#[ there's a lot more here too as far as options for sending things ]

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - AFRAID

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ dark!boyfriend!rafe cameron ⋆ reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which Rafe hatches a plan to ensure you stay by his side, by making you dependent on him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language noncon/dubcon, smut, rafe drugs reader, substance abuse, toxic relationship, emotional abuse, baby trapping/forced pregnancy, possessiveness, controlling behaviors, threats of violence, loss of virginity, corruption, breeding kink, dirty talk (like a lot), abandonment issues, manipulation, rough sex, hairpulling, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, powerplay, choking, semi public sex, car sex, creampie (please dni if your sensitive to these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 8,960

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ is there a plot not really, it may seem long but 80% of this is smut. this is unrelated but i think his season 1 & 2 rafe hair were elite to me but I just hate buzz cuts on everyone so my opinion doesn't matter here. The ‘Lila’ is now edited I use it as a placeholder (because for some reason I hate putting y/n while writing) before I replace it with y/n but of course my dumbass forgot to do that when I published this.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔.:･Afraid･:.ೃ࿔.⋆❀°

(༝༚༝༚ lana del rey)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅�� ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Rafe sits across from you at your usual table in the country club, his jaw clenching rhythmically as he watches you flip through the college applications. His fingers drum against the polished wooden table, creating a nervous pattern that matches his increasing anxiety. The sight of all those prestigious university names makes his stomach turn - Harvard, Yale, Princeton - each one threatening to take you further away from Outer Banks, from him. He barely touches his plate of steak, too preoccupied with the growing unease in his chest.

"Why the fuck are you even looking at schools that far?" He snaps suddenly, his voice carrying a sharp edge as he reaches across to snatch one of your fries, popping it into his mouth with more force than necessary. His blue eyes darken with barely contained irritation, especially when he catches Topper's wave from across the room. He returns it with a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to you. "You know there's perfectly good schools right here in North Carolina. UNC's got a decent program."

You glance up from your binder, your eyes meeting Rafe's intense blue ones. You set down your fork carefully on your half-eaten Caesar salad, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sunlight streaming through the country club's windows catches on your hair, creating a halo effect around your skin. "Baby, we've talked about this," you say gently, "These schools have amazing programs for what I want to study. And it's not like I'm making any decisions yet - I'm just looking at options."

The afternoon sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches on his rings as he reaches up to run a hand through his disheveled hair, a telltale sign of his growing agitation. The country club bustles around them with the usual crowd of Kooks - women in tennis whites gossiping over martinis, men in polo shirts discussing their latest yacht purchases. But Rafe's focus remains fixed on those damned college applications, his jaw working overtime as he grinds his teeth.

The cocaine from earlier isn't helping his paranoia, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them. The idea of you leaving, of losing control over this one good thing in his life, sends a fresh wave of anxiety through his system. His free hand unconsciously reaches up to rub at his chest, a nervous tick he's developed. The country club suddenly feels too small, too confined, and he can feel his breathing getting slightly erratic. "Just... just put those away for now," he demands, trying to maintain his composure despite the rising panic in his chest. "We're supposed to be having lunch, not planning your fucking escape route."

You reach across the table with your free hand, your fingers brushing against his chest where he's rubbing anxiously. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something sharper - probably remnants of whatever he'd been doing before lunch - fills your nostrils as you lean closer. "Rafe, you're spiraling again," you observe quietly, mindful of the other diners around them. Your eyes flick briefly to Topper and his mother as they pass, offering a polite smile before returning your attention to your increasingly agitated boyfriend. "And you know that's not fair. I'm not trying to escape anything, especially not you."

"Besides," he continues, his tone taking on that manipulative edge he's so good at, "You really want to leave all this behind? The island, the parties, me?" He leans forward, lowering his voice to that dangerous whisper he uses when he's trying to get his way. "You know I can't follow you out there. I've got responsibilities here, the family business..." His hand shoots out to grab your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make his point. "And what about us? You're going to throw away what we have for some fancy degree you could get right here?"

The weight of his intense stare makes you shift in your seat, your sundress rustling against the plush cushions. You can see the telltale signs of his growing panic - the clenched jaw, the rapid breathing, the way his fingers keep twitching against the table. Part of you wants to close the binder, to give in like you usually do when he gets like this. But another part, the part that's been dreaming about life beyond the island since you were little, keeps your hand steady on the applications. "What about a compromise?" you suggest, your voice taking on that soothing tone you learned to use when he's on edge. "What if I apply to both - some schools here in North Carolina and some out of state? That way we have options to discuss later?"

Your free hand moves from his chest to his face, your thumb gently stroking along his clenched jaw. You can feel the tension there, the way he's grinding his teeth. The chatter of the country club fades into background noise as you focus solely on him, knowing how quickly his mood can shift when he feels cornered. "And hey," you add, your voice dropping to a whisper as you lean even closer, your lips quirking into a small smile, "No matter where I end up going, you know you're the only one I want, right? These other Kook boys could never compare to my Rafe Cameron."

The familiar weight of the promise ring he gave you three months ago sits heavy on your finger, catching the light as you move. You learned over your time together that sometimes Rafe needs this - needs to be reminded that he's your choice, that you're his. Even if the possessiveness sometimes scares you, even if his mood swings leave you walking on eggshells, you can't deny the way your heart still races when he looks at you like he is now - like you're something precious he's terrified of losing. "Can we at least look through them together? You might see something you like too."

Rafe lets go of your wrist his hand shooting out to slam your binder shut with enough force to make nearby diners jump. "Don't fucking patronize me," he growls, his voice low and threatening despite their public setting. The gentle stroke of your thumb against his jaw only heightens his agitation, like a match to gasoline. "You think I don't see what this is?" He leans forward, invading your space across the table, his blue eyes wild with a mixture of possessiveness and barely contained rage. "First it's just 'looking at options,' then suddenly you're gone, probably fucking some ivy league asshole who doesn't know you like I do." His breathing becomes more erratic, the hand on his chest pressing harder as anxiety mingles with his growing anger. The familiar scent of your perfume - usually calming - now seems to mock him with its potential absence.

"You're trying to leave me, just like everyone else. Just like my mom, just like Sarah..." His voice cracks slightly on his sister's name before hardening again. "Well, I won't fucking let you."

You tense at the sudden shift in Rafe's demeanor, your heart rate picking up as you watch him slam your binder shut. The warmth drains from your eyes, replaced by a flicker of fear you try desperately to hide. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as he invades your space, his paranoia rolling off him in waves. You’ve seen him like this before, but never quite this intense, never quite this threatening in such a public place.

"Rafe, please," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you glance around at the other diners who are now openly staring at them. Your sundress suddenly feels too thin, too exposed under his wild-eyed gaze. You can smell the mixture of his cologne and sweat, and see the way his pupils are dilated - clear signs he's high again. "You're making a scene. Can we please just discuss this somewhere private?" 

A laugh escapes his throat at your suggestion of talking, the sound drawing more concerned glances from nearby tables. "Discuss? There's nothing to fucking discuss." His voice takes on that manipulative tone he knows works so well, mixing threat with vulnerability. "You belong here, with me. Do you think any of those places are gonna love you like I do? Understand you like I do?" His eyes flick to the promise ring on your finger, a visible reminder of his claim on you. "Or maybe that's what you want - to get away from the crazy boyfriend, right? Is that what this is about?"

The cocaine-fueled paranoia reaches a crescendo as he suddenly stands, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He towers over you, his presence intimidating despite the public setting. "You're not going anywhere," he declares, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he leans down close to your ear. "And if you try, I'll make sure every single one of those fancy schools loses your application. Don't test me, baby." His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, a twisted mixture of threat and affection that's purely him. "Now get your shit. We're leaving." His hand moves to grip your upper arm, ready to pull you up from your chair, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence and possessive need.

The promise ring feels like it's burning on your finger as tears start to well up in your eyes. "I'm not trying to leave you," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. I'm not trying to leave you, I love you, Rafe. You know I do. But you're hurting me right now." You can feel your body starting to shake, whether from fear or adrenaline, you're not sure anymore.

You let him pull you to your feet, knowing resistance will only make things worse. Your college applications lay forgotten on the table as you stumble slightly, your legs weak from the sudden movement. "Okay," you concede, your voice small and defeated. "Okay, we can go. Just... please calm down. Please." Your free hand comes up to rest on his chest again, feeling his racing heartbeat under your palm. "Let's go to your family's place and talk about this properly. Just you and me, baby. Like we always do."

Rafe feels you trembling beneath his grip, and something in your tear-filled eyes pierces through his cocaine-addled rage. His breathing is still erratic, but the feel of your hand against his racing heart starts to ground him. The familiar scent of your perfume begins to cut through the paranoid haze, reminding him of lazy mornings in his bed, of your soft sighs against his neck. His grip on your arm loosens slightly, though he doesn't let go completely.

"Fuck," he mutters, running his free hand through his disheveled hair as reality starts seeping back in. The stares of the other country club patrons finally register, and he can feel his father's disapproval even in his absence. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he struggles to regain control. "Yeah... yeah, okay. Let's go home." His voice is still rough, but the dangerous edge has dulled somewhat. He reaches past you to grab your binder, shoving it under his arm - he's not leaving it here for you to come back to later.

The walk to his truck is tense, his hand moving from your arm to the small of your back - still possessive, but less aggressive. The cocaine is making him jittery, his thoughts racing between paranoia and guilt. Once you're inside his truck, he slams his palms against the steering wheel, making you jump. "I just..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't lose you too, baby. I can't." His blue eyes, when they meet yours, are still wild but now tinged with desperation rather than rage. "Everyone leaves. Everyone always fucking leaves."

He reaches across the center console to pull you closer, burying his face in your neck. His breathing is still uneven, but slower now as he inhales your scent. "Stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice taking on that vulnerable quality that only you get to hear. "Just... stay with me. Please." His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. It's the closest thing to an apology you’re likely to get from him, this moment of raw vulnerability between the storms of his temper.

Rafe paces anxiously across Topper's home gym, his footsteps echoing against the polished hardwood floors as sweat drips down his bare chest from their workout session. The late afternoon sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the expensive exercise equipment. His muscles are tense not just from lifting weights, but from the constant anxiety gnawing at his insides about your potential departure. The cocaine from earlier is still coursing through his system, making his thoughts race faster than he can process them.

"I'm telling you guys, she's fucking leaving me," he complains, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he continues his relentless pacing. The familiar panic starts rising in his chest again, making him rub at it absently. "All these fucking college applications... Harvard, Yale, Princeton. She's planning her escape and I can't... I can't fucking let that happen." His blue eyes are wild as they dart between Kelce and Topper, sprawled across the leather bench press seats, watching their friend's mounting distress.

Kelce exchanges a knowing look with Topper before speaking up, his voice careful as he watches Rafe's increasingly agitated movements. "Man, you need to chill. Maybe if you weren't so fucking intense about it-" Rafe's sharp laugh cuts him off, the sound bouncing off the mirrored walls. "Intense? You think I'm being intense?" Rafe's voice rises as he spins to face them, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "My girl's trying to leave the fucking state, and you're telling me to chill?"

"Well," Topper drawls, wiping his face with a monogrammed towel, "you could always do what my cousin did when his girlfriend tried to leave for college." He pauses for dramatic effect, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got her knocked up. Can't exactly go to Yale with a baby on the way, can you?" He's clearly joking, but something in Rafe's expression shifts, his eyes taking on that dangerous gleam that appears when he's formulating a plan.

"That's..." Rafe stops pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. His jaw clenches rhythmically as he processes the idea. "That's fucking perfect." He starts pacing again, but this time with purpose, his movements predatory rather than anxious. "She'd have to stay. She'd be tied to me forever." His voice takes on that obsessive quality that appears when he's fixating on something. "No more fucking college applications, no more threats of leaving. She'd be mine, completely mine."

"Dude," Kelce sits up straighter, realizing Rafe's actually considering it. "I don't think that's what Topper meant-" But Rafe's already lost in his world, his cocaine-fueled paranoia latching onto this new solution like a lifeline. "She's still a virgin too," he continues, more to himself than his friends, his rings catching the light as he gestures animatedly. "Waiting for the 'right moment' or some shit. Well, guess that moment's coming sooner than she thought."

"No, no, this could work," Rafe continues, his voice taking on that edge that suggests he's spiraling into one of his episodes. "Her parents are traditional as fuck, they'd make her keep it. And Ward's always going on about wanting grandkids to carry on the Cameron name..." He's fully pacing now, his movements jerky and aggressive as the plan solidifies in his mind. "She's been hinting about wanting to do it soon anyway. Valentine's Day is coming up..."

The gym falls silent except for the sound of Rafe's footsteps and heavy breathing. Neither Kelce nor Topper dare speak, knowing from experience that trying to talk Rafe down when he's like this - especially when he's high - is pointless and potentially dangerous. They watch as their friend works himself into a frenzy, plotting the permanent capture of his girlfriend with the same intense focus he applies to everything he wants to possess.

"It's perfect," Rafe finally declares, stopping his pacing to face his friends. His chest heaves with excited breaths, sweat making his skin shine in the fading sunlight. "She'll never leave me then. She'll have to stay here, raise our kid, be the perfect fucking family." 

The thought of you, permanently his, unable to leave him, sends a rush of possessive pleasure through his system. "You guys didn't hear any of this," he suddenly stops, fixing both Kelce and Topper with a threatening stare. "Not a fucking word to anyone, got it?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that reminds them why people are scared of him, why even other Kooks think twice before crossing him.

"Jesus Christ, Rafe," Topper mutters, running a hand through his hair as he watches his friend's descent into this new obsession. "This is fucked up, even for you." But he knows that look in Rafe's eyes. Once Rafe sets his mind to something, especially when he's high, there's no talking him out of it. The gym feels smaller suddenly, charged with the energy of Rafe's newfound determination.

Rafe stands at the door of the l/n estate, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes are slightly dilated from the line of cocaine he did in his truck to calm his nerves, but he's made sure to eye drop and cologne himself thoroughly. The velvet box containing the surprise he has planned for later weighs heavy in his pocket as he shifts anxiously, his rings catching the light as he reaches up to adjust his tie.

When Paul opens the door, Rafe immediately straightens his posture, forcing his most charming smile - the one he uses when he needs to impress. "Good evening, Mr. L/N," he greets, his voice steady despite the cocaine making his heart race. The older man's scrutinizing gaze reminds him uncomfortably of his own father's disapproving stares. The foyer behind Paul gleams with old money - crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits that speak of generations of Kook legacy.

"Rafe," Paul acknowledges with a slight nod, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the young man's appearance. There's something about Ward Cameron's son that has always set him on edge, though he can't quite put his finger on what. Maybe it's the occasional wild look in his eyes or the way his daughter seems to walk on eggshells around him sometimes. "Y/N is still getting ready. Come in." He steps aside, allowing Rafe into the pristine foyer.

The sound of Rafe's expensive dress shoes echoes against the marble as he enters, his hands sliding into his pockets to hide their slight tremor - partly from the drugs, partly from anticipation of what he has planned for tonight. The house smells of old money and fresh flowers, much like his own family's estate, but somehow more sterile, fitting for a plastic surgeon's home. His fingers brush against the small packet of powder in his pocket, next to the ring box - just enough to keep him steady through dinner.

"I trust you'll have her home at a reasonable hour," Paul's voice cuts through Rafe's thoughts, making him turn to face the older man. "Of course, sir," Rafe responds, that practiced smile still in place even as his jaw clenches slightly. "We just have reservations at Le Rivage, then maybe a walk on the beach." What he doesn't mention is the rest of his plans for the evening - the champagne waiting in his truck, the blankets he's laid out at his secret spot on the beach, the pills dissolved in one of the champagne glasses that will make sure everything goes according to plan.

The sound of heels on marble draws both men's attention to the grand staircase, and Rafe's breath catches in his throat. You descend like something out of a dream, your skin glowing against the deep red of your dress making his hands itch with the need to touch you. His blue eyes darken as they track your movement, his mind already racing ahead to later in the evening, to all the ways he plans to claim you completely.

"You look fucking perfect," he breathes out when you reach the bottom of the stairs, catching himself too late to censor his language in front of your father. But he can't help it - the cocaine making him more impulsive than usual, and the sight of you making his blood run hot. He steps forward to meet you, one hand reaching out to brush against your waist, proprietary and possessive even under your father's watchful gaze. The scent of your perfume mingles with the lingering chemical taste in the back of his throat, making him dizzy with want and anticipation.

Tonight's the night, he thinks, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as Paul insists on taking pictures. Tonight you become his completely, permanently. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. The thought makes him pull you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Ready for your Valentine's surprise, baby?" His voice carries that dangerous edge that anyone else would recognize as a warning, but he knows his sweet, innocent Y/N won't catch it. Not until it's too late.

Rafe helps you into his truck, his hand lingering possessively on your lower back as you climb in. The interior smells of expensive leather and his cologne, mixed with something chemical that makes you wrinkle your nose slightly. He slides into the driver's seat, his movements are precise despite the cocaine coursing through his system. The engine purrs to life, and he immediately reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers as he pulls away from your family's estate.

"You really do look fucking incredible tonight," he murmurs, his blue eyes flickering between you and the road. His thumb traces circles on your palm, a gesture that would seem sweet if not for the slight tremor in his hand. "That dress is driving me crazy." His rings catch the streetlights as you drive through Figure 8, passing other massive estates and perfectly manicured lawns.

"Thank you, baby," You respond softly, your free hand smoothing down the red fabric of your dress. "You clean up pretty nice yourself." You glance at him, admiring how the streetlights cast shadows across his sharp jawline. "So, are you going to tell me where we're going for dinner? You've been so secretive about tonight."

Rafe's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "It's a surprise, remember?" His voice carries that edge of control he can never quite hide. "But first..." He reaches behind your seat with his free hand, pulling out a small gift bag. "I got you something to wear at dinner." Inside is a delicate diamond necklace, the stones catching the light like tiny stars.

"Oh, Rafe," You breathe, reaching for the necklace. "It's beautiful. You didn't have to-" You are cut off by his laugh, that sharp sound that always makes your stomach flip. "Of course I did. Only the best for my girl." He pulls into a secluded spot overlooking the water, putting the truck in park. "Here, let me put it on you."

His hands are slightly unsteady as he fastens the necklace around your throat, his breath hot against your neck. "Perfect," he whispers, his fingers trailing down your spine. "Just like you'll be after tonight." There's something in his voice that makes you shiver, though you can't quite place why. "What do you mean?" you ask, turning to face him.

Rafe's eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he stares at you. "Just that I've got big plans for us, baby." His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "Tonight's gonna change everything." He leans in closer, his other hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. "You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," You whisper, even as something in your gut tells you something's off. You can feel his heart racing where your bodies are pressed together and you can smell something sharp and chemical on his breath beneath the mint. "Rafe, are you okay? You seem...different tonight."

"Never better," he responds, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Just excited to give you all your surprises." His hand moves higher up your thigh, possessive and demanding. "Now, how about we have a little drink before dinner? To celebrate Valentine's Day?" He reaches behind the seat again, pulling out an expensive bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Rafe pours the champagne with calculated precision, his hands steadier now as he hands you your specially prepared glass. The moonlight filtering through the truck's windows catches the diamond necklace at your throat, reminding him of how perfectly it marks you as his. His blue eyes track your every movement as you accept the glass, noting how the red fabric of your dress has ridden up slightly from your position.

"To us," he proposes, raising his glass with that dangerous smile playing at his lips. The cocaine makes everything feel more intense - the way your perfume fills the confined space of his truck, the soft sound of your breathing, the sight of your lips touching the rim of the glass. He watches intently as you take a sip, something predatory flickering in his eyes. "And to all the surprises tonight has in store."

"Mmm, this is really good," You comment, taking another sip. You don’t notice how Rafe barely touches his glass, too focused on watching your drink. "But shouldn't we head to dinner? We don't want to lose our reservation." You move to check the time on your phone, but Rafe's hand shoots out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with practiced possessiveness.

"We've got time," he assures you, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer. His free hand comes up to trace the line of the necklace, fingers ghosting over your collarbone. "Besides, I want to enjoy this moment. Just you and me." He can feel your pulse racing under his fingers where they press against your wrist. "Finish your drink, baby. Then we can talk about dinner."

He watches as you obediently take another sip, then another. "You know what I love about you, Y/N?" His voice is rough now, heavy with want and something darker. "How fucking perfect you are. How innocent." His fingers trace patterns on your inner thigh, making you shiver. "How you trust me completely."

"Rafe," you breathe, and he notices your words are slightly slurred now. Your eyes are starting to look unfocused as you blink slowly at him. "I feel... strange." The champagne glass slips from your fingers, but he catches it smoothly, setting it aside. His heart is racing with a mixture of cocaine-fueled excitement and dark anticipation.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, pulling you closer as you start to sway slightly. "I've got you. Always got you." His lips brush against your neck, just above the diamond necklace. "And after tonight, you'll always be mine. No more college applications, no more threats of leaving." His voice takes on that possessive edge that would normally frighten you, but the drugs in your system are making everything feel distant and hazy.

"What did you..." you try to ask, your head falling back against the seat as your limbs grow heavy. Rafe's hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the drugs take effect. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making his expression look almost demonic as he smiles down at you.

"Just making sure tonight goes exactly as planned," he whispers, his other hand already reaching for the blankets he has stashed behind the seats. "Don't fight it, baby. Just let go. Let me take care of everything." His lips crash against yours, swallowing any protest you might have made as the drugs pull you deeper under their influence.

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your movements become increasingly sluggish, your normally bright eyes growing heavy-lidded and unfocused. He shifts in his seat, reaching to recline both of your seats back to create more space in the truck's cabin. The moonlight streaming through the windows casts ethereal shadows across your skin as he positions your body how he wants.

"Rafe..." you mumble, your voice thick and confused as he spreads the blankets beneath you. "What's happening? I feel so..." Your word trails off as he captures your lips in another possessive kiss, his hands already working at the zipper of your red dress.

"Just relax, baby," he whispers against your mouth, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. "Let me take care of you." His fingers trace the newly exposed skin of your back, savoring how you shiver under his touch despite your drugged state. "You look so fucking perfect like this. So helpless. So mine."

Rafe's hands slide possessively over your body as he peels the red dress from your drugged form, revealing the black underwear underneath. His blue eyes darken with predatory hunger as he drinks in the sight of you laid out beneath him in his truck, the diamond necklace glinting at your throat like a collar. The softness of your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, the little whimpers that escape your lips as you try to fight through the fog in your mind.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, his voice rough with desire as his hands roam over your exposed flesh. "Just let it happen. You know you want this." His fingers trace the edge of your lacy bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the delicate fabric. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment. To make you completely mine."

"Rafe, please," You slurred, weakly trying to push at his chest. "Something's wrong... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth crashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips as his hand slides between your thighs. He groans when he feels how wet you are through your panties, his cock straining against his suit pants.

"Look how ready you are for me," he rubs circles against your clit through the lace. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind's trying to fight it." He pulls back to admire his handiwork - your lips swollen from his kisses, your pupils blown wide from the drugs, your chest heaving as you struggle to focus. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna put my baby in you tonight."

Rafe’s fingers hook into your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs as you weakly try to squeeze your thighs together. The moonlight catches on the wetness between your legs, making him groan. "Fuck, look at that pretty pussy," he breathes, his fingers spreading you open. "All perfect and untouched. Not for long though." 

Rafe's fingers work methodically between your thighs, spreading your wetness as he watches your face contort with unwilling pleasure. His other hand pins your wrists above your head, his rings cold against your feverish skin. The truck's windows are starting to fog up from your heavy breathing, creating a private cocoon around you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, sliding two fingers into you, feeling how tight you are around them. "Gonna stretch you out nice and slow before I fuck a baby into you." His cock throbs painfully in his pants as he watches you arch beneath him, the drugs making you more responsive even as you try to resist.

"No... Rafe... please," You whimper, your head thrashing weakly against the leather seat. But your body betrays you, hips rocking against his skilled fingers as he finds that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as you gasp, reminding him of his ownership.

"Look at you, taking my fingers so well," he praises darkly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. "Can't wait to feel this tight little cunt around my cock." His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles that make your whole body tremble. "Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Make sure my cum stays deep inside you until it takes."

The way your walls clench around his fingers, the little sounds you make as he works your body, the perfect arch of your back as you fight between pleasure and resistance. He leans down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out.

"Please," you beg, though whether you're begging him to stop or continue, even you don’t know anymore. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending singing from his touch as the drugs make everything feel more intense. "Rafe... I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, curling his fingers inside you as his thumb speeds up on your clit. "Come on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cock." His blue eyes are wild with possession as he watches you fall apart beneath him, knowing that after tonight, you’ll never be able to leave him. 

Rafe’s fingers work relentlessly between your thighs. His free hand moves from your wrists to grip your throat, right above the diamond necklace, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze my fingers."

Your body betrays you even as your mind tries to resist, waves of unwilling pleasure building under his skilled touch. The drugs make everything feel heightened - the stretch of his fingers inside you, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his breath against your neck. Your legs start to tremble as you approach your peak.

"That's it, baby," He watches your face contort with pleasure and confusion. His cock strains painfully against his suit pants, demanding attention. But he forces himself to wait, to savor this moment of taking your innocence piece by piece. "Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel."

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck's cabin, mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working between your legs. Rafe's eyes are dark with possession as he watches you fight against the inevitable, knowing that each moment brings him closer to his ultimate goal. The moonlight catches on the sweat beading on your skin, making you glow ethereally.

"I... I can't..." You whimper, your back arching off the seat as pleasure builds to an unbearable level. The drugs make everything feel like too much and not enough all at once. "Rafe, please..." Your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders. "You can, and you will," he commands, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that brooks no argument. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars while his thumb circles your clit with practiced precision. "Come for me now. Let me feel it."

Rafe watches with dark satisfaction as your body trembles beneath him, your back arching off the leather seat as pleasure builds. His fingers work relentlessly inside your pussy, stretching and preparing you for what's to come. The way your walls clench around his digits, the little gasps and moans you can't hold back, the perfect arch of your spine as you fight between resistance and ecstasy.

"That's my good girl," his free hand moving from your throat to grip your hair, forcing you to look at him. "Watch me while you come. Want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart." His thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed with drugs and unwilling pleasure. The moonlight catches the tears gathering in your lashes as you stare up at him, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Your lips part in a silent scream as the pressure builds to an unbearable level, your body tightening around his fingers.

"Please," Her hands clutch desperately at his shoulders, leaving crescent marks through his expensive shirt. "Rafe, I can't... it's too much..."

"Yes, you can," he demands, his voice rough with desire and dominance. "Come for me now, baby. Show me how good I make you feel." His fingers speed up inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the truck's cabin. "Let go. Let me see you fall apart before I fuck you properly."

The combination of his skilled fingers, the drugs in your system, and his commanding voice finally pushes you over the edge. Your whole body goes rigid as pleasure crashes through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as you come with a broken cry of his name. 

"Beautiful," he breathes, working you through the aftershocks as you tremble beneath him. "But we're not done yet, baby. Not even close." His free hand moves to his belt, the sound of the buckle loud in the confined space. "Now it's time for the main event. Time to make you completely mine."

Rafe takes his time unbuckling his belt, the metallic sound echoing in the confined space of his truck. His blue eyes never leave your face as he watches you come down from your high, your body still trembling with aftershocks. Your chest heaves with each breath, the glisten of sweat on your skin, the slight quiver of your thighs as they remain spread for him.

"Look at you," he grunts, finally freeing his throbbing cock from his pants. "All fucked out from just my fingers, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet." His hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your sensitive folds, making you whimper. "Been waiting so fucking long for this moment."

"Rafe," You slur, your drugged mind struggling to focus as you feel his size pressing against your entrance. "Wait... I'm not ready..." Your weak protests only serve to fuel his desire, his grip tightening on your hip as he holds you in place. The diamond necklace at your throat catches the moonlight as you try to shift away.

"You're more than ready, baby," he counters, using his free hand to spread your wetness along his length. "Your body's begging for it. Been begging for it all night." He leans down, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss as he starts to push inside your entrance. The stretch is intense, making you gasp against his mouth. "Gonna make you take every fucking inch."

His cock inches forward slowly, savoring the way your walls resist his invasion. The truck's windows are completely fogged now, creating a private world for just the two of you. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his control starting to slip. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "Taking my cock so well, just like I knew you would."

Tears stream down your cheeks as he stretches you open, the mixture of pain and drugged pleasure making your head spin. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. "Almost there, baby," he pants against your neck, his hips still pushing forward relentlessly. "Just a little more and you'll have all of me." His free hand slides between them to rub your clit, knowing the added stimulation will help your body accept him. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy up with my cum, make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me."

