#*hit him with a sledgehammer but same difference

[love-toxin]

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

[izzyezalea]

My first fic! Please be kind 🩷

Smoke and Blood

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

- Friends to Lovers

The street was a proper warzone—half the buildings shelled to shit, the sky thick with black smoke and tracer fire. You could barely see ten feet ahead without catching a mouthful of soot. Task Force 141 had been split after the ambush near Al Mazrah, and now it was just you and Ghost, moving through the smouldering wreckage with death breathing down your necks.

"Oi, keep low," Ghost muttered over comms, crouched beside a burnt-out lorry. “Sniper’s got eyes on this stretch. We move on my mark.”

You gave a silent nod, pressing your back to the brickwork, heart hammering. Your M4 was slick with sweat and grime, and the blood on your sleeve wasn’t all someone else’s.

“Three tangos up ahead,” you whispered. “Rooftop, one with a Dragunov.”

Ghost peeked, then ducked back. “Cheeky bastard’s about to lose his head.”

And like that, he was up—two shots from his suppressed rifle, and one poor sod toppled off the edge like a sack of bricks. You took the second shot. A clean one. Right through the eye. The third bloke legged it before he joined his mates.

“Move!” Ghost barked, and you were off, boots hammering pavement, weaving through alleys.

Every time you glanced his way, he was right there. Same brutal precision, same steely focus. But lately, something different lingered beneath that skull-painted mask—a softness, a tension that had nothing to do with the battlefield.

You burst into a half-collapsed flat, took a breath, and turned to him. “You alright?”

“I’m peachy,” he said, sarcasm dry as sandpaper. “You?”

“Still breathing.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “Don’t go getting dead on me. I’ve not got the patience to drag your arse outta here.”

You smirked. “Who said you’d have to?”

He rolled his eyes behind the mask, but there was a flicker of something else there—relief.

But there wasn’t time to dig deeper. Another blast rocked the street. A nearby building caved in with a thunderous crash, sending chunks of concrete raining down.

“Down!” Ghost shoved you hard, and you hit the floor just as the shockwave rolled through. Dust filled your lungs. Ears ringing. You scrambled to your feet, coughing, eyes stinging.

“Ghost?!”

No answer.

You found him slumped against the wall, blood trailing from a nasty gash above his eye. He blinked slowly, dazed.

“Bloody hell…” he groaned.

“You with me?”

“Barely. Feel like I got snogged by a sledgehammer.”

You knelt, ripping open your medkit. “Sit still, I’ve got you.”

He hissed as you pressed a bandage to the wound. “Not the gentle type, are ya?”

“You want gentle, find a nurse.”

You felt his gaze on you—heavy, unreadable.

“You’re good at this,” he said, quieter.

You shrugged. “You learn fast when the alternative is bleeding out.”

He grabbed your wrist gently. “You scared?”

You paused. “Of dying? No. Of you dying? Every damn second.”

That silenced him. The tension between you was a live wire now, snapping and sparking in the thick air.

“Look,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life. You know that. But you—you’re the one thing that cuts through the noise. I can be knee-deep in bodies, and somehow I still see you. Hear your voice.”

You blinked. “Simon…”

“I’ve been meaning to say this, but this bloody war keeps gettin’ in the way.”

He pulled his mask up just enough to show his mouth—lips chapped, a scar curling along his jaw—and leaned in.

“I love you,” he said, simply. No fluff. No hesitation.

You didn’t think. You kissed him—tasted ash, blood, desperation—but beneath it all, you tasted him. Real. Alive.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. But it was everything you’d been too afraid to want.

When you broke apart, you rested your forehead against his. “I love you too.”

A siren blared in the distance. The evac.

“Time to finish this,” you said, gripping your rifle again.

“Right behind you,” he murmured, mask sliding back into place.

And you fought.

Fought like demons, side by side, tearing through enemy lines with ruthless efficiency. Covered each other like muscle memory. Every move synced. Every shot clean.

At one point, you took a round to the arm—white-hot agony tearing through your bicep—but you kept going. You had to.

Because Ghost was still breathing. And as long as he was, so would you.

When you finally reached the exfil point, bloodied and battered, the chopper blades were already kicking up dust. Soap was shouting through the headset, Price barking orders.

But all you heard was Ghost beside you, panting, alive.

You collapsed into the bird, shoulder to shoulder. Bruised. Exhausted. Alive.

And when the doors shut and the chaos was left behind, he leaned into you and whispered, “You’re mine now. No more running.”

You smiled, head resting against his shoulder.

“No more running.”

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

𝑅𝐸𝒥𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩-𝒟𝑅𝐸𝒲 𝒮𝒯𝒜𝑅𝒦𝐸𝒴

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪 Drew Starkey, fresh off a stunning performance, feels a deep pull toward the new intern, Y/N. After a night of shared dreams and vulnerabilities, he confesses his feelings, only to face her gentle rejection.

✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮♥✮

The adrenaline of live theatre had once again claimed him, but tonight felt different. He could feel it in his bones, a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation that he hadn't experienced since his first opening night.

"Drew, you absolutely killed it out there!" exclaimed his best friend and stage manager, Mark, as he rushed backstage, his eyes gleaming with pride. Drew couldn't help but smile at his friend's enthusiasm, despite the turmoil churning within him. "You're going to be the talk of the town, buddy. That was your best performance yet!"

But Drew's thoughts were elsewhere. The haunting eyes of the new intern, Y/N, had captured his attention from the moment she'd walked into the theatre weeks ago. Her quiet confidence and unassuming grace had drawn him in, and he'd found himself thinking about her during every performance, every rehearsal, every quiet moment alone in his dressing room. He had no idea if she felt the same, but he knew he couldn't ignore the connection any longer.

As the cast and crew began to disperse, Drew found himself lingering in the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He watched as she moved with poise and efficiency, ensuring every prop and costume was meticulously placed back in its rightful spot. Her dedication to her craft was unparalleled, and he found it both alluring and intimidating.

"Hey, Y/N," he called out softly, his voice barely audible over the clamor of the theatre's backstage. She turned, her eyes widening in surprise before a small smile graced her lips. "Could I…I mean, would you like to grab a coffee with me? Somewhere quiet, where we can actually talk?"

The silence that followed was deafening, and Drew felt his heart drop into his stomach. Had he misread the signs? Had he been too forward? But then she nodded, the smile growing into something that seemed almost shy. "Sure, Drew. That would be nice."

The cool evening air hit Drew as he stepped out of the backstage door, and he took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Y/N followed closely behind, her eyes scanning the bustling streets of downtown. The city lights twinkled like a sea of stars, casting a soft glow over her features. He offered his arm, and she took it, her touch sending a jolt through him that he wasn't quite prepared for.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Drew felt the need to break it. "So, what do you think of the city so far?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Y/N glanced up at him, her eyes reflecting the streetlights. "It's…intense. But I like the energy. It's a good change from the small town I'm used to."

Drew nodded, understanding all too well the lure of the city's pulse. "What brought you here?"

"The same as you, I guess," she said with a small laugh. "Dreams of the stage. I want to learn everything I can about theatre, and this is the place to do it."

Her words hit him like a sledgehammer, and he found himself opening up to her in a way he hadn't with anyone in years. "Yeah, me too. But sometimes… it feels like the dream is slipping away, you know?"

Her gaze grew serious, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. "Why do you say that?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Just the pressure, I guess. The constant need to be perfect, to make every performance better than the last. It's like I'm chasing my own shadow."

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. "But isn't that what makes it worth it? The chase, the growth?"

Her words hung in the air, and Drew found himself looking into her eyes, searching for an answer he wasn't sure he had. "I suppose so," he murmured, "but sometimes it's just… overwhelming."

With a gentle nod, Y/N leaned in slightly. "You're not alone in that feeling, Drew. We all have our moments of doubt. But look at you tonight, you gave a performance that had everyone on the edge of their seats."

Her genuine belief in him was like a balm to his soul, and Drew felt his shoulders relax. They continued to walk, their steps in sync as they navigated the cobblestone streets to a quaint little café that Mark had recommended. The place was tucked away, a hidden gem that offered the quiet they both sought.

Once inside, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and the soft hum of jazz music enveloped them, creating an intimate atmosphere that was a stark contrast to the bustling world outside. They found a cozy table in the corner, the dim light casting a warm glow over the worn wooden surface. Drew ordered for both of them, his eyes never leaving hers.

As they waited for their drinks, the conversation flowed easily, covering everything from their favorite plays to their childhood ambitions. Drew found himself opening up about his own journey to stardom, the highs and the lows, and the sacrifices he'd made along the way. Y/N listened with rapt attention, asking insightful questions that made him think deeply about his choices.

When their coffee arrived, she took a sip and leaned back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful. "You know," she began, "I think the most important thing is to find joy in the process, not just the end result. You're living your dream every day, even if it doesn't always feel like it."

Drew's heart swelled at her wisdom, and he reached out, taking her hand in his. "You're something special, Y/N. I'm so glad we did this."

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she smiled. "Me too."

Their hands remained intertwined as they talked late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, and slowly, the weight of the world lifted from Drew's shoulders. It was as if he'd found a piece of himself that he didn't know was missing, and he was determined to hold onto it tightly.

But as the hours ticked by, the unspoken tension grew thicker between them. Drew knew he couldn't ignore the feelings any longer, and he took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

"Y/N, I know this might sound crazy, but I think…I think I'm falling for you."

Her eyes searched his, filled with a mix of shock and something else, something he hadn't expected. Fear? Panic? Or was it something else entirely?

Her silence was like a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the room. Drew's heart raced as he waited for her response, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but the words had slipped from his lips as naturally as breathing.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Drew, I…I don't know what to say."

He could see the conflict playing out across her features, and his heart sank. Had he misread the situation? Had he just ruined their friendship?

"Look," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "you don't have to say anything. I just wanted to be honest with you. We can forget about it and go back to how things were."

But she didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she laced her fingers through his, her eyes never leaving his. "No," she said softly, "you don't understand. It's just…I can't."

Drew felt his heart plummet to his feet. "Can't what?"

"I can't do this," she replied, her voice trembling. "I can't be with you like that. Not now."

He frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Her gaze dropped to the table, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm just not ready, Drew. I'm still figuring out who I am, what I want. And I don't want to risk losing what we have, or messing up this opportunity for either of us."

Drew's mind raced as he tried to process her words. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and the rejection stung like nothing he'd ever experienced. "But you…you don't have to choose," he protested, his voice low and pleading. "We can figure it out together."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with regret. "I wish it were that simple. But it's not. I need to focus on me right now, on my career. And I can't do that if I'm…if I'm distracted."

Drew felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. He knew she was right; he knew he should respect her decision. But it didn't make it any easier to accept. He nodded, his throat tight. "Okay," he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady. "I get it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Drew felt like he'd lost something precious, something that had barely begun to blossom. But he also knew that pushing her would only drive her away, and that was the last thing he wanted.

With a sigh, he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, the bitter taste mirroring his mood. "Thank you for being honest with me," he managed to say, his voice gruff. "I'll respect your decision."

Y/N offered a sad smile. "Thank you for understanding."

The rest of the night passed in a blur, their conversation forced and stilted. Drew's mind was reeling, trying to piece together what had just happened. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. And yet, as they parted ways outside the café, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief.

Maybe she was right, he thought as he walked back to his apartment, the city lights blurring into a haze of color. Maybe it was better this way, for both of them. After all, the theatre was a fickle beast, demanding and unyielding. It didn't leave much room for anything else.

But as he closed the door to his quiet apartment, the reality of her refusal settled heavily on him. The emptiness in his chest grew, filling him with a sadness that was as deep and vast as the ocean. He had never felt so alone in the midst of so much noise.

With a heavy heart, he stripped off his stage makeup, the remnants of his character slipping down the drain like sand in an hourglass. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, searching for the man he'd been before he'd met her. But all he saw was the same lost soul, adrift in a sea of doubt and fear.

Tomorrow, he'd put on his brave face and step back into the spotlight, ready to give another breathtaking performance. But tonight, he'd allow himself to feel the pain of rejection, to mourn the loss of a love that had never quite had the chance to take root. And he'd hope that, with time, the whispers of their friendship could grow into something stronger, something that could withstand the tempestuous storms of the theatre world.

[thatchickwithtoomanyhobbies]

The End (Daniels)

***An alternative universe where sledgehammer killed off everyone but Daniels Saving-Private-Ryan-style. AKA- what would’ve happened had my mother been part of the writing staff. Note: Events in this story are different than the canon storyline (duh). Slight *puke warning*! Implied *Self-Deletion*! Do not read if that’ll be upsetting!***

He had to find him. Robert Zussman- his best friend, the last one left from his platoon, the man he vowed to fight to the end with, the person he cared about most in the world (besides his wife and child of course)- had been taken by the Nazi’s nearly four months earlier.

He’d been beside him for so long. He grieved the loss of their other friends with him. He’d given him words of encouragement when he found out he was going to be a father. He’d helped patch him up after a long day of battles. He’d been there for him through thick and thin, and the least he could do was go save him now. If only he could’ve saved the others…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Stiles had perished storming the beach. The poor man had seen the shell dropping and tried to jump out of the way, but he was too late. The bomb dropped right on top of him, sending him flying.

Zussman and Aiello had gotten to him first, and were surprised to find him still alive, glasses smashed, his legs below the knees gone. They’d tried to tourniquet them, but it was no use. The man had bled out less than a minute later crying for his ma. Apologizing to the air. Saying he was sorry it had to end this way.

He’d taken his last breath in Zussman’s arms, trying to tell him to tell his ma he loved her and would miss her.

The poor chap never got the chance to finish his sentence before his heart stopped. Daniels took his camera off his body, promising himself he’d send it back to his ma when he got the chance. From what Stiles had said of her, she’d want the thing to remember him by.

That poor woman. She’d already lost two of her five children in a car accident several year prior. Now she had lost yet another one to a dictator hungry for power.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Pierson was lost when the church had collapsed at Marigny. Aiello was with Jones taking out the AA Guns when German artillery started hitting the church. Once the building started coming down they’d all rushed to get out of it. Daniels had gotten knocked off the ladder when the bell fell and lay dazed on the floor under a fallen rafter.

Zussman, determined to help his friend, stayed back and helped pry off the piece of wood and get Daniels on his feet costing them precious time. The sergeant had yelled at them to keep moving. Quickly, before the building came down. By the time Zuss had gotten himself and Daniels to the door, the building was coming down on their heads.

Pierson, in one heroic action, grabbed both men and threw them out of the building and onto the street to safety. The last last thing the two soldiers saw was their Sergeant looking up in horror as the building collapsed, trapping him beneath the rubble.

Once they cleared the street, the remaining men dug through the remnants of the building for him, hoping that maybe he could be alive. It was in vain, as they found no trace of their commander in the rubble.

Pierson had a wife and two young sons back home. Sons that would now grow up without a father. In a way, Daniels blamed himself. If he hadn’t gotten trapped, perhaps Pierson would still be alive.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They had lost Aiello and Turner on the same day just minutes apart, something that made their deaths seem the worst out of all of them.

It was the same day he’d gotten the news that he was going to be a father. Aiello had teased him about it most of the morning to the point where he had snapped at him. Something that Daniels deeply regretted now. He’d take back his hash words to the man and laugh with him. Tease him back perhaps.

Turner had sent Aiello along with second platoon as they were a few men short. They all thought they’d be fine. Apparently not.

From what Daniels heard from the other men, Aiello- forever stubborn- had run ahead when they heard a singular shot ring out. Whether from a German or from Aiello they had no idea.

Daniels found out when he climbed the hill to find Aiello lying dead in the mud, a singular gunshot wound to the chest. There was no time to grieve him. No time for a even a prayer for him to reach heaven. The had to keep moving.

All he had wanted was to get home and throw himself headfirst into a music career.

“Forget Frank Sinatra! Frank Aiello is the next heartthrob, boys! I’m gonna top the billboards!”

He’d never get the chance to find out if that was true, his drum set back home now sitting forever unused.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Turner was gone just a few minutes after Aiello. In some ways his was the hardest hitting of all, as he had given his life for the men to escape. But Daniels blamed himself, as Turner had been helping him up when he was shot in the back.

Turner insisted they leave him behind. To retreat while he held them off.

“No sacrifice too great,” he told Daniels managing a weak smile. In his opinion, this was too great a sacrifice. Turner had a wife and three children back home. With this one action, he was making her a widow and his three children fatherless.

Turner commanded them to go yet again. Zussman had grabbed him by the arm and ran. He had been forced to watch as Turner was inevitably shot dead by the Germans and lay lifeless in the middle of a German forest.

His family would never get to see his final resting place or say their last goodbyes. He was yet another casualty of this terrible war.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Zussman was the last one left from the first platoon besides Daniels himself, which made finding him even more urgent.

Zuss was the only one who knew just how much they had suffered. How much loss they had endured. How lonely the nights got once everyone was gone. The nights they’d console each other from memories plaguing their minds. Nobody knew like they did. He needed to find him. If he were to turn up less than alive…

He pushed the thought out of his head. He’d be alive. He’d be ok. They’d go back to the states together and maybe he could move Zussman in. Hazel would be ok with it. He could be an uncle to the baby and earn his keep helping out with chores on the farm. He’d suggest it to him when he found him.

He didn’t wait for the truck to stop before jumping out and running into the camp, screaming Zussman’s name. Maybe he’d hear. Maybe he’d answer. As he ran through the camp, he soon realized that it had been deserted and not too long before. He hoped, prayed, that Zuss was still alive. Unfortunately that prayer was not to be answered.

He looked up passing the gallows, noticing there was a man hanging there. He stood and stared, wondering how people could do this to their fellow humans when suddenly the horror dawned on him.

“Zussman! No!” He screamed, climbing up onto the platform to cut his friend down.

It was too late. Zussman was gone. He picked up his best friend and held him in his arms, his body was still slightly warm. He had been just a few minutes too late. If only he had gotten there sooner.

He put him down and let loose the contents of his stomach. It was his fault. If he had gotten there sooner. If he had driven faster.

He held his best friend in his arms and sobbed. He was last one left of the first platoon. The only one who survived the horrors of this war. They were all gone. He’d be the only one to go home to his family. He took the Saint Michael pendant off of his friend. He wasn’t catholic, in fact he had been raised baptist, but the longing to have something to remind him of his friend was stronger than his religious ties.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He rode up to the old farmhouse, barely a shell of the man who had left it nearly a year before. He lost everyone he cared about in Europe. His best friends. His superiors. He was the last surviving member of the first platoon.

That was odd. He figured Hazel would meet him outside when he arrived. Maybe she was inside nursing the baby. She had always been a bit more conservative, so she didn’t want to expose herself. That explained it.

As he walked up the front steps he imagined how good it would feel to hold her again. To kiss her lips. To snuggle up next to her on cold nights. He had missed her so much.

As he went to open the door he realized that it was unlocked. That was strange. She always locked the front door. It was the back door they left unlocked during the day. He was starting to feel uneasy now.

“Hazel?” he called into the house, door slightly ajar, hoping to hear her voice. He received no answer. He pushed the door open all the way. The sight that met his eyes shocked him.

The house was empty. Every single piece of furniture downstairs was gone. This couldn’t be happening. He’d heard stories from other men of this happening, but he never thought it would happen to him. He hoped this was some sort of cruel trick on Hazel’s part.

He quickly ran upstairs, calling his wife’s name. Praying he’d find her and his son up there, only to find the upstairs just as empty as the floor below.

He ran down the hall to their bedroom, crying slightly. He hoped she’d be in there. Maybe she sold the furniture to pay the bills. Or perhaps she was getting it replaced. He knew that was unlikely, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe the reality of the situation.

He burst into the room, finding only the old bed and mattress stripped bare. There was a note taped to the wooden headboard. With trembling hands he removed and read it. He broke down in sobs as the reality set in.

The baby wasn’t his and Hazel was gone, having moved in with the kid’s true father and taken the furniture for their new house. Everything he had was gone. What was the point? He had no wife. No son. His friends were dead. He couldn’t do it.

He pulled the picture out of his pocket, the one of him and the boys in basic and the only one Stiles ever got with Pierson smiling. He missed them. They had all been lost overseas.

He felt for the pistol in his other pocket. He managed a slight smile at the realization it was still there. He pulled it out and walked downstairs, out the back door, and into the fields behind the house. This was the end of the line for him.

He couldn’t wait to see the boys again. Stiles and his constant yapping, Aiello cursing up a storm, Zussman’s antics. Even Pierson and Turner. He rubbed his thumb over the picture.

“Hey, boys. I’ve missed you…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The neighbors heard a singular pistol shot ring out across the fields dividing the houses. That was pretty normal to hear coming from the Daniels’ family farm. Red was probably shooting at another rat that got in the house. If only they knew the reality.

In an instant, the war had claimed yet another life, this one on American soil.

***I will admit, I may have shed a few tears writing this one. Especially Daniels’ ending there. Killing off the characters you love will do that to you. Perhaps I should go to therapy.***

[brinconvenient]

Hey there! Just wanted to drop in as another trans guy and say that I too took your reply to Nicholas in the intended way, and that I feel the other guy laying into you did not need to be anywhere near that harsh. A simple "hey this could be taken as rude for x y and z" would have more than sufficed. I also feel his comparing "sharing childhood experiences/desires from the other side of the coin" directly to "prison rape", as though those two things are comparable, was ill-advised at best and downright disrespectful at worst. I don't think the dude deserves flaming/brigading because I've seen enough flaming over petty disagreements for a lifetime, but I do think he needs to *starkly* reconsider his chosen analogy, as the analogy was far, *far* more upsetting, childish, and offensive to me than "oh dang, wish I could've done the glamorshot instead of you OP!"

