#and also want more fanfiction so I can suffer in silence

[starkholme]

Tell me why did I watched that episode of Quantum Leap with Deborah Ann Woll because now I want a Kastle AU about famous country singer Karen Page's life being threatened and her getting helped by the ex marines/now bodyguard Frank Castle

Obviously everything being set in the 60s/70s because why the hell not

[vinjinssunglasses]

could you write something about Yamazaki shingen can be anything

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♯┆character yamazaki shingen

♯┆summary you are somi park, the woman who conceived. Strangely, you and Shingen get closer?

♯┆cw oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, squirting, belly bulge, slight size kink (?)

♯┆w/c 4.4k

♯┆a/n first smut fic, i hope you guys enjoy!! <3 also I do not condone somi park’s actions, nor is anything in this fanfiction canon. none of this is an excuse for her actions ^-^

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The day you gave birth, you were filled with a mix of joy and emptiness. That warm feeling of joy wasn’t for yourself, it was for your own clan. Everyone cheered for you, so you should feel content too, right? Yet all you wanted to do was cry, let yourself loose with tears, hands soaking wet and makeup dripping. That child, the one who was too unworthy to bare the Yamazaki surname, was yours. And you hated it.

It reminded you of the day and nights of endless moaning from your parents, reminding over and over that you are one of the ten women to try to conceive that man’s child. Intercourse is only for those who are inlove, you firmly believe and stuck to your whole life. However there you were, taking in the ruthless thrusts of his man. His hands rest a firm grip on your hips, while his cock mercilessly spreads your hole. Yamazaki was indifferent; keeping his usual stern attitude and quietness, not sparing a sound.

It’s for your family, it’s for your clan. Those dreadful words ran through your mind endlessly. It felt like your perception of love and sex were being ripped to shreds right in front of your eyes. As soon as he finished, the room was dead silent. Not a word or a sound, other than him flipping the blanket over himself. Getting up to clean up, you only sighed as you felt it running down your leg. The mirror showed the pathetic sight of tears running down your face again. And there, the bathroom floor, you sat there curled into a ball, letting the tears run down your red cheeks while you silenced your own woeful cries.

Upon the announcement that you had conceived, you didn’t know what to feel. Relief, knowing you want to have to betray your own beliefs like that again? Or grief, knowing that the baby in your stomach could be deemed useless, and all your efforts to keep your mental state together has been futile? Everybody cheered and congratulated you nonetheless. If only somebody even cared.

That son of yours. Every time clan members reminded you, murder ran through your mind. However you were only allowed to smile and thank them. None of the idiots spared a second thought about how you felt, nor did they even ask.

‘THE HOPE OF YAMAZAKI’

As soon as that forsaken child was born, everyone seemed to take their judging eyes off of you, and onto that mistake. It was the birth of a being that was fuelled with all your grievances. All your hatred shifted onto that child, the one who was worthless enough to take up your last name, Park. Pitch black eyes and a tiny body that giggled when played with. He couldn’t even say ‘mama’, and his mere existence was worth more than yours.

The only ones by your side was the other nine women who also slept with that beast. You all made jokes to lighten the mood, yet the lingering feeling of ‘it’s all your fault’ lay deep inside your hearts. None of them congratulated you on that child, they all experienced similar to what you have. It felt as if they were your only safe space throughout this whole home.

If you were going to live here, you figured you may aswell call it home. Nothing about this place felt like home to you. It was your place of endless suffering, that felt like you were paying the price for your sins.

The first day you had to take your punishment, was the day you were scheduled to sleep with him. Everytime you even think of your last digit, you remember your trembling hand against the knife that pointed at your helpless finger.

Yubitsume, where severing a finger signifies an apology and loyalty to the clan. All of you trembled with sweat when holding that blade. Terrified gazes exchanged, you had to go through with the yakuza tradition. The reason was simple — the desire for his seed. All of you were considered lowlifes, therefore you weren’t allowed to express your opinion. As a result of these actions that were considered sins, the blood splattered over the tissues provided.

Afterwards, you were responsible for his daily tasks: bathing, cleaning, etc. It was an awkward silence, though you weren’t expecting much since he was never a speaker. Dark eyes rested on your curves as you went for a towel, in his eyes you were beautiful. The reincarnation of Aphrodite. While he would never let the words flow off his tongue, you noticed the way Shingen’s gaze rested on you for longer than it should. Though he only sat there, otherwise resting his gaze on the bathroom tiles while you scrubbed.

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You couldn’t help but feel bad for the boy. Gun was only young, unbeknownst of what was to happen. Born by unluckiness to serve the clan against his own will. It’ll be the only thing he knows from now on. To be a killing machine, just like his father, ‘Machine Gun’. To treat him like that, you felt terrible; absolutely ashamed.

Stopping him from having the childhood he was meant to, playing kendama with the friends he made, maybe you were part of the blame. You didn’t want to, but the vice-president presence looms over your shoulder, threatening that if you do not comply; it won’t go well. It’s not the child’s fault, he didn’t deserve any of this. If you had it your way, you’d him play kendama for as long as he pleased; never force him to fight. Still, you weren’t worth a dime to these people, therefore you were forced to your pesky mouth shut.

.

It’s strange. The contact with you two has always been the same — for the traditions of the Yamazaki clan. Then why does the air between you two feel a little lighter? It was odd enough being so casually naked around each other, even though you’ve already seen the other like this.

“How was your day?” Shingen muttered under his breath, and you paused in shock. The room fell silent as you stopped spreading the soap over his body. No, he’s not the type of guy to spare a moment of care for another. Ruthless, unforgiving and selfish is his nature; he tears his opponents limb by limb, not slowing them to spare a breath before they meet their demise. A man like Shingen doesn’t bother caring for his underlings, as they’re under him for one reason and one reason only: they’re weak, unable to reach his level.

Then why..?

“It.. It was okay.” You responded, mindlessly continuing with the task at hand. The room fell silent again, as per usual. It was a nerving stillness, one that has your heart racing. It was softer, less rough like his calloused, scarred skin, a result of all the treacheries he’s gone through. Shingen raises his brow as he studied his hands. You’d just realised — you had been staring at his hands for too long, and he had noticed.

“What is it?” Shingen spoke in a low tone as he inspected all the scars, callouses and rough texture of his hands, they were simply huge. One handshake could snap your wrist in two, not to mention the once soft knuckles that had hardened from the continuous strain from punching. The long, thick fingers which felt like rough sandpaper along his own skin, he had already gotten used to the sensation. So when your unfamiliarly soft hands run along his back, it successfully soothes him. Unlike his, your hands are slender and soft, with well-kept nails that are moisturised often to keep their ‘femininity’.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” You clear your throat, proceeding to grab the shower head. Even when you suddenly splashed water over his body, he never flinched, no matter the temperature. Most times you could never tell if the water was too hot, as he would just sit there in silence.

The next few days weren’t any better. When you were simply cleaning the house, he’ll take a seat near you, sipping at tea while minding his own business. When you moved rooms, he’d do the same, following along and silently observing. Occasionally he’d ask you questions, but that’s as far as conservations went. At first, you tried to ignore him, pretending his presence didn’t bother you and focusing on your work. But over time, the heavy silence between the two of you became more and more unbearable. Shingen’s eyes would follow your every move, his gaze felt heavy, as if he wanted something, yet he never spoke.

One afternoon, as you dusted the walls, you finally had enough. You turned around, forcing the words out of your throat in an attempt to find out what you really wanted to know.

“Is something the matter? These past couple days, you have been following me around.” Your hands become sweatier and you could barely maintain eye contact. Shingen withdrew the cup from his hand, resting it on the table before gazing right into your anxious eyes. He was surprised by your sudden outburst, yet he maintained his neutral exterior.

“Is it bothering you?” He simply spoke, waiting for your reply. Unsure of how to answer, you hesitated — one wrong word and he could snap you in half if he wanted to. But did it bother you? Perhaps at first, however it’s a feeling you can’t put your finger on. It was intrusive, but it left you curious. Why was he there? Is he hoping to see, or hear something?

“No…” You muttered, letting out a sigh you didn’t realise you had been holding. His eyes lingered in you for a moment longer than it should’ve, leaving you with a shiver running down your spine. Expression unreadable, as if he was weighing your answer. You shifted uneasily, wiping the sweat on your palms onto your clothes, trying to maintain your composure under the scrutiny of his deep gaze.

“I see.” He spoke, voice low like a well-tuned instrument. It was as if he learnt something from your hesitation. Unsure of what to think, you swallowed trying to understand his body language, yet it proved futile. You psychically can’t understand a man like him. What is even thinking right now? The air is thick, filled with words you wish you could say.

“Well, if you need anything..” your voice trailed off awkwardly, and he nodded as to acknowledge your attempt at conversation before turning his attention back to his cup of tea. You returned to your work, yet the question still gnawed at you. Everytime you moved, you could feel his unwavering gaze on the back of your neck.

“Why me?” The question slipped out of your mouth without thinking, and you started to silently panic. Turning back to face him, he simply looked down at his reflected expression from the ripples of the liquid. Now that it was in the open, it was too late to take it back. For a moment, Shingen didn’t answer. No matter how much you squinted to see a pinch of emotion, you couldn’t see past the barrier between the mask he wore and his raw emotions. Angry, sad, disdained — you couldn’t tell. It was like staring at a stone wall, unmovable and devoid of emotion. To your surprise, you notice his lips curve into a frown. Did you perhaps do something wrong?

After what felt like ages, he spared a few words. “You interest me.”

‘You interest me?’ Your breath caught in your throat. His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t grasp. You tried to search his face for even a tiny hint, yet he remained unreadable, as always. Before anything else could be said, he stood and left with the room. The only thing you could do was watch him. He didn’t even look back, leaving you with the echo of his strange words replaying through your mind.

The following week, he personally invited you into his chambers. A cold shiver ran down your spine when he suddenly asked you to meet in his room that night. While you were cleaning the dishes, he quietly entered the room unbeknown to you. Suddenly speaking in a low tone, you flinched and raised your head to look at him. Those same, cold and dark eyes gazed down at you.

“Come to my room, tonight.” Simple, and sweet. Usually he’d keep a distance from his underlings, yet he was close enough that his arms brush yours. You dropped the sponge and took a moment to process the situation — his room? Tonight? What?

“Is there a reason?” You felt compelled to ask. What could he possibly be thinking? He’s unreadable, and you struggle to understand him.

“No.” Leaving no room for anymore questions, he turned around and left. Standing there, puzzled, you could once again only watch him walk away as you were forced to continue your task.

That night, the clock struck ten and you had just finished washing up. You got changed and put your old clothing into the laundry. It was bothering you, what was he doing to do? Did your parents do something outlandish again? The whole thought of it left you pacing around the hallways wondering if you should just say you forgot. But then you’d be going against his order, and who knows what your clan will shame you for now? Sighing, you took the chance and knocked at the door.

“Oyabun.” You called out, and he opened the door. He let you inside, and you took a seat on the bed where he sat beside you. The quiet of his chambers felt oppressive, the air thick with words unspoken. You shifted a little and fidgeted with your hands as your mind spun with questions. Were you over thinking? The silence stretched between you, his presence looming next to you, quiet and unyielding. You tried to shut these thoughts out, but you could only focus on how close he was sat, his body heat radiating against yours in the lamps dim light.

You cleared your throat. Hesitating, the question you’d been holding back forcing its way out. “… What did you mean by that?”

Shingen shifted his gaze from your fidgeting fingers to your jumbled expression that could barely maintain eye contact. “The other day, where you said..”

Did you say too much? You paused and instantly regretted saying anything.

For a moment that felt like ages, he didn’t say a word. You could feel his gaze on you, but he didn’t make a move to speak. Anxiety coiled in your chest, and just as you were about to apologise for saying anything in the first place…

“You think too much.” The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you pulled your head up to looked at him. For once, he showed an emotion you could make out — troubled. His brows creased with worry, lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, struggling to look you in the eye. “You..” Shingen paused, as if carefully choosing his choice of words. “…occupy my thoughts.”

What? It wasn’t as you expected ever coming out of his mouth. He’s a gruesome man who doesn’t hesitate to tear limbs apart, yet here he is, in front of you, weak and docile. Between the cracks of his yielding facades, a hint of emotion shone through. It was as if your hand moved by itself, curling his hair behind his ear.

“Why?” You whispered, trying to grasp onto any sort of reason. “I don’t understand you.”

“There’s no need.” Shingen replied, his voice low and soft. This time, his eyes gazed longingly into yours, filled with an unspoken desperation, like he was hoping for something he couldn’t put into words. In all honesty, you were speechless. Before entering this room, you had no expectations, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Now you want to stay here, in this moment, forever. Seeing his face so soft was a sight engraved in your mind, one that you wouldn’t get tired of seeing.

“Just.. stay. Stay with me.” He bit his lip, his expression tender, waiting for a response he desperately needed. These words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made your chest tighten. His words resonated deep inside of you, and you couldn’t explain his new feeling.

The silence returned, but it didn’t feel thick and heavy, nor suffocating. It felt as if something growing between you two, something fragile and real.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper, as your hand lands on his. Stroking his thumb, you noticed a faint smile creep onto his lips as a wave of contentment washed over him. It was a side of him that you had never seen — no, nobody has even seen — and it made you feel so special. *I was the only one to see this monster oh-so vulnerable. You saw it — how his shoulders eased and body relaxed, leaning into yours. As if he’d been holding it in for so long, and only now, in this room that he bared his suffering alone, has he been able to express it.

He turned his hand over, lacing his with yours. The feeling of his weathered hands felt so warm against yours, and you embraced his imperfections for what they were. That simple gesture sent a warmth through your body that made your chest ache. His other hand lifted, hesitating for a moment before resting it against your cheek, thumb brushing softly across your skin.

Shamelessly, you almost couldn’t keep your eyes off of his lips. And he couldn’t either. An eagerness that rested in your heart hedged for you to kiss him. You shifted closer to him, taking the chance and pulling him closer while your lips met his, hesitant but eager. Shingen’s mouth was warm, a firm contrast from his cold exterior. Your eyelids flutter close as you let yourself melt into the tenderness of his embrace. Restless, your hands finding themself gripping the hem of his robe, unable to get enough of him. Straddling his lap, you felt his hands naturally settle upon your hips. You finally take this chance to take a breathe, and you look into his eyes — hungry.

For the first time in your life, you felt as if you were in control — his gazed lifted to you, not looking down. You cupped his face,, watching how his cheeks squish against his lips, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, you didn’t dare part them.

It was a moment you never wanted to end.

Yamazaki lifted you by the hips, taking care to lay your body onto the bed before climbing in between your legs. Untying your robe, his hands eagerly explore each crevice of your body. From your breasts, to your hips, to your thighs — you were perfect. Shingen leaned towards your breasts, gently circling his finger around your areola. Your nipples ached to be touched, yet he only groped your tits, kissing at the sensitive regions of your neck.

His kisses travelled down your collarbone, chest and stomach, towards your dripping cunt. Shingen’s long hair draped along your thighs, his warm breath causing your pussy to tremble.

“Hurry.” Voice aching with anticipation, he complied; his tongue slurped up all your juices, taunting your clit with the feathery contact. Every glide of his tongue has you loosing control of your pesky mouth once more, moans carelessly spilling, making his own neglected cock throb. Moving the strands of hair from his forehead back, you can see the lust and hunger embedded in his eyes, as if he’s holding back from having his way with you. It’s so sexy, seeing those glaring eyes gazing right back at you. His fingers grip deep enough into your skin that it could bruise, pulling you in closer to ravenously lavish in the juices of your leaking cunt.

Shingen leaned in closer to circle your clit with his tongue. A pleasured gasp came from above, which encouraged him to keep going. What if someone heard? You tried your hardest to suppress your moans, covering your mouth. Why’d he stop? A hand grips onto your wrist, pulling them away from your panting mouth as he looks up into your eyes.

“Don’t hold back your moans. I want to hear them.” He slowly pushed a finger through, thrusting in a come hither motion. Those hands, they were fucking huge, and your cunt struggled to spread around them. The once rough, sandpaper like hands melted into your love juices, becoming soft and creamy. A smirk ran across his lips as he rubbed his own erection, watching your face contort into a slutty mess.

Oh, what’s that? He presses against your g-spot, and you shriek in pure bliss. Each thrust leaves you breathless, bolts of pleasure running through your spine. What’s worse is the view of your juices spilling all over the sheets, creating a pool under you. Shingen can’t help but love what he’s doing to you, enjoying every moment of your helpless self.

Oh gosh, you could feel yourself getting closer, while he leans in to circle his tongue around your nub. Shamelessly attacking your weakest spot, you grip onto his hair as you could feel the pool of pleasure inside your stomach hollowing, and your voice becoming louder. In three last plunges against your g-spot, a squeal escapes you as you squirt all over his abdomen. Vision hazy, you felt his fingers pulling out and him panting himself. Shingen lapped up the aftermath of your delighted orgasm, hungrily devouring every last drop.

Next thing you know, his cock is hugged between the wetness of your folds, lined up against your hole. How the fuck was that thing going to fit inside of you? No matter how wet your hole was, the tip could barely push its way in.

“Relax,” His hands rested on each side of your hips for support, while he tried to push it in slowly.

“It’ll fit.” He spoke as if he knew what you were thinking. Shingen groaned as in one final thrust of force, he abruptly dipped into your heat. You let out a surprised squeal, as you both pant. One hand finds its way to grip onto your thigh that nestled around his waist, while the other grips onto your hips. Only three inches has found its home in the depths of your pussy, yet you’re already panting for air. It’s only just begun. He doesn’t dare push any further, afraid that’ll hurt you.

“Give me more. I.. I can take it…” Your voice trembles, trailing off at the end.

Of course, he indulges; pushing his length on further, six inches in. Even further now, seven, eight.. just how big is he?! The girth of his cock makes your head spin as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girth. As he pulls out, you noticed the glistening of his cock dipped in the wetness of your pussy, yet the remaining few wasn’t. Giving slow thrusts, you could feel the motion of his cock hitting so deep, making your whole body shiver in pleasure.

“You feel so good..” He groans into the crook of your neck, hungrily kissing your neck to your lips. That spongy spot inside of you is being tortured by his fat tip, and your joke shudders every time he does. Shingen’s never been this loud — breathlessly loosing control of himself, his precum already leaking inside of you.

“Shingen,” You pulled him in closer with your legs, causing another inch or two to slip in. “Gi.. Give me all of it. I told you, I, I can take it..”

You whine as your eyes start to water, having your toes curling. An instant regret floods his body as he saw the tears running down your cheek, yet he was feeling way too good to acknowledge anything else. Reluctantly, the last few inches fill you up, and oh, you could see his cock bulging out on your stomach.

Shingen faintly smiled as he pushed down on that spot, his hips unapologetically moving faster. It was so sensitive — him pressing down on your womb only made you scream in ecstasy more. Your hole tightens and squeezes him, and you could feel every twitch and pulse his desperate dick let’s out. His strong hands grip onto your hips, squeezing them while thrusting as fast as he could — a bolt of cum building inside his balls.

“Shingen..!” Your voice wails in heavenly bliss, yet he’s too pussy-drunk to even listen to a word you’re saying. “Agh..! W-Wait, I…!”

The sinful sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt drowned out the noises of your moans, and a sheen sheet of seat drips down your bodies.

“I’m.. I’m cumming.. T-Take it all..” just a little bit more and..!

He’s filling you up, mumbling all sorts of profanities. As soon as he pulls out, a rush of juices land on his chest yet again. It made him satisfied to see your hole bubbling with his sperm, dripping onto the wet sheets. It was an achievement to see you trembling, gasping for air, gripping into the sheets for some resolve. He plants a kiss on your cheek, biting on your earlobe before whispering into your ear:

“One more time, please?” And you couldn’t refuse.

[maluuustrawberry]

I saw that you are accepting fic requests. Do you write about some DreamWork's characters too? I wanted to request a Pitch Black from the rise of the guardians.

And I wanted to say that I love your work, your fanfiction are very good and I love the way you manage to write the characters so well!!!😭❤️❤️❤️

“My Dear Cupid.”

(Pitch Black X Fem!Reader)

Synopsis: Pitch, better known as the boogeyman, ended up developing a new feeling that he had never felt in all his years, feeling for the new guardian who was your total opposite, for you the guardian of love, the cupid.

A/N: By great coincidence I was watching this film recently. Of course I'm going to write about Dreamworks characters too!! You can ask me, but it will take me a while to make some fanfiction because there are already a lot of requests in front. The next one will be Clopin Trouillefou and Hades from Hercules.