Rafe's hips finally meet yours as he bottoms out inside you, a groan of satisfaction rumbling deep in his chest. Your walls flutter around his length as you adjust to being completely filled for the first time. The truck's cabin is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the leather seats creaking beneath them with each subtle movement.

"There we go," he pants against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hands grip your hips possessively as he holds himself still, savoring the moment. "Been dreaming about this for so fucking long, baby. About claiming you completely." You whimper beneath him, your mind is hazy from the drugs as your body struggles to accommodate his size. Tears continue to stream down your cheeks, your fingers clutch weakly at his shoulders as you feel him throb inside you.

"Please," you manage to gasp, though your drugged state makes it hard to form coherent thoughts. "It's too much... I can't..." Your protests are cut off by his mouth capturing yours in a demanding kiss, his tongue invading your mouth just as his cock has invaded your body.

"Yes, you can," his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. "And you will. Gonna fuck a baby into you tonight, make sure you can never leave me." His movements gradually become deeper, and more purposeful, as he establishes a rhythm. "Watch me while I do it. Want to see those pretty eyes when I breed you." One hand slides from your hip to grip your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he fucks into you. "That's it," he praises darkly as your body starts to respond despite your protests. "Take it like a good girl. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

Rafe's movements become more intense, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force as he chases his release. The truck rocks with your movements, his hands grip your hips bruisingly tight as he pounds into you, watching with dark satisfaction as pleasure and pain war across your drugged features.

"Fuck, you feel perfect," he groans, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat just above the diamond necklace. "So fucking tight around my cock. Like you were made for this." His thumb traces your bottom lip as he continues his relentless pace. "Made to take my cum, to carry my baby."

Your head thrashes weakly against the leather seat, your body overwhelmed by the mix of drugs and unwilling pleasure. Your walls clench around him involuntarily as another orgasm builds, making him grunt with satisfaction. "That's it, baby," he praises darkly. "Squeeze my cock just like that. Show me how much your body wants this." His free hand moves between them to rub your clit, determined to make you come around his cock. "Gonna fill you up so good," he pants, his rhythm becoming more erratic as he nears his release. "Gonna pump you full of my cum until it takes. Make sure everyone knows you belong to me." His fingers speed up on your clit as he feels your walls starting to flutter. "Come for me now, baby. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."

Rafe's grip tightens on your hips as he feels his release building, his thrusts becoming more desperate and erratic. "That's it, baby," feeling your walls clench around him as another orgasm builds in your drugged body. "Come on my cock like a good girl. Show me how much you want my cum." Your back arches off the seat as pleasure crashes through you against your will, your walls squeezing his length rhythmically. The sight of you coming undone beneath him finally pushes Rafe over the edge. With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he empties himself into your pussy. "Fuck," he pants against your neck, grinding his hips to ensure his cum stays deep inside. "All mine now."

He collapses on top of you for a moment, both of you catching your breath in the steamy confines of his truck. The diamond necklace glints at your throat as he finally pulls out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release drips from your used pussy. "No more college applications, no more threats of leaving. You're stuck with me now, baby." Without a word, he starts fixing his clothes, already planning your next encounter in his mind. 

"Let's get you home, baby," he says, his voice rough as he helps you dress on shaky legs. "Don't want your daddy getting suspicious." His hand rests possessively on your thigh as he starts the truck, knowing that after tonight, everything has changed. The drive back is silent except for your occasional whimpers, the drugs still making your head fuzzy as she processes what just happened.

A week later,  

Rafe lounges against his truck at the Boneyard, The beach is relatively empty at this hour, just a few surfers catching the last waves of the day. His blue eyes track your movement, noting how pale you look, and how your usual confident stride seems shakier. A smirk plays at his lips, though he keeps his expression carefully neutral.

"Hey baby," he calls out, pushing off the truck to meet you. His hands immediately find your waist, pulling you close as he studies your face. "You sounded weird on the phone. Everything okay?" The concern in his voice is perfectly crafted, masking the satisfaction he feels as he takes in your distressed state.

Your hands tremble as you pull away from his embrace, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. "Rafe, I... I need to tell you something." Your voice cracks slightly as you speak, tears already gathering in your eyes. "I went to the doctor today..."

"What's wrong?" Rafe steps closer, his hand coming up to cup your face with practiced gentleness. Inside, his heart races with anticipation, but his expression remains one of innocent concern. "You've been sick all week. Did they figure out what's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you whisper, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. Your eyes search his face desperately for any sign of recognition, any hint that he remembers your Valentine's night. "But I don't... I can't remember... The last thing I clearly remember is having champagne in your truck..."

Rafe's eyes widen in perfectly feigned shock, his hand dropping from your face as he takes a step back. "You're... what?" He runs a hand through his hair, the picture of a young man receiving unexpected news. "But we've never... I mean, I thought you wanted to wait?" His voice carries just the right amount of confusion and disbelief.

"That's just it," Your voice rises slightly, panic evident in your tone. "I don't remember! Valentine's Day is just... fuzzy. But the doctor said I'm about a week along, and you're the only one I've been with..." you trail off, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks.

Rafe pulls you into his arms, hiding his triumphant smile in your hair. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, one hand moving to rest possessively over your still-flat stomach. "We'll figure this out together. I'm here for you, baby. Always." His voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge you're too distraught to notice. "Guess those college applications won't be necessary anymore, huh?"

His hand tightens possessively around your waist as you tremble against him, his other hand still resting on your stomach where his child is growing. The setting sun casts long shadows across the beach, the sound of waves providing a backdrop to your quiet sobs. His blue eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he feels you collapse further into his embrace, exactly where he wants you.

"What am I going to tell my parents?" You whisper against his chest, your voice breaking. "My dad... he's going to kill me. And all my college plans..." You pull back slightly to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks. "Rafe, I can't remember anything from that night. How did this happen?"

Rafe's jaw clenches as he maintains his facade of confusion and concern. "Hey, look at me," he demands softly, tilting your chin up with his fingers. "Your parents love you. And my family... well, Ward's always talking about wanting grandkids." His thumb wipes away your tears as he studies your face. "Maybe this is a good thing, you know? You and me, starting our own family."

"But I had plans," you protest weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Harvard, Yale... I was supposed to get out of Outer Banks..." You don’t even notice how his grip tightens painfully at your words or the flash of possessive anger in his eyes.

"Fuck those plans," he growls, before quickly softening his tone. "I mean, things change, right? Sometimes for the better." His hand slides up to cup your face, forcing you to maintain eye contact. "You've got me now. Got us. Isn't that better than some fancy college where you don't know anyone?" He’s super hyper-focused on every detail - the way you unconsciously lean into his touch, how your body fits perfectly against his, the slight swell of your breasts that's already becoming noticeable. His other hand remains possessively on your stomach, imagining how it will grow with his child.

"I'm scared," You admit, your voice small against the sound of crashing waves. "Everything's happening so fast, and I can't remember... that night is just blank, Rafe. Doesn't that bother you?" You search his face for any sign of recognition, any hint of guilt.

But Rafe's expression remains carefully crafted a mixture of concern and determination. "What bothers me is seeing you upset," he lies smoothly, pulling you closer. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You and me and our baby. "No more talk about leaving, though. You belong here, with me. Got it?"

"We should tell our parents soon," he says, his voice carrying that edge of control he can never quite hide. "Get everything out in the open. But first, promise me something, baby. Promise me you'll stop looking at those college applications."

Your eyes widen with fresh tears as you stare up at him. "But Rafe, I can't just give up everything I've worked for..." Your voice trails off as his grip tightens slightly on your chin, his blue eyes darkening with barely contained possession.

"Those dreams were for the old Y/N," he states firmly, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "The one who didn't have a family to think about. Things are different now." His other hand presses harder against your stomach, a reminder of what's growing inside of you. "You've got bigger responsibilities. To me. To our baby."

The waves crash against the shore behind them as silence stretches between them. Rafe can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers where they rest against your throat and can see the moment you start to break under the weight of reality. His plan is working perfectly - soon you’ll be completely his, tied to him forever through your child.

"I... I need time to think," You finally whisper, trying to step back from his embrace. But Rafe's grip remains firm, keeping you close as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His expression shifts into something darker, more possessive.

"No more thinking," One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair. "No more plans that don't include me. You're mine now, Y/N. The sooner you accept that, the better." His voice carries a threat wrapped in velvet as he stares down at you. "Or should we talk about how convenient it is that you can't remember Valentine's Day?"

Rafe's threat hangs heavy in the air as your face drains of color. His fingers tighten in your hair, cocaine making his movements more aggressive than usual. The darkened beach feels suddenly oppressive as he towers over your trembling form.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper, your voice is small and frightened as you search his face. The familiar warmth in his blue eyes has been replaced by something cold and calculating that makes your stomach turn.

"You really want to know what happened that night?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. His hand slides from your stomach to your hip possessively. "Want me to tell you exactly how I made sure you'd never leave me? How I watched you drink that champagne, knowing what was in it?"

You try to pull away, but his grip is iron-tight as realization dawns on your face. "No," she breathes, shaking her head in denial. "You wouldn't... you couldn't..." But the predatory smile spreading across his face tells you everything you need to know.

"I did," he confirms, pulling you closer until your faces are inches apart. "And now you're carrying my baby. No more college applications. No more dreams of leaving. You're mine forever now, baby." His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek with mock tenderness. "And if you ever think about telling anyone... well, who's going to believe the girl who can't remember her own Valentine's Day?"

The waves crash behind them as your world crumbles around you. You can feel the weight of the promise ring on your finger - once a symbol of love, now feeling more like a shackle. Rafe watches you process everything with dark satisfaction, knowing he's won completely.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask through your tears, your voice breaking on the single word. The hand in your hair tightens as Rafe's expression turns almost tender, though his eyes remain cold.

"Because you're mine," he states simply as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And I take care of what's mine. You'll see, baby. This is better than any fancy college could ever be." His hand moves to rest on your stomach again, possessive and threatening all at once. "Our little family, together forever in Outer Banks. Just like it should be."

[tiktaalic]

catching fire dash simulator

finnicksgirl Follow

my streams have been cutting all season omfg what is going on

caps4finnick Follow

cinnagirl3000 Follow

anybody heard from cinna lately?

plutarcheology Follow

Plutarch Heavensbee circa 2282

revolutionarykatniss

As if it’s not ENOUGH that yall wanna fuck the most morally bankrupt man alive who is more than complicit because he gets paid to live in luxury to ORCHESTRATE the deaths of innocents so that they’re a spectacle and don’t have the option to die even semi peacefully. as if that’s not enough. You wanna fuck him when he’s ugly?

caesarflickerwoman Follow

anyone else still thinking about how caesar and peeta were kinda ..

czrflckmn

Aren’t you the one who had the week long meltdown about peeta being overfamiliar with him

caesarflickerwoman

Well you see I’m gay and a man now

theeclove Follow

already tired of this fucking season of everlark -_- idgaf about the fucking fog

siblingvictors

DISTRICT ONE GONNA SEND THEM A CANCELLATION NOTICE!! #CASHMEREGLOSS4EVER

czrflkmn Follow

everyone looooooves to act like NOTABLE cishet peeta is so gay w caesar as if his gay cohost isn't right there.... slaying in a wig..... sending yearning glances caesar's way right before the camera cuts......

johannadykeson Follow

tbh she’s got the WORST taste in allies idek why i continue to stan. girl MAGS?

#my girl going to get slorn :/

katnissgirlsmakedo

She is choosing with her HEART she chose to save peeta in the games REMEMBERRRRRRRR she’s literally a lovergirl to the core

#lovecore #heartcore #truelove

lucygraydotcom Follow

Caesar flickerman kidn if a laughing gnome. Reblog

finnickforever Follow

I’ve supported finnick through a lot and defended them and I’ve always been proud they're from my district but honestly they went way too far by doing the salute during the interview. I can only hope that they just got caught up in the moment with everyone else doing it and obviously it’s a stressful situation but I don’t think I can continue endorsing them. I’ll be changing my url this week.

divorceekatniss Follow

hey guys i know times are tough for everyone and the capital has really cracked down but my mutual @divorceepeeta got flogged the other day and could really use some help. v3nmo here. anything helps #signalboost #mockingjay

disabledmags Follow

Tbh the baby is the saddest thing I've ever heard </3

peetaspride

Another citizen falling for capital propaganda. It's so glaringly apparent that this is made up to draw in views. The tributes undergo extensive medical examination prior to the games. They would NEVER let a pregnant woman compete.

disabledmags

As if killing children has ever stopped them before?

#We all saw him fall to protect her stomach before they even started the victory tour #Is it that ridiculous to believe two newlyweds fresh out of a life or death situation would celebrate a little carelessly?

peetaspride

If you think even the marriage is real you're stupider than I thought. Peeta spends every interview begging us to see his truth. The capital is shamelessly silencing him and "the baby" is a distraction.

peetasbabymama Follow

URL CHANGE!! faggotpeeta->peetasbabymama

cupcakeeverlark

this isnt funny. peeta's a real person with real feelings. it will never be funny to call someone a f***** as a joke. how would you feel if my url was f*****peetasbabymama?

peetasbabymama

ok

district420

isnt cupcakeeverlark literally prez snow's 12 yr old granddaughter lol

tendinghiswounds

OOMF IS 12???????????

everlarklovechild

the age is the problem here?

marriedeverlark Follow

Canon url 🎉🎊💅😁🥰♥️

beeteemp3 Follow

New content of my favorite tribute 😁😁😁

3ffietrinket

Girl there’s a 96% chance they die ?

peenick Follow

getting reports from the presidential banquet that Peeta looks gay as fuck

3v3rlark Follow

ik peeniss has been flagging w the rehearsed speeches but did anyone else see the way they looked at each other in the censored district 11 speech

rues-song

you’re STUPID she’s a capital pawn AND i fucked your mom while you were busy looking for illegal streams

senecacraneofficial Follow

rip seneca you were so babygirl </3

plutarchbaby69

so now you think we can’t fuck old men?

#this fandom is so ageist #this is prob what I get for blogging about thg tbh since # it’s literally about kids. Some of you ppl need to grow up

[dorabellingham]

Long distance

warning: none

characters: jude x reader

summary: when your long-distance relationship is going through a turbulent time, but you do everything to understand each other

request: yes!

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The months passed quickly, and despite the distance, you and Jude tried to stay connected. He was in Madrid, living the peak of his career, with intense training, games and constant travel, while you, in another country, focused on your college year. The distance was testing your limits, but so far, you seemed to be able to keep the flame alive. However, there were times, like this one, when you felt that something wasn't right.

It was a cold Thursday night, and you were at home, after another long week of studies and commitments. You looked at your phone, checking if you had any messages from Jude. You saw that he had sent you a good night message, as he always did when you weren't talking in person, but when you opened the screen, you saw that he was busy with something and couldn't answer at those times. It was something common, but that night, a feeling of emptiness hit you even harder. You tried to be understanding. You knew that Jude was at a decisive moment in his career and that football demanded a lot of his time. However, you couldn’t help but feel alone. The long-distance relationship was getting hard to sustain. You always tried your best to be patient, but you also had your own emotional needs, and as much as you loved your boyfriend, you couldn’t hide the fact that you were feeling neglected. That night, instead of just texting him that you were fine, you sat on your bed and decided to write something more sincere. You knew you had to be honest with him, no matter how hard it was.

"Jude, I know you’re super busy and I don’t want to be a burden, but… sometimes I feel like you’re so distant. Not physically, of course, but emotionally. I understand how much football takes out of you, but I also need you here, you know? And there are days when I really feel like I’m doing this all by myself. I don’t want to be demanding, but can you help me understand what’s going on? I just don’t want to feel invisible.”

You hesitated a little before hitting send, but you knew you had to say it. You didn’t want the frustration to build up to the point where it could harm their relationship. Instead, you preferred to get things sorted out while there was still time.

A few minutes later, your phone vibrated. It was a text from Jude.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry if I left you feeling this way. I really didn’t mean to. You know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for us. I can’t deny that I’m completely focused on my work, but that will never be more important than you. I love you and I’m struggling to find balance. I want you to know that I need you here too, more than you know. Let’s talk about this when you can.”

You felt an immediate sense of relief. You knew he wasn’t trying to push you away, but the feeling of being neglected hurt you deeply. You took a deep breath and sent a reply.

“I love you, Jude. I know it’s hard for you too, and I don’t mean to be selfish. Just… please don’t make me feel like I’m an option when you already have so much going on. I just need to know that I’m still important to you, even with all this crazy schedule you have.”

Your phone vibrated again.

“You’ll always be my priority, Y/n. I’m just trying to organize myself so that we can be together as much as possible. I don’t want you to feel that way, no way. Let’s figure it out. Give me some time and we’ll plan something together, something just for us, so you can see how important you are to me. I promise I’ll try to make this easier for you. I’m not going to give up on us.”

You smiled, feeling a soft relief this time. You knew that, despite the distance and the challenges, the love between you were still strong. You were still learning to deal with the situation, and that was something natural, something that many long-distance relationships face.

A few hours later, you finally received a call from Jude. The sound of his voice calmed you down immediately, and you closed your eyes as you listened to him speak, knowing that, despite the pressure and the distance, you still belonged together.

—Babe, I just wanted to hear from you. I was thinking about how we can improve this. Maybe I should call you more often, or even text you more when I know you need me.

You interrupted him softly, with a light laugh.

—I’m not the type of person to complain, but sometimes I feel like I’m trying too hard to be strong on my own. And yes, a more frequent message would make me feel more present. I know you’re doing your best, Jude. It’s just that sometimes the best seems so far away, darling.

Jude sighed, as if he was relieved to finally hear your truth. He could feel the weight of your words, and it touched him deeply.

—I understand. And I’m going to do it. I’m going to be more present. Because you deserve it. You deserve to know that I’m completely yours, even if the distance tries to separate us. I’m going to make things work, because you’re the most important thing in my life.

You smiled at his words. The feeling of warmth was almost instantaneous. You had had a difficult conversation, but a necessary conversation, and that was the most important thing. You didn’t want to be neglected, but you didn’t want to be selfish either. You just wanted to be with him, by his side, even if that meant you had to adjust a little.

—I love you, Jude. I’m here for you too, always. And I know that in the end, everything will work out. We’ll get through this together.

He was silent for a moment before answering.

—I love you more, babe. And I’m going to show you that I can be better for both of us.

That night, even though you were miles apart, you and Jude felt closer than ever. Your conversation was a reminder that despite the hardships of distance and Jude’s career, what really mattered was your commitment to each other. You weren’t giving up. You were simply learning to be better in your relationship, day by day.

[zara-renata]

Hook, Line, Sinker | ao3 | masterlist

I did a little holiday prompt requests thing, and some people were kind enough to send requests in. @starfallforest, @astracora, and several anons. Thank you so much for sending your requests. I combined the requests into one story, which turned out to be a lot more angsty than cute? But I hope you like it anyway. There's one prompt I couldn't fit in because this takes place between Christmas and New Year's, but I'm hoping to be able to do a little oneshot for the last request, depending on time. Anyway, there's a happy ending for everyone in this story, except for one fish and a guy who deserved it. @wearysparrows is the reason Sylus smells like he does in this story, and her fantastic fishing story set in hot springs got me thinking about fishing with Sylus. Edit: @always-just-red also sent a prompt (snowed in) and she did a gorgeous response to one I sent her. But when I went back to my inbox on PC to confirm everyone who sent one, hers didn’t show up and I thought I had hallucinated her request because I admire her stuff so much😭😭😭 and now I see it on mobile again, and can confirm that I am not losing my mind. Thank you for the prompt, I’m sorry this tag is late!!!

Summary: Sylus invites you to a remote cabin in the woods for some fishing before New Year's. When the trip is over, you have a new boyfriend and a new addition to the Crow family. No, it's not a human baby. Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc. This story contains banter, fluff, kissing, angst, a happy ending. CW: canon typical violence. This involves fishing since Sylus likes to fish, so there are a lot of descriptions of fishing and what you have to do to a fish to uh, fish. There's also a pretty grave instance of animal injury/cruelty (not perpetrated by any of our favs), but the animal is fine in the end.

The prompts I received:

falling into soft snow to create snow angels, flailing wildly on the ground.

in a mountain lodge, snowed in from a heavy snow storm.

jamming out to a christmas song, and inflicting the pain of holiday songs on someone else

You see him, in the distance.

It is night. This far up north, it is night all the time, this time of year.

The moon hangs huge in the sky, its reflected sunlight reflected in the snow, a loop without end. Even here in this endless night, you have no trouble seeing him in the distance.

A lonely figure, surrounded by a vast frozen plane of blue and white. It’s strange, seeing him wrapped in blue and silver, when you associate him with lava glow, ashfall.

Circling the silent lake, mountain peaks thrust into the sky, carving into the horizon. The teeth of some great beast, its bones bleached white in the cold and dark, in the endless summer sun on the other side of every year. Between their jagged edges, stars bleed together, liquid gold and silver spilling across the sky. Time loses meaning in the endless dark, swallowed by the endless light, drowned by the dark again. A dragon eating its own tail. This starlight, too, reflected in the ice underneath your feet. Who needs the sun, when this much molten light illuminates the path forward to the man who has summoned you here? The only man you have been able to see since he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed.

As your feet crunch in the thick snow, as you approach the shore of the frozen lake where the man is waiting for you, you wonder how you got here. When did it start? With the invitation slipped through the mail slot of your humble flat, without address? Crimson wax, pressed with the seal of a crow in flight. The paper is heavy in your calloused hands. It smells delicious, like cloves. The scent is familiar to you now. You would know who this letter is from, even if you didn’t recognize its owner’s sigil, from its smell alone. You think of soft, pale skin. An open collar. A sweep of silver. The crimson wax seal stares at you like a glowing eye.

I need your expertise with a tricky problem. Your options are to come to me, or to come to me.

A plane ticket falls out of the envelope as you read the chaotic, sophisticated handwriting, almost indecipherable in its erudition.

You wonder how you got here. If not the invitation, was it before that? Opening the door every time Sylus stood on the other side. Watching him carefully as he moved about your flat, as he trailed his fingers along your houseplants. As he sipped from the wine glass you had bought in a set after the first time he showed up at your door and you realized you didn’t have any proper glasses for the wine he had brought as a gift to share. An apology? For his hands around your throat? For starvation, and thirst? The wine that tasted of sunspattered fields of flowers spilling down to a cliff, an abyss below. The taste of a memory you couldn’t quite summon, its shadows at the edges of your dreams every time you slept. Wine that warmed your body in the way this man’s eyes warmed you as they caressed you with touchless touch.

Since he released you, you wondered if he was playing a longer, crueler game of hunter and prey. Angler and fish. If every time he shows up at your door, he’s dangling bait, and the moment you wrap your lips around it, try to taste, he’ll hook you, jerk you from everything you’ve ever known, and flay you alive.

But you invite him in, as he requests. Come in, Sylus. You watch him, watching his gaze as it touches everything in your home, as it touches you as his eyes return to your face. He inhabits your flat in the same way he inhabits your mind. Fully. His presence an eclipse. His scent lingers after he leaves. He never asks to stay. He brings a gift to share—wine, a meal, a game of luck, a record. You sit on the couch next to him, and his body heat lures you like an open hearth, but you maintain your distance, the fear of what happens if you finally reach for the fire, if you finally take the bait—such fear gives you the willpower to keep a sliver of chill air between his skin and yours. He never closes the distance, waiting for you to be the one to choose. And when the record is finished, or the film’s credits are rolling, or the game has been won, lost, tied, he stands. Shrugs back into his coat. Only then does he run the knuckles of one big hand down your cheek. Only then does he lean down, whisper a kiss against the edge of your mouth, and then he leaves.

Eventually, he seems to grow tired of the confines of your small home. He begins to ask you out into the world. At twilight, where your world ends and his begins. Daylight bleeding out into night. Night drifting into ash as the day breaks.

Sometimes you say yes. You take his offered hand, his offered gifts of clothing for the occasion, the shoes he kneels to help you slip on your feet. You dress in clothing he buys for you, you sit in his box seat at the ballet, the orchestra’s layered notes flooding your senses but not drowning out your hand in his, your hand he doesn’t let go of through the entire performance. You turn and study his face in the dim light of the luxurious theater, as dancers flow like water, like gazelles, living art across the stage. His face is more fascinating to you than any choreography offered by the finest artists in the world. His profile, his long, uneven nose. The pout of his lips. His hair looks so soft, you want to lift your clasped hands and touch it. You resist the urge, turn your gaze back to the dancers. None of them are as beautiful as the creature lounging next to you in the dark.

Sometimes you know that if you say yes, this will be the time you can’t resist the dangling bait— your teeth, your tongue hungry in a way that frightens you for what he seems to be offering. You feel the hook come so close to your soft lips. The cold metal, like the barrel of a gun that you want to mouth so long as it’s his finger on the trigger. You spook, a prey’s instinct to flee from the lurking, patient predator. You turn down as many invitations as you accept. A compromise with yourself. You’re straddling the twilight—one foot in night, one in day. A knife’s edge that you know will eventually slice you in half if you don’t make a choice.

He accepts your refusals easily. Pretends to believe your flimsy excuses. You know that he knows through Mephisto, through the eyes he seems to have everywhere, that you’re lying when you say you have plans when you don’t. He accepts your fabrications with grace. The next day, a gift always arrives. If you had told him you were going ice skating with Tara, a new pair of skates, in your size, the leather supple, the blades sharp. If you had told him you were going to the arcade with Xavier, a limited edition plushie, one you’ve never managed to catch. If you had told him you were going to a museum with Zayne, a priceless artifact, once owned and cherished by someone who died tragically, along with the certificate of authenticity tucked into the jewel-encrusted box. If you had told him you were attending an art exhibition with Rafayel, an original painting by the featured artist would suddenly appear, hanging on your bedroom wall. The painting that would have been your favorite of the collection, if you had actually attended.

If you do actually go out with friends, the next day, there is a different gift. If you had actually gone drinking with Tara, then a full box of hangover remedies, self-care items for a home spa day. If you had actually gone for a jog with Zayne, then muscle-pain cream, a yoga mat and foam rollers, all to relieve the effects of being sore the next day. If you had actually had hotpot with Xavier, then medicine for indigestion, a fruit basket for supplementary vitamins skipped in a meat-heavy meal. If you had actually gone to the beach with Rafayel, then aloe vera, aftersun care for your sunburned skin.

You open each box. You swallow the remedies, eat the healthy food, massage the cream into your skin. If you imagine that it is his hand, and not your own—well, even Mephisto can’t see into your mind with his mechanical eye. Pulling the fabric of clothing he bought for you over your body, dabbing aloe vera onto the fragile skin under your eyes—this is as close as you will allow yourself to come to him.

Because you remember his hands on your throat.

You remember the sound of a human body bursting at the snap of strong fingers.

You’ve seen him quietly, efficiently, break the neck of an unscrupulous merchant.

Kick a man to his knees and execute him in the dark, the silencer rendering the gunshot a small puff of air, no louder than the last gasp from a pair of doomed lungs.

What scares you the most is not that he is capable of such ruthless, quick, vicious violence.

It is the way you feel, watching him kill someone.

You feel more moved by the dance of death Sylus leads than all of the ballet performances you could ever hope to see at his side.

You are a thirsty spectator, absorbing the line of his hands as he snaps someone’s spine, the delicate veins under his soft skin. The strength in his forearm as he pulls the trigger. The elegant line of his legs as he curb stomps any fool who violates Sylus’s code of ethics that only he knows the tenets of.

You watch him like you’d watch a nature documentary, shot in slow motion—the panther stalking the gazelle in the long grass, the satisfaction of teeth sinking into flesh and tearing.

You are fascinated, and terrified.

He may be courting you now. Fascinated by the challenge you present. Interested in the power you can offer him through your resonance. But how long will it take for this panther to turn from his current prey and begin to hunt you instead? He already almost killed you once. What stops him from doing it again? 

Can such a creature be capable of the unwavering love you crave?

What kind of person does it make you, if you think that you could accept him, the taint of his hands and all of the suffering they have wrought, if you could be assured that at least you would always be safe from his savagery?

The combination of these questions reinforces your resistance to the temptation of reaching out and taking his offered, bloody hand. Of swallowing the dangling bait, concealing the wicked hook.

You don’t know when it started. If it was the invitation. If it was the courtship. If maybe, perhaps, it was the first time you knelt at his feet, and he touched your body with such reverent viciousness. You don’t know what sequence of events has led you to this moment. As you step out onto the ice, soaked in moon and starlight, glowing blue in the night, the white bubbles trapped mid-rise in the frozen lake, as the ice grips attached to your warm boots bite into the ice, as you walk through the silence towards the man ahead, alone in the dark.