Yada yada, we *need* transmasc-transfemme solidarity, tearing each other apart in 2025 under this social climate isn't the best idea when we could just kindly remind each other of sore spots, also I'm intrigued by the guy not realizing how much we as trans dudes do the same thing with transfemmes, like wishing we could've done boy scouts instead, etc. If you don't want to reply to this ask publicly don't feel required to do so, I just wanted to extend an (albeit anonymous) hand and tell you that to me you weren't horrifically out of line, as the other fella felt, but his analogy was. Peace love and solidarity!

Thank you, too, for responding. I just published an ask from another guy who was bothered by my post, so I appreciate the affirmation that the hurtful reading isn't universal.

As for the first guy, yeah, I certainly don't want to drag him. He deserved an apology and I gave it to him in sincerity, but ... yeah, that particular analogy felt a little like hitting a fly with a sledgehammer to me, but I also understand that he was hurting and was trying to convey the level of hurt he was feeling. Hopefully, this was a learning opportunity for him, too.

I, too, wish us all the grace to hear the lessons we need to learn and to overcome the immediate response to lash out instead of extending grace to each other. We will do a lot better building solidarity when we put out traffic cones and caution tape around the tender places so we can learn to tread more carefully.

All of us trans folks have different sensitive spots, and when our siblings know more, they can avoid stepping on the hurtful places and, even better, can help direct others to firmer ground.

We're all in this mess together, man, and no one gets out of here alive, so why not try to make each other's brief blip of time here safer and more enjoyable, you know?

Thanks for the grace, and have a lovely day!

[shinmiyovvi]

That's Not My Neighbor Timeline

This timeline will show some tidbits of what would be the story of my ocs before the events of the game itself because I have my brain working late at night and I want to share this with you guys :3. This will contain some spoilers about the formation of the D.D.D. and the beginning of the Trojan Horse Project.

1945

Oswald D. Keppler founded the Department of Doppelganger Detection as the General Director of the said department.

The Trojan Horse Project was funded by the Military Department of the Government with Keppler as the General Director of the project and Dr. W. Afton as the Lead Scientist of the said project. 

Some of the prominent employees of the department are Dr. Stanford Abelforth and Dr. Aditha Gulliver who have contributed their expertise in their specialized fields. Both are dedicated to the experiments being conducted in the lab and were praised by many.

1946

A teenager Ollie was scribbling in his notebook about vehicles, fascinated by the world of motorsports. While engrossed with his hobby, a loud noise can be heard outside of his room. His mother cried from fear as she tried to grab the telephone to contact the police, only for the doppelganger that was in the form of his father to kill her before she could utter a word through the phone. Curious and frightened, Ollie rushes out of his room to get the whole glimpse of the disgruntled form of his father. 

Before the doppelganger can kill Ollie, Lazaro happens to arrive earlier than expected as he quickly grabs Ollie away, causing him to have a scar on his right eye. He then grabs his pistol and shoots the doppelganger 4 times. Despite knowing that it's just the doppelganger of his older brother, he feels guilty for doing it. After the events had happened, Ollie then lived with his nonna and aunt throughout his life before moving in to live with his uncle.

In the same year, Ruslan Gulliver, the husband of Aditha, was hired by the D.D.D. as the first doorman of the apartment building that he would be working on. Throughout his job, he encounters different doppelgangers of the tenants in which he is capable of diminishing the differences between the original and the latter. 

1947

Aditha begins to feel unease with the project as she only tells her concerns about Stanford which he is the only person she could trust. Although she also wants to reveal the purpose and objective of the project to her husband Ruslan while having a dilemma whether to reveal it or not, her life is cut short after finding out that Afton happens to hear her conversation with Stanford. Her death was orchestrated by Afton who sent out a doppelganger that was in the form of her husband to “silence” her before she could even report this to the authorities despite the project being funded by the government as she believes this is considered “immoral” and “dangerous” to humanity.

The real Ruslan finds out about this from Stanford as he goes to save her, only to see her dead by the said doppelganger. Out of pure rage, he grabs a sledgehammer, hitting the doppelganger several times before he is now covered in blood. The next year, he quit his job as a doorman before returning years later as a building janitor to reveal the truth beneath the lies of the department.

1951

Delora is an office clerk who works the 9-to-5 shift at a business company. After her shift, she plans on visiting her parents after a tiring day at work from filing documents to answering phone calls through the telephone. When she arrived at the Steding Residence, she noticed the door was open. Curious, she went inside the house, hearing faint weeping noises from the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw her “aunt” from her mother’s side covered in blood as the cold lifeless body of her parents was lying on the floor.

Her “aunt” told her a fabricated story where a doppelganger got inside the house while she was visiting her parents to bring some apple pie. She also stated that she already called the police and was on the way to the scene. Delora noticed the slight difference between her aunt as she doesn't recall her having amber eyes and her mother has grayish ones as well as a mole on her chin. Not buying the story, she grabs a kitchen knife and stabs the doppelganger that was impersonating her aunt at least 7 times as the police arrived into the scene.

One of the officers tries to arrest her but Lazaro stops them midway from handcuffing Delora. He wants to interrogate her first from the beginning until the end of the story about the death of her parents and her alibi. She was taken to the station and asked several questions, once her alibi was considered valid, Lazaro let her go and ended the case. That day forward, Delora becomes more cautious around her surroundings as she develops mistrust of the people she happens to meet.

1955

The business company Delora worked in suddenly went into bankruptcy, causing her to lose her job as an office clerk. While looking for other job opportunities, a mysterious man who happens to be one of the members of D.D.D. gave her a proposition of working as a doorwoman of the apartment building. He believes that her skills of telling which is the doppelganger could stop the rampant invasion of doppelgangers in the building and would be a vital help towards society. Delora was hesitant at first, but she agreed either way.

In February of the same year started her job as the doorwoman of the building in which she encountered different tenants living in each apartment room of the said resident. There she met Ruslan and Stanford who shared a distrust of the D.D.D. and told her to be mindful of the organization that hired her. Throughout her time as a doorwoman, she begins to feel doubtful of the organization as she wants to find out the truth from the lies that the government fabricated to keep the image of the D.D.D. intact. With her snooping around, Dr. Afton becomes more mindful and observant of her actions as her involvement will cause them gravely.

[zedif-y]

i wanted to tell you that your impdubs fic whirs all the right hamster wheels in my brains ITS SO GOOD

like the development of their relationship and your interpretation of the canon events is *mwah*, but i'm also in love with all the details? how the past seasons linger in the present actions? scott lingering just for a moment to look at jimmy, etho using red kingdom signs to communicate with impulse, impulse still holding a lingering grudge against jimmy and a silent understanding with grian from the southlands- gods. they hit me like a sledgehammer to the nose. and then how you describe the day-to-day life?? because in most fics its just a game, just war and bloodshed and brief reprieve, but here they actually build a life. you can feel how in the past seasons it must have been the same, because the southlands had pancakes for breakfast and the red kingdom learned hand signs, and here bdubs paints and jimmy bakes a cake with strawberries and the house parties at the pool were a regular occasion (which i adore). here, each death and incident feels so visceral. bigb's death and his red confrontation with the couple? i was terrified. ren and impulse's inhuman fight? pearl's desperate plea for just a little soup? and then their deaths, how impulse remembers the fall with terror, how horrible their second death was, the two of them targeted by enemies who could have been friends, feeling each others' pains and unable to think straight. like i'm always interested in the interpretation of real life into minecraft logic and yours, by far, is one of the best.

very long ramble but i mean every word of love <3

this ask took me so long to reply to because every time i'd try to respond, it didn't feel like enough to encapsulate how much i seriously love and appreciate this ask.

it's like... Wow. goddamn. my hard work on this fic really pays off in moments like these, yknow? i care so much about the little details, the things that make the worlds i write feel Alive because to me that's how you sell it— how you show the impact the characters have had on each other and how each life bleeds into the next. Impulse specifically is such an amazing character for this kind of story because of how he holds grudges in the life series. it's important to me that my take on the life series makes all the different dynamics come to light, even past ones and how they would affect the present.

i recently did a reread of bayab, as i'm gearing up to finally actually finishing the fic. (the next chapter SHOULD be the last, but we'll see how it shakes out) i hope you know that this seriously inspired me to work on it again :']]

also, just as a token for these amazing asks and for reading this far, i'll talk about some little moments/details that i really like in my fic under the cut<33 again, thank you so much for this. i'm going to come back to this all the time.

"So you're saying you were an accomplice," Etho says, head tilted in amusement. "Is that it?" His voice is light, almost conversational. It reminds Impulse of a previous life– eavesdropped conversations at the B.E.S.T. base, where Etho prods and Bdubs bristles. That same, teasing tone. This time, Bdubs just shakes his head. He slips his hand into Impulse’s.

---

As they walk away, Impulse can just barely overhear– ("Is that a yes to what Bdubs said–?" "It's a maybe," Etho replies. He holds out his hand, "He wouldn’t lie to me." Joel hums, hands him his sword.)

this part makes me INSANEEEEE like yeah i wrote it. i was crazy for that. hi?! the mirroring of impdubs holding hands but when etho holds out his hand joel doesn't take it but rather he gives back his iron sword. i fucking love boat boys but also it makes me a bit sick how i wrote this. there's so much to unpack here— the unspoken making us wonder what's going through etho's head.

(personally, though i don't mind other interpretations... i like the idea that a part of etho wishes joel had held his hand.)

(you know, after their very romantic activity of Brutal Murder)

Impulse’s hand hovers over the doorknob, the deadbolt lock. He’s made up his mind. “It’s Tango,” He says, hearing the click as it unlocks. “I trust Tango.” Bdubs fidgets with his crossbow, puts it away. Quietly, he replies, “…And I trust you.” Impulse swallows, another click as he twists the doorknob– he’s so gonna regret this. Impulse opens the door. “Alright, come in, geez!” Jimmy beams as they’re let in, and Martyn flicks zombie blood off his sword as he wrinkles his nose– “Told you he’d let us in!” Tango chirps, “Took you forever though– GAH!” A knife is thrust an inch away from Tango’s throat.

GOD this moment is fucking loaded as well. underrated martyn moment in my opinion bc ive never seen anyone mention it... but he's such a little asshole here. this manipulative fuck /AFF SDJGHHSHDJG

like. of COURSE he's smart like that, to use tango and jimmy as the way to gain access into impdubs' home. knowing that impulse trusts tango and that bdubs trusts impulse and then USING THEM so he can come inside and let all the others in?! crazy. fucking insane martyn move here i love him

Etho’s shaky as he tries to recover, his grip tightening around his sword as he drags himself away from Impulse, behind Joel. Joel’s axe hits the ground with a light thud, shielding Etho from view. Both hands are tight around the handle. His chest heaves, face shining with sweat.

a smaller moment, but the image here makes me kind of insane. i'm imagining the weight of joel's axe as it thuds against the ground, polished diamond blocking etho from view. like i know they're barely focused on in the fic but the dynamic i established w them makes me CRAZY

(Like a distant thing, Impulse watches as the enderpearl flies through the air…)

funny how so many of impulse's final moments can be traced back to an unfortunate enderpearl (pained smile)

---

that's all i can think of rn but if i think of more i'll reblog this post KDGHSDJHG ANYWAY. A RAMBLE FOR A RAMBLE. THANK YOU SO MUCH

[oceannote]

EMPIRE WAR - Chapter 8

Note from author: Hello, my babessssss. Hope you like the different POV's that you get into this chapter because I am kicking my feet and giggling while writing this. XoXo YK

Summary: The whole business plan falls in front of Amelia, who is now put into a position where she has to start from scratch, but at the same time Jungkook realizes that once you lose something,g that's when you actually feel how important that thing is to you.

Warnings: Characters are fake and are a result of fiction, mentions of alcohol, land ack of confidence. Do not copy, translate or remake the story.

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The past week has been a complete and utter nightmare. Since the party incident, my only focus has been trying to salvage what’s left of the company’s dignity, but no matter how hard I try, it feels like shoveling sand against the tide. Whatever catastrophe I thought would unfold after that disaster, reality proved to be ten times worse.

My father, who was supposed to be enjoying his well-earned retirement, had to step back into the spotlight to clean up the mess the Jeon family so elegantly orchestrated. And my position? Oh, I might as well have been thrown into a meat grinder.

Monday morning, at exactly 10:00 AM, I sat through the most excruciating, tension-filled emergency board and investors' meeting of my life. My fate was sealed before I even walked through the doors. They didn’t just doubt me—they tore me apart. I was officially placed under review as CFO, a glorified way of saying, 'You’re one step away from the unemployment line'. And if that wasn’t bad enough, our company’s shares were dropping at an alarming rate, plummeting faster than the tears streaming down my face as I tried to justify myself in front of men who had already made up their minds.

And the cherry on top? Someone at that cursed event had the audacity to leak our financial data online. Illegal? Absolutely. Irreversible damage? Even more so.

Now, on this cold, miserable Friday morning, I sit at my kitchen island, staring at a thick contract laid out in front of me. My father sits on the opposite side, his expression carved from stone. The silence is suffocating, thick with unspoken disappointment.

I grip the contract and shove it back toward him, my blood boiling. “This is complete bullshit.”

My father’s jaw tightens as he levels me with a glare. “Amelia. Language.” His voice is sharp, but I don’t care. Not today.

I swallow hard, my throat burning from unshed tears. “Why am I the one being punished for this? I did everything I could to fix the situation.” My voice cracks despite my best efforts, my nails digging into my palms to keep myself together.

“Because you clearly cannot keep this company running properly!” His voice erupts like thunder, rattling the very foundation of the kitchen. I flinch but hold my ground.

He doesn’t stop. He never does when he’s angry.

“I don’t know what’s more humiliating, Amelia, the fact that under your leadership, the company has reached the point where Jeon-fucking father can buy us out, or the fact that our confidential financial data was leaked because you were too goddamn distracted playing around with his son instead of keeping your employees in check!”

His words hit like a sledgehammer, knocking the air right out of my lungs.

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Right. Because this is all my fault, isn’t it?” I spit, my vision blurring. “Let’s just ignore the fact that Jungkook and his people set me up, that this entire situation was orchestrated to make me fail. But no, instead of seeing the real enemy, you’d rather blame me for your company falling apart.”

He slams his hand on the counter, making the contract jump. “Our company, Amelia! Our legacy! And you let it slip through your fingers like it was nothing!”

I let out a shaky breath, my heart pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. “So what now? You demote me, make me sign this joke of a contract, and then what? Sit back and watch as Jungkook and his dad takes the rest?”

His silence speaks louder than any words ever could.

I scoff, pushing back my chair with so much force that it screeches against the floor. “Unbelievable.”

I swipe at my tear-streaked face and snatch the contract off the counter, my hands trembling with fury. “You know what? Fine. You want me to take the fall for this? I will. But don’t come running to me when Jeon swallows this company whole, because when that happens, you’ll finally see that I was never the real problem.”

I don’t hesitate. I grab the pen with shaking fingers, pressing it so hard against the paper that the ink bleeds through. My signature is bold, final—a death sentence to the career I’ve spent years building. The weight of it presses down on me like a crushing avalanche, but I refuse to let it show.

With a sharp exhale, I shove the papers back across the counter. The sound of them slapping against the cold marble echoes through the suffocating silence.

“Have a great day, Dad,” I say flatly, my voice void of any real emotion.

I push away from the counter, turning my back on him as if the act alone could erase everything that just happened.

"Amelia..." His voice is softer now, hesitant. Almost... regretful. But it does nothing for me. Not anymore.

I hear the scrape of his chair as he stands. A moment later, I feel him move closer, the warmth of his presence suffocating. When he reaches out, probably for a hug, some weak attempt at comfort, I step back so fast it’s almost instinctual.

His arms fall back to his sides, defeated. He sighs heavily, a sound that once would’ve made me feel guilty. But today? It only fuels the fire burning inside me.

He doesn’t say another word. Just picks up the signed contract, grabs his jacket, and heads toward the front door.

And then, with a soft click, he’s gone.

Gone.

Just like that.

My whole career, my years of effort, the blood, sweat, and tears I poured into this company—all of it vanished with the closing of that damn door.

The realization slams into me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs. My hands grip the edges of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping me upright. My chest tightens, and a sharp, suffocating panic rises in my throat.

I just signed away everything.

Everything I fought for. Everything I sacrificed for.

It’s gone.

A choked, bitter laugh bubbles out of me. Unemployment. Unfuckingbelievable.

I spent years clawing my way up in this company, fighting tooth and nail to prove myself, to prove that I was more than just my father’s daughter, more than just a placeholder. And now? I have nothing.

I swipe my arm across the counter, knocking over a glass of water. It shatters against the floor, the sound sharp and violent. But even that isn’t enough to drown out the screaming in my head.

I press my palms against my face, trying to ground myself, but it’s useless. The walls are closing in, the weight of my failure pressing down on me like a vice.

And worst of all?

Jungkook won.

The thought alone makes my stomach churn with rage. He played me, manipulated me, and now he’s probably sitting in his sleek, overpriced office celebrating the fact that he just wiped me off the corporate map.

He took everything from me.

My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms so hard it almost draws blood. I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve been smarter, stronger.

But it’s too late now.

Because I just signed my own damn downfall. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jungkook's POV: “How is she?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of my office like a blade.

Namjoon barely spares me a glance from where he’s slouched in the chair across from me, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He looks exhausted, disheveled, like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Is that why I’m here?” His voice is cold, laced with venom. “You drag me into your office just to ask about her? That's a bit obsessive, Jungkook. ”

I exhale harshly, fingers curling into fists on top of my desk. “Answer the goddamn question.”

Namjoon lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I don’t know, Jungkook. Maybe you should get off your fucking throne and go find out yourself.” He leans forward, eyes dark with something close to disgust. “Oh, wait, you can’t, can you? Because you made damn sure to fuck up every last crumble of connection you had with her.”

His words land like a punch to the gut. My jaw tightens, and for a second, I swear I see red.

Amelia has vanished. She’s been gone since the weekend, completely erasing herself from existence. I tried going to her office every day this week, but her desk was empty, cleared out like she was never there to begin with. I thought about going to her apartment, standing in front of her door, forcing her to talk to me.

But I couldn’t.

Because how do you face someone after ripping apart everything they worked for?

This morning, as I made my way to my office, my inbox lit up with an email that made my stomach drop.

Board Announcement: Immediate Termination of Amelia Richardson from Wonder Technologies.

I knew what this meant. It wasn’t just a resignation; this was a final goodbye. She didn’t even fight. She walked away without so much as a second glance.

And even though I knew my father was about to praise me, celebrate this as a fucking victory, I couldn’t shake the sick feeling in my chest.

Because somewhere in her apartment, Amelia was probably breaking apart. Alone.

And it was my fault.

“You flinch every time I mention her name.” Namjoon scoffs, shaking his head. “What? Feeling guilty, Mr. CEO?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” My voice comes out low, dangerous.

“No,” he spits, standing up so fast the chair screeches against the floor. “You watch yours.”

For the first time in years, Namjoon looks at me like he hates me.

And maybe he should.

“She gave everything to that company,” he growls. “She fought with everything to please her father. For us. And you? You stood there and watched her burn. You let them tear her apart.”

“I had no choice.” I push back from my desk, rising to my feet.

Namjoon laughs bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief. “No choice? That’s rich coming from the guy who orchestrated this whole damn thing.” His eyes flicker with disgust. “And for what? Daddy’s approval? A fucking pat on the back?”

I slam my fists against the desk. “You think I wanted this?”

“You let it happen.” He doesn’t even flinch. “You let your father destroy her. And now? She’s gone. And you’re standing here, acting like you give a shit—”

“I do give a shit.” My voice cracks, raw and unfiltered.

Namjoon freezes.

For a second, neither of us move.

And then—

“Too fucking late.” He shakes his head, stepping back. His voice is quieter now, but it hits just the same. “You had every chance to stop this. And you didn’t.”

Silence.

I don’t stop him when he walks out. I don’t try to argue, because I can’t.

Because he’s right.

Amelia is gone. And I might never get her back.

And worse?

I don’t deserve to. I slump back into my chair, closing my eyes and taking in the second of silence before I hear the door open again. Jimin and Yoongi step into my office, shutting the glass door behind them with a slow, deliberate movement that sets my nerves on edge. Something’s off.

My eyes flick up from the documents spread across my desk, and immediately, my brows furrow. Seeing both of them in casual jeans and plain t-shirts on a Friday afternoon isn’t just unusual—it’s wrong.

I lean back in my chair, arms crossing over my chest. “What the hell are you two wearing?” My voice is sharper than I intend, but the sight of them looking like they just got out of bed doesn’t sit right with me.

Yoongi kicks at the carpet with the toe of his shoe, the corner of his mouth curling into something that’s supposed to be a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised, man.”

“This,” Jimin gestures at their outfits before collapsing onto the leather couch in the corner, his movements sluggish, drained, “is a look we like to call unemployment.”

The word slams into me like a freight train.

I sit up straighter. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Yoongi tilts his head at me, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, you didn’t know?” His tone is mocking, but underneath it, I can hear the exhaustion. “We’ve been fired.”

Jimin lets out a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand down his face. “Correction—fired and put under review for ‘allegedly leaking private company data.’” He makes air quotes with his fingers, then lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes lift to mine, and for the first time, I see something I rarely ever see in him.

Defeat.

It pisses me off.

My jaw clenches, anger flaring in my chest like gasoline to an open flame. “Who the fuck did this?”

Yoongi scoffs, shaking his head. “Come on, Jungkook. Take a wild guess.”

I already know the answer before they say it.

“Jeon Senior,” Jimin mutters, watching me carefully. “Your father.”

I let out a slow, measured breath, my fingers curling into fists. Of course it was him.

Yoongi exhales sharply. “He’s doing damage control, and we were the easiest fucking sacrifice.” His voice is laced with bitterness, but there’s no heat behind it. Just cold, brutal facts.

I stand up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. “This is bullshit.” My voice is like a growl, low and sharp. “You didn’t do anything. Hell, if anything, you were the ones keeping Amelia in check before everything went to shit.”