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He hadn't imagined that this could happen, no one had, least of all her, who he thought had deliberately made the enchantment so powerful that it affected the king of nightmares.

That flame and that heat disturbed him. Pitch had never felt that burning in all his millennia of life, but everything changed after his first encounter with the guardian of love, Cupid.

After a meeting of the guardians at the North Pole on the subject of the new guardian, The Man in the Moon determined that the new guardian should destroy Pitch and protect the children, along with the duty of bringing joy to them.

Knowing this information for himself, Pitch decided to face the chosen one personally, after all, a simple cupid couldn't do anything against him; or so he thought.

The blizzard and the intense cold dominated the place, but that didn't bother the bogeyman at all, because everyone knows that cold and fear combine perfectly with each other; leaving only agony and suffering. When he saw a silhouette in the middle of all that snow, he deduced that it might be you and sneaked up from behind to destroy you with just one blow from his scythe, and you wouldn't even know who hit you.

That's when he saw your face. The moment you sensed that you were being pursued, you quickly turned around and aimed your bow and arrow, surprising him and leaving him static in that position holding his scythe.

The two of you stood in silence, staring deeply into each other's eyes. Pitch seemed awestruck by your appearance, not imagining that you looked so angelic and delicate. Seeing you pointing your arrow and looking deeply at him, while the snow from the blizzard stuck to your hair, was a sight worthy of a painting.

It was hard to say what kind of look he was looking at and where the flame that was coming from him was coming from. Pitch wasn't as expressive, but his gaze showed that he had never been as perplexed as he was at that moment; it was one of admiration, and therefore full of disturbance and turmoil.

And you looked at him confused, but also wary. "Why doesn't he just attack me?" You asked yourself, and you couldn't attack him either, you were overcome with trembling and the cause of this was the intense cold. Before you could shoot your arrow, he quickly disappeared, using your shadow, to his advantage, which was close to him. That was so fast that a small gasp of fright escaped his lips. You lost sight of him, but looked around, still holding your arrow and bow tightly in case he appeared by surprise, but no, he was really gone.

That was your little encounter. After that day, his thoughts were dominated by you, appearing in such strong colors that this unknown feeling and the desire to tear you apart grew more and more. Your wings were so delicate, your neck so fragile and graceful that he wanted to squeeze and twist it using just one of his hands.

He removed all the hatred and evil from his heart and recognized that this hatred and evil was only love, which had become terrible things in the heart of the bogeyman, a poisonous, hateful and vicious love that seemed more like an obsession. In all these years it never occurred to him that the guardian of the nightmare, the terror of every child, could fall in love with such a fragile, angelic creature, the complete opposite of him, and therefore one of his enemies, but unfortunately it did.

That's when a thought came to him: you were a cupid, the guardian of love, and you made people fall in love with each other. Could that be? It had to be, there was a great possibility that you had put a spell on him. The fixed idea kept coming back and torturing him, he had to get rid of this doubt in his mind by going to you and putting an end to this agony once and for all.

*****

You were flying to your temple after several hours of work. Of course bringing couples together was your specialty, but you also worked on preserving the sympathy, innocence and gentleness of children, because love was related to all that too, and your work only worked with the power contained in the substances you put in your arrows.

On the way there, you sensed that something was wrong, and unfortunately your intuition was right. Your temple was being invaded by Pitch's "horses", but they quickly left as a figure, and when you looked a little further, you noticed that they were stealing your arrows and the vials containing the substances. This made you extremely worried because your arrows and those vials were your most important things, they were what made you the cupid and guardian.

When the last creature left your temple as fast as a shadow, you followed it trying to catch up with it as it flew, it was hard to keep up as the nightmare was fast, but you didn't give up for anything, you weren't so focused on catching up with the nightmare that you didn't even remember to call the other guardians to help you.

With that chase, the nightmare took you into a forest and disappeared among the trees, you landed and looked around. The place was totally dark and gray with a certain evil malice, as if there was no life, only melancholy, which made you immediately become defensive and walk among those trees and hold your bow and arrow.

You looked around for that smoky black creature as you entered the forest, until your ears caught the sound of a neigh and you knew it wasn't just any horse. The cupid ran quickly to where the sound was coming from and stopped at the sight of a broken, old bed in a deep hole, getting closer cautiously, a bad energy taking you over more and more and you were slightly startled to hear the neighing again, but this time inside that hole. You had no choice, had to get back what had been stolen from you. So you entered that deep, dark hole, using your wings to land gently without hurting yourself.

As you stepped into the room, you looked around. It was a poorly lit cave, the lights were just a few rays of sunlight that invaded the deep cavern, who knows how many meters you were underground, the cold dominated the place, but it was bearable. You managed to discover Pitch's hideout, but you also wondered whether you would make it out alive or sane. You gathered your courage and decided to explore the place while your guard was still up, but even so, your fear was palpable, and he loved it, little did you know that he savored your fear.

You stood out in that dark, gray place, with your angelic appearance, lively and so delicate, it was obvious that you shouldn't be there, that environment didn't suit you. The negative energy in that place was so strong that it gave you the creeps, and you also felt the sensation of being watched. You just wanted to take what was yours and leave.

As you walked around the place, you could see the large globe with the little lights on, and you came closer to look at it. You knew that each light was a child who believed in you, but how could he have that in his cave? Your thoughts were interrupted by a voice:

“Looking for something?”

When you looked back, you saw only his shadow on the wall and wasted no time in shooting your arrow, but the shadow quickly disappeared, slipping into one of the corridors of that cave and you followed him, but lost sight of him when you reached that dimly lit corridor:

“Put the arrow down, dear. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you.” His voice echoed around, in that calm tone of his that could put a child to sleep.

“Afraid? I'm not afraid of you.” You said, still holding your bow and arrow, looking around and turning quickly to look for any sign of him.

“Don't lie cupid, my specialty is understanding people's fears...” Then he stepped out of the shadows, standing in front of you with that smile on his face as he looked you up and down. “...just as you can understand love, but don't seem to understand when it comes from a certain person...”

The bogeyman walked quietly around you, and you couldn't take your eyes off him as aimed the arrow. Both of your hearts were beating fast at the presence of the other, but for different reasons, yours being of fear, but his being of love and eagerness to put his hands on you, if only for the slightest touch.

“Give me back what you stole from me.” You said commandingly. “You don't need my things.”

“Don't you see that I did this just to bring you to me?” He asked seriously and stopped walking.

“And what do you want from me?”

As you asked this, a small smile formed on his lips and he disappeared back into the darkness behind him. You quickly followed him and as you passed through the darkness you felt like you had been teleported to another corner of the cave. He was toying with you, you were desperate, feeling lost and wondering how you got there. You dropped your guard and felt the bow being quickly taken from your hands, one of his horses had picked it up and carried it away, now leaving you unarmed:

“I just need some answers on a specific matter that's been bothering me for days.” You heard his voice echoing again and his shadow walked around the corners of the wall as he explained. “I've never felt a feeling like this in all these years, I feel weak and anxious when it comes to you, but at the same time it's such a pleasant warmth and delicious anxiety when you're around.... Oh! My cupid... What have you done?”

He asked with a sigh. You were confused and stunned by this information, you knew exactly what he was describing and what that feeling was. He was in love with you? But how?...

“My spell doesn't work on myself, I can't make someone fall in love with me. I didn't even know you could fall in love...”

You said as you took slow steps backwards, suddenly you felt a presence at your back and a shiver ran through your body as you felt two icy hands on your shoulders and a whisper close to your ear:

“We seem to have discovered something together. So why would I, the bogeyman, be in love with you, such a delicate cupid who is the complete opposite of me?”

The sensation of the king of nightmares' icy touch on your warm skin brought a small thermal shock to both of them, his presence so close exuded a very strong negative energy, but at the same time transformed it into a pleasurable adrenaline and fear. His question made you quiet and also thoughtful:

“Did that leave you speechless, love?” he asked, speaking close to your ear while his hands rubbed your shoulders and squeezed them lightly, making him inhale deeply as he felt satisfied and relaxed at finally being able to feel you and satisfy his curiosity about what it was like to touch your soft skin.

“I don't know what to say... I can only say that we don't decide who we fall in love with, it's impossible to control the desires of the heart. And I can't undo that since it wasn't my spell, it was natural.”

“I confess I wanted you to undo that...” He explained as one of his hands left your shoulder and went to your waist, bringing you closer to him until your back and wings brushed against his chest. “It made me so weak, but I changed my mind when I realized how good this feeling was, but also how torturous... It's an almost addictive sensation, and so new.”

As he spoke close to your neck with the sensation of his lips almost touching your sensitive skin, your attention went to his hand, which was on your shoulder and slowly descending, tracing its way down your skin, to your elbow and arriving at your small and delicate hand. His long, slender fingers intertwined with yours, and the energy of that touch gave you a different sensation, of course there was no good energy coming from Pitch, but somehow you felt a warm, protective feeling, therefore of great danger and you felt the same anxiety.

Your gaze shifted from your entwined hands to his face, your heart softening as you saw the way he looked at you, revealing the deep burning desire in his eyes. For the first time you discovered that there was love in the eyes of the king of nightmares. But you were uncertain, he was your enemy, you couldn't trust the man who was as treacherous as a snake, and besides, what would your friends think of that? You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a small laugh from him:

“I don't understand love, but there's something that leads me to believe that we were meant for each other. It's evident from the mere contact of our hands.” He spoke in a calm, enveloping voice as he lightly squeezed your waist and caressed your hand. That's when you pulled away and faced him, and he felt an emptiness at that.

“I can't.” You said thoughtfully and with a hint of sadness, this couldn't happen, you were a guardian and you were supposed to protect the children from the bogeyman. Unfortunately he was right, however wrong it was, it seemed certain that you were soul mates. That smile wouldn't leave his face.

“You're afraid of giving yourself to me, afraid of finding out what the other guardians will think, afraid of disappointing them.” The taller man approached you and grabbed your chin, lifting your face, forcing you to face him once more. “Am I right, my cupid?”

“But my goal is to destroy you.”

Holding your chin firmly, he moved even closer, and you stared into the deep golden eyes that were fixed on your lips. That man's ability to bewitch you and influence you to give in was remarkable, and it was practically impossible to resist after so many looks, touches and closeness... He was bewitching you like a snake that grabs its prey so cautiously to strike next:

“You already destroy me completely just by your presence... Don't you see that I'm totally at your mercy, darling? You have me in the palm of your hand.”

Cupid, which was you, felt almost as if you were being seduced into opening Pandora's box, about to unlock the doors to dangerous territory with no turning back. It was slowly turning into a game of pride and hesitation. Their faces were so close that you could feel them both breathing, a chill went through his stomach and he felt his cheeks start to heat up. Before you could say anything, you were surprised by his kiss on your red lips, breaking the distance and forcing you to give in to your hidden desires. Your eyes widened in surprise at the bogeyman's audacity, but you returned the kiss after closing your eyes.

While you were kissing with such fervor, Pitch slid his hand around your waist, drawing you close to him, joining your bodies, while his other hand went up to the back of your neck, gently pulling your hair. This made you moan involuntarily during the kiss, at which point he took the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue. Pitch held you so close to his body that he seemed to have waited years for this moment, he was desperate to feel you, your body, your lips and hear your sweet moans. You had never experienced a kiss like this, it was so needy, possessive and deep, you felt as if you were the only creature that mattered to him and his most valuable possession, and indeed, you were.

He interrupted the kiss, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath, you realized you were wrong that it was over when he started kissing your neck, distributing light bites and sucking on the sensitive, soft skin of the cupid, marking it like an animal marking territory. Your wings fluttered softly as you felt his cool fingers caressing them and his knee sliding between your legs, teasing you. Knowing he wanted to push the limits, you pushed him away from your neck, and your hands rested on his chest as your eyes met:

“That can't happen again...” He laughed when you said this and gradually let go of your arms and pulled away, feeling the flaming trail of your palm on his chest.

“Deny it all you want, I know you'll come back again and we'll have lots of dates like this, love.” The taller man removed the small lock of hair from your face. “You know where my hideout is, just visit me.”

That man knew very well how to manipulate someone, especially a creature as sentimental and romantic as you. He magically took your little bow and arrow from his back and handed it to you, and as soon as you took it you looked at him doubtfully:

“Until another day, my cupid.”

As he said this he snapped his fingers and suddenly you no longer felt the ground around your feet and you fell into that darkness, desperately trying to find a position to fly to, but as soon as you did you were teleported back to your temple, specifically into your bedroom and fell onto your bed. You were breathing heavily from the adrenaline and the unexpected fright, so you sat on the bed thinking about what had happened and running your hand through your hair.

Your enemy had just declared his feelings to you, given himself to you completely, and then kissed you and you gave in to that temptation. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling empty for having stopped such bold caresses.

When you got out of bed, confused by your feelings, you wondered what your next meeting would be like, if it would be the same and if you should give in next time, or if there would be a next time. And as you looked in the mirror you also wondered how you were going to hide those marks on your neck from your guardian friends...

End...

[charmandabear]

Ascendn't

Summary

I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene. (Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav Rating: M Word Count: 4.5k Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent

It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”

He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.

But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.

“But I’m not above enjoying this.”

With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.

Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.

His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.

You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.

You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.

“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.

“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.

“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.

“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly. 

“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.

Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.

“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.

“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-” his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon. 

“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.

“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.

“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.

You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.

“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.

“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.

At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable. 

Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”

“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.

“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”

“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.

“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.

You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt. 

Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.

“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.

“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk. 

“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.

“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.

“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.

The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone. 

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR

He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.” 

He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that. 

He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you. 

“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex. 

“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.

“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR 1492 DR -

His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.

“Meaning…?”

His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.

“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.

“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside. 

He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.

His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.

“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.

“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other. 

“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”

“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.

“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.

“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.

“Beg for it.”

That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.

“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”

Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking. 

Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you. 

His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.

He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his. 

“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads. 

[reriart]

While Your Lips Are Still Red

Summary: You suffer for what's happening in your life and you tried to put an end to it, but Astarion saved you.

Notes/TW: I wrote this fanfiction thinking about my Tav (female), but I wrote it gender-neutral so you can think about your OC (or you!) without any problems. The theme of suicide is the focus of this story, so if you are particularly sensitive to the theme and don't feel okay, please don't read it! I chose this topic because it is particularly dear and close to me. No one deserves to suffer and if you need it don't hesitate to contact a hotline. You are not alone!

There's also a bit of romance.

Please remember that English is not my native language.

Your sight grew darker and blurrier.

The bright stars in the sky, your only companions on nights when nightmares seemed to prevail, now seemed like many small, confused, and meaningless dots — the last, silent judges of your ruthless act.

You had decided to end everything: the story of the tadpoles, the absolute, the emperor... it was too much.

Your life had never been peaceful from the beginning, but the limit to how you could tolerate pain had become increasingly thin. You had tried every loophole possible, including considering joining Shadowheart in her crusade for Shar's honor; but just a few days before, you had convinced her to abandon the Lady of Loss and embrace her loving sister Selune. Because for her, your best friend, there was still hope, a glimmer of divine light ready to welcome her.

But not for you. Each fight had become more exhausting, each rescue mission more violent, soaked in innocent blood. The harpists, the tieflings. Children who would never play again, men and women who would never love again.

You should have rejoiced that you were still alive. To still be able to enjoy that great gift that life was. Yet now, cradled by the cold waters of the lake, not far from your sleeping companions, unaware of everything, your injured wrists let the red blood stain that crystalline liquid.

After making sure everyone was asleep (or in a trance, or on patrol, in Astarion's case), you had pulled your dagger from its sheath and used it on yourself right on the shore. You wanted to stab yourself and get it over with as quickly as possible, but you couldn't.

And now, at the mercy of the sweet waves, you waited for your moment. The moment when it would all end. You had managed to isolate the Emperor thanks to Gale, with the excuse of "I need a spell that silence everything for a few hours, or I won't even sleep tonight". A little suspicious, the wizard of Waterdeep finally granted your request. This way, none of your group would have the slightest signal from the tadpoles.

Your head felt lighter… it was like being drunk. A bitter smile spread across your face as your limbs grew numb, and your body grew colder and colder. The eyelids, however, became extremely heavy, as if there were a stone holding them down, and his heartbeat pounded in the eardrums like a war drum. The body became lighter and lighter but also heavier. The arms wanted only to go down, further down, towards the depths of the lake.

Your vision became almost completely blurred, your heartbeat infinitely slow: it was the end. One last breath and everything would have ended, if it hadn't been the rippling water and the cold hands (but warmer than your skin) that tore you away from the agonized embrace of death.

Thump-sounding words filled your head, but you didn't understand their meaning. A pale blob stood in front of you, squirming like a madman. A gasp came from your mouth as you recognized the figure. It was Astarion, visibly panicking. Perhaps thanks to the adrenaline of seeing him so agitated, you managed to understand his words.

"What the hell did you think?!" he almost screamed, lifting you out of the water to hold you. His gaze fell to your wrists which continued to bleed and you saw him swallow and clench his jaw. "I… one thing at a time. Now I have to think about getting you out of here, damn it." He rolled his eyes so as not to focus too much on your wounds, a temptation for him, especially after his failed hunt earlier. You didn't have the energy to reply, so you just let the elf pick you up, your eyelids too numb to allow you to look at him. You could only see his worried look, his milky white eyebrows furrowed.

Once you reached the shore, you felt Astarion spinning around. “If I take you to camp like this they'll think I bled you dry before you even let me explain,” he whispered. The companions were not within earshot, although relatively close, but it was normal for the vampire to operate in the shadows. You felt your body hit the ground and when you had enough strength to open your eyes, you noticed that he had found shelter in the forest. Your back was leaning against a large log, your legs stretched out on the damp ground.

“A…Astarion?” you whispered. "What…?"

“We'll leave the explanations for later, darling. Give me your wrists,” he ordered. Your tired eyes reflected fear. Did he want to bite you? Finish you there?

Noticing your hesitation, he took them both in his cold hands. "I do not want to hurt. Let me save you." His voice was calm, but his eyes hid a nervousness you had rarely seen. He swallowed, and bringing your wrists to his mouth, he licked them. His red eyes glowed like rubies and his breath trembled against your veins as a short, strangled moan escaped his throat. He seemed to struggle against himself, before placing your wrists on the ground, perhaps with a little too much force. You almost heard him growl as his jaw muscles clenched and his fingers trembled.

The wounds were gone. You blinked several times, lifting your arms with difficulty. It was as if they had never existed!

“I… thank you, Astarion. For saving me. Because of this. It must have been diff…”. Your head was spinning fast, so fast. You felt like the ground was disappearing from underneath your body and you almost fell to the side, if it weren't for the vampire, who grabbed you, preventing your head from hitting a stone.

“Do you want… me to hold you?” he asked with an apprehensive look, his voice a little more serious than usual. Maybe it was the lack of blood that made you see misleading things because he didn't look like Astarion at all. However, by now you didn't care about anything anymore, for all you knew he might as well be a shape-shifting monster ready to make a single morsel of you. You nodded your head and Astarion pulled you into his arms, resting your back against his chest.

"Better?" he asked. His breath tickled your neck.

“Mh hm” you replied. "Listen…"

You felt his arms become firmer around you.

"I am sorry." His voice was a whisper. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. Maybe all this wouldn't have happened."

You frowned, tilting your head slightly, which made it spin even more than before, confusing you to the point of making you feel drunk. "What…? What didn't you tell me...?”

The pale elf peered at the now distant black lake through the trunks of the forest. He didn't have the courage to meet your gaze.

“That I love you, my dear. Or rather, I told you that time as a joke, at the camp. Those words that I said to all the victims before taking them to Cazador." His gaze finally found its way to yours, glossy for the tears you were trying to hold back. Your heart, slow at first, began to thunder in your skull like a hammer, your breath became shorter and you tried to move away from him.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn't be. Was he taking advantage of that situation? Was he joking? Was it a demon, perhaps Raphael, ready to extort some contract from you?

"I do not believe you". Your voice trembled with fear and weakness, but even if you wanted to, you couldn't escape. You couldn't feel your legs anymore and the breath burned in your lungs. Even if you wanted to scream no one would have heard you.

Your panic didn't come from the fear of being eaten, but from the fact that Astarion had been the last bastion of salvation for you before you thought about harming yourself. You had feelings for him for a long time now, and your eyes often drifted over his slender frame as you tried to fall asleep in your bedroll as he drifted further into the darkness. When you allowed him to drink your blood, his bites and lips continued to torment you in the night, but far from unpleasant reasons. However, convinced that you were not reciprocated and considering his ambition for power and the constant flirting during missions even with bears, those words looked fake to you. You bit your lip, curling up as much as you could.