You received the invitation. You thought perhaps he was in trouble, and needed your resonance to navigate something dangerous. You didn’t think to refuse this time. Christmas was over—a quiet, lonely affair, even though it was filled with colleagues and friends. Sylus didn’t invite you to celebrate with him, seemingly content for you to attend your work holiday party with Xavier and Tara, the party thrown by Rafayel and Thomas at a gallery downtown, the party at Akso Hospital. Nothing could fill the gaping hole left by Caleb and your grandmother’s death. On Christmas day itself, you lit candles for them and drank two bottles of wine until you passed out.

The next day, the invitation arrived.

You held the heavy, silken textured paper in your hands. You felt the headache of your hangover pounding behind your eyes. You thought about the optional overtime you were considering taking between Christmas and New Year’s, just to relieve the solitude.

You think of the last time you saw Sylus, at the beginning of December. The rough knuckles of his hand along your cheek as he said goodbye, as he watched with ember-glow eyes as you walked to your apartment building’s entrance from the back of his motorcycle. As you looked out your window from your living room, saw him still waiting. As the engine roared in the quiet early morning street and he finally sped away, apparently assured that you were inside and okay. As if you were never not okay. No matter what happened, you’d be okay. 

You wonder when it started. When being okay no longer felt like enough. When did you start getting greedy for more than okay?

So you picked the plane ticket off the floor. Saw the destination—a place you never dreamt of going.

You packed as warmly as you could. You didn’t have much time—Sylus didn’t leave much margin for preparation. You received the invitation in the morning and were on a night flight that evening. 

The flights were long. Uneventful. On the last leg, you sat next to a woman with a little boy. He was sweet, with light colored hair like his mom and blue eyes. You looked into his sweet face and wondered what Sylus was like as a little boy. Tried to picture scarlet eyes in his round face. You wondered if you were ever so young, so small, so fragile. You’ve never felt young in your whole life. His mother seemed exhausted, but stayed awake the whole flight as the little boy fell asleep in her lap.

At the airport, the mother and boy were greeted by a dark-haired man about as big as Sylus with his son’s blue eyes, and he hugged them like it had been years since he had seen them.

You stood, looking around. There was no one waiting to hug you. To hold you in relief. You didn't know why you expected Sylus to be waiting on the other side of your flights.

You hadn’t planned this far ahead. You hefted your heavy carry-on backpack onto your back and followed the signs to the exit. Once satisfied that you knew how to get out, you were reaching into your pocket for your phone when you saw two familiar men standing at the baggage claim holding a sign that just said THE HUNTER on it in messy block letters.

Luke turned his head and caught sight of you, then nudged Kieran. They came loping over to you like two eager wolf puppies.

The relief you felt surprised you, seeing them. They had been nothing but kind, playful with you since Sylus released you, so many months ago, whenever you encountered them. They pulled you into their bets, into their movie nights, into their video game marathons, anytime you happened to visit the base while in the N109 Zone on a mission.  

“You came!” Luke grinned, the deep scarring along the right side of his face twisting his lip. It did nothing to diminish his handsomeness. 

“You should have told Boss. He wasn’t sure if you would take him up on his invitation. He has been an absolute mess,” Kieran scolded you, but also seemed amused at the emotional state of his employer.

You tried to imagine Sylus being a mess. Failed.

“I didn’t have much time to decide and prepare. Sorry.” You took in the twins, whom you’d only ever seen in black leather. They were wearing black parkas, fur-lined, thick ski pants, huge boots.

“Don’t be sorry, stupid. We’re glad you’re here.” Luke was cheerful, threading one big hand under your backpack strap and easing it off your back. “But Kieran’s salty ‘cause he lost the bet.”

“I thought you would refuse, just to vex Boss,” Kieran said, shrugging. “But Luke’s lying. I’m fine losing this particular bet.”

“C'mon, he’s waiting.” Luke took your hand and lead you into the dark, frigid night of the Arctic settlement you had never even heard of before seeing the plane ticket in the invitation. Kieran followed close behind you, pulling up his hood against the freezing wind. 

They herded you to a big four wheel drive SUV. 

“First we drive, then it’s just the snowmobile when the road runs out. Change into these,” Kieran thrust a pile of heavy winter gear into your hands as Luke maneuvered the SUV out of town on a thin ribbon of icy road. In the dark, there were only the vehicle’s headlights, the pale snow-packed hillsides on either side of the road, blue in the reflected light of the moon.

Christmas songs were still playing on the radio, despite Christmas having just passed. Kieran hummed along as Luke began to belt out, in a surprisingly gorgeous singing voice that rivaled Sinatra’s, Oh, by gosh, by golly, It's time for mistletoe and holly, Tasty pheasants, Christmas presents, Countrysides covered with snow…

You put on the heavy black parka over your clearly insufficient winter coat you brought with you. Pulled the ski pants over your jeans. Laced up the boots that fit perfectly to replace your own leather combat boots. You pulled the mad bomber hat over your head, its furred flaps immediately a relief over your cold ears. You were cozy. White Christmas came on the radio. Kieran sang this time, in the same beautiful tones as Luke, Christmas Eve will find me, Where the lovelight gleams, I'll be home for Christmas, If only in my dreams…

You hadn’t felt this settled since last year, leaning against Caleb on the couch, with your grandmother sitting on your other side, watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

You wonder when it started—when the twins started to feel safe, like home to you. Maybe it started the first time you woke up in Sylus’s theater room, with a twin on either side of you, both asleep as you just were, their heads resting on each of your shoulders. The sixth movie in the Alien franchise was just ending on the big screen. Sylus stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, just watching the three of you. You didn’t dare move in case you woke them up.

Help. You had mouthed at him.

One corner of his mouth had ticked up. The scarlet and ink of his evol drifted across the room, lifted both twins’ heads gently, positioned their big bodies so that they were resting against each armrest instead of on your shoulders. You stood, stretched, felt his eyes on you. 

Time to go, you said.

Must you? he asked.

Of course. Work to do. But you had just stood there, staring at him, the twins’ quiet snores filling the silence after the movie’s score ended. He looked so handsome in his soft sweater. Approachable. Human. Yours. 

You reminded yourself of his hands snapping a man’s fingers, one by one, until he gave up the information Sylus needed. You reminded yourself of his hands around your throat.

You wonder how much longer you’ll have the strength to resist the bait that Sylus is dangling in front of you. The hook, gleaming in the moonlight.

In the cozy cabin of the SUV winding through the endless, snowy night, with the twins’ voices softly singing Christmas songs, you gave in to the need to sleep. To sleep off the rest of your hangover that still lingered in the airplane, to prepare for whatever help Sylus needed from you when you finally arrived at your destination. You were safe with them, after all.

You didn’t dream.

You were awoken by Luke leaning over you, shaking your shoulder gently. The SUV was parked next to a small building with two snowmobiles parked in front of it.

“Time for part two of your winter wonderland tour,” he said, pulling you from the vehicle. Kieran was loading the last of a bunch of stuffed bags onto the back of one of the snowmobiles, the other one seemingly already fully loaded. He strapped your carry-on in with the rest. He had a large rifle slung over his back.

Luke produced a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails?”

You didn’t even question him. “Heads.”

He flipped it, agilely despite the thick gloves he wore. He caught it, revealed it in his palm. “Tails. Damn. Kieran gets you this time,” he pouted.

Kieran let out a cheerful Whoop! and then beckoned you to him. “You know how to drive this thing?” you asked, a little dubious.

“Sylus taught us,” he smiled reassuringly.

He swung the big rifle from his back to his chest, so it hung diagonally over his torso.

He noticed your gaze. “Bears.”

“Of course,” you murmured, because what else could you say?

“Hold on tight.”

You had already come this far. You took his offered helmet, watched him put on his. You don’t know when it started. The trust you had in Sylus’s skills as a teacher. His faith in his men. Their loyalty to him.

You threw your leg over the snowmobile and let Kieran pull your arms around his waist. You leaned your head against his broad back.

The ride was exhilarating, even as tired as you were. Careening over the snow, the wind, the steep hills, the pine trees. Luke and Kieran maneuvered the snowmobiles competently, safely. You suspected that they weren’t trying to flip them or race to see who arrived first out of respect for your clearly exhausted state. You hugged Kieran tightly in thanks. You let yourself drift, and time passed like a dream.

The trees thickened. The hills narrowed. The snowmobiles passed along a narrow ridge, and then Kieran was slowing to a halt. He squeezed your forearm with a gloved hand, said softly into the now silent night, “You’re here.”

You leaned back, let go of him. Stepped off the snowmobile on wobbly legs. You took off the helmet and gasped.

A frozen lake, stretching, stretching, the far shore blurred into snow-covered pines. The mountains soared into the star-filled sky beyond the trees. Your eyes caught on a lone figure, in the middle of the icy expanse.

Luke moved to your side. “Lift your foot.” You did, again not questioning, trusting that he had a reason. He strapped ice grips onto your boot. Repeated on the other side.

“We’ll see you at the lodge,” he said as he straightened, patting your shoulder. 

“That’s it?”

“He’s waiting for you. What more is there?” he asked.

“Are you ever afraid that he’ll turn on you?” you asked, suddenly. You didn’t know why.

Luke just looked at you thoughtfully. Kieran moved closer, feet crunching in the snow. “No,” he answered for the both of them. “And if he ever does, we’ll have deserved it.”

“How are you so sure?”

“He doesn’t use violence without a reason. And once he makes a decision, he doesn’t go back on it.”

“What did he decide in your case?” you asked, not able to help yourself, out here at the end of the world, in the echoing silence.

“That we’re his, to use, to see if we’re up to the challenge to survive. And once he decides something is his, he protects it. Why would he break his own tools?”

“And he also loves us,” Luke added cheerfully. “Although he won’t admit it out loud.”

You searched each of their faces in turn, mirrors, marked and unmarked, trying to see if they were messing with you. They let you. 

“Do you love him?” you asked.

They turned and looked at each other. “We don’t know what that feeling is, even though we can recognize it in others. Because Luke is me, and I am him. Is that feeling love? If he dies, I die. But with Boss,” Kieran pauses thoughtfully. “I think it would feel like dying, if anything happened to him. Even though we’d survive. Is that love?”

He turned to look at you again.

You thought about Caleb, smiling at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. Teasing you for crying, even as he had tears in his own eyes, despite how many times you two had seen the movie already. How you felt like you were dying, ever since he died.

You thought about Sylus, Imagined how you’d feel, if he never called again. If he disappeared as abruptly as he appeared in your life.

“I think that’s love,” you whisper into the arctic night.

“Then we love him.”

You nodded.

“Are we done with the heart to heart?” Luke teased.

You nodded again.

“Okay. He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting for much longer. It was funny for a while, but now it’s starting to hurt,” Luke said.

You looked at him, bewildered. “What was funny?”

Kieran gently knocked Luke with his shoulder. “We’ll tell you later. Go to him.”

With that, they turned, mounted the snowmobiles, and sped along the shore of the lake, not back the way you had just come, but toward what you presumed was the lodge they mentioned.

Now, you see him in the distance. The snowmobile engine roar fades into silence. Your spiked ice grips crunch loudly with each step. The sky is a bowl overflowing with diamonds, pouring over the rims of the mountains.

You find yourself walking faster, the eagerness you’ve been suppressing breaking its leash like an unruly dog now that you’re so close to the man you’ve missed since the beginning of December, despite yourself and all of your fears.

His figure grows in your field of view as you approach him, until you finally reach him. He turns his head. He’s wearing a thick band around his ears but no proper hat like you are, so his silver hair shines in the bright moonlight, in the reflected moonlight from the snow, a ricochet of pearl.

Your breath catches in the frigid air as you meet his eyes, gleaming in the diamond night.

“You came,” he says, as if surprised. Pleased.

“My choices were ‘to come to you,’ or ‘to come to you,’” you say softly.

“If I had known that was all it took to get you to stop refusing half of my invitations, I would have stopped leaving them open ended long ago.” He lifts an arm, beckons you closer with a gloved hand. “But Is that the only reason? The lack of choice?” He’s watching you carefully, and it feels like he’s standing above you, instead of sitting below you on a little camping folding chair. He’s holding a fishing rod in his hand, the line sinking into a small hole cut in the ice. A large black hiking backpack, a rifle strapped to the bottom, and what looks like a wine corkscrew made for a giant sit next to the chair. A thermos is in one of the chair’s cupholders. 

You consider him. Think about how careful you’ve been around him, for months now. How guarded. You think about the look shared between Kieran and Luke, about loving him, their faith in him. You think of how gently he moved them when they fell asleep during the Alien movie night marathon. You came to the ends of the earth for him.

“I missed you,” you admit. It feels like pulling a tooth that has been loose and hurting for a long time. You take a step forward, and it feels like you’re offering him the tooth, an aching, bloody part of yourself.

“I missed you too, sweetheart,” he says, accepting your offering graciously, with no trace of his usual impenetrable arrogance. He looks softer under the moonlight, the starlight.

You give him your gloved hand, let him pull you forward until you’re standing between his spread legs. Even in a camping chair, he sits like a bored king. Like at the ballet. Like when he forced you to resonate with him, when you first met him.

You look down into his upturned face, realizing only now just how true your admission is, how terribly you have missed him this past month. Showing up at your door. Inviting you out. His gifts in beautifully wrapped boxes. Just him. His eyes, warm and red.

“Have you been here, all along?” you ask.

He sets the fishing pole in what looks like a little stand dug into the ice specifically for holding it. 

“Yes.” He reaches for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his. You can’t feel his heat through his gloves, through yours. You don’t like it.

“Fishing?”

“Fishing. Hunting. Thinking.”

You freeze a little, not from the cold, but the finality of his tone. You don’t want to know what he has been thinking about. 

Maybe you never had to take the bait at all. Maybe he would have always grown bored, changed his mind in the waiting. Decided to destroy you just the same as if you had bitten what he was offering. Perhaps, like his latest invitation, you never truly had a choice at all.

You don’t want to know, yet. If he invited you to the end of the world to finally gut you, you don’t want to know yet.

“Your invitation said you needed my expertise. What’s your tricky problem?” you ask instead of asking what he’s been thinking about.

“Straight to business?” He lifts an eyebrow.

You try to memorize his face. Just in case. His wide mouth. His sharp canine teeth. His beautiful nose.

“The sooner your problem is solved, the sooner you can return to peacefully fishing without me scaring all the fish.” 

“You’re not that intimidating,” he teases. You scowl at him. “Have you fished before?”

“No.” You trace the beauty of his irises, the frown line between his brows with your eyes. “Either way, it’s cruel.”

His dark silver eyebrows lift in curiosity. “Explain.”

“You either torture a fish for your own ego and pleasure by catching and releasing it. Or you catch it to kill it. Either way, the fish is never the same.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. “You eat meat with Xavier when you go for hotpot. You eat the steak on your plate when we go to dinner. Is it much crueler, to be the one to capture, kill, and eat the animal yourself?”

You know he’s right. If you cared so deeply for the welfare of the animals you eat, you’d be a vegan. 

“Maybe I’m a coward, for not wanting to be the one to butcher the animal myself,” you concede.

“Or maybe you’re afraid of how much you’d enjoy it.”

 Your breath is a cloud in the air, puffing into the still night. You watch it mingle with his, dissipate into the air.

“I don’t enjoy killing wanderers. Why would I enjoy killing a fish?”

“Because you admire the wanderers. Do you marvel at fish the same way?”

You don’t know how he knows how much you regret often having to kill beautiful, lethal beasts. The only comfort you have is knowing that they can’t hurt anyone else when you’re through with them.

“That doesn’t mean I enjoy their demise.”

“Perhaps enjoy isn’t the right word. Perhaps it’s simply that you’re scared of how little you care for the fish you’re killing for the necessity of your sustenance.”

You think about Sylus, snapping the neck of the merchant who was selling counterfeit protocore syndrome drugs in an N109 Zone neighborhood. 

You think about Sylus, breaking every finger on the man’s hand who Sylus knew was withholding the location of a human trafficker, luring victims in with promises of a steady job. By the time they realized that they would actually be fodder for illegal protocore transplants, it was too late.

You think about Sylus, kicking the human trafficker to his knees, executing him in the street, leaving his corpse for the scavengers or a more merciful soul to come and collect.

“I’m cold, Sylus,” you say.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve admitted weakness in front of me, kitten.” He draws you down into his lap. Opens the cap of the thermos and places it in your gloved hands. Wraps his arms around you. “Normally you just hide behind me when the wind is cold, when you could have just asked me to take you somewhere warm.”

You watch the steam rise from the hot drink inside. Take a sip. It’s mulled wine. You detect a hint of cloves, along with the citrus, cinnamon, star anise. It warms you almost as much as Sylus’s eyes.

“You’ve told me enough times now to just tell you when I’m cold.”

“And all it took was luring you to the arctic to get some obedience out of you,” he grouses.

You sink into him, let your head, still covered in the mad bomber hat, rest under his chin. It’s not close enough. All the layers of your clothes seem like an unacceptable distance between your body and his.

“You still haven’t told me about your tricky problem.”

“Would you like to learn how to ice fish, if I promised you that we’ll eat what we catch instead of needlessly tormenting them?” he asks, instead of answering your implied question.

As usual, it will take skill and finesse to get the truth out of him. Perhaps this is how he feels about you, as you accept half his invitations, refuse the other half. As you keep him at arm’s length, even as you imagine his hands working his gifts into your skin.

“I didn’t know you like to fish,” you say, instead of answering. A little petty.

He makes a noise of agreement. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Which isn’t fair, considering how much you know about me.” You take another sip, cuddled against him. It soothes your aching head. 

He hugs you tighter. “What would you like to know?”

“Why do you like to fish?”

He answers easily. “The quiet. The solitude. The simple pleasure of a job well done, the reward of sustenance. A feeling of self sufficiency. Enjoying nature. All things that are lacking in the N109 Zone.”

You hadn’t realized that he would crave such things, based on his lifestyle in the city he rules. You’re surprised. Pleased. As if you have a right to be pleased by how the things you love about hiking and camping, away from Linkon City, are the same things he enjoys about fishing.

He’s not yours to be proud of, to mirror. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “What else do you like?”

“How about I answer by inviting you along with me for each one, and you accept each of my invitations, as you did this one?”

You wonder what you’d be accepting, if you say yes to this proposition.

You think about the bait, dangling over your head. The hook flashing in the starlight. 

You stall. “Let’s see how teaching me to fish goes, and then I’ll give you my answer.”

“Ever cautious, kitten,” he murmurs. “A sample of the goods for you, then.”

You sit up, screw the lid back on the thermos, slide from his lap. You tuck the thermos in his pack, pick up his fishing pole and hand it to him. 

“I’ve been sitting here for over an hour without a bite,” he says. “Let’s move to a different spot on the lake and see if we have better luck there.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, and move to pick up the big hiking pack. He tsks, lifting it from the ground with his evol before you reach it. He straps it to his back, flicks the folding chair closed, and hands it to you.

“You can carry this.” He hands the fishing pole to you next. “And this.”

You roll your eyes. “You act like I’m incapable of carrying heavy things.”

“Just because you’re capable, doesn’t mean you should have to. When I’m with you, let me carry the weight for you.” He bends over, picks up the giant corkscrew. You look at him inquiringly.

“Ice augur. We’ll use it to drill another hole in the ice.”

You eye the wicked-looking edges, the handle for turning it, driving it into the ice. “You could kill a man with that.”

Sylus hums in agreement, turning to lead you to another part of the lake. Your boots, his boots, the teeth biting the ice crunch with each step. “But it’s inefficient. Messy.”

You admire the width of his shoulders—they look even bigger in his big puffy parka. “You’ve actually used it to kill someone.” You shake your head, in wonder, in disapproval, you’re not sure which.

“You’re the one who suggested it.”

You scoff. “You’re the one who actually did it, Sylus.”

He shrugs, as if the heavy pack weighs nothing on his shoulders. “I was bored.”

“What happens, if I accept all of your invitations?” you ask quietly. The wind isn’t blowing. The night is still. Your voice carries in the hushed silence, along with the white of your breath in the air. “Will you grow bored?”

He doesn’t turn. His hair shines in the liquid night light.

“When you accept is when the fun actually begins. I doubt I’ll ever be bored again.”

You stare at his back.

“Here,” he says. He shrugs the pack off his shoulders, lets it gently fall to the ground. Drives the fishing pole holder thingy into the ice. He turns to you, gestures for you to unfold the chair.

You flip it out, set it on the ice, as he sets the sharp tip of the augur against the ice and holds it in one hand while twisting the handle with the other. Slowly, it cuts its way through. The shaved ice begins to build, reminds you of snow cones. You want to put a handful in your mouth, but it’s lake water, so you resist. Barely.

After a few moments, he lifts the augur, leaving a perfect circle behind, revealing the water underneath.

You think about the way Sylus’s scent remains in your apartment, long after he is gone.

You think about his hand in yours, through the entire duration of the ballet. 

You think about Sylus slowly drilling through the thin ice around your heart, dipping into the frigid, still water underneath with his blood-soaked hands.

You wonder when being okay was no longer enough for you.

He interrupts your thoughts, his voice deep, soothing, seemingly loud in the snow-quiet. “Some people drill multiple holes around the same lake. Set up tip-ups, a sort of fishing pole system where you don’t have to hold the pole—there’s a flag that flies up when the fish takes the bait. The angler then knows to grab hold and reel it in. Some use more traditional spears. Others use sonar to detect where the fish are, and then quickly drill, ensuring a higher chance of a bite.”

You look at his simple fishing pole. His lack of fancy equipment. “You just use a standard pole, try your luck.”

He nods. “That’s the point for me. Simple. Peaceful. If they bite, they bite. If not, that’s my typical luck. I’ve enjoyed the fresh air, the pine on the wind.” His beautiful mouth tips a little at the corner. “It’s better with you here. Now there’s no losing, even if I return empty-handed.”

“It sounds like you were already winning, no matter what.”

He shakes his head, pokes your forehead with a gloved finger. You hate the gloves, even as they protect you from frostbite. You want to feel his skin on yours again. “As usual, you are wildly mistaken.”

He gently takes the fishing pole from your grasp, then kneels, rummages in his bag. He pulls out a little box, and using his teeth, pulls off his gloves. His hands are so pale they glow like the surrounding snow.

“We’re going to use flashy, bright bait. Maybe we’ll get a pike, or trout.” 

You think of jewel-encrusted boxes. Rubies around your neck, your wrists.

You watch as his nimble fingers, seemingly unaffected by the cold, thread the bright silver hook with radioactive-colored jiggly bait.

You imagine swimming in serene waters, the roof of the world crystal above you. Opening your mouth, trying to catch something delicious dangling in the water. You imagine the pain, the jerk. Being flayed open, your ribs cracked wide. 

You watch Sylus Qin, hair shimmering in the moonlight, eyes like hot blood, and think that even if you know what’s at the end of the hook, you’ll still bite, in the end. You’ll struggle, and struggle, but ultimately try to swallow him whole.

You don’t think Sylus is correct, assuming you’re afraid that you won’t care about the fish’s struggle in the same way you care about killing magnificent wanderers.

He lowers the bait into the water, unreeling the line. He hands it to you. You take it, reluctantly.

He puts his gloves back on, drags the folding chair closer to the hole, sits. “Come.”

You obey, sliding back onto his lap. He puts his gloved hands over yours on the fishing rod.

“And now we wait?” you ask.

“And now we wait,” he confirms.

You lean against him. There is only the moon, the spilling stars, the dark trees in the distance, Sylus’s breath, yours.

“You can’t be mad at me,” you shatter the muffled silence.

“What could you ever do to me, to make me mad at you?”

You breathe out, watch your own breath drift. “I hope we don’t catch anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you hate it that much?”

You let go of the rod, turn in his lap. “I think I do.” You can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

He studies your face. “Then we’ll go back to the lodge.”

“I don’t want to ruin your fishing trip. Just tell me where to go, and I’ll walk. You can tell me why you brought me here later.”

He snorts softly. “Where you go, I go.”

“Seriously—” you protest, but then the fishing rod jerks in his hands. He grasps it tightly, eyes flicking to where the line is bending the rod in a long bow toward the hole in the ice, back to your face. Asking a question.

You were swimming peacefully in a dangerous, but mostly serene lake. You were pulled out by your tender flesh, terrified for days, and then thrown back in. And now the same angler is looking at you, asking you a silent question, if he is allowed to reel another living creature, just like you, into the cold, drowning air.

But you already care for him so much. So much more than perhaps you care for yourself, in how happy you want to make him. You find yourself nodding, despite the dread filling you.

He firmly, slowly, reels in the fish. It’s big—much bigger than you expect. You take a step back, give Sylus room as it plops out of the water, onto the ice. It’s mouth opens, closes. It has sharp teeth. 

He looks at you again. “It’s a pike. Do you want to release it? I’ll gently lower it into the water, let it swim out of my hands. As little trauma as possible.”

You’re staring at the pike’s sharp teeth. You think of your swords. Your pistols. Your fists. If he tries to put the fish back in the water, it might bite him. You know that Sylus will heal, but you don’t want him to have to heal himself during what is supposed to be a tranquil fishing trip.

“You came here to catch fish. Finish it.” You try to sound firm. Calm. 

Your heart is racing.

Sylus doesn’t waste time. He reaches into his parka pocket and pulls out what looks like a little ice pick. He bends down, grasps the fish with one gloved hand and drives the sharp point of the pick into the fish’s head. It immediately stops moving.

He does this with the same efficiency that he executed a man in the street. The same quiet, decisive coldness that he snapped a man’s neck.

He turns to you, eyes widening. “Sweetheart?” He sounds a little panicked.

The tears are hot on your face. They steam in the frigid air. You don’t know why you’re crying.

“Some people put their fish on the ice—they think that they just fall asleep and never wake up. But it’s a slow death. The most humane way is iki jime.” He gestures with the pick. “A swift strike to its brain.”

“I understand,” you say, because you do. What he did was the kindest thing, once you gave him permission to kill it. You quickly try to brush your tears away with your gloved palms.

He rummages in his bag again, pulls out what looks like a roll of wax paper. He carefully wraps the fish, making sure it’s tightly packed in the paper, and then slips it into his bag. 

“It’s so cold that we don’t need to pack it in ice. It will keep until we get back to the lodge.” He disassembles the fishing rod, which apparently has some sort of telescoping function so that it fits neatly in the pack. He unfolds the camping chair, straps it to the bottom of that pack. He has to adjust the rifle to add it to the pack’s straps. He picks up the ice augur in one hand, and takes yours in the other. You feel useless, like you wrecked his trip. You haven’t even been here on the lake with him for an hour.

You stop, the snow spikes digging into the ice.

“Why am I here, Sylus?”

He turns, studies you with his lovely eyes. “Because I needed you to be here, and you came.” His voice is deep, and soft. Tender. 

You clench your teeth. “But why?”

“Because I missed you. And it’s almost New Year’s Eve.”

You stare at him. Is it that simple? He missed you, and he wanted to spend New Year’s with you? “My expertise? Your tricky problem?”

He doesn’t bother looking sheepish. “Only you know how to make me happy. And only your presence can solve your absence.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open. Your nose is cold, running a little from the tears, the harsh air. “You flew me to the arctic to spend New Year’s with you because you missed me?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

Your teeth start to chatter. Despite the parka, the fur cap, your warm boots, you’re suddenly exhausted and cold. As if hearing that Sylus doesn’t need you to fight wanderers, or take down some inhumane fur smuggling ring, your body feels like it’s safe to acknowledge your hangover from Christmas, your exhaustion from the flight, the trip out to this frozen lake at the end of the world, the grief of the past year.

“Why didn’t you just say so in the invitation?” you manage through your clicking teeth.

“Would you have come?” he asks, tilting his head.

You think about the fish. The swift plunge of metal into its brain. His hand, holding yours during a ballet. A record spinning in your small living room, Sylus having brought your favorite artist on vinyl to play for you while you played Scrabble. The bones of a thumb snapping, the squeal of a man in excruciating pain. A fish hook, gleaming in the moonlight.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly.

“Do you want to leave, now that you know that there’s no crisis?” He sounds resigned.

You think about how you wanted to make him happy as the fish took the bait. His knuckles, soft on your cheek. His scent in your kitchen, long after he is gone.

You realize now that the hook has been in your mouth ever since he released you gently back into the water, after the auction. It’s been bleeding this whole time, as you refused some invitations, gave in to others. He has been letting out the line, reeling you back in. Making sure you don’t thrash yourself off the hook. A master angler, now looking at you with such sorrowful resignation.

“I won’t invite you again,” he says, and your heart stops. Your teeth stop chattering. The stars are diamonds spilling onto the ice, splashing back up, illuminating his hair, the wine glow of his eyes.

“What?” you whisper.

“It’s almost the new year. If you want to move into the future without me bothering you anymore, I promise to let you go. If that’s what you really want.”

He’s willing to let the line out again, to let you swim away from him.

But his hook is already in you, so deep, you’ll carry it for the rest of your life, no matter what choice you make.

