of the house was painted black because fire was not a creative painter.

His face contorted, he had not seen it, as Ani had ordered him to close his eyes and keep them shut when he came to his rescue. He recognised nothing, nothing at all. It was as if all he ever knew had become haunting shadows. The stone table’s silhouette stood in the middle of the disaster. What was once his favourite place was mere darkness now.

He ran to the back of the garden as tears fell, where he last saw his grandpa, where he last heard his grandma. But all he saw was the metallic bucket he’d use to garden and play.

And he realised what death meant.

      

Once, his mom comforted him with a hug as he cried more than he was used to. More than saying mean things, as she violently shook him to make him stop screaming, he had hit her. Her eyes had widened and all he saw was rage. This time, she had hit him harder than normal.

So much he fell and hit his head on the floor.

So much his nose bled.

So much he wished for it to stop, that was a first, because it felt too much.

He wept so much that she stopped when she was about to leave the house. She had turned to him, staring at him for a short while before approaching – he recoiled, terrified and coughing.

His mom took him in her arms, tightly and firmly, so much that it hurt. She had put her head in the crook of his neck, repeating over and over “I’m sorry, please stop crying.”

He couldn’t, and for each sob came an apology. At some point, his cries quietened and she wiped the blood and snort coming out his nose. She kissed his forehead, whispering a small “forgive me”.

And he did.

      

Neyla found him crying in what was once his garden, head against the shack his grandpa hid him in. She patted his left shoulder, the healthy one. But he couldn’t turn around, not in this state, so he whimpered for her to leave him.

“I can’t, Jellal, I can’t leave you alone here.”

His cries worsened at the “here”, flashing memories of Ani begging him to run away and grandpa saying how much he loved him.

They would never come back. They were dead. Just like the bodies Moishe had shown him to prove how dead their loved ones were. Just like the lizards he would put in his bucket to adopt, only for them to die from the heat. Just like everything around him, the forgotten tomatoes they wouldn’t harvest in time, the flowers he’d offer his mom, the bird at the side of the road, the hope his people were desperately trying to keep.

Everything died too soon. And nothing would ever come back once it did.

And it broke his small heart.

The teenage girl behind him tried to console him, caressing his back slowly.

“I am so sorry Jellal, so sorry…”

But there was too much for him to calm down.

“Please, let’s go back to the others…”

“No!”

      

Once, he asked his mom, “why they hate grandpa?” and she explained to him “because they hate the unmarked.” It didn’t make sense to him. His grandpa was the kindest man, the most patient and the most understanding. The only one who never raised his voice or hand on him. Grandpa was too nice to be unloved.

That was why his mom worked so hard, he gathered. Most people didn’t like them, because of his grandpa. The Olders were the meanest ones, he knew. Mom even confided to him that she didn’t like them either.

“They are cruel,” she had said. And she was right. “If they ever bother you, you must tell me.”

“Why?”

“So I can protect you of course.”

For his mom to say such a thing when she was supposed to respect them, Jellal knew it was serious. He had nodded, mute, his mind filled with thoughts.

“Now sleep.”

She had caressed his tummy and hummed with a smile. He had giggled and closed his eyes. His mom always smelled good and her voice was the softest of all. He had snuggled against her, even though it wasn’t her favourite position, but this time, she had said nothing and held him close.

“Sweet dreams, Jellal.”

      

It was already night when he finally went back to the survivors with Neyla. The sun had set without his family, once more. The stars shone with no care for his grieving heart, as always.

Asmae scolded them both but Neyla took most of the blame and he felt bad for it. He was the naughtiest boy. His wound got cleaned again, but he was too exhausted to cry. He ate what little they gave him as they didn’t have enough for all of them.

That was where the hunger came from.

And finally, he laid down on the ground, under the starry sky. Even at night, it was hot; even at night, he’d hear painful moans from the wounded.

He wondered when would the city be back to the way it was, and when his heart would stop hurting. He wondered when his wound would heal, and when the image of Ani bleeding out would disappear.

Neyla came to each one of the orphans, to murmur them a gentle “good night” and kiss their forehead. When she arrived at him, she brushed his hair slowly and smiled. She tenderly pecked his cheek.

“Neyla, you will stay, right?” he whispered. He didn’t want to lose her, because she was the kindest of them all. Because she loved Ani and somehow Jellal knew Ani loved her back. In some way, she also was family.

“Of course, Jellal, don’t worry. I’ll stay with you.”

      

She didn’t.

      

AN:  Thank you so much for reading! Hope you liked it!

so I plan on expanding this but haven’t fully formed chapter 2 yet so I thought I’d put chapter 1 here so far. enjoy!