“No, no, don't be like that... look at me,” he said while lifting your chin with one hand. You didn't want to, you didn't want to accept the reality and feel terribly stupid for almost throwing your life away when the one you loved maybe actually reciprocated your feelings. When your eyes finally met, you saw him for what he truly was.

A fragile creature. His look was desperate, the mouth curved in an expression of infinite sadness. His other hand caressed your hair... a pleasant contact, which made you relax a little. "Listen to me. I know I don't have the easiest of temperament” he confessed, a bitter laugh, with his typical accent, changed his expression for a moment. “And I want you to know that everything you see of me is not… true. It's that bastard Cazador who turned me into a monster. But you made me feel something that in two hundred years, under his control, I had never felt.”

You rested your face in his hand, now cupping your cheek. You decided to trust. If it was a dream or a near-death hallucination, you wanted to live every minute of it.

"What?"

"Free. I feel free” he murmured, and his lips rested on yours in a sweet, delicate kiss. They were surprisingly soft and tasted vaguely of iron and mulberry, but that contact was enough to feel a new, powerful rush of adrenaline bringing you back to the present.

It was really happening. You were in his arms and he had saved you from certain death. And now he was kissing you in the sweetest way possible, both of his hands cupping your face as if you were in danger of breaking at any moment.

It seemed like an eternal, perfect kiss that you wanted to leave suspended in time. When you opened your eyes again, you found his. So vulnerable, so desperate. He ran a finger over your lip, before being grabbed and hugged like his life depended on it.

"Stay with me. Forever."

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

With the last breath

Word count: 1577

Warnings: depression, suicide attempt

Part II

At first, I'm sorry for my English. It isn't my native language, so there are mistakes and maybe it wouldn't give sense. Writing this was a real challenge and it showed me my (language) limits😅

For the first actual fanfiction I post here I'd say it's quite dark. I wrote it after fight with husband as kind of distraction. Well, it served its purpose.

Declaration: I write just for fun✌️

One day you were on a way to deliver some documents to Rhysand. He sent a request to the library to look for certain information he urgently needed and when everything he asked for was collected, Clotho asked you to deliver it to him. As the only person who from time to time didn't mind to go out, you had a good relationship him and knew all of the members of the inner circle. You often worked with them and helped them as you knew the library so well as the back of your hand.

Entering the River House you headed to his office. Clotho had sent him a notice of your visit early in the morning, so you knew where to look for him. As you approached the office door you could hear his voice and the voices of two other males. He was there together with his brothers standing around the table with maps and papers on it and discussing something important. You didn't want to disturb them, so you silently walked through the open door and set the documents on a small table right next to the door. Spymaster's eyes met yours for a second as he was the only one facing the door and he noticed the movement. Finding out it's you, as usually, he lost interest and returned to whatever they were looking at together. Rhys noticed his eyes went up and he also turned to you with a big, kind smile.

„Is that the information I asked for?“

„Yeah, it should be all. I checked it several times to make sure,“ you whispered silently, but he heard you.

„Would you mind to stay for lunch since you've come this far? It would be just three of us, Feyre and Elain,“ Rhys invited you.

Your eyes hastily darted to Azriel. His jaw slightly tightened, but you didn't miss that small move. „I'm afraid I need to return back..“ you tried to smile little.

„Are you already going back? Don't you need escort?“ Cassian turned to you too, offering help.

He and Rhys were kind to you and seemed to be happy to see you whenever you met them. Rhys always asked you to join a meal with his family and sometimes you'd accept it. On the other hand, Spymaster has never bothered to treat you with more than a short look or few casual phrases at the best. Even though he didn't seem to be really fond of you, he tended to sit next to you on a sofa or hold a seat for you next to him at the table. But it was a long time ago. Maybe he noticed you eyeing him with interest and that was the reason his behaviour changed over the years from 'I can tolerate you' to 'such a nuisance'. He personally didn't do nor say anything bad to you. But you could feel it from him somehow. You hadn't much of magic in your blood, but you was able to read any subtle signs and understand how people around you feel. That's the reason you stopped accepting invitations and tried to cross his path as little as possible. In the moments like this it was impossible to avoid meeting him and he seemed to be fine with it, paying you minimum attention. But as soon as somebody asked you to join them for a meal or evening, you could feel a slight discomfort from him. You tried to brush it away, but still it hurt.

When you met him for the first time you were afraid of him. As you got to know inner circle better, you learnt there's actually nothing scary about him and that deep down he is a very kind person. His silent, calm and caring nature appealed to you and before you noticed you fell in love with him. You couldn't help it even though you knew you don't have any chance. Masking it as best as you could, you decided to suffer in silence. You knew about his feeling toward Mor and when Archeron sisters entered your lives you noticed his shift of interest to Elain too. You weren't ugly, but there was no way you could compete with such beauties as the two of them. And you were well aware of that. That's why you've never tried to approach him and talk to him properly and after feeling a kind of discomfort from him in your presence, you tried to keep your distance and avoid him.

You excused yourself as fast as you could and turned around to leave. When you were sure that Rhys and Cass turned back to the table, you allowed yourself a single glance to him over your shoulder. His features were relaxed. He was so painfully beautiful that tears welled up in your eyes and the painful hole in your chest got little bigger.

After meeting him you needed some time to calm down and bury those feelings back so deep that nobody could notice them. You were walking around the city till you were sure you regained your peace. And just then you decided to head back to the library.

When you were climbing up the stairs you heard some muffled voices. You've never spied on other people, but this time you couldn't resist it and peaked to the hall to see who could it be. And there you saw them. Azriel stood with his back against the wall, Elain standing on her tiptoes with arms around his neck leaning into him. They started to kiss, slowly at first, but soon enough their passion took over. You couldn't stand it. Tears stinging your eyes once again, you left as silently as possible. When you were far from them and they couldn't hear you anymore, you run to your room as fast as you could. Closing the door you slid down to the ground unable to stifle your sobs. Knowing he has a thing for somebody else wasn't as painful as to actually see them together. It utterly broke your heart leaving you unable to breathe properly. Your life was pretty simple, you didn't have much. Your love for that male and a little faith you held were basically all you had left and the scene you witnessed totally crushed it all.

It took you hours until you calmed down enough to be able to stand up. You opened the door. You didn't know where to go, but you couldn't stand to be here anymore. Your legs took over the control, marching on their own. Suddenly you found yourself on one of the balconies heavily leaning on the railing. You slightly leaned over the edge looking down. The balcony was so high it made you nauseous. You pulled back to the safety. Spending most of the time in the library you've never gave much thoughts to heights at which you lived. You just occasionally had chance to stop and look out the window. Carefully you sat up on the railing back facing outwards. You tried to take deep breaths to calm down, to get through the pain and the shock. You tilted your head back watching floating clouds. As child you spent hours lying in the grass and watching clouds. It used to be so relaxing, but now you felt nothing, except emptiness. There was a bird flying high above you. You sighed. How beautiful it would be if you could fly. You'd took off flying far from this place, far from these people, far from him. What it must be like to feel so free and weightless. If you lean back little more, you could find out. It would be so nice to fly down, to never have to feel anything anymore. You knew you should be scared to even think about such things, but instead you felt numb.

 The bird was getting bigger as it flew closer. You closed eyes and leaned back more and more. Suddenly you felt so light, flying like that bird. Small smile formed on your lips and you stretched out arms like wings.

Azriel was flying back to the House of Wind when he noticed somebody leaning dangerously on the edge of railing on one of the highest balconies. It was strange, but he was tired so at first he didn't pay much attention to it. He looked away just for a moment and the person disappeared. His throat tightened. He immediately plunged headlong down, but he wasn't fast enough. The person was only few meters away from a certain death. He had to winnow. Stepping into shadows he reappeared few foots bellow the person stretching out arms to catch... HER! There was no doubt. It was Y/N. What happened? Why would she do something so horrible? What if he tries to catch her, but she slips through his hands and dies? He'd never been so scared in his entire life. If something were to happen to her, he'd never forgive himself. All sounds of the world disappeared, he could hear only own heart racing in his chest. It took just mere seconds, but it seemed to take forever. The moment her body collided with his, the time had stopped. He squeezed his eyes, muscles tensing, wings spreading to stop their fall.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, there she was safe in his arms, pressed to his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

hello and welcome to the niche corner

hello i'm néide and this is my blog, which mostly consists of me being grumpy about niche things. i have multiple degrees in medieval irish literature and while sometimes i use these to be vaguely educational, more often i use them to write incredibly specific fic about characters nobody else cares about, and this fic can be found on ao3 (for logged-in users)

so this is a guide to my incredibly specific fanfiction, which i feel also gives a reasonably good introduction to the kind of thing i'm likely to be yelling about on this blog

i am reliably informed that you don't actually need to know anything about the source material to have fun with these fics (or suffer from the angst), but also they can be more fun if you do. some have bibliographies/refs/explanations so i also know a few people have used them as a way to get started with medieval Irish lit which will never not be extremely funny to me

current WIP: chasing someone else's dream (16k, WIP): a cú chulainn/láeg reincarnation fic. they have been reincarnated, not for the first time. they've also been cursed, and thus, unlike in every life before this one, they've never met. ngl this fic contains some of the best prose i ever wrote, please read it

group chats of the ulster cycle, or, the in loco parentis series

a modern AU of the ulster cycle. sort of a college AU, turned into a ballet AU halfway through. consists of:

in loco parentis (135k, complete): my magnum opus. cú chulainn and láeg are university flatmates; group chats featuring all your favourite ulster cycle characters and also some you probably never gave a shit about; cú chulainn as a tiny trans ballet dancer and ferdia as his pas de deux partner; baking; everybody hating on conchobar; nobody dies; way more feelings about both ballet and shostakovich than anybody was expecting, including me; and much more. comes with explanatory notes / bibliography because i'm just Like That

getting the dee (9k, in progress/abandoned): a prequel to ILP, sort of a longes mac nuislenn fic except nobody dies and there are more sex toys. naoise/deirdre with guest appearances from conall. one day i'll go back to this but also i'm a coward

valentáin's day (4k oneshot, complete): a prequel to ILP, featuring láeg and cormac in the pub on valentine's day making fun of all their friends in relationships. they make out, fortunately their friendship survives the experience.

and when you move, i move (2.5k oneshot, complete): a sequel to ILP. just a horny lil cú chulainn/ferdia oneshot set a few months after ILP wraps up.

miscellaneous ulster cycle oneshots

i will be honest, most of these are sad fics of oidheadh con culainn ("the death of cú chulainn") because i just love writing angst, but there's a couple of others in there

a moment's silence (3k): smutty cú/láeg fic set during táin bó cúailnge, inspired by this picture. the most explicit fic i've written

to walk this world alone (6k): extremely niche fic featuring láeg after cú chulainn's death. some otherworldly happenings. sad but not as sad as it was originally going to be.

counterweight (3k): cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. this one's pretty sad too.

dindsenchas (3.5k): missing scenes between cú chulainn and láeg during táin bó cúailnge. narrated by the landscape of ulster and addressed in second person to cú chulainn himself because the best sex scenes are the ones narrated by a tree.

in one dwelling place (2k): láeg/cú chulainn/emer. vaguely smutty, vaguely fluffy.

we'll say goodbye, today (2k): cú chulainn and láeg during oidheadh con culainn, anticipating cú chulainn's death. big sad hours.

glorious as the sunrise (3k): this is just angst. cú chulainn/láeg during oidheadh con culainn again. not particularly shippy but they love each other very much.

a marriage of inconvenience (3k): modern AU. cú chulainn wants to marry emer but unfortunately never bothered to get divorced after he married láeg for househunting purposes. a very silly fic.

of grief and glory (1.7k): cú chulainn deals with the aftermath of táin bó cúailnge, especially fer diad's death. more sad times lol.

flight risk (2.3k): teenage cú chulainn and láeg steal a spaceship. they get caught. fun scifi AU.

other medieval lit fics (non ulster cycle)

patron saint of toasties (2.5k): finn cycle fic. oisín took time out of uni to travel and now all his friends have graduated and he's lonely enough to text the christian union's "text a toastie" hotline. which is how he meets patrick. very silly modern AU gen fic mostly taking the piss out of st patrick

two birds of a feather (2.8k): yonec (marie de france) | togail bruidne da derga crossover fic. bird dad support group. conaire and yonec hang out and bond over their dads having maybe been birds. stupidest thing i ever wrote and i adore it.

quiver and shake (1.8k): fourth branch of the mabinogi fic. gwydion and gilfaethwy's special brotherly bonding time. canon typical content warnings apply.

other

absent thee from felicity (11k, WIP): hamlet | romeo & juliet crossover modern AU in which horatio and benvolio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their respective tragedies. sad at first, will gradually get sillier. haven't updated in a couple of years but that doesn't mean it's permanently abandoned, i'm just busy

a guild doctor and an abolitionist walk into a bar (5.5k, complete): mortimer sark/daragh vernant (the butterfly assassin by finn longman). in which they become friends while coparenting their fucked up assassin child and pretending they're not doing that. blatant pro-mortimer propaganda tbh and i'm not sorry

if you've never read any of my fics before and are wondering where to start, i firmly believe the reincarnation fic (current WIP) is a good one because it has a solid mix of angst, shenanigans, and weird fuckery, so you can experience the tonal whiplash of the rest of my fics all in one place! but it is a WIP and i make zero promises about upload schedule, it happens when it happens, so not so good if you're impatient haha. plenty of others to get you started though

[a-rabid-snake]

fanfiction?? Idk

I don't know if you can call it fan fiction.

In short, these are my strange sketches

Artificer/saint

The snow slowly swirled falling to the ground, making the world more and more white. The lizards hissed at each other. The Scavengers were muttering incoherently

And the snow kept falling and falling, reaching the ground. Soft paws crushed the snow under them, leaving a trace. But there were also rougher, harder and heavier footsteps that followed

Two tired slugcats were walking across the frozen lands. The goal? They had their own goals, but they walked together. A green and fluffy slugcat, under the name saint and his companion, a smooth, bard slugcat, under the name Artificer

Artificer exhaled another puff of steam or smoke with displeasure and broke their tense silence

—Hey, fluffy, how much longer are we going to go? —

She didn't have to wait long for an answer, as if saint expected her to ask him.

—There is still time before the blizzard. But if you're tired, we can take a break. —

Arti sighed in displeasure and rephrased herself

—I'm talking about something else. We went to the iterators. After all, we have already visited Five Pebbles and looks to the moon.. —

—Oh, yes, that's right, we still have a long way to go, especially before the other iterators —

—Uh, well, that's great —

Artificer growled in displeasure and together they continued to move through the snowy places

They moved in silence, Artificer sometimes entered into conficts, Saint stayed behind to cover her if anything

Time passed, the wind increased, it became colder. Artificer felt relatively normal, but saint was covered in frost

As a result, they decided to stay at the nearest shelter. It was cold, especially when you lay down on metal. These two lay down next to each other to get warm faster, or rather, to keep the saint warm

— How are you? —

Arti asked the question, her voice was rude, but still feminine

—Better, thanks —

Saint shifted a little in place to make it comfortable for both of them

—If you want, I can move away—

—No, I'll use you as a pillow —

—.... Okay —

They continued to lie in silence, constantly they both began to doze off, sinking into sleep. Arti fell asleep a little earlier, and therefore began to twitch a little, this is a little hindered by saint. Saint obediently waited for her to calm down, when suddenly her claws dug into him, and she herself pressed hard against him. Fluffy had no choice but to hug her and try to fall asleep

His dream was not rosy, one could say that the nightmare from the past still followed him. Saint woke up unexpectedly, Artificer was no longer asleep. Looking at the exit of the shelter, which was closed, it was clear that saint was not the only one who had a bad sleep

—Are you having a nightmare too? —

Saint asked calmly, in a whisper, trying not to scare arti

The burgundy slugcat just moved her ear and sighed heavily

—You could say that —

A soft paw rested on arti's paw, the latter turned to the owner of the green fur

— Can I hug you?—

Saint knew how much arti valued his fox space, so he asked her, carefully so that she wouldn't get angry

Artificer nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, and turned slightly so that she could be hugged

They both knew about each other's problems, Saint about the fact that arti had lost her slugpups, and arti, that saint had to go through a lot

Hugs are the only thing that saves them from endless suffering. Saint hated himself because of the tenth karma. Arti hated herself because she was stuck on the first karma

They suffered, they suffered forever, but together they could find solace in each other

Saint was silent, as was arti. They were silent. The silence was appropriate, it did not put pressure on them, they needed to gather all their thoughts into a single whole in order to continue living on

After a while, their silence was broken by a metallic screech, he warned them that a new cycle was beginning

—As I understand it, we need to move on —

—Yeah, are you ready? —

—Yes —

Saint got a short reply and they stopped hugging each other and they started packing up. In general, they just put themselves in order, and then went outside.

They moved on to the gate leading to another region, along the way they found some fruits as well as lizards. They had different diets, so they looked for food in turn, or rather, what they find faster, we will eat.

______________________________________

Arti has risen to the heights. The wind blew her poncho and other rags. Life was in full swing as usual, especially among her former enemies. Why exes? Because arti lost that old, horned mask a long time ago.

However, scavengers continue to be afraid of her. Saint came up to her and together they lowered her down. The Scavengers parted in fright, trying to get as far away from them as possible

They almost walked away from the scavengers post. Saint carefully took arti by the paw, clinging to her, feeling the warmth and despair in this explosive body.

—Are you okay? —

Saint asked cautiously, trying to read her eyes

It wasn't entirely clear what Artificer was feeling, but it was something that was clearly not very good.

—No —

She paused briefly.

—They... I don't want to know them, I don't want to deal with them anymore —

—I'm afraid that I won't be able to hold myself back again, even after everything, I feel sins and.... deep sadness creeping down my back —

Her voice sounded heavy, like she was carrying a bunch of caramel lizards

— You... you can stop me.. If I do it again.. —

The saint gave her a sympathetic look and answered her without hesitation

—Of course I'll be there —

Arti relaxed a little and nodded

— I... thank you... —

She paused a little embarrassed, not looking at him

—Can you let me go? —

—Can I hug you a little more? —

Answered the question with a question fluffy

It seems as if arti exhaled in displeasure and replied

—Okay... —

She sounded a little embarrassed, although she was obviously trying to hide it. Saint smiled gently and they continued on their way.

They stopped at an elevation. Arti and saint were sitting next to each other. It was beautiful, to some extent.

Artificer and saint hugged each other while looking at the landscape

— saint.. —

— m? —

— We're going to stay together, aren't we? —

—Of course, even if we go crazy or the world goes crazy, I'll still be there for you. —

They sat and sat and watched the world gradually sink into a white and cold death

Together... Forever

I did it! Hooray. It was a long time, but I tried, I hope someone likes it.

I just wanted to please myself with a little karmaflower story

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can you write about the Last Ronin where we were his girlfriend before everything went to shit and we meet him again but he also get to meet his child as well? Btw I frickin' love your fanfiction, I hope you keep expanding you work.🥹

16 Years: part 1 (Angst)

TLR!Michelangelo x reader

Part 2 (18+) Part 3 (18+)

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A/N: Thank you so much🖤 I feel like writing for TLR has opened whole new world of writing for me, and I will love to do more, even if I cry every time😭🖤 I had “Tout L'univers” by Gjon’s Tears playing on repeat as I was writing this, so when I tell you I was bawling my eyes out, I was BAWLING. For some reason I just had to make everything worse for poor Mikey😭

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Warnings: Spelling, The Last Ronin and The Lost Years spoilers, loss of loved ones, loss of child, mentioning of suicide, trauma, self hatred, crying (not just in writing, omg), and probably a lot more.

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For 16 years, Mikey had tried to live with the spirits of those he had lost. Trying to find peace with them, and let them be. But he just couldn’t. Mikey just couldn’t rest with all these faces he used to love surrounding him, knowing that he could not help them. Raphael, Leonardo, Casey, April, the Fugetoid, Master Splinter, Donatello, Gerel, Shaka. All of them haunted him, speaking to him, telling him what to do. His brothers even went so far as to belittle him for his actions and failures. Every. Single. Day.

But if there was one face that Mikey couldn’t handle around him, it was yours. He dared not to look at you, nor the child you carried on your hip. The pain from seeing the two of you, in complete silence, not speaking a single word, being the only ones that actually did as he asked - staying quiet and letting him think. He looked at you once, the pain of seeing you and the young child in your arms, was almost enough for him to end it all before he even made it to Korea.