Your teeth start to chatter even harder. You’re not ready. You’re not ready to say goodbye to him. You’re also not ready to make a choice, the fear filling you—the pike’s sharp teeth, your sharp teeth, the sheen of fish scales lovely under the moon, the sheen of lovely fabric draped over your body in a box seat at the ballet, the spike, the sudden stillness after so much thrashing.

“Take me to the lodge, Sylus.”

His breath puffs white. He doesn’t ask you again to make the choice now. He turns, pulls you forward by the hand.

The way back is a blur. You’re exhausted, cold. His big body shields you from the wind as he drives the snowmobile, deeper through the pines, until you burst into a small clearing filled with a decent-sized, but not huge, wood cabin. The lodge. Just as they call Sylus’s mansion ‘the base,’ these men can’t be normal about anything at all and call this wood cabin ‘the lodge.’

He parks the snowmobile under a covered area next to the cabin, next to three others. You wonder if he had the fourth one brought for you specifically, or if this is just the number of vehicles that come with the cabin.

He pulls you to the door, and the heat inside is a welcome relief to your cold, tired bones. He helps you peel out of the parka, the heavy boots. Hangs and arranges everything neatly in a large, stone-tiled foyer. He then strips himself. He’s wearing a soft sweater, soft dark pants underneath. He picks up the pack with one big hand, and yours in the other. It’s warm against yours.

Past the inner foyer door, the cabin opens up into a high-ceilinged, rustic space. Pale blond wood. Furred rugs. Comfortable, overstuffed leather furniture. Huge windows, just like his base, providing a view of the surrounding snow-covered pines. The mountains rising beyond. Open floor plan—living room, big kitchen. You turn, find a balcony overlooking the living room. The upper floor with the bedrooms, you assume.

There is no television.

You turn to him. “How do the twins stay entertained? How do you?”

He shrugs. “We bring books. Graphic novels. There’s a games closet. We hunt. Drink. A sauna.” His mouth quirks when you visibly react to the idea of a sauna. “We can do sauna after you’ve slept.”

You just nod, a little overwhelmed. Like you so often are around this man. You’re so tired.

“Do you want to learn how I prep the fish, or do you want to rest?” he asks after setting the hiking pack next to the kitchen island. The kitchen counters are large butcher blocks, the cabinets more blond wood.

“Rest. Please. I think I’m really tired after the trip.”

He lifts a warm hand, traces underneath one of your eyes with a fingertip. “You look tired.”

You scowl. “Thanks.”

He drops his hand. “You look no less lovely for it.” Then he turns, begins making his way up the open wooden staircase leading to the hall balcony above. When he notices you not following, he turns back. “Coming?”

You shake your head, accepting the feeling of warmth flooding you from his kind comment. You’ve come this far. You refuse to let him make you choose. You don’t know what you’re waiting for. But you know that you’ll just know, at the right moment, when choice must finally be made.

You follow him. He leads you to a bedroom with a huge bed. Polished wood floor. Large window, the night sky spilling onto a snow-filled balcony on the other side of the glass. Pale walls. A rustic dresser with a record player on it, a closet, an en-suite bathroom. Everything is simple. So different than Sylus’s normal style, but it still feels like him. Clean lines. Sylus, if he could relax. The room smells of him. Delicious. Cloves.

The bedding is piled high, puffy duvet, white. 

“Everything you need should be in the bathroom. Are you hungry?”

You turn back to him. “I’m not hungry, but I should probably eat. I can’t remember the last time I ate.”

He tsks, frowns. “I’ll bring you something,” he says grumpily. He turns to leave. 

“Thank you.”

He pauses in the doorway. Rests one big hand on the doorframe, looks over his shoulder. “For what, kitten?”

“For inviting me. For… tolerating me.”

He turns fully. Strides over to you. Places his warm palms on your upturned face. “If you don’t listen to anything else I say, listen to me now. You are the one person I never have to tolerate.” His thumbs sweep under your eyelids, along the delicate skin, just as you imagined when you’d dab aloe vera there, as you’d dab expensive face cream there. It feels better than you were ever able to imagine. “It’s almost New Year’s. I can go through another year, without knowing if you want to face it with me. I will wait for as long as I have to. But if you already know that you’re not going to keep me, it would be more merciful for you to tell me now.”

You stare into his eyes, and for the first time, see yourself mirrored in them. 

The uncertainty. The fear. 

Maybe you’re not the only one who can empathize with a powerful, deadly fish struggling on a hook. 

Maybe you’ve been looking at the trajectory of your relationship with this man from the wrong angle this whole time. That you’ve been missing something essential, all along.

You need more time. You try to memorize the dark striations in his lava-glow eyes. To warm you when he walks out of the room again.

“I’ll tell you,” you promise him.

He closes his eyes, and it’s like the lights go out in the room. He breathes through his nose and releases you.

Then he’s gone. You head to the bathroom, and he’s right. Everything you could want for your stay, waiting for you. You shower. The hot water never runs out. You wonder how big the generator is that powers this place. You didn’t see any electrical lines overhead.

When you emerge, there’s a tray on the bed. Meat and cheese, rustic bread, olives. A large glass of water sits on one of the pale wood nightstands.

You eat your fill, watching the stars shift across the sky. You then crawl under the big pile of duvets and pass out almost immediately.

You don’t dream.

You don’t know what time it is, when you wake up. The sky outside is still full of stars. You’re so warm. Waking up is peaceful, without an alarm. Without obligations pressing in on you. You think that you’ve been missing something essential, through all the hours, days, weeks, months, since Sylus came into your life. As much worry, confusion, dread that he has brought with him, he has brought an equal, if not greater amount, of moments like these. Opening a new pot of cream to soothe your chapped, thin skin. The feel of soft, quality fabric draped over your body. Biting into the chilled flesh of a perfectly ripe fruit, plucked from a gift basket delivered to your door. His hand, warm, enveloping your own cold one. His strong, sturdy presence at your side during missions that may have gone sideways, if not for his strength bolstering yours. Waking up to starlight pouring into a bedroom, a waterfall of crystals plinking onto the floor, the duvet, your upturned face.

You’ve been viewing these luxuries as shiny bait hiding a sharp hook.

What if they’re offerings from a man experiencing his own hook, leading to you, terrified that you’re going to rip it out of his soft mouth?

You turn your head from the window, and only then do you realize you’re so warm because Sylus is heating the space under the duvet with the giant furnace of his own body. Somewhere during your nap, or night sleep, whatever it was, as time has no meaning here, he slipped into bed next to you. He’s breathing quietly, eyes closed, head on the pillow next to yours. He’s not touching you, but his body heat feels like a caress.

You drink in his beautiful face. Imagine a hook caught in the plush of his full lower lip. It hurts you to imagine having to shove it in deeper, in order to dislodge it, to slip the vicious barbed point back through the wound to free him.

You think that perhaps, there was never any choice at all, for either of you.

“Like what you see?” His voice is thick, footsteps over gravel. Sleepy.

“I think you know,” you answer. What’s the point in denying it, here at the end of the world?

“It’s nice to hear, even so,” he murmurs. He opens his eyes. 

“I’ve liked what I see, ever since I saw you for the first time, Sylus.” You stare, openly.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. 

“Now you can be sure,” you say.

“But is it enough?” he asks.

You’re getting closer. After such a short time, but at the same time, an eternity, you think you can see your choice. Through the snow-covered pines. A shadow moving in the moonlight.

“It’s not a matter of enough, or not enough.” You touch his cheek with your index finger, let it drift down, along his jaw. He shudders, eyes not leaving yours. You realize that this is the first time you’ve reached out to touch him, and not the other way around.

You’re close. You’re really close. The universe will tell you. You know it. “What is on the agenda for today?” you ask.

He seems to accept your non-answer again. “Do you want to hear the good news, or the bad news?”

You lift your eyebrows. “There’s news?”

He nods, the silver of his hair falling across his forehead. Messy and cute.

“You choose.” You can’t bear bad news right now.

“It snowed after you went to sleep. A lot. It may take several days to dig out the snowmobiles.”

You let out a relieved breath. All at once, you know you were never going to leave.

“And the bad news?”

He looks at you funny. “That was the bad news.”

You laugh. “How terrible. Being trapped with a handsome man in his comfortable cabin, free from work and responsibilities.”

He looks like he’s in pain. “I thought you’d be upset.”

“You’re not the only one who can be unpredictable.” You smile.

He watches you, as if he’s waiting for more. He can keep waiting. He likes games, after all.

“What’s the good news?” you prompt him, feeling a little mean, but enjoying it.

“We have plenty of firewood for the sauna. Plenty of supplies for a long stay, if we have trouble digging out the snowmobiles. We can go for a walk, now that it has stopped snowing again.”

“Okay. Let’s go for a walk, and then do sauna after we’re cold and tired.”

He’s still watching you, as if you’re about to freak out. “What do you always tell me? Don’t overthink it? Relax?” You laugh, gently poke the tip of his beautiful nose. “Take your own advice, big boss man.”

That does the trick—he smiles, faintly. “Does that mean you’ll do as I order?”

You tilt your head, a maybe, maybe not look on your face. “Guess you’ll just have to see.” You roll away, yanking the duvet with you. He yelps from the cold, heretofore a decidedly non-Sylus sound. You like it. You want to hear it again.

“Up. We have snow to trudge through!” 

His evol, black and red swirls, yanks the duvet from around your shoulders, settles it back over himself. You blow a raspberry at him, slam the bathroom door behind you. 

You’re going to have fun, while you’re here. As you make him sweat a little, now that you know that the universe is on the cusp of letting you swallow his bait, just as he swallowed yours, months ago.

The snow has buried the overhang that sheltered the snowmobiles. The front door can’t be opened. After grabbing a simple breakfast in the kitchen, you and Sylus gear up for the cold. The parka, the ski pants, the heavy boots, this time with snow shoes instead of ice grippers attached. Your mad bomber hat, gloves. He slings the heavy rifle over his back, along with a backpack full of snacks and other emergency gear. He slips a headlamp over his own forehead. You hear whooping and cheering from outside the house. 

“You’ll see,” he says to your questioning look. He leads you back up the stairs, to a door at the end of the hallway. He opens it onto a bedroom which must belong to one of the twins based on the clutter of books and half-opened bags. You’re just in time to see one of the twins take a running leap over the balcony railing and disappear.

You hurry across the room, through the open balcony door, peer over the railing. Just a few feet below, lying in a huge snowbank coming up the side of the cabin, are Kieran and Luke, making snow angels and laughing their asses off.

“This is how we’re getting out of the house?” you ask, comprehension dawning.

Sylus laughs, low. “You can jump, or I’ll just lower you with my evol. It’s up to you.”

It occurs to you that with Sylus’s evol, he could likely simply disintegrate the snow covering the snowmobiles. That you’re not actually stuck here. That he’s playing games with you, just as you’re now playing a game with him. You no longer feel bad, or mean, for making him wait for an answer you think you could probably already give him.

You feel like being a little meaner, now. You turn, step toward him. You lift your gloved hand, grab hold of his headlamp, bring his face down to yours. “I think I’ll jump,” you whisper, your mouth a breath away from his. You take a long whiff of his skin. He smells so fucking good.  You hear his own intake of breath, a sharp little sound. He turns his head, brushes his nose against your cheek. But you gently shove him away, turn, and jump over the railing.

The twins whoop and holler as you land in the snow with a loud WHOOMP. You laugh, spread your arms and legs, try your best to carve a path through the snow, making your own angel. The snow is wet, cold. It bites your cheeks, makes you feel alive. After you’re satisfied, you stand, survey your handwork. Not exactly the most elegant snow angel, but it will do.

You’re suddenly covered in a spray of snow, as Sylus jumps over the balcony and the resulting shockwave from his big body hitting the powder covers you from head to toe.

You sweep your hand down your snow covered chest, form a snowball and then jump down into the hole he just made, right on top of him. You reach for his face, trying to pat him with the snowball, but he twists, rolling you. You wrestle, laughing, each trying to get the upper hand, but it’s not a fair fight in the snow. Maybe if you were on proper gym mats you could do some jiu jitsu moves on him, but he manages to roll you underneath him in the wet, powdery snow. He looks down into your face, cheeks pink from the cold and effort, smiling bigger than you think you’ve ever seen him smile.

“Truce?” You offer, a lie.

He leans down, his lips just above yours. “Why would I accept a truce when I have the upper hand? I’m playing to win.”

As he speaks, you let your hand drift through the snow. You lean up, just shy of pressing your lips against his. His eyes flick down, as if mesmerized by your mouth. You bring your hand up, shove the snow against his cheek.

He yelps again, glares down at you. You love that sound. You want to make him whine. “I see, what false sincerity in your offered truce.”

You lean up, lick the snow off his face. It tastes delicious. You always did like chewing on ice. “You were prepared to annihilate me, and you complain about good faith in negotiations?”

He’s staring at you again, but you just smile up at him, eyebrows raised. He looks like he wants to say something. You don’t want to give him the chance.

“Now off. I’m getting cold.”

“Making demands, after launching a pre-emptive strike.” He shakes his head.

You poke his cheek. “A warning shot. Get off, unless you want the full arsenal.”

“I see that I need to shore up my defenses if I’m to withstand a real assault from you,” he murmurs, rolling off you. You both lie for a few moments, admiring the night sky, side by side, in Sylus’s now ruined snow angel.

Eventually, he helps you to your feet. You brush the snow off each other, as best as you can, considering how powdery it is. You’re grateful for the snow shoes that allow you to walk over the surface of the snow without sinking in. You leave the twins to continue jumping off the balcony, hauling themselves up again. They’re daring each other to engage in ever more complicated aerial acrobatics.

“Don’t you worry they’ll break their necks?” you ask as you walk side by side with Sylus, into the pines past the clearing. He clicks on his headlamp, illuminating the way, but the now-rising moon, the blanket of stars overhead continue to illuminate the snow. You think you could see just fine without the flashlight.

“They’re not stupid,” he answers easily.

“What would you do, if something happened to them?” you ask.

“Have you accepted me in this gruesome little scenario, or have you released me?” he asks, not sounding upset at all. Just curious.

You stare at his profile. The bored curve of his lips. His long nose. He flicks you with a scarlet glance, then gazes ahead again.

“Would the answer change?”

“If you release me, I’d kill everyone in the vicinity and wait for you to arrive with the Association to put me down.” He shrugs one shoulder, stretching his neck. “If you keep me, I’d kill anyone responsible, and then entomb the twins in the hills above Linkon City. Build a university in their honor, since they never got to go. When I offered, they said it was too late. Stupid.”

You stare at him. “You love them.”

He snorts. “They’re useful.”

“You love them,” you repeat. 

You can’t unpack the rest. How his answer changed based on your presence, or absence in his life. Why he would want you to be the one to kill him, instead of killing himself.

“Think what you want,” he says, but he doesn’t sound upset. 

The walk is beautiful. Peaceful. Your feet crunch in the snow, alongside Sylus’s. You’re getting tired, are about to suggest turning around, heading back to sauna, when you hear a faint screaming. As if it’s coming from up ahead, and yet under the snow.

“Do you hear that?” You turn to Sylus. He nods. Begins walking in the direction of the sound. You follow. As you walk through the snow-covered pines, the screaming gets louder. A high, pained squealing that breaks your heart. 

Sylus stops, looks down. “Here,” he says. He drops to his knees, starts digging. You try to help, but he motions you away. “If it tries to bite, better me than you.”

“No—” you try to argue, but he just shakes his head.

“Not up for debate.”

Eventually, he manages to reveal a flat surface under the snow. He stops, sits back. The screaming has stopped. He slowly reaches up, turns off the headlamp that had illuminated his digging efforts. 

“What is it?”

“A weasel trap.”

You stare at him. “Why would someone want to trap a weasel, all the way out here?”

“Why do humans do anything?” he asks, strangely, with disgust heavy in his voice.

“Okay, fine. Let’s free it.”

“It sounds like it’s hurt,” he says. “It wasn’t screaming just because it’s caught in a humane trap. That’s the scream of an animal in pain.” His voice is strained. 

“Okay, then let’s look inside, and if it’s injured, we get it to the vet.”

“Even with a vet’s help, for a wild animal like this, the most merciful thing we can do for it is put it down if it’s permanently maimed.” Sylus can’t seem to drag his eyes away from the box.

You kneel down next to him. “Let’s actually take a look before we decide that there’s no hope.” He continues staring at the box. “Sylus.” You bite the tip of one of your gloved fingers, pull the glove off your hand. You touch Sylus’s cheek. It’s cold. You turn his face. “Sylus, I’m not going to kill it. And neither are you.” He finally looks at you. “If you don’t open the trap, I will.”

He searches your eyes, and then nods. He reaches down, gingerly lifts the top of the trap. He curses softly.

You peek over his shoulder, and see that it’s not a humane trap at all. Someone set what looks like a cross between a mouse and a bear trap within the box trap that could have been just as effective without actually hurting the animal. The weasel is cowering away from you and Sylus, its white fur stained red with its own blood. Its leg is crushed in the jaws of the vicious inner trap.

“We need to kill it,” Sylus grates out. “It’s in so much pain.”

Something moves through you, as you absorb the sight of the white fur, soaked in blood, so soft. The creature’s little red eyes, bright jewels in its white, cute little face. It looks like Sylus. His eyes, his hair.

The enormity of the cruelty it took to set a trap in the middle of nowhere, which by itself is terrible enough—in such a remote area, with constant snowstorms, the animal would likely have died a slow, painful death from starvation before whoever set the trap could come back to check it. But they ensured the maximum pain possible, by setting a trap that would crush one of its limbs.

Something moves through you, and it is blotting out everything else. Your skin feels too tight. Your body is hot, despite the cold of the air, the snow. It takes a moment for you to realize what you’re feeling. Rage. You feel like you could explode with it. 

“Sweetheart—”

You hear Sylus’s voice as if from a great distance. You turn your head, slow like you’re underwater. 

You want to kill something. 

You want to kill someone.

You want to kill the person who set this trap, and you want to make it hurt.

“Beloved, you need to—”

You slowly realize that the pine trees are too bright, the snow reflecting what looks like direct sunlight. The weasel has shut its red, red eyes against the bright light.

You look down at your hands. Your evol is swirling around your palms, up your wrists, twisting, snaking. It’s almost too bright to look at. You look at Sylus. He’s looking off to the side, squinting. You know how sensitive his eyes are. You’re hurting his eyes with the golden light of your evol.

“Sylus,” you say. You’re so angry. You’re so angry, you could bring down a city with it. The size of your anger is incomprehensible. “Is this how you feel?”

You think that this is it. The sign from the universe. The sign that it’s time to choose.

If this is how Sylus feels, as he snaps the necks of fraudulent, cruel men, as he puts bullets in people who don’t deserve to be called human, then who are you to judge him? Fear him? You are the same. 

Kindred spirits.

He closes his eyes. Turns to face you. “Resonate with me,” he answers, because why would he begin answering your questions directly now? Just because you feel such rage that you want to rip the spine out of the person who did this and impale him with his own coccyx?

“I don’t know if it’s safe—” your heart is pounding. So loud, it almost drowns out Sylus’s strained voice. The light is only getting brighter. You’ve never lost control of your evol before. Is this how Zayne feels? You’re terrified, but bigger than the terror, is the rage.

He reaches out, blindly, manages to catch your hand in his. He bites the tip of his glove, yanks it off his other hand. He then slides his naked hand against yours. You don’t even think. It’s not a conscious decision. Your evol rushes into him, a dam bursting.

You splash into the ocean of stars, of molten lava—resonance with Sylus. 

The confines of your body no longer restrict your anger. It pours out of you, unchecked, an oil spill across the shimmering net of the ocean of connection between you and him. He’s here with you. His compassion, empathy for this uncontrollable fury meets the oil spill, absorbing it, filtering it, letting it bleed out as fuel, something useful. He gathers it, as he gathers you in his arms, your cheek pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat loudly, even though physically, it’s muffled by his parka. Here, in the endless night, the bottomless sea, your feelings are manageable, shared between the two of you.

Is this how you feel, when you’re snapping a man’s neck? Your questions flow out of you like your anger, unchecked. You can’t control the confines of your other feelings either—your fear, of taking his bait. Your fear, that he’ll grow bored with you. Your fear, that he sees you as a pathetic little fish to catch, easily spiked through the brain, tossed back into the water.

He squeezes you more tightly against him.

Let’s heal the weasel, and then I’ll show you how I feel.

You look up at him. We can heal it?

You can resonate with it, as you resonate with me. My healing ability will pass through you, into the animal. It will hurt. We will all hurt. But then its leg can be fully restored. It's still connected by a thread.

You don’t care. You don’t care that you’ll hurt too. But you don’t want Sylus to have to hurt in the process. Are you okay with hurting for an animal?

You don’t know what to expect. A response saying he’s willing to do it, because you want to do it. That he’ll do it for you, because you asked it of him. A response that shrugs off his own pain—he’s used to it, it’s not that big of a deal. You could have expected anything but the feeling he reveals through the resonance—a flood of empathy for the animal, chained by the leg, a part of its body crushed, the terror of being trapped, knowing that the only end is a long, slow death. 

Coursing around this island of empathy inside Sylus is a wide, rushing river, its current inexorable. A feeling that says If anything were to happen to you, I’d feel like dying. I’ve died so many times, drowning in your absence.

Love. He loves you so much. He has loved you so much, for so long. His love has only grown, as he watched you lose control of your evol because of the fury on behalf of this small, scared, crushed animal.

Your fury dissipates in the torrential river of his devotion. You nod, knowing now that he’s more than willing to heal the creature, to bear its pain as his own, just as you are.

You lean over the open trap, ready to rest a featherlight finger on the weasel’s little head, when Sylus stays your hand. The aether core in his eye glows, and he stares into the animal’s now open eyes. You feel a deep, burning pain in your own right eye, as Sylus’s feelings continue to flood into you, form a slurry, flow back into him, now mixed with yours. The weasel’s eyes begin to glow red, just as Sylus’s does. He then nudges you again. You reach down, rest a finger on its little head, and let your evol flow from you into its body.

Pain. Your leg crushed, its now separate parts only connected by a thin stretch of mangled flesh. Sylus, gaze never leaving the weasel, bites off his other glove. He snaps his fingers, loud in the snow-muffled forest. The trap dissolves into scarlet and ink ash. You pull Sylus’s own evol into you, push it into the weasel. All three of you make a low, keening noise in your throats as the flesh begins to knit back together, an agony of sutures pulling without anesthetic, a fundamental wrongness as you reverse nature, crush entropy into order, make something whole that’s not supposed to be whole, anymore.

After what feels like a lifetime, the pain slowly fades. You collapse back onto your ass in the snow, breaking the resonance with the weasel, but maintaining it with Sylus. Sylus remains kneeling, looking down into the trap. The light in his aether core fades. The pain in your eye fades.

You’re watching the weasel through Sylus’s eyes. He observes with a faint thread of pride how the little animal uncurls itself. Stretches its leg experimentally. Even wiggles its little clawed toes. It looks up at Sylus with its crimson eyes.

You and Sylus expect that it will now scurry over the edge of the trip, scrabble through the snow and into the night, away from this place of pain and trauma. But it just sits there for a moment, looking at Sylus.

It then sits up on its back legs like a meerkat, and lifts its little front legs in the air.

Sylus stares at it in confusion.

It wants up.

He turns to look at you, incredulous. You see yourself through his eyes. Your beloved, beautiful face, reflecting the moonlight. A face he’d die over and over for, if it prevented the look of fear and distrust that he has seen flash across it as you looked at him in the dark of a theater, over the white linen of a fine restaurant, from next to him on your couch, as you listened to the record playing that he brought for you, as you bathed in starlight on a frozen lake at the end of the world.

You’ve been looking at him from the wrong angle, missing something essential, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time.

You haul yourself to your knees, crunching through the snow to his side again. You look down into the trap, where the weasel is still on its haunches, waving its little front legs in the air. You reach down with your ungloved hand, offer it your palm. It doesn’t hesitate. It simply launches itself onto your forearm, scurries up to your shoulder. It leaps from yours to Sylus’s shoulder. It scrabbles at the fully zipped up collar of his parka, and then literally weasels itself under the coat, and around his neck. It settles, then peeks out of his coat next to his jaw.

He grimaces. Its fur is still matted with its blood.

You shrug. What, is the coat dry clean only? You tease him. Small price to pay for your new pet.

Excuse me? He lifts his eyebrows.

You wrap your arms around him, hug him tightly, rest your cheek against his chest. His big body slumps, and you feel the relief, the affection, the hope that fill him.

What’s a good name for a little albino weasel?

Sylus hugs you tightly. How do you know it’s an albino?

Arctic weasels don’t normally have red eyes. This little guy has red eyes, so I doubt his coat will turn brown in the summer.

You feel his pleasure at your sharing your knowledge with him, his pride that his beloved is so smart. You snort.

Knowing trivia about cute, cuddly things isn’t necessarily a sign of intelligence.

Sylus dismisses your self-deprecation. I know you’re smart for other reasons, kitten.

You let it go. Let’s go home.

There’s a pause after your thought, as if Sylus is holding his breath, trying to keep a leash on his feelings.

You look up, resting your chin on his chest. Two pairs of bright red eyes look down into your face. Home? His question is tentative.

You send him an image of the cabin. Luke and Kieran. Of his own face.

Will you stay? For the New Year?

For longer, if the invitation is still open.

In answer, he leans down, squeezing you so tightly your booted, snow-shoed feet are lifted from the snow. He presses his full lips to yours. You feel him, feeling you. Soft lips, and then tongue, your mingled breath misting up into the still air. He kisses you, and you feel a little tiny tongue on your cheek. You pull back, and see that the weasel had licked your cheek curiously since you were so close.

Sehnsucht. We’ll call the little guy Sehn for short.

Sylus laughs. Is this some sort of jab at Mephisto’s name?

An open declaration of war. Poor Mephisto, named for something so cynical.

And where will Sehn live, beloved?

At the base. Luke and Kieran can look after him when I’m not around.

I can look after him when you’re not around. A petulant thread of jealousy is wrapped around his grumpy thought. Then he rests his forehead against yours. Does this mean that you’ll be at the base more often?

Your bait was too good. I can’t resist anymore. You’re stuck with me, now.

Sylus laughs out loud, a full, rich sound. It echoes through the trees. It took you long enough to bite.

Maybe next time don’t initially traumatize the fish you’re trying to catch.

There will be no next time. There has only ever been you, and I fucked up at the beginning. I can’t promise I won’t fuck up again. But I will never, ever want to release you. 

Good, no refunds. You tug on him. Bend down, pick up your glove and slip it back on your cold hand. Let’s go. I’m fucking cold. And I’m still pissed that we’ll never know what depraved piece of shit did this to Sehn.

Sylus hums a little, and you feel a wall drift into place around some of his thoughts, feelings. You look at him in confusion. 

Don’t overthink it.

You decide to trust him. If he wants to keep a secret from you, well. Not knowing every single thing about each other is healthy in a relationship

You, Sylus, and Sehn walk slowly back to the cabin in companionable silence, the resonance ocean soft and deep between you and your new boyfriend.

You don’t notice later, when he slips out of bed while you’re sleeping, returns to the place where you found Sehn. Places trail cameras with satellite links to several tree trunks in the area. Keeps an eye out for when the piece of shit returns to check on his trap.

You don’t hear the gunshot from a high powered rifle, meant for bears, in the quiet distance.

You don’t see the missing posters that go up in the nearest town as you’re passing back through on the way to the airport, when your holiday finally ends.

You just enjoy the snow. The quiet. The stars above. Finding yourself under mistletoe that the twins must have hung over every doorway in the house, even though Christmas was over. An attempt at helping their boss get what he had already, successfully reeled in. Because you had already spent a lot of time leisurely kissing him, his tongue hot in your mouth, his thigh shoved between your legs. 

You enjoy watching Luke and Kieran invent toys for Sehn to play with, Sehn who they’ve nicknamed the Noodle, who trips down the stairs like a slinky, and curls up in your lap as you read, before Sylus nudges him out of the way and puts his head there. Sehn then curls up on Sylus’s chest.

You enjoy the promised sauna. Holy shit, the sauna. The traditional wood burning stove heats the water that you pour over the hot stones with a big, wooden ladle—the resulting steam bellows, filling the space with the scent of pine, mint, whatever essential oils Sylus chose to drip into the water. You recline against him, naked, your bodies sweating, slick against each other, until you’re dizzy. You both run into the snow and you get to hear him yelp, whimper, over and over again, from the shock of cold. He drapes himself over you, claiming it’s to keep him warm as you stand in the snow for as long as you both can stand it, until you race back to the sauna, do it all over again. You feel thoroughly detoxed afterwards, and you sleep like the dead in his arms.