Robin sat in front of the fire. It was getting colder. The Merry Men would have to move to a more protected shelter from the snow soon, maybe someone had an empty lodge. Marian slowly walked from the tent, pulling her cloak tighter. Robin sighed. He’d tried to convince her to wear warmer, modern clothes but she hadn’t listened. He turned back to the fire. He was surprised yet happy at her sudden return. Confused but pleased. So why did only part of his heart still feel for her? Another sigh. He knew exactly why. Why his heart ached the way it did. Rustling sounded from his tent. Roland had been tossing and turning the last 2 hours. As much as he and all of the Men enjoyed sleeping under the stars, he and Roland had gotten used to other sleeping arrangements. Suddenly a high cry broke into his thoughts. “Gina!” the 5 year old cried from his bed. “Gina, no, come back!” Robin ducked into the tent fast, scooping the little boy into his arms. “Shh, shh, my boy. It’s alright.” Roland’s wet brown eyes opened and he started to cry and shake his head. “G-gina - she - she was hurt. Papa, the bad witch took her!” the small child cried. This made Robin’s heart ache even more. “No, no, Roland. I promise she is ok. Safe at her big house, alright?” he tried to soothe. “No, Pa-papa! You have to go. Go save Mommy!” Poor Roland’s cries were frantic, his breathing getting choppy. “I’m right here, sweetie,” Marian called from the entrance of the tent. Roland clung tighter to Robin. His little face buried in his neck and repeating, “No, save Mommy, Papa. P-lease!” Robin looked stricken as he glanced at Marian. He didn’t want to hurt her but that’s not what his little boy meant. “That’s not - he doesn’t -” Not knowing what to say and knowing more people were going to have feelings hurt from this situation. Especially the one just a few miles away.... But right now he needed to calm Roland. Standing up Robin wrapped a thick warm blanket around his son’s Disney pajamas Henry had given him and moved out of the tent. “Shh,” he whispered. “Everything’s ok. Daddy will make sure of it.” “Nannas!” he suddenly screamed, trying to scramble out of his father’s arms. Robin held on though and hoisted him to his hip. “What? Where is it, son, where’s your monkey?” It was no where to be seen. He had it just earlier. “Did you leave it in the woods?” “No! Wh-where’s Nannas?” More tears fell down the boy’s cheeks. Robin continued through camp, asking Will and the very few others awake. Then he saw something; whiteish fluff in the mud. “Oh, no...” the outlaw whispered. How was this getting worse? He turned around hoping his son hadn’t seen. “We’ll d-do something about it, ok, my boy?” But it was too late, Roland had seen. The young boy gasped. “Nannas!” His tears became hysterical once again. “No!” He then pointed over Robin’s shoulder. “S-she did it! She hurt Nannas and she h-hurt Mommy!” “Roland, whatever are you talking about?” Marian wondered. “And I am your mama.” “No!” he cried again. Robin was at a loss. He looked between his inconsolable little boy and his confused and hurt...wife. He didn’t know how to tell her the child wasn’t calling her his mother....This situation was getting more mixed up. “Roland, I’m sure she didn’t hurt your monkey. Maybe an animal -” But the boy kept shaking his head and crying. “I-I didn’t -” Marian started and Robin’s eyes shot to her. “She gave it to him, right? That’s all he could talk about. I-I was sure the Evil Queen cursed the toy to harm our child!” But there was something off in the woman’s eyes. He squinted trying to figure it out. But as the boy’s cries increased he didn’t have time to dwell. Later on he’d wish he did. “Oh, Roland, please calm down. W-we’ll get you a new one,” Robin tried but it was no use. He knew how special that toy was. “Mommy’s monkey! She s-save me!” Robin wiped the boy’s tears with one hand, bouncing him a bit. Nothing could fix being separated from the woman he loved; just as nothing could repair his beloved toy. He looked at Marian. How was this one he used to love? Marian wasn’t cruel. “You should not have touched his things. That toy was close to his heart.” “B-but Robin -” The man turned around, lips to his son’s ear as he cradled him. “How about I tell you a story, son, hmm?” Roland peeked up at him, eyes still big and wet, but clearly still tired at this late hour. “About ours?” he asked. “Of course! Once upon a time....” Robin carried Roland through the woods. Marian stepped forward. What was he telling the boy? “Robin, don’t tell him -” but she was cut off by a hand to her shoulder. It was a tired looking Little John. “Let them be, milady.” He sighed as she went to protest. “I’m sure they’re thrilled you’re back, as are we. But they’ve built a life here. After you’ve gone. I’m sorry to give the news but Robin only has eyes for one and it’s no longer your heart.” As Marian went to again call Regina a monster the large man shook his head and moved back to his bed. She scowled. She’d think of something.... Away from camp father and son came to the clearing overlooking town. He then bundled them both in heavy blankets. “There was a queen who was very sad. She did some bad things once because of that. But you know what?” “W-what Papa?” the child’s voice got quieter the more he drifted off. “She changed, you see! She found the love of a sweet little boy. And then soon enough she found another boy and -” “That’s me and you!” “Yes,” Robin chuckled rocking him. “She finally found ones who looked past the bad she’d done and seen the girl beneath. She just needed reminding sometimes.” “We’ll remind Mommy...” Roland’s voice finally dropped into sleep. “Yes, we will, my boy,” Robin whispered. He kissed his son’s head. “Somehow....” They both knew Regina was taking Marian’s return badly and that hurt him deeply.