But though Mikey never looked at you, he felt your presence with him everywhere he went. You always followed closely behind, carrying your little bundle of love, just like you did the day he lost you…

Mikey hated how clearly he remembered it. It had been absolute chaos. They never had a chance. Leo had told him to bring April and the Fugetoid, all making sure nothing happened to you. You, Mikey’s girlfriend, who had been in the second stage of your first pregnancy. You, the only woman that Mikey had ever loved. You, the only person who was willing to let him think of something, other than his horrible war of a family feud, and his so-called destiny. You, the love of his life, and the only reason Mikey has seen a reason to fight in the first place…

Mikey had lingered for too long. That’s at least what he told himself. He should just have done as Leo had said, and gotten you out of the building. He should never had hesitated. If he hadn’t, then maybe you wouldn’t have been caught in the explosion. Then maybe you, April… and the kid would still have been alive.

Mikey still remembered how strangely numb he had been when he woke up from the explosion. His body ached all over, but it was as if he felt nothing. You were all gone. There was no way any of you could have survived that explosion. Leo, the Fugetoid, Casey, April, you… and them. That was what Mikey referred to the long lost life as - them. Giving them a name would just slowly kill him over time, making everything harder than it needed to be. Almost as hard as it was so leave the ruins of your grave, without trying to look for your body. But as much as Mikey wanted to stay and look for you, he had to leave for the last family he had left, before they too were gone.

But like always, he was too late for that too. Donnie and Master Splinter was already far gone when he made it to Japan. That was Mikey’s breaking point, and the first time he wished to end his suffering. Everyone was gone. His friends, his brothers, his father, the love of his life and his unborn child. Mikey was angry. Not just at the world around him, but himself. He could just have stayed with the two of you. He could have found you and laid you to rest. Giving you, his brother, his friends and his child a proper burial. But he didn’t, and he hated himself for it.

Mikey hated himself everyday. He hated himself for not being able to protect you, and he hated himself for not taking care of you. And taking care of his own damn child. As he forced himself through the snow of the Japanese mountains, as he trained under Master Yip, when he momentarily went blind in Mongolia, and when he had to fight for his life in Ukraine, before finally defeating Death Worm in Italy, all Mikey could do was think about you and how hate himself. But soon he learned that there was only one way to make up for his mistakes. Revenge. Revenge for all that had been done to his family. Oroku Hiroto would have to feel the pain that Mikey had been feeling for the past 16 years. And that was what Mikey came to New York for. Revenging all of his family, especially the one that didn’t even have a name.

But as it has happened so many times, Mikey’s plans did not go as he intended. His first assault on Oroku Hiroto was a failure to put it frankly, leaving him wounded as he had to retreat to the sewers he once called his home. Here he intended to do what any honorable ninja would do - take his own life before the enemy could get him. But then, for the first time in 16 years, life had better plans for him, the universe deciding to keep him alive once more. Mikey’s wounds were so great, that he passed out of blood loss before any harm could be done to him. That was when Casey Marie found him, calling out for her mother, telling her to help.

Mikey woke up in a warm bed a few hours later. Confused, he scanned his surroundings, wondering if he was dead. It looked like the lair - his old home. But then he saw April, and for the first time the world shone a light upon him. April, his dearest friend, was alive. In all these years, she had been alive. He learned that she was not alone. Her daughter was there too.

“Is it just you and your daughter down here?”, Mikey asked as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“No”, April answered calmly, a smile spreading over her face. “We do live with two others. I really think you should meet them, Michelangelo. Right now they’re out in the sewers, looking for stuff to bargain with on the Black Market, but I think they could be home any time soon”.

And as if April’s words were magical, distant clatter of metal could be heard, alerting them to people entering the lair.

“Aunt April!”, the voice of a young man yelled, the volume of his voice getting stronger as he approached the room. Then he barged in, proudly holding up something in his hand. It looked like a little metal lump with wires sticking out all over the place. “See what I found! Can you believe it?! Someone just dropped this into the sewer! Don’t they know how much this is worth?! Idiots! Imagine the comic books I can get out of Tinker with this! I can finish father’s old collection!”

Mikey froze at the sight of the boy. It was not his impressive height he had for a teenager, nor the muscles on his arms that shocked Michelangelo, but it was the color of the boy's skin. It was green. Light green to be specific. Mikey’s eyes wandered over him, taking him in, ignoring the growing smile on April’s lips, or how the boy suddenly seemed to notice the large turtle’s presence in the room. Mikey’s mouth was dry as he saw the three slender fingers on his hands, his lack of hair, the outline of what looked like a plastron on his front, and the unmistakable shell-like shape on his back. And his eyes, strangely recognizable.

The boy’s hand fell to his side, the metallic object suddenly not seeming interesting anymore. His eyes wide as he took the stranger sitting on the bed. Mikey in turn just stared. The two of them looking with their mouths agasp.

“Yoshi”, a voice sounded out in the hallway, breaking the silence. Mikey’s heart almost stopped. He knew that voice. It was the voice he had longed for so long. The voice he had blamed himself for silencing. Yet there it was. Just outside the door. “Be nice to your aunt. She might be working…”

You froze in the doorway. Mikey almost broke down. It was the face he had forced himself to look away from for 16 years. The face of the silent woman that used to carry a baby around wherever he traveled. You looked older, but still as beautiful as the day he first met you. Your eyes sparkling with the same light he fell in love with, all those years ago.

“Mikey?” you whispered, holding back a sop as your eyes began to water. The mentioning of his name caused the boy’s eyes to flicker.

Mikey could only nod, feeling his heart pump his blood so fast that he was starting to get dizzy. You ran to him, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. His hands tightened around you, his throat knotting up, making him fight for air. He buried his face against the crock of your neck, feeling all of your muscles move as you sobbed against him. You cradled his head against you, holding him against you, tracing his head, shell, shoulders and arms.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mikey”, you sobbed, bringing his head up to look at you, before placing a quick kiss on his lips. That was what broke him. He returned your quick kiss with urgency before he broke down in tears, hiding his face against you once more. 16 years of fear and pain finally boiled over, Mikey could finally let it go. At least for a short while. He almost clawed at your clothes in order to get you closer to him. It was as if no physical connection was enough.

“I’ve missed you too, (Y/N)”, he choked out, letting the tears fall as your comforting hands made shapes on his skin.

“Mom?”

Still holding on to Mikey, you turned to look at the boy. The poor guy looked so confused, but Mikey had a feeling. The boy most likely also had. Both of them just waiting for her to confirm what they had already guessed.

“Yoshi, sweetheart”, you said, wiping a tear away, before reaching out a hand to him. “Come and say hello to your father”.

Neither Yoshi or Mikey said a word, staring at each other as he made his way over to you. April wiped one of her own tears away, before she left the room with a smile, closing the door behind her. It was time for the three of you to catch up.

You slowly moved out of the way, letting Yoshi stand in front of Mikey. None of them knew what to say. All they could do was look at each other, trying to calm their erratic breathing. Then suddenly, Yoshi launched forward, wrapping his arms around his father in a tight embrace, the tears rolling down his face. Mikey hugged back immediately, finally getting a chance to hug the kid he thought he had lost.

“I’m sorry, Yoshi”, Mikey choked out, trying his best to keep calm. “I’m sorry I couldn't take care of you and your mother”.

“It’s okay, dad”, Yoshi said, smiling even though his eyes were overflowing and his body was shaking. “I took care of her while you were gone”.

[timetoeatthebread-blog]

(Prologue) Perfect(?)Milo x F!Reader - Red Tulip

Summary: Takes place after “Secret ending: Give him everything”. Something goes terribly, terribly wrong and Milo gains his memories back all over again. As much as he still has feelings for Eris, he will try his best this time around to live a life without pain. Without Eris. Join Milo on an adventure where he tries to use you as part of his plan, only to slowly fall for you as he heals his heart from Eris.

Reasoning: When it comes to abusive relationships it can be hard to let go. Sadly, the world is not black and white, it's mostly gray, and therefore a lot of emotions can co-exist at the same time. You can realize that you've been in an abusive relationship and still have feelings for your abuser. The first step to healing is to realize the abuse and take appropriate steps, no matter how hard they are in the beginning.

Thank you so much @perfectlovevn for making the game. I really appreciate your hard work you put into it. If you don't like the fanfiction for any reason, or there's anything you don't agree with, feel free to tell me. I respect you a lot and if you don't like my fanfiction I'll delete it.

Fanfiction under cut: ~1.1k words.

It was cold and dark, and yet, as terrifying as the silence was, it was comforting. Everything felt so vivid. Yet, here he was, feeling nothing at the same time. Drifting in and out of consciousness, all he could do was sleep, surrounded by nothingness. 

How… Peaceful.

Is this what happens after death? 

Milo closed his eyes, contemplating. The more time he spent here, the more memories came flooding back to him. He didn’t know how long he’s been forced to relive everything. At the pinnacle of his memories lay Eris.

Oh, how much he loved them. He would do everything for them. Just like his past selves did - nothing would be spared when it came to his Love. Would he see them soon? How much longer will he be forced to be here?

With each memory, his thoughts became more deranged. Crazed. Obsessed. He couldn’t wait to see them again. His mind drifted to the new nickname they will give him. Excitement was almost overflowing out of his body. Until a new memory appeared. 

His emotions shifted. Anger, betrayal. Heartbreak. He desperately wanted to clench and hit something, yet he couldn’t move a thing. His throat refused to make a noise.

Silent tears ran down his cheeks. The poor man could only weep as his mind was being broken down, over and over again. And yet, here he was. Forced to watch how he followed Eris each time. How he blindly trusted them. How they bended him to their will.

As time passed, his emotions seemed to calm down. Anger changed to sadness, and from sadness came the blood thirst for revenge. With how he was stuck, however, it also went away with time. He just wished to be left alone. 

If given the chance to fix his mistakes, he would. He would have never looked in their direction. He would have forced himself to be more social. He would have forced himself to be as average as one can be - all to avoid their gaze. 

All to avoid their interest. To avoid their love.

It all left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Despite the fact that they were the reason for his pain and suffering, he still couldn’t bring it in himself to wish anything bad onto them. Even if given the chance, he wouldn't be able to bring them any harm. Even after everything, a part of him still loved them.

The void continued to surround him for an unspecified amount of time. Until finally, his waiting has been rewarded in the best of ways - woken up in his old bedroom. Boxes were neatly placed along the wall and only essentials could be seen on top of his desk.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. More than he could ask for, actually. 

He clutched his heart as he took deep breaths in and out. Milo leaned his head against the wall to his right, the cold helping him to calm down. Soon, a smile crept onto his face. A dry chuckle followed soon after. He looked up at the ceiling.

As luck might have it, he went back in time before school started. Before his first year started. Before he met them.

It was too late to move to a different university. But it’s okay. He’ll do it after his first year. For now, he’ll have to think of something. Anything, to blend into the crowd.

For now, however, he needed more rest. Although he didn’t feel physically tired, his mental state was a completely different matter.

It didn’t take him long to make preparations. The easiest way would be to use what Eris taught him in all of his past lives. But it all felt wrong - after all, it brought back unwanted memories and emotions.

Whatever. It needs to be done. Milo pushed his emotions aside.

He would use what he had on hand. Both past memories and experience. 

Milo traced the notes he made in his dairy. The notes consisted of people he knew would be useful. He needed someone Eris disliked, but not outright hated. Just someone they preferred not to cross paths with.

As his eyes scanned the list of names, they soon landed on a name he knew quite well.

(Y/N).

Known around the campus, had a very clean slate - when it came to drama, at least. Mostly minded her business. Grades were slightly above average, but nothing too outstanding. A member of the swimming club. Popular for all the good deeds she did. Had no tolerance for bullying of her friends. Isn’t scared to get into a fight for her friends, either.

Back in the days when Milo was jumping from one social circle to the other, no one ever said anything bad about her. Even when he tried to dig up something, it was almost impossible to find anything. All that was found were her good deeds. No one knew her family history or anything too personal. It was suspicious. 

Getting into her circle of friends, however, was very easy. Breaking up said circle of friends was a different matter. It took some time and dedication. Some thinly veiled lies and set-ups, and he managed to do it. For Eris.

What a fool he was. How naive. How stupid.

He rubbed his temples before picking up a blue pen and circling around the most important fact about (Y\N).

Somehow, she always managed to avoid a bad end. No matter the scenario, in all his past lives, she was always a step ahead of him. Always able to escape his grip. Eris' plans didn't work on her either. As if she knew what Milo or Eris planned from the very beginning.

She would make for a good cover. A welcoming group of friends that is hard to break up. Somehow always predicted what Eris was up to. Hard to scam. Perfect.

He would use her as his perfect cover. By becoming her friend, he will use her loyalty as a shield.

Now for physical strength…

Milo looked over his body. Arms, chest, stomach, legs.

A shudder runs down his spine as he thinks of the pain he had endured. He won’t be a victim of bullying this time. That’s for certain.

He’ll work both on his social skills and on his physical abilities. There won’t be any pain in this life. Not this time.

Milo pushed himself away from his desk gently and threw his head back, rubbing his eyes and taking his time to collect his thoughts. Memories of past lives still played on repeat whenever he closed his eyes. All he could do was hope that it would become easier to manage over time.

For now, he’ll need to find a way to meet (Y/N). Preferably before university starts, since he can’t sign up for the swimming club yet. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to scout the local swimming pools, to see if he would be able to find her. Maybe going to a party and socializing would help him get some information.

It didn't take him long to come up with a schedule to find (Y/N).

[healix17]

Attention, Megop fans! 🖤✨

I've got a challenge for all the megop fanfiction writers out there! I recently made an intense, emotional MegOp scene where Megatron almost destroys the egg Optimus laid, only to realize their daughter, Arlet (pulled that name out of my butt), is still alive. It's a heart-wrenching moment filled with tension, grief, and a bittersweet connection between the two.

Now, I want to see how your imaginations can expand this scene! Take this moment and run with it—write a fanfiction that explores what happens before, after, or even in an alternate version of this encounter.

How do Optimus and Megatron cope with their loss?

What might their future hold after such a pivotal moment?

Will Arlet come back?

The story's up to you, but remember to keep the emotions raw and the stakes high.

I can't wait to see what you all come up with! Drop your fics in the comments or tag me—I’ll be reading them all!

And it's not about skills, it's about creativity.

Animations and fan arts are also acceptable!

Any hoo:

Megatron's grip tightened around the egg, the urge to crush it overwhelming. But before he could act, Optimus's voice broke through the silence.

"W... Wait!"

Megatron froze, his optics narrowing in confusion. "What is it, Optimus?" he growled, his voice thick with menace.

Optimus's gaze was locked on the egg. "I... Is she moving?" He knew, with an undeniable certainty, that it was a daughter. He was the carrier, after all.

Megatron's optics widened as the meaning of Optimus's words sank in.

*'No... it can't be...'*

His hand, poised to destroy, hesitated. He felt the egg carefully, searching for any sign of life.

And then he felt it—a faint, fragile pulse.

His face paled. "Yes... She is... She's alive..." A rare conflict flashed in his optics, torn between the instinct to destroy and the spark of mercy he'd long buried.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, Megatron rocked the egg, then slowly placed it into the crook of Optimus's arms.

"Why do you care so much about this... thing?" Megatron's voice was laced with confusion, unable to fathom the depth of Optimus's compassion.

"This 'thing' is our daughter, Megatron," Optimus murmured, cradling her close. "Even if her life is fleeting, she deserves more than a terrifying death. She can feel, she exists... unlike a certain mech who seems to have forgotten what it means to care."

Megatron's fierce expression softened, a flicker of protectiveness igniting within him as he gazed at their daughter. He hesitantly reached out, his fingers brushing against her tiny form. "She's... so small," he murmured, his voice unsteady.

"She hasn't even fully formed yet," Optimus replied, a tender hum escaping his lips as he soothed her. "Her time is short... Do you want to say anything to her before she goes?"

Megatron hesitated, then leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her delicate helm. "I'm sorry, little one," he whispered, voice barely a breath. "You shouldn't have had to come into this world just to suffer."

Her tiny hand grasped his finger with surprising strength, a fleeting sign of life. But then, her grip slackened, life slipping away.

"Sleep well, Arlet," Optimus whispered, placing a final kiss on her fragile helm. "Perhaps one day, you'll awaken again... our daughter, once more."

"Arlet..." Megatron echoed, the name lingering on his lips. "It's beautiful." His optics shimmered with unshed tears as he watched the last of her life fade away in Optimus's arms. "I hope so too, Optimus."

Optimus remained strong, holding on for Arlet. And Megatron, in turn, held onto Optimus, his strength faltering only for a moment as the reality of their loss settled in.

"A... Arlet!" Optimus's voice cracked, the weight of their grief too much to bear.

Megatron wrapped his arms around Optimus, pulling him close. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured, his voice muffled against Optimus's shoulder. "She's at peace now. We'll grieve together... and one day, we'll try again."

One day.

[tarotoftheendless]

Forever Waiting: Waiting for Forever 0.5

Here it is guys, the first chapter of my little fanfiction about our beloved Will Donner/Willie Pajamas.

It is more mature than the film, so I will try to add the proper tags and warnings as we go forward.

I would like to thank @thoughtsfromlayla for being a beta reader and editor for me. Thank you for letting me show you this film so that you have the context needed for understanding my crazy plans and ideas for this fanfiction.

And I want to thank @dragon-kazansky for beta reading and just being my biggest encourager and cheerleader when actually getting started on writing this crazy wild fanfic. She has also made and provided the Chapter Cards. Thank you so much, and I love you!

I am excited for y'all to meet my OC Jules, she is cool and complicated and totally in love with our princess Willie.

Without further ado, here is Chapter One of Forever Waiting. Enjoy!

MASTER LIST/NEXT

************************************************************************

Forever Waiting

Summary:

Jules Smith is the twin sister of Joey. She has been in love with Will Donner, Willie, ever since they were children. But with Willie's constant fixation being Emma Twist, Jules has been content to suffer in silence. And then Willie has come back to their home town in Pennsylvania, but for Emma, not for her. How will they handle seeing each other after so many years and barely speaking in that time?

Warnings/Tags:

Over all angst for this chapter, some swearing if that bothers you. One-way pining. Clueless man is dense as fuck.

Chapter One: Don’t You (Forget About Me)

Friday, October 3rd, 2008 

Taft, Pennsylvania

10:23am

Jules’ POV

Sitting in the back room of my brother’s business, even as messy as it was with boxes of over-stock scattered everywhere, I was wasting time on my Blackberry playing Solitaire with one earbud in. The sound of the electronic bell of the front door of the store barely registered with me. Not much was happening in the shop this early in the morning so I was taking my break early. I was going to be leaving soon anyway because of an event I had this evening to get ready for. 

Then I hear my brother yell for his wife, my sister-in-law, to come here, even the sounds of Peter Steele’s sultry voice in “Love You To Death” can’t keep me from being mildly interested in what was going on. Closing out of my game app, I pause my music, taking out the one earbud I had in and then wrap the cord around my phone before stuffing the device in my side pocket of my cargo pants.

Then I hear my brother say, “It’s Willie!” And my heart both drops and began to beat faster. Dolores repeats the name. He is back. That can only mean that so was she; Emma.

Getting up from my reclined position in the chair I had chosen to take my break in, I stand, stretching. Then finally I made my way through the doorway, going down the small hallway that led to the sales floor.

As my twin and his wife greets Willie, I settle behind the counter, leaning against it, just watching. He hugs Dolores, or Dee as I called her, and then got up on a chair to better hug my abnormally tall brother. Biting my lip, likely chipping the matte black finish of my lipstick, my heart beat faster when I notice how good Willie look.

“You gotta introduce me to this one,” Willie says as he moves around to sit in my nephew’s kiddy chair, my sister-in-law urging Gabe to say ‘hi’ to Willie. Part of me finds this very endearing but the other part of me is mad at him for not being here for his birth. Yet my brother still named Willie Gabe’s godfather.

The last time I saw him was when he came up briefly from Oregon to be the best man at Joey’s wedding, and I was Dee’s Maid of Honor. I had barely spoken to him then. I hadn’t seen him all throughout highschool because he had stopped visiting in the summer after middle school. It had hurt every time. Though he had stayed with my family because Joey was his best friend before the accident, Willie was never here for us, his best friends. He was always here for Emma.

That’s when it dawns on me.