Jimin scoffs, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter, does it? This was never about us actually doing anything. They needed to cut people out, show the board they were taking action.” His jaw tightens. “We were just convenient.”

Yoongi leans against the desk, arms crossed. “And don’t get it twisted, Jungkook. This isn’t just about us.” His eyes darken. “This is about Amelia. He’s isolating her. Making sure she has no one left in that company who actually gives a shit about her.”

My blood runs cold.

I already knew my father was a ruthless businessman, but this? This is calculated, methodical. This is him setting the board against her, making her as vulnerable as possible before going for the kill.

I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white. “I won’t let this happen.”

Yoongi lets out a humorless chuckle. “You’re not exactly in the best position to stop it, CEO or not.”

Jimin shakes his head. “You’re already walking a fine line, Jungkook. You step in now, you know exactly what happens next.” His eyes meet mine, serious and unwavering. “He’ll cut you out too.”

I already know that. I know exactly how my father works. But that doesn’t mean I can sit back and watch this happen.

I grab my phone, dialing before I can second-guess myself.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then—

“Jungkook.” My father’s voice is calm. Collected. Predictable.

I grit my teeth. “You fired them?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

Just like that. No hesitation. No explanation. Just cold, calculated confirmation.

My grip on the phone tightens. “Why?”

Another pause. Then, with chilling indifference—

“Because I needed to remind you where your loyalties should lie.”

The line goes dead.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

I don’t think I can hold myself back anymore.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I have been stirring my tea for the past twenty minutes, watching the liquid swirl like it holds the answers to my problems. The spoon clinks against the ceramic, an empty, repetitive sound that matches the hollow feeling in my chest. My grip tightens around the handle, my thoughts racing in endless circles. The company is slipping through my fingers, my father sees me as nothing but a failure, and the name Jeon lingers in my mind like a curse.

Just as I finally attempt to take a sip, a thunderous BANG rattles my front door.

The sudden noise shocks me so violently that I jerk my hand, sending the scalding tea cascading over my leg. A sharp scream rips from my throat as the boiling liquid burns my skin, pain shooting through me like an electric shock.

“Fuck!” I gasp, jumping up from my chair, frantically grabbing a handful of tissues to dab at the mess. My hands tremble as I try to pat my leg dry, my movements frantic and clumsy.

Another loud BANG.

“Jesus Christ!” I snap, still hissing in pain as I stumble toward the door. My patience is already nonexistent, my mood a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Without even bothering to check the peephole, I rip the door open, ready to obliterate whoever is responsible for my ruined morning.

And then I freeze.

Jungkook stands there, dark eyes locked onto mine like he’s seen a ghost. He looks exhausted—his sharp suit slightly wrinkled, his jaw tight, tension radiating off him in waves.

My blood turns to ice before it starts boiling all over again.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” The words fly out before I can stop them, venom dripping from every syllable. My fingers tighten around the edge of the door. Not now. Not him.

Without hesitation, I slam the door with all the force I can muster.

Or at least, I try to.

At the last second, he shoves his foot between the door and the frame, halting it with a heavy thud. I push harder, my frustration bubbling over, but he doesn’t budge.

“Move, Jeon!” I hiss, pressing my entire weight against the door, but it’s pointless. He’s stronger.

Instead of listening, he shoves it open and steps inside like he owns the damn place. My breath catches as he reaches behind him and locks the door with a quiet click.

A fresh wave of anxiety coils in my stomach. “Jungkook, what the fuck are you doing?” My voice is sharper now, edged with something dangerously close to fear.

He exhales slowly, his eyes scanning my face like he’s searching for something—an answer, a reaction, anything. “I needed to talk to you.” His voice is lower than usual, rough, like he hasn’t slept in days.

I let out a sharp laugh, bitter and humorless. “Oh, you needed to talk to me?” I step back, arms crossing over my chest. “You sure as hell didn’t seem interested in talking when you were watching my company burn to the fucking ground.”

His jaw tightens. “Amelia, it’s not—”

“Don’t.” I cut him off, my nails digging into my arms. “Don’t stand in my apartment like you’re the victim here. You did this. You and your perfectly calculated schemes.” My voice shakes, anger and betrayal weaving through every word.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking—fuck, looking stressed, like he actually has the audacity to be struggling right now.

“Do you really think I wanted this to happen?” he snaps suddenly, stepping closer. His voice is sharp, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something desperate.

I scoff. “Oh, so what? You accidentally destroyed my career? You accidentally leaked confidential company data? You accidentally made sure I lost everything I worked for?” My voice rises with each accusation, my body vibrating with rage.

His eyes darken. “That wasn’t me.”

“Oh, bullshit,” I spit, stepping forward until I’m inches from him, so close I can see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Then who was it, Jungkook? Because I sure as hell didn’t leak that data, and it sure as hell wasn’t a coincidence that you’re now in the perfect position to buy us out.”

Silence.

The worst kind.

The kind that confirms everything.

My chest heaves, the betrayal sinking deeper, burrowing into my bones. “That’s what I thought,” I whisper, my voice thick with something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Jungkook exhales sharply and looks away for a moment, running his hand down his face. Then, suddenly, his gaze snaps back to mine, burning with something fierce.

“You don’t know everything,” he says, voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s holding something back. “You think this is just about money? About power?”

I scoff, but before I can throw another insult at him, he takes another step forward, closing the distance between us.

“It’s not,” he says, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. “And if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn, maybe you’d see that.”

I swallow hard, my body tensed like a wire ready to snap. “Get out,” I whisper, but it doesn’t carry the strength I want it to.

His eyes flicker over my face, searching. “Not until you listen.”

My hands ball into fists. “I don’t want to listen to you.”

“I don’t care,” he bites back, his voice like steel. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating. Jungkook stood there, his eyes burning with frustration, his jaw clenched. Every fiber of his being was screaming at me to engage, to fight back, but I was so tired. So tired of it all.

“Jungkook, I had a long day, and as you’ve probably seen already, I’m not in the best headspace right now," I said, my voice flat, the words coming out like they were forced from me. I could feel the weight of every word. "I’m going to take a shower, and by the time I get out of that bathroom, you and your stupid excuses will be gone from here. Okay?”

I turned, each step heavy, dragging me away from the confrontation that I so desperately didn’t want. My mind raced with everything that had happened, with everything that he had done. But I couldn’t deal with him now. I just couldn’t.

Before I could even reach the bathroom, I heard his voice, low but filled with a dangerous calm.

“Amelia, if you get into that shower, best believe I’m getting into it too. So unless you want to have this conversation in a skin to skin manner, I would not do that.”

His words hit me like a slap, the venom in his tone unmistakable. I froze in my tracks, the air between us growing thick with the weight of his challenge. His presence pressed against me, suffocating, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body even from a distance. The nerve of him. The audacity.

I didn’t even turn around, my back still facing him as I muttered through gritted teeth, “You think I care about your threats right now?”

I took another step toward the bathroom, but his next words stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Don’t think you can just walk away from this, Amelia. You can’t avoid me forever, not like this. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice was firm, controlled, but underneath, there was something darker, something raw.

I turned on my heel, my temper flaring, but before I could speak, he was closer. Too close.

“I said, don’t walk away from me. Don’t you dare lock that door, or I swear I’ll break it down myself.” He stepped forward, his body radiating fury. The challenge in his eyes made my stomach twist with anxiety and anger.

But I was done. I was so done.

I moved faster now, the cold hardness of the bathroom door under my hand as I locked it with a sharp click, hoping that the barrier would somehow shield me from the storm behind me.

But of course, it didn’t.

“Amelia…”

His voice was barely a whisper now, softer than I’d ever heard it, and it made me freeze. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was like a plea. A ghost of the man I had once known. I stood still, the only sound in the room the frantic beating of my heart. I didn't want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear him.

“Please… open the door.”

The desperation in his voice, that quiet, broken tone, should’ve been enough to make me collapse. But no, it was like a knife twisting deeper into my chest, each word cutting through me. I couldn’t let him in. I couldn’t let him close. Not after everything he had done.

I stood there, my back pressed against the bathroom door, my hands gripping the sink as I tried to steady my breath. He wasn’t even yelling anymore. His voice was so low, so soft, like he was already defeated. But I couldn’t let that fool me.

I held my breath. I didn’t dare make a sound. If I just stayed silent, if I didn’t respond, maybe he would leave. Maybe the him who was standing out there now—this broken, desperate man—would disappear and the him who had been cold, controlling, and hurtful would vanish with him. Maybe he would leave, and everything would just go away.

But he didn’t leave. He wasn’t going anywhere.

I heard him again, his voice more fragile than I’d ever heard it, the urgency in it gone, replaced with something else—something I couldn’t place, something that gnawed at my insides. “Please, Amelia… don’t shut me out. Don’t do this to us.”

The last words hit me like a punch to the gut. Don’t do this to us. How dare he? How dare he act like there was even an us left?

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. My whole body was shaking with anger and frustration. But I still didn’t respond. I wouldn’t. Not like this.

The seconds stretched on forever. Jungkook’s footsteps moved away from the door, and for a brief moment, I thought he might actually leave. But then—nothing. No sound, no movement. Just the thick, suffocating silence hanging in the air. And then, I heard him again. A whisper that broke through the stillness.

“I don’t know how to fix this, Amelia… but I’ll do whatever it takes. Just... don’t shut me out.”

I felt a sob building in my chest, my throat tightening with the need to scream, to shout, to let it all out. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until I was sure I was ready to face him.

But deep down, I knew it was too late. He was already inside my heart, no matter how much I tried to push him out. And I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on before everything I was desperately trying to keep together would fall apart. The silence in the bathroom hung thick and heavy, like a storm waiting to break. I stood there for what felt like forever, my fingers trembling as I unlocked the door. I didn’t open it. I left it to him, whether he wanted to come in or not. I couldn’t make that choice for him, not when I didn’t even know what I wanted myself.

I turned away from the door, my movements mechanical as I made my way to the shower. The familiar sound of the water falling from the rain shower head seemed like a distant echo in my mind, a hollow comfort. The steam began to fill the air, but the weight of everything between us still pressed down on my chest, suffocating me. I slowly stripped off my clothes, each layer falling to the floor like a symbol of all the things I couldn’t face right now.

I stepped into the shower, the heat immediately rushing over my skin, but even the warmth couldn’t shake the cold emptiness inside me. The silence was deafening. It wasn’t the peaceful kind, it was the kind that made you feel like you had to look over your shoulder every few seconds, like there was something lurking just beyond your reach. I was waiting for something. For him to leave. For him to do something. Anything.

But then I felt it.

The bathroom door opened with a soft creak, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The air shifted, colder now as it mingled with the steam.

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him.

Jungkook.

He didn’t say a word. I didn’t turn to face him, my back still to him as I let the water pour down over me. But I could feel his presence—the way it stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating. My chest tightened. I knew what was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for it.

I took a shallow breath, trying to steady myself. But it was impossible. The moment the shower door slid open, the cold air hit my bare back and my breath got caught in my throat.

And then I saw him.

Jungkook stood in the doorway, his chest bare, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense with something I couldn’t quite place. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, desperate, as though he was trying to read me in the foggy steam. The tension between us could’ve shattered the bathroom’s glass and marble. It felt like everything was about to break.

For a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. No words. Just the sound of the water falling, a steady beat in the silence. It felt like time was stretching out, pulling us into this space where we were trapped together, stuck in this limbo of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

We both knew it. Once this water ran out, once the heat faded, everything would change. We would step out into the cold world, and it would be different. We wouldn’t be in each other’s universe anymore.

I could see it in his eyes—the same thing that was clawing at my insides. The regret, the pain, the uncertainty. It was there, buried deep beneath the surface.

Then, without any warning, Jungkook moved.

His body collided with mine, his lips crashing into mine with an urgency that left me breathless. I barely had time to process it before I was pulled into him, the weight of his chest pressing against mine, the heat of the water mixing with the fire between us. His hands gripped me like a lifeline, pulling me closer as though he was afraid I’d slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

I tried to push him away, but it was useless. His kiss was fierce, demanding, as though he was trying to make up for everything that had been left unsaid. His lips moved against mine with a desperation that I could feel in every inch of my skin, every nerve on fire.

“Amelia,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with need. “I can’t do this without you. Please, don’t shut me out.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. His hands slid down my back, pulling me in closer as if he was trying to fuse our bodies together. I could feel the heat of him, the way he was trembling, like he couldn’t control the storm inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my skin, just a breath away from my ear. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to… I never wanted us to be like this.”

I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t say anything. Not with his lips still on mine, not with his hands still holding me like I was the only thing that mattered.

But I didn’t pull away either.

For a moment, everything else faded away—the anger, the hurt, the frustration. It was just him. Just the two of us, drowning in this wave of need and confusion.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did I. The space between us was filled with everything we hadn’t said, everything we had buried beneath layers of frustration and regret.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I’ll do whatever it takes, Amelia. I can’t lose you.”

I closed my eyes, the weight of his words settling over me like a blanket, suffocating and comforting all at once. I wanted to say something. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt me, how everything between us felt broken, irreparable. But instead, I just stood there, my body trembling in his arms, lost in the storm that raged inside both of us.

Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. But the tension between us was so thick, so palpable, that it felt like it could shatter everything in its path. The steam from the shower hung in the air, clinging to my skin as the silence between us grew heavier. Jungkook’s presence was suffocating, and I couldn’t breathe, not with him standing there, looking at me with that same intensity that had once made me feel alive, but now only made me feel trapped.

“We need to get out,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. It felt like a declaration, even if it didn’t come out as strong as I wanted it to.

“What?” Jungkook’s voice cracked through the heavy air, confusion lacing his words. He didn’t understand. He never did. Not anymore.

“We need to get out of the shower. I have somewhere to be in the next hour,” I said, my tone cold, detached. My hands were shaking as I reached for the water knob, turning it off. The sound of the rushing water stopping felt like the end of something, something I couldn’t undo.

Jungkook blinked, his brows furrowed as he watched me slip out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels from the rack. “What? Where are you going?”

I didn’t look at him as I dried myself off, not because I didn’t want him to see the tears that threatened to spill, but because I knew if I looked into his eyes, I would crumble. “You don’t want to know,” I said, my voice hard and final, but even I could hear the tremble in it.

He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, and then the tension snapped, like a rope pulled too tight. “You have to be shitting me,” Jungkook exhaled, his voice full of disbelief, his body tensing as if ready to explode. “Are you really still seeing that dumbass of Namjoon?”

The words hit me like a slap to the face, but I didn’t let myself flinch. I wouldn’t. Not this time. I didn’t respond, though. Instead, I grabbed his boxers off the floor and threw them at his face, not caring about the way they hit him. I had no time for this.

Jungkook’s voice rose in frustration. “Amelia, talk to me.”

He was too close, too angry, too fucking determined. He caught up with me quickly, his tall frame blocking my path as he pressed me against the wall. I could feel the heat from his body, the tension radiating off him, and it made my heart race, not out of desire, but out of pure frustration.

“Jungkook, we are not doing this again,” I hissed, my voice strained, shaking with the force of my words. “I have almost as much dignity and compassion left in me as I have career wise.” I spat, my words sharp, venomous. I felt the heat of my anger rising, the walls of my control breaking down with each second. “And I do not want to stay here and argue with you anymore.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t give him the chance. “And yes, I am seeing Namjoon. Because out of all the people in my life, out of everyone I’ve spent years with and gone to the ends of the earth for, that ‘dumbass of a man’”—I said the words with as much venom as I could muster—“is the only one who’s been checking in on me for the past week. He’s the one who made sure I ate by sending me food, he came to talk to me even when I wouldn’t let him through the front door. So excuse me if for once I’m choosing someone who chose me first.”

I couldn’t stop myself. The words came pouring out, raw and unfiltered, each one a jagged shard of my pain, my betrayal, everything I’d kept buried deep down for so long. The anger was so hot in my chest, but underneath it was something even worse—a crushing emptiness, a feeling like I was drowning. I broke down right there, tears spilling down my face, my body trembling as the floodgates opened. I didn’t even try to stop them. I couldn’t.

“You think I don’t care about you?” Jungkook’s voice was low now, almost desperate, as if he had finally realized the gravity of what I was saying. But there was a sharpness to his words, an edge that made me shiver. “Amelia, I can't fucking breath when you are not around.”

“Then why the hell did you treat me like I didn’t matter?” I shot back, my voice shaking with rage and heartbreak. “You were always too busy for me, always too wrapped up in your own shit, and when I needed you the most, you were nowhere to be found. And now you want to come back into my life like you’re the fucking hero? Like I’m just going to forgive you? No, Jungkook. No. I’m done.”

The silence between us was suffocating, and the weight of his gaze made me feel exposed, vulnerable, like he could see every part of me, every crack, every fracture I’d been hiding. I hated that he could still do that to me, even now. But I wouldn’t let him see how badly he had broken me.

“Amelia, I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispered, his voice cracking, but there was something else behind it, something more than just guilt—something I couldn’t place. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the pain was too much. “Then you should’ve fucking tried harder,” I said, my words barely a whisper, filled with the weight of everything I had carried alone. “You should’ve been here. But you weren’t. And now it’s too late.”

The tears came harder now, the dam breaking completely as I collapsed against the wall, unable to hold myself up any longer. Jungkook reached for me, his hands trembling as he cupped my face, but I pulled away before he could touch me.

“I don’t need your pity, Jungkook. I don’t need your apologies. I need you to leave.” My voice was barely audible now, but the finality in it hung in the air like a death sentence.

Jungkook stood there, frozen, his hands hanging limply at his sides. I could see the conflict, the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

And as I walked past him, out of the shower, out of the room, I didn’t look back. Because if I did, I knew I’d never be able to leave him behind. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jimin's POV: The dimly lit bar hums with low chatter, but our table carries a different energy—one heavy with resentment, uncertainty, and just a hint of reckless amusement. The ice in Yoongi’s whiskey clinks against the glass as he swirls it lazily, eyes scanning our faces.

“How do you think things are going between those two?” he finally asks, voice flat, but I can hear the underlying tension.

Taehyung snorts, stretching out his legs as he nurses his drink. “The neighbors are probably filing noise complaints with how much screaming is happening.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin chimes in without missing a beat, smirking. “Jungkook’s screaming.”

I slam my glass down, harder than necessary. “You guys are really some pieces of shit, you know that?” My glare sweeps over them, settling on Hoseok, Taehyung, and Seokjin. “The least you could’ve done was give us a damn warning about the presentation.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but I don’t care. My blood still boils thinking about that night.

Hoseok exhales, running a hand through his hair. “We didn’t even know until three days before the party. Hell, not even Jungkook knew it would actually happen.” His hand finds my back in an attempt to pacify me, but I shrug it off. It doesn’t change anything.

“Right. So what happens now?” Taehyung asks, his voice softer than before. He meets my gaze with something close to pity. “You and Yoongi are out of Wonder Technologies, Amelia’s been demoted from CFO, and what about Yuna and Aurora?”

Yoongi sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey before answering. “Yuna’s still there, but Aurora… she’s under revision. They’ll probably keep her. It’s too much of a hassle to find an HR person who knows as much as she does.”

“And us?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Yoongi and I are still very much unemployed. Meanwhile, Mr. Jeon is looking to buy up every available share of Wonder Technologies just so he can back Amelia’s father into a corner and force him to sell.”

Silence falls over us for a moment. The weight of it presses down on my chest.

Seokjin whistles low, shaking his head. “That’s fucking insane.”

“No, what’s insane is how easily we all got played,” I snap, my frustration spilling over. “And what’s even more insane is how Amelia is still trying to fight back while being completely alone in that damn company.”

Yoongi, who’s been quiet for most of the conversation, suddenly slams his empty glass onto the table. “Then we don’t let her be alone.”

His voice is steady, but his hands are clenched into fists. I know he’s just as angry as I am, if not more.

Hoseok leans forward, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Yoongi—”

“No,” Yoongi interrupts, jaw tightening. “I don’t give a shit what happens next. I don’t care if I’m unemployed, if Jungkook wins, if the whole damn company burns down. I refuse to sit here and watch Amelia go through this alone. We need to do something.”

A beat of silence, then Taehyung speaks up, his usual playful tone replaced with something cold and sharp. “You do realize if we interfere, Jungkook won’t hold back, right?”

I chuckle darkly. “Since when has he ever held back?”

Yoongi and I exchange glances, and in that moment, an unspoken agreement passes between us.

It’s not over.

Not even close. “Hey, what about Namjoon? I hear he’s been making a lot of trips to Amelia’s place this week,” I ask, leaning forward slightly, my tone casual but my intent anything but. A little gossip never hurt anyone, and honestly, I could use the distraction.

Seokjin chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his beer. “Visiting is putting it lightly. He’s practically been glued to her side, trying to talk her out of whatever bad mood she’s stuck in.” He shares a knowing glance with Yoongi, who only smirks but doesn’t add anything.

My lips part, ready to throw in a sarcastic remark about this new little ‘situationship’ forming, when the back door of the bar swings open. The dim glow from inside spills out for a moment, illuminating the figure stepping into the night. My eyes narrow.

Jungkook.

His suit is wrinkled—way too wrinkled for someone who just left a friendly conversation, and his damp, messy hair suggests he’s been… somewhere he probably shouldn’t have been. The moment he reaches us, he drops into the seat in front of me with a loud, tired thud.

“Hey, guys,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

Hoseok, ever the attentive one, slides a beer toward him. “Where the hell have you been?” His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp.

Jungkook doesn’t even hesitate. “Amelia’s.”

The words barely leave his lips before I answer at the same time, “Amelia’s.”

His head snaps toward me so fast I almost hear his neck crack. “How do you know?” His dark eyes drill into mine, sharp, analyzing.

I smirk, tilting my head. “We all knew you went there, but judging by how you look? It was clearly more than just a conversation.” I reach across the table, fingers ruffling his hair in mock amusement.

Jungkook immediately swats my hand away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but I have to. You look like shit, Jungkook. Messy suit, damp hair, the exhaustion practically radiating off you. Did Amelia finally throw a bottle at your head, or did she find a more creative way to get her point across?”