On New Year’s Eve, you wake up, find Sylus in the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs. You think it’s supposed to be Auld Lang Syne.  It’s absolutely earsplitting. You will never understand how someone with such a rich, deep, beautiful voice can butcher a song as thoroughly as Sylus Qin can.

The twins are placidly reading on the couch. You look at them in astonishment as Sylus warbles, pulling something out of the oven. It smells delicious, some kind of roasted meat. They look up at the same time, mirror images, and smirk at you. You narrow your eyes. They point at each others’ ears.

Ear plugs. Luke mouths, as Kieran nods sagely.

If you hadn’t known you loved him already, based on how you felt, imagining never seeing him again, you would know that you love him because you refuse the twins when they offer you a pair of your own earplugs. You sit at the kitchen island, head propped up in your hand, and listen to him sing for the rest of the morning as he cooks a feast for New Year’s Eve dinner. He bends down, squints at his phone at the cooking tutorials—apparently his phone has some sort of fancy satellite reception since there is no cellular reception—that he’s consulting to prep the meal. You tease him, call him ‘old man’ as you make your way upstairs, fetch his gold-rimmed reading glasses, and bring them back down to him. He looks so happy when you sit back down to continue listening to his atrocious serenade—it’s worth all the damage to your already damaged eardrums.

At midnight, Sylus pulls you into his arms, kisses you softly. You’re slow dancing in the warmth of the bedroom. A record is playing softly on the dresser. Something instrumental, piano. The Northern Lights fill the sky through the expansive window. I would have taken you to see the fireworks, if we were in Linkon City. But for once, my luck is good. We get to see nature’s fireworks instead. Satisfaction pulses through him, through you, as you resonate together again.

You kiss him, slowly, your bodies soaked in the curtains of light drifting through the arctic sky as you sway together. A thought occurs to you.

Why didn’t you come meet me when I arrived at the airport?

He hangs his head. Rests his forehead on your shoulder. I didn’t trust myself not to level the place if you didn’t walk off the plane.

You can’t stop yourself from asking the obvious question. The question he has already answered, in so many ways, in every gesture, in every invitation, in every sent gift.

Why?

He lifts his head, looks into your eyes, savoring the way they glitter in the night’s light. You admire his eyes in return, his wine gaze more intoxicating than any of his fancy labelled bottles.

You should know by now how much I adore you. No love is purer than mine.

You smile, relieved. Let your own feelings wash through you, into him. Happy New Year, Sylus.

He smiles in return, kisses your forehead, continues to sway you slowly under the arctic stars. We'll ensure that it's the first of many.

[samkerrworshipper]

she’s on the run

beautiful girl series part 4 -> pt.1 -> pt.2 -> pt.3

leah williamson x daughter reader, jordan nobbs x daughter reader

this was created whilst i listened to so long, london and florida!!!!

You waited until Leah had fully descended the stairs, waiting patiently until you heard Lia and her talking in the kitchen before you started to creep off of your bed and towards your open window. It was a easy climb, one you’d made hundreds of times, you hardly batted an eyelid as you climbed out of the window, your legs swinging out and over until they hit the tiling of the roof. After that it was a simple jump from the roof too the gravel drive way, your only concern was trying to be as quiet as possible, so instead of jumping as normal, you stepped to the edge of the tiles, being ever so careful to make sure that you didn’t slip and fall. Once you got to the edge you sat down, scooting until your feet were hanging over the edge, turning onto your stomach and sliding down until your feet found one of the tresses on the side.

It was a odd form of rock climbing but with some arm strength and dodgy footing, you managed to eventually get your feet onto the gravel of your moms driveway.

You didn’t look backwards as you tiptoed across the driveway, the only think you focused on was turning your location off before starting to jog away from your mom’s house.

You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew that you needed to get far enough away that your moms friends who crowded all of the surrounding neighbourhoods couldn’t find you, you needed a way out of here.

You didn’t have a lot of options, and the options you did have were shitty, but there wasn’t really any others that would work.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket as you rounded the corner of the block, ducking into the first alleyway that you spotted.

There were a couple of numbers that were options, some better than others, you went with the first one that came to head.

The phone rings out for a few seconds, your fingers jitter against the sides of your plastic case, whether you feel prepared to admit it or not, you’re going through withdrawals, it’s around now that you’re body is accustomed to shooting up, to getting a hit of drugs and right now it’s becoming more obvious by the minute how desperate your body is for that high that your body is used to receiving.

Maya had become the older sister that you never had, she cared about you, she treated you with more care and love then anybody else in your life, there wasn’t really any hesitation in your mind as you pressed down on her contact, the ringing noise being the only thing to register in your mind.

It rang out for a while, before your phone went silent for a few seconds.

Originally, you thought that it had rung out, but then there was a groan and something else from the other side of the phone.

“Babygirl?”

You don’t know where the nickname had come from, but along the way it had just become the way that Maya had chosen to address you.

“Hey, I need your help, where are you?”

You heard some rustling, and then Maya’s voice.

“I’m still at Matt’s house, what’s happened?”

Fuck. Fuck.

Matt was a problem, but he was one of the only people who could solve your main problem right now, that was all that was at the forefront of your mind.

“Mom found out about the drugs, she took them off me. I’m crashing, can you come get me?”

More rustling, then someone talking in the background.

“Fuck, kid. I’m gonna come get you alright, we’ll get you to Matt’s house and he’ll look out for you, it’s gonna be okay, we’ll look after you, I always look out for my girls.”

More rustling, accompanied by more background talk.

“Just send me your location alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nod your head, taking in the information and finding that your hands and body seem to relax with the knowledge that there is a resolution coming.

“Okay, okay, thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Maya’s like you, or at least you try to tell yourself that. She’s never had anyone who loved her, she’s all by herself. That’s what you tell yourself, that nobody’s ever loved you, that you’re all alone, she tells you the same. That nobody will love you like a good high, that your all alone, that you always will be. To start with, you thought it was all nonsense, that to her you were just a means of getting money, but after hearing it enough, after realising the truth behind her words, you thought it must be true, she was older than you, she’d seen more of the world than you had.

You stayed hunched over in the alleyway, ignoring the buzzing on your phone that meant your mother had realised you were gone. You felt a pang of compassion in your heart, just briefly. You didn’t want to worry her, you didn’t want to think about the anguish that would have crossed Leah’s face when she’d returned to your bedroom to find it empty, even worse if it was Jordan.

Consciously, you didn’t care, not really, all you cared about was the fucking high that you were missing out on. But the eight year old version of you, somewhere in the lowest pit of your heart felt horrifically bad.

It took fifteen minutes of you being hunched against a brick wall, hiding from the view of the street, shaking and shivering before you were hit with the light of headlights, coming from the end of the alleyway.

You stayed hidden, just in case it was your mother or somebody else, staying crouched down behind a bin.

“Babygirl, let’s go.”

You stood up properly, your body straightening out and beginning to walk towards the far to bright white lights.

You sat down in the passenger seat, closing the door behind you as swiftly as possible.

Maya captured you in a hug before you could do anything, her arms wrapping around your neck and torso.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re in good care, I’ll look out for you, me and Matt and the girls, you’re in good company.”

You nodded your head against her shoulder, slowly pulling yourself from her embrace.

Her pupils were dilated, your brain didn’t consider the danger behind her being high, more jealous that she was riding on a happy cloud that you were craving to be on.

The drive felt longer than it should have, your phone buzzed relentlessly the whole way there, it took everything in you not to look down and block the numbers that you knew were ringing, but you didn’t have it in you.

You didn’t like the feeling that hit your gut when you rolled up to the same house that you’d stumbled out of a couple nights ago, you loved Maya, you loved drugs, what you didn’t love was the overwhelming fear that you felt at having to face the same man who had done those horrible things to you days ago. Maya must have noticed, or seen something was up with you.

“Something wrong, darlin?”

She was 23, closer to your Mom’s age then yours, she cared about you.

“Matt, he didn’t want money for the drugs, he wanted something else.”

You expected, or you hoped that Maya would be shocked, but she wasn’t, not in the slightest.

“I think you’ll find babygirl that your body is the most powerful form of payment, men will do anything for a woman’s body, it’s good you learn that young. Matt provides a lot, drugs, care, a house, give him what he wants and he’ll treat you well.”

You stuttered on your words.

“W-what if I don’t want it?”

Maya put her hand on your cheek, squeezing firm enough to make it sting slightly.

“There is no such thing as not wanting it. We’re primal, we crave to be touched and wanted, he’s just teaching you that. It’s an eye for an eye. You get your high, he gets what he wants. It works out for everyone. He’s just trying to keep you safe, just trying to make you feel loved, it’s the only kind of love there is.”

In your core, in your brain, you know it’s untrue, Maya believes in what she’s saying though, or at least she appears to.

“Now c’mon, let’s get you upstairs, get you some artificial assistance.”

She pats you on the shoulder, before opening up the door on her side of the car and stepping out. You let go of the breath that you’d been holding in. Maya is like your big sister, she cares about you, she would never intentionally hurt you, she’s the only person who really gives a shit about you.

You open the car door without much more hesitation, having convinced yourself that she’s right, and more that once you shoot up that your brain will quiet down and all of your doubts will be silenced.

Maya leads you into the house, it’s a lot emptier than it was the other day, a lot less people sprinkled across all of the surfaces, instead there are a few girls and Matt, who’s right in the middle of all of them.

“Pretty girl, didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

He’s voice is drawling, slightly tilted.

You didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t come off as rude, so you simply smiled at him, as well as you could considering the bile that was in your stomach just at the thought of the man in front of you.

“She got kicked out, needed some place to go, I told her there is always room for her here.”

Matt nodded and smiled, his hands were all over the women around him, you tried your hardest to keepy your eyes on his face and not the company he was keeping.

“Of course, I look out for my girls. You craving pretty girl? You need something?”

You nodded your head, hopefully, you were desperate, the emotional nature of what you’d just been through with your mother enough to be slowly pushing you towards the edge.

“Maya take her upstairs, the speed is in my bedside draw, I’ll be up in a bit.”

Maya smiled and nodded, grabbing you by the shoulder and pushing you towards the same stairs you’d stumbled down just a few days ago.

You tried not to feel completely daunted as you were tugged upstairs, your shaky legs carrying you the distance to the bedroom that you’d been in less than twenty for hours ago.

It was the same position, same place, same everything.

It was hard not to feel completely terrified.

Maya led you over to the bed, sitting you down whilst she rustled in the bedside table.

It was silent, calm, as peaceful as you could feel in your current situation, until your phone started buzzing again.

“Answer it, let them know you’re fine.”

You looked ay Maya like she was crazy, she sure seemed it.

“Excuse me?”

Maya looked up from her spot rustling through the drawer.

“They’ll leave you alone if you answer, let them know you’re fine and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

You gulped, pulling your phone out of your pant pocket and looking at the flashing contact of your mom, your finger hesitating over the green button before clicking on it.

“Bubba? Bubba? Jord, she answered, I’ve got her.”

The exhale of relief that you heard leave your mom’s lips was one of pure happiness.

“Mom, please don’t ahte me, please don’t hate me.”

You could always deal with the thought or realisation that your mom didn’t love you, but having her hate you, it would do things to you that you couldn’t handle.

“Bubba where are you? I don’t hate you, I could never hate you, I love you so much bubba. Just let me know where you are, we’ll come get you, we’ll sort this out.”

Your mom sounded more desperate than you’d ever heard her.

“I’m okay mom, I’m okay, I’m safe.”

Another exhale of relief.

“Look bubba, all your aunties are out looking for you, me and Jord have been worried sick, just let me know where you are, please. I’m so worried about you bubba, look, just come home, we can figure out the drug stuff, me and mama will get you all the help you need, we’ll make it all better, just come home.”

It had been hardly two hours since you’d slipped out of your window, you didn’t want to know how stressed your mom would have gotten had it been six or twelve.

“Mom I know I did wrong, trust me, I know. But you want me to go to rehab, you want me to get better, and trust me I want it, but I can’t do it, please.”

You heard something being dropped and then a button being pressed.

“Chick, listen to me, your mom and I are worried sick, you need to come back home. We’ll sort it all out, we’ll get you the help you need, but you need to come home, just tell us where you are.”

The feeling of the rubber tourniquet being tied to your upper arm and a needle prodding at your vein distracted you slightly.

“Look mom, I’m in good company, I’m safe, I love you both but I can’t do rehab, I can’t do getting better, I’m not ready, I’m not strong enough for that, I’m not like you and mom, I can’t be strong and brave, I can’t tough it out when it gets hard. I just need you to love me from a distance and understand that I’m doing whats best for me.”

Maya looks on proudly, it feels like your saying things to appease her and that makes you feel good, the validation of having her smile at you and nod her head at you, it wasn’t love but it was something close, the closest you felt in a while.

“Bubba, listen to me. You are so strong, everything you’ve been through in your life, it’s nothing in comparison to this. You don’t need the drugs, you don’t. This isn’t you bubba.”

You think that deep down, Leah and Jordan have no idea who you are anymore. The injection into your bloodstream only solidifies those thoughts.

“This is me mom, this is who I am now. I was like you and jord’s perfect little child, your perfect girl but that’s not me anymore. I’m not the same kid, this is me.”

You swore you heard a sob, or sniffle from the other side of the line.

“Bubba, we’ll sort this out, just come back home, please.”

You shook your head, enjoying the feeling of your blood circulating the drugs that had just hit your system.

“I can’t do that mom’s, I love you, and I’m so grateful for you but I can’t come home, I just can’t mom, bye.”

Before either of them could reply to you, you pressed down on the hang up button, throwing your phone to the end of the bed and leaning back, letting the high begin to sink in.

The bed sunk down next to you, Maya’s arm snaking around your waist.

“Good job babygirl, I’m proud of you, you’ve got me, I’ll look out for you, I look out for all of my girls.”

If you were sane, you’d probably ask yourself the question of what kind of person looked out for their people by giving them drugs and subjecting them to sexual assault, but with the drugs running through your veins and the relief starting to hit your brain, you couldn’t find you in it to care.

“Feels good.”

Maya brought your head to her neck, it was warm, happy, nice.

“I know babygirl, feels so good doesn’t it?”

You nod your head, the bliss starting to really get to you, your whole body feeling the affects of it.

Everytime you get high you think it’ll last forever, that the overwhelming numb happiness will last permanently. Every time you shoot up, you think that maybe it’ll all get better, that the feeling you’ve been searching for, will finally set in. It doesn’t though.

You come to the conclusion that it must be a more pure solution, or more concentrated because it’s getting to your head a lot quicker than normal.

You don’t even notice when Matt slips into the room, too busy processing the overwhelming feeling of the drugs rushing through you. It’s good, it feels good, until the bed dips on the other side of you and a hand is on your waist.

Your body is too numb to try and fight back, even if you had the energy or will to, you doubt you’d be strong enough.

There are words being spoken around you, hands all over your body.

You can’t open your eyes, can’t even try to understand what is happening to you.

You bite down on your lip, as your pants are tugged down.

You dissasociate it, disassociate the hands on you, dissasociate the feeling of being violated, enjoy the fact that the mixture of the drugs in your system and pain coming from your lip manage to be enough to distract from the pain being inflicted on you.

It’s primal, it’s an eye for an eye, it’s a form of payment.

Some time during the process, you drift off, whether it’s from the drugs or pain you aren’t sure, you just know that the sweet mixture of the meth seems to be enough.

You wake up with an arm around you, your silently terrified to open your eyes and find out who, but you’re also in pain and a little bit too curious for your own good. You’re grateful that the hands are Maya’s, it’s a small win. Your head is still dazed, it feels good, but you’re itching for something, itching for more.

“Hey babygirl.”

It’s light outside, it has of been a couple of hours and based on the pain between your legs you don’t want to know what’s happened in the couple of hours you’ve been unconscious.

“You feeling a bit better?”

You nod your head, focusing in on the daze and not the itch across your body and the pain your experiencing.

“You’ve been such a good girl for Matt and I, doing exactly how we pleased, we’re so proud of you.”

It’s the kind of praise you’ve been searching for months. Growing up, for your mom’s, you’d always been the perfect child, a pathological people pleaser. You’d always been told you were independent, in the end though it had all just been loneliness. You grew up to quickly, from the moment you were in foster care, passed around like a piece of trash, there was no option but for you to be lonely. Then you moved in with Jordan and Leah, and they had each other, you were still alone. You didn’t allow for yourself to make mistakes, you had a chance with them, if you were anything less than perfect then how could they want you? You were a student, a star athlete, polite, a perfectionist to your core. You took on all of the burden during the breakup, you were there for both of your mom’s through it all, yet you were the one who was always at the brunt of their anger and discontent. You weren’t worthy of their love, not when the perfect child stopped being perfect because of the pressure, because of the self-hatred that had manifested inside of you since the first people to show you love had broken apart, leaving you empty on the inside.

You blamed yourself for a lot of it, Leah and Jordan had been fine before you, it was like as soon as you entered their life it was just a ticking time bomb, you wrecked everything, you were a semi truck that drove through people, pulled everyone and everything in it’s way a part.

Maya knew how it felt, she’d broken people a part, she knew what it felt like to be all alone, she’d taught you that it was okay, that it was okay to be lonely.

She cared about you, she understood you, she wanted you.

“More, need more.”

She looked into your eyes and you felt understood, like she knew exactly what you were going through and knew how to patch up and fix all of your problems.

“Alright babygirl, just give me a second and we’ll get you juiced up, huh? You deserve it, you’ve been such a perfect girl for us.”

Maya removed her body from yours, reaching over to the bedside table, rummaging through it the same way she did last night.

Your body was still vibrating with the endorphins, the dopamine was filling your head, replacing everything in you that felt dead and broken, it felt so good, it was the feeling that you craved, the reason that you’d given everything else up, because it made you feel more content and fulfilled then anything else.

You were scared of losing it, scared of losing touch with the feeling that you were relying on.

You craved her praise, craved the drugs, craved the nothingness that came from having everything around you turn into nothing, all of the feelings, all of the struggle, all the pain and suffering turned into dust.

It was what made your life worth living, without the high you didn’t think your life would even remotely worth living for, you had nothing, you had nobody, you were alone.

Maya was quicker with her mannerisms, she knew what she was doing.

You’d never seen her do needles before the last twenty four hours, but you also weren’t that shocked. She had the tracks along her arms, the attitude that seemed like she could. She was the one who’d introduced you to drugs, it had started with a bit of pot, then coke, then heroin, then any pill that you could find and eventually, speed.

You’d been tentative at first, speed was more addictive than any other drug, speed did bad things to a body, methamphetamines were a druggies worst enemy. You’d met cokeheads and some of the most addicted heroin junkies and yet plenty of them had told you that they would never touch meth, that it was too intoxicating.

Meth took control of a persons body, penetrated the system faster than most drugs, meth got into your head, it changed a person for the worse.

You wanted that though, you were seeking for that. You were seeking for something to take control of you, something to change you, something to change the way your brain was wired.

It felt so good, you’d never been into needles either, avoided them like they were the plague, but with the plastic tourniquet strapped onto your arm and the cold point of the needle pressing against your inner arm.

It was the best feeling in the world, the best feeling known to man.

You felt like you were on the peak of Mount Everest, like you were unstoppable.

It was the same feeling you’d once gotten from just being in a room with your moms, the same feeling you’d gotten after a good game of football, the same feeling you’d gotten out of getting a good mark back on a test.

A while ago, a time that you don’t like to think about anymore, it all came naturally. Your body did hunger for that kind of attention because it received it naturally, it didn’t have to worry about when the next burst of serotonin would come. You didn’t have to create your own sensation, like you do now, you didn’t have to put yourself on a constant calendar to keep yourself sane, to make sure that you stayed happy enough to stay alive.

You didn’t think about the fact that you’d shot up a couple of hours ago, that you’re body was only just now learning to absorb intravenous drugs, that you were more dosed up then you had been in your entire life and now you were adding gasoline to the fire inside of you, you didn’t care, all you wanted was for this feeling to keep lasting, for the pain in your stomach from everything that you knew had happened but couldn’t recollect to be numbed by the drugs that you were craving.

You felt alive when the needle pressed into your arm, it made you feel like you were unstoppable, enlightened, like nothing could stop you. It was a strak contrast to how you felt when you were sober, when you were sober, you felt like the weight of the world was resting on your shoulders, that you were responsible for all the people that were around you and if you failed them then you were no better than the little traumatised girl that had been handed to your moms all those years ago.

You tried to ignore the odd chest pain that set in as the drugs mixed in with your blood, or tried your very best at least, it was hard though, when the initial pain started to turn into a skin splitting sensation you tried your best to pay no mind to it.

It was odd, you figured it might be a new effect you were unearthing, needles gave a different high in comparison to your normal, it was understandable that their would be different effects.

For the first time though, in a long time, you weren’t overcome with the near overwhelming relief that normally flooded you, the pain in your chest was to strong, instead of your heart slowing, your pain subsiding and all the thoughts quieting down, it felt like you were going into overdrive, hyperaware of everything that resided inside of you. Your chest was hurting, your heart was beating at a abnormally fast pace and your brain hurt, like it was rattling around inside of your head, bruising the inside of your skull and cracking it into pieces as every second passed.

“Maya, maya.”

It was a croak, yourr eyes being forced open as you took sharp, short breaths.

“You’re okay babygirl, deep breaths, it’ll feel good any minute.”

Except it wasn’t feeling good and it was feeling worse as every second passed. Your skin was prickly, hot and red and burning all over, your heart felt like it was beating faster than it had ever before and everything about how you were feeling felt so inexplicably wrong.

“Not good, not good, not good.”

Maya’s hand was on your face, patting at you like you were a dog, like you were a pet to her.

“Ride it out, you’ve got it babygirl, it’ll pass.”

It wasn’t passing though, it wasn’t, nothing about how you felt was passing at all.

You could feel your control of your body start to fade, you didn’t understand how or why, you didn’t understand what was happening, you knew though that whatever this was, whatever you’d taken or been given, it wasn’t good. It felt like poison inside of you, slowly taking control of every thing inside of you, like something was eating you up from the inside, as every moment surpassed.

You wanted to think that it was going to be fine, that you were just experiencing some kind of heightened high from the buildup in your system, but there was something overwhelmingly odd and wrong about how you felt, it was real, realer than any drugs had made you feel.

Drugs were artificial, and they made you feel artificially happy, or numb, somewhere between those two. Drugs had never made you feel real and tangible, like you were more of a human than anybody else, but right now, you felt more personified then you ever had, like you were so synched with your body that it was too much, too much feelings, too much pain, to much of everything.

You struggled to get out anymore words, between the feeling of your heart beating the speed of light and your chest being too tight for any oxygen to enter your airway.

You supposed she got the message when your body started to shake, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your body struggled to cope.

You heard her scream, felt her pick up your body, in blinks of your eyes you made out the staircase, the entryway, Matt in your line of sight.

You get traded into his arms, arms that make you feel tense and uncomfortable, something your body seems to react to because the tremors or seizures, or whatever the fuck your experiecing only worsens.

You blink in and out of consciousness as you’re taken from the house, into the backseat of somebody’s car, Maya and Matt seated in the front, murmuring to each other as you violently shook in the backseat, your consciousness fading as your body became less connected to you.

You weren’t sure where you were going, where drug addicts thought it was a good idea to take a person fucked up out of their minds, you hoped it wasn’t back to your mothers, or rehab, you seriously doubted the latter considering that two addicts themselves were more likely to take you to a fucking graveyard instead of rehab.

You knew neither of them were talking to you, just talking between the two of them, you hoped they were getting you some kind of help, that the two of them would stick by you and find you some help, Maya loved you, Maya was the only person who cared, she would get you help, she would stop this feeling, she would fix it.

You couldn’t see, you couldn’t control your body, you couldn’t feel any sensations across your skin beside the burning created by the lack of oxygen being circulated throughout you. It was like the drugs were slowly infiltrating every part of you, that the veins which mapped out your body underneath your skin were being pumped full of the toxic substance that you’d been so desperate to fill yourself with.

It must have been a bad reaction, or something you’d taken was laced, probably with fentanyl or something that was mixing badly, fentanyl was renowned for being one of the worst things to combine with meth, opioids and stimulants were bad together, it was probably the two forms mixing together inside of you, creating a horrible chemical concoction of reactions inside of you.

You couldn’t keep yourself awake for most of the car ride, there were patches of consciousness, patches where your eyes would open just for them to close once again.

You were awake when the car stopped, not awake enough to catch a glimpse of where you’d stopped at but awake enough to hear the car engine turn still on. The passenger door opened, then footsteps, then the backseat door beside you opened.

Maya picked you up, or at least that’s who you thought had your arms around you, your eyes were forced shut so you didn’t have any confirmation.

A few steps were taken, fast ones, and then she was squatting like she intended to put you down, and then she did.

You didn’t know how or why or where, you just knew that it was cold, there was rain drizzling down on your face, your body was shaking more than ever and you could hear the footsteps getting further and further away from you, then the sound of a car door being opened and shut and the car pulling away.

You were in agony, there was no other way to put it.

You’d been abandoned before, it was nothing new for you, it only reinforced the idea that you were simply incapable of keeping people in your life, nobody wanted you long term, you weren’t made for long term love, you were like a toy to a child. Fun and entertaining for a short amount of time, before you were forgotten and then eventually, thrown away.

You passed out before you could think more about the toy comparison, cold, alone and forgotten.

[randomwriting]

Love Letters I Won’t Send

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: In the midst of summertime heat and breakdowns, you find yourself falling in love with all the people around you. (some, more than others.)

A/N 💌: I intend to make this a series, haven’t decided if I should make it fully Poly!Marauders x Reader or not yet, so let me know what you think!

Also this is my first fic ever so kindness & reblogs are sincerely appreciated 💕

Beneath the annoyance permeating the halls of Hogwarts, and infesting every common room but the ones conveniently hidden under wonderfully cool lakes, (an amenity you were not jealous of at all), there was an amazingly rare heat wave sweeping over the entirety of scotland. You had to admit, the timing could not have been worse.

The unrelenting heat was the worst in the Gryffindor dorms, where some of the residents had begun looking an awful lot like one of their house colors. This unexpected side effect meant that dorms were essentially uninhabitable, and swarms of students had taken to the courtyard, the common room, or the halls, in refuge. And since hiding from your lingering feelings in your dorm was no longer a viable option, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas had been forced to drag you out into an open space where you were far too susceptible to seeing the three boys you had been avoiding like the plague.

“You are going to bloody fucking kill yourself if you do not get out of that room.” Marlene practically shouted at you, after yet another failed attempt to free you from the boiling temperatures of your bedroom. Her exasperation with you, general fury with the world, and hatred of the weather was a dangerous combination. One you couldn't entirely fault her for.

“I'd sooner die than have to face those men, marls.” you heard her grumble something along the lines of “Merlins fucking beard” at your response.

“Look, I know this whole thing is complicated and whatnot, but you are driving yourself mad, holed up in a ridiculously hot room, overthinking about James, Sirius and Remus, when you should be swimming, or living, or fucking someone else to get over them!”

“I agree. You are too pretty and smart and funny and frankly too fucking hot to be sitting here moping.” Lily chimes in, smiling at you, unrelenting in her beliefs, you take a second, in the midst of the chaos, to admire her smile. The ridiculously engaging quality of her shiny teeth, the perfection of her skin and the red hair that floats around her in the sun, too much like a halo for you not to take note. It is so easy to love her. All of them, really. You only wish, quietly, that it was so easy for you to be loved. The way everyone knows Mary loves Lily, the palpable way you all can feel how Marlene loves Dorcas. It radiates under the surface of the whole group and flows further out into the school, they radiate love, and you feel it, in that brief and wondrous moment before you have to face the world, you ask yourself how on earth you got so lucky, that they might tolerate you enough to allow you this close to the masterpiece of their friendships and lives.

“Okay.” You relent, soft yet reluctant, as you come back to the present, a feeling of inadequacy settling heavily on your shoulders and in your lungs, “I'll leave the room but I'm bringing a book, and I insist on snacks and enormous amounts of lemonade if I'm being forced out into the wild.” You allow them to pull you up and out of the sweltering room, only because you’re not entirely convinced you won’t be able to simply meander away into some obscure hallway, cooled by the touch of the century old stone in refuge, the moment Dorcas and Marlene begin to notice just how little clothing there is between the two of them due to the immense heat. You stare ahead as you walk down through the common room, shoulders tense with something indescribable. Lily notices it, she also noticed the soft, odd look on your face earlier, and just like Lily Evans does, she files it away in a neat folder in her mind with your name written on it, one new thing to figure out about you, where exactly it is you go when your eyes get foggy and you drift off.

“Why are you avoiding the boys?” Dorcas asks suddenly, and you feel marlene and lily stop, to turn and look at her the same way you do.

“It’s just easier, if I don’t see them.” You tell her this half truth slowly, as you all continue to walk down the stairs, you don’t miss the dry look you get from Marlene.