Joey had gone to the local grocery mart downtown about five days ago on a big shopping spree to stock up on stuff for the house. With him providing for himself, his wife and his kid on top of me living in their basement, we go through food pretty fast. The thing I realized though was that if Willie is back, that means Emma is back, and the only place my brother gets his Emma gossip now is from the loose-lipped older lady cashiers at the mart. That is also where Emma’s mother, Miranda, shops. Miranda is almost as bad as Willie is when it comes to Emma; ‘Emma this’ and ‘Emma that’.

Watching Willie sit in one of the kiddy chairs, playing with Gabe, made my heart just ache. He was always beautiful to me. He has definitely come into his own style, really leaning into the vagabond hipster look with the black bowler hat, blue and white plaid pajamas, cherry red hightops and black up-buttoned vest over a well worn graphic T and pajama top with the sleeves rolled up. And his smile? To die for.

Finally his gaze lifts from playing with Gabe, his eyes meeting mine. I must have looked shocked because his expression changes to one of delight to confusion and another emotion I couldn’t quite place. He blinks his eyes multiple times as he looks at me. Seeing this well known tic of his had all our childhood memories flooding back.

“Jules?” He almost whispers the question as both Joey and Dee turn to look back at me. I almost wish I had stayed in the back to finish out my break.

“Hi, Willie,” I answer back almost as quietly, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

Putting down the rubber duck he had been playing with to entertain my nephew, Willie gets out of the child’s chair and bounds over to me. Not exactly wanting him to jump up onto the front counter, I move from behind it onto the sales floor.

Willie pulls me into one of his signature all encompassing embraces and I barely have time to register what is happening. For a moment my arms hang at my sides, unsure what to do. My eyes meet my brother and he gives me that look that is basically telling me ‘Don’t be weird’, so I return Willie’s hug. He holds me for a few more seconds and then pulls away.

“Look at you, when did you grow up to be so pretty?” Willie muses as his fingers found my exposed waist, making my heart flutter but I pull away from his grasp before he realizes the effect he has on me.

“You saw me three years ago, at their wedding, did I not look good in pastel pink or something?” I counter as I drop my gaze, my hand reaching up to tuck my hair behind one of my ears.

“No, you just look different, that’s all. The purple is new,” Willie indictates with his pointer finger towards my hair, which is in a longer shag cut and a plum purple color.

“Well, maybe I was sick of being recognized as his sister,” I motion my head towards my brother, who puts his hands up in surrender.

“With how short you are, sis, I don’t think people mistake us for twins as much as you think,” Joey chimes in as he walks up to Willie and I, leaving his wife to play with my nephew.

Dee turns her head towards us to look over her shoulder at her husband, smiling teasingly as she plays with the bead maze to entertain Gabe. “If Jules had been taller, I would have married her instead. She has nicer… assets…” Dee finishes with a wink at her husband, who rolls his eyes at his wife in response.

Feeling slightly uncomfortable with the line of conversation, I start to inch away ever so slightly from my brother and Willie. “Well, it was either someone helping you reach things in the top cupboard or curves that could kill, it’s not my fault you chose my flat-assed brother.”

Willie just giggles at the exchange and my heart almost stops at the sound of it. He is such a dork and yet that is the very thing that made me fall for him when we were kids before his parents passed.

Joey feigns an offended look on his face, putting his hands on his hips in a mock scolding stance. “Hey, young ears are present. Secondly, I take offense to that, I think I look just fine,” He twists his body so he can get a look at his khaki-covered behind. Dee stands from playing with Gabe, my nephew completely oblivious to the ribbing that is taking place, and moves over next to Joey. 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, dearest," She says as she links arms with him. They give each other a challenging look that to me says that this conversation should not be happening in my brother’s business, let alone in front of his 2 year old.

Willie and I share a look, he appears amused as he has always loved - well - love. I blush, quickly diverting my gaze back to my brother and sister-in-law. And as if my prayers were answered, a couple of customers, an older man and woman, opened the glass door, stepping inside.

“Oh, thank god, I thought I would have had to remind you two that you have an audience… but hey customers! You got this, right, Joey? Yeah? Good. I’m gonna dip. I need a smoke.” I say as I turn on my heels, not even as much as glancing at Willie. Though I feel him watching me walk away towards the cash register counter. 

As I make it back to the backroom to grab my purse, a very worn black and white tie-dyed hippie purse, I hear Willie ask, “Is she okay? Something felt… off? I’m not sure.”

Hearing him ask that makes me pause and listen for a moment as I grab my phone from my pocket again, unraveling my headphones.

“I’ve got them, and Dolores can be with Gabe. I think you should talk to her, Will.” I hear my brother say to Willie. I just can see in my mind's eye that Joey likely put his hand on Willie’s shoulder, and Willie having that very confused yet concerned look on his face. 

My anxiety spikes, my craving for nicotine getting steadily worse. Joey knows how I feel about Willie, Dee does not. I made Joey promise to never tell anyone. I think that he is trying to help, but with Emma in the middle of it all, I know that my brother knows that I don’t want to make things more confusing for Willie.

Leaving the backroom with my purse on my shoulder, I turn left to go to the back door. Opening it, the heat of early October is still clinging on as I step onto the back landing and walk down a couple steps to sit down. Fishing out my lighter and pack of cigarettes, I light one, take a drag, and immediately feel a calm wash over me. I put my phone in my lap, stuffing one earbud in my left ear, the melodic strains of ‘These Things’ begins to play.

I don’t even turn my head when the door creaks back open and out of the corner of my eye I see the flash of red, well worn Converse. Silently, Willie sits next to me, his shoulders and thighs pressed against mine, the closeness familiar as though it was still the summers between our middle school years.

“When did you start smoking?” He asks quietly, his eyes studying my face as I kept my eyes forward. 

The back of the shop had a street and park on the other side of it and there were just kids playing and parents talking while they kept watch over them. In the grassier part of the park had both couples and individuals laying on blankets, either reading or having picnics. People watching is what I usually do when I have a lot on my mind.

Taking a drag then blowing out the smoke away from his face, I sigh. “Why? Are you judging me?” Turning my head to meet his gaze, I keep a serious face. He has that deer in headlights look for a moment. I smile at him and nudge him gently. “Fucking hell, Willie, lighten up. You’re fine.”

He smiles at me, but it isn’t as bright at that first smile he gave me when he hugged me. Sighing again, I answer his question, “Oh you know, got in with a bad crowd, picked up bad habits just to deal with those two.” I gesture my head back to the closed door behind us to emphasize that I am in fact talking about Joey and Dolores.

Flicking my cigarette so the ashes fell on the ground, I leaned into Willie to whisper close to his ear. “And on full moons, I run naked in the woods and bite the heads off of live chickens.”

That gets a laugh out of him and he nudges me back. “There she is, my dark humored best friend,” he says as he reaches a hand over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It takes everything in me to will the heat away from rising to my cheeks.

“I am kinda surprised you are working for Joey though, appliances don’t really seem like your thing,” he comments as he does an up and down look at me. I had always been edgier than Joey and even Willie, favoring darker colors and more macabre topics and music. 

My current outfit has Willie overanalyzing me and I shift uncomfortably next to him. I am suddenly conscious of my dark camo cargo pants with my tight altered cropped band T of Rob Zombie, the print of it cracked and fading. Willie’s eyes stay on the exposed skin of my midriff for longer than I would want him to, especially since he has friend-zoned me. Luckily his eyes moved down to my shoes. I have on my crimson red Doc Martens.

“Did you ever start that band? You look like a rockstar,” he says, the sincerity coming through his voice, but also he sounded regretful. The last summer he had stayed with my family, I had expressed that I wanted to start a band with some school friends.

“Yeah, actually we did. I have a gig tonight downtown,” I say, taking another drag of my cigarette.

“Really? That’s amazing. What’s your band’s name?” Willie asks, excitement in his voice as he catches my eyes. I had forgotten how blue his eyes were and I couldn’t look away.

Smiling at him with a knowing smile I say, “Suicidal Wyrms, but with Wyrms spelled with a ‘Y’ instead.”

Willie chuckles. “Wait, you named your band after a conversation we had over a decade ago?”

Nudging him again, I laugh and say, “It was a good name, though obviously we had to make it more metal. I even got a tattoo of the logo on my thigh.”

Leaning away from me on the steps, Willie eyes me up and down again. “You got a tattoo? Can I see it?” His hand finds my thigh, poking me in a teasing manner.

I lean away from him a little more, pushing him as I laugh at him. “No, I’d have to pull down my pants and we’re in public, Willie. Jesus fuck.”

Dropping my cigarette on the cement step by my feet, I put it out with the ball of my shoe.

“Fair enough, Jules,” Willie chuckles again. He takes off his bowler hat and puts it on my head. I scoff playfully, making him laugh again. “I missed you, Jules, really.”

Sighing, I lean forward resting my elbows on my knees, my head resting on my hand. Turning my head, I met his gaze. “You could have written to me, you know.”

His expression softens to one of regret. “I know… I guess I just assumed Joey would have updated you on my comings and goings.”

Groaning, I stretch my legs out on the steps, breaking eye contact with him. I place his hat over my face for a few moments before taking it off again and placing it in his lap. He is peering down at me with worry etching in his brows. I can feel my phone start slip from my lap, so I put a hand over it to hold it in place.

“I thought we were closer than that, Willie. I taught you to juggle. I let you steal this hat that last summer. You shared everything with me. When you lumped me in with my brother and just the ‘family’ when it came to getting updates on your life, I guess I was just a bit…” I trail off realizing I maybe shared more of my feelings than I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“A bit hurt?” Willie offers. As he tears his eyes from me and focuses forward as he sat on the steps next to me, I could see shame on his face. He feels bad.

Sitting back up, I reach out to pinch him on his thigh right above his knee. His eyes followed my movements, but he didn’t react. I knew he couldn’t feel a thing right there as the nerve endings were severed from a childhood accident.

“Yeah, a bit hurt. You’re my best friend, Willie. I have hated the fact that we grew apart. I really could have used your friendship in highschool.” I say as I lean up against him, resting my head on his shoulder. He put an arm around me, his fingers cool against the skin on my ribs.

“I know, and I’m sorry. Just before highschool I got the impression that you didn’t want to hear about my life anymore.” Willie sadly muses.

“One frustrated disagreement did not mean I never wanted to hear from you again, Willie. I was just frustrated, that was it.” I admit to him, hoping to start to clear the air between us.

His answer to that was to kiss the side of my forehead, squeeze me one more time, before releasing me. He grabs his bowler hat, putting it back on.

“I wish we had been able to say these things a long time ago then, Jules. I really missed you too. I have done so much, gone to so many cool places. It would have been nice to talk to you about it, specifically,” he says, catching my gaze again.

“How is Emma? You being back here must mean she is back,” I ask him and there is an emotion that washes over his face that I can’t quite read before he shakes it off and smiles at my line of questioning.

“Joey called me four days ago. Her dad’s sick,” Willie explains.

“Joey didn’t tell me…” I say, my words kind of veering off at the end. “And what is your plan? Are you finally going to tell her?”

Willie drops his gaze to look at his shoes, his fingers clutching the fabric of his pajama pants. He’s nervous, I can tell.

“I plan to… either today or tomorrow,” he confides in me. 

“Well, if you don’t tonight, you should come see my band play. It’s at a bar next to your brother’s work. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment, no cover charge and free drinks.” I hope I am more enticing than Emma. “And besides, you said you wanted to see my tattoo, my get up tonight will be showing it off for all to see.” I nudge him, teasing him a bit.

He smirks and looks at me with humor in his eyes again. “Yeah, sure, maybe I could do that.”

Leaning over, I kiss him on the cheek. When I pull back I smile and say, “Good.” Reaching up, I lift his hat and ruffle his already kinda messy brunette hair. He laughs at me, grabs the hat back before flattening down his hair again and putting his hat back on.

I stick my tongue out at him and help fix his bangs so that they are hanging over his forehead just right in his hat. “There, gorgeous again,” I say as I smile at him playfully.

He blushes, but tries to recover quickly. “What are you listening to?” He points to the earbud that isn’t in my ear.

I hold it out to him so he can take the earbud. “Just a bit of Siouxsie,” I say as he puts the earbud in his ear to listen with me. ‘Spellbound’ is playing and he smiles.

“Moon child,” he muses, his little nickname for me.

“Sweet summer child,” I answer back, my nickname for him, though he was born in December.

My brother has once called Willie the sun to my moon as Willie was always someone who could cheer me up when I was down, and I had been able to anchor Willie when he got dragged out on the tide. After my brother’s wedding, even though I hadn’t reconnected fully with Willie back then, I had gotten a sun tattoo over my heart. I am thankful I am wearing a T-shirt that has it covered right now as I am not ready for him to know that I had gotten that tattoo, let alone that he is the reason for it.

Before he have to leave because of his parents' deaths, Willie and his older brother Jim had been my family’s neighbors. We used to see each other everyday and Emma was always his topic of choice. We all went to school together, and Emma lived a couple neighborhoods over, a playground and park separating us from her. 

Though I saw him everyday, he was always so excited for his playdates with Emma. I don’t think he really remembers that Joey and I were there whenever she was around. I might have been Willie’s moon, but Emma was his North Star. 

There were times where I thought just maybe he noticed me staring at him, but he never did. If he did he never mentioned it. I think he just saw me as Joey’s twin sister, one of his oldest bestest friends. 

Willie had always had his head in the clouds, easily distracted, daydreaming, talking to himself if he wasn’t gushing about Emma. Joey and I, and then Dolores when Joey had started dating her in middle school, had always been understanding of what Willie was going through. He had always been different, even before the accident, but after the accident, he changed. That’s when the talking to himself got worse and his attachment to Emma got all encompassing. 

Jim never understood it, and it really pissed me off. In my eyes, Jim was always trying to clip his brother’s wings, and that made me hate him.

As the song changed on my phone, I take the earbud out of Willie’s ear. He turns his head to look at me questioningly.

“I gotta go get ready for the gig, Willie,” I explain as I wrap my headphones around my phone again and grab my purse from the top step behind me. Putting my phone away and slinging my purse over my shoulder, I stand up, walking down the last couple steps.

He just simply nods and looks at me with those baby blues that just melted my heart.

“The door is unlocked, go visit with Joey, Dee and Gabe. They have missed you too. I can’t monopolize all your time after all,” I say with a reassuring smile. He smiles back at me in such a way that makes me just wish I could tell him how I feel, completely derailing his reason for coming back to Taft. He stands and stretches then makes his way back onto the top landing.

As he reaches for the handle of the backdoor I call out to him, “Please consider coming to the gig, Willie. It starts at 10.”

He grins again, nodding, then opens the door to go back inside my brother's appliance shop.

Sighing, I begin to walk the couple blocks home. Making sure I keep my feelings for Willie a secret might be harder than I thought. Or will I be able to count on him being dense and his focus staying on Emma? My mind raced as I made my way back home. 

I thought back to why he may have felt like he couldn’t confide in me anymore.

***********************************************************************

Saturday, August 28th, 1999

Taft, Pennsylvania 

2:43pm 

Jules’ POV

It was the last day of summer. Well, for me it was. Willie was going back to Cape Cod tomorrow so he could get ready for the beginning of his school year. The first year in high school for all of us; me and my twin Joey, Dee who just started dating my brother a year ago, Willie and then Emma. 

It was hot and muggy, so Joey suggested we go to the swimming creek on the other side of the park, past Taft Woods. We all thought that was a great idea, even Emma, who Willie had insisted on hanging out with us. Never wanting to deny Willie his happiness when it came to Emma, saying no didn’t feel like an option to me.

After we got dressed in our swimsuits, we raced each other on our bikes, pedaling our way across town.

I was pretty proud of my restored Schwinn bike that I was riding. I had spray-painted it glossy black with gold accents, giving it a very gothic appearance. Even my wicker basket I had painted black and nailed old baby doll heads and parts to it, all made to look dirty with red paint to make them look bloody. Willie had told me he thought it was cool, but Emma had turned her nose up at it.

The boys were just biking in their trunks, whereas Dee, Emma and I were in shorts and our bikinis. Both Dee and Emma wore pink tops and had blue denim shorts on. I, however, had started to favor black more than girly colors, so my shorts were gray and my top was black. Willie wore blue and my brother wore red.

What we wore stood out so intensely in my mind, though I don’t know why. My hair was still mousy brown and so long it touched the top of my butt. I usually wore it in ponytails.

As we got to the creek on the other side of the woods, our excitement heightened. It may have had something to do with us being as hot as we were in the heat and biking as hard as we did to get here.

The dock came into sight and we abandoned our bikes on the top of the ridge, running down the grassy knoll as fast as we all could in flip flops. Us girls stripped out of our shorts, and the boys bounded forward ahead of us, only having to kick off their sandals. 

Joey cannonballed off the dock and Willie? Well, he was more of a show off. Willie caught Emma’s eye, winked at her before he got a running start and did a backflip off the dock. Emma laughed, racing after Willie, then jumping off the dock into the water.

Joey was doing laps in the water, something about building endurance, but I have no idea what for. Willie had motioned for Dee and I to hurry up and get in the water.

“Come on, the water is great!” Willie called out to us. Emma then splashed Willie, earning her a splash back in return.

Dee and I exchanged a look, smiling like silly teenaged fools.

Then we were all in the water; playing, laughing, enjoying ourselves. 

Dee and Joey were the first to get out. They found a nice patch of grass to lay down on. I tried not to think too much about whatever they could be doing. My brother was getting too ‘coupley’ with his girlfriend, and that was all I wanted to know about it.

Willie on the other hand was way more innocent. We were all fourteen. Though I know Willie had gone through puberty; his voice dropping and facial hair coming in all patchy (luckily he shaved it on the regular), he was always so sweet and respectful to us girls. Willie always blushed when my brother made dirty jokes and comments. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen.

As the day went on though, I felt more like a third wheel for whatever was going on with Willie and Emma. Granted, I didn't think Emma was aware that Willie was flirting with her, but I knew him. He always came to me, because I was a girl and I knew what girls liked, right? 

As I watched Emma just let Willie show off for her; juggling, rock-skipping, flipping off the dock, and holding his breath under water in record times for someone our age; I realized that she and I couldn’t be more different. She didn’t see him. Not really. She was dazzled by what he can do, but I could tell she has no idea what was at the heart of him. 

At one point, I just climbed onto the dock to sunbathe with my feet dangling over the edge. Feeling the water come up over my ankles felt nice. I put my arm over my eyes. Willie was showing Emma how many skips he could get with rocks. He had gotten to ten so far. She was kind of obnoxiously impressed, but I was just proud of him. Yet another thing I had taught him. All for her.

In the distance I could hear Dee giggling at something my brother either said or did, and I just groaned, rolling my eyes under my arm.

“Joey! Please, for fuck’s sake, don’t make me an aunty yet! We’re only fourteen!” I shouted at my twin.

“Fuck off, Jules!” was the only response I got out of him. Willie and Emma just giggled and I think Emma breathed an ‘Eww’ under her breath.

A few minutes passed and I heard Emma say something panicked. “I can’t believe it, I lost track of time! My dance lesson is at 6pm!”

“It’s 4:38 right now, do you want us to bike back with you?” asked Joey as he looked at the waterproof watch that he had on.

“No, no, I don’t want to take you guys away from your fun. I can manage,” Emma dismissed Joey’s suggestion.

“I can bike with you, if you want Emma,” Willie offered genuinely, the hope of just being able to spend time with her in his voice.

“No, really,” Emma started as she pulled on her shorts, slipping her flip flops back on. “I have to race home and shower, not really fun for anyone. Just stay, enjoy the water more. I gotta go.” She made her way back up the hill towards her bike.

Sitting up on the dock, I twisted around to watch Emma get her bike ready to ride away, Willie in tow. He was between saying goodbye and still offering to go with her. She kept brushing him off to the point where he just stood on the hill, an almost defeated expression on his face.

“Dee and I are gonna go back anyway,” Joey said as he and his girlfriend stood up. Dee grabbed her things and puts them back on. “Willie, stay with Jules, okay?”

Willie just nodded at Joey as they made their way back up to their bikes and followed after Emma.

There was a silence that washed over the space. The breeze made a pleasant rustling sound through the trees. Birds chirped and the water flowed. It was peaceful. Willie and I were alone, finally. Maybe I could tell him how I felt and he’d forget all about Emma.

He walked back down to the dock. Sighing, he sank onto his butt behind me, leaning his back against mine.

“I didn’t know she had dance class today… of all days,” he said quietly. It was his last night staying with Joey and I, I knew he had high hopes for tonight.

Pressing the back of my head against his, I sigh in return. “I know, Willie. But hey, I’m still here. And Joey will be back at the house. I think dad is planning to have a campfire in the back tonight for s’mores.”