His glare sharpens. “I said, don’t start.” His voice is lower now, controlled, but I can hear the edge beneath it.

Seokjin, sensing the rising tension, leans in with a smirk. “So, are you gonna tell us what happened, or do we get to keep guessing?”

Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer before exhaling heavily. “She’s pissed. At everything. At me, at work, at herself. She doesn’t want to listen to anyone.”

Yoongi, who’s been silent this whole time, finally speaks up. “And yet, you still tried?” His tone is unreadable, but there’s something behind it, like he already knows how this went down.

Jungkook scoffs, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Tried? Yeah. Succeeded? Fuck no. She told me to leave. Twice.”

“And yet, here you are looking like you put up a fight to stay.” Hoseok raises an eyebrow, amused.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle. “I wasn’t going to leave her like that.”

I shake my head, leaning back. “You really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

His eyes snap to mine, dark, stormy. “Not when it comes to her.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, suffocating. No one speaks for a moment. It’s rare to see Jungkook like this, frustrated, drained, completely unguarded.

“So, what did she say?” Seokjin finally asks, breaking the silence.

Jungkook lets out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “She told me she didn’t need my help. That I was making things worse. That I should just focus on my own damn problems instead of trying to fix hers.” He exhales sharply. “Then she slammed the door in my face.”

Yoongi hums, unimpressed. “Sounds about right.” "I know I have no right to ask you guys for a favor," Jungkook starts, his voice rough, strained—like he���s been holding back too much for too long. "Not after I blindsided all of you…" His fingers clench against the table, knuckles turning white. He exhales shakily, forcing himself to look up at us. His gaze is desperate, wild with frustration. "But I really need your help, guys. I know that what happens between Wonder Technologies and KK Electronics is completely out of my hands. This is the big dogs’ playground, and I still have to fight my father just to get a damn seat at the table. But I can’t—" His voice falters, and I see it. The exact moment he begins to crumble. His jaw locks, his eyes glistening with something dangerously close to breaking. "I can’t lose her."

Silence. Thick, suffocating. No one moves. No one speaks. We just stare at the man who’s always been the strongest of us, the most composed, the one who carries every impossible weight on his shoulders. And now he looks like he’s one wrong breath away from shattering into a million pieces.

"I need to fix this shit with Amelia," he says, almost whispering now. He swallows hard, eyes darting between us like he’s bracing for rejection, for us to tell him he’s on his own. "I need to get out of this town for a few days. And I need Amelia to come with me. Because if I stay here, if I open one more email, if I take one more meeting, I swear to god, I—" He cuts himself off, slamming a fist against the table. The sound cracks through the air, sharp and violent, making even Seokjin flinch.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him this raw. This fucking desperate.

"You should’ve thought of that before you let everything spiral," Yoongi mutters, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But I know him. He’s pissed, sure, but under that, there’s something else. Concern.

Jungkook’s head snaps up, eyes burning. "You think I don’t know that?" His voice is sharp now, venomous. "You think I haven’t been replaying every fucking second in my head, trying to figure out where I lost control?" He shakes his head, laughing bitterly. "You think I don’t hate myself for every single moment I let Amelia believe she wasn’t my first fucking priority?"

Yoongi holds his gaze, but he doesn’t respond. Probably because there’s nothing to say. Jungkook is already ripping himself apart without anyone’s help.

Taehyung moves first, launching himself up from his seat. And before Jungkook can react, Taehyung pulls him into a hug—tight, unrelenting. Jungkook stiffens, his whole body rigid, like he’s about to push him away. But then, like something inside him finally snaps, he just, melts. His fingers dig into Taehyung’s back, shoulders shaking as he exhales a breath that sounds like it’s been lodged in his throat for weeks.

"I don’t know how to fix it," Jungkook admits, voice breaking. "I don’t even know if she’ll listen to me. But I need to try. And I can’t do it alone."

Hoseok, running a hand through his hair. "You’re an idiot, you know that?"

Jungkook lets out a broken laugh. "Tell me something I don’t know."

"We’ll help you," I say before anyone else can hesitate. Because at the end of the day, he’s not just our CEO. He’s our friend. The youngest of us. The one who has carried the heaviest burdens, even when he never should’ve had to.

Taehyung steps back, squeezing Jungkook’s shoulder before dropping back into his seat. "What’s the plan?"

Jungkook exhales, some of the tension in his shoulders finally easing. "First, I need to find a way to get Amelia to leave with me. And that…" He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "That’s where you guys come in."

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I feel so fucking pathetic right now.” My voice is sharp, barely controlled, teetering on the edge of a scream.

"Amelia, you literally are not," Aurora says, her voice frustratingly calm on the other end of the line. "It's just too much to process at once. It’s normal."

"Normal?" I scoff, rolling onto my side and gripping my phone tighter. "You think it's normal that I have zero goddamn control over my own emotions? That I let that arrogant, infuriating, insufferable man crawl under my skin every damn time?"

"Yah, girl," Aurora snaps, her voice suddenly sharper. "You need to give yourself a break. I'm actually surprised you haven't had a heart attack yet with the amount of stress you've been dealing with."

I grit my teeth, my jaw clenching so hard it aches. What pisses me off more? The fact that I rain-checked dinner with the only person who’s been making an effort to check on me this past week, or the fact that I canceled it because—once again—I couldn’t get Jungkook out of my head?

Pathetic. Absolutely fucking pathetic.

I collapse onto my bed, throwing my phone onto my chest, letting it rise and fall with my shallow, frustrated breaths.

A beat of silence. Then—

“That was a deep breath,” Aurora says knowingly. “You sure you don’t want me to come over?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.” A lie. An absolute lie. But I can’t handle the weight of my own thoughts, let alone hers.

Instead, I let the words spill out before I can stop them.

"I'm jobless," I start, my voice breaking with raw frustration. "Under legal fucking investigation. My own parents are livid with me—" My throat tightens, but I push through. "Livid, Aurora. Because, one, I acted like an idiot and fucked up big time, and two, I’m technically their ex-employee who just blew up their goddamn company’s reputation."

Silence.

Then, I let out a humorless laugh, bitter and exhausted. "I swear to God, I need to get laid just to blow off some fucking steam."

Aurora snorts. "And that is such a pity that Jungkook left."

I freeze.

My grip on my phone tightens. "Aurora." My voice drops, deadly.

"What?" she says, laughing now. "I'm just saying, you’ve been miserable all week, and when was the last time you looked at a man with even half the amount of pure sexual frustration you direct at Jungkook?"

I sit up so fast my head spins. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm just saying," she singsongs, completely unbothered.

"Aurora, I hate him," I growl. "I despise him. I—God, I would rather set myself on fire than be within ten feet of him again."

"Mhmm," she hums, unconvinced.

My nails dig into my palm. My blood is boiling, my heart racing, and I have no idea if it’s from pure rage or something much, much worse.

"Go to sleep, Amelia," Aurora finally says, her tone softer. "And stop lying to yourself."

The line clicks off before I can even snap back.

I throw my phone onto my pillow with a frustrated groan, burying my face in my hands.

God fucking damn it. I don’t know when or how I fell asleep, but when the sharp chime of my doorbell rips through the silence, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. My eyes fly open, my brain sluggishly registering the glowing red digits of my bedside clock. 01:34 AM.

What the hell?

Still half-asleep, I push myself up, groggy and disoriented. I’m still in my jeans and shirt, the fabric wrinkled and uncomfortable against my skin. Running a hand through my tangled hair, I stumble toward the door, blinking hard to clear my vision. A strange, tense energy lingers in the air like static before a storm.

I hesitate before peeking through the peephole.

Jimin, Yoongi, and Hoseok.

They’re standing in front of my door, their body language stiff, urgent. Yoongi’s jaw is tight, Hoseok keeps glancing over his shoulder, and Jimin… Jimin looks on edge, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

A cold unease spreads through my chest.

Slowly, I unlock the door and crack it open just enough to poke my head out.

“The hell are you guys doing here?” My voice comes out raspy, my annoyance thinly veiling the creeping anxiety beneath it.

Jimin swallows hard, eyes darting to the side. “Hey, Amelia.” His voice is unnervingly soft, almost cautious. “Can we talk?”

Talk? At this hour?

“Yeah, I guess—”

I don’t even finish before they push past me like a wave crashing through a broken dam. Jimin shoves the door wider, Yoongi slips in behind him, Hoseok right after. My heart slams against my ribs as I stumble backward. What the actual fuck?

And then it gets worse.

From the dimly lit hallway, more figures emerge.

Seokjin.

Taehyung.

Jungkook.

Namjoon.

They flood into my apartment, their expressions unreadable, but the weight in the air is suffocating. The door clicks shut behind them with a sharp finality, Namjoon turning the lock. Trapping me inside.

I take a step back. Then another. My back hits the armrest of my couch.

“What the fuck is happening here?” My voice rises, laced with a mixture of fear and fury.

No one answers.

Jimin moves first. Before I can react, his hands clamp down on my shoulders, firm, grounding. He pushes me down onto the couch, his grip unyielding but not painful. His eyes search mine, something unreadable swirling in them—something between desperation and guilt.

“Amelia, listen.” His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

I try to shake him off. “Let me go, Jimin—”

“Not until you hear us out.”

Yoongi exhales harshly, dragging a hand down his face. “This isn’t how we wanted to do this.” His tone is sharp, almost regretful, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s fighting against something.

“Then why the hell are you here?” My breath is shallow, my pulse erratic. “Why did you barge in like this?” I barely have time to process what’s happening before I’m surrounded. The living room feels suffocating, their presence pressing down on me like a weight I never asked to carry.

“We need to talk to you," Taehyung says, crouching in front of me, his dark eyes burning into mine. "And we knew you'd shut us out if we called, so we had no other choice.”

I glare at him, then sweep my gaze over the room. Jungkook, Hoseok, Seokjin—all of them standing there like they have any right to invade my space. My blood is boiling.

“Nah, nah, I don’t want to talk to you,” I say, pointing at them one by one. “You, you, you—oh, and especially you.” My finger lands on Jungkook, and his jaw clenches. “The rest, I like.”

“Wow. Low blow,” Seokjin mutters, crossing his arms.

“Kiss my ass while you’re at it,” I snap, flipping him off.

“Okay, listen, Miss Panties-Up-Your-Ass,” Hoseok cuts in, stepping forward like he's about to lecture me. “I know we have no right to be here—”

“That’s right,” I interrupt, arms crossed. “You don’t.”

“—but we need to do something.” He rolls his eyes, like I’m the one being unreasonable.

“Do something?” I scoff, anger bubbling in my chest. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Let’s go to Jeju.”

Jimin's voice is calm—too calm—but his words hit me like a slap. I whip my head toward him so fast I almost give myself whiplash.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” I nearly scream, standing up so abruptly that Jimin leans back slightly. “Do you guys realize what just happened to me?” My throat tightens, but I refuse to let them see me break.

“Amelia, just hear them out.”

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the tension, firm and measured, but it only fuels my rage. I turn on him like a storm.

“And what the fuck is wrong with you?” I spit, marching toward him, my finger stabbing the air between us. “Why are you siding with this bullshit?”

His expression hardens. “Because running away doesn’t fix anything.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“Amelia—”

“No. Don’t ‘Amelia’ me. You all barge in here like you have the right to an opinion on my life. News flash: you don’t. You think dragging me to Jeju is going to magically fix shit?” I look at Jimin, then at the rest of them. “What, you think a little trip is going to erase the fact that everything is falling apart?”

Jungkook, who’s been silent this whole time, finally speaks. “No one said it would erase anything.” His voice is low, edged with frustration. “But you shutting down and pretending you're fine isn't working either.”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s cute. You think you know what’s best for me now? You, of all people?”

His jaw flexes. “You’re not the only one dealing with shit, Amelia.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“What?” His tone darkens. “You think you’re the only one hurting? The only one struggling?”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I don’t need a fucking lecture from you, Jungkook.”

“No, you need to get your shit together.” His words land like a punch, and for a moment, the air is thick with unspoken history, with everything we’ve refused to address.

Silence. A charged, suffocating silence.

And then, Seokjin sighs dramatically. “Well, that was intense.”

“Shut the fuck up, Seokjin,” I snap.

“Look, no one is saying this fixes everything,” Taehyung cuts in, his voice softer now, but still firm. “But we can’t just sit here and let you self-destruct.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“Maybe not,” Hoseok says, “but we’re not leaving you alone either.”

My chest rises and falls heavily, my anger and exhaustion tangled into one unbearable knot.

I look around at them—the people I love, the people who drive me insane, the people I hate for being right.

And I hate that, despite everything, a small part of me wants to say yes.

But I’m not ready to forgive them yet.

[v-arbellanaris]

38 for Kal, Rowan and Han? :D

tysm for sending this in!!!!

38. Is there any decision that the Warden regrets? If so, which is it and why? How would they change it?

in kal's solo worldstate and in apotheosis, i think regret is definitely an interesting concept for her. in both, she pushes to preserve the anvil and side with branka, even though part of her is more than aware that bhelen will likely take advantage of the casteless living in dust town for it, because she thinks both orzammar and topside need golems. this in-game decision is also what primarily drives her to spare loghain later - in effect, she made the same choice, after all - and so, in a similar way, she regrets that her decision causes that harm, and she doesn't think it's a forgiveable decision either, but ultimately, she would not have done anything different.

38. How is Hawke's relationship with Gamlen after all these years?

rowan, being a diplomatic blue hawke, i think sympathises with gamlen quite a bit, even if he doesn't necessarily like gamlen. (he's similar to carver, in that way, of course.) they're both the left behind, less capable siblings; while their sisters rebel and have their big damn love stories and all of that and at the end of the day, they're both stuck with the real responsibilities, and cleaning up the mess their sisters have left behind. but i think the crucial difference is that leandra sees herself in miranda, which actually makes her more distant/harsher to miranda, compared to how their parents treated gamlen, with leandra being their forever princess, if that makes sense. so, i do think rowan goes to visit him often, checks in on him. sometimes secretly pays off a few of the more dangerous debts gamlen owes - never stupid enough to tell gamlen he did that, but you know. just quietly looking out for gamlen in a way that he wishes someone would do for him, i guess.

38. How does the Inquisitor feel about the Exalted Council?

oh han really does not care about like 80% of this, he fully agrees with ferelden and orlais and is more than ready to disband the inquisition and go HOME. i do think the dread wolf solas reveal is a bit like getting hit with a sledgehammer in terms of what that means for him, and for the rest of the dalish, which reinforces his ultimate goal of wanting to go back to the dalish to prepare them for fen'harel's return.

[all-risejd]

Chapter 20: Tilted Dimensions 2

Another crossover with After Shine

From the outside, Tilted Dimensions didn’t look that much different from the other buildings on its block back in Tampa, Florida. Seeing the weathered blue sign, with black lettering, white accents around the letters, in Cincinnati, Ohio, however made Danika pause. The building looks exactly the same, from the mismatched brick that sat over the painted blue sign, to the large windows that opened the front to sunlight, and the white metal chairs and tables out front. She pulls her phone out and quickly texts Finn to let him know she was now running late, and would be picking up donuts. Looking around the cold city that was threatening snow, she tucked her scarf a bit tighter and hurried across the street.

Tommy was behind the bar, his usual barista uniform on, with his tried and true black beanie on his head, and a crooked smile on his face, “Ms. Danika.” He grinned, “Good to see you, Ms. Nessa beat you here.” He pointed her toward a corner booth, where Nessa was in fact sitting. Danika looks at her watch, it's barely ten in the morning, she assumes it's going to be another hour visit, so she sets her watch to time them. Tommy calls after her, “I’ll bring you a drink, and some pastries.”

“Thanks, Tommy.” She mutters back, already sliding into the booth across from Nessa. Danika has gifts for the slightly older woman, having started carrying them around since the last time they saw one another. She slid her messenger bag into the booth against the wall and shot Nessa a big smile, “What the fuck happened to your hair? How have you been? Tell me the drama.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, her eyebrows dancing.

-/-

Nessa looks up from her hot chocolate when Danika slides into the seat across from her, asking a million questions. She sips her drink and wipes the whip cream off her lip before answering strategically, “I wanted to match the colors of the group, I was standing out too much. I have been adapting… They know who my ex is, we have talked and I told Angie and Aalyah and it went well. We are now all just getting harassed by them to have children…” Nessa’s leg bounces up and down rapidly and she begins to chew on her nails again.

“I’m fairly sure Rey is terrified at the concept of us adding children to the melting pot at this moment…” Danika exhales, as Tommy approaches with her White Chocolate Mocha and what looks like a pile of cookies. Nessa immediately grabs one, when Tommy is close enough, as Danika continues to talk, “So, the ex, he must be in the Industry if you're worried about it.” Danika doesn’t phrase it like a question, knowing the answer to a point, Tommy settles both down and heads away, Danika sips her drink, smiling at the warmth.

“I’m not so worried about that, I'm processing that trauma and am never alone when in an arena or event… Yes he is in the company, not just the industry. I know they would never let anything happen. Hunter……. Well I have issues with him but he at leasts is investigating the allegations from others especially since I have now told him but ….. I would love to hit him with his sledgehammer right now.”

“I know where that is in the vault, if you’d like directions.” Danika grins warmly, “Met Scrap Daddy yet?”

Nessa smirks, trying to hide it behind another drink of her hot chocolate. “The Scrappiest of Daddies. Yes and apparently I earned his respect when I said I’d go for his job when he implied I wasn’t a real wrestler. Oh yeah I’m training heavy on it right now. We have had some incidents because of Jefe. And with what I just found out… if it gets out… I’m screwed”

“Ohhh, earned it. I just demanded it.” Danika’s smile is one of mischief, “Although I’m pretty sure either of us could competently do Scrap’s job… no one is a real wrestler in the beginning, that’s why it’s called pro-wrestling, you have to become a professional, and to do that you have to be given a chance, did you hook up with those girls I told you about? And Jefe incidents for you are probably about as fun as Angie incidents for me, and whatever you just found out we can compare to Dominik got arrested at Christmas and spent many nights in jail.” Danika said it all in one go, then realized Nessa probably would prefer it if she didn’t drop bombs and rapidly talk.

“Uh well I demanded more training from Hunter who gave in too easily and now I know why. Asuka, Zelina and Indi are currently training me as well as our lovely partners. Like you, I now have many marks on my neck to keep covered. Courtesy of mainly Luis and Dems. Dom leaves his marks below the collar. After we returned from a week off to help Dems I was all… marked up and had it covered but people saw before it was covered and Jefe made Zelina go off script and hold me down wiping off the makeup… DOMINIK MISSED CHRISTMAS!... Yeah that beats my thing, we don't even need to bring it up. Are you ok! How are the kids?” Nessa rapidly asks when she processes the last thing Danika said.

“We are talking about your ex in the company and the thing you got blindsided by, we aren’t cruising by that. However, for now, I’ll explain.” Danika grabs a cookie and bites into it savagely, “Angie called the real police to a kayfabe story.” Danika pauses to grab another cookie to brutalize as Nessa whispers bitch. “The whole household was fucking messy. Like - it was Jace and Angel’s first Christmas with us, and Dom was so upset he missed it, and like he got hurt, not badly, but bad enough.” Danika pauses, thinking again, “Fergal was amazing through it all, and Luis came to the rescue, we borrowed The Bella's cabin in Canada, and AJ is no longer even remotely associated with us, he got injured, and is out. Uh, oh - oh - Rey and Dom made up after everything, and Rey is maybe flirting too close to the sun with Liv.” Danika’s on her fourth cookie.

Nessa munches on the cookies like she is eating popcorn watching a telenovela and nodding along proudly when she hears about AJ’s injury and non association but chokes on the cookie hearing about Jefe and Liv. Tom appears and sets down a glass of water in front of Nessa and pats her back before walking off again. Danika waits for her to recover, before adding the juicy bit of information, “He touched the butt on live TV, Nes, the butt.” Danika’s pitch is scandalized and a bit worried. Nessa begins to giggle uncontrollably once she stops choking.Sobering up Danika offers, “They are good together, like… I hate to say it but they really do seem to find comfort in each other, and if it makes Jefe happy, it makes us happy. Aalyah is a bit, uh, grossed out sometimes, Dom I think is proud that Jefe’s still got it.”

“As gross as that is, I get it. Angie and Jefe are arguing he wants to disown Dom until he comes back but she isn’t having it. She actually said that all of the Judgement Day are now her kids and any kid by any of them are her grandchildren. We can’t go a day without being harassed about grandchildren.” Nessa jokes and looks out the windows nervously before yawning. “Sorry it’s late here. We just finished Backlash and I’m in Puerto Rico so we got that out of the way early.” Nessa shrugs and eats another cookie.

“It’s early for me,” Danika admits, “It’s January sixteenth, Jefe has pretty much adopted Fergie, Luis, and Dems.” Danika admits, “Angie keeps tabs on us through Vickie, uh, Vickie Guerrero, I’m not sure how close your Dom is with Vic or the Guerrero girls, la familia.” For a moment Danika is silent then, “Did you get to meet Luis’ family? In Puerto Rico? He hasn’t let me meet his familia, I’m meeting Kevin Nash instead, he’s basically his wrestling daddy, other than Scott Hall, who I met as a teenager, but can’t meet again…” Nessa winces hearing his name and shoves a whole cookie in her mouth to buy some time. “Oh shit, please tell me Kevin Nash is not your psycho ex!” Danika almost lunges over the table to grab at Nessa’s hands in worry. Nessa rapidly shakes her head and continues chewing on the cookie, crumbs falling on the table, Nessa fighting back a gag while trying to swallow the cookie.

Danika visibly relaxes, then her brain catches up, “Wait a moment, what issue have you got with Nash, he’s pretty daddy as far as I know, like his old school gimmick was Big Daddy Diesel, and let me tell you, he’s big, he’s daddy energy, and he looks like he is super cuddly.” Danika ticks the things off like a research report.