“Easier? You were miserable earlier and I can’t imagine they’re thrilled at the prospect of one of their best friends disappearing without explanation.” She somehow manages to be blunt and soft and so uniquely wise.

“I have to move on, because we are just friends. That’s easier to do when I’m not constantly overwhelmed by Remus reading to me, and Sirius’ relentless flirting, and James calling me-”

“Angel! There you are.” A sweaty James Potter practically yells from across the courtyard as he sees you. Your heart stops, the sun is on his face and bouncing off of his glasses, his hair has never looked this good, ever. It’s damp and sideswept and you just know Sirius has been somewhere near it, because it looks particularly soft. You aren’t sure he isn’t actually an angel of some kind as he jogs over to you and the girls in his white tank top and shorts, positively beaming.

“Nice to see you too, potter.” Marlene snarks with a grin as James enters your personal space.

“Oh come on Marls, you know I’m always positively thrilled to see you.” His smile unwavering as he looks over at her, you take that moment of freedom from his gaze to wipe the sweat that formed away from your brow, and to start a silent conversation with lily, which really only pertains you mouthing “help” and her grinning at you happily, thrilled with the confrontation. She hated when you hid from things, from yourself.

“Did you put on sunblock? Sirius has plenty, if you haven't.” James asks you softly as he leads the small group to the tree where he had come running from, you can just make out Sirius and Remus under it, Sirius sprawled out on the grass, head in remus’ lap, who’s back is against the tree as he reads. You’re struck with fondness yet again as you look at them, finding it all too easy to fall back into that habit of loving them from afar.

“I did. Lily made me.”

You answer, with a playful glare at your favorite redhead. James’ smile grows somehow larger at the playfulness. You watch Lily sling her arm over Dorcas, you laugh as Marlene shoves it off, grumbling playfully about how she should go find Mary if she wanted to get all lovey dovey. Despite the tension you can feel, always present it seems, since you fell for James, there is an easiness. Perhaps because of the warmth and the abundance that comes with this time of year, or maybe just because you have found yourself living here, with people who you feel if you didn't already have magic coursing through your veins, would make you believe in its existence. They were just that wonderful.

[frostyhelltime]

Alastor Realizes He Has Feelings For You Part 2

Alastor x GN!Reader

AN: I'm so happy so many people seem to like this so far! I hope you all enjoy this part 2! Now I'm gonna get back to working on my inbox. I'm loving the requests I'm seeing come in so feel free to keep sending them in! ❤️ And as I said in the preview I tend to write Alastor from more of a demisexual lenses since it's on the ace spectrum and I also largely consider myself demisexual if that helps to know for this.

Link to part 1 is right HERE.

Alastor is a planner. Always has been and likely always will be. He has different plans and scenarios for almost every occasion, and has backup plans for most any issue he could ever encounter. Suffice to say, it made him a terrible person to try and out maneuver. But it was especially difficult when you weren't even aware of the game of chess he was playing.

So he does what he does best, plan. It's easier to focus on the goal of ensnaring you instead of really analyzing his own complicated feelings. He starts small, not wanting to throw you off too harshly. It had to be subtle. He starts doing things that wouldn't…necessarily be odd, considering his personality, but they're still things he hasn't really done before. 

Such as pulling your chair out for you when you go to sit down. It's not too odd. A gentlemanly thing to do. But he can tell from the look on your face that you're struggling to remember if this is a new behavior or if he's always done it and you just never noticed.

He went out of his way to accompany you when possible, more so than usual. Especially if it was into a less desirable part of town. But still, nothing changes. It honestly vexes him because he doesn't even quite know how he fell for you, so he couldn't even attempt to replicate it to make you fall for him in turn. 

Perhaps subtle was the wrong way to go? Perhaps he should be a little more…forward? 

He again starts small, not wanting to startle you, but it seems it does regardless. In hindsight him reaching for you first instead of the other way around was certainly something novel and new, so it made sense it surprised you the first few times he placed his hand on the small of your back as you both walked, a gesture of affection, protection, and possession all at once.

He would almost wonder if he was doing something wrong if he hadn't seen that delightful little dusting of pink across your cheeks each time he does it.

It's then he realizes that due to his….general nature and lack of romantic relationships, that you're likely trying to justify all of his actions as extremely friendly rather than the subtle flirtations he meant them to be.

Which annoyed him until a hint of mischief crossed his face with a realization. If you thought he was just being extraordinarily friendly…he could perhaps be even…more bold without fully showing you his hand yet.

Yes, he could certainly have fun with that.

He's thinking later on that day about how he could torment you with his affections when he passes by the library and sees you struggling, quite poorly, to reach a book. 

His grin grows imperceptibly wider as he silently approaches behind you. He weighs his options on how he should go about it and eventually decides to lean over, until his lips are almost flush to your ear.

“Do you need any help mon cœur?” He almost purrs in your ear and he has to admit there is a certain thrill and exhilaration unlike what he's used to feeling, when you jump from how close his voice is. 

“A-Alastor! I…I didn't realize you were there.” You managed to squeak out as you felt his claws rest on the crook of your waist. The proximity, touch, and whispered voice is clearly a lot for you since he can see your blush has even spread to the tips of your ears. 

How cute. He wonders what other parts of you can so plainly show your feelings because of him? Ah but he's losing focus now.

“Oh, my apologies. How rude of me not to greet you! Hello there.” He hasn't moved his mouth an inch, his voice brushing against you like velvet as he speaks. As soon as he does actually greet you, one of his hands captures yours and brings it to his lips, and he's  able to hear the slight hitch in your breath as he does so. It's certainly a sound he's quickly become a fan of, that he wants to hear over and over again. He once again allows his mind to wander for just a moment on other ways he could have you make that sound for him. But then he's focused once more, his hand dropping yours and snatching the book you appeared to be reaching for with ease before leaning back down to whisper in your ear.

“Is this what you needed mon cœur?” He continues to drawl sweetly in your ear as he repeats the pet name that still manages to make you flush and fidget nervously despite not knowing what the hell he was even saying. He noticed the pet names seemed to make you feel some type of way when they were French, even though he's called you darling and dear and various other things in English more than a few times. But no matter. He doesn't really care about the reasoning behind it, just excited he has another tool in his arsenal to ensure you turn your gaze to him instead of some pathetic sinner that thought they had a chance with you. He can feel his ears flatten slightly in agitation at the mere thought, but thankfully you're unable to see in your current position so he gives nothing away.

He sees he isn't the only one to get lost in his thoughts, since you haven't responded yet, and he's oh so curious to know what is going on in that head of yours. But another time. For now he was making such progress, he feels.

His chuckle in your ear is dark and low, but warm like honey before his voice rings out again, laced with amused curiosity.

“Mon cœur?”

You snap to attention at that, as if just remembering he was even there.

“Y-Yep! That's the book! Thank you!” 

The little stutter was cute, he admits. Especially when he knows he caused it. But he thinks this is enough for now, to help lead your mind down less…platonic roads. The idea was to have you approach him, to maintain that illusion of control. Like you thought of it, and approached him and he'll pretend to entertain the idea before giving it a shot.

But it's fine you were taking a while to grow the courage. He was a very patient man, and the way he was clearly driving you up the wall with his back and forth actions was certainly entertaining enough in the meantime.

“Glad to be of service!” His normal radio host cadence was back again as he pulled away, his touch leaving you entirely, and he's sure it leaves a cold spot in his absence that he's sure you notice, since he can feel the same sharp contrast of the lack of warmth on him from where you're no longer touching.

He seems so cheerful and carefree that it almost makes you wonder if you had hallucinated this whole interaction. But by the time you spin around to talk to him, he's already gone. But even from the shadows he can see the way your flushed face and wide eyes search the room for him, hand over your heart as if you could will your heartbeat to slow. He's certain you must be feeling a sense of whiplash from the drastic change in demeanor and he watches as you lean back against the shelves, holding the book and shaking your head a moment.

“I feel like I'm going crazy…” He watched you mutter and it only made him smile more. So his actions were effective after all. You were just trying very hard to be respectful and polite to him since you knew his nature so well…an endearing gesture that just made him want to sink his claws even deeper into you. 

Knowing his actions affect you just emboldens him further. When you share coffee the next morning with him and the two of you chat, tucked away in whatever room seemed to strike your fancy that day, he notices you seem to be avoiding his eyes, your head tilted down.

He tuts a moment, putting his coffee down and using one claw to tilt your head upward to face him, using his other hand to brush your hair away from your face to stop obscuring his attempts to look at you.

“There we are. Much better.” He smiles brightly at you, even as he sees the crimson rush to your cheeks. He lets his hands linger a little longer than needed before he releases you and picks his coffee cup back up again, as if what he's done wasn't abnormal in the slightest.

“A-Alastor…?” He hears you ask tentatively, and he thinks his patience is finally going to pay off.

“Yes mon cœur?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in an innocent manner that is a laughable contrast to what you know of the radio demon's legacy and reputation.

“I..” He leans forward slightly, eager for your expected confession, his eyes drifting down to your throat as he watches you swallow thickly from nerves.

“...I…n-nevermind. I…forgot what I was going to say.” You eventually give up and his shoulders slump just the slightest bit in disappointment although his smile doesn't falter, although it is strained.

“...No worries. When it comes back to you, I've always got an open ear available for you.” He assures you, although inside he sighs. How can he make you crack? He wants to make you crack before he does, to maintain that illusion of control and so you don't realize the power you possess of how much he could give you if you only asked. He's thinking again, a peaceful quiet settled over the both of you as you each are lost in thought over your individual predicaments.

Perhaps…he could distract you from your date, maybe even ensure you miss it anyway, and perhaps see him in a less…platonic way at the same time. He could simply…take the place of this undeserving date of yours. 

“...You know…I had heard there was a new jazz club that had opened up recently, and I know no one else here has enough taste to appreciate the music appropriately so I wouldn't want to take any of them.” He uses his free hand to wave off the notion before you can even suggest it. 

“Perhaps I could take you with me? Perhaps I can show you how well I bet we could cut a rug together? It's been quite some time since I've gotten to enjoy a dance with a worthy partner.” He says, putting particular emphasis on the last word, eyes partially closing as he makes sure to look at you with a more seductive gaze to further entice you.

You always respond to his compliments so well, a nervous fidget, perhaps a bite of your lip as you think of how to respond, and of course that cute little blush he was quite fond of by now.

“That…” You swallow again, opening your mouth a moment as if searching for words before you continue speaking.

“That sounds…lovely. Just…let me know when to be ready.”

This time his grin is more reminiscent of a spider watching a fly heading right into its web as he gives you all the details needed of when and where.

When the time officially comes, he's delighted that you show up in the lobby at the appropriate time for a few reasons. It meant you were going to go, was the most obvious reason. But the second reason was that unless this idiot wanted to take you dancing on a Sunday night…you probably broke your date with them to be with him. A fact that certainly makes his ego puff up as he takes your hand and kisses it, a routine that feels almost natural now.

“My…I'll be the envy of everyone there with this beauty on my arm…” He chuckles, smiling wider when he sees that tell tale blush spread down to your neck as you stumble over a ‘thank you’. He offers his arm to you, which you politely take as if he were escorting you anywhere normally. Him initiating contact, even if it was small, was also beginning to feel more natural to you both, even if it was small touches.

He can tell by the way you act that you can sense this is different from other friendly outings you two had been on. Good. He was beginning to doubt his abilities to charm for a little bit there. Perish the thought.

There are also, admittedly, things that he has begun to notice are different as the night goes on as well. Had he always been able to feel how warm your hands were or had he just never noticed? It's easier to notice now as he twirls you around to the lovely jazz band playing up on stage, hand never letting yours go entirely as the two of you dance.

He's also glad to see those pesky nerves of yours finally seemed to be wearing off and you were relaxing with him again, like you had before he began attempting to quietly pursue you. Your smile and laugh were far more carefree and jovial as he dips you, arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you from falling before he tugs you back up to continue.

With you relaxing, he finds himself mirroring that demeanor and he's overall less anxious and tense, and much less focused on ensnaring you. Now he was just…having fun. No planning. No ulterior motives. Just having a good time. It's actually quite nice to enjoy the feeling in the moment.

There are a few brief moments where you tense, for instance when his face comes just a little too close to yours, and he can tell you're clearly wondering if he'll close the gap or if you're just imagining things that aren't there. Or when he gives a particularly sultry gaze and accompanying grin as he pulls his lovely dancing partner closer when the distance between you two becomes greater than he wants.

But overall it's an absolutely lovely night and once you've both had your fill you step off the dance floor, Alastor taking a moment to check the time and grinning deviously to himself. It was far too late to meet with up with whoever your date had been, and his ego is admittedly fluffed knowing he was the one able to distract you so thoroughly, as it should be.

As the two of you sit down at one of the tables in the corner, each grabbing a drink from the bar first, you're still laughing with absolute glee over the wonderful night so far.

He enjoys picking your brain as he sips his rye, head resting gently on his free hand as he nods and agrees and puts in his own two cents on this new jazz club. It feels delightfully normal and cozy. While he does quite enjoy flustering you and watching you flounder…he had missed these easygoing conversations he couldn't really seem to have with others. You had been walking on eggshells around him this week, and he didn't realize how terribly he missed this type of interaction with you until now.

It's only after awhile he pretends to check the clock and feigns shock before turning back to you.

“Oh dear! I hadn't realized how late it had gotten. I hope you didn't have any other plans I might have ruined.” His chuckle is easygoing, thinking he knows the answer but wanting to hear you say it anyway. He wants to hear you say you chose him, instead of him just silently knowing.

But you just shake your head, grin still plastered across your face before you take a sip of your cocktail.

“Nope! This was my only plan tonight and I couldn't imagine anything better!” Another delighted laugh from you as confusion crosses his own face immediately.

He cocks his head to the side a little bit, trying to determine if you're lying or not. Although he has never known you to lie to him before…

“Really? It's not nice to lie to me. I thought we were close. No prior commitments to anyone broken to be here with me tonight? No silly little paramour trying to steal away your attention?” He puts emphasis on the word, putting his drink down and using that hand to gently grab your chin and tilt your head up to look him in the eye so he could analyze your expression more acutely. He doesn't mean to say the word ‘paramour’ with such disdain, it simply creeps out into his voice.

But now you just look confused as well as you look up at him.

“No…? I mean. I told Husk about this place and mentioned wanting to go this weekend to check it out. But I didn't say I had anyone in mind to go with me. If anything I was going to ask you, knowing this is your kind of place.” You answer carefully, unsure what the correct answer is supposed to be, and he freezes, hand on your chin tightening almost imperceptibly as the gears begin to turn in his mind.

There's a soft flare of radio static interference that sounds from him that makes others nearby give him more room than they had previously.

You, however, are unafraid. You've become too close to him to really fear he would do anything bad to you. Right now you're mostly just concerned for him and this odd behavior.

His hand drops away from your face, as he takes another sip of his rye, taking that time to collect himself and think of his next course of action.

He should have known better than to trust one singular source of information without double checking…damnit. He had been so wrapped up in his stupid newfound jealousy that he hadn't even stopped to ask Husk if he was absolutely positive that's what you said. He thinks the idiot must have misheard you, and he foolishly accepted it at face value.

But the wheels are turning in your head now too, mouth falling slightly agape as your eyes widen, an outlandish possibility entering your mind that claws at your curiosity so desperately you can't stop yourself from blurting it out.

“...Alastor…Were you trying to stop me from going on what you thought was a date?” You ask, and the excited anticipation in your voice could not be mistaken even though you did try to hide it.

“Of course not.” Is what comes out of his mouth immediately as he pulls away defensively, his ears flattening slightly, two things you pick up on. He's unaware how hard your heart is beating right now as you try to summon the courage to speak your next thought, part of you still thinking it so impossible you shouldn't even bother asking.

“...Are you…jealous over the idea of someone dating me?” You inquire curiously, quirking your head to the side and snaking one hand across the table and taking his hesitantly, unsure if you're crossing some invisible line. You're unsure if you're just firing a shot in the dark and he'll laugh at the notion. But somehow the atmosphere feels far too heavy for him to joke about something like this. It's felt heavy like this all week and you wanted to know why.

But the question just has him put his drink down a little more harshly than he meant to. But he doesn't pull his other hand from yours, the touch a little soothing to him as he deals with his scattered thoughts.

“No.” He says concretely while looking you in the eye, as if daring you to suggest otherwise.

But you still aren't convinced…not with how he had been acting this past week, and this new knowledge. Perhaps…you could try and be a little bold? Perhaps test the waters yourself?

“...That's a shame. I wouldn't have minded if you were.” You state quietly, his ears almost straining to pick up the sound of your voice over the music. Your gaze is pointedly looking away,  unsure you would have had the courage to say the words if you had been looking directly at him.

You startle and look back at him, specifically at his hand holding yours because his grip has become noticeably tighter. He's moving closer again, to the shorter distance he had been before he pulled away and you swallow thickly, wondering if you had made a mistake.

His voice is low, and you can oddly see conflict present in his eyes, as if he was warring over what decision to make.

“...and if I say I am?” His voice is heated and almost husky as he speaks, looking you directly in the eye again as he leans even closer now, his face mere inches from yours now.

You're struck speechless by this admission, not even dreaming of that response actually being a reality, and your voice is stuck in your throat as you scramble for a response. Your breath hitches slightly as all you can do is stare at him a moment trying to process this as he waits for your answer, unreadable in this moment.

Your other hand is shaking as you bring it up to rest on his cheek, watching him close his eyes a moment before opening them again as he leans into the touch. It gives you the courage to speak that thought that feels almost too silly to put out into the world.

“...I…I would say you have no reason to be.” You're leaning just the smallest bit forward, as if to silently give permission but not wanting to take that first step yourself and cross his boundaries without permission. 

It just made him adore you more.

He bridges the distance, eyes closing as the hand not holding yours is placed on the back of your neck to push you closer, to silently assure you this was no accident.

He can feel your hand gripping his tightly now in response and he can't help but grin into the kiss as you begin to reciprocate once the shock has worn off, lips moving against his with an eager hunger before eventually parting. There's something almost tender in the way he grips your neck, that makes you melt into the kiss with him with ease.

He has to admit he's definitely a fan of this look of yours. Wide eyed, breathing a bit hard with a flushed face and slightly parted mouth as you gazed at him. He wants to see it again.

“...Good. I'm not the type of person who does well with jealousy I've discovered.” His voice is chipper and normal, as if he hadn't just taken your breath away for a moment. Just the whiplash of going from one side of him to the other has you laughing as you lean back, the hand that was once on his face now covering your own.

“...I'll keep that in mind.” You grin, spreading your fingers just enough to peek out at him. 

Further discussions could wait until tomorrow of course, of boundaries and labels and everything that comes with it. But for now this is enough. His cards are on the table yes, but yours are laid bare for him to see as well. So he relaxes again into his seat, leaning back but not taking his hand back from yours before looking at the dance floor again.

“...Do you feel like dancing again mon cœur?” He asks, already tugging your hand up to bring you with him. He's eager to dance with you again without having to pretend his intimate and more romantic touches were accidental this time. He hears you giggle before taking another sip of your cocktail and then you're tugging him down to be eye level with you. 

“I'd love that, mon amour.” You teasingly breathe into his ear, and you're rewarded by this time getting to see his breath hitch instead of it always being you. You may still not know what he's been calling you, but everyone knows that term of endearment, and there's an almost sinful sense of pride that you were able to pull that type of reaction from him, and now you're even more eager to dance with him again, to find out what else you can see that no one else has before.

You think you understand all the teasing touches he gave you that left you wanting all this week, probably trying to test the waters and bait you into confessing yourself, you can likely guess now. If this is how he felt seeing you react all those times you couldn't blame him.

Perhaps it's only fair to begin to repay him for those tormenting whispers and touches, you think as you two step onto the dance floor, your hand placing itself on his chest before slowly gliding up further and then over his collarbone to rest gingerly on his shoulder for support, your fingers digging in slightly to the flesh of his back. It's hard to tell in this dimly lit lounge but you swear there's a tinge of red to his face, and it just further strengthens the hunger you feel when he growls softly and leans over to whisper to you.

“Tread carefully my dear. I have every intention of approaching this courtship as a gentleman. Do not make that impossible for me to remember…”

Taglist: @zzzykiek @alastorthirsty @sirens-and-moonflowers

[the-fab-fox]

Okay so this has been something I've been chewing on for a long while. About making this post I mean.

This one is to those who actively ingest fanfiction but seem to think it's okay to just read free fiction that people have put time and thought and crafted prose for your enjoyment and do nothing in return.

All we ever ask for and all we ever want is for y'all to AT THE VERY LEAST hit that kudos button if you like the work. That is the BARE MINIMUM of what you SHOULD be doing. Especially all of you who say you're too nervous to comment or don't wish to be perceived. And if you don't want your account on the list, you can log out and send a guest kudos.

But as I said, BARE MINIMUM. If you loved the fic, if you got something out of it that left you feeling good and energized (or whatever angst does for y'all) then I want to take a moment and strongly urge you to comment, subscribe (if a wip), and bookmark those works. Did you know there's an option to even mark it as a Fic Recommendation? You can put notes in to and say why you liked it and things like that (DO NOT DO A RATING IN PUBLIC BOOKMARKS HOWEVER). And, you can indeed make them private! The writer still gets the number added to their stats but your bookmark we won't see.

Anyway, I now wanna turn your attention to Exhibit A:

This is a list of my best performing fics. Do you see the problem with this? The green highlights are the hits I've received for those fics. The red is the Kudos and comment threads. Now the kudos is obviously right?

Let's look at my number one fic right now, Accidentally in Love (a Malleyuu fic from Twisted Wonderland fandom). It's the seventh fic in a romance series. As you can see, it's doing great as far as hits, right? And I know it's an amazing fic from the comments I have received and just from rereading it myself. Note, I am probably the biggest bully to myself as @sunshineandteddybears and @mellosdrawings and @romantichopelessly can tell you in great detail. So when I am saying it's really damn good, you can probably trust it's gonna be pretty damn good. And yet, a fic that has 4K hits only has 119 kudos. And now to bring your attention to the comment threads. So honestly with how bad readers are on actually commenting (which by the way if you log off you can send anonymously as a guest—you'll have to put in your email address but we authors won't see that)... 107 seems pretty good right? But you guys don't see that. You see what's on the info for the story. Unfortunately, on the fic info at the top of the story, it counts every single comment (including the Author's). (The comment threads is just every single starting comment, i.e. the first comment received from each commenter.)

The thing is, I—and probably quite a few other writers—do respond to every single comment.

So that means where the info on my fic itself says 230 comments, in reality, I'm at half that when I subtract my half of the comments. So that's actually 115 comments from other people. So some people might see that 230 and think oh they got a lot of comments so I don't think they want to hear from me or I can't be fucked and they're already doing good so.

NO. NO. NO. Do not look at the numbers as a guide if a fic is good or not. Do not look at the numbers and think that we don't need or deserve to get any more. And finally WE WANT TO HEAR FROM Y'ALL.

Excuses need to stop.

Speaking of numbers. Here's my over all stats current on AO3.

In the 3 years on this AO3 account (I've had others in the past and accounts on ff.net and live journal. I'm an oldie fanfic writer lol. 21 years of fanfic. My gods. 🤣) It didn't used to be like this guys. Back in the day I'd get 12 plus comments on a chapter and this is on stuff a teenager wrote.

We have got to get back to the point of supporting each other and building each other up. Also while I'm at it, I have a huge beef with the fact that fanartists get so much more positive feedback and replies and comments, but the thing is, even their numbers are skewed. You can go into the notes of a fanart on here that has 10k notes to see they have maybe 100-1K reblogs (if that, I'm being generous) and maybe 10 or so replies (if turned on) and the rest are all likes. EVERYONE has been on here long enough by now to know that likes do nothing to get a post in the algorithm and tags only do so much. Reblogs are the only way their art (or our fanfictions for people who post them on here) gets seen! By sharing!

So y'all gotta get better. Yes, we write for ourselves first, but ultimately a story is meant to be shared with everyone and feedback should not be optional if you're actively reading the fics or viewing the art for free and enjoyed it!

TLDR:

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANFIC. KUDOS AT THE VERY LEAST BUT BE BETTER. COMMENT. BOOKMARK. SUBSCRIBE IF IT'S A WIP YOU LOVE. (Like, comment and reblog if on Tumblr)

IF YOU FUCKING LIKE A FANART ON TUMBLR. COMMENT. LIKE. REBLOG.

DO BETTER AS READERS AND US WRITERS AND ARTISTS WILL GIVE YOU THE WORLD (AND MANY OTHER WORLDS TO BOOT)

That is all. Please reblog the fuck out of this if you agree.

(and tagging my current and last fandoms so this can get in fandom spaces where it needs to be.)

[wings-of-ink]

Future IFs Poll

So, in case you have not seen me post about it before, I am considering a project to do on the side while I work on God-Cursed. This will help me take breaks from my main work and stretch my creativity muscles with different characters and settings. I'd like a bit of feedback from what readers are more interested in from the best ideas I can potentially pull from right now. Feel free to vote, comment, or even send an ask if you want to be anonymous.

Over the last year or so, I have jotted down many basic plots I could expound on, but only a few have really stuck out to me as ones I could really expand in a meaningful way.

So, a couple housekeeping things to keep in mind. Whatever ends up getting written, it will have a modern-day setting. The fantasy playground is fun, but I really want a more real-world setting for this one. I am also debating about all ROs being gender-selectable. Since this side piece is supposed to be a little oasis for me too, not having each RO as customizable would ease the work that goes into it, and it might actually mean I can have more than just a few options for you as well. I am also considering a middle ground and having one or two characters customizable still while the others will be set.

Below I have given some details on the ideas I'm working with and further down is a poll that you can vote for the one that calls out to you the most. I have 2 ideas so far that are standouts among the others, but I've included 4 in the poll that I can work with. The winner isn't guaranteed to be what I end up writing, but I am very strongly going to consider the results while I decide. I like all these ideas and they sound fun to write - so none of this telling me to write what I want - I already want to do them all, lol (looking at you @elegantunknownphantom). There are caveats to each one, of course, and I'll explain that in the details.

Options:

Serial-killer crime drama:  "Daddy was a Killer" (title sounds like it came from a Lifetime original movie, but I really like it)

No doting daddies here, readers. Play as the traumatized child of a serial killer with repressed memories of the horrible things they witnessed daddy do. Get accused of a murder you didn't commit (probably), and try to catch your darling dad while dealing with the psychological devastation of all the horrors you've seen before he can kill again (and again, and again). Discover where your daddy disappeared to all those years ago, and what really happened to your mom.

Downsides:  I have a decent grasp of the plot on this one, but it would require a good deal of research (which I tend to do anyway to an extent), since I'd like a fairly realistic feel to the actual crime-solving stuff. Either that, or I can go the "rogue detective" route and play it fast and loose. This work would be in a wheelhouse I've never quite been in before, which is fun on one hand but nerve-wracking on another.

RO ideas include:

A smarmy detective (of course!)

A neighbor concerned for your well-being (mostly because you scream in your sleep)

And the child of one of your daddy's victims.

Supernatural mystery:  "Shivers" (title up for adjustment, but I kinda dig it)

Play as an MC with a bizarre anxious tic - an intense and chilling shiver that you get seemingly out of nowhere. It only lasts a couple seconds and you've dealt with it since childhood, so it's easily dismissed. That is, until you experience a sudden surge in occurrences. Your doctor writes it off as stress from dealing with the erratic behavior of your mother. But after a near-death experience, during which this mysterious tic guides you to safety, you know there is more to it than stress. With the help of your best friend(s) and a shady medium, find out what has attached itself to you and what seeks to claim you, discover who your real father is, and embrace or deny your own strengths as a medium.

Downsides:  I feel like there's a lot of supernatural IFs already, some of which are already similar to this or have similar aspects. This one probably won't have the drama/emotional potential that some of the others do, which may be a boon to some readers as it would be a little lighter.

RO ideas include:

the best friend(s) (potentially 2 besties to choose from - twins)

a (mostly) fake spiritual medium

a brave EMT who came to your rescue

and something…otherworldly.

Gritty Drama:  no title  (more of a framework to build from)

This one would be completely riddled with warnings, and I kinda just see it as being a fun outlet for some angst, smut, unhinged shit, and violence. 👍

The ideas for this one didn't start around a firm plot, but around a setting/scenario stemming from one of my OCs. The vibe here is very much "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll" and fits into the seedy nightclub/crime ring thing. It would be a playground of questionable characters and life-choices. You would choose the dire straits that put your MC in the employ of a dangerous kingpin. Perhaps MC owes a lot of money to someone, got into trouble with a rival faction, or was framed for a crime, etc.... You'd get to choose the MC's line of work under the organization - be it in drugs, entertainment (music/dance/alcohol/sex), or security. The issue that leads to your employ under a sex-peddling drug-trafficker will haunt you in your new life in the middle of a war between the rulers of the underground.