I could almost feel Willie smile at that as he leaned against me. “I wish Emma could join us.”

Internally I had to tell myself to bite my tongue. She made him happy and Willie being happy is all I wanted. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help that I didn’t like her. She did not see him. She did not know him. I could always feel how much she looked down her nose at him. ‘Just sweet baby, Willie’ I overheard her say once to a preppy friend of hers at school after she had gotten a letter from him. She infantilized him. I hated it. Maybe I was only just about to start high school, but I knew seeing Willie as less than in the way that she did was just wrong.

Instead of responding to him, lest I say something I didn't mean to say out loud, I just hummed at him. “Emma was telling me that she is going to be taking acting classes at the local theater. She wants to be a movie star. She’ll be the prettiest movie star ever,” Willie gushed with admiration in his voice.

Without meaning to, I groaned. “Willie, can we please talk about fucking anything else, please?” I said, my agitation apparent.

He slowly pushed away from my back, twisting to eye the back of my head. I turn to meet his gaze. 

His expression goes through many emotions; first I see hurt and surprise flash in his eyes, but he shook that off, settling on a questioning smile. “What? Do you not like the theater or something?” He asked, teasing me as if that’s what he believed I might possibly be irritated with.

Groaning again, I get up on the dock, looking down at him. He really is deflecting, thinking it had to be something other than Emma that I could find annoying. He tilted his head up, putting up a hand to shield the sun from his eyes, confusion clear on his face past the squinting.

“Theater? Willie, I love you, but you are fucking dense sometimes,” I said, lifting my arms in exasperation.

Willie scrambled to his feet to meet me at eye level. “I don’t understand. Jules? What did I say?”

“Emma this. Emma that. I know you are in love with her and all that, but can you ever just shut the fuck up about her? Like for once?” I raised my voice at him, making him flinch and take a step back from me.

Lowering his eyes from mine, his bare shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he said so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him.

My eyes softened, but only just a bit because he then said, “I was going to tell her how I felt today…”

My anger came back in full force. Scoffing, I pushed past him, leaving him stunned on the dock as I snatched up my shorts and shoes, roughly putting them on.

I stomped up to my bike and I yelled back at Willie without looking at him, “Come on, Joey wanted you to stay with me! I’m going home!”

Just barely did I give him enough time to get his shoes and bike before I was racing through the woods. He had a hard time keeping up with me. I think we were both crying on that bike ride home. It was his last night here for the summer, and all he could think about was Emma. It was always Emma.

MASTER LIST/NEXT

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Blog Spotlight

Hello everyone! since i don’t have a ton of time to work on fics and stuff like i used to, i figured i’d use this opportunity to share around some other creators 🥰 i want to be able to show this community more love and support and so i’m going to try and make this a weekly thing! all of the content creators deserve to be shown love and support and if anyone has any creators they’d like me to mention in one of these id love to check out their work and mention them!

the very first creator i’ll be mentioning is my lovely friend @wheels-of-despair

they’re someone that i’ve been mutuals with for a while and i’m so glad that they’re the very first person i’m using for my blog recs!

They write for a variety of Joseph Quinn’s characters and honestly i love to see how much of a genuine fan they are of his characters. She always makes sure to do her research too! For her more historic fics she will always make sure everything is very true to the time period.

They also have their own specific universes for their fics which i love! You’re able to see the difference in personalities when it comes to interacting with the characters.

They collectively have 50+ fanfics already posted for her characters and that’s not including all the other extras 👀

Because they’ve written so much i’ve decided to pick my favorite fic for each of the characters they write for 🥰

Eddie: Wake-Up Call

I’m an absolute sucker for lazy mornings 😂 absolutely adorable and his mannerisms were captured so well! though it’s a shorter fic you’re able to get all the perfect parts in one little package 🥰

Billy: The Little Plant That Could

So sweet! It’s so simple and yet so touching, even if it is just bringing an adorable little plant back to life, i actually got excited to see Billy’s reaction at the end c:

Ralph: Worth It Chapter 5

Picking out just one was a bit tough 😅 but i do love that these fics are written in a way where they can be somewhat read as one-offs as well :) this is the one fic that actually made me shed a tear as i read it, Ralph is just his sweet self as always and it’s hard to not love that!

Tom: The Boyfriend Cure

Though this is their only fic for Tom it was one that i loved nonetheless! Very short and very sweet, i love smaller fics like this, especially when they’re this comforting!

They were also kind enough to let me give them a little interview to help you guys get to know them better 🥰

what got you into writing?

Insanity? 😂 The Brainrot had me in such a chokehold, I had to let it out somehow. I was driving my normal friends crazy. So I came to tumblr last fall, after I'd read almost everything on AO3, and conned eddiemunsonsmum into being my friend. (She wrote a series I read and loved last the summer, when I was still suffering through The Brainrot in silence.) She's the one who convinced me to start writing. So really, this is all her fault. 🥰

do you write anything else other than fanfiction?

I do some writing for work, but it's not that creative.

how many followers do you have?

Closing in on 400. 😳

other than writing, what other interests do you have?

Watching the same things over and over again, and buying things I don't need at thrift stores. 😂 My favorite things to collect are DVDs and old kids' books. I have no place to put either, but if a movie has someone I like in it or a book with cool illustrations was printed before the 70s... yeah, that's probably coming home with me. 😍

if anyone has any of their favorite blogs they’d like me to recommend to everyone i’d be more than happy to check out their work and give them a shoutout 🥰

[apparitionism]

Decalogue 5

I’ve been chipping away at this “story” for three years now—it’s more a conceit that got out of hand, really, but ten years’ worth of regular fanfictional postings can send the conceptual car into some unreasonably esoteric cul-de-sacs. This one, as the title makes clear, has to do with ten commandments—not THE Ten Commandments, but one for each year of the Bering-and-Wells situation (I started this excursion on the tenth anniversary, intending to finish it soon after and wind up the ten, but...). Part 1 covered years one through five, with commandments as follows: one, meet at gunpoint; two, thou shalt not touch; three, suffer in silence; four, make mistakes; and five, thou shalt not hold grudges. Part 2 was year six: Thou shalt not damage. Part 3 dealt with year seven and instructed, “Thou shalt take nothing for granted.” Most recently, part 4 yielded year eight’s “Remember the anniversary,” which is always good advice, so here’s year nine, which via time’s-arrow shenanigans and bizarro chapter-math is part 5, being posted on the thirteenth anniversary.

Decalogue 5

Year 9: Calm down.

It would of course have been wise for Myka to have applied such a directive, spiritually, throughout most of her years with (and without) Helena. It would have been wise for her to have applied it throughout most of her interactions with Helena... and if anyone had asked her, she would have said she’d tried to do so. But apparently her efforts hadn’t met the universe’s expectations: such that by their ninth year, said universe saw fit to insist, insistently, that she work much, much harder at it.

That insistence came over time to manifest as an incessant tapping against her consciousness... naturally (or was it artificially? and was there a salient difference?) everything that happened served as a commentary on everything else that happened, for Myka would over the course of the year come to understand the heavy significance of a particular tapping sound.

Circumstances began to converge—though Myka didn’t realize they were converging, and that in itself ended up being salient—when she and Pete were driving home, late at night, from a retrieval that hadn’t mattered at all. Late at night, though: that mattered. Nearly midnight, in fact, which mattered most.

“Helena hasn’t called me yet,” she said. She hadn’t really intended to say it aloud, but there were only five minutes left in the day. And when Helena and Steve were away on a mission, Helena called Myka at some point during each and every day: a compromise, one designed to mitigate Myka’s urge to smother, at least as far as Helena’s health and safety were concerned. It wasn’t that Helena wouldn’t call, left to her own devices. But Myka was able, was allowed, to expect it. To rely on it.

Pete snorted. “Charlize Theron hasn’t called me yet, but you don’t see me checking my phone every ten seconds about it.”

Myka had given up trying to explain to Pete what a non sequitur was. Instead, she asked, “Why would Charlize Theron call you?”

“Why wouldn’t she? It’s like you’ve never looked at me. But also: get it?”

“I think there’s a significant difference with regard to roles in lives.”

“Only because Charlize hasn’t got the memo on her destiny with me. Don’t be acting snooty just because you and H.G. got all the memos. ‘Agent Bering,’” he pronounced, high-voiced, “‘we’re forever destined to meet at gunpoint.’”

Another thing she’d given up: getting offended and telling him his Helena impression was atrocious. Instead, she said, “I really wish Claudia hadn’t told you about that.” She did wish it. But she knew it was—

“Pfft. Water, bridge, under,” Pete said, reading her mind. “I really wish you’d quit checking your phone every ten seconds. You’re making me nervous.”

“You check your phone constantly!”

“But not for a reason.”

“I just want to know why she hasn’t called yet,” Myka said, hearing herself sound not a little desperate, aggravated that she hadn’t scrubbed—apparently couldn’t scrub—all that evidence from her voice.

Pete didn’t seem to care. “Maybe she’ll tell you when she calls. Or hey, I just realized, phones work both ways.”

That wasn’t the deal, but with three minutes—no, now two—to go, Myka gave in and called. Straight to voicemail. She then went entirely in-for-a-penny on it and called Steve, who picked up quickly, only to say, “Can’t talk; call you back when—”

And then the phone went dead.

Myka’s throat wasn’t really closing in panic, was it? It couldn’t have been. Through the obviously nonexistent clutching choke, she said to Pete, “I called Helena and she didn’t answer and then I called Steve and he said he couldn’t talk and he’d call me back but the line went dead. What do I do now?” She wasn’t really looking for advice, but she had to ask to at least try to force her heart back down.

He didn’t turn his eyes from the road. “Here’s an idea: calm down.”

“I’m very calm,” Myka lied.

Now he did look at her, with an eyeroll of oh please. “Another idea: quit lying.”

“As ideas go, you should quit Steving. And answer my question!”

“I don’t remember the question.”

Myka exhaled with purpose. “What do I do now?”

“Finally an easy one. Wait till Steve calls you back.”

She didn’t have much choice.

Myka had always taken pride in being practiced at simulating calm; that kind of fakery was practically part of an agent’s job description. But she was being forced to learn (and resisting being forced to learn) that such simulation wasn’t enough to resolve every situation... or, more broadly, that appearances unfortunately weren’t reality.

Not until nearly two in the morning—after Myka had showered, changed into her pajamas, pretended to read some pages of Svetlana Alexievich’s Secondhand Time (she and Helena were mutually bookclubbing that), and finally given in to doomscrolling news, because at least that didn’t require an attention span—did Steve call and say, “Everything’s fine. She’s about to call you, but I told you I’d call you back, so I am.”

Helena opened her own call by saying, “Via miscalculation, I broke our deal. I know it, and I apologize.”

“Miscalculations happen,” Myka said, because of course they did. Then she said, “I’m too rigid,” because of course she was. Probably.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Helena said, with a fervent affection.

“By calling twice tomorrow?” Myka asked, her own affection rich.

“It’s already tomorrow, and I’ll be home then. Or now: it’s today.”

“You make no sense.”

“Be that as it may, and it may, but: how was your appointment with the physician yesterday?”

Myka had figured that was going to be on the agenda, whenever this call happened. Earlier in the day, she’d been happy enough to put off talking to Helena about the results of her physical; now that wish for postponement returned full force. “Better than your retrieval, I bet,” she hedged, hoping that Helena might just... drop it. Drop it and regale Myka with retrieval exploits.

That was a vain hope, of course: first, Helena had an uncanny ear for reluctance and would seize it and shake it till it yielded a why; second, a full physical, with its palpations, percussions, auscultations, and analyses of the living breathing body, was jam-packed with the sort of trackable data Helena found endlessly enthralling.

“Steve and I are fine,” Helena said, of course declining to elaborate on the mission, of course dashing Myka’s hopes. “Are you?”

That was without question a shake in search of a why. “Do I look unhealthy to you?” she countered.

“I can’t see you. This isn’t a video call.”

“If the answer’s yes, just say it.”

“The answer is that to me, you look reasonably healthy. I’ve certainly seen you look far less healthy.”

“You have?” Because Myka had hardly been sick at all, these past several—

“I suspect you’d rather I didn’t talk about that.”

“I would?”

A breath. Then: “Boone.”

Stupid mistake, Myka chastised herself. You should have understood immediately. Should have understood—which still often took the place of “did understand”—even now, after so much time. She breathed out heavily, trying for that elusive calm. “Okay. Yes.” They had talked, at first poorly, about the cancer. Talked, continually poorly, about Pete’s role in making it go away. Talked about—argued about—who had the right to, who deserved to, save whom. “I can’t change the fact that he did,” Myka had said.

To which Helena had said, not enraged but resigned, “I can’t change the fact that I resent his doing what I couldn’t.”

“Because you didn’t know,” Myka had tried.

“For which I blame myself,” Helena had gloomed in response.

“Blame both of us,” Myka had tossed into the breach. Before, she would have said “you should,” but she’d seen how time could stretch the boundaries of fault, of responsibility, for so many acts. In this case, she’d made sure to push those boundaries herself. On purpose, hard and away. “Blame the Warehouse. Blame everybody everywhere. There’s so much blame to go around...”

Now, Myka was at least able to follow up with, “I can honestly say I’m glad I looked worse then. Because comparatively, this is not a big deal.”

It wasn’t. At any rate, it didn’t seem to be. Her primary care doctor, whom Myka trusted because he’d steered her through the non-Warehouse parts of the cancer without making any of it weird, had been factual: “Most everything looks fine, but your systolic blood pressure falls in a range we refer to as ‘elevated.’” He then perked up, like he’d been itching for an opportunity to have something to do, in these years she’d been untumored: “In younger people like you, this generally results from lifestyle issues, so I’ll link you to some articles in the portal outlining changes, steps to take so you don’t develop dangerous hypertension.” Myka had thought he’d sounded overly enthusiastic on the word “dangerous”... but she’d hoped that was a figment of her hyperactive imagination.

“And yet you’re telling it to me,” Helena said, after Myka explained what he’d said, trying to downplay it, omitting in particular his use of the word “dangerous.” Trying and failing to downplay it, apparently, despite the omission, because Helena followed up with, “And you sound a trifle agitated, most likely a bit about my failure to call as I should have... also a bit about the diagnosis itself. But perhaps something else as well?”

She was discerning, Helena was, reading Myka not like a cipher, rendering a single message, but like a novel, allowing for varying interpretations. What could Myka have done but reward her by telling the truth? “He wanted to know about family history,” she said. “I had to call my parents. Well. My mom’s blood pressure’s fine. I mean my dad.”

“Ah. A still-fraught proposition.”

“A useless proposition,” Myka said. “I got myself all geared up for it, but he wouldn’t tell me much of anything. Like I was trying to pry military secrets out of him.”

“You two do often seem to be at war.” And Helena added, as if she’d seen Myka’s immediate nod of agreement, “In keeping with that, perhaps you should try another sortie.”

“I’ll need to gear up again. Which I guess is in keeping too.” She harrumphed. “Won’t be good for my blood pressure, I bet.”

“Nor is being awake at this hour of the morning. We should end this call, and you should sleep.”

“But you’re on this call, and so am I. I don’t want to end it.”

“Nor do I, but you should sleep.”

“So should you,” Myka said.

“Lost cause. But we’ll both sleep better tomorrow night. No, tonight. It’s today.”

“You make no sense,” Myka accused again, but drowsily.

Helena rewarded her with a low chuckle. “And you make nothing but sense?”

“You wouldn’t know,” Myka said...

They continued on in that vein that for some time, until they finally agreed to end the call at a three-two-one same moment. Myka felt grateful, as she often did, for the way in which her life with Helena gave her access to some very typical experiences, ones that she probably wouldn’t have appreciated if she’d had them as a teenager. As an adult was better. As an adult with Helena was better still.

But just as Myka was about to slip into sleep, her mind began to race: she realized that she hadn’t asked Helena again about the retrieval, which had to have been more than a little fraught, and while she knew she wasn’t supposed to smother, she berated herself for what must have seemed like a total absence of real concern.

Thus when Helena and Steve arrived home, met by the cadre of Myka, Pete, and Claudia, the first thing Myka said, with a carefully calibrated mix of casual interest and earnest apology, was “I should have asked you before: what was the artifact, anyway?”

Helena didn’t say anything, but she glanced at Steve.

“You... what?” he said. Their imperfect communication—but communication all the same—reminded Myka of herself and Pete. What they’d had before they got it all wrong... what they were ever closer to fully getting back.

Helena shrugged, the very picture of resignation. “Go ahead.”

“It’s Nikolai Korotkoff’s sphygmomanometer—his Riva-Rocci cuff, they called it in his day. He’s the guy who discovered the sounds doctors listen for when they’re taking your—”

Myka’s knee-jerk response, she had to admit, was not ideal: exasperated, she interrupted, “This was about blood pressure? You’re kidding. You’re actually kidding.”

Steve turned to Helena, and while he wasn’t exactly panicked, he was clearly unsettled. “I want to tell her I am. I really want to. I feel like it would make your life easier if I do.”

Helena shrugged again. “Well. ‘Easier.’ Sorting out life’s relative ease, moment on moment, is a tricky business.”

“Is that a dig?” Myka snapped. “Why didn’t you say something last night? Or no, I mean this morning, because it wasn’t last night, which doesn’t matter now, but...”— she glanced at Helena, in a little apology for the snap—“...did. Look, if this thing lowers blood pressure, wrap it around my arm right now.”

That got her an eyebrow. “As someone tends to intone: not for personal gain.”

“Wouldn’t it be personal loss here though?” Claudia asked, with a surprising absence of snark.

That made Myka laugh, and she applauded, a triple-clap for emphasis. “See, this is what the Warehouse needs: a Caretaker who knows a loophole when she sees one.”

Claudia’s jaw dropped. “Who are you? The Myka I know and mostly love but am also driven nuts by because she’s such a rule snob hates loopholes.”

Obviously Myka was going to have to rethink her relationship with rules, if only to get some benefit from... something. “You know what? I’m just going to say—to postulate—that the Warehouse owes me one. Or several. I think it owes me several.”

Helena said, “Keeping score with the Warehouse is the very definition of a fool’s game.” That was her you are overreacting voice, rarely deployed except for when they were in Colorado. “But more importantly, that isn’t the cuff’s effect. It matters not at all to the one being measured, but rather to the measurer, in whom it increases sensitivity to, and the ability to interpret, diagnostically informative bodily processes. Hence our difficulty persuading the doctor who relied upon it to... relinquish it.”

Myka, reacting poorly both to the news and to the tone in which it was delivered, said, “It absolutely figures that the Warehouse would ping out something completely useless at a time like this.”

“Ping out?” Claudia asked. “Do we say that now?”

“I will say what I want. Stupid artifact,” Myka muttered.

Pete and Steve had been notably silent during all this. “Um,” Steve now said. “I feel like something’s out of proportion here, for reasons I’m not getting.”

Pete, apparently similarly confused, said, “Since when are you weird about blood pressure? Used to be anything about H.G. was your trigger, but now mostly it’s anything you think triggers her. So what gives?”

Myka was tempted to let him go hard on painful nostalgia, just to avoid having to talk about this ridiculous medical situation. But Helena gave her a look, one that said both “your reaction is out of proportion” and “you can’t hide this forever and certainly not if this is your response to related stimuli,” and even though Myka would have much preferred to hide it forever and was pretty sure she could if she worked hard enough, regardless of stimuli, she had to acknowledge that the whole thing was about what could stay hidden but would probably have adverse consequences if it did. So she grumped out, “My blood pressure. Is elevated. It’s a term of art,” she added, to try to forestall—

“Wow. That’s a biggie,” Pete said.

Oh well on the forestalling. “No it isn’t,” she told him.

“Except it is.”

“Except it isn’t. This is just a preliminary-warning type of thing.”

“A ping!” Claudia shouted. “Ping out!”

Steve said, “You sound a little too enthusiastic about that.”

“Kind of like my doctor,” Myka said, “who started going on about ‘lifestyle issues.’ I would like to state for the record that I do not have ‘lifestyle issues.’”

“Except for isn’t stress a thing? Working here’s a big part of your lifestyle,” Claudia pointed out, unhelpfully.

“And... you know,” Pete said. He nodded toward Helena, who spread her arms in an angelic “who, me?” gesture.

“‘Lifestyle’ is a stupid word,” Myka grumbled. “So I guess I’ll quit my job and break up with Helena, so I can live to a ripe old age and be broke and miserable. Excellent ideas. Thanks for the help.”