Nessa gags, sticking her tongue out and dry heaves at the thoughts Danika is putting in her head. She collects herself long enough to take a sip of water and gasps a few more times to get her breathing right again. “No Luis did not want us to meet his family yet….” Nessa just ignores the Kevin sized elephant in the room.

Danika is a patient person, with those she loves, honestly, but, “What's the Kevin Issue, it’s that or the ex. We learned last time we don’t get to leave once the door shuts until we talk about everything. Not that I want to leave you but with the hour limit I’d like to get the icky stuff out of the way and then start the fun, like the gifts I brought you…” She pouts a little bit.

Nessa gasps and holds out her hands making a grabby motion and pouts wanting the gifts right away.

“Good girls get gifts, that’s what Luis taught me, you're not being very good now are you.” Danika counters.

“Hey no domming without informed consent you aren't my Dom so knock it off… Please,” Nessa pouts harder.

Danika rolls her eyes, her Dominik and this Nessa are cut from the same baby girl cloth, seriously. “Fine.” She says evenly, “You can have one gift for one question.” A smirk lights up her face, “Whatever your issue with Nash is, the sooner you tell me the sooner we can figure it out, and I’ll even let you choose which gift you unwrap first.” It’s a slight manipulation and tiny powerplay, but Danika’s worried about Nessa. “And you still haven’t told me about the hair, like did you just do it or did you get permission… asking for a friend. .”

“Danika, while I appreciate a good bribe, I don’t appreciate manipulations. I have dealt with that too much. That being said. I just did it. Remember I have control over my style…” Nessa holds out a hand expectantly for one of her gifts since she answered a question.

“Sorry, I guess I’m used to leveraging things to get what I want, growing up the not-daughter daughter of Rey Myesterio does that to a girl, but… good on you for defending yourself. I forgot how your contract is massively different from mine,” Danika pauses, thinking, “Would you like the Damo, Dominik, Rhea, or Finn gift, ooooor the one I brought just for you?”

“Dominik gift please…” Nessa bats her eyelashes, her hand still outstretched.

“I wish you were in my world, you're precious and I’d keep you.” Danika turns to dig through the bag, producing a simple blue and gold wrapped square, she hands it off with a smile, waiting for Nessa to tear it open so she can explain the gift. Nessa gently unwraps it like she is trying to save the wrapper, but really she is trying to annoy Danika who pushed her buttons. Danika has never met another person who takes care in unwrapping to Angie-Mysterio levels, but apparently Nessa does, as someone who has spent many Christmas’ waiting, she just sighs and sits back, watching.

Nessa sees that Danika is not reacting the way she expected so she just pouts and finishes unwrapping it seeing a picture of Eddie and Dominik. “That was taken a month before Eddie died, it’s the last time they spent any time together. It was a Guerrero party, not that that’s important, but there is only one other copy of it in my world, and I had to get Vickie to make copies. My Dom didn’t have it, and I’m pretty sure your Dom doesn’t, so, if you ever wanna make him cry big tears… now you can.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Well if I want to make him cry bitch baby tears I can just tell him I am pregnant.” Nessa gingerly runs her finger over the photograph and sets it down on the table with care, far away from any beverage or melted chocolate.

“Does Dom not want children, or would he be so happy he’d cry? I feel like there is a joke in there I’m missing, somewhere.” Danika hums, already looking for Tommy to bring her another drink.

“Yes, before he decided to be an imbecile and dump me, we were trying for a baby. When I realized he wasn’t coming back I got an IUD. Now we are back together and with the others and Ma just keeps hounding us about when we are going to try again. But I’m like we are still learning each other, it’s not the right time and she is all like ‘two of you are well past the age of when you should have had children so get started ’blah blah blah’.” Nessa bemoans, plopping back in the booth and crossing her arms.

Tommy comes back, placing a cup of tea in front of Nessa who looks up and thanks him and takes a sip, happy it is the perfect temperature. He also settles another White Chocolate Mocha in front of Danika who blows him a kiss in thanks before gazing at Nessa, “I, uh, I’m going off birth control, I haven’t really talked to the others about it, but it makes me icky.”

“I have an appointment next month to get mine out. It is causing me pain, like, constantly. Though I am all for starting a family, but idk how the others besides Damian feels and maybe Dom. It is something we all agreed has to be agreed by all because big decisions are a group decision and that is one of the biggest decisions. I talked to Luis about it and he has talked to the others but they haven’t talked to me and I am waiting on that. Though I should tell you what Luis said to Angie when she was harassing them over the phone,” Nessa smiles, thinking that Danika forgot about the other issue.

“You can tell me what Luis said, but I still wanna know what your issues with Daddy Kevin are and the ex. Then I can tell you more of my current problems.” Danika offers, sliding a blood red gift toward Nessa, this one is the one that Danika had wrapped while thinking of Rhea, and Nessa.

“You are the most infuriating woman…” Nessa complains then continues, “I am paraphrasing because he said it in Spanish and you know how the translations go, he started with I then changed to we…” Nessa blushes and watches for Danika’s reaction before continuing, Danika to her credit only hums, curious. “We would love to give you grandchildren, as many as possible and that she would make a perfect grandma… I almost went to the bathroom to rip out the IUD myself at that point.”

“You are not the first person to call me infuriating, at this point I just count it as flirting.” Danika settles back and thinks about what Nessa said, then, “Angie is a good Abuela.” She offers diplomatically. “Now, about that thing with Daddy Diesel.” At this point Danika is just teasing her, a smile pulling on her lips, “Are you going to open the box or not.” She hums, and pushes the red wrapped gift at her again.

Nessa’s eye twitches but she grabs the gift and unwraps it normally seeing a shirt with Rhea Ripley before she was Rhea Ripley. The image of the young girl is one hundred percent Demi Bennet, with long blonde hair, and an innocent smile, the girl there hadn’t been chewed up by WWE yet, hadn’t found herself, and her power. Instead the young blonde beaming up at her was pure joy. The shirt was cropped just below Rhea’s trunks, with BENNET across the back shoulders. “That was Rhea’s first Merchandise ever made, like for the Indie Circuit, she had others made that were more popular, but we have to share it, because as far as I know it’s the only one in existence.”

Nessa squeals and hugs the shirt to her chest. “Oh my god I love it. I would wear it on Raw if I could, but I am going to wear it next time we go on a date. Oh I can’t wait to see her face!” Nessa plans and taps her feet excitedly under the table. She continues hugging it to her chest and takes a deep breath. “Hunter gave me such a good contract because he knows my father,” Nessa admits and continues, “They are like best friends and I was kind of ambushed after the show. The others don’t know I just freaked out and texted them I was going on a walk and probably to a coffee shop since I knew I needed to vent and calm down I’d probably find this place here since it is like the TARDIS and going where I need it to go.”

“If Hunter is close with your dad that limits who your dad could be - uh XPac? Shawn? Road Dog? Billy Gun? Oh, wait, fuck, Nash is your father!” Danika looked at her with wide eyes, grabbing a cookie for herself, “Jesus, fuck, Dios, do you exist in my world?” She wonders aloud, head tilted back thinking hard.

“Yeahhhh… Come to find out my Dad, the one that was abusive growing up knew and that was why he did it. Though he wouldn’t grant the Get… the divorce, the Rabbi had to force it by convening a rabbinical court and issuing a decree because even getting shunned he wouldn’t give her the Get. Until someone beat some sense into him literally…” Nessa’s eyes widen a realization coming to her but she continues, “Nash paid for everything, even my nursing school. I am just blindsided by this and don’t know how to go forward or even tell the others…” Nessa sips her tea.

“Your step-dad sounds like a fucking asshole, good on the Rabbi who saw the need though. Kevin is about as subtle as a brick, so I’m going to guess he just dropped that shit on you, with no preface. If your Luis has a relationship with Nash, go through him, Nash and Hall, uh, Scott Hall, were big influences in Luis’ persona as a wrestler, and he loves them both very much. Knowing that Nash is your father he could help facilitate you two meeting in a favorable way, probably not at his house, his wife is grieving a son, still.” Danika leaned into the table a bit more subdued.

“I think that is part of the reason why he is reaching out now. One he has learned about my past, things Mom didn’t tell him and he was worried when he saw the marks. And two as a way to heal himself and earn forgiveness for the slight he views that he did against me. He doesn’t want to lose his last child I guess and I can’t hold that against him… But why now, why not before, or when I turned 18… or even after the divorce.” Nessa’s eyes fill with tears and she sniffles, using her sleeve to wipe her nose then eyes.

Danika slides out of her side of the booth, and carefully joins Nessa, to hug her and help her clean her face off, “Kevin has his demons, all wrestlers do from his generation, and hell, our generation. I have a feeling Kevin kept his distance to protect you. It’s not easy to be in a wrestling family, I’m not blood, but the adoption made me a Nepo baby. There is a lot of like… negativity that comes with being one of their children, everyone deals with it differently. I made my own brand, and… oh, shit you don’t know.” Danika looks at her carefully, “I worked with Impact, first, then AEW, I still have a ghost contract with them, and now I’m signed to WWE. I was never not going to be in the business, Kevin might have thought he was giving you an out…” She offered, sadly.

“That's what I am afraid of. Hunter didn’t know when I first applied which is why it got ignored. But when Rey came with the idea and pictures he knew and was on board. I am a Nepo baby, and when - not if - it gets out. I’m realistic, it will get out eventually and it is going to be so bad.” Nessa taps the table with her finger, other things still on her mind. “Other things are bugging you or you wouldn’t be here either. Let's take a break from me please.”

Danika hums, “Fair enough, uh, so… the biggest thing I’m dealing with is the fact that Shelton Benjamin is an absolute piece of shit and did this interview with Logan Paul, I think I mentioned he’s one of my best friends, either way he tried to like steer this whole narrative about how Demi and Luis are abusing us, and like…” She exhales sharply, Nessa grabs her hand to lend support, “So, the thing is, Fergie has barely accepted who we are to one another, let alone admit that he’s happy with us, and Vero, uh, Fergie’s soon to be ex-wife, has been on the warpath lately, so… both of them are pushing these shitty narratives about our dynamics, and I want to pitch this idea to Hunter and Scrap Daddy about me and Damo both being with Finn…”

“Well yes do it, I love that so much. OH yeah Scrap Daddy told me and Luis to be more affectionate on camera even though I just like started and we are barely just now dating but ok no problem. He held me and touched the butt on TV like your Jefe with Liv. And that is so gross about Shelton Benjamin, did the interview air? How are you going to deal with that?”

“So far Logan is holding the interview from airing, he wants us to talk about it and do an interview with him before it airs, if it ever airs, he might end up cutting snippets out of it, we aren’t sure. As far as dealing with it, next time I see that bastard I’m going to throw ring dust in his eyes.” She grinned violently, “The only other thing I’m panicking about is Buddy and Aalyah’s marriage, which I’m sure they will want me to plan.” She exhales bothered.

“Wedding planning is hard love, you do so much for everyone you need a break from what I hear from you.” Nessa nudges Danika’s side and sips her drink again.

“You know while I agree with you, I’m the only one of us with a formal manager, TJ Wilson - he’s married to Nattie, pretty sure in every single universe.” Danika grabs her own drink and sips it, “I have a vacation planned, I’m going to Dems in a couple weeks, then she’s going on to Australia with Jace and Lainey.” Danika offers. Then studying Nessa for a moment, she leaned over the paper to snag a black wrapped box, that was larger than the other two, and passed it to Nessa, “This is for Damo.” She grabs another cookie.

Nessa rips the paper off like a little kid and laughs seeing it is a replica of the 1960’s batmobile and that it is an RC car. “Oh he is going to love this. So, the plan is to go back with these gifts like I spent the time getting these ready for them because I can’t sneak all this back in the hotel room for a later date” Nessa halfway seriously asks, trying to control herself from opening the box and playing with the car. Their time is limited.

“I think we can probably play with the car a little bit, I’ve been dying to. I bought Luis one in my world, and it’s wrapped to give to him as a surprise. I mean, you can trade bags with me, I fit them all in my messenger bag?” Danika offers, unsure.

“I didn’t bring a bag, I literally ran out of the arena.” Nessa looks at her apologetically.

“Well shit.” Danika mutters, then looks toward the counter, “Maybe Tommy can help?” The man does not appear when summoned, “Maybe he’s like BeetleGuise and you have to say his name like three times? Chant it backwards, write it in blood, promise your first born-” Before she can get that out, he appears disgruntled, holding out a large brown paper bag with Tilted Dimensions across the front, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” She sasses as she grabs it.

“Thank you Theta,” Nessa smiles at him and throws her arms up in success when he shushes her. “Take me with youuuuuu.” She whines and lays her head on the table as he walks away.

Danika snorts, hard. “Now about that ex?” She prompts, “I still have two more things for you.”

“It’s JD McDonough, we, uh, were together for a few years when we met at a live show I went to on a whim. As always it started out great but quickly went bad very bad. My saving grace was when he got signed to NXT in 2017 I refused to move with him because I found out I was pregnant and wanted to stay near my mom and with my job that had good benefits. That went about as well as you expect.” Nessa stares ahead, getting trapped in the memory, her hand resting on her stomach.

“I take it, the baby didn’t make it.” Danika’s voice is soft, “I lost a baby between the twins and Angel.” She offers, seriously, “It takes forever to heal, emotionally.” She adds, reflective, “And he’s in NXT in my world, actually semi-friendly with Fergal.”

Nessa comes back to the present with a hm before processing what Danika said. “Yeah, about a month after. I told him we were over, never told him about the baby and the distance helped. Dom, Dom really helped me with that, and the hospital mandated therapy. Sometimes it is still so raw but, I was, I am ready for the next chapter and to try with them. Finn, he was the most vocal in his defense when another woman spoke up, but I know Dom would never willingly associate with someone who is ok with that type of person. Finn apologized to me a few days after he found out who. The problem is JD has since been drafted to Raw with the rest of us. Which is why I am never alone.”

Danika tosses an arm around Nessa, snuggling into her, as she pushes the last two gifts at her, one is wrapped in some sort of Irish themed paper the other in deep purple. “I’m glad you found Dom. I’m glad you found your way back to Dom.” She amends, then, “I’m glad you found them, your Judgment Day.” Danika considers what Nessa said about Finn, before adding, “Fergie has changed so much in his time with us, I’m fairly sure he can’t stand the thought of AJ or JD anymore, but we haven’t had the chance to interact with JD, yet. I’m sure it won’t go well, you should talk to Hunter about him, I know it’s scary, but Hunter is one of the biggest protectors of the women's locker room, a part of me thinks it because of how dirty he treated Chyna towards the end, but I have no concrete proof.”

“I… I’m not exactly happy with him, but I think he knows and has a plan up his sleeve. We were in his office after the Zelina/Jefe incident and Damo brought it up and I kinda froze. Hunter then started sending a barrage of texts, some I assume to Nash, the rest to others. Now that I think about it the Usos and Roman have been lurking a lot as well as Ava and others in the locker room…” Nessa realizes as she speaks, “Ohhh he is laying a trap”

“Hunter finds his hands tied by the board a lot more than I think he wants them to be, but he’s clever, sneaky to a point, if he’s got a plan, then you have nothing to worry about. I don’t say this about many men, but you can trust him, and if you get a chance to know TJ, you can trust him too. The Bloodline tends to help me keep up with my kids on the road, not going to lie, Tio Roman is a fan favorite with my kids.”

“Roman is a sweetheart, so afraid of his cancer coming back is always up my ass for a checkup. And …. Fuck he knows about Nash!. Am I the last person to know…!” Nessa realizes when thinking about their past interactions. “He always asked about my dad and how my childhood was, I thought he was just curious. Sneaky fucker.”

“Roman Reigns is never just curious.” Danika snickers, “It’s good he has you, Nes.” Danika offers, with a smile, “Someone who can tell him and he trusts to keep it under wraps. I help him plan shit, from time to time. We sort of are angling for a tentative truce with them, so that’ll be fun kayfabe wise. As far as you being the last to know about your dad, I doubt it. Nash traveled with Kishi, uh Rikishi, Roman’s uncle, I’d imagine the Attitude Boys and Divas know, but the youngbloods and new kids probably don’t.”

“Well that makes sense.” Nessa comments and eats another cookie.

“Hey, not to one hundred degree change the topics, but you gotta open these and next time if you are more comfortable with your training I can teach you my finisher.” Danika smiles almost evilly.

“Oh I would love that… Please. I learned Zelina’s DDT. I can’t do the Riptide even if I tried.” Nessa agrees and opens the present clearly meant for Finn, inside is a lego set that both girls know he’s been looking for (he’d started looking in late 2018 and had yet to track it down, it is something he bemoans from time to time). The Old Trafford, Manchester United Stadium lego set in pristine condition in Nessa’s hands had to cost Danika a fortune, and if she was giving Nessa one, that meant Danika had found two. Nessa sits there shocked and in awe. “You didn’t have to do that, this is too much… shit.” Nessa forces out, guilt setting in that she didn’t bring anything for Danika, she was too in her feelings.

“From personal experience the RipTide is a bitch to take.” Danika for a moment looked traumatized, “I’m going to assume by your face that your Finn has also been after this.” Danika taps the box. “Hey, he really wants it, trust me. And I’m not trying to be mean, but judging by our previous discussion on job history, and money, I sort of… assumed that we could agree money isn’t an issue for me, and although this set is rather expensive, Finn in every world deserves it.” The way Danika says Finn’s name is twisted with love and a bit of bitter pain.

“Ok spill what is wrong with your Finn?” Nessa asks, hearing the twinge in Danika’s voice.

“My Fergie keeps running away. Like, we all told him how we felt about him - and it’s all of us, like Dom suggested we just hold him down and kiss him, but consent is sexy ok, so that obviously didn’t happen.” Danika frowned, “Vero really fucked his head up.” She settled on, “Or maybe all his previous relationships did, I don’t know. What I do know is he seems to think he is unlovable and broken, and just… bleah.” She whined, “Jefe keeps handing him Twizzlers like that will just make it all better, Dom likes those more than anything, but Finn keeps giving them to Dom and Liv - because apparently Finn likes red vines, and Dios, that was word vomit, oops.” Danika giggled awkwardly.

“My Dom likes them too, honestly they are a part of foreplay through aftercare with him.” Nessa smirks, enjoying the payback from earlier as Danika wrenches loudly, obviously bothered.

“Please never tell me what the Twizzlers do.” Danika dropped her forehead onto the table letting out an exasperated noise, “Ewwww. I’m never going to eat another Twizzler offered to me from Liv’s bra again.”

“Ohhh Twizzlers in a bra I’mma start doing that and eating them while I valet the matches!” Nessa exclaims, excited by the idea.

“Well they are never cold.” Danika offered, unbothered, still face down. “And you never know when you need a snack.” She adds, almost giggling, before raising up to look at Nessa again, “Open that one, it’s yours.” Nessa rips it open, tossing the paper behind her and seeing a small brown leather journal, “It’s a recipe book, I put some of everyones favorites in, and then some that I know other superstars like, since I do a bit of like a YouTube cooking channel, if you ever need to befriend Bianca, her favorite Japanese meal is in there.” Danika offers when Nessa doesn’t immediately say anything, “And you mentioned you liked to cook, I have uh, three of these, the journals come from Barnes and Noble…”

“Oh thank you, this is going to help so much!” Nessa starts flipping through the first couple pages and seeing annotations about who they are for and good times for the meals.

“I might have cornered Becky Lynch at some point to find out what Fergie’s favorite foods are, and I got Buddy and uh Bronson Reed - he’s a meatball, let me know when you’ve met him - to tell me normal Austrailian celebration dishes, and then I talked Zelina into giving me traditional Puerto Rican food, which was a whole issue because she hates me…” Danika offers, smiling softly.

“Well she can get over herself.” Nessa responds to the Zelina-comment.

“I get why she hates me, though.” Danika sighs, “She has this misconception that I’m appropriating culture.”

“How, you were literally adopted and raised in that… wow your Zelina had issues.”

“I don’t think she sees it as me being raised in the culture.” Danika shrugs, “I mean at some point we are going to have to talk about, especially with Creative pushing Edge toward re-starting the LWO, but… right now we sort of just avoid each other. I think she dislikes my relationship with Damian, too, but I don’t really get it, she isn’t throwing nearly as much heat behind the scenes at Demi who is publicly only dating a Latino, ahem Dominik, too.” Danika shrugs again, “My Zelina has a lot of issues, I’ll agree. I’m glad yours is better.”

“Mine is trying to teach me Spanish so I can speak it and not just understand it… but it isn’t sticking lol like I can’t pull the words from my brain to translate to spanish. But she is patient with that, not with training. She is kicking my ass but I am all the better for it.” Nessa bites into another cookie and continues talking while chewing to see Danika’s reaction.

“It is admittedly hard to learn a language the older you get. Picking up Japanese when I was seventeen was a bitch. Oh, did your Luis do Ring of Honor too? If so, he totally knows Japanese…” Danika smiles warmly, then adds, “I could suggest some tricks for picking up the Spanish so you're more fluent?” Danika thinks for a moment, “So, uh this next question is hopefully not going to be super disrespectful… So when I joined the Gutiérrez family I was questionably Southern Baptist, naturally I converted to Catholicisim, specifically the Americanized version of Roman Catholicism… with Nash as your father… like isn’t Judisim passed through the parents, like don’t both your parents have to be Jewish for you to be considered… I dunno, worthy? Are you still allowed to be Jewish?” The last little bit comes out in a rush, Danika likes knowing more about different religions in general, but her upbringing (in both households) has left her with a bit less time to study them.

“Oh it doesn’t matter who the father is, it's all to do with the mother. If the mother is Jewish then so is the child. Is the simplest way to describe it. Next time I can explain more since we have more things to cover right now” Nessa waves her hand dismissively.