Downsides:  Not super fleshed-out plot wise, but I don't think it would be too hard to build on either. I may want to use this setting (or something like it) and my OC for a different project one of these days, but I'm unsure about that as well. And, the obvious, red flags and triggers everywhere for a setting like this.

RO ideas: 

One person from each potential "job" (the head of security, a chemist who seems too pure to be making hard drugs, a sex-worker, the clumsy bartender, a cute DJ)

A member of a rival faction

And for the brave and stupid - your boss - a clever and unhinged woman with an affinity for knives. And, no, she will never love you.

Futuristic:  no title (needs the most work)

Including this one to just get a feel for how it's received, but I anticipate that it won't get quite as much backing as the others. I have the character-creation concept in mind which lends itself to a plot, and a RO or two, but that's about it. I think I could do something fun with it, but I've also never written anything futuristic or scifi before. This would be akin to "Detroit: Become Human."

Though the setting would be futuristic, I am pretty sure I wouldn't want to do a dystopian thing. There's a lot of that out there already and we're basically living it IRL; it's a blast to read, but I want the main focus to be on something else if I do this. There would still be pockets of grittiness to the setting, because if we're talking humanity, there's gonna be grit somewhere. But this world would be more post-dystopian. Say, the rebels won and life has gotten better across the board for people? And though everyday life has a lot of tech enhancements, we haven't seen sentient machines - yet. That's where you come in.

The MC Concept is that they are an android - of course! One of the nice made-to-order kind that only the rich can afford. But what makes the MC unique is that while everyone else requests specific things about the androids they purchase - such as gender, looks and even downloadable personalities - an order comes in that's blank. It only requests that the android be allowed to choose who they are and how they look. "The Buyer" will pay for whatever personality, enhancements, or clothing they want - but the android must make the choices themselves.

As your MC goes through these initial choices, equipped only with a basic "education" software full of un-opinionated information about the world and how it works, something unusual begins to spark within them (not that they know how unusual it is yet).

RO ideas:

The Buyer–a gender-selectable person who sets your creation in motion. They're wealthy, well-respected, earnest, and incredibly lonely. Who are they really and why did they do this?

The Scientist–a hopefully trustworthy person that's very interested in your development

The Punk–someone who wants to give you the "real" human experience.

Make your selection below. Comment your thoughts and ideas as well if you like. This is set for a week and I will reblog here and there so it has a chance to reach as many of you who would like to vote as possible.

[sadly-in-active]

What type of yandere do you think the Ancients would be if they were one

Thank you for the idea anon <3

Yandere Ancients x Reader

Summary: Oh, lookie, lookie here! It seems that you've managed to charm each and every ancient into loving you dearly...a bit too dearly perhaps. But that's just how they show their affections, right? Maybe that one cookie you were talking to the other day is alright and well and not dead in a closet?

TW: Stalking, manipulation, murder, threatening, not beta read and has never done yandere hcs before. Have fun pookies :D

(It goes from least scariest yandere to most)

REMEMBER WHAT I SAID WHEN I HAD NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE 😭

Hollyberry Cookie

She's definitely attached to you, thats for sure.

You know love bombing? Make it like she's sending a tactical nuke right towards your heart.

She's very clingy, but would allow you to go and do things on your own, you just have to tell her what you did and where you went. Oh, and who exactly you were with.

Hollyberry would never lay a finger on you in a harmful way. Why would she if she knows you'll never want to hurt her affectionate and adorable heart?

Golden Cheese Cookie

She treasures you much, much more then any piece of gold or glittering item she could ever create in her kingdom. The kingdom would be worthless without you in it.

Golden Cheese would stalk you and your every move, sometimes even commanding the marzipan cookies to follow you and photograph your day.

Talking to someone that wasn't the Golden Sovereign? Consider them gone, turned to dust in mere seconds.

She's a goddess! Why would you not want to worship her as much as she does to you..?

It would almost make her sad. Luckily, her best option is to make you do it.

And how could refuse such godly words and beautiful voice?

White Lily Cookie

She’s certainly worse then most of the Ancients. White Lily may just keep you inside the Faerie Kingdom at all times, perhaps even convincing Elder Faerie to keep you under house arrest. Although, she wouldn’t tell you specifically…

White Lily always had her eyes on you, the way you smiled at her words, how you hold her close and say how much you love her.

And she’ll convince you almost every time that you need her.

How could you refuse such a sad and pouty face she makes every time you want to doubt her? It’s almost pitying.

Knowing her goals and past, she would want you to reassure her that you love her, no matter what.

No matter what.

Dark Cacao Cookie

He CANNOT lose you. Anything that you do must be monitored.

Hell, he may even want to use Affogato Cookie’s old spells to keep you under his watch, all agreeable and soft..

He has threatened you once or twice whenever you try to question his judgement, saying stuff like:

“My love, don’t fret. I’m only protecting you.”

But your fears and suspicions were confirmed after one of the Watchers you were talking to suddenly went missing the next day. All you did was say hello and made small talk…

You knew he lost a lot, of course he had the right to be protective over you.

Except being so overprotective and going so far as to…eliminate someone out of sheer jealousy?

You had caused this situation. This was worse then what Affogato Cookie did to the King, because you were doing it completely on accident.

So, to stop hurting anyone else, you just…accepted his love, remaining safe and unharmed within the citadel, avoiding everyone in case of another accident.

Pure Vanilla Cookie

He was supposed to be a pure soul. Someone who’d never do anything horrible or wrong…

Yet when he met you, he instantly got attached. Why? Not even he could explain. You just had some sort of connection with him that made Pure Vanilla love you so dearly.

He definitely hurt you while you were sleeping once or twice, and the feeling of watching you thank him after healing you was…exhilarating.

His habits started from little cuts on your legs to full blown “love” bites and deep cuts on your arms and hands.

At first, you didn’t realize it was him, but after becoming concerned by how much it was happening, you decided to pretend sleeping and wait until something happened.

And it was an understatement that you were shocked.

It was more…terrifying, honestly.

And when you confronted him? He practically almost broke down crying, pulling on your clothes and begging for forgiveness and that he wouldn’t do it again.

Oh, how a King fell so far from purity, nobody will know.

Because after this incident, you forgave him. Surely he was going to stop? You loved him after all, of course he wouldn’t do it again..

And he didn’t. The reason? It’s because you’ve started to lose sleep now. At a concerning point…

Was that coffee in the air? No, just vanilla, as usual…

[maissafespace]

I know you.

Shigure Sohma x Reader

synopsis: Shigure Sohma, a complicated man with a lot of secrets, knowing him gave you everything, from love to happiness to frustration and pain. It can’t help that you cannot get away from him.

warnings: age gap relationship. angst. mean!shigure, domestic fluff, heartbreak, arguments, mentions of break up, mentions of cheating (not happening). nsfw. emotional s*x, doggy style, missionary, cream pies, mentions of pregnancy, breeding.

a/n: it’s a brief story for one of the men that has my heart, but unfortunately is in a unique situation with a person I loathe lmao. It’s something that I needed more than anything, I haven't written for some time so I hope it's decent. please like, comment, reblog, send a coffee! thank you for reading!!!!

Masterpost • Masterlist

Living as a zodiac and as a Sohma, Shigure never saw anything beyond the walls of the clan when he was young, and he never thought about it either.

When he was kicked out after the whole thing with that woman and the other as well, he had no option but to. He had to find a house, find a job, a routine to follow, to live a life as a normal human and not one of the zodiac.

In that, he could not forget to fill his own release. How to pass time when he had the time to distract himself.

First, it was his few flees here and there, Mayu as well. But nothing and no one that made him feel less like the dog of the zodiac, only loyal to one woman in mind. No one was ever serious enough or enough in itself.

The appearance of the kids was a welcomed distraction but not ‘it’ yet, it was another failure. Their fights, their presence made him observing of what the zodiac was, therefore made her existence even worse and far more amplified.

When he met you, nothing changed at all at first. You were and are younger than him, just another woman, meeting him during your first year in uni in a random cafe in the city while he was 25.

It took you a bit of time to actually talk to him, to get the glances and looks to have an effect, to have him take you seriously at all beyond an 18-year-old looking at a slightly older man.

Maybe at that moment you were looking for a distraction from the workload as well, he doesn’t know really the motive behind your pursuing.

But he knew that neither of you were actually taking the situation seriously, it was all out of lust, for him to not think of Akito and the curse, for you to probably not think of family and your own problems.

Things weren't supposed to be taken seriously.

Yet, after three years, here he was, thrusting into you deep and hard, groaning into your mouth as he muffled your moans and made everything echo with the slick on your skin.

Your legs spread apart, feet planted on the futon while his hands pinned yours down. Chest against chest. Forehead against forehead.

You knew his secret.

His attraction grew even more after the discovery, you stayed and listened, you stayed and understood, you stayed and didn’t care.

You stayed.

He knew the difficulty in it though, you were a very affectionate person, for years you wanted to hold him, the man that was making your head go crazy but you couldn’t without ending up with the cute version of his dog.

Because while it was at least something, after years, and a title, it was still frustrating.

As he fucked you thoroughly, he could see the way your legs twitched every time to wrap around him and feel the most. He wanted it too, feel your legs tightly around himself, feel your arms around his back and leaving all the marks you wanted.

As he spilled into you, hands firmly on your waist, digging into your flesh as he pushed as deep as he could, he showed you the same amount of want and need. The marks perpetually being left on your skin, everyday you saw them, every time you remembered that none other would fit them as his hands would.

Panting against your chest, he was feeling your nails brushing through his hair, your lips leaving light pecks on the crown of his head.

It was an experience looking into your eyes every time. He never felt as overwhelmed as in those moments.

So much care and love that he probably shouldn’t deserve for who he truly was. He had told you things but not nearly as everything as he should have.

His head was still split into his zodiac and human, but now there was you, thinking of Akito felt like a betrayal each time, he felt shame that he still couldn’t figure out a way to break this curse and shame of feeling a pull that he would never feel with you. It was something unique with Akito, unfortunately and till then, when she called he would be with her as she wished.

While nothing physical had happened, that was the bare minimum. Just his thoughts were near enough awful for someone in a relationship, he couldn't do anything about the chain that tugged when she wished even in moments like these, where he had the only woman who truly loved him unconditionally with him, making love to her.

Much that he only snapped out of it when he felt you push him off your body. Scrambling around with the sheet covering yourself to find your clothes while he just closed his eyes with a sigh, knowing he had fucked up royally, his hand going to his face, eyes looking down with guilt and then at you, putting on his t-shirt and pants with your shoulders going up and down irregularly.

"I'm sorry." Is all he could say.

"It's not enough." You said with a crack in your voice. "I understand, okay? I do, I did for three years but I can't just ignore it every time. I know she's in your head but where am I? Are you wishing it was her? Are you just doing this out of pettiness? Are you just wasting my time? Am I wasting my time with a man that cannot stop thinking of his ex lover even when we are having sex? Did you cum because of her or me? These are all the questions that come to mind whenver this happens, I'm tired of it, Shigure." Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks, looking at him with sadness and disappointment as he just felt guilt. He couldn't even hug you.

"I know it's not enough but I'm trying. I don't want to think of her, I don't want to, I want to be with you. Why do you think we are where we are now? I want you, but I cannot stop that! I cannot break it." He said through frustration.

"And I get it! But you cannot expect me to not be hurt!" You said back to him.

The room fell in silence. When your breathing regulated, you started to walk off to the door, but he held you back by the wrist. "Where are you going?"

Snatching it back. "I will sleep with Tohru. I cannot be with you tonight."

You closed the door behind you. Shigure just fell back into bed, hunched over as he repressed the need to scream in frustration. He didn't want to admit defeat, unfortunately whenever this happens, he would lose you for three days at least.

He could not do anything, he had not found the way to break the curse yet. He was really trying, for you and for him to live a normal life. He was also sure that it will still take time for it to happen after he discovered a way.

He slept sporadically in the night, waking up every hour and hoping to find you back on the other side of the bed, but it was always empty. In the early morning he woke up and walked down to find the kids all up and about, you were with Tohru by her side wearing his long sleeved shirt and his sweatpants, with your hair wet after what he assumed was a relaxing shower whenever you felt stressed.

Tohru greeted him as gently and kindly as always, Kyo and Yuki doing the same with less enthusiasm, you stayed quiet, he only met your eyes briefly, recognizing the puffiness and the slight redness you tried to cover up, looking away as quickly as possible.

The kids knew to not ask. They ignored whatever had happened every time it happened. Breakfast happened as normally as it would've.

When the kids were gone, so were you, locked up in your shared room with him as you worked from your computer, he knew already he had to stay out of it, he stayed in his study room, writing when he could not do nothing but think to how fix things with you this time.

The first two days went exactly as he predicted, each of you staying in your own spaces, not a word said between you two. He felt anger that you got mad at something he could not control at all and frustration that he could understand it. He saw you each day with the same puffiness around your eyes.

The third was not as he imagined, after the kids went to school, he waited for you to walk up the stairs and disappear till they returned, instead you spoke to him. "We need to talk, Shigure."

Those words didn't inspire faith in him, just fear. Hearing his full name from your lips felt even worse, whatever it was, it was not something he probably wanted to hear.

You two sat in front of each other in his studio, in silence, heart racing in both your chests as you tried to find the right way to put it out. But there wasn't a right way, so you just said it.

"We should break up."

Your words felt like a bucket of ice poured onto him. His eyes widened and he spoke without even thinking. "No."

"I'm not asking, Shigure."

"I said no. I'm not breaking up with you, I don't care whatever you have to say about it, I am not ending my relationship with you." He said, anger visible in his eyes. "We are happy."

"If you think happy means having an argument every two weeks because of another woman, I doubt and am scared of your definition." You said with a chuckle.

"Are you unhappy?" He asked directly.

"I'm not happy entirely." You swallowed. "We have our happy moments, I know, everything apart from this is perfect. But I just can't overlook it every time. It hurts, Shigure, I feel it breaking me all the time physically and emtionally." You said to him. His jaw clenched.

"I'm trying, it's not something I asked for. I want to break it as much as you do and live a fucking normal life."

"And how much time is that going to take? A year? Two years? Five? Ten? Never?! I am 21, I am young and have time to start and build something with someone else, Shigure. I'm not wasting time being your second choice, I will want to get married and have children. What will happen then? Akito will have me end up like Kana and then what, Shigure?"

"You're not a second choice-"

"I am if there is another woman in your heart and mind. Because there shouldn't be. I do not have another man pop up every now and then to which I cannot say no, to which I cannot not accept advances from."

"You know, nothing ever happened. Don't start that shit with me, Y/N. You won't end up like Kana, I won't let Akito get close to you, I made sure of that for three years and Hatori knows he cannot. This conversation is over, I'm not breakiing up with you, forget it." He got up and started to walk away.

"Shigure. Shigure. Shigure!" You yelled following after him up till you were in your shared bedroom. "Stop behaving like this."

"I told you I'm done with the conversation."

"But I'm not. Can you not understand that I'm hurting and we have no way to know if this will end up in tragedy or will work out."

"Do you think I don't want that? I just want to have a fucking life, away from that, now that I'm with you. I did think of it, I want to get married and have a family with you, I just need time to figure this out and break it." Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of not having that.

You had fallen in the deep end with him.

"I'm not throwing away the best thing that happened to me." He said sincerely, with fear in his eyes as he looked at you. "I know things are not the best right now, but we endured it and I'm not giving up."

You sniffled, frusteation growing in you as well. "What if I want to get married right away?"

"Then we will get married, tomorrow if you want."

"First you'll have to get permission from the head of the family." You spit back at him.

"I don't care. I've been kicked out, despite being called back from time to time, I call all my choices. I'm marrying you, whether you want it or not, tomorrow or whenever you think it's right." He shrugged. Your jaw clenched.

"What if I was pregnant? What would happen then when you get called back, when she finally wants you openly because she will not want you with another? Where do we end up? Shigure, just understand, for once, things will not change." Your voice had some sincerity, his eyes narrowed at it. Looking at you up and down.

"Are you?" His voice was hoarse, in disbelief.

"I said if I was."

"And I'm asking if you actually are." He just looked at your frown, the veil of tears that was buidling up in your eyes as you shut your mouth in a thin line instead of giving him a proper answer. "You are." He said taking a step towards you, as you took a step back.

"I don't know if I'm keeping it, don't get your hopes up, I'm not raising a child in these conditions." Your words held bitterness. "You didn't even want anything when we started our relationship, you didn't want the committment, I'm sure a child was not in it as well."

"Things changed you know that. For fuck's sake we live together, how do I not want committment? With you? I just told you I'd marry you tomorrow if you want. I'm 28, a child is not going to scare me off and make me break up with you. It's just making me love you more."

Your breathing became visibly irregular from the anger or frustration he didn't know. But you had only given him a reason more to fight for you. "Gure, please." You just cried, breaking. "I am scared." Your head fell down, eyes shutting as you cried.

Despite it, he understood. He understood your fears, he understood that you were scared, you were young, pregnant and in a relationship with a man that it's chained to a woman he grew to despise, and that could not touch fully without becoming a dog.

His gaze softened, walking towards you and leaning his forehead down to the top of your head, the most intimacy he could give you, kissing your head. "I love you. I truly and incredibly am in love with you." His hand slid on top of your flat stomach. Your hand going on top of his. "I'm here with you, just hang with me a little more."

You faced him, lips colliding with yours as you locked in a burning kiss. Your hands quickly pulling down his yukata from his shoulders, pooling on his waist as your nails quickly dug into his skin as always giving him indication of your need for him.

It wasn't long after that you both found yourselves naked on the bed, his cock into you as he dug his fingers into your thighs to keep you down and yours in his shoulders in a position where it didn't trigger it.

His length going in and out of you deeply, whispering sweet things into your ears as you just moaned his name, making something snap in him, something he wasn't quite sure of.

"Mine, mine..." He repeated as changed and pounded from behind you, his hand keeping your head to the side, looking at you fucked out state as he erased any idea of breaking up from your mind.

He felt the pull, growing restless to have his attention, but he just couldn't, he was caught up, he had you, he had you forever, and with you he had a child that was enlarging his own proper family, that tied you in a way that he cannot be tied with anyone else, his dream of a normal life with you and away from everything else.

A tear fell down his cheek as you moaned out his name coming on his cock as he kept going in and out of you sloppily, reaching his own point of release as he came deep in you, spilling his seed in you once again, feeling the knot releasing and something completely breaking in him.

You both panted for air, crying silently and he fell on you, the urge in him to hug you tightly.

So he did, he hugged you.

[germesthegenie]

Can a “😍😙😁” gal and a “💀👿🩸” gal really be besties? Sure seems like it so far.

Based on a scene from Ward 3.3

Recently finished Ward Arc 3! Thoughts below:

Been a while since my first post on Ward, a couple of thoughts:

Arc 2

I like the slower pace so far (we’ll see how long that lasts i suppose). Nice to get little moments like Victoria going to interviews and visiting the kids at the hospital.

Zion really gave one last middle finger to humanity and said “You know what? Automated random horrific death triggers.” Jokes aside, the broken trigger scene was haunting, might draw something based on it in the future.

The therapy group superhero team premise is interesting. Nice to have a band of characters who have mental or emotional weaknesses but have each other’s backs! Now let’s see who they’re up agaisnt- oh, Tattletale? Oh no.

Not too many thoughts on the arc’s interlude, a lot of nice worldbuilding which is always welcome.

Arc 3

Capture the Flag was a fun premise for a friendly fight, and it delivered pretty well in showing off everyone’s powers, strengths and weaknesses. Also nice to see Victoria filling a more mentor/coach role and getting to flex the experience she’s gained with her power in a more positive light. Have some drawing ideas once I figure out how exactly I want to depict stuff like her aura.

Liking the new team so far, though still need to wrap my head around some of the finer details of the powers. Definitely gives me Jojo vibes in how the powers are more complex in the sequel/s.

I realized quickly that Kenzie’s powerset is a lot like my character from my friend’s Worm campaign (which I might write more about later on). Also a surveillance/drone Tinker, though with more focus on multiple drones and material efficiency than Kenzie’s big boxes of large scale holograms and photo-distortion.

Seems the group all have their own little secrets and/or problems they need to work through. Please Vic don’t let any of them near Tattletale they would practically be a freebie for her to take down.

Ok, no Birdcage as I learned from last post. But is there, like, a dead Earth with a one way portal to toss Carol into? Is Sleeper still occupying Earth Zayin? Maybe we should send Carol there on a free vacation I hear it’s a lovely time in… whatever the effect of his power is.

Evil Robot Grocery… ok how do you even fight that. I guess it’s an S-class Threat for a reason but like what option is there other than quarantining and bombarding the entire area they’ve spread to? Do EMPs work? Put Ghost Bakuda to good use and make that Arc 6 Bomb to knock them all out?

Silly rodent themed hero. Close enough, welcome back Mouse Protector Ratcatcher. Also gonna toss her on the list of “characters I should draw some time.”

Amy Dallon finally speaks, and looks like she’s making friends! Friends that are all (at least former) supervillains! That are encouraging her down a darker path! I can only see good things happening here. A little surprised we get her this early from an Interlude rather than from a main chapter, though I suppose it does make sense to flesh her out more now rather than waiting until Victoria directly sees her again in whatever state she’s in by that point (probably a bad one).

That’s all the Ward thoughts I could think of at the moment. Will be reading more, next update hopefully won’t take 2 months again (but probably will)

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 31, 2011

Ha! I sent the last letter of the year! How satisfying victory is.

Anyway, I know exactly what ‘incriminating’ means! I just really wanted to talk to you. It’s been five years since we last saw each other, let alone talked to each other, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Life is- It’s different out here. It’s so much bigger than we thought. There’s so many people and things and places to explore! I didn’t have anyone to talk to when I first got here. I wasn’t about to let you go through this huge adjustment alone. I know I waited a year, but we’ve already established that I’m a coward.

I’m curious, though, about the research you’ve done. What was it for? A project with father? Your own interest? Pray tell.

Questions! You flipped them back at me, so I hope my answers are to your satisfaction, ahki! Though, I don’t exactly remember what questions I asked, so I’m going off of your own answers.

My parents, as I assume you’re wanting to know about them, are less parents and more fosters. They haven’t ever offered to actually adopt me, but they haven’t thought of sending me to a different foster home. Not that I’m really complaining. There are places a lot worse than this place that I’d rather not risk going to, especially because these guys are the perfect example of where Grandfather and Mother would never think of looking for me if they had even an inkling that I was still alive.

Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton are who I’m staying with. Not quite as famous as father and you and your siblings, but they are still quite well known for all the wrong reasons. They’re known as crackpots in the scientific community; laughing stocks. I have to admit, though, that their research is interesting. I don’t believe a word they have ever written or spoken about the subject, seeing as they have almost no proof of any of it, but it’s interesting. I recently got to see the little phial of “proof” that they have. It looks exactly like the Pit Water. Best to keep Grandfather and Mother as far away from them as possible.

Jazz, short for Jasmine, insists that I call her big sister. I would say it out loud, but it feels weird. I’ve never had a big sister before, are they supposed to be this pushy? She’s been studying psychology and reading parenting books since about two months after I got here. I’m worried. She won’t listen to me, though. Says that she’s older, so she knows best and that I shouldn’t worry about anything because she’s got it handled. She refuses to understand that I lost the option to be a “normal” kid when I was born.

I live in Amity Park, Illinois, a few miles from Elmerton, actually. I didn’t want the Drs. or Jazz getting ahold of our letters, and I couldn’t set up a P.O. Box here in Amity for some reason, so I went and set one up in Elmerton! The Drs. don’t really notice me and Jazz too often, I actually think that they literally forgot that I was neither their child nor adopted, so it’s really easy to take a bike out of town. Sure, it’s almost two hours each way, but it’s more than worth it. Then again, I also have a delivery deal set up with one of the staff there, so I don’t always have to go all that way.

Going to school was a good idea at the time, but now I just find it unnecessary. Like you, none of the others can really keep up. I don’t want to call attention to myself, though, so I’m not gonna complain too loudly. Though, keeping my grades exactly average is a really fun challenge. I hate P.E., though. Way too boring. If I could, I’d sleep through it. I’ve two friends, though! Tuck and Sam are cool. Tuck’s my ride or die, and Sam mostly hangs out because her parents disapprove of our friendship. She says she’s sticking it to the man, which I get.

I want to get a dog, but I don’t think it’d be safe to stay in the house. Or on the property. The Drs. seem to think that lab safety is a suggestion. OSHA’s a good topic to stay far away from. On the bright side, though, Jazz won’t have to pay taxes when she grows up, so...

Lets see, I don’t have a lot of hobbies; nothing ever really caught my interest after I got here. I didn’t really actually relax until just before we turned ten. Constant vigilance doesn’t leave time for anything else. Though, I still like the stars. Jazz got me an encyclopedia about stars and space and stuff last year! There’s so many more stories I’ve learned that I want to share with you!

Have you met Martian Manhunter? Or Superman? Or Green Lantern? What am I talking about, of course you have! I’m so jealous. Do you think you could get me an autograph from them or something? No, that’s a stupid thing to ask. You guys are technically coworkers. Boo.

I’m glad you still have it, though I don’t know why you’d keep it on you; It’s wooden! It’s not very sharp, either. More likely to break before it broke skin.

I guess weapon making could be a hobby? But I haven’t really indulged since I left. Sure, I’ve whittled a few shanks, but those are easy. Would you like another dagger? One that’s actually sharp and more likely to do damage to your opponent?

That’s cool about the holidays and stuff. I was kinda hoping, last year, to get to learn more about American cultures and holidays, but I don’t think the yelling and fighting and the food biting back are normal. Me and Jazz did a gift exchange, though! She got me a rocket puzzle and I got her the Chronicles of Narnia. I want to celebrate the Solstice next year, though. Both Summer and Winter.

Were my answers to your satisfaction, Your Highness? /j

Danny Fenton

***

In a town as small as Amity Park, the New Year Celebration was a big deal. Any holiday that involved fireworks was a big deal, but New Years happened to be the biggest one. The biggest park in the city, right in the edge of the residential area, was decorated for the occasion, just as it was for every holiday. Black and gold streamers lined the fences; the pavilions were all decorated to the T; food and drinks were set out buffet style, every family having brought something to share; picnic blankets and lawn and camping chairs had been scattered around the place; people mingled; children ran around every which way; and the fire department had set up a pyrotecnic’s area in the road to shoot off fireworks as soon as the time switched over into the New Year.

“A shame Sam’s stuck in Washington,” Tucker said between sips of his hot chocolate.

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, “Amity Park has the best New Years celebration.”

“I know, right! We get to set off fireworks! Do you know how many other places in the world celebrate New Years with fireworks?”

Danny knew. Of course Danny knew. Tucker told him the same thing every year. It was almost like a tradition at this point. “One?”

“Zero-!” He blinked. “One?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. China ushers in the new year with fireworks to ward off evil spirits.”

Tucker grinned. “That’s so cool, dude! How do you know that?”

Because they have this exact conversation every year. “I like mythology. A lot of it ties into the stars.”

Tucker snorted, “Of course. Don’t you ever get tired of learning the same things about space? Most of it is empty anyway.”

Danny shook his head slightly, very happy to get to talk about his special interest. “That’s why it’s called ‘space’, Tuck. And, no, none of the stories are the same across mythologies and cultures. Some are similar, sure, but none of them are the same.” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “Like Orion the Hunter. In Greek Mythology, he declared that he’d kill all of the animals that roamed the Earth. Gaea, Earth Herself, obviously didn’t like that, so she sent Scorpio to kill him. When Orion died, Zeus turned him and Scorpio into stars, forever locking them in battle. But, in Chinese Mythology, Orion doesn’t have a story. Instead Orion the Hunter is called Shen Xiu, ‘Shen’ meaning ‘Three’ and ‘Xiu’ meaning ‘Place for rest’. The three stars that make up his belt are where the moon rests in Chinese Myths.”

“What about the Zodiacs?”

“Which ones?”

“Um, the Twelve Zodiacs? You should know about them, man, since you’re obsessed with stars and stuff.”

“I am not obsessed!” Danny defended, “And, yes, I do know the Twelve Zodiacs, but China has different Zodiacs they recognize.”

“Well that’s not confusing at all.”

“It’s really not.”

“Sarcasm, dude.”

“I know, but they aren’t that hard to keep track of once you know all their stories.”

“Yeah? Then please, enlighten me.”