Steve—being his wise, confrontation-avoidant self—said, “I think I’ll just take this little artifact to the Warehouse so it can settle in.”

That had the unfortunate effect of reminding Myka of the artifact’s identity. “Did we all get whammied a long time ago with something that makes everything that happens in our lives rhyme in the most annoying way possible?” she asked. “Or was it just me?”

“I think it’s more repetition than rhyme,” Steve said, though in an I don’t want to be implicated in this way.

“Repetition with variation, however,” Helena said, and Myka wanted to be able to want to smack her.

“Right,” Steve said. “Would that be reprise? Maybe? Or am I thinking of something else?”

“None of this is lowering my blood pressure,” Myka informed them. Pointlessly.

Steve, to his credit, hotfooted it out of the situation, but Pete said, “You should look into stuff that would.”

“ON IT!!” was Claudia’s response.

Myka tried to head off whatever that was going to be with, “I’m supposed to check the online portal for links to what the doctor rec—”

“Links?!?” Claudia enthused. “I got all the links! Let’s run through some together!”

“Let’s not,” Myka said. Pointless again.

“Here’s the first one: ‘Lose extra pounds.’”

“She’s a pretty skinny drink of water,” Pete said. “Not much extra.”

“I guess,” Claudia said, sounding disappointed. “Next one: exercise regularly.”

Helena tilted her head a bit and said, “The regularity of her exercise is indisputable.”

“Come on,” Myka said. “I try really hard not to wake you up when I leave for my run.”

“I was not referring to your run.”

Claudia’s face pinked, and she said a quick, “Okay, okay! Moving on! Next really good idea: Eat fewer processed foods.”

That was patently ridiculous. “When was the last time I ate a processed food?” Myka asked.

“When I made bean dip in the food processor,” Pete said.

Myka sighed. “Look, this isn’t helping.”

Claudia nodded, despondent. “Yeah, you’re also supposed to quit smoking.”

“Like I said,” Myka agreed.

“But wait, here we go,” Claudia said, perking up, “like I said: reduce stress! And there’s a whole list!”

Myka waited for enlightenment.

For once, Claudia didn’t seem inclined to read aloud; in fact, she perked back down. “These are just... tips. Life-hacky,” she said, frowning. “How’s ‘plan your day’ supposed to do anything? And this one totally contradicts it: ‘Don’t experience future pain.’ Aren’t plans all about future pain?”

“Myka’s sure are,” Pete said. “So she’s doing everything right and wrong?”

“This is not a surprise,” Myka said.

“Maybe what’s next is simpler,” Claudia said. “Like, philosophically: ‘Make time to do the things you enjoy.’”

At that one, Pete leered, Myka groaned, and Helena objected, “I am not ‘things.’”

“I should’ve seen how that would go,” Claudia said, managing to refrain from turning red this time. “Okay, but this last one’s for all of us, except Steve, king of zen: practice gratitude.”

“Huh,” Pete said. “You know, I could probably stand to work on that.”

“I as well,” Helena agreed.

They all looked at Myka. “Fine,” she said. “I could too. In that spirit, thank you, Claudia, for caring enough about my blood pressure to find at least one thing that might lower it.”

“Score! And thank you for understanding how helpful I am.”

“Steve might not approve of your mixing gloating and gratitude,” Helena told her.

“No, no, I’m grateful for the gloating: it means we’re done,” Myka said.

Claudia said, “The internet’s a big place. I could find more!”

“Let’s end on success,” Myka said. “For everybody.”

She didn’t actually do very much practicing over the next while, not until she one evening received a surprise call from her father, right before she was ready to head upstairs to bed. She was tired—tempted to fend him off with “I’ll call you back tomorrow”—but it was a ready-made, if challenging, opportunity to practice. So she said, “Hi, Dad. Are you okay?”

He said an expectedly brusque “fine,” but then: “So, about what you were... asking about. The other day. I don’t like to talk about this kind of thing.”

Myka couldn’t quite hold back a dry “Really.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” he said, but with far less snap than he would have in the past. “Sorry. Look. Your... wife. Convinced me I should be a little more up front.”

“She... okay.” That presented a truckload of issues to process—and, she had to admit, to be grateful for.

First, the word “wife.”

That was new, as a word that applied—newly, quietly, it applied.

“I don’t want a wedding wedding,” Myka had said to Helena, once they’d got down to talking about the actual logistics. She knew it was likely to be a problematic position: knew and felt a powerful anxiety rise as she articulated it.

Helena had said, “Claudia does, and—”

“I know,” Myka began, her rebuttal at the ready, “but—”

“And,” Helena had interrupted. “Yet. While we owe her a great deal, that does not include dominion over how we enter into a legal union. And given all I’ve come to understand about modern weddings, I agree with you.”

Thus small it was, with Steve and Claudia—who continued to insist that she was, in fact, the flower ninja—their only witnesses.

Small, yet legal. About which Helena had evinced something very close to wonder: “A binding contract,” she had said, after words were pronounced and papers signed, as if the idea had just struck her.

“You’re the one who proposed,” Myka had reminded her, floating, light; she was in a bubble of something like wonder herself.

“I beg to differ,” Helena reminded back.

“The one who intended to propose. I have to believe you knew about that binding-contract endpoint of the proposal process.” That they could be these people. These word-trading, contractually bound, wonderstruck people.

“Of the proposal process,” Helena agreed. “Endpoint. Yes. But otherwise: beginning point.”

She’d said that last part quietly. But in the silence that followed, it swelled to a clarion.

Steve cupped his hands, as if to have and hold a bit of the air in which the words resonated.

“And here I was worried this—” Claudia had said, gesturing around the small conference room, which they would soon need to vacate for whoever was solemnifying next, “wouldn’t be enough.”

“Enough for what, darling?” Helena asked, though Myka was pretty sure they all knew the answer.

Now Claudia gestured at the two of them. “This.”

A decent enough word for it all, as words went.

Word-wise, and more salient to the present phone call, “wife” was new as a syllable her father would willingly pronounce of someone who was Myka’s. So: gratitude. There was also the matter of Helena having “convinced” her father of anything, although Myka was really unsure about where to place any appreciation for that. Further... well, no, that about covered it.

Her father then said, “I told you numbers. Befores, afters, but not what I did to move them.” He paused, and Myka had no trouble picturing his facial reluctance at having utter whatever might come next. What did come next: “Meditation.”

Not a word she’d ever expected to hear him utter—on a par with “wife” in its new application.

“Your mother makes me,” he said. “Thirty minutes a day, strictly enforced. You could try it.”

“Could,” he’d said, not “should.”

She knew she ought to have appreciated the call for what it was: seemingly sincere, part of an overall positive trend. But instead she worked herself up to offense, marching upstairs to find Helena—brushing her hair, innocent of any intent—and demanding, “You called my dad?” Petulant. An uptight whine. Definitely not her finest hour.

“I did not,” Helena said, not pausing her strokes for even a millisecond. “He called me.”

“He did?” So she’d climbed up to offense for no reason. The climb back down involved an awkward reset of her face and her breathing, but she did it, ending on a cringed, “Sorry.”

“He wanted to know if you were well,” Helena said, still conducting the stroke, stroke, stroke. “This was after he called your sister and asked her the same question.”

“He told you that?”

“No. Your sister did. When she called me to warn me that your father would be calling me, because she had told him she had no information on the point but that I most likely would. I asked her if she wanted me to tell her anything about said point, and she said no, that she would get it from your mother after your father told her what he found out from me.” Now she stopped the hair show and turned in Myka’s direction, brandishing the brush. “Your relations seem to take comfort in communication that is as indirect as possible.”

“I can’t even begin to argue with that. I sort of hate that everybody in my family—but especially my father—likes you more than they like me. But obviously I’m grateful for it too. It’s a slow-motion relief.”

“If your father’s concern for your health is any evidence, he likes you a great deal. I’ve never heard him inquire about my health.”

“Then again, maybe he doesn’t like you,” Myka said. “He thinks it’s your wifely duty to force me to meditate.”

“Coercion seems antithetical. And yet I do have every intention of fulfilling my wifely duties, including such new ones as arise—including this one. Given that it... has?”

“I guess it has. And I appreciate the intention. It’s important. Required, even. I honestly have a hard time believing this particular one’s going to have any tangible effect on the future, but I appreciate it.”

“Well, the future. What did Claudia say? ‘Don’t experience future pain.’ You should experience future effects—even pain, if necessary—when they happen. Not before.” Helena turned back to the mirror. She set the brush down and watched herself breathe in and out, very deliberately.

“Are we still talking about me?” Myka asked.

“I confess I’ve had to put effort into... braking trepidatious anticipation. With regard to effects.”

“Effects?”

“I can, for example, report that my blood pressure is fine.”

“Of course it is,” Myka groused, because of course it was.

Helena ignored that. “Fine for now, that is, which I know because Dr. Calder keeps a close eye. As part of her unplanned, yet obviously necessary, case study of the long-term effects of the Bronze, which she records as I... experience them.”

Myka felt her pulse speed at the thought. Not helpful.

Nor was the overall fact that the future, whatever pain it would or wouldn’t deliver, was unknowable.

“I try—often unsuccessfully, but more successfully with the passage of time—to remain securely in the present moment,” Helena went on. “Steve’s a great help.”

“Pete wouldn’t be,” Myka said immediately.

Helena turned fully around to face Myka; she leaned forward and said, “Wouldn’t he?

“Of course not,” Myka said, because the idea of Pete being helpful in some mindful pursuit of present-ness? Helpful like Steve would be? Preposterous.

“I believe you’re mistaken. Pete has many habits that vex every one of us, but you of all people should know that he does not fret. Certainly not about the future.”

Myka had to think that out for a minute, then a minute more. “You’re... right,” she said. “If something’s unknowable, he doesn’t try to know it. He forgets about it and reads a comic book.”

“A lesson for the both of us?”

“I don’t like comic books,” Myka said. “And neither do you.” But formulating this basic fact about her partner sparked Myka to think of her childhood, the way she would turn to a book in order to soothe herself, so as to simultaneously leave and fully inhabit as many present moments as possible... to Helena, she admitted, “It is a lesson. I used to be able to... lose myself. More. Better.”

A very small smile ghosted its way onto Helena’s face. “You lose yourself quite well.”

That was welcome, if (still, even now, a bit) embarrassing. “Thank you? But for the purposes of peace, maybe not ideal.”

“Well then, I suppose I’ll have to force you to meditate,” Helena said, and was that enthusiasm in her voice?

“Now?”

“No time like the present.”

Myka allowed herself to be manipulated toward the bed, then to be situated there cross-legged, even as she complained, “It seems like it’s going to take up a lot of time. Like the present. Thirty minutes a day, my dad said, but wasn’t one of Claudia’s tips about making time to do things I enjoy?”

“You just now rejected that,” Helena said. She put out the light and joined Myka on the bed, facing her, sitting similarly cross-legged.

“You’re just lucky ‘Things’ isn’t your new nickname. But come on, when you think about it, half an hour’s half an hour. Wouldn’t it just be stealing time from, you know, us?”

“Stealing present time—minimal present time—yes. But to increase the likelihood of maximal total time. For, you know, us,” she concluded.

It was a low blow; Helena knew how susceptible Myka was to having her own speech patterns mimicked by that voice. Nevertheless, she tried, “Didn’t you just say there’s no time like the present?”

“I did, and I was correct. Now focus.”

“Fine.” She closed her eyes. Then she cracked one open. “On what?”

Helena gave that some consideration. “At the risk of adding insult to injury, we might try Korotkoff sounds. I’ve been thinking on them since encountering Mr. Korotkoff’s instrument. We didn’t know them in my day... we could have produced them, used them for diagnoses, at any time. Yet to us, in our ignorance, blood moved ever silent.”

“My ignorance too. I’ve had my blood pressure taken a million times—and there’ll be a million more, and now more often—but I don’t know how it works. Tell me.”

“One imposes pressure by inflating the cuff around the arm, then one releases it, slowly, and listens. Silence at first, then five distinct phases of sounds, telling sounds, emerge as blood begins again to flow. The phases, the sounds. The same in all bodies. Yours. Mine. Everyone’s. Five. In succession.”

Her voice was slow. Lulling. This might not be meditation, but it was an easing. “Tell them to me,” Myka said. She closed her eyes again, imagining a wrapping, enveloping density, an inflating push of an determined cuff... yet even as she did so, a tendril of unease slipped its way in, an instinctive pre-flinch of discomfiture at what the release of pressure might reveal. She reheard “you lose yourself quite well”—felt the reflexive, nervous rise of self-consciousness—but she pressed against it, willing it down, down and away.

“In phase one,” Helena began, “the blood signals its return with clear taps, low but clear, knocks of announcement.”

Myka reached for the lull again, working to hear the silk-low voice both for itself (to be here) and for what it gave (to be elsewhere).

Helena thwarted her for a moment, becoming less hypnotist than lecturer as she said, “The pressure at which phase one occurs is the top number, that troublesome number of yours.”

Eyes still closed, Myka reached her hands out, feeling for Helena’s body, reaching her arms, and at the contact Helena seemed to understand. “In phase two,” she said, slow again, “the knocking softens, joined by a new sound, a swishing, soft, long, the blood taking its time, finding its way...”

Myka let her hands move, just a little, wayfinding.

“Phase three,” Helena said, with a small hitching throat-clear. “Here the knock returns, insistent now, the blood knowing its way, impatient to resume its course, pushing itself to phase four: an abrupt muffling, as if reassembling for a final push of sound.” Her hands now met Myka’s body, grasping her arms, tightening as she said, “But no, no final push, for phase five is the disappearance of all sound, the reestablishment of what the doctors of my day knew only as unrevealing silence. Yet not so unrevealing after all: that restoration is the diastolic pressure, the lower number, completing the diagnosis, culminating the story of how the blood speaks as it relearns to move: sound to less sound to more sound to no sound.”

That repetition of “sound”... it rang in Myka’s head. Sound, sound, sound...

She opened her eyes. Her hands were at Helena’s waist, and Helena’s hands had moved to her shoulders; now they were locked in the pose, statues waiting for a spell-break.

Myka willed herself not to move her hands as she said, “I didn’t meditate.”

Helena wasn’t moving either, but it seemed to be taking just as much effort. “I’m grateful,” she said.

“Are you calm?” Myka asked.

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

But later, later, in the still: yes. Calm. No sound.

TBC

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas! Swiftie anon. So school ended today, and I’m free for like two-ish months. Since you’re a teacher when did your school end? Do you have to do summer school?

the first day of summer starts tomorrow, and I’m nervous. Spending so much time alone with my mom, ugh. She starts her job soon, she hasn’t had one and got hip surgery back in January, but she works at home. Having her be occupied will be nice though. I still remember a few summers ago where she screamed at the top of her lungs at us, for being too loud while she was working. Luckily we won’t have that issue (hopefully)

my friend are inviting me over to their houses all summer so I don’t have to stay at home, so that’s a plus. And I have to go to church in a few days, and ugh, I cringe thinking about it.

so about my brother’s dorm, he’s just going to have his own room, and a communal bathroom, stereotypical college dorm, ig. And like my parents said they had health concerns from my brother sharing a bathroom with two transgender/(+)nonbinary people, but having way more people, idk doesn’t seem logical. My mom said something about hormones and what they’re doing to their bodies, but idk, gives me the ick. Apparently while we were at school, they had a talk. My brother told he that she doesn’t listen, etc. basically that she sucks at parenting, and my mom said she isn’t a nurturing person, which jeez, I couldn’t tell. At home it feels like everyone is holding their breath, that split second of silence before a bomb goes off. I was eavesdropping on my parents (again) and they were talking about how they shouldn’t make it a big deal, and it wouldn’t have been if they hadn’t gone fucking insane over it. They were also talking about how it was an issue how my brother saw a as a girl? Which like, they’re friends, she dresses feminine, she has long hair, she wears makeup and I’m pretty sure she’s on hormones (is that the correct term?). My brother is a respectful person, it’s like the same thing as calling someone a nickname. That why we have to go to church, because to quote my mom, “the indoctrination starts young, (my name) and (my sisters name) could already know about this.” I almost wanted to pop up and shout that I read fanfiction about gay people in imaginary worlds every night before I go to sleep. She’s like scared we’ll become gay or something. She even said so herself, (to my dad) “moving our son out of the room won’t solve anything, he could still go and hang around lgbtsaui (she said a ton of random letters bc “the acronym is too long”) and be exposed to it” yeah bc there’s gay people in real life an they’re apart of society. And yes, my parents care a lot about college, they both grew up poor so it makes sense. And my mom likes saying things, she said yesterday morning that she wanted to split her and my dad’s finances, but that didn’t happen, she has mental issues too. Or runs on her side of the family, my aunt, she committed suicide in the 90s and apparently my mom has suffered from low mood, so thanks a lot to her ig.

as for if my brother likes a, my parents asked right before if they asked if he liked boys “do you like (deadname) like a boyfriend.” He said no, obviously, bc she’s a girl now. My brother hasn’t show interest in anyone as far as I know, we don’t talk about that stuff together, but we play a video game together, and he likes the female characters, but he could like, like their design and sorry and stuff, or like them, or both. But women are usually prettier in video games so straight dudes buy. Can you be straight and date a trans person(I’m uneducated, i apologize)? My dad asked him “would you ever be with someone knowing that they’re actually a boy? I wouldn’t, I feel like people don’t tell others that these days.” My brother said no, obviously he could be telling the truth or lying and there is a “right” answer when my parents ask. So idk if he likes a, as far as I know, he hasn’t been interested in someone like that. Honestly by brother is probably a straight cis dude, if he’s not, he can tell me if he likes. If he doesn’t want to tell me, well there’s clearly a reason for that. He’s my older brother, he’s helped me through a lot, that won’t change.

I am not youngest sibling anon, bc I have never had a crush on anyone. *awkward jazz hands* bc I’m aroace. Probably. Somewhere on the spectrum anyway, I’m too depressed to have a sexuality crisis. So I’m you’re the first person i came out to, so congrats (?). I honestly haven’t told anyone, bc I’m in middle school and everyone is just gonna tell me I’m too young to know and I can’t deal with homophobes and my many mental illnesses. And I’m fine with being a girl (for now, I’m young so who knows?), I have body image issues, but that’s bc I have confidence issues. I hope they’re doing okay cause it looks like they’re going through some shit.

Okay so today at school, like 10 minutes before we were dismissed there was one one over the loudspeaker, saying something and my math teacher smells us to be quiet so we could hear. We didn’t, he told us to be quiet again, and we didn’t again. He whistled and shouted shut up. And I got scared, I flinched, my friends pointed it out, I hid behind one of them. Some people were joking about how red his face was, I was scared, like my life was being threatened. It’s just so embarrassing, idk, I thought I knew how to handle myself, I thought I got over it. One of my friends, held up a wooden block and pretended to throw it at me, before the teacher yelled at us, and I ducked and covered my head. It’s just frustrating, bc I thought maybe I was getting better. I stopped getting hit years ago, I shouldn’t be flinching like that anymore.

I’m just so upset with myself, bc I should be happy, I’m a kid, I have stuff, my life is comfortable, I have friends. Beside my home life, it’s been okay. Why aren’t I happy. Why can’t I be happy. It’s just so frustrating bc everyone around me is happy, carefree almost. And I can’t be like that, I didn’t think you could still be like that, as a teenager. It’s so, maddening, and I…I want to be happy too, I’ve been trying so hard for so long to be happy, and every comment my parents make about having a positive attitude hurts more. Because I am trying, I’ve been trying so hard for so long, and no one can even notice the difference. It’s all just fucking pointless. This is my best, my best sucks and can’t do shit, apparently. I thought I was doing things, it hurts, it hurts so much more than I thought it would. Staying alive, here, I never thought it could hurt so much. And like, sometimes I wonder if there’s a point, I’ll end up alone, everyone keeps moving away, I’m literally a mistake, bc my parents didn’t mean for me to even be here and I don’t want to be.

this was way longer than intended, I’ll drop it here for now, if I don’t send another message, it’s bc i got my phone taken.

have a good day/night!

Hi hon!

Okay, so yes, hormones is the right term, but remember that a trans person doesn't have to be on hormones to be trans or to be considered the gender they identify as.

Also, yes, straight people can date trans people. I think, in some ways, it's affirming for a straight dude to be like "of course I'm straight because I'm dating x. Because she's a girl" It reminds x that she IS a girl.

As far as your happiness- when you say "I have stuff, my life is comfortable" so? You clearly aren't being supported, of COURSE you're sad! And it's okay to be sad! Just remember that this won't last forever. Soon, you'll be the one off to college, and your parents will have less and less control over you.

I'm sending you so much love and support <3

[imgeekgirlfan]

Till Death Do Us Part│#TheLastofUs

Pairings:  joel miller x Black!reader [From The Last of Us : TV Series]

Major character death/Heavy Angst/Canon Divergence  

Synopsis: You are Sara Miller's mother (who recently divorced Joel) and your daughter was killed. You blame Joel and want to kill him, but as the Fireflies' leader, you need Joel's help getting Ellie and yourself to Vaccine Research Center #TheLastofUs  

AN: I've been away for a while due to being busy with my regular job and finishing up other novels. Plus, translating this fanfiction requires high concentration. However, we've finally reached Part 4, which means we're just one part away from the final. Let's explore together what the secret Y/N been trying to keep hidden from Joel.

Taglist: @flaneurpastel​ (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply)

➡  Previous : Next

Act 4 : Our Destiny

The colors of the autumn leaves began to unfold gradually, transitioning from yellow to orange, until every tree was dyed vibrant red. The air turned cold, causing you to tighten your jacket.  How long has it been since then? Even you were unsure. Since the outbreak of the pandemic, you haven't really been keeping track of time. But what you knew was that it had been longer than you had anticipated. at least almost half a year. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie set out on this journey together.

Numerous events unfolded along the way, putting all of you in almost life-threatening situations several times. It wasn't just the infected that posed a threat, but also humans who sought to harm and kill for their own survival. like a cannibalistic group that viewed strangers as nothing more than food. Joel suffered injuries from these encounters, and you and Ellie were on the verge of losing hope. But just in time, help arrived unexpectedly. It came in the form of someone familiar, Tommy Miller, who coincidentally crossed paths with you.

Fate can be quite ironic. You thought so when Tommy told you that it wasn't just you who had a history with Joel. Tommy himself had a bitter fallout with Joel that severed their relationship for a decade. When they went their separate ways, he embarked on a solitary journey and happened to find love with Maria, the leader of the Jackson community. He made the firm decision to settle down here. He never thought he would see Joel's face again, let alone yours. As for Tommy, seeing you and Joel together again felt like seeing a ghost in broad daylight, not to mention the presence of the unfamiliar young girl who accompanied you. It felt surreal to him.

"Thinking back,I tried so hard to make you and Joel fall in love again. But it just didn't work out," Tommie reminisced with a hint of laughter in his eyes. Aside from the deepening lines, the increasing wrinkles, and the graying hair, Tommie seemed unchanged, especially with the smile on his face. "Who would have thought that I would eventually succeed? Even if it took a little longer," he continued.

"Before you start overthinking, this has nothing to do with you. It's all about the mission," you replied. 

Tommy shrugged and turned to the flickering flame of the cigarette held between his fingers. The white smoke spread widely as he exhaled. He caught a glimpse of you through the haze, his face displaying a serious expression that was different from just a moment ago. "So, tell me, what is this important mission really about?" he asked earnestly.

You responded to his question with silence, just as you did with Joel when he first asked you about this.

Although Tommy was not a stranger to you, you still didn't trust him enough to reveal the truth about Ellie being immune to the infection. It was too risky. If this information leaked prematurely, it could lead to worldwide chaos or, worse, put Ellie in great danger. She would become a valuable commodity that everyone would want to possess, just to control the future of the cure.

Keeping these matters a secret for as long as possible is the safest option for you and Ellie.

Before you were willing to share the entirety of the mission with Joel, it took a considerable amount of time for you to fully trust him enough to entrust him with the remaining tasks. This was in case things took a turn for the worse and you couldn't make it to the final destination. You had to persuade Joel for a long time because he saw your mission as just another fleeting desire that would ultimately end in failure, just like in the past. But nonetheless, Joel reluctantly nodded and accepted your plea. He spent hours during the journey with Ellie, teaching her about firearm usage and other survival skills that she should know to protect herself from potential dangers. It proved to be highly beneficial in the future when you had to face hunters and cannibals.

The events that unfolded were harrowing for everyone, especially for Ellie, as she had taken someone's life for the first time. Of course, she was just a young girl, and death was not something easily accepted or comprehended in her first experience. It deeply affected her psyche, more than she let on. Ellie became withdrawn, quiet, and distant. She displayed no intention of disturbing or engaging in conversation, as she had done before. It was as if the innocence in her had been stripped away, along with the person she had killed.

Joel's hard exterior began to soften, and he constantly comforted Ellie in his own way. He spoke to her as much as he could and stayed with her whenever she needed him. Even Tommy was surprised by this and repeatedly questioned you about whether anything had affected Joel's mental state from the recent battles. But for you, who had spent enough time with them, it was not surprising to notice the positive changes in Joel. You saw his tender side towards Ellie as well as the bond that had formed between them.

Once, pain used to be the thing that bound you and Joel together, and now it had become something that bonded him and Ellie as well, without them even realizing it. 

Your silence made Tommy sigh. He did not expect anything more from you, knowing that you wouldn't easily open up. He put the cigarette down on the white porch railing and glanced outside. The afternoon air was pleasant. Women were busy watering plants, while children helped sweep the fallen leaves diligently. As for the men, they were busy handling heavy loads and organizing supplies for future distribution. These ordinary ways of life were once easily visible to everyone over two decades ago, but not now, in a world on the brink of collapse and with humanity facing the risk of extinction.

That made you realize the importance of this mission and understand why people in Fireflies were willing to sacrifice their own lives. They were willing to do anything they could to achieve simple happiness, just like what you see now, which has become something that everyone can truly experience.

Not long after, you saw Joel and Ellie walking towards you. Joel's physical condition had improved significantly, but he still limped slightly as he walked. Ellie walked beside him, moving slowly, and wore an exasperated expression directed at Joel while muttering something. But when she saw you, she raised her hand and waved with a wide smile, looking so vibrant that she almost resembled the old Ellie. You smiled and waved back, while Tommy, who was standing next to you, kept his eyes on you the whole time.

"I don't know what you two are up to—a family role-play?" Tommy spoke without looking directly at you, but you could clearly sense his feelings through his voice and the glances he threw at Joel. "But I haven't seen Joel this happy since then."

You knew exactly what Tommy meant.

since the day Sarah left forever.

Joel had changed since that day, changed enough to make his younger brother despise him to the point of insupportable, and they had to separate and go their separate ways. But in the end, they found each other again and realized how much they truly loved each other. That's Tom's story, which is not much different from yours, after all.

There was a faint smile on Tom's face before it quickly disappeared when he turned back to give you another glance. His large hand reached out and grabbed your arm tightly. His face looked genuinely serious.

"I just want him to be happy. I hope you won't ruin it."

This is something you want even more than Tom does—to make Joel happy again.

But you can't promise that you won't ruin it someday.

You can only hope to prolong this happiness for as long as possible.

________________________________

"Can't sleep, huh?"

Upon hearing Joel's voice, you decided to forget about sleep after struggling to keep your eyes closed for a while. It had been dark in the room for a while, but there was still a faint glow from the bright moonlight outside the window. A gentle breeze swayed the curtains. You turned sideways towards Joel, who was lying next to you, and saw his eyes gazing at you.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, I couldn't sleep either," he sighed before raising his arm slightly to let you snuggle closer to him. "I was talking to Tom earlier this evening."

You furrowed your brow, unable to help but think about Tom's face and the previous conversation between you and him. "What were you talking about?"

"Tom wants me to take a break from everything I'm doing." Joel lowered his voice, unsure if he should say it, but eventually he spoke up. "He said my body isn't ready for long journeys yet., He's happy to take Ellie and you to our destination."

Your heart throbs with conflicting emotions, one of which is that you don't want to be separated from him even for a moment. You've spent so much time together that you can't imagine a journey without him. And two, you think this could be a good option for Joel and for yourself. Because if you had the choice, you wouldn't want to involve him in this matter.

Deep down, you know in your heart that all of this is not just about wanting to help the world. It's also about your own desire that has brought you and him this far.

"And what do you think?" Your voice remains calm, though trembling, awaiting the answer.

"I haven't given him an answer yet," he says, holding you tighter than before. Joel's arms around your body provide both comfort and reassurance. "I'm not denying that I once thought I didn't want to do it anymore."

"I don't want you to do it either," you finally decide to say. "If you don't want to..."

"It's not like that." Joel interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "I'm just…thinking. What would it be like if we didn't do it? What would it be like if we stopped right here and chose to stay together?"

You fall silent.  You wish you could tell him how much you desire it to be exactly like that, even more than he does.

However, both Joel and you are well aware that it's an excessive hope. too much for someone who has been shattered and can never return to being whole again.

"I want you. I want Ellie. I want everything we have. I don't want to lose it." 

His face is difficult to read in the darkness, but his trembling voice resonates clearly, causing a pang of pain in your heart. You cup his face, drawing it closer, before pressing a gentle and tender kiss on his dry lips. Your lips then trail gently along his cheeks and forehead, as if your touch could soothe his troubled soul even just a little.

Joel kisses you back before gently resting his forehead against yours. Your gaze meets his in a silent harmony amidst the fearful darkness of the moment.

"I'm afraid I'll ruin it." His voice quivers softer than usual, as if he's wrestling with himself.

You've never seen Joel like this—afraid and vulnerable.

"You won't ruin it," you firmly affirm, conveying the confidence you have in him. "I believe in you."

You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him slowly, savoring every touch and delicately tasting each sensation.  Your eyelids gradually close as Joel lifts himself above your body, his lips pressing fervently along the curve of your neck, reaching your shoulder. while his hands explore beneath your clothes, causing you to shudder with gentle and intentional caresses.

"Are you okay with this?" Joel asks, uncertain and slightly embarrassed, prompting you to reminisce about your first night together, the beginning of your relationship, and all the special moments. It was a magical night for you when you and Joel were younger.

But apart from the passing of time, nothing has changed between you and him.

"I'm okay," and your answer remains the same as it was decades ago.

You remember the warmth of his hands sliding up your hips, just like when you used to dance together in the past. And you remember the gentle touch of his lips that sensually pressed against your bare skin after swiftly removing your clothes. As he runs his tongue along your body, it is still evident that you desire him just as much as he desires you.

His eyes, his breath, his slow movements, the gentle and warm touch, and the way he showers you with love—you want to remember every single detail of it all.

The intense desire and overwhelming joy spread through every nerve cell, causing you to grab onto him, knowing that Joel is the only anchor you have. The calling of each other's names fills the room as you both climax, reaching your final destination together.

Everything comes to an end, leaving only a lingering sense of contentment that reverberates throughout your body. Joel lies back on the bed and pulls you into his arms. You effortlessly snuggle into his arms, resting your head on his broad chest, feeling a complete sense of tranquility.

Fatigue slowly lulls you into drowsiness, but you are confident that you heard Joel say something to you while his lips pressed gentle kisses on your forehead. However, his voice sounded distant and faint, as if it were in a dream, and you have no chance to ask again as you quickly drift into a deep sleep.

________________________________

A few days after that, the thing you feared the most happened.

Ellie disappeared. That's what you heard from Tommy, who had been notified earlier by the scouting unit that a young girl had escaped from the camp along with a horse.

This wasn't the first time Ellie had done something like this. Once, she told you about the time when she was still studying at a military school under FEDRA's curriculum—a place she described as a "miserable hellhole filled with power-hungry maniacs." It was another significant reason that led Ellie to decide to sneak out of school to go on an adventure outside the quarantine zone with Riley. That event ended with both of them being attacked by infected people and Ellie discovering her special immunity

But Jackson's community was not like Ellie's miserable military school. It was filled with peace and tranquility that couldn't be found in any other quarantine camp. And you knew that Ellie wanted to be here. There was no reason for her to choose to run away without telling anyone, or perhaps there was something more that you hadn't paid enough attention to.

Joel was just as puzzled as you about this. He seemed more worried than you. "Damn it, Ellie! What are you thinking?" He muttered loudly after hearing Tommy's words, his voice filled with frustration. But when he turned to face you, you could clearly see the concern in his eyes.

Tommy confirmed with certainty that there were no infected in the surrounding area of the community, so Ellie wouldn't be in danger (you weren't worried because she couldn't be infected). He was confident that Ellie wouldn't have gone far. Moreover, the fact that she didn't cover her tracks while escaping made it easier to trace for someone who was skilled in tracking. The three of you quickly set out on horseback, following the trail. The hoofprints of the horse that had led you to an abandoned house about five kilometers away from Tommy's community

It was still a well-preserved house, a small two-story yellow wooden house that you could imagine belonged to a kind-hearted grandmother who liked to sit on the porch in the evenings. And perhaps some old grandparents and their grandchildren might be living or have become infected inside this house. You quickly dismounted from the horse, keeping your gun close to your pants in case of emergency, and then reached out to touch Joel's arm before he rush into the house

"Give the girls some time to talk, alright, boys?" You said it with a teasing tone, although you knew Joel and Tommy were not in the mood to joke with you. The temperature was over seventy degrees, hot and uncomfortable, making everyone irritable and on edge. "Promise it won't take more than ten minutes, or even faster." You emphasized that when you saw Joel's disapproving gesture.

You made that decision because you knew that Joel and Ellie were similar, except that Joel was more stubborn than Ellie. They had argued and sulked with each other many times, and when both of them were not in a good mood, facing each other now could be worse. It was something you didn't want to happen at all

And another reason was that you believed Ellie trusted you more than anyone else. It was something called a girl's bond, something that men would never understand. You experienced it with Sarah as well. You and your daughter used to have special moments two or three times a week, mostly open conversations, giving advice, and sharing little secrets that only you and Sarah knew. Secrets that you wouldn't tell Joel, and Sarah wouldn't tell her dad. Ellie and you had something similar, and you hoped she would open up to you like Sarah did.

But the situation turned out to be the opposite of what you had thought. Ellie didn't want to open up with you. In fact, she wanted you to be the one to speak to her

"You're going to leave me, aren't you?"

Ellie was hiding in the upstairs bedroom of the house. She was sitting on a small bed covered with a faded pink blanket that might have belonged to a little girl. Her fierce and sorrowful eyes stared at you as you stood by the door. You clenched your jaw and looked at her, confused and puzzled at the same time.

"Why would you think that?"

"I heard Tommy and Joel talking. Are you going to send me away with Tommy, right?"

You took a long, deep breath, feeling a mixture of anxiety and relief at the same time. "Listen, Ellie, Tommy is just concerned, and Joel is still injured. But even if Joel can't go, I'm not planning to leave you with Tommy. We both have to keep moving..."

"There was no 'We' from the beginning!" Ellie cut you off with a mocking tone. "Since you gave me the gun, I knew."

For a moment, you were stunned by her words. sounded like she penetrated deep into your heart, knowing things that you weren't ready to reveal at the moment. "Ellie, I don't understand what you're talking about," you lied. You knew exactly what Ellie meant, but you weren't ready to address it now, no matter how much Ellie wanted you to speak.

You took a step towards her, but Ellie quickly retreated, glaring at you with more anger than before. "Don't pretend to be my mom. You're not my real mom. Not at all," she said bitterly.

If words could hurt, Ellie's words felt like a full-force blow, more painful than any physical punch could ever be.

Ellie was right . She wasn't your daughter, and you treated her like one simply because of your guilt, because you wanted to compensate for the loss of your own daughter.

The shock and pain on your face made Ellie regain her composure. Her posture softened, filled with remorseful feelings as she spoke to you, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," you lied again, not wanting her to feel any worse than she already did. But this sorrow weighed heavily on you, and you couldn't hide it well. You gritted your teeth, trying to speak normally without bursting into tears. "It's true that you're not my daughter, but that doesn't mean that my concern for you isn't real."

The young girl hesitated for a moment, then lowered her gaze to her own feet. You noticed her reddened nose, almost on the verge of crying. Her posture seemed smaller, and a sense of guilt filled her voice as she spoke to you. "I thought you cared about me because I was the cure for this damn fungus."

"I won't deny that it's one of the reasons, but it's not everything," you said. This time, you moved directly in front of Ellie, and she didn't flinch. You knelt down to be at eye level with her, and gently wiped away a tear from her cheek. "I care about you. And we all care about you. Me, Joel, from everything we've been through together. That's not enough to make you believe me?"

There were minutes of silence. Ellie raised her hand to wipe her tears before sitting still, looking as if she was deep in thought. Her shoulders hunched, and she seemed both calmer and sadder at the same time. "You said you cared about me, but you're going to leave me... just like everyone else in my life," she muttered, as if to herself.

"I never intended to leave you, Ellie."

"No, you're lying." Ellie's voice hardened once again. Her sharp green eyes pierced into yours, as if she were trying to see through all the things you had hidden "I can see it in your eyes that you're lying. You'll leave Joel. You'll leave me. You'll leave us."

You averted your gaze from her. It was painful.

"I'm just scared," Ellie reiterated, her voice trembling. "I'm scared."

"We're all scared, Ellie. Believe me, I have to force myself to sleep every night with the fear of what will happen tomorrow." Your breath was caught with confusion and contemplation. It was easy when fear took hold of your heart, but it was difficult to convey it to someone else. "Afraid of what's yet to come. Afraid of what's uncertain. Afraid of the end of us."

She remained silent, not protesting or resisting. It was a good sign of willingness to listen.

"I won't promise you that we'll be together forever because 'forever' isn't real. You know it, and I know it. Someday, it will happen, and I'm afraid just like you. I just... I just want us to spend as much time together as possible, so that we won't regret missed opportunities and things we've never done."

"Like you and Joel," Ellie muttered softly but loud enough for you to hear.

"Something like that," you smiled faintly. "And Sarah too. My daughter with him. We lost our daughter because she was shot dead."

Ellie's eyes widened with shock, and her face immediately contorted with sadness and pity. "You care about me because I remind you of your daughter, don't you?"

"Yes, but it's also true, just like what you said earlier. I'm not your mother, and you're not my daughter."

"I didn't mean it." Ellie's voice trembled softly. "I'm just angry... I didn't mean it."

"We all do foolish things when we're angry." You placed your hand on hers and gently squeezed it, soothingly. "I've done it many times."

"Are you saying I'm foolish?"

That almost sounded like a sentence Joel used to say to you before, just changing the word "stings" to "foolish." You thought about it, and you couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. Stings and foolishness—two words that perfectly described Joel and Ellie

Ellie didn't laugh with you. She was serious but also cautious. "So, that's why you're leaving Joel, because of Sarah?"

You hesitated. That wasn't the whole reason, but it was the darkest part of it all.

"And the reason you'll leave me and Joel—what is it exactly?" Ellie continued with her questioning—a line of questioning you didn't want to answer. But you knew she wouldn't stop until you gave her an honest answer. Until you unraveled it for her.

"Love, Ellie. That's a part of love. Knowing when to hold on and when to let go," you paused, surprised at yourself for being able to speak the word "love" so easily. "And no matter what happens, I want you to know how much I love you and Joel."

Ellie lunged forward, almost knocking you off balance as you managed to catch the fourteen-year-old in your arms. You laughed and said, "My back is completely broken." and Ellie let out a half-laugh before wrapping her arms tightly around your neck, clinging to you like a drowning person grasping for a lifeline. Her body trembled with suppressed sobs, and you felt the wetness of her tears against your skin.

"Does Joel know about this?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence that had stretched longer than before. It was a long, quiet moment of contemplation About time, love, and death

"He doesn't know yet, but I'll tell him myself," you replied.

A rhythmic knock on the door interrupted the conversation between the two of you, and you saw Joel standing there, hugging his chest against the door frame. You couldn't read his expression, but you could sense that he wasn't in a good mood. It's possible that more than ten minutes have passed.

He wore a stern expression, and with one hand, he tapped his old wristwatch, the one you and Sarah had helped choose as a birthday gift for him on his thirty-second birthday. He had kept it well. "Time's up. We can go now," he said bluntly.

Ellie quickly slipped her feet out the door to escape Joel, fearing she would have to endure a long scolding from him. But Joel paid no attention to the young girl passing by, only focusing his gaze on you with the same expression as before—a face that made it impossible to predict what he was feeling.

You can't help but feel anxious. Maybe he will hear what you say to Ellie. And if he were to ask you, like Ellie did, you probably couldn't answer him honestly. Even though you've been thinking about telling Joel, it's not the right time yet. It's not the appropriate moment for you and him.

But in the end, Joel didn't ask you a single word about what happened in that house. Throughout the journey back to Jackson’s community, he remained quiet and silent. It was a silence as calm as the sea before the arrival of a big wave. A silence that made you feel uneasy.

Even though he didn't speak, you know he must have heard it.