Danika shoots her a relieved smile, glad that her lack of knowledge didn’t blunder their friendship, considering she’d already sort of been bad. “That’s good. I lowkey can’t wait to hear about you and Nash bonding.” Nessa looks at her warily,

“I don’t know about that. He had a lot of time to come forward after the divorce like I said. And 8 years after I turned 18. I don’t know how much bonding we can really do… Do you think when we have kids I can raise them Jewish at the very least teach them of their heritage. I know Dom, Luis and Finn are catholic and Rhea is Christian oh this is gonna be a problem isn’t it.” Nessa plops her head down on the table repeatedly, the thunking filling the small cafe.

“Uh, my Dems is Catholic coded, but - I don’t think you will have a problem.” Danika waves her off, “Let me see, when Dom and I had the twins, we did traditional familia names from his side of the family, but but he let me have them both baptized in the Catholic way and the Southern Baptist way, no offense to the Catholics, I’m not sure what throwing some Holy Water at an infant does, best to just dunk them completely under and wash the sins of the parents off early…” She mutters the last part, sounding a bit like Angie and Rey. Shaking her head she adds, “I don’t know how much you know about Nash’s son, the one he lost, but Tristian struggled with Alcoholism, during his sobriety journey, which… I might be off a bit but probably a lot of that after you were eighteen time, Nash was focused on getting his son sober, and the sobriety fucking killed him, like it was a seizure brought on by his body pushing back on the lack of alcohol.” Danika explains evenly, “Rey, my Rey, was so broken open, for him, we all prayed for Kev and his wife, Tamara.”

“So you mean to say I’ve lost both brothers to drugs and alcohol then, and I guess I get it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. My whole world has been turned upside down, and what if this gets out… I’m supposed to have my first match soonish…..” Another look of realization crosses Nessa’s face, “Son of a Bitch”.

“Which son of a bitch are we cursing now, beebs?” Danika grabs for another cookie. “If it’s Tio Adam, er, Edge, then we can curse him and wish for a child to be named after him in the Jewish sense, not the Catholic sense.”

“No it's Cody’s ass, he knew and before his match with Finn came up to me and said that we, this new generation needs to stick together. He fucking knows and gave me his and his wifes number.” Nessa explains.

“Oh, I’d been meaning to ask if you’d met Cody. He trained me at the Nightmare Factory.” Danika beams for a moment, then, “Dusty knew Kev, so does Dustin - Cody’s older brother, they are pretty tight even with Dustin in AEW.” Danika offers, “So Cody probably thought you knew by the sounds of it. Him and Brandi are good people, you should know I’m biased because our kids are friends, but they both love wrestling, and both are very devoted to the children of past Wrestlers.”

Nessa sips her tea, “Well I think it is clear to him now I didn’t know, we, that being our lovely idiots jokes about my dad not being my dad and mom having some explaining to do.” Nessa sighs heavily. “I have to talk to Kevin don’t I?”

“Not to be that person, but yeah, you absolutely do. Nessa Nash has a hell of a ring to it. I mean, as far as ring names. It’s probably cooler than Danika Mysterio.” Danika offers, attempting to cheer her up, “And as far as having a parent in the business, Nash is probably one of the better ones. He got his life sorted, and together. He’s not… he’s not a bad man.” Danika offers, reassuringly, “If anything, he’s been misunderstood for a long time. It could frankly be worse, could you imagine being the love child of Chyna and Hunter? The Industry wouldn’t know how to handle that, just… trust the other legacies, they can guide you through how to be a legacy without being super Charolett about it, or like Cody about it where he’s obsessively in love with his father’s fame to the point he wants to finish his father’s story.” Danika thinks for a moment, “Maybe don’t trust Edge though, he likes stepping on legacies to get what he wants, other than recent stuff, just the whole fake-married-to-Vickie-Guerrero bit after Eddie’s death should be enough warning.” Danika devours her cookie with a sad look.

“Well I’ve not had a run in with him thankfully. I guess after Raw I’ll meet up with Kevin with one of the group, maybe Dom. I need someone who isn’t really close to him to be my support and the way you describe Luis and Kevin's relationship makes me worried Luis will try to push a bond. Dom would be squarely on my side that I know. But wouldn’t Luis be hurt if I didn't choose him? As for the other legacies, I think I will, we know Roman knows and already supports me… the bastard, and I guess I'll do that.”

“Dom is your best bet, Demi is a huge fan of Nash, and Fergie is friendly with him, they’ve worked together in the past.” Danika thinks about her question in regards to Luis, “I think Luis would ultimately understand, you just have to be open and explain it to him - you aren’t sure if you're ready to have a real relationship with Nash, and you don’t want Luis to be negatively impacted if something goes wrong between the pair of you. If Roman knows about your relationship to Nash you can bet the twins and Solo do too, so don’t let that catch you off guard, and probably Heyman as well.” Danika reminds.

“Well I know the twins know, they were dropping hints when I did their checkups before Backlash. I honestly think all the legacies know or figured it out…”

“They too are about as subtle as a brick to the face.” Danika hums. “No one really talks about this outside of the Industry but there are two classes of wrestlers, born wrestlers like the legacies who tell each other everything even if they don’t like each other and those who fought their way in. Through adoption I get the legacy flag, just like you get it through Nash. There is a division, and it sucks, no matter how hard you try to shake it off, but you're probably right. One legacy knows, and they all do, and their spouses.” Danika offers, sadly, “So, quick question, our worlds tend to be similar enough, how bad is it when Edge restarts the LWO, like is Rey heartbroken? Does Chavo Guerrero have shit to say? How does Dominik handle it?”

“Oh Jefe started it after Dom betrayed him, Dom is hurt and Edge is MIA since Wrestlemania. Chavo from what I hear is not happy with it either. And he has been in constant contact with Dom.” Nessa starts fiddling with the plate of cookies, unsure if she wants to grab another.

“I’m sorry, fucking what? Rey hated LWO when he was bullied into it the first time, why in the fucking world would he have restarted what he saw as a discrimination group against most wrestlers, that were by and large the answer to NWO without ever being able to handle the fucking…” Danika’s rant tapers off, and is replaced by a bit of giggling. “Oh god…” She trails off, “Chavo must be pissed in your world, he always felt like Eddie replaced him with Rey, and your Rey just fucking…” Danika’s laughter is getting louder and louder, sides shaking a bit, “That is… that is so… Oh I wish I could tell the others.” She finishes, giggling harder. Nessa can’t help it but starts giggling as well at how absurd it all is.

“I pray Jefe comes around, if he doesn’t it will just Kill Dom.” Nessa softly says out loud once the giggles die down.

“Dominik is a lot stronger than most people give him credit for, we both know that. My Dominik had to discover that his real father was Eddie, that Angie cheated on Rey, and that Angie blamed Rey for her infidelity, and that her hatred of one act of perceived kindness from Eddie has now caused her to regret Dominik… Your Rey, while a bastard, doesn’t sound like he’s taken it to that level, just yet. Even with him being worried about your marks, he’s still Jefe, still trying to protect, he just can’t understand yet.” Danika, sobering up from her giggles, admits, “Rey wants to restart the Filthy Animals, as a secondary stable to our Judgment Day, his own nod to Konnan.”

���I wish I had your Jefe,” Nessa groans, “I could tell him and not Angie that I am getting my IUD out.”

“Oh, Madre is gonna want them babies.” Danika teases.

“She is already harassing us about it, and Benito. Hunter dropped hints as well. LIke damn give us some time to figure things out please. I may have had sex with Dom but I don’t think we are back to that… yet…”

“When the time is right, the time is right.” Danika shrugs her shoulders, “Angie was livid when Dominik and I first got pregnant. She wanted us to get married. Not happening, we both agreed we wanted to marry for love, and now that we are a polycule like… marriage is hard.”

“Marriage is hard normally, I think it is hilarious we are talking about kids and not marriage, but something might come up in the future. You know, thank you for making me feel better, I feel more grounded. Who knows maybe next time I will be pregnant…” Nessa jokes, the wish clearly in her voice.

“I will do my solid best to bring Angel next time I see this place, so you can cuddle a half Dominik baby.” Danika promises. “And if you want to be pregnant, then do it, your career isn’t wrestling, you told me that yourself. With women like Maryse getting storylines while pregnant I’m sure you can too.” Danika adds, “In my AEW contract, and my WWE contract, I have a stipulation that guarantees if I am injured or otherwise unable to compete I get to be a manager or I get to be an assistant to the GM.” She flashes a predatory smile, “I worked my ass off to get those assurances.”

“That is a good idea, I think I am going to read over my contract again. Knowing Jefe he might have done something like that knowing him and Ma.” Nessa taps her chin.

“The caveat to that, for me anyways, is that I don’t get to have a creative say in my hair or clothing or my characterization.” Danika shrugs.

“Yet I have that for the most part. I’m just lucky I'm in a story with Luis and we are all actually together. Like last Monday in kayfabe, Benito called me a whore after hitting me with the kendo stick. Poor thing felt so bad after and then proceeded to harass me for nieces and nephews again.” Nessa hums thinking, before adding, “Apparently we are going for a love square between me, Dems, Dom and Damo. I don’t think that will work… Oh shit yeah we just blew past your Finn problems. Honestly you might just have to sit him down and go hey we love you like we love each other and just reiterate how much you love him and that he is worthy. It's like the negative you hear it enough you believe it but this time with positives” Nessa glances at the clock, frowning as she realizes that time has gotten away from them again and they have less than ten minutes until the hour is up.

“I wish I could say we hadn’t already thought about that in the case of Fergie.” Danika tracked Nessa’s gaze, and sighed, “Ten minute warning, huh, doesn’t Tommy normally-” Her sentence trailed off as the man himself reappeared from the back with new drinks for them both, a bag for Nessa, and two different delicately wrapped pastry boxes. “Hey, Sergeant Tom, while I’ve got you here,” Danika snagged his wrist, batting her lashes up at him, “Next time, instead of a kitchen back there, think we can have a wrestling ring?”

The man gave her an exasperated look, “Contrary to you're believes, Ms. Danika, this is not the Room of Requirement, from Harry Potter.” That made Danika snort, “However, there are things that… just like myself, will appear when they are needed.” He gave her a wink, before he looked to Nessa, “I hope you enjoyed your visit, Ms. Nessa.” With that he wiggled out of Danika’s grip and headed for the back.

“You know, I still don’t know if he’s the TARDIS or if this building is the TARDIS…” Danika mumbled under her breath, before sliding out of the bench seat, she’d slid into so she could hug Nessa, she stretched her arms above her head, before moving to lean against the opposite side of the booth, stretching again, popping her back and shoulders before rolling her neck just right, the crackling noises made her grin and hum contentedly before she slid into her side of the booth again, “So, now we have eight minutes.” She offers, looking at her watch, “I don’t think goodbyes are going to get any easier.”

"No, I don't think so. I wish we existed in the same universe so we didn't have to meet only when things go to shit. I think when I get back to the hotel I'll tell them as a group about Kev." Nessa looks at Danika sadly.

Danika tried to give her a reassuring smile, “I’m sure Kevin Nash won’t be the hurdle you think he is. I’ll talk with the others and figure out how to prove to Finn that we love him, and want him for more than just sex… although I imagine the sex is going to be delicious…” Danika trails off, clearly thinking about Finn, his abs, and the implications of getting him naked in her bed.

"OH THAT REMINDS ME!" Nessa startles the other woman with her shout, making Danika shrink away, her hands instinctively coming up to her ears, it’s the first time Nessa has seen any of the scars she assumed Danika had from her upbringing, frankly it's a different sort of unsettling with how Danika presents herself, charismatic and larger than life. Nessa blushes and continues this time quieter, "So they came back after Dom and I did the bing bing and of course Damo was pouty. But Dems said we both want her under us soon and Finn said all of us."

Danika relaxes and rolls her eyes, “Who wouldn’t want one of us in their beds, honestly. We are a whole meal… Did you just call sex bing bing?” A smile pulls at her lips, before she’s giggling again, “Bing bing… That is… you're my official favorite human.”

Nessa blushes harder at the praise and tries to defend herself,"it's less vulgar than the other words and .. well… shut up" Nessa tries to hide her face, even though the older of the two it’s clear she’s more modest and respectful about certain things.

Danika snickers hard, “Vulgar is a fun word,” Then adds, “I’m not sure what our idiots call it, but unless they are being romantic about it, I think we universally just call it fucking around. Not important, we are running out of time.” Danika pouts, “So, you are headed back to the hotel and are going to talk to your idiots about Nash - I’m going back to Ohio to talk convince Fergie that we really do love him, and then I’m going to squish Shelton Benjamin and Vero Rodriguez under my killer heels.” She wiggled her eyebrows elaborately, and pretended to squish the napkin on the table with her fist.

"Yes and I'll keep the boys from catching a case on JD as well. Now that I think about itIi have to add Kevin to that list…" Nessa realizes as Danika nods along empathetically - over protective father figures can be the worst, even if they are only doing what their hearts demand.

Tommy cleared his throat from behind the counter, “Not to rush you ladies, but…” He tapped the clock ticking on the counter, they had under three minutes.

“And yet you will.” Danika levels him with a rather unimpressed look, before sliding out of her side of the booth, grabbing her bag, and moving to help Nessa stack all of her gifts together so they can muscle them into the large bag Tommy had brought Nessa, settling the box of pastries on top of the gifts. “So… obviously, we needn’t try to find this place, it finds us.” She offers meekly. Tears sting at her eyes, she’s never been particularly good at goodbyes.

"Hey Tommy, will it find us for good stuff too, not just the bad?" Nessa asks, tears pricking her eyes as well, pulling Danika into a tight hug. Danika hugs back just as tightly, squishing her face into Nessa’s neck, the older girl taller than her this time.

Tommy smirks, “That is completely up to the pair of you, and what your hearts need.” He taps the clock again, the minute ticking down. “Go on now.” He offers a bit sternly.

"I'll go first since I got here first," Nessa offers walking to the door, sadly not wanting to leave her friend. Danika watches her push out, and disappear from the front view of the coffee shop, for all intents and purposes, Nessa is now lost to her until the universes collide again.

“Hey, Tommy, what happens if we…” Danika turns to find him gone, “For fucksake, someone someday is going to answer the question: what happens if we leave together.” She huffs, before slamming out the door herself, scarf kicking up around her shoulders.

-/- Nessa deflates as she steps onto the sidewalk and turns around, the coffee shop no longer there, in its place was a plain brick wall. The street is abandoned save for a few people walking the opposite way down the street. She is thankful the street is well lit and she can see the hotel just a block away. She checks her phone to see only one missed call and a text from each of her partners responding to her initial text asking for some time alone to walk. She sends a quick message to the group chat, “We need to talk about Hunter just told me, I’m almost back.” sending that message opened the floodgates and her phone blew up with messages asking if she was ok and what happened to make her run out of the arena. She hugs the strap of the bag closer to herself, careful to not crush the pastries that she is going to use to bribe the others, ducking her head a bit as she takes off walking.

-/-

A light dusting of snow has landed on the sidewalk as Danika presses back out into the crisp air. She cradles the pastries closer to her chest, before taking a few steps away from the ringing bell. She looks back, amused to see that Tilted Dimensions has vanished, in its place a stone gray painted building sat vacant with a For Sale sign tacked on the window. She can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her lips as she makes her way back to the travel bus, darting across traffic, more than eager to meet Kevin Nash now. He might not have a daughter in this universe, but she and her kids could fill in some of the holes in his heart - if he’d let her. Her heart turned sad at the thought of Finn’s little broken gaze lately, shaking the thought from her head, Nessa was right, they (Luis, Demi, Dom, and her) had to fight for him, he was more than worth it.

-/-

Nessa enters the front lobby of the hotel and goes straight to the receptionist, a sheepish look on her face.

“Excuse me miss. I’m sorry but I lost my card to my room 512, booked under the name Martinez.” Nessa informs the young woman behind the counter. The young woman with the name tag Taylor, tosses her bright red hair behind her shoulder and giggles.

“Not the first wrestler to lose their card tonight. Here you go” She activates a new card and slides it over. Nessa thankfully grabs it and holds it in her hand, her other one still holding the box of pastries. She goes to the stairs wanting to delay as much as possible not wanting to have this conversation. Five minutes later she is in front of the hotel room she shares with her partners trying to ready herself for the fussing that is about to come and the answers she is about to give. She swipes the key card and enters the room, averting her gaze and closing the door behind her. There is a silence in the room, everyone waiting for Nessa’s lead. She heads over to the bed where Dominik is sitting next to Rhea, Finn and Damian sitting opposite them. Nessa sits beside dominik, resting the messenger bag in her lap, the box of pastries on top. Her gaze still staring at the brown carpet of the hotel.

Rhea clears her throat, deciding to break the silence, “We are glad you are safe. Your text earlier worried us. Now will you tell us what had you rushing out of the arena alone at night in an unfamiliar place where you can’t really speak the language?” Rhea softly chides, her worry showing through her voice and Nessa looks up, her hands trembling as she holds out the pastry box. Rhea reaches over Dominik and grabs the box, placing it on the bed beside her. Dominik grabbing Nessa’s hand, rubbing circles into the back of it. Nessa swallows thickly, the knot in her stomach reforming.

“Uh,... I… Uh. Hunter had Kevin in the office… He uh…” Nessa sighs, slumping against Dominik, struggling to find the words.

“Did you get fined?” Finn asks, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Nessa shakes her head. “No, uh Kevin needed to talk with me….. Um… I… The betting board was right….” Nessa manages to get out, hoping they catch on quickly.

“The betting…. OH… OH A Chroí i am so sorry.” Finn realizes first and slides off the bed getting to his knees in front of Nessa, resting his hands on her knees, squeezing them to try to offer some comfort.

“What, that you are secretly a…. Oh that isn’t what had the most tallys when we went in” Damian begins to joke, the realization making his heart break for Nessa. Seeing her in such turmoil and being unable to help making him feel so useless.

“He uh, Kevin… he is…” Nessa stutters, struggling more to tell her partners, people she loves than when she told Danika. With Danika it didn’t feel so real but to say it out loud now makes it all too real.

“Kevin is what, what about the betting board?” Dominik asks, clearly confused. “Dom” Rhea softly calls his name, her tone telling him to stop. Nessa takes a deep shaky breath and swallows again.

“Kevinnashismyfatherandidontknowhowtohandlethis” Nessa blurts out, staring at the wall behind Damian and squeezing Dominiks hand a little harder. Finn gently grabs Nessa’s face to have her look at him, his eyes scanning her face.

“Say that again but slower. We don’t know how to help you if we don’t know what is wrong.” Finn soothes, his accent helping ground Nessa who nods her head, his hands following the movements as they are resting on her cheeks.

“The locker room was right, my mother… had a relationship with Kevin Nash who is my father and I don’t know how to process this” Nessa sniffles. Finn uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears that escaped before standing up, pulling Nessa up momentarily and taking her spot on the bed and pulling her onto his lap. Her messenger bag placed back on her lap.

“First Nes, I think you should talk to your mother, explain what you were told and get her side. I’m sure she has a good …” Rhea begins to try to defend Nessa’s mother but Nessa interrupts her.

“She did, he was an abusive asshole to her and then to me up until she left him. Just my luck i fell into a similar situation before Dom.” Dominik squeezes her hand and gives her a soft smile when she glances over at him. She continues on, telling them what Kevin told her before she ran out of the arena. Nessa fiddles with the flap of the bag waiting on their reactions, glancing at their faces which are a mix of pity and understanding and curiosity. Damian who is still sitting opposite Nessa is the first to speak again.

“I still think it is a good idea to talk to your mother, she would have some good insight as to what you should do next and maybe why he just now told you at 26. I also think that you should talk to Kevin. By the sounds of it you ran out of the arena without hearing him out.” Damian offers his thoughts and grabs Nessa’s hand, his chest tightening at the betrayed look she is giving him.

“I know you are close to him and look up to him and can offer me insight to him as a person but he just dropped the bomb, no lead up, flipping everything I know about my life on its head. I need you on my side in this to help me, not to push what might help someone else.” Nessa explains, trying to pull her hand back from Damian but he won’t let go. He sighs and takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding,

“I am on your side in this, we all are and want what is best for you. I think we can all agree that at least talking to him, hearing him out once you have had time to calm down and think it through yourself will help you decide how to go forward. I promise you I will not push you to something you don’t want. If you say no the topic is dropped. I’ll even offer this Mariposa, Dom is clearly your comfort, your person, your safe space. Take him when you talk to Kev.” Damian offers, pulling her hand to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Nessa lets out a sigh of relief,

“Thats what my friend Danika thought I should do. Get your insight on Kevin and take Dom when I talk to him. Oh she also helped me find some gifts for you guys, well for me and you.” Nessa takes both her hands back, wiping the snot from under her nose and flipping the flap of the bag over. She pulls out Rhea’s shirt first handing it to her. “This is a loan of sorts, I promised we would share this shirt with her, but she figured you’d appreciate seeing it again. She is a big fan of yours” Nessa winks at Rhea who takes the shirt so gingerly Nessa thinks Rhea is afraid to rip the shirt. Treating it like a delicate antique.

“Well when you see her next thank her for me. This is actually very sweet.” Rhea smiles, setting the shirt on the bed, all of them watching what Nessa will pull out next. She pulls out the replica batman car and hands it to Damian, Finn eyeing it with Jealousy.

“Thank you Mariposa, and thank Danika whoever she is. Also, please understand if you don’t want to talk to him that is your decision and I will support it.” Damian promises, setting the box on the bed beside him, keeping a hand on the box. Nessa sighs and rests her hands on top of the messenger bag and looks Damian in his eyes.

“Damian, I know you will support it on the surface, but deep down you would want me to talk to him and at least have some sort of relationship with him. I know that you see him as a type of father figure, at least in the industry. And that is ok Luis. But thank you for trying to push your feelings aside for this.” Nessa softly calls him out but her tone holds no malice, only understanding. Damian relaxes seeing Nessa isn’t upset with him just the situation. Nessa clears her throat and gets off of Finns lap and reaches into the bag again this time pulling out the lego set and handing it to Finn whose eyes light up.

“Oh this is way better than the batmobile thank you, i’ve been looking for this everywhere! You have to tell me how much this cost your friend so i can pay her back it must have cost a fortune.” Finn turns the box over in his hands, looking like a kid at christmas and glancing at Nessa.

“She said there will be no payback. Money is no issue for her and she wanted to do something nice for her friend by treating her partners. She is the only other person I know in a relationship like ours so she is really helping me navigate things.” Nessa explains, her hand in the bag, the picture in her gentle grip, knowing this next one will be bittersweet.

“Dom, this one I don’t know how she found it but she has connections and called in a favor with a distant family member.” Nessa explains pulling out the photo of him and Eddie and handing it to him. “She thought you should have it.” Dominik takes the picture in one hand, the other tracing around Eddies figure, tears welling up in his eyes before spilling over. The grief of missing him coming to the surface. Rhea wraps both arms around him, pulling him to her chest and running her fingers through his hair. “Eddie would be so proud of the man you have become.” Nessa sits back down this time next to Dominik, resting her head on his back, wrapping her arms around around them while they allow Dominik to cry, getting out his hurt and pain of missing is Tio Eddie.

“He would be so mad at how I am treating my dad” Dominik sniffles and Nessa scoffs as does Damian.

“He would be pissed at what Oscar has done to you and Nes. Would have whooped his ass over it actually.” Damian points out, lightly tapping Dominiks foot with his own. “He also would have dragged you back to Nessa by your ear and pulled both of you to a chapel to get married.”

“I don’t know how he would have taken this” Dominik gestures between all of them and Nessa giggles. “A little of oscar, a little of pride and I think he would have accepted us like your mom did” The others making noises of agreement. Bringing up Angie brought another thought to her head that she tables for later, knowing this moment is not the time to bring it up.

“Look, it’s late and we have had a very taxing day and we have to catch a flight super early tomorrow to be in Florida so we can stay at Dems before Raw. So lets go to bed. Things will be better in the morning after we sleep.” Damian suggests, parroting something his mother told him throughout his childhood that rarely failed. No one disagrees, but no one makes a move from where they are sitting, Dominik still sandwiched between Rhea and Nessa, holding the picture of him and Eddie. Finn caressing the box of Legos and Damian looking at the four of them with a mixture of adoration and annoyance, yet again he is going to have to be the adult.

“Get ready for bed, Now” He orders, putting more timbre in his voice which gets the others moving, scattering around the room like cockroaches, grumbling about him Domming them until he clears his throat and they continue in silence not wanting to earn a punishment that night.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Whale Rider (2003)

When a film is described as “inspirational”, that can often actually mean cloying or manipulative. Take away the empowering and uplifting message in Whale Rider, and you’ve still got a great movie, largely thanks to the direction by Niki Caro and lead actress, Keisha Castle-Hughes. This is a story of powerful emotions.

In a small New Zealand village, twelve-year-old Paikea “Pai” Apirana (Castle-Hughes) dreams of becoming her tribe’s chief. Unfortunately, her grandfather, Koro (Rawiri Paratene), will not teach her to lead. Undeterred, she begins training in secret.

Though this is very much a film about the Māori people, it has universal appeal. It’s not an opioid crisis, or their land being taken away by some foreign power that’s caused the island's society’s decay. It isn’t climate change or the new world stamping out tradition that’s causing people to turn away from each other. It’s something deep within, something too deep to clearly define that's causing the edges of this normally tight circle to fray. Pai’s father left his home to pursue an art career in Germany after his wife and son (Pai’s twin brother) died. This left Pai to be trained by a grandfather who loves his family… but is stubbornly upholding traditions that prevent him from showing it. Other families too, have lost something. If someone - a new voice that can give all of these lost souls direction - doesn’t step up and take charge, the great wake (canoe) will never be completed and the damage - regardless of what caused it - done to these people will never heal.

There are two emotions at this film’s core. The first is sadness. Grandfather Koro can be so cruel that in any other movie, you would hate him. Writer/director Niki Caro takes us to a deeper level than that one emotion. We know why he is so unhappy, why he loses hope with each day. The same goes for all of the other fathers we meet. They’re not bad, just lost. It’s a thousand times more painful to see.

The second emotion is a tiny glimmer of hope. You've seen how determined Paikea is to learn even when she's forbidden to do so. You believe she will live up to her namesake, the man who led his people from Hawaiki to New Zealand on the back of a whale. If only she can learn to believe in herself as well. When she speaks up and defies her grandfather, you want her to keep at it but you know how much that's asking, particularly for a child. There’s a moment when she’s at her most vulnerable that comes in and just obliterates you like a sledgehammer hitting a glass cup. Before that scene, Keisha Castle-Hughes was so convincing in the role, that you just saw her as a person who might’ve been cast because this tale is semi-autobiographical or something. Suddenly, you realize this is something different. She’s good like you never knew a kid that age could be.

Whale Rider is the kind of movie you hold onto tightly. No matter how old you are, now is the right time to meet these characters and hear their story. The performances are spectacular and the emotions are so strong they’ll be as clear as the first time you felt them long after the credits are done. Everyone should see Whale Rider at least once. (October 1, 2021)

[lollipencil]

Light as a Feather

Do you know that GIANT Microbes sell a number of heart plsuhes, including a Heart of Gold plush? This little number is inspired by them.

Enjoy and be gentle. ---

The scales stared mockingly at Jake, the sight of it weighing on both the heart in his chest and the fake one in his hand.

It had started a week prior. For whatever reason, Steven had bought those scales, and had them jury-rigged to always be lower on one side. Then he put a metal feather on the lower side and two golden heart plushies from someplace online on the other.

And now, Jake was standing there with a slightly different plush rom the same place. He looked down at it, rubbing his thumb along the black embroidery on its front. Why had he bought that one?

For a moment he thought about what he was going to do. About giving a sign. But it was far from the first time, was it? The date, the van, the rooftop, when they were dead, Ammit-Harrow. How many more hints could he give? "Maybe," whispered a harsh voice, "they don't want to know you. Why else would they keep ignoring you?"

Two goldfish swimming in the tank. Two hearts on the scales. The third crying out for the others to help-

Jake tossed the plush aside and marched out. It was a stupid idea anyway.

---

The soft broken heart in Steven's hands felt like lead. "Why didn't we let them out?" finally filled the silence inside and out. "I don't know," Marc rasped, "I don't know." "...Any idea how to fix it?" "Nah...But, I might know where to start."

---

Déjà vu hits Jake like a sledgehammer when he wakes up. Standing before those dammed scales, fake heart in hand. Frustration surges up. He goes to throw the plush with force, when he gets a good look at it.

Gold. Bright shimmering gold, with wide eyes that looked up at him. Jake stared back before blinking up at the scales. Two still sat there.

Almost as if on its own, Jake's arm moved from its position to place the heart with its brothers. As soon as he let go, he braced. For the scales to suddenly shift and lower with a slam. For raised voices to start demanding answers. To suddenly blackout.

Nothing.

Jake looked at the three hearts, breathing deeply. He could feel them. They were awake, they knew. It was what he wanted, so why were his hands shaking?

"I'm-I've-" Every attempt to explain himself stuck in his throat. Silence continued, then warmth filled Jake. It wrapped around his mind from two directions like a blanket. He sighed and mentally leaned into it.

Questions would likely still come, arguements likely following. But three hearts were sitting on the scales, as light as a feather.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '23 Prompt No. 16 — "Do you know a way out of here?"

Category: Original WIP: Darkspace Portent series Rating: T Timeline: beats the hell outta me lol CW: blood, brief vomiting Word Count: 932 Additional Notes: canon non-compliant. just a fun bit I decided to explore

***

Warren blinked, a bit surprised that his eyes were already open. He'd been unconscious, and he realized his comeback accompanied a blinding headache that circled his head like a slow-moving cyclone. He reached up to press a palm against his forehead.

"God," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck..."

He heard movement coming from somewhere around him, but something sticky against his head distracted him. He pulled his hand away from his head and, though he was doused in mostly shadow, he could see a dark substance on his skin, shining under a low, lazy white strobe. Mental processing kicked in bit by bit.

"What...?"

"The day you stop dying will be a momentous occasion without a shred of a doubt," a very irate, very out of breath, and very familiar voice blurted.

Warren, dazed, waved his hand in front of his eyes, and it left a blurry trail behind it. A drop of the fluid landed on his cheek. "I...can't..."

A face appeared in his line of sight, above him, and it lowered down to him, hands running over different parts of his body. It was...Thrive. An intense frown digging into his brows and the corners of his mouth. Smears of the same dark fluid across his face with no discernible source.

"Considering the circumstances, I should let you rest," Thrive said, "but we're in a pressing situation and I'm going to need you to move."

Warren blinked again. "What?"

"You have to get up."

With that, Warren was in the air. His feet lowered, and solid ground forced him to stand, though a sledgehammer of dizziness made that a two-person job. He clutched Thrive's shoulder on the threat of pitching in a direction that would acquaint him with the floor.

"The hell's goin' on...?" Warren muttered.

"The short of it is," Thrive grunted, hooking an arm around Warren and leading him forward, "we've been attacked."

"Attacked..."

"The Node. The Consortium Node, the largest station in the Milky Way. I've estimated around thirty-five percent of it has been annihilated, and that number is only increasing."

One step. Two steps.

"Where...?"

Thrive took a couple of steadying breaths by his ear. "We're at the center of it."

The strobing light didn't appear to originate from any one spot, its breathing pattern consistent and all-encompassing. After a moment of muffled and distant thuds against what Warren was sure were walls, he determined that he wasn't even sure the lights weren't exclusively seen by him.

"What's...on my hand...?" he asked, bringing it up to his face again.

Thrive's hold on him tightened, and his impatience grew with every shambling step Warren took. "...Your blood. It's your blood."

"Did I...get hit...?"

As if a form of punctuation, the floor jerked beneath them. Thrive grabbed Warren into a bear hug and swung them around, falling back-first into the sudden gaping darkness below. Impact was almost instant, jarring, and shook another flash across Warren's vision, but it was absorbed almost entirely by Thrive's spine.

Thrive rolled so he could secure Warren with his body and assess their new surroundings at the same time. "We're in the Southern District. I don't think much of it is left."

He looked down at Warren and it was hard to miss the fleeting grimace.

Warren swallowed, his thoughts coming in with more clarity than when he'd first come to. "How bad?"

Thrive looked as if he didn't want to answer. "There was a collapse. A portion of the district imploded. You were struck on the head by debris and died."

"Yeah." Warren wanted to fall asleep, his headache becoming more pronounced. "...That happens a lot, doesn't it?"

Thrive shook his head, tight and tense. He got to his feet and helped Warren to his without a word.

"Do you..." Warren leaned on Thrive again as they moved through rubble and what he sure hoped weren't bodies littered around them. "Do you know a way out of here?"

"Not at the moment. We'll have to be careful—I'm unsure where the station ends and space begins."

"Okay..." Warren, lightheaded, nodded, his chin sinking closer to his chest. "Yeah...I guess we..."

Thrive's arm tightened around him once more. "Warren," he said firmly. "Warren."

Warren didn't quite catch the concern in his voice as his ears plugged and his knees buckled. Thrive caught him and scooped him up, into his arms once more, sidestepping massive sheets of metal and piles of glass strewn at their feet.

He was in and out. At some point, Thrive set him down so he could vomit without risk of aspiration. They continued on, their path growing more narrow, until Thrive came to a halt and his fingers dug into Warren's shoulder and thigh.

"S'matter," Warren mumbled. When he didn't get a response, Warren opened his eyes and registered the unobstructed view of the Node nebula and the Milky Way stretched out in front of them. Framed by jagged edges of the Node, the void sparkled with pieces of the station and bursts of energy firing all around.

The electric blue containment barrier remained in place, fizzing at the points of contact with the walls. Warren determined they wouldn't hold for long.

"What now?"

Thrive's jaw ticked, his lips tight. His gaze swept over the destruction and the aftermath of the attack.

He didn't say anything. He let out a heavy sigh and carefully pressed his forehead to the side of Warren's face. Warren, in return, cradled his head and tangled his fingers into his hair, closing his eyes and allowing himself to exchange futile comfort through their touch.

[tenebraevesper]

Five Nights at Freddy's: Salvaged, Night 2: Salvaged

''It's been years, since I've seen a face around here. I was broken and alone in that Hell I called my home. You always choose to stay, spend your nights keeping me away. You think you stand a chance to last against the ghosts of your past?''

– Salvaged by NateWantsToBattle (Five Nights at Freddy's 3)

xXxXxXx

It was dark. William opened his eyes, his vision still blurry as he tried to focus on what was in front of him. He closed his eyes, realizing he was sitting on the ground, leaned against the wall. He felt as if someone hit him in the head with a sledgehammer. He lowered his head and lift his arm to rub his eyes, only to realize that his body felt strange. As he opened his eyes, the blurry vision suddenly cleared and he saw a hand with metallic pieces and green-golden fur. Half of a finger was missing from the hand.

Eyes wide open, he looked at his torso, which was a green-golden suit covered in tears. Underneath the fur were metal parts with a pink and red substance coiled around them. His legs were covered in the same green-golden fur, but it was tattered at the bottom, completely exposing the metal and wiring on his shins and below. Still stunned, he touched his head, his fingers tracing the bunny ears on it. One of the ears had been ripped, exposing metal and wiring.

''You have to be kidding me,'' he muttered as he attempted to stand up. He felt a little unsteady on his feet, but taking a few steps, he quickly adjusted to his new, or rather, to his old body. ''Out of all suits… How is this even possible?''

He took a look at himself, making sure he wasn't hallucinating. To his grief, it appeared that he wasn't. The suit he was wearing was indeed the very Spring Bonnie suit he died in. This was the same suit his soul had been tied to. In hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised that he was brought back in this state.

''I understand, but why an animatronic? Why not a human?'' he muttered, unsure whether anyone heard him. ''Not that I'm complaining.''

While he was still confused over the situation and fairly certain that the entity that brought him back could've provided him with a human body, he was still satisfied with the result. He was used to being an animatronic, especially after having been trapped inside this very suit for over 30 years. Not to mention the time he used the suit when he was still alive. He relaxed, noting to himself that he actually did prefer to walk around as an animatronic more than as a human.

Suddenly, he saw static. Was the suit's AI glitching out?

He shook his head, letting the static fade. When he opened his eyes, he still saw that he was inside the suit, but it looked different. The entire suit looked brand new. He looked at the joints of his arms, noticing how the pink and red substance was missing. His corpse was gone. William frowned.

''I am not your puppet,'' he said, although he doubted that whatever brought him back even cared enough about his complaints. He looked around, wondering where exactly he was. Except for a few scraps of metal and some boxes, the room was empty. It certainly wasn't the same room he had been trapped in, as the floor and walls were too clean.

He walked over to the door and opened it, entering a corridor, noticing a shield with the text ''EMPLOYEES ONLY'' on the wall. Aside from a checkered pattern on the lower part, the walls were completely devoid of any decorations. He peeked into the room to which the corridor led, realizing it was the dining area. There was a stage and several tables and chairs, but otherwise, it was completely empty.

William then realized what was bothering him about this place. It wasn't just empty, but it seemed that nobody had been here at all. Instead of finding himself in what appeared to be an abandoned Freddy's location, he found himself at a location that hadn't even opened yet.

''Now what?''

He walked into the bathroom, taking a better look at himself in the mirror. Just as he assumed, this suit wasn't one he knew about. Instead, it seemed like it was a mix of the original Spring Bonnie costume and the tattered springlock suit.

The suit was new and clean, with fluffy golden-green fur. A purple bowtie was tied around his neck, but the suit lacked the buttons. The ears were also whole and when he turned his head to look at his back, he noticed a fluffy cotton tail. Looking not very amused, he saw that his eyes were silver and green, but suddenly started to glow purple. There was a tear over his right eye, looking like a badly healed scar.

''I guess it could've been worse,'' he told his reflection.

He was left wondering what he was supposed to do next. It took him a little bit, but he realized he gained his freedom back. He could do now whatever he wanted and nobody knew that a mad murderer had returned. Henry was dead and certainly wouldn't be able to stop him if he decided to go on a killing spree.

Henry…

William broke into a mad laughter, imagining Henry's reaction if the latter ever found out what happened to his old friend. He could see his old partner beg whatever entity brought him here to drag William's soul back to Hell, where it belonged. Only that that wouldn't happen. This time, he would be more careful. Sure, his bloodlust led him being trapped inside an incinerator that was a fake restaurant, but he did learn from his mistakes.

It was a good feeling to be back, even with that cursed void he felt ever since he was alive. It was a void he attempted to fill up with blood of the innocent, of those he believed that also needed to have their life denied. He deserved to feel better, to feel alive, didn't he? Ironically, it seemed that death gave him what he desired.

He frowned as he thought about what happened before he was burned to ashes in that fake restaurant. Even though he was used to working alone, he didn't end up dying alone. Not to mention, Henry attempted to burn the past until nothing remained, releasing every soul that was trapped, but he was brought back instead.

Someone decided to allow you to return and finish what you started.

He wondered what the entity meant. He was responsible for the entirety of Freddy's dark past, therefore, did this mean that he should continue to kill people? Was he supposed to let the vicious cycle repeat again? He could do that without fearing the consequences, after all. He had also gained a better understanding of how remnant worked, therefore making sure nobody who could stop him would be bound to another robotic contraption.

To summarize it, a nightmare had been unleashed.

You can take either path and face atonement or annihilation, depending on your actions.

''Why would I even want to atone for what I did?'' he asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. ''It's all over, isn't it? Everyone I knew is gone now and I'm the only one left. I should just seize my chance and do what I am best at.''

It was strange, though. He excelled in robotics, having used his knowledge to create advanced, yet deadly animatronics. He knew how to manage a restaurant and even had performed several times, showing that he had a better grasp of the character than any of his previous employees. He even found a way to make himself effectively immortal, or at least let his soul be bound to the material realm. He was also capable of manipulating people when it suited him. Yet, he would always turn to murdering people when he felt that he lacked something.

He lowered his head as he thought about it, realizing he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to be careful this time. Even if nobody knew what was needed to destroy him, if he did get destroyed yet again, he would end up facing the same Hell, if someone doesn't decide on a worse punishment. Being sent back to Hell was certainly something he wanted to avoid.

''To finish what I had started… Except, there is nothing to finish. Henry did that for me,'' he muttered. ''Everything is gone, isn't it? There isn't anything I can do, right?''

He had no idea how to feel about it. The only thing that came to his mind was that he should've been given clearer instructions. The idea of atoning for his crimes sounded ridiculous to him. He knew that he was too far gone to even consider it.

Suddenly, he heard a deep laughter. Or was it crying? He walked over to the entrance to the main area, only to realize that it looked different now. It was blurry and he felt as if he was looking through a veil. He then saw a brown animatronic bear approaching him, going towards the hidden room, half-laughing, half-crying. Suddenly, the bear stopped and fell apart, the pieces flying all over the room. William stepped back in surprise, watching as a black top hat landed in front of his feet.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head and once he opened them, the room was back to normal. There were no other animatronics but him.

''Damn it,'' he muttered, placing his hand on his temple. He had hallucinations in Hell, but he hoped they would go away once he returned, but apparently, this wasn't the case. He sighed, looking around.

''Is there anything else I should know about?''

xXx

Sam stretched, waiting for the light to turn green. After leaving Ricky's, she had decided to take a stroll around the town. Since she was all by herself this week, as her mother was away due to work, she figured that she could stay up late. Sure, her mother would probably tell her that it was a bad idea, because you never knew what kind of creepy people were lurking in the dark, but she knew that there were enough creepy people that would walk around during daylight. Besides, she knew how to take care of herself.

She continued to walk once the light turned to green, feeling a little excited as she took a turn into a familiar street. It wasn't very busy and most of the buildings were empty or waiting to be rented. The only highlight of the street was a half-finished building with a neon sign that said ''Freddy Fazbear's Pizza''. Sam ran over to the entrance, reading the sign on the door. It said ''Opening soon'', but she had no idea when that would be. The building had been standing like this for several weeks and she was wondering whether they would ever open it.

She cupped her hands, squinting as she looked through the glass door into the empty hallway. It was really dark and she couldn't see anything. She couldn't see into the main area from her standpoint, but she knew there was one window that wasn't covered with shutters. She walked around the building, having a better view of the area with the stage. Even though she knew that she wouldn't see anything, she still hoped that there would be something and every time she passed past the building, she couldn't resist trying to look inside the building. She wished that they would finally open it.

Having made peace with the fact that there was nothing inside, Sam was about to leave. However, something told her to stay. Looking through the window, she noticed faint purple light glowing in the dark. Something moved.

She gasped, trying to get a better look of whatever was there. There was indeed someone or something inside. At first, she thought it was a worker, until she realized that this person did not look like a human. They were tall and had a more robust build and… were those bunny ears?

Sam froze when the person suddenly looked at her, realizing how it were their eyes which were glowing purple. The glow became only stronger, half-illuminating what appeared to be a sinister person in a bunny costume.

And he saw her.

Still frozen, Sam heard a voice inside her head screaming for her to run. However, her legs wouldn't move. Instead, she still stared through the window, noticing how the bunny vanished without trace. She backed away, trying to reason that there was no way the bunny could exit the place. She did try the doors and they were all locked. The only way for this animatronic to exit the building was to break a window and she didn't hear a crash and breaking of glass so far.

She shuddered, finally forcing her legs to move. It was just an animatronic, there was no reason to freak out. However, the way the animatronic looked at her caused her heart to beat faster. It was the kind of predatory look someone would give you when they targeted you as their next victim. It didn't help either that she had been reminded of someone she was familiar with.

Taking a deep breath, she moved away from the window and walked down the alley, trying to not look as if she was panicking. She would go home, lock herself up in her room and perhaps get her father's baseball bat that he left in the attic, just in case.

However, before anything of that could happen, she felt something soft covering her mouth and an arm wrapping around her torso, dragging her backwards. She kicked and screamed, but nobody heard her as the monster was dragging her into the building through the back door. The monster was so strong, not letting go even after she tried to pry its hands away. However, instead of feeling human flesh and bones, there was only fur and metal. There was also a strong purple light illuminating the hallway as she was dragged deeper into the building.

''Do you really think I would let you go so easily?'' Sam froze as she heard him talk. His voice was sinister, deep and raspy, although what did confuse her was the fact that he also had a British accent. ''Don't struggle, it'll be over soon.''

''Let me go, William!'' Sam screamed the first thing that came upon her mind. Suddenly, she felt the grip he had weakening, as if he was stunned. She seized her chance and broke free, attempting to run away, but before she could do that, he grabbed her arm, yanking her back and turning her around. She got now a better look at him and, while he didn't look exactly like animatronic she knew, the rage he showed had confirmed her fears.

''How do you know my name?'' he asked her angrily, tightening the grip around her arm.

''Lucky guess!'' Sam had no idea why she yelled back at him. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her arm felt sore. Or that she just got a confirmation that everything she knew about the FNaF lore was true. ''Let me go!''

''No,'' William replied in a chilling, passive-aggressive tone. Somehow, his calmer response freaked Sam out even more. The unnatural purple glow from his eyes didn't help the case.

''So, what are you going to do then? Kill me? Well, go ahead, I'll make sure that you'll regret it,'' Sam said in a defiant tone. To be honest, she didn't want to die, but she wasn't going down without a fight. William pulled her closer, with Sam being unsettled.

''Maybe I will, but I have a few questions.''

''How about letting me go first?''

''So you can run away? I'm not that stupid.''

''At least loosen the grip a little. I can't feel my arm anymore!''

''If you don't stop screaming, you will lose it for sure,'' William replied, but he still complied. Only a second later, he realized that this was a mistake, as Sam ripped her arm out of his grip and ran. He lunged at her, expecting her to go for the exit, but instead, she ran deeper into the building. He followed her, only to hear a door shut and lock.

Meanwhile, Sam found herself in the security guard's office, which luckily could lock from inside. She then walked over to the table that was in the corner of the room and pushed it against the door and sat on it for good measure. Sure enough, she heard banging coming from outside.

''Get out of there!''

''So I could run into the arms of a crazy murderer? Forget it,'' Sam replied, rubbing her arm. There was a bruise on it and it still hurt.

Outside, William realized that he wasn't going to persuade her to come out. However, that didn't mean that she managed to escape. He grinned.

''You're trapped inside, aren't you,'' he said. There was no response. His grin seemingly widened, his eyes emitting a soft purple glow.

Sam had to admit that he was right. She just had to choose the room that had no exit. She felt stupid, remembering all those times she had yelled at horror movie heroines for doing the exact same thing she did, trapping themselves inside a building along with their murderer. She debated whether she should call the cops, as her smartphone was still working, but something told her that they wouldn't believe her. She was sure that they wouldn't pay any attention to the animatronic and would arrest her for trespassing. On the other hand, dealing with the police was probably a better idea than being trapped with a murderer. Not to mention, there was also the possibility that in the morning, someone would come here and check on the location, so she could escape.

She was about to dial the emergency number, when she noticed the monitor blinking. She turned the surveillance system on and flicked through the cameras, finding the one that showed her the very corridor that led to the office. The animatronic was standing in front of the door, only to turn around, his eyes widening as he saw the camera. He stared at it, even waving at her, all while having that smug expression. Sam felt creeped out by his behavior.

''If you don't let me go, I'm going to call the cops,'' she said.

''I doubt they'll be able to help you,'' William replied. There was silence on the other side. He knew that the girl was thinking the same. The room was silent and, as minutes passed, William started to wonder what was going on. He then sat down, leaned against the door, and decided to wait. She couldn't go anywhere and he had time.

''So, you really are William Afton, or should I call you Springtrap?''

William lift his head, looking at the camera. He was a little surprised that the girl didn't sound scared.

''You can call me both,'' he said. ''What's your name?''

There was a moment of silence, as if the girl debated whether to tell him or not.

''Samantha Blackburn, but Sam is good enough.''

''Okay then, Sam,'' William said, glancing at the locked door. ''How do you know who I am?''

''It's complicated,'' Sam replied. ''I didn't expect this to happen.''

''You didn't expect to be cornered by a so-called crazy murderer in a bunny suit,'' Willliam said in an amused tone. ''Nobody would either.''

''No,'' Sam said, raising her voice. ''I meant the idea that there is a possibility to bind your soul to an animatronic suit. That shouldn't be possible. It was supposed to be just a rumor.''

''You could explain me a little more about this rumor,'' William said, frowning. He didn't really like the idea of someone knowing what he had done.

''To be honest, it is not exactly a rumor. People are aware that several children went missing and have never been found. They know that Freddy's had a series of incidents, ranging from missing workers to health and safety code violations. Not to mention the fact that in the past two years, Fazbear's Fright and the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizza location had been burned down to ashes,'' Sam explained. ''However, that's it. The idea that the animatronics were haunted was just an urban legend and nobody believes it. Nobody wants to believe it.''

''Then, why do you believe it?''

''That's the complicated part.'' The animatronic's ears rose in surprise, with William tilting his head as he heard the tone in Sam's voice. She sounded quite intrigued, as if enjoying their little conversation. ''A while ago, several games with the title Five Nights at Freddy's came out and they were supposed to represent all the past events as accurately as possible. Of course, they also kept the events as vague as possible, so you had a hard time figuring out what was going on unless you really thought about it and even then, some of the stuff was rather unbelievable. I did make my own theories and speculations, but even then, stuff just made no sense. I think most people believe that the Polybius arcade game urban legend was more realistic than almost all of the lore in the Five Nights at Freddy's games.''

William was about to ask her about what exactly was the deal with the lore in the games, when Sam continued on her own. She really sounded like she wanted to talk about the lore.

''Then there was the fallout with Fazbear Entertainment…''

''Wait, they're still in business?'' William asked in surprise. He thought that after Henry's death, the company would've closed its doors.

''Yeah,'' Sam replied. ''Anyways, they discredited the game developer, saying how everything that occurred and was represented in the games was completely inaccurate and not true. They said how the games were based on an urban legend and had nothing to do with the real events, which they didn't want to talk about.''

William chuckled. Of course they wouldn't talk about the real events. All they do is trying to cover up anything that would tarnish their reputation.

''I think this is one of those 'refuge in audacity' situations. You're being so open about your actions, which are already baffling, that everyone refuses to believe that they're true. I mean, it feels like a joke…'' Sam said. ''Anyways, Fazbear Entertainment took the games and the website down, and they announced that they would make a game of their own that would parody those that were already published and show how ridiculous they were.''

''I see. Could you then tell me more about the lore?'' William asked in a polite tone, hoping she would reveal what kind of story was exactly in those games.

''Let me think… No,'' Sam replied bluntly, with William frowning. ''I think I should be the one asking questions here. Even though I know who you are and what you have done, there are still a few questions left unanswered.''

''You're not exactly in the position to ask me anything.''

''And neither are you,'' Sam said. ''What happened in the last location, you had been one of the animatronics brought there, weren't you? You had been burned down inside that building and I'm quite sure that your soul had been dragged off to Hell, am I right?''

William didn't reply, a brief flash of the damned office appearing in his mind. He shook his head, trying to forget what he saw.

''You shouldn't even be here. You should've stayed in Hell. A monster like you-''

''Shut up!'' William suddenly stood up and punched the door. ''You claim that you know who I am, but I sincerely doubt that! You don't know anything about me! You said it yourself that you were just speculating.''

''I also figured out who was inside this suit!'' Sam yelled back. ''Face it, maybe I don't know everything, but I know enough to be familiar with what truly happened. Also, I know that you are someone who doesn't care about people unless they prove useful for your goals, that you killed your friend's daughter, that you destroyed your own family thanks to your bloodlust, as well as the lives of other people! I know that you're a monster who enjoys killing people and that you are crazy enough to experiment with life! You don't even care about your own life, as long as it serves some sick purpose you came up with!'' She fumed. ''Tell me, William, am I lying?''

There was no answer, only silence. Sam took a deep breath, feeling anger rushing through her.

''You don't deserve any pity and I sincerely doubt that you would ever change. Behind that cute mask you wear is an abomination of a human,'' she said. ''So, why are you here? Why are you back? To kill more people?''

There was still no answer. Sam dared to look at the cameras, only to find the animatronic staring directly at her. However, the purple glow in his eyes faded, leaving them silver and green. What was going on? He then lowered his head and left.

Sam was still suspicious and didn't want to come outside. She checked the cameras, but couldn't find him. Wondering what to do and whether it was safe to come out, she paced in the small room, only to accidentally kick a box that had been under the table. To her surprise, it was an air vent, big enough for her to crawl through. She made a plan, turning the cameras off, pushing away the table from the door and unlocking it, then drew the box towards the air vent and put it behind her as she entered it, so nobody could see it.

''Now, I just need to figure out where the go,'' she muttered under her breath, trying to be as silent as possible. She focused on getting out of this place, but she knew that she also had to deal with William, or rather, Springtrap, as he certainly wasn't a human anymore. She came to a fork, wondering which path she would take.

She winced when she heard Springtrap shouting. He didn't sound angry, but rather desperate. Something was indeed wrong and she knew she should've gotten as fast out of the place as possible. However, curiosity got the better out of her and she crawled towards where she heard the voice coming. She found herself in the main area, noticing Springtrap withdrawing towards the wall, looking absolutely terrified. It seemed like he saw something she couldn't see. She watched him as he whimpered, cornered against the wall.

Sam knew that something was incredibly wrong with him, but this took the cake. She didn't understand why he behaved like this. He then looked at his hands, one being a clenched fist, as if he was holding something. He suddenly opened his hand, wincing, and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. It seemed that he came back to his senses, as he didn't have that unfocused look anymore. He slid down the wall and sat down, lowering his head, looking utterly miserable.

Still surprised to see him like that, Sam noticed that, if she exited the air vent, she could sneak to the corridor that led to the back exit without Springtrap noticing her. She managed to crawl out of the air vent, ready to sprint towards the exit, when she looked back at Springtrap. He hadn't noticed her at all.

This is my chance.

She looked once again at Springtrap, her body preparing itself for a run… and then suddenly heard a voice inside her head screaming to not dare to do anything stupid. She ignored it.

Instead of going straight for the exit, she slowly approached the animatronic. He didn't seem to care that she was there, as he didn't react at all when she came into his field of vision. Sam observed him curiously, then crouched right in front of him.

''Seems like your experiences left you with some scars,'' she said in a quiet tone, her voice sounding more gentle than she intended to. He lift his head, glaring at her as his eyes started to glow purple again. However, the glow faded, like a fire that got extinguished, his eyes turning back to silver and green. He looked away from her.

''Why don't you leave? Or do you want to keep on taunting me?'' he asked. Sam tilted her head.

''I think there is a better solution to this,'' she said. ''Say, William… Or Springtrap…''

''I told you, you can call me both.'' The animatronic gave her an annoyed look.

''Okay, then. I'd like to know why exactly you're here,'' Sam said.

''I don't think that this is any of your business,'' Springtrap replied.

''I know that. I don't care,'' Sam replied in a deadpan tone. ''Are you even aware in what kind of situation you have put yourself?''

''What?''

''I bet you somehow came back, but there was a catch,'' Sam said. ''Right?''

''Maybe there wasn't,'' Springtrap replied, only to look confused when Sam shook her head.

''If there wasn't a catch, I doubt we would have had this conversation and I would be lying dead on the floor by now,'' she replied in a more serious tone.

''That's still an option.'' Springtrap's eyes briefly flared purple.

''Maybe,'' Sam said, looking indifferent. ''But I think that you have other things on mind. What is it?''

Springtrap looked at her, still irritated at her stubbornness and her attempts to question him. One move and she would never be able to return home. However, before he could do anything, he felt a sudden headache, with blood splatters covering his vision.

''YOU WILL NOT BE SPARED. YOU WILL NOT BE SAVED.''

He clutched his head as he heard another dreaded voice.

''No…''

''William!''

The hallucinations suddenly disappeared, with Springtrap looking up at Sam, noticing her worried expression. She looked relieved when she realized that the breakdown he had was over.

''Are you okay?''

''I'm obviously not okay,'' Springtrap replied. He then sighed. ''I am not okay at all.'' He then glanced at her. ''You were right, I did escape Hell, but it seems like it followed me. Someone told me I could atone for what I did, or I could just continue killing people.'' Springtrap frowned. ''I'm supposed to finish something I had started.''

''I see.'' Sam stood up, stretching her arms and noticing Springtrap's glare. ''Maybe I could help you with that.''

''I doubt it,'' Springtrap scoffed, noticing Sam glaring at him. She sighed.

''You have been given another chance and you go straight back into murder mode. That's the most idiotic thing you can do. Does your sanity or your soul really mean nothing to you?'' Sam asked, taking a step back when Springtrap stood up. Just now had she noticed that he was towering over her, even without the ears.

''Why would that matter to you?'' he asked. Sam didn't answer. Springtrap sighed, knowing how he ran into a problem. He had to admit that she was right. He was getting careless and he should actually think things through before he makes a move.

For now, he only knew about several things. He wanted to avoid Hell, there was something he needed to finish (whether it had something to do with the atonement or annihilation offer, he wasn't sure) and he got offered help from a random girl who knew his past, yet was either brave or foolish enough to stay with him instead of running away.

He then turned to her, with Sam stepping back, looking rather insecure about her decision. He tilted his head, as if contemplating what to do with her.

''You know what I've done,'' he said. ''Can you really imagine me seeking redemption?''

''Not exactly,'' Sam replied. ''But it's something you should decide about. It is an option, even if you think that it isn't.''

She noticed that he was considering the idea. She took another step back, glancing at where the exit was. Looking back at Springtrap, she realized that this didn't go unnoticed.

''Just leave,'' he said, turning away from her. To his surprise, Sam stepped in front of him.

''What are you going to do now?''

''Why would you want to know that?''

''Partly because I want to make sure you won't cause any trouble, and partly because I'm curious,'' Sam replied. Springtrap grinned, crossing his arms on his back and bowing over to be at her eye-level.

''Perhaps I could show you what exactly happens to people who are too curious for your own good,'' he said in a threatening tone. To his surprise, she just grinned and booped his nose, which produced a squeaking sound. He stepped back, glaring at her, his eyes flaring purple.

''So, I guess that silver and green means docile and purple means excited or aggressive,'' Sam said as if she was talking about the weather. ''That's good to know.''

''What are you up to?'' Springtrap frowned, feeling irritated. He just couldn't understand why she was doing all of this or even bothering to talk to him.

''Do you even have anywhere to go?'' Sam asked, surprising him. ''Do you plan to stay here?''

''Why are you asking me that?''

''Because I have a suggestion. As I already said, I could help you to figure out why you're here and if you don't have anywhere to stay, you could come with me. I don't think anyone would notice if I stole an animatronic that wasn't even supposed to be here,'' Sam explained. Springtrap looked stunned, staring at her as if she just grew a second head.

''This is the most stupid idea I've heard of. This is not a game. Have you even thought that I could just easily decide to ignore your suggestion and just outright kill you. I wouldn't care,'' he said, his eyes glowing purple.

''You had a lot of opportunities to kill me, but you didn't. It is obvious that you feel conflicted about what to do.''

''I am not-''

''Yes, you are! Whatever you experienced in Hell left a mark on you!'' Sam rose her voice. ''I always had the impression that you're one determined man, someone who cannot be taken down even by death. However, the man I just saw was far from the murderer I imagined. You look so broken and lost.'' She gave him a determined look. ''I know this isn't a game. If it weren't for what I just saw, I would've already taken off or set the building on fire if I had to.''

Springtrap wanted to protest. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but something stopped him from that. The memories from Hell suddenly resurfaced again and he could hear their voices, taunting him. They were telling him how he would never escape it, and they were right. Even though he dared to hope that he would eventually get away, he had accepted that he would be stuck forever there. Maybe he was still stuck in Hell. Maybe that's why he was still hearing them screaming…

''Hey, Springtrap!''

Springtrap looked startled, staring at Sam, who looked worried. He groaned, clutching his head. He wasn't in Hell, there was no way he was still stuck there. He was free, wasn't he?

''I'm still hearing them,'' he said, glancing at Sam. ''Even if I'm here, even if this is really, it's like I had never left Hell.''

''You brought it upon yourself,'' Sam said in a chilly tone. Springtrap could only agree with her and went silent.

''You're really determined to help me,'' he said. Sam nodded. ''Fine, then. I guess I don't really have much of a choice.''

''Technically, you have, but I'm glad you decided to not take the murderous path,'' Sam said, with the two walking towards the exit. ''You can still salvage what you have left.''

''Is there another reason why you decided to help me?'' Springtrap asked after closing the door, following Sam, who was walking backwards while facing him. He sincerely doubted that she wanted to help him out of sympathy or just because she was altruistic.

''I'm surprised you didn't ask me about it earlier,'' Sam said, a mischievous smile on her expression. ''I still want to know what exactly happened at Freddy's and you're obviously the best person to ask.''

''I should have expected that.'' Springtrap sighed.

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#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

[magntx]

|| -- @thefastestaround : continuation

Time seemed to cease. The words Pietro said hit him with the force of a sledgehammer and he did not know how to reply. They both knew to wield their sharp words like second natures. Gone too far, patience and compassion tipped over.

Magneto's gaze remained unyielding, a mask of cold indifference that had often sheltered him from the tumult of emotions. His son's words struck home, not because they were false, but because they danced perilously close to truths that lingered in the depths of his conscience. He wanted to ignore the words.

As Pietro lashed out with the bitterness of a son abandoned, Magneto's eyes, hidden behind the imposing helmet, revealed an unusual glint of remorse. It was a regret that whispered of missed opportunities, of failed attempts to bridge the chasm between them.

"Failure - It's the cost of being what I am, of doing what I do. But failure at the hands of your own choices, your own arrogance, that is what worries me." He says with more anger in his tone than he had intended to slip through. "No, Pietro. You will not die. Fail perhaps-"

The master of magnetism was always doing everything himself. And it was only a matter of time before he failed. It was only a matter of time before more people died while he was away focusing on the threat that had the most likelihood to kill everyone. Everything was a lose-lose scenario. If only Pietro did not have his superspeed, then Magnus could at least illusion himself with the fact that his son would not see the crack of the facade happening in slow motion. He also tells himself that the magnetic shield he puts up to keep the boy away from seeing it is just a subconcious act.

"Failure, Pietro, is something we both have a history with," Erik says, calmly, not authorative but Pietro could read the tone well enough. "But being me ... is one thing you will make sure you do not fail at. I don't want you to become like me. I want you to be better, to build a world where mutants can live without fear, without needing a savior. But don't mistake my concern for weakness."

And he should not claim to need him and speak that he can do everything on his own in the same sentence. It makes him sound foolish, Erik thought. But his son, he had to admit, had all the right to need him.

There was a part of Pietro that had always tried to maintain a distance, to avoid being overshadowed by the legacy of Magneto's actions. It was a difficult thing ... to wear the shadow of the bucket helmet. Erik could only imagine. His son wanted to carve his own path, even if it meant making choices that were different from what he thought should be done. A web of emotions and tensions lay bare, the father and son grappling.

[occasionalabbyssofredblooms]

And here we go.

did I mention my Oc (Edvard Cornelisson btw) is utterly deranged? So worship can transcend love and friendship, boys and girls.

—-

“Edvard?”

A deep breath in, he reminded himself. If he breathed just a bit faster, he would throw up, this much was certain. But taking slow, steady inhales helped. With his panic, at least. That still didn’t resolve the fact that his wrists ached from the scorching sensation of the rope every time he tried to move his hands, or that his head was throbbing as if it was threatening to become its own organism, alive and heaving with shaky breaths.

“Ah, you’ve awakened. Lovely.”

Once, this voice made his heart flutter. Now, it made his skin tingle as if a dozen spiders were making their way up from his fingertips up into his cranium. Edvard has become this sticky, disgusting feeling and he hated both himself and Edvard for it.

“Now, now, don’t try to struggle. You wouldn’t want to make this hurt a bit more.”

“Let me go.”

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

“Please.”

He pondered, and the lanky figure stepped in front of him, like a wax copy of himself, only if it was left by the oven for a bit too long-wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, it was all wrong. He used to joke that they looked like siblings once, both dark-haired and pale: Edvard seemed to take it to heart, too much perhaps, it seemed. The start was simple enough, just matching boutonnières. Same flowers, fixed in the same manner. Come to think of it, he used to think it was even wholesome. No, the beautiful aspect has long slipped from this relationship, wilting with every small identical copy of himself he found in his lover’s behaviour. Same hat. Same clothes. Same manners, same smiles, same haircuts, same morals, same ideas, they only differed in face and body. And when he saw just what went up with a sparkle the second the candlelight hit his face, he wasn’t even certain of that. A carefully cleaned, well-sharpened pair of scissors.

“Edvard-“

He tried to call out to his better side, his reason, but the tired eyes just stared at him with an odd sense of detachment, entirely unfamiliar, yet he was certain he saw glimpses of it before.

“You won’t feel a thing, my angel. I just need your face, that’s all. Nothing too personal. We’ve always been meant to be one, didn’t you know? Me and you, entwined together like your so beloved vines. You’ll be Edvard, I’ll be Oscar, and together- oh, together we’ll reach heaven.”

The florist fell quiet after hearing these words, there was no reasoning with him now. Deep breath, but he also failed at these the second he saw the dollmaker pull out a syringe with Laudanum, the fuzzy numbing sensation hitting him like a sledgehammer as he timidly watched him pick up the sharp tools and move closer to his face.

“You’re my salvation, did you know that?”