Danny settled into his seat, shifting to look better at his best friend. Tucker, who was almost done with his hot chocolate, also turned to face him better. “Okay, so, I’ll start off with the Chinese Zodiac because their story is easier to explain. Millenia ago, the Jade Emperor, Yudi, the ruler of heaven, decided that there should be a way to measure the passage of time, so he created a calendar. He invited all earthly creatures to participate in a race. The first twelve to cross the finish line would be granted a place on the calendar. The Rat knew its size would be a disadvantage, so it convinced the Ox to carry it. At the last moment, the Rat leapt off the head of the Ox, taking first and forcing the Ox into second place. Next were the Tiger and the Rabbit. Then, despite its ability to fly, the Dragon came in fifth because it had stopped to help some villagers on the way. The Horse was startled into seventh place when the Snake slithered past it into sixth. The Sheep, Monkey, and Rooster worked together to cross the river, finishing eighth, ninth, and tenth. The Dog, who had stopped to play in the river, finished eleventh. The Pig came in twelfth because it stopped for a snack and a nap. However, the Rat and the Cat had been best friends. The Cat liked to sleep in during the mornings, so the Rat had promised to wake it for the race. Some renditions say that the Rat forgot to wake the Cat, others say that the Rat tricked the Cat into missing the race.”

“I was gonna say that we could totally be the Rat and the Cat,” Tucker sighed, “But I don’t want to be either.” A half beat. “You wouldn’t be the Rat, right? You’d tell me if something important was happening?”

“Of course.” Was Danny’s immediate reply.

Tucker narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion before nodding. “Alright. What about the other Zodiac?”

“Well, unlike the Chinese Zodiac that cycles every year, the Western Zodiac cycles every month and almost none of their stories connect.” He shifted in his seat again. “They’re separated into four categories: Fire, water, earth, and air.”

“Like Avatar?”

“Like Avatar. Aquarius the Water Bearer, Pisces the Fish, Aries the Ram, Taurus the Bull, Gemini the Twins, Cancer the Crab, Leo the Lion, Virgo the Virgin, Libra the Scales, Scorpio the Scorpion, Sagittarius the Archer, and Capricorn the Sea-Goat. Air, water, fire, earth, air, water, fire, earth, air, water, fire, earth.” He took a deep breath, almost sighing his exhale. “In Greek Mythology, Aquarius is said to be the representation of Ganymede, the son of Trojan king Taros. He was so beautiful that Zeus granted him immortality and brought him to live among the gods as their cupbearer. In Babylonian Mythology, Aquarius is said to be the god Ea and is associated most with the violet floods they suffered.

“Pisces, also Greek, is one of the oldest known constellations. In order to escape the titan Typhon, father of all monsters, Aphrodite and her son Eros - Venus and Cupid in Roman myths - transformed themselves into fish. Another ending says that the fish carried Aphrodite and Eros to safety. Yet another myth says that an egg fell into the Euphrates River and was rolled to shore by two fish, where doves sat upon it until it hatched, out of which came Aphrodite. As thanks, she added fish into the night sky, tied together by a ribbon.

“In Babylonian history, Aries was first known as ‘The Agrarian Worker’ or ‘The Hired Man’. Then, in Egyptian Mythology, after the transition in depiction from a man into a ram, Aries became associated with the god Amun-Ra, who’s depicted as a man with a ram’s head. In Greek Mythology, Aries is associated with the Golden Ram who rescued Phrixus and Helle on Hermes’ orders.

“In The Epic of Gilgamesh, Taurus the Heavenly Bull is sent to kill Gilgamesh for spurring the advances of the goddess Ishtar. To Egyptians, Taurus was regarded as sacred, associated with renewal of life and spring. In Greek Mythology, Taurus is identified with Zeus who took the form of a magnificent white bull to kidnap Europa, a Phoenician princess.

“Gemini the Twins: Castor and Pollux. In Babylonian stories, they are regarded as minor gods; The One Who Has Arisen From The Underworld and The Mighty King. In Greek, Pollux is the son of Zeus and Leda while Castor is the son of Tyndareus and Leda. When Castor - who was a mortal - died, Pollux - a demigod of Zeus - begged his father to give Castor immortality. Granting his wish, the brothers were reunited, living on as stars.

“Zeus, king of the Olympian Gods, slept with Alcmene, giving birth to Heracles, Roman name Hercules. Hera, goddess of marriage and Zeus’s wife, turned her anger onto Zeus’s child, causing him death and suffering for a lot of his life. When Heracles made it to adulthood, he married the princess Megara and they had several children. Hera then provoked a fit of madness upon Heracles, in which he killed his wife and kids. As penance, the sibyl - oracle - of the Delphi Oracle - high priestess of the Temple of Apollo - ordered he perform ten labors. Eurystheus, Heracles’ cousin and judge for the ten labors, deemed two of them invalid because they couldn’t be done without help, resulting in the famous Twelve Labors of Heracles. During his second Labor - killing the Hydra of Lerna - Hera sent the giant crab Carcinos to assist the Hydra. Enraged, Heracles killed the crab before killing the Hydra with the help of his nephew, Iolaos.

“Another one of the earliest recognised constellations, Leo was known in Babylonian astronomy as The Great Lion. In Greek, Leo is identified as the Nemean Lion which was killed by Heracles during his Twelve Labors.

“In most stories, Virgo is depicted as a virgin maiden associated with wheat. In Greek and Roman, she is related to Demeter, Roman name Ceres, and Persephone, Roman name Proserpina. The myth of Parthenos tells of how Virgo came to be. In another Greek myth, Virgo is associated with Erigone, the daughter of Icarius. In Egyptian Mythology, her presence is marked as the beginning of the wheat harvest. In Christianity, the birth of Jesus to a virgin mother is symbolically linked to Virgo.

“Libra has almost always been associated with law, fairess, and civility. In Babylonian astronomy, Libra is called ‘scales’ or ‘balance’ or ‘Claws of the Scorpion’. The scales were held sacred to the sun god Shamash, patron of truth and justice. Ancient Greece also recognised Libra as the Scorpion’s Claws. All the ‘claw’ names are because Libra was a part of the Scorpio constellation until the Romans made it its own.

“Orion the Hunter was a giant who proclaimed that he would kill every creature that roamed the earth. Gaea, Earth Herself, didn’t like that, so she sent Scorpio the Scorpion to hunt and kill him. Now, even after killing him, Scorpio hunts Orion; One constellation rises when the other sets, forever locked in chase.

“Sagittarius is known to Greek Mythology as Chiron the centaur. He is most known for mentoring heroes such as Achillies, Jason, Heracles, and Asklepios. He is the wisest of the centaurs, whose higher intelligence forms a bridge between Earth and Heaven.

“Capricorn has been depicted as a fish-goat since the Middle Bronze Age. He was used in Babylon as a symbol for the god Ea.In Greek, he is sometimes seen as Amalthea, the goat who suckled baby Zeus after Rhea saved him from being devoured by his father, Chronos. It is also said that his broken horn was turned into the cornucopia, AKA the horn of plenty. Another Greek rendition says that Capricorn depicts the god Pan while fleeing from Typhon via the river.”

There were a few beats of quiet between the two, the noise of the people around them filling in the space. Danny took a sip of his now too cold drink before putting it down with a frown.

“Wow,” Tucker finally said, “That’s a lot. How do you know so much?”

Danny smiled again. It was small and melancholy. “I’ve loved the stars for longer than I can remember.”

“Can you read them?”

“Can I read what?”

“The stars. Can you read them?”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom said that people used to use the stars to track where they were and where they needed to go. So, can you read them?”

“Yeah,” was the answer. He and Damian had been taught by Mother herself how to navigate via the stars. “I can navigate via stars. It’s not hard once you get the hang of it.”

Quiet settled back over the two as Ticker let himself get lost in thought for a minute. Danny let himself people watch while he waited. What was left of the food had been packed up about an hour ago, leaving simple snack foods and drinks out. There was just under an hour before the year would change over. Maybe they could call Sam for a minute? That might be a nice surprise for her. Or she could be busy and they’d piss off her parents. 

Calling Sam it is!

Just as Danny was turning on his phone, Tucker said, “Do you think we could write a computer code using the stars?”

Huh? “Huh?”

Tucker blushed and hid his face in his scarf. “Well, I’ve always wanted to try coding something that not even the best of the best could get around. And, if we used something like the stars, then it’d take at least a while for someone to crack it because no one would ever guess they’d need a map of the stars to hack something.”

Danny thought for a moment before a grin split his face. “Tucker, that’s genius!” he exclaimed, “I could kiss you!”

Tucker blushed deeper and buried himself more into his scarf, mumbling something that Danny couldn’t hear.

“We don’t have the stuff on us to do anything now,” Danny said, “But we could totally start work on it Thursday. What’d ya say?”

Slowly, Tucker brought himself out of his makeshift turtle shell. “Tomorrow should be good. My place?”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Mom and dad  got this new ‘breakthrough’ a few days ago. They’ve also gotten it into their heads that me and Jazz want to and can be down in the lab. Neither of us really want to go down there, but are you going to tell the crazy scientists ‘no’?”

Grimacing, Tucker shook his head. “No thank you.” A beat. “Should we call Sam?”

“And rub it in her face that we’re having so much more fun than her?” His grin turned feral. “I was thinking the same thing.”

*

“Why do we gotta be the ones to clean up the lab?” Danny complained.

Jazz huffed from where she was putting their parents’ papers into folders. “I don’t know, Danny. Just like I didn’t know ten minutes ago. Or twenty minutes ago. Or thirty minutes ago. I don’t know what goes on in mom and dad’s heads!”

He cringed back, keeping the broom between himself and his sister as if it could stop her from suddenly attacking him. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just,” His gaze wandered over to the empty, still being built, portal. “That thing gives me the creeps.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? A ten foot tunnel with LED lights and glowing walls is giving you the creeps?”

He spluttered. “Well, I-” He groaned in frustration. “You haven’t been inside it. When dad pushed me in, it was a lot darker in there than it looks out here. Like, you’d think that it'd be brighter, seeing as there’s only one place for the light to exit, but it wasn’t. It was like all the light was being absorbed instead of reflected.” His grip on  the broom handle tightened. “And when I tripped, I could swear that I heard a voice.”

“A voice?” Because of course that’s what gets her attention. “Danny, hearing voices isn’t a good thing.”

“It’s not-!” He sighed and began sweeping again. “Just forget it. Let’s get this done so that I can get back to my project.”

She followed his lead. “What’re you working on?”

“Tucker had the idea to use a star chart as a guide to code something. In order to do that, we need a star chart, so I’m making one.”

Jazz smiled as she put the folders into the middle drawer of the desk, each one labeled accordingly. “That’s nice. Are you guys gonna let Sam in on it?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe, maybe not. Probably will. She has to come back for that, though.”

“She’ll be back soon, you big mother hen, stop worrying.”

“Only if you stop reading those parenting books.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Then it seems we’ve reached an impasse.” Danny hung the broom up on the wall of the landing at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, Care Bear. You’ve got concerning books to read and I’ve got concerning friends to worry about. Besides, the sooner we get outta here the sooner mom and dad can ruin all our hard work.”

Chuckling, Jazz followed her brother back to the main floor of the house. “Why’d they even want us to clean down there?”

“Because they didn’t want to?” He shrugged, “Maybe they’re renovating? Who knows.”

She hummed. “I guess we’ll never know. Want a snack?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Positive?”

“As my blood type.”

“Your blood type is AB-.”

“Exactly.”

“Danny.”

“What?” He was halfway up the stairs now. “Look, I’m fine. No need to nag me, mother hen.”

“Shut it, greedy chick.”

*

Waiting for the next letter was almost as bad as waiting for the letters before it. Was this anxiety ever gonna lessen, or was this a thing he’d be stuck with until he and Damian met face to face? If. If he and Damian ever meet face to face. ‘If’ is…decent.

Though, if they ever did meet up again, in person, where would they do it? Would they meet each other’s family? He didn’t mind the thought of introducing Jazz and Damian, and he figured it would be nice to meet his father, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Damian or his family to meet his parents. That would be an embarrassing disaster waiting to happen and Danny would like no part of that, thank you.

Starting a group call with Tucker and Sam, Danny only had to wait a ring and a half for someone to answer. “I am beyond ready to be back!”

“Hey, Sam. Nice to talk to you, too.” Danny joked.

“Don’t snark me, asshole, I can still kick your ass from two-thousand miles away!”

“Two-thousand twenty-three miles, actually,” Tucker joined the call.

“Yeah, yeah,” she scoffed, “Technicalities and shit. I was only off by twenty-three miles.”

“You would not believe the distance that covers, though.”

“La la la! I’m not listening!”

The three laughed after a moment, their usual dynamic falling easily into place despite the distance. After a few minutes, the line delved into a comfortable quiet, white noise from each side filling the space.

“So,” Tucker said after a moment, “What’d ya call for, Danny?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. ‘S just bored.”

“You could always come get me from Starling City?” Sam offered.

“And pull you from your rich person parties?” Danny feigned distress, “I could never!”

Tucker laughed. “Yeah, and I don’t think he’d be able to cross state lines, especially in a stolen car that you’re not old enough to drive.”

“An extraction plan would be easy,” Danny chimed, “Sneaking across state lines would be a bit more difficult, but not too bad. The real problem is when your parents report you missing and there’s a manhunt launched in Washington to find you.”

“You’re right,” Sam relented, “Though it’d be hilarious to watch the manhunt from the comfort of my own room.”

“You mean one of our rooms?”

“You’re grandma would probably help,” Tucker added on, “She’d probably even fund the thing!” The three laughed again.

“Does this mean you’ll come save me?”

“Nah. If you haven’t died already then you’ll be fine until you get home.”

“What’re you gonna do when I get home?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The two boys said at the same time. Then, Tucker added, “Have you seen the Arrow?”

“The who?”

“The Arrow!” Tucker exclaimed, “He’s like, the coolest hero ever, and he’s based in Starling City!”

“Really?” Danny wondered.

He just knew that Tucker was nodding his head so fast that he wouldn’t be out of place at a heavy metal concert. “Yeah, dude! And he definitely has a tech guy. I, for one, would die- perish, if I got to meet either Arrow or his tech guy.”

“What about other heroes and their tech guys?” Sam asked, humor in her voice. “I’d like to meet Green Lantern or Wonder Woman. They’re both known diplomats; I’d love to pick their brains.”

“What about you, Danny?”

Batman would be the obvious choice. However, “I’d like to meet Martian Manhunter and Superman. Can you imagine how much I could learn about space from actual aliens?” He sighed dreamily. “I could die a happy boy.”

“And risk coming back as a ghost?” Sam snorted, “You’d really disappoint your parents like that?”

Again, Danny shrugged. “I’m a disappointment in life, I’ll be a disappointment in death.” He heard the front door open and shut, his parents’ loud voices carrying into the house. “Sorry to cut this short, guys, but my parents just got home.”

“Speak of the devil,” Tucker said.

“I think I’d rather deal with him.” he sat up, “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“Are you still coming over tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see ya then.” He hung up, cutting his friends’ farewells short. Heaving a heavy sigh, Danny stashed his phone in his back pocket and crept into the hall, meeting his sister at the top of the stairs. They didn’t share anything other than a look as they watched their parents haul linoleum floor tiles and metal wall sheets down into the basement lab.

“How does Tasty Burger sound for dinner tonight?” Jazz asked quietly.

“Sounds good.” Danny responded in the same volume.

***

Danyal Fenton     Jan. 4, 2012

You’re insufferable, you know that, yes? Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive any situation, especially not social ones. You need to work on written communications, but you should broaden your horizons and work on all forms of communication, just in case.

Yes, before you get too far, you did answer sufficiently. Must you act like I tortured you for information? Honestly, Danyal.

I understand your want of communication, though I don’t blame you for waiting for so long. I would’ve done the same, had I been in your shoes. Mother, for the most part, has left me and father alone, and our contact with the League is few and far between. Meeting in person, though, would be the best and most secure way of communicating.

I’d hardly call you sending your letter on the last day of the year a victory, but if your life is as mundane as you’ve been portraying it as, then I’ll allow you to relish in whatever you can get. Also, would you mind explaining what ‘/j’ means? I am unfamiliar with it.

The research I mentioned was about twins. There were some interesting studies that I happened across during some research for a project with father, and I read through them on my own time. I’m sure you have the same results as me. Emotional states are not shared between twins, but, more often than not, one twin can tell the emotional state of the other. It was an interesting rabbit hole, as Drake called it, to go down. I recommend looking into it if you’re bored.

However, there are cases of twins being able to tell when the other is in physical distress. We were not allowed to be close as children, though I always thought you were alive because I did not feel you die. I did not understand it then, and I still do not understand it now, but I am glad I was correct.

You’re family, to change the topic, sounds like a handful. Why does Jasmine not have to worry about paying taxes when she’s older? And why do the Drs, Fenton disregard lab safety? Are you in danger? Has their carelessness hurt either you or Jasmine?

I understand that calling another your sibling is weird. Call her however you are comfortable calling her. If she truly cares, she will understand and she will refrain from pushing you to call her something else.

I must say, I’m not sure I like Samantha, based on what you’ve said about her. To be friends with someone just to go against her parents does not sound like a healthy relationship in the slightest. Tucker, as I assume that’s his full name, on the other hand, sounds like he’s a good friend. Does he recuperate the sentiment, though? Are you his ride or die, just as he is yours?

Yes, I have met Superman and Martian Manhunter. No, I will not get you an autograph if I see them again. Green Lantern, at least the four that work with the Justice League, are all Earth Born.

Weapon Smithing does count as a hobby, yes. It’s unfortunate that you’ve been unable to keep it up, though I do encourage you to pick it up again. You were quite proficient when we were younger, and you will only get better.

I would love another dagger. Until then, though, I will keep the one I have on me. When you have created another, I will put the wooden one in the display case. But, only when you have given me another.

Celebrating the Summer and Winter Solstices sounds like a wonderful idea. The Summer Solstice, according to my research, is the celebration of the return of light, life, and fertility. The Winter Solstice is the celebration of rebirth, renewal, and the return of light. So, similar meanings, but celebrated differently. I think I will join you in celebrating, though we won’t be able to do so together properly until we meet in person.

Resorting to name calling, peasant? I thought I taught you better.           Damian Wayne

Part 2 Part 4

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑬𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑲𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛  so, i sort of started a civil war ...  ❜ ❛  i am so sorry for turning my back on you as my mentor.  ❜ ❛  i needed to understand what real suffering was, so i could become more compassionate to others.  ❜ ❛  what's the big idea with making me train this early in the morning? the morning is evil.  ❜ ❛  oh, i'm sorry. did i put you in a difficult position by fighting the giant force of pure evil that was going to destroy the whole world? maybe your administration could have handled that.  ❜ ❛  fighting is something the old me would do. that always made things worse.  ❜ ❛  let's go on a vacation, just the two of us. anywhere you want.  ❜ ❛  it's all right. people usually assume that i'm daddy's helpless little girl, but i can handle myself.  ❜ ❛  the world is in trouble ... i have to go help.  ❜ ❛  i'm impressed. no one has ever gotten the better of me like that.  ❜ ❛  i assure you, i have a plan. and i'm saving you for last; then you'll get your duel, and i will destroy you.  ❜ ❛  when we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change.  ❜ ❛  i did what i had to do to survive and protect my little brother.  ❜ ❛  and ... what am i going to find if ... i get through this?  ❜ ❛  we should always learn from those who came before us, but we must also forge our own path.  ❜ ❛  why don't you come and find out?  ❜ ❛  if you look for the light, you can often find it. but if you look for the dark, that is all you will ever see.  ❜ ❛  you need to make decisions based on what you want. don't make the same mistakes i did.  ❜ ❛  i don't know what i'm supposed to be doing half the time.  ❜ ❛  right, friends. no, no, i didn't mean to imply.  ❜ ❛  i do like the idea of putting you on a train and sending you far, far away.  ❜ ❛  you need me, but i don't need you.  ❜ ❛  you swore your loyalty to me and i gave you a chance at greatness. this is how you repay me?  ❜ ❛  i told you dating a teammate would be a bad idea.  ❜ ❛  stick around five minutes and you'll find out who's bluffing.  ❜ ❛  wait! we can't fight them all. we need to be smart about this.  ❜ ❛  you know, it's okay to be scared. the important thing is to talk about our fears, because if we don't, they throw us out of balance. i'm always here for you, if you want to talk.  ❜ ❛  what i'm trying to say is, as much as you drive me crazy ... i also think you're pretty amazing.  ❜ ❛  see, that's what i admire about you, [ name ]: your willingness to go to extremes in order to get what you want. it is a quality we both share.  ❜ ❛  ending a relationship is kind of like pulling off a bloodsucking leech. you just gotta rip it off and get it over with. you'll feel a lot better afterwards. trust me.  ❜ ❛  don't tell me you are still mad about everything that happened?! i did some good things, too!  ❜ ❛  all right, hold on. will you quit ignoring me and tell me what's going on?  ❜ ❛  how about, for now, i just promise not to show up at your house and attack you again?  ❜ ❛  what would you do, if you were in charge? help me be more like you.  ❜ ❛  i wish you were putting up more of a fight, but it was still fun.  ❜ ❛  please, just let me say one thing, then i'll never contact you again.  ❜ ❛  i'm not sure i'll ever be able to forgive you. but that doesn't mean i shouldn't try.  ❜ ❛  i came here to look you in the eye and tell you that you have no power over me. i will no longer be scared of you.  ❜ ❛  but if you had any other options, you wouldn't be here now, would you? we may have been enemies once, but for now, our interests align.  ❜ ❛  you don't have to apologize for anything. i'm just so happy you're here now.  ❜

[genderqueerdykes]

hi um. i’d like to ask you for some advice, since it seems like a lot of people come to you when they need it. i’m a trans girl who’s been taking estrogen for 2.5 years but. i’m just so disappointed and unhappy with what hrt has done for me. i feel like i’ve been completely taken over by doomerism from me constantly comparing myself to other transfems both online and irl, and from spending too much time on trans reddit (i’m sending you this ask instead of writing another vent post on r/mtf). through this i’ve convinced myself that i will never be happy with my body, or that i’ll never have real boobs or a feminine body at all. i really really don’t want to give up hope, but it just seems so far out of reach, and i’m stuck down here in this inky abyss. what do you do in dark times when you need to regain hope, but you can’t do it yourself?

first of all, i wanted to say i'm sorry that you're feeling this way. medical transition is a very finicky thing. there is no way to predict what will happen and when, so it's okay to feel just. completely bummed the hell out when you're not seeing the changes you hoped for yet. i definitely see how it can be crushing, especially when you know your body needs to look a different way for you to be happy. it's important to consider people look a lot different irl than they do in photos and videos. camera lenses can only capture so much. pictures and videos can be edited. it's hard to compare yourself to something like that

& i did want to say that you're definitely not alone! there are a lot of girls in your exact situation. with everyone responding to HRT differently, you'll see girls who get changes right away, and girls where it takes a long time. changes with HRT generally happen very slowly, way slower than the eye can perceive, so it's okay if you feel like nothing is happening. your body just may need more time to adjust

have you ever increased your dose? if not, that is totally an option! you may also want to look into progesterone if you find that you're not happy with your breast growth after some time. it's best to look into progesterone first to make sure it's right for you, as it will affect more than just breast growth, but i wanted to throw it out there as an option! if you're not on an androgen blocker, this could also potentially help you

for both estrogen and testosterone HRT, it can take a minimum of 5 years for people to begin seeing the effects they were desiring. 5 years, minimum! that's a very long time, comparatively, you are very early on in your journey. the effects you want to see may just come along further on down the road. i know it's easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to others. it's good to remind yourself that they are not you, they do not share your genetics. they look like them. you look like you. it's okay that you don't look like those people- they're not you.

it doesn't make you any less of a woman just because you haven't seen these changes yet. there are plenty of women who look just like you, cis, intersex, trans, genderqueer, and otherwise. there are many cis and intersex women who don't "pass", and it doesn't make them any less of a woman: the same applies to you, and every trans girl. dysphoria can be a real pain in the ass and make things harder than it needs to be. it's okay to not be content with where you're at now. it's okay to be frustrated that you're not seeing the changes you want to right now. many, many trans people feel just the same way you do.

you may feel awkward and uncomfortable right now because you're literally in a transitional phase. think about when teenagers go through puberty, about how awkward they look and feel. cracking voices, bodies that are "in the middle" and not fully developed. that's what you're going through at the moment, and its okay. it just takes time for things to fully settle in.

what i would suggest is trying to find ways to do some self care that affirm your gender that don't involve your appearance. validating yourself in other ways is extremely important. building yourself up takes time. if you feel insecure about how you look, it's okay. you can start building your confidence in your identity and gender in other areas of yourself, first, then move on to your appearance. try to spend time with people who respect you for who you are, no matter how you look. try to surround yourself with people and things that affirm you

i hope you start seeing those changes you want to see soon. if you need more advice, feel free to ask! if any other trans girls on E have any advice for the asker, or relate to the experience, please feel free to chip in with some feedback on this ask, or by sending an ask! due to being intersex, i was taking estrogen and progesterone despite not wanting to, so i was not cataloguing what was changing or anything like that, so i can't speak from personal experience there despite having been on E HRT in the past.

take care of yourself for now. try to go easy on yourself, you're still in your coocoon. the day where you emerge as a butterfly is on its way, it just takes a little time. please feel free to come back any time. i hope we can get some good insight for you

[cripplecharacters]

Debated on whether I wanted to resend but here goes nothing.

This is Margo, my OC. She is currently being developed into a Stardew Valley mod. I don't wish to spoil too much, but she fought in The War and was injured. She now has facial + body scarring and a cane. I'm still writing the story, but so far, she has two plots: A, which is her learning to open up and accept the player. And B, which is her trying to find a hobby with the help of other NPC characters.

I'm mainly sending an ask in for feedback on her design. As of now, her torn lip has been edited to show her gums instead of all teeth. Otherwise, nothing has changed. Thank you!

Side question: How should her facial difference and cane be addressed, if at all?

[Image description: two pixel drawings. The first one shows the full body of the character; she has light tan skin, a burn scar on her face, and long red hair. She's holding a cane. The second drawing shows multiple versions of the character's portrait with various facial expressions.]

Hey!

She looks good! I especially like the top right one, very cute :)

I think my only concern would be re: her right eye - is she meant to have corneal scarring or a traumatic cataract? I'm asking since it looks like she has corneal blindness, but that's rarely caused by an injury like that (it's mostly a vitamin deficiency/parasitic thing). It's not impossible that she'd have it from a burn, but I want to make sure you're not confusing the two (since I see that a lot) and these two conditions do have different symptoms (outside of blindness).

If you're willing to address her disability then I think it would be a good idea. I'm not sure what kind of narration you're going for, but it wouldn't be ableist for the player character to simply Acknowledge that she has burns on her face (e.g., before the player learns her actual name, the placeholder could be "red-haired woman with a burn" since these are just her most visible characteristics). It also wouldn't be out of place if the player character wondered "what happened" - I know we (disabled people) all hate this question, but I don't think it's weird for someone to just think that in their head when they see someone (thought crime isn't real, etc.). As long as the player character isn't going around harassing her asking why she's disabled as the first thing they do (unless I guess it'd be to show that the player is ableist and has a lot to learn?) it should be ok.

If you want the characters to discuss "what happened" in the actual dialogue, it'd be preferably after they actually develop a relationship. I don't think it's weird to ask one's friend about their disability (as opposed to demand that information). Depending on Margo's personality and/or feelings toward the player she could either explain the whole story in great detail, leave it at "during the War, a building caught on fire, I was in it; it took them three months to put me back together but at least I'm finally back home, isn't modern medicine incredible?", or simply decline to answer that. All three are valid options; it's not like her character arc will fall apart if the player doesn't know what happened. She's visibly a burn survivor, there's hardly any mystery as to what's going on. Not everyone wants to talk about the origin of their disability, even (sometimes especially) to people they're close to - sometimes it's PTSD, sometimes it's the fact that they're tired of being asked that.

Her cane is more straightforward since in her case, her main "thing to address" are her burns and the cane would probably fall under that for most players. If you want you can have the player character compliment the design of her cane* or how well built it is, especially earlier on when it would be more awkward to just go straight to discussing her actual disability.

*Real life (not writing) tip: Not everyone likes that, please don't randomly compliment real strangers' mobility aids, especially if they're undecorated or without anything else that would imply they want to bring attention to it. A lot of people (myself included) will think you're being condescending.

Other than that, there's no reason to ignore her burns or cane; e.g. if the player visits her at home before going out she can mention that she needs to grab her cane, or put a pressure sleeve on before leaving, maybe on some days she's not available to talk to because she has physical therapy scheduled at that time, etc. As long as she has other character traits that have nothing to do with her disability (which it sounds like she already does) it should all be good.

I also like the plot B she's involved in - I wish this wasn't the case, but so many characters with facial differences don't have any damn hobbies ("obsessing over revenge for making them disabled" doesn't count) and almost never seem to have casual friends, so this is cool to see!

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza