#and cricket needed something to cling to

[teknikolor-walters]

You WILL look at these messages parker sent me NOW!!! he's so true and correct always #1 cicada knower

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[jarofstyles]

Lullaby 2

Hey hi hello! We got vampy part 2 coming' at you now. I'm thinking this is a 5 parter, I've been chipping away at it :-) I hope you guys like him.

Check out our Patreon for early access and 180+ exclusive writings

Lullaby Masterlist

WC- 6.1k

Warnings- vampires, mention of blood, mentions of familial death etc, H is obsessive n a lil stalkery but he's a vampire so to be expected, slight manipulation on his part, invasion of her privacy, soft h, slight smutty thoughts, etc

————

The Sun setting was one of her favorite views. 

Sitting on the front porch with her book in hand, she had her feed tucked under her to the side as she looked at the blend of fiery orange, saccharine pinks, brilliant yellows and the tiniest bits of purple. The calming of the day, the chaos of lawnmowers, cars running, children giggling and squealing all blending out into a soft quiet harmonized with crickets. The new summer heat lingered but the cool breeze tickled her skin, a welcome relief from the oven of a car she had been in on the way home. Her AC had died earlier today, marking the beginning of a difficult day. 

At the end of it, though, she could always count on the sky to calm her down. The swirls of color fading into the night, twinkly stars appearing as the dotted sky darkened and the moon peaked out to say hello. 

Y/N was a dreamer. Someone with her head in the clouds a lot of the time, theorizing and poetical thinking, wondering what else was out there in the world. What had she not discovered yet? There was this tug in her soul, bone deep, that she was meant for something more. That the other shoe would drop at any moment and her life would be turned upside down. Her dreams were filled with promise, of a world that was a little darker but so much more vibrant. Smells more intense, colors more vivid, taste elevated. In her dreams a few nights prior, she could feel the hands of her lover perfectly, though she had a problem actually seeing them- just a general outline, dark hair, pale skin. Cool hands on her cheek that she nuzzled into, a deep voice drawling out words she couldn’t quite understand but somehow found comfort in. That feeling had soothed her soul, settled that ache in her bones even just for the duration of the dream. 

Her heart hurt when she arose, seeing no lover beside her. No cool fingers brushing hair from her eyes, no soft lips buttoning with her own. It hurt her to crave someone she logically knew didn’t actually exist, but she accepted it. As dreamy as she could be, her logical mind won over in this aspect and reminded her that she’d find her person one day. That her dreams were just dreams, to not mourn the loss of a lover that simply did not exist.

But still, the yearning didn’t stop. 

Her bowl of cherries beside her, she rocked on her glider as she watched people arrive home for the night. Odd? Perhaps. But Y/N enjoyed the art of people watching. Waving to her neighbors who gave her polite smiles before entering their own houses, seeing their own families.

As much as she was grateful to her grandmother for leaving her the large old home that she had many a memory in, it sometimes felt overwhelmingly lonely. There was only so much space a single young woman needed, and even if she thoroughly enjoyed using a single room for a closet, it only reminded her when she laid in the dead of night after waking up over some weird tugging feeling in her chest that bogged her down significantly. That loneliness that felt even more palpable in the way she had no one to try her test batch of cookies and no one to turn over to in bed to show a ridiculous post she saw on social media. 

Sure, she had some friends who would come over and stay the night at times but after her grandmother passed, she had no one. At least of familial relation. Her friends were as close as they could get, but it was difficult to form bonds at times when she was tugged two separate ways. Everyone always left. The want to be so close she was clingy, and the overwhelming fear something would happen and they would leave by their own accord- or not- hindered her from allowing people to get as close as she desired. 

Sometimes she wished her loved ones could have been immortal. Even though it didn’t exist- even if her grandmother told her the stories of the supernatural and paranormal bonds- she wished it did. Wished that someone would never leave her, would love her endlessly. A bond deeper than marriage, no worries of cheaters or boring of her. It may sound a bit crazy, but she wished for complete devotion. Overwhelming love that wouldn’t end.  If only something like that existed in anything but a book. Her grandmother had sort of set her up for failure by planting all those ideas of those all encompassing love stories in her mind.

Sighing to herself, she popped a cherry into her mouth to end her own pity party and went to go back to her book- but a familiar car brought her out of her focus.

Harry was back. 

He hadn’t been home for three days, she had noticed. Not that she was stalking him or anything but she had vowed to herself in her journal and her mind to make more of an effort with him, so his absence had been noted. In some ways she had been relieved to have an excuse so she wouldn’t have to fear rejection but on the other hand she was getting antsy to just get the disappointment over if it was going to happen  

Harry was, for a lack of a better term, dreamy. His voice, the bold structure of his face; the petal pink of his lips. He had the most alluring eyes, shifting between green and gold at times that she had noticed the last time they’d spoken. He was tall and built, large shoulders and tattooed arms she had seen peeks of but not enough to get a full picture. Large hands with thicker fingers and a plethora of rings that would look gaudy on anyone else but with his persona, it simply fit. Slightly mysterious, guarded in a way; but still kind. Classy in a different sort of style that she hadn’t seen from many people around here. The stylish way he dressed even represented bits and pieces of a time that she read of in her books. He was elegant in ways that she had thought of as a movie character, like he was in a different time period and brought here. The elements of vintage tied into his outfits had her thinking he must have an appreciation for history at the very least.

Her eyes took him in as he lifted a worn leather duffle bag out of the trunk of his sports car. It wasn’t the Range Rover she had usually seen, or the Audi, but a bit flashier and sleek. A new purchase, maybe? Nevertheless,  it was a way into conversation. 

“Nice car!” She called over, wincing immediately as she realized how lame that must have sounded. His head snapped over to hers, sunglasses still on his eyes even with the fading light. A tiny smile planted the well of his dimple, placing the bag on top of the now closed trunk. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Skin prickled with chills as he said her name. It sounded real damn nice coming from his mouth. “Would you like to come see it?” He asked politely. Not being able to see his eyes was a little intimidating, but she returned the smile and stood up with her cherries in hand. The least she could do was share her fruit with him if he was letting her see the car.

“Is it new?” She questioned, approaching with her sandals slapping against her feet. Mentally she set a reminder to get different ones that weren’t obnoxious. Getting closer to him she could feel the familiar tingle at the base of her spine, a slight giddiness as her heartbeat picked up the closer she got to him.

“It is, yeah. Had to fly out to drive it back.” He admitted, seemingly taller than the last time they’d talked. How much money did the man have? Surely a decent amount, as anyone in this neighborhood did, but three cars and flying out to get one seemed a bit luxurious to her. 

“Oh wow, that’s some dedication. It looks worth it though. I don’t know a ton about cars but it’s gorgeous.” She nodded, looking it over. The rambling didn’t help her cause but it was pretty much standard when she was nervous. “Oh! Uh, did you want some of my cherries?” Holding the pink ceramic bowl out to him, her eyes looked up at him and saw her reflection in the sunglasses. She wished she could see how he was looking back at her. If she would see any interest. Thankfully she could tell by the smile that he at least seemed slightly endeared. 

“Sure, thank you.” Two of his ringed fingers picked out a ripe one, pinching the small red fruit in his hands, looking down as a bit of the juice dribbled down his thumb. “Did you…”

“Yeah, I pitted them already. Sorry, I didn’t think to warn you. But you’re wearing all black so it shouldn’t stain, I don’t think.” The attempt of a joke had her groaning in her head. Could she act fucking normal? Her mind was a jumbled mess, as it usually was with him, but it seemed to be getting worse. The thought of her cherry stained fingers had come back to her, filtering through the thoughts of wanting to know more about him into a slight shame that she hadn’t thought to have warned the man of dripping cherry juice down the back of his hand. 

“It’s not a problem.” He assured, popping it into his mouth.

Perhaps she needed to get laid, but somehow watching him chew the cherry was better than porn. The slight dark red sheen on his lip, gently dripping down his chin and the clench of his jaw as he worked the flesh of the fruit through his teeth, he let out a pleased hum. 

Y/N saw the path the dribble of juice going further down and before she could think twice, she leaned up on her toes. There was little hesitation as she thumbed over his chin, wiping the juice away. It had been like second nature, invading his personal space like it was instinct.

Her hand froze as soon as reality set in, his chewing taking a pause as there was a moment of bated breath. Bright eyes widened, ripping her hand away like his touch had scorched her. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I have no idea why I just did that.” She squawked, holding her hand up in front of her chest. “That was so rude of me. I swear I don’t usually just touch people like that, it was just dripping down your chin and I didn’t want it to stain more of your skin and-“

“I didn’t say it was a problem.” The vampire murmured, swallowing the sweet fruit. “I didn’t mind at all.” His own thumb came up to brush over the path her digit had taken. It still thrummed with warmth from the human’s touch, his body perking up as he ached to take a step closer. Her scent made a lot of sense considering he had seen her more often than not with bowls of fruit on her porch. Fresh cut strawberries in sugar, watermelon, mango sliced into wedges, grapes, but most frequent were the cherries. It reflected in her sweet scent, sugary but not in a sickly way. Fresh, sweet, ripe like fruit. 

He was glad he wore his glasses because the thought moved towards how sweet she would taste right now. If he were able to just take her gaze and use his slow, deep words and locked eyes to compel her to move the hair off of her neck and tilt it for him, lift her to sit on the hood of the car and let his teeth sink into the throbbing artery in her throat. How the sugary taste would tinge the metallic aftertaste. She’d writhe in his hold and spread her legs for him, give him the option of burying his tongue to lap up the only substance that would be able to compete with the obsession he would surely have with her blood. Maybe even take a bite at the junction of her thigh, leave marks all over her. Punctures to visibly show it and his scent to claim the little human as his own. 

If the glasses weren’t on, it was sure that she’d see the flash of red in his iris. 

“Still.” She said sheepishly. “We are friends but I don’t know how you are with touch and everything and I didn’t have permission, so I’m sorry.”

Harry smiled at that. The little peach, his little cherry, so considerate of other people. She had no idea how he had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from grabbing her and hauling her into him so he could suck off the slight stain on her lips. Bury his face in her throat and inhale her dangerous temptation. 

“I promise, it’s quite alright. You can touch me anytime you’d like.” He took a risk in placing one of his hands on her shoulder, letting some more of her warmth infiltrate his system. The words had been loaded, sure, but he remembered vividly how her journal entry had written about wanting to see more of him. It was his fault, spending so much time with her even if she was asleep. Her body was going to crave him just as much as he craved her. “If you would like, I would be more than willing to take you on a drive sometime.”

This was something of an excuse to see her again, but the creature was overwhelmingly desperate to form a bond with her. As much as he looked forward to watching her sleep, he would rather her be in his bed, soaking his sheets and pillows with her tantalizing scent. The idea of getting close to her was something he had been weighing for a while, but reading her journal a few days ago had clued him into knowing the pull wasn’t just one sided.

The memory of her nuzzling her cheek into his frosty palm, sighing in contentment when he had observed her the night before had him feeling borderline insane- even more than one would be after living centuries, amassing knowledge and watching the world consistently evolve around you than one would imagine. His hand still tingled when he recalled feeling the heat of her skin, knowing she was so full of life underneath him. Finding comfort in the monster that gnawed at his cheek to keep from sinking his fangs into her delectable skin, taste her blood as it seeped over his tongue. If only he could skip to the part where she knew, where she’d crave the venom igniting her nerves. Y/N would be the prettiest little snack he ever had.

“Oh, really?” She perked up, blinking up at him. “I’d love that. When- when did you want to? It’s up to you, I’m free all weekend and stuff but I know you’re busy.” There was a pause. “Or it seems so. I’m not sure why I assumed that.” 

Again, his little human made him chuckle. “I am.” He wasn’t, not right now. He had a handle on his duties, but the majority of the time he was writing. Painting. Looking at properties to invest in on his iPad while curated playlists crooned from the speakers around his house. If only he could imagine such a thing back in 1760 without being accused of witchcraft. Then again, witchcraft was too much for humans even now to comprehend. “But I’d be more than happy to take you out. I don’t… know many people in the neighborhood because of it. A little lonely at times.”

It was actually by his own want, because the less people knew of him around here the better- but he had this insane obsession with this particular human, so she was the exception to his ‘stick to vampires but even then limit your socialization’ rule. 

He knew he was appealing to Y/N’s metaphorical bleeding heart. Manipulation was in his nature. In this case, though, he had no cruel intentions. He wanted to get to know the pretty girl, wanted to have her feel the same amount of lust and obsession he was subject to feel on a daily basis. Humans knew nothing of how intense and passionate a vampire’s affections could be, and for that reason he had been hiding his time. Laying in the shadows and approaching while she slept to soothe the inner beast that insisted he crawl out the window with her body attached to his so she could reside in his house, feast on whatever she chose and allowed him to touch and feed on her as much as he chose. 

She’d like it, he was pretty sure. Once she warmed up to the idea, Harry had high hopes that she would allow him to be as handsy as he wanted. Sex between a pair with a compatible scent was otherworldly. If she were to be with him, he’d need to pace himself and understand his strength, but there was that part of him that still worried slightly. He cared for her. She wasn’t a metaphorical juice pouch for him to snack on like a lot of others his kind referred to humans as. Something he used to laugh at before he scented the girl with eager eyes in front of him. Now he understood why his uncle had fought so much, defending his human soulmate. Eventually he turned her, but during the few years she remained human he had been valiant in his efforts to defend her honor in every way possible.

It was partially why he didn’t tell many people of his suspicions of his bond with his own little human. Already slightly on edge from not being able to hold her the way his body needed, he would not be surprised if he lost it on anyone who snickered at her. 

Buying the car was a strategic effort to get himself to cool off, but it did no good. If anything he was more desperate now. The good news, however, was that Y/N felt his absence just as much. Her hands had touched him like he was hers to touch. His body felt the flush of pleasure just being near her, clenching his fists by his sides to keep from reaching out to her. So close to him, so damn close, but he had to behave. 

Y/N with her tender soul gave him a look of understanding. One that would later make him feel a sickly guilt because he was alone by choice, and the pretty woman was alone because life had dealt her a hard hand. She understood loneliness because it was all she felt. 

“Well you know me.” Her voice was delicate as she looked up at him. “And we can get to know each other so maybe you feel less alone. I know the feeling and it’s hard, but you don’t need to feel that with me. I’m right next door.” Pointing towards her house with an understanding smile, he felt a little more guilt but tried to shove it down. Y/N wouldn’t feel any sort of loneliness if he could help it. “You’re welcome anytime. Just knock.” 

The knowledge that he’d been inside her house more times than she could even count should be something that exacerbated the guilt, but it didn’t. In that respect, he thought of it as a favor to her. Getting his fix without suffocating her with his presence while she was awake was a gift, because if she had even the slightest inkling on how much self control it took for him not to simply steal her away and sink his teeth into her neck, claim her as his soul bonded, she would be terrified. “I will.” Letting himself smile a bit bigger at her, he lifted the bag up on his arm. “How about you come over tomorrow evening and I’ll take you on the drive.” 

He could hear the pickup of her heart. The slightly elevated thumping went harder, the blood rushing to her cheeks as her eyes widened slightly and she swallowed audibly- for him anyways- making him feel the satisfaction in his chest that he had this sort of impact on her. If his heart still beat he was positive it would kick up at the mere mention of her, the slight catch of her scent, but this was progress. Restraining himself now was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

“Yeah! Yeah, that would be awesome.” The human chirped, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. His hand tightened on the bad strap from how the slight movement had wafted some more of her scent towards him. It would be a struggle to control his eyes when they were alone, but going at sundown should be an excuse to keep his glasses on… at least for a little while. 

“Amazing. I’ll be yours at sunset.” 

In more ways than she knew.

Harry let her stumble over her goodbyes, her slightly shaky hands grabbing the bowl of cherries and walking back to her front porch with curious eyes that met his own as she looked back. He knew he wasn’t the only one who felt the connection, he’d seen it written in her journal, but feeling it in real time was surreal. It took the most self discipline he’d needed all week to walk inside his house, dropping himself onto the velvet sofa with a grunt. The place she had touched on his chin to wipe away the ironically deep red juice still held some warmth, reminding him again that she’d touched him. There was no question about the pull, seeing how mortified she’d been at her body's reaction- but it had been natural. It made sense to him that she’d be drawn to touch him. Human resolve was weaker than one of a vampire but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel that overwhelming urge to run to her house and ask to come in right now just to see her. 

Instead, he sat with the french doors open in the back to listen to her go about her house. She hummed to herself, cooked dinner, and took a shower. The humid air floated out of her bathroom window that she kept slightly cracked to make sure it didn’t steam up too much, letting him inhale her at her purest form. When they got together he’d try to find her less strong shampoo and wash so her natural scent could be highlighted, but luckily her intuition had her choosing similar to how she came off to him. Almost like subconsciously she knew what to do to attract him there. 

It was when he heard the scratching of pen to paper that he went outside to wait. In hand he had a warmed bag of blood poured into a crystal glass- a bit pretentious- to calm his nerves. He loved wine, sure, but he needed to be positive his hunger was satiated before going up to see her. If he was being honest, he knew it wouldn’t be until he tasted Y/N, but he had to try. Had to keep her safe in the best ways he could until they passed the threshold of pretending to move around one another and into a courting. 

The plan had never been to take a human as a mate- as it probably wasn’t for any vampire. Humans were glorified bloodbags to a lot of his kind, seen as a lesser being. While he didn’t always share that exact sentiment, he was guilty of caring less for humans in general. They were oblivious to danger, slightly obnoxious, covered themselves in putrid perfumes, loud, uncouth, and fragile. So fucking fragile that it still terrified Harry to touch Y/N. He needed to ensure her safety in any way possible and that meant training himself to touch gently. To hold gently. To avoid any sort of pain that would absolutely wreck him to be the source of.

Humans weren’t ideal mates for that reason. Vampires got carried away during sx, the stamina hot and hard, the passion making it difficult to hide the monstrous nature that laid internally. He knew he’d take Y/N over and over again until she was sleepy and sore if he had the chance. If Y/N allowed him that honor, he could easily spend days locked inside of a room with her with little need to pull his cock from the warm confines of her cunt. It was the dream he had over and over again, yet something he feared. If he lost control with her in the heat of the moment he couldn’t recover. Though he had faith in himself to keep her safe, sex was the one thing he craved and feared the most with her. 

Lost in his thoughts, he watched the light turn down in her room. Never off, as she had a slight fear of the dark. Her bedside lamp turned on, he could hear her breathing start to even out as he jumped over the fence separating their properties and scaled the tree to her balcony. It wasn’t necessary, but the less trapezing he had to do around her home the better. Counting her heartbeats, he waited for 30 minutes for it all to even out and resemble the deeper parts of sleep before he opened the door.

One of these days he would scold her for leaving windows and doors unlocked. It was just like a human to be forgetful of those things, even if it did benefit him. His chest tightened as he walked in to see her body curled into a ball under the duvet. Hair peeking out, she was obviously a bit cold from how she had huddled under the cover of her blankets. A pang of sadness hit his stomach, perhaps a hint of inadequacy because he wouldn’t be able to keep her warm with his body. He could blame all sorts of health issues, but as long as she remained human he wouldn’t be a source of comfort in that way. 

He let out a soft sigh before swiping the journal, settling himself in the chair across from her. A leg crossed over his thigh, lightly tapping his foot in the air as he began to read. 

‘I talked to Harry today :-) He was so nice. Very intimidating in a weird way, but also not. It’s hard to explain. That feeling that makes me drawn to him felt a little stronger, even if I did make a fool of myself. I didn’t think twice before reaching up to wipe cherry juice from his chin, which like…. That was so weird of me. He didn’t seem to judge me for it but there had to be some part of him that was freaked out.’

A chuckle left his throat, whisper soft as his fingertip caressed the words as he read. In his head he could hear exactly how she’d say these things out loud. The journal was an extension of her, a physical example of her stream of consciousness. 

‘Regardless, I’m seeing him tomorrow. I’m panicking, of course, but I think above else I’m really excited. There’s that weird buzzing in my stomach at the thought of him and my chest gets all warm. I haven’t ever spent time with him outside of our talks outside or when he came to get his cat but he offered. I was going to be brave and all of that but thank god he took the initiative. I would have done it… probably. It’s just hard because I don’t think my body has ever reacted to a man the way it reacted to him today.’

Harry smiled to himself at the last sentence. It must be confusing to a human with no idea of what was happening. No clue that it was the universe leading her towards him, making him appealing because he was the one that could give her what she wanted. She was his, the bond he had accidentally jumpstarted starting to fall further into place. The sleeping girl didn’t know how he’d almost moaned at the feeling of her hand on him, how he’d been tempted to suck the juice from her thumb and squish one of the fruits between his fingers to trickle down her neck. His throat tightened at the image in his head, dark red beads moving down her skin, taunting him. His tongue lapping it up, kissing over her pulsepoint before he sunk his teeth in and took a few strong pulls from her artery. 

Swallowing thickly, he went to go back to the journal entry, to read more about her thoughts and excitement about him, but that was interrupted. 

“Harry?” A hoarse voice rang through the air, making his entire body freeze. The flush of cold washed over him as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, droopy and furrow browed. “Am I dreaming?” 

Fuck. 

“Yeah, darling. It’s a dream.” His voice swiftly took on a croon, placing the journal to the desk and standing up from the chair. “You’re alright.” If his heart still beat it would be in his throat and at his feet at the same time, body tense as he tried to navigate this the best way possible. It was too early for her to know he came in here, came to spend time with her even when she slept. It was far too much for her to know he counted her breaths and monitored the beats in her chest. That he tried to give her privacy when she touched herself to get herself sleepy, but he couldn’t help overhearing even when trying to distract himself in his home office. 

“Oh.” The sad sigh had him curious. Was she disappointed? What would she truly do if she knew this was anything but a dream, a sickly reality where a monster was completely and utterly obsessed with her, and wanted to bond her to his side for the rest of eternity. “Can you come lay with me then? If this is a dream I think I shouldn’t waste it with you over there.” 

The vampire wanted to laugh at how completely absurd this was. How fucking insanely lucky he had gotten that her own glass of wine had her more drowsy than normal. This scenario had been his fear from the beginning, but he had to wonder if her body felt the pull more now that she’d touched him. Now, she knew how his skin felt. Contact had been made, and maybe her body felt his presence more than before. “Of course I can.” He smiled lightly, padding over to her empty side of the bed to toe off his shoes. It felt surreal, her heat radiating off of the mattress as he slowly lowered himself down on the sleeping pad that was probably a bit too hard and springy for her. She’d prefer his bed, he was positive. It’d cost a pretty penny but for the times he did want to sleep it was perfection. 

“This is the most realistic dream. I need to lay off the Cabernet before bed.” She yawned, lifting the duvet up and showing no hesitation as she scooted closer to him and laid herself down next to him. “Well, dream Harry, you’re gonna have t’do until the real one wants me. Hold me please.” 

It was times like this that Harry wondered what sort of good karma he’d gotten, especially with how many lives he’d taken,  to get a taste of this. Her body warmth was so delicious, her scent making his mouth water and he thanked whoever was listening in his head that he’d had the intuition to have fed before this. Her body was delicate and soft, turning over for him to lay with her- spoon her. Harry hadn’t done this in a number of years, had never felt the real urge to, but he did it for her regardless. Took her soft flesh into his hands and felt her shiver as she she huddled closer to him. Hot fingers ran over the backs of his hands, slotting in between the spaces. In all his existence, he had never had a feeling to compare to his one.

“Is this alright, Darling?” He asked into her ear, trying his best to remain calm. This was the ultimate impulse control, her thudding pulse right at mouth level. He could hear the blood running under her skin, the pumps of her heart moving it through her system. Digging his canine into his lip, he took deep and slow breaths through his mouth to try and limit temptation. It didn’t take it all away, his head dizzy from the scent surrounding him, but if he took a large inhale of the spot next to her ear he would perhaps lose his mind. 

“Mhm.” She sighed contently. “This is a good dream. Maybe you’ll fall in love with me tomorrow and I can make this real.” The words were said so quiet that he was sure that no human could hear them, but he could. He heard them and committed them to memory. The sweet little human had no idea that he’d been falling for a long time. Y/N took up the majority of his thoughts, owning him in a way that had him feeling like his life wasn’t his anymore. For someone with control issues it had made him furious at first, but the last bit of anger towards her for owning him melted away as she melted into his body, giving herself to him. There was no way he could hold even the slightest bit of resentment when it felt this divine to hold her. 

The only times he had held humans in his life had been to drain them of their blood. To watch the life drain from them as he took it selfishly for his own needs. Never once has it been to cherish one, to commit the feel of her fingers between his to memory. It was overwhelming, as the girl dozed off in his arms, to know that this was merely a taste of what he could have. He needed to charm her, to get her to see that he could give her the love no one else could. Albeit obsessive, possessive, intense, unlike anything a human could give her, he had a feeling that if she had been a temptation for him that the fates had chosen to give him a human who could handle it. 

“I’m going to take care of you.” He spoke softly, not wanting to rouse her from her sleep quite yet. “You are the most precious thing in my world. Somehow you’ve managed to bewitch me, little human. Completely take my heart from my chest, regardless of how dormant it has laid.” Inhaling shakily, he let his nose run along her cheek. “You won’t have to be alone ever again. Not if I can help it. I’ll show you the love you deserve.”

It wasn’t until the bright blue of the early turning dawn started to break that he found himself able to move from her bed. It took three tries and a lot of control when she sought him out, holding tighter to him and whimpering when he went to leave in his first attempts, but he had to go before she woke up. It ached, the thought of leaving her, but he had to. Even though hours later would feel like an eternity, he couldn’t take any more risks tonight. The selfishness he had for staying all night couldn’t be extended to waking her up with sweet words and his mouth. Even though it pained him, the soreness of his chest making it feel even more hollow, he had felt more whole in those hours than he’d ever imagined he could be. 

The melancholy that followed him around, the bitterness, it didn’t go away completely- but it had dulled down to a whisper as he climbed out of her yard. Just hours with her and he felt lighter.   Like his heart started to beat again. 

[r3starttt]

LADY OF MERCY

PAIRING: priest! abby x reader

CW: angst. religious guilt. internalized homophobia. suggestive(?

SUMMARY: you look for comfort in a sin Abby's there for you to forget.

AN: been in my drafts since september, wasn't meant to be published, was supposed to be a horny small scenario, turned out sad

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | PERM: @twopeoplee @Kaimythically @greysontheidiot @levilvrr @sapphic-ovaries @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @prwttiestbunny @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles @dinakisser @lott6i @imagoddess1 | ABBY: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @grey-jedi12 @bruhhtsukjf @wastdstime @softlikesilk-chiffon @0court

The cathedral is hushed, a stark contrast to your first entrance. The world outside seems to have stilled, no birds or crickets dare disturb the sacred silence. Through the slender windows, perched high upon the cathedral’s walls, a faint, bluish light trickles down, casting ethereal shadows. It no longer glows with the warm orange, as it was when you last sought solace here, when your heart was heavy with unspeakable pain, when you had come in desperate search of solace—of something, anything, to cling to as your spirit threatened to break.

In this profound quiet, the only sound is the echo of Abby's sermons, her words filled with a fervent passion that stirs the souls of the faithful. Her voice is a beacon of light in this holy place, its very cadence soothing the hearts of those who gather in worship.

The congregation hangs on her every word, finding peace in the presence of this aura, a palpable warmth that wraps around with each graceful move, her every step a ritual, her voice harsh yet soothing, a balm for troubled souls.

She offers sanctuary—not just from the world, but from the weight of one’s own vows, from the burden of unspoken confessions. In her presence, the sacred space heightens every emotion, intensifies every thought, until the very air seems charged with divine energy. And you, like so many before you, had approached her in the confessional booth, trembling with the weight of your sins, searching not only for spiritual guidance but for a release from the turmoil within.

Abby had made a promise then—a vow to help you navigate the storm inside your heart. In her eyes, you saw a reflection of your own struggles, and in that moment, you knew she understood your pain.

With each stolen glance and fleeting touch, her teachings became more than spiritual lessons; they became the thread that bound your soul to hers. Days turned into weeks, and your secret meetings became more frequent, your connection deepening with every whispered word.

It was not sin that drove you to her, but a desperate need to purge the temptations that plagued your mind. She assured you that within every confession, there was salvation, within every sin, a path to redemption—and she would be there to guide you through each one, no matter the cost.

You sit in your designated pew, the one you had longed to touch when you first entered this sacred space months ago. Everyone knows that if you are not to be found, you must be here, in this place that has come to feel like your own.

You wait patiently, your eyes finding hers, watching her every move, though this time, no tears mar your face. As the voices of the congregation rise in unison, you join in, your voice mingling with theirs, but your heart is focused solely on her. They offer thanks to God, to the church, to whatever they hold dear—but you, you thank her alone.

Abby had once assured you that, in time, you would feel God’s presence, but try as you might, you could not. This was your final confession to her, the one you came here today to address.

But today’s prayers feel distant, blurred. Even her words, usually so grounding, only serve to deepen your unrest.

As the congregation disperses, people greet you warmly, recognizing the change in you. To them, you have become a living testament to Abby’s grace—a girl once lost in sin, unworthy of a second glance, now pure and forgiven, reborn in the light and drawn back from the brink by the guiding hand of Abigail Anderson herself.

Only when the cathedral is shrouded in silence, its sacred halls emptied of all but the faint whisper of past prayers, does Abby beckon you closer with a subtle gesture—an invitation to wander within the sanctified walls. Your footsteps, firm against the cold stone floor, echo in the vastness, a sound that belongs only to you and her in this solemn space.

"You seem troubled," Abby’s voice, soft yet tinged with the weight of concern, breaks the silence. It is less a question and more a gentle prod, urging you to unveil the turmoil within your soul.

"It’s you," you confess, the words heavy on your tongue. "I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t picture God." But Abby does not look at you, not yet. Her fingers move delicately over the pages of her Bible, each touch reverent and deliberate, drawing your eyes to follow her every motion.

"Did you pray?" Her gaze lifts abruptly, and your eyes instinctively meet hers, the connection sharp and undeniable. You shake your head, a hesitant motion that speaks of your internal struggle. "I couldn’t, but I tried," you admit, your voice laced with quiet desperation. She hums in acknowledgment, a sound both understanding and contemplative.

"May I know what—or who—has you so troubled?" she inquires, her tone inviting you to unburden your heart. It is then that you notice her braid, meticulously crafted as it was the first time you saw it. There is something about her hair that brings you solace, a symbol of her unwavering presence, each strand perfectly aligned, a reflection of the order she brings to the chaos within you.

Your feet move almost on their own, following Abby as she descends from the altar, her steps deliberate and purposeful, leading you to the nearest pew. With a graceful motion, she gestures to the very center of the seat, her hand inviting you to rest there. The Bible, now nestled in her lap, carries the weight of ancient wisdom, and her presence beside you feels like a fortress against the turmoil within.

“It’s still you,” you confess, the words escaping before you can stop them, heavy with unspoken fears.

Gently, Abby releases her grasp on the sacred book, placing it beside you with reverence. “Before we continue our meeting tonight,” she begins, her voice a soft murmur that seems to resonate with the very walls of the cathedral, “may I help you pray?”

Her question lingers in the air, a holy offering. You pause, taking in the serenity that surrounds you, the dim light casting long shadows that dance with a life of their own. With a slight nod, you give your consent, though your heart still flutters with uncertainty.

“Did you meditate?” she asks, her words catching you off guard as you prepare yourself for prayer. Her question is unexpected, but Abby reads the confusion in your eyes before you can voice it.

“Think of this as a guided meditation,” she continues, her tone gentle but firm, like a shepherd guiding a lost lamb. “You do not need to see God. The more you strain to find Him, the further you will feel from His embrace.”

“I will,” you murmur, the words a fragile promise as you settle into the position you’ve practiced day and night, seeking to still your mind and open your heart to whatever presence may hear your plea—be it God, if He truly exists.

“Sit upright,” she instructs, her voice carrying the calm authority that has always been your anchor. “Keep your back straight—just like that.” Her gaze meets yours, a blend of gentleness and unwavering resolve that soothes your trembling spirit. “Rest your hands in your lap or on the pew before you. Clasp them together if it brings you comfort, or let them rest open on your thighs.” As she speaks, her hands move with an elegant grace, demonstrating each position as if guiding you through a sacred ritual. You mimic her motions, albeit with a touch of hesitation, each movement drawing you deeper into the solemnity of the moment.

“It’s entirely your choice,” she reassures you, her tone as calming as a whisper of wind through the leaves, “but I suggest closing your eyes and simply breathing.” The suggestion, though simple, carries a weight that only her presence could lend it. Her fingers brush your forehead, a touch as light as a prayer, and you feel a warmth spread through you as your eyes close, yielding to her gentle guidance.

“To pray,” she begins, her voice a soft invocation, “start by addressing God with the reverence He deserves. Whether you say ‘Dear God,’ ‘Lord,’ or another name that resonates with you, is entirely personal.” Though your eyes are closed, you can still feel her presence, a warm light in the darkness of your doubt, and it brings a faint smile to your lips, a gesture she does not miss.

“Speak aloud only when in the presence of the congregation,” she advises, her words flowing like a sacred hymn. “It fosters unity and shared worship.” You fidget with the fabric of your clothing, your fingers tracing a quiet rhythm on your knees. “But for now,” she adds, sensing your inner turmoil, “a whisper will suffice.”

“Begin by offering thanks for the blessings in your life,” she suggests, her tone gentle but firm. The suggestion makes you bristle slightly; you have come here seeking solace from an absence of gratitude, not to recount it. But Abby, with her deep insight, seems to anticipate your resistance. “Perhaps, in your case, you could express gratitude for the opportunity of renewal, for the chance at a new beginning.”

“If there are wrongs you wish to confess, or forgiveness you seek, do so sincerely,” she continues, her voice soft and encouraging. Though you feel a reluctance to confess—doubting the power of such an act—her presence fills you with a sense of hope, a bridge between your skepticism and the glimmer of faith you yearn to grasp. “Reflect on the areas of your life where you seek divine guidance,” she advises.

Silently, your internal prayer begins to form, an unspoken plea for peace amidst the chaos of doubt. It feels as though Abby’s presence alone is guiding you, her words not merely instructions, but a lifeline to something greater.

“Consider your personal concerns, requests for guidance, or prayers for others,” she says, her tone both firm and compassionate. “Be specific and honest in your petition.” You ponder the notion of purity in prayer, questioning whether your thoughts are pure enough to be heard by the divine.

“Some people prefer to make the sign of the cross at this point. Are you familiar with it?” she inquires gently. You shake your head, a wave of fogginess sweeping over your mind. The faint scent of pine from her presence mingles with the soft cadence of her voice, enveloping you in a cocoon of tranquility. “Look at me,” Abby instructs, her gaze a beacon of comfort amidst the sacred space.

Surrounded by the symbols of faith, Abby leans closer. Her fingers hover over your forehead, and you instinctively open your eyes to find her nearer than you expected. “This gesture symbolizes God the Father and is the first step of the sign,” she explains as her hand traces a delicate path down the center of your body, her fingers barely grazing your lips and chin before resting above your heart. “This represents God the Son, signifying the connection between the divine and humanity.”

Her touch, feather-light, continues to your left shoulder, resting there with gentle insistence. “This symbolizes the Holy Spirit, extending divine guidance from within.”

“And now, your right shoulder,” she instructs, her movements precise and fluid as she completes the sign of the cross. Her smile, a blend of tenderness and pride, illuminates her face, drawing your attention to the constellation of freckles on her cheeks. “This completes the cross, symbolizing the fullness of the Trinity and the direction of divine grace.”

With a soft, graceful motion, she guides your hand back to your side. “Conclude your prayer with an affirmation of faith, a reaffirmation of trust in the divine will. Many say ‘Amen,’ or ‘May it be Your will.’” Her demeanor remains as poised and comforting as ever, embodying both grace and strength as she leads you through spiritual communion once again.

The stained glass windows of the cathedral bathe the stillness in hues of quiet reverence, casting shadows that dance across the cold stone floor. The air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and sacred promises, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Abby shifts beside you. The wood beneath her creaks, a sound that reverberates through the silence, grounding you in this present moment, though your mind spirals elsewhere—toward a fear no prayer could ever soothe.

Your lips falter, struggling to utter the word 'Amen,' as your eyes open, desperate for an anchor to reality. The question you’ve carried for too long gnaws at your soul, compelling you to turn, your neck aching as your gaze finds her. "Abby?" you whisper, the word barely more than a breath, uncertain whether you should dare voice the thought that rises like a forbidden prayer.

Her eyes meet yours, calm but curious. “Yes?”

You hesitate, but the weight of your heart presses the words out. “If you weren’t a priest…” You swallow hard, feeling the gravity of the inquiry take hold. “Would you have fallen in love with me?”

For a moment, the world stills, the cathedral’s ancient silence deepening as if the very stones are waiting for her reply. Abby’s face tightens, a fleeting shadow flickering across her expression. Her fingers twitch in her lap, the only sign of the turmoil beneath the surface. She inhales slowly, her voice calm but fragile when she finally speaks. "God suffices me," she answers, each word tinged with a rawness that betrays her composed exterior.

Her eyes, however, tell a different story—a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse into a world of feelings she cannot confess. The answer lands heavily on your chest, and though you anticipated it, the ache it leaves behind is undeniable. You exhale shakily, your fingers fidgeting in your lap as your thoughts unravel, pulling you deeper into the void of unspoken desires.

“Have you never longed to love, or be loved?” The question slips out before you can stop it, laced with the pain and confusion that has haunted you since the day you met her.

Abby’s posture stiffens, her gaze turning inward as if searching for a truth she cannot find. Her fingers trace the edges of her Bible, restless and seeking solace in its familiar weight. But no sermon can ease the tension between you. The silence that follows is thick, filled with everything that remains unsaid.

You rest your head in her lap, an act of surrender and silent plea, your heart laid bare before her. Abby’s hand, tentative but deliberate, finds its way to your hair, her fingers threading through it in a gesture that feels as intimate as it is forbidden. "We cannot," she whispers, her voice trembling, laced with the weight of emotions she dares not speak aloud. "This is... beyond us."

Yet even as she speaks, her touch lingers—her thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek. Her gaze meets yours, and in that fleeting exchange, there is a silent acknowledgment, a love neither of you can voice but both feel deeply. Kneeling before her, you feel both comforted and cursed by her nearness, the warmth of her hand a bittersweet reminder of everything you can never have.

Her hand cradles your face, her thumb tracing soft circles over your skin, her eyes heavy with the burden of her vows. There is a quiet sorrow in every movement—a resignation that cuts deeper than any spoken words. "We are bound to something greater," she whispers, her voice wavering, as though she is trying to convince herself as much as you.

But the tremor in her voice, the way her fingers graze the curve of your lips, tells you more than words ever could. The silence between you feels sacred, as though the cathedral itself is listening, waiting for your next confession.

The plea falls from your lips, fragile and desperate. “Absolve me of my sins,” you whisper, seeking not forgiveness, but her—only her.

Abby exhales slowly, her touch still tender but now laden with sorrow. “You seek absolution,” she murmurs, her voice thick with compassion and an unspoken ache. You lift your head, your eyes searching hers, though you already know the answer she cannot give. Her gaze softens, weighed down by her sacred vows and the love she feels but can never express.

Her fingers trace the lines of your lips, intimate and agonizing. "I cannot," she whispers, the strain in her voice unmistakable. “I cannot absolve what was never meant to be sin.”

Yet her touch lingers, heavy with a love that transcends words—untouchable, private, and entirely yours. “Only seek the strength to bear it.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Moves

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: loosely based off Suki Waterhouse's Moves. It was also supposed to be SMUT, but apparently that wasn't meant to be.

Author's note 2: y'all I meant to post this earlier but got distracted.

Summary: Y/n has had feelings for Andrew for a while now, and she's pretty sure he feels the same. Can one night change everything?

Warnings: unrequited love, but also, more requited than not.

She likes him – maybe its a little more than like, at this point. She adores the colour of his eyes, the way they’re green when its bright out, but then when they meet at dimly lit pubs or he hangs around late at night and neither of them bothers to turn on an overhead light, they’re this dark, hazel hue. She is thrilled by his laugh – not the polite courtesy chuckle he spares when someone tells a joke that isn’t even funny – she means that full bodied sound that erupts from his throat when they’re watching that one episode of that one show, the way he rocks backwards a little and rests his hand over his chest. And there’s something about the way he says her name too, that makes Y/n giddy inside, especially when she picks up his call late at night, while he’s on tour and the rest of the band is asleep but he can’t seem to keep his eyes shut without her voice being the last thing he hears before doing it.

Andrew told her that once;

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried....I need to talk to you first. Hear your voice so I can just...."

"Just what?"

He paused, hesitating, "nothing, I just like the way you sound. That's all."

Y/n could have sworn that it would have been the call that changed everything. She'd held her breath until around two am, when he finally yawned and said he was going to try to get some sleep.

He must feel the same, Y/n determined shortly after that. Because friends don’t sling their long arms around your shoulders, or kiss your forehead right after pulling you against them.

Friends don’t have moments where their lips get so close to the other’s that it won’t expend any real effort to make them to touch.

Andrew was the one to pull away that night and apologize profusely before blaming it on the liquor. She’s never told him, but she wishes he hadn’t. She thinks about it so painfully often that she swears the memory is burning a hole into her heart – the ache of what could've been, but isn’t.

Y/n is thinking about it tonight. They’re sitting on Andrew's back porch, a bottle of wine shared between them. The backyard is illuminated by the light over the wide, glass door that separates his kitchen from the deck, and the blue hued, inground lights that give the pool that sits between his house and the foliage bordering the woods a glacial glow. Off in the distance, she can hear crickets and the occasional rustle of some other, nocturnal creature moving through the trees.

The mood would be entirely romantic if it weren’t for the smell of barbeque and booze clinging to the thick, humid air. It's why they’re outside; its unusually warm and sticky for an Irish October, but Andrew has informed her its becoming typical for this time of the year. He also said that being outside helps, but Y/n thinks that was just an excuse for them to sit outside in hopes that the fresh air would sober them up.

But she doesn’t particularly mind – even if she’s been bitten by a couple mosquitoes.

Everyone else is long gone, and he'd asked her to stay back for a few more drinks while she helped him cram leftovers into his fridge. Its not unusual for her to be the only one left at his place – or vise versa – so Y/n is used to being alone in Andrew’s presence. In fact, she thinks she prefers when its just the pair of them, occupying a quiet space saying nothing but whatever pops into their somewhat inebriated minds;

“I read this poem that made me think of you.”

“I bought you a jacket, but I forgot to pack it.”

“Have you read that book I told you about?”

“Would you read this thing I wrote?” He asks after a couple hours of them going around in circles of menial chatter. Of late, everything Andrew writes is about her, and while he’s thought of telling her that more times than he can count, he can't seem to force the words out of his mouth. It isn’t even that he’s intimidated by her – that would be far too uncomplicated for an overthinker of his caliber. No.

He could never be intimidated by Y/n anyway; he’s known her for too long, too well. She’s the person that puts him most at ease; his heart doesn’t quicken when she touches his arm the way she’s touching it now as she says, “Of course, I’d love to.” In fact, the tick in his chest slows when she does that, he isn't nervous or worried or anything, he's just…. happy. And though her hands are usually so cold, Andrew swears there’s a tingle permeating the thin fabric of his grey Henley when she touches him.

Their eyes meet as Y/n promises to read what he’s written and she finds herself drawing in a shallow breath. There’s something else on the barest top of her liquor-stained tongue, but its refusing to break past her lips;

“I’ll read anything you write. I’d do anything for you, really.”

“Great, great,” Andrew beams suddenly, straightening his back before standing with purpose. “I’m gonna get it, wait here.” He doesn’t wait for Y/n to respond, not even with a nod, before disappearing into the house.

While he’s gone, Y/n tops off those sleek, stemless wine glasses with the remainder of the chilled Sauvignon Blanc and takes a sip of hers, hoping it’ll help combat the sticky heat that’s surrounding the property. She knows she probably shouldn't have anymore; her head is already fuzzy and there’s that tell tale film over her eyes. The one that makes lights stretch out like shooting stars and makes you feel like you're walking through a dream. Andrew must not be any better either, because he stumbled over all too familiar steps on his way back into the house.

“Got it,” he announces as he returns to the patio, raising the notebook over the head in triumph. Andrew is less than graceful when he retires next to her again, dropping the book into her lap. After a lengthy sip of his wine, he leans back onto his elbows. “It's the last thing in there,” his cheeks heat up, the dusty red colour creeping up his cheeks, towards his ears.

He’s a funny sort of drunk; chatty and able to make a joke of literally anything. He’s flirty too, yet somehow retaining his usual reserve. When they venture to pubs, he’ll flirt his way right into a one night stand without even realizing it, and then slink back to her side, rattling off an excuse involving the words, “ehm, well, she isn’t really my type.”

“Yeah? What is your type?” She’d ask, eyes challenging him.

He’ll look at her for a bit longer than usual, squirting his eyes a little as his waning smile fades completely. “Doesn’t matter,” he’ll eventually say dismissively, covering his words with a swing of his drink before changing the topic.

“Its not finished yet,” he mumbles as Y/n finds the page.

“It looks finished,” Y/n frowns, looking down at the way he’s signed the bottom of the page, the way he usually does after scrawling out the final words.

Andrew shakes his head, “ehm, I mean….the idea. I’m not done with the idea.”

“Oh.” They lapse into easy silence when she starts reading, meticulously scanning every line, barely restraining herself from ghosting her thumb over his hurried, untidy penmanship. Y/n can feel Andrew’s eyes on her as she reads. He's still laid back and propped on one elbow as he steadily sips his wine while she tries to get her hazy mind to comprehend everything on the page.

Its a love song or a profession – or she’s pretty fucking drunk and has lost all ability to to comprehend words.

No, its definitely a confession. A beautifully written one. Of course everything he writes is always much akin to poetry; but with this, every word is strung together like tiny bulbs in a reel of fairy lights. Each one in perfect harmony with the other. They’re carefully chosen, as if just one were missing its entire, delicate balance would be pitched into uncertainty.

“Andrew….” He sits up, draining the last of his wine as she lifts her head from the page.

“Is it bad? The worst fuckin’ thing I’ve ever written?” He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he flashes her a lopsided smile.

“It's beautiful,” Y/n rasps, suddenly feeling like the air’s been knocked from her chest, or like she’s been running too fast. There’s something besides the night’s oppressive heat surrounding them, something fragile and precious. Part of her wants to say something else, she can see on his face that he’s aching for more, but Y/n is absolutely terrified that if she does, it’ll be the wrong thing and the moment will be shattered into a million little pieces, scattered across the forests behind his house by an unexpected breeze, the way it happened on a night all too similar to this one.

“But?” Andrew is the one that dares to speak, the word uttered softly and with the weight of reproach clinging to its single syllable.

God, what if he’s ruined everything? What if the reason he’s never been able to tell Y/n the way he feels is because a morsel deep within him knows she doesn’t return his feelings. Andrew doesn’t even know if she’s interested in a relationship – or anything adjacent – right now, she doesn’t talk about going on dates and or fancying anyone.

What if the reason she never talks about other men is because she’s somehow gathered how he feels and is trying to protect him from the hurt? That would be awfully cruel, but he supposes it's the kindest thing she can do without ruining their friendship.

“But….” Right before her, in a matter of seconds, a dozen emotions cross Andrew's face and Y/n realizes that, if she’d been in front of a mirror the night he told her he likes hearing her voice before he goes to sleep, this is what she might have seen reflected in it. That cautious hope, with a bit of fear sprinkled in.

Upon realizing that there's no ‘perfect’ thing to say, Y/n hastily leans forward and rests her lips on his, in a chaste, close-mouthed kiss. He’s shocked at first, she can feel it in the way he stiffens. But after another couple breaths spent like that, Andrew wraps an arm around her, flattening his palm on the center of her back. As he relaxes, Y/n deepens the kiss, deserting the book in her lap to cup his face. His beard tickles the inside of her hands, just like she’s always imagined it would, and his tongue and lips are sweet with the wine’s fruity notes.

When they break, faces only inches apart, Andrew lets out a shaking breath while Y/n holds onto hers. “God….I don’t think I would’ve ever done that,” he admits, shoulders rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths.

Sometimes he wishes he had her courage, but most times, he’s glad its hers.

A hint of a smile tugs at her kiss-swollen lips. “I know,” she laughs softly, the sound airy and musical.

Her eyes are twinkling, like two stars plucked from right over the vast bed of darkness hung over their heads. Andrew is certain that no two stars have ever shone brighter, so its fitting that they belong to her – the most dazzling person he knows. Setting his glass down, he lifts his free hand to her cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing her lips. “I’ve been thinking about it for a damn long time,” he admits. It's hard for him to put a definite number to it, it might as well have been very soon after they met.

“Me too,” Y/n rests her hand over his wrist, offering it an affectionate squeeze.

“I think…..” he trails off, struggling to keep a firm grip on his thoughts. His imagination is running a little wild right now; his mind is already churning out thoughts of his future as it changes shape. It's funny to him how one thing can change everything else.

One kiss, and he swears he’s seeing the rest of his life. Holding it.

“Sshh, we don’t have to talk about it tonight,” Y/n whispers. Talking complicates – they’ve been talking for too damn long anyway, and knowing Andrew, his brain is already three weeks ahead of him. Its sweet actually, because every plan she’s made for her future has been built around him, and now suddenly, he’s doing the same thing. “Lets just….”

“Just what?”

“Do this,” in an instant, Y/n closes the space between them again and seals her lips over Andrew’s. That time, he responds immediately, pulling her against him until the only thing left for her to do is slide her leg over his thighs and shuffle into his lap, pressing her chest to his and draping one arm over his shoulder while she keeps her other against his cheek. The way his beard scratches the area around her mouth makes her smile, and she thinks its something she'll get used to quickly.

All of it is so close to being as commonplace his arm slung around her shoulders and the sound of his voice coming through her phone while there’s a timezone and entire ocean between them. The way his mouth moves against hers, the heat of his hands as they hold onto her waist, the sound of his voice as he says;

“I’m glad you stayed.”

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

tp!daryl x young reader, young Daryl Dixon, pre apocalypse, fluff

warnings: none except Daryl is kind of an ass at first

The night air hung thick and humid, clinging to the inside of Daryl’s truck. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, their rhythm competing with the faint rattle of the truck’s idling engine. He leaned his chin on his hand, fingers scratching idly at his scruff as he stared at the empty stretch of road ahead.

“Goodnight,” the girl said, her voice pitched just a little too sweet, teetering on the edge of something expectant. Hopeful.

Her name was… Tessa? No, Tanya. Maybe. Wait, Tina? Hell, he couldn’t remember anymore. Not that it mattered.

“Night,” he muttered, the word coming out low, almost like an afterthought.

Still waiting. Still expectant.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver from the road. He let the silence stretch between them, filling the cab like the humid summer air, heavy and suffocating. Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Why wasn’t she leaving?

She adjusted her purse on her lap, the clink of the metal clasp annoyingly loud in the quiet cab. He didn’t look at her, didn’t give her the satisfaction of meeting her eyes. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, she’d take the hint.

“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” she asked, her voice soft, but with an edge of insistence that grated against his nerves.

His eyes flicked to her, just briefly, before settling back on the road. “Nah,” he said, voice flat, as though the single syllable could put an end to the conversation.

She stayed there, unmoving, her nails tapping against her purse now, a nervous little rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

“Alright,” she said finally, though her tone carried more disappointment than acceptance. She shifted, one hand reaching for the door handle, but she didn’t open it. Instead, she paused, turning back to him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Daryl huffed, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t got much to say.”

That clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her face fell, the sweetness in her expression fading into something colder.

“Well, thanks for the ride, I guess,” she said, her words clipped now. She shoved the door open, stepping out onto the gravel driveway with a sharp click of her heels.

“Yeah,” he grunted, already reaching to shift the truck into gear. He didn't let her get another word in, already backing out of her driveway onto the road, eager to get away.

The road stretched ahead of him, endless and empty, the faint glow of the late night store's neon signs flashing by him through town. He turned the radio on, letting the static fill the cab before switching it off again. He was on edge.

It was late—closer to midnight than not—and he wasn’t sure where he was headed. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the trailer yet, not with Merle’s drunken yelling waiting for him. He needed space, air, something to quiet the restless energy clawing at his chest.

Before he realized it, his truck was pulling onto your street.

---

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You glanced up from the porch steps, squinting as headlights washed over you, the faint rumble of an old truck engine breaking the quiet of the night.

You didn’t have to see who it was to know.

The truck rolled to a stop, the engine idling as the driver’s side door creaked open. Daryl climbed out, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he looked at you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked finally, his voice low and rough.

You shrugged, closing the book and setting it aside. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Figured you might wanna get outta here for a bit.”

You raised a brow, tilting your head at him. “What, and ride around in that death trap of yours?”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back toward the truck. “C’mon. Ain’t gonna ask twice.”

You didn’t hesitate, grabbing your jacket from the porch and jogging down the steps. The cab smelled faintly of gasoline and old leather as you slid into the passenger seat, the bench warm from where someone might've been sitting earlier.

“Where we goin’?” you asked, buckling your seatbelt as he shifted into gear.

“Dunno. wanna stop at Sevs?” he muttered, his eyes on the road as the truck rattled to life.

--

The neon lights of the 7-Eleven cast a hazy glow over the parking lot, the hum of the buzzing sign filling the quiet as the two of you pushed open the glass door.

You bee-lined for the slurpees, the bright red syrup swirling into a cup as you filled it to the brim. Daryl followed behind, snagging a pack of jerky and a bag of chips before nodding toward the counter.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his chin toward the door.

The truck cab was quiet as you climbed back inside, the faint crinkle of the jerky bag filling the space as Daryl tore it open. You leaned back against the seat, sipping your slurpee as the engine purred beneath you.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an edge to it—like something unsaid was lingering in the air. You drove for awhile like that, listening to music, aimlessly turning down different roads in the quiet night. The truck rolled to a stop at a red light, its glow casting the cab in deep crimson. The roads were empty, no one else around this late. The hum of the engine filled the silence, and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“How was your date?” you asked finally, your voice casual as you stared out the windshield. The question had been boggling your mind since you got in the truck with him earlier.

Daryl froze for half a second, his fingers tightening around the jerky bag before he scoffed. “Pfft...Borin’.”

A flicker of something you couldn’t name stirred in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, snuffing the feeling out and taking another sip of your slurpee.

“Did you talk to her, or did you just grunt the whole time?” you teased, turning to glance at him.

His eyes rolled, the movement slow and deliberate, the red light casting his dark blue irises in shadow. “’Course I talked to ‘er.”

“Hi and bye don’t count,” you said, a small laugh escaping despite yourself.

His lips twitched again, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I talked to ‘er, alright?” he repeated, the words low, rough, almost playful.

You leaned back against the seat, the slurpee cup cool against your hands as you studied him. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the traffic light ahead like it held some kind of answer.

“Guess she wasn’t your type,” you said softly, the words barely above a murmur.

Daryl’s hand stilled, his fingers curling against the wheel as he finally turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable at first, but there was something simmering beneath the surface—something that made your heart stutter.

“Nah,” he said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “She wasn’t.”

The air between you shifted, thickened, and you suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were in the cramped cab. The light remained red, casting its glow over his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.

Your pulse quickened as his eyes lingered on yours, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “What?” you asked, your voice softer, unsure.

---

The moment your eyes flicked toward him, framed by the crimson glow of the light, Daryl felt like his chest might cave in. He’d been fighting it for too long—the way you got under his skin, the way every word you said felt like it meant something, even when it shouldn’t.

But now, sitting in the truck, roads empty around him, it was like the world had narrowed to just you. The way you were looking at him, quiet, expectant—he couldn’t take it. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t desperate, but it hit him all at once. If he didn’t do something now, he might never get the chance.

His throat felt tight, his hands itching where they gripped the wheel. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head—if it was bold or just plain stupid—but it didn’t matter. Not now. Not when you were this close.

His hand moved first, almost of its own accord, coming up to cup your cheek. Rough and calloused, his thumb brushed over your skin, and the softness of it nearly undid him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. Watching him. Waiting for him.

Now or never.

His lips met yours, soft at first, just barely there, like he was trying to figure out if he was even allowed to do this. Every nerve in his body screamed to hold back, to keep it slow, but it was impossible—not when you leaned into him, not when your lips parted against his like you’d been waiting just as long as he had.

This was what he wanted.

The thought hit him hard, rattling around his head like a loose screw. It wasn’t just the kiss—not the heat of your lips against his or the way your hand found his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt like you couldn’t let go. It was all of it. You. The way you fit here beside him, the way you always knew what to say, even when it pissed him off. The way you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t some broken-down mess of a kid.

His grip tightened as the kiss deepened, his other hand finding your jaw, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. He’d waited too long for this, longer than he wanted to admit, and now that it was happening, he didn’t know how to stop.

He pulled back for a breath, his eyes scanning you. He couldn’t look away, not now, not ever. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his voice came out low, rough, as he whispered, “Ain’t no one like ya.”

The words weren’t planned, but they felt right, felt true in a way that made his chest ache. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, lingering, memorizing. He was certain now.

Before he could say anything else, you surged forward, your hands threading into his hair and pulling him closer. The heat of you pressed against him, the way your lips moved against his—like you’d been holding back too, like this was something you needed as much as he did.

He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural, and it only made you pull him closer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping firmly, grounding himself in the feel of you. It was frantic now, messy, but he couldn’t care less. You were here, in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

The kiss deepened again, hungrier now, more desperate. His hand slipped under the edge of your jacket, his fingers pressing into the small of your back like he was trying to pull you even closer. He couldn’t get enough—didn’t know if he ever would.

And then the horn blared.

The sharp, jarring sound ripped him out of the moment, and he jerked back, panting, his mind struggling to catch up. The light had turned green, and the car behind him was blaring their horn like their life depended on it.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he turned back to the wheel. He slammed his hand against it, leaning out the window to yell, “I’m goin’, alright?!” His middle finger shot up for good measure, and he hit the gas, the truck lurching forward.

His chest still heaved as he gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in the cab almost unbearable. You laughed softly, the sound breathless and light, and it made his ears burn. He glanced at you, his lips quirking just slightly, though his grip on the wheel remained firm.

The road stretched out ahead, but something between you had changed. He could feel it in the air, in the way his heart refused to settle, in the way he could still taste you on his lips.

[lace-coffin]

hello! Could you do something about Asa after he spends like, a good your looking for his newest member of the collection, and when he finds them, their just, surrounded by diff bugs?

Theres like, crickets in their hair, moths and butterfly all over their arms a few spiders crawling around their legs and their holding a praying mantis in their hands and staring at in awe. Their also babying talking it and cooing at it, when they look up and realize Asa is staring at them, they raise their cupped hands a show him the giant mantis resting their, saying with a cherry yet soft voice and smile "I named her Apple!"

I would appreciate it very much if you wrote something about this :)

But you don't have to, for any reason really.

Have a lovely night/day! Be sure to drink water and eat 💕

How would Asa Emory react to finding his new pet coddling his bugs?

Asa Emory/gn!Reader

Tw for bugs and power dynamics

Requests are open!

Asa moved through the halls of the hotel with efficiency, he knew them like the back of his hand, however that apparently wasn’t helping since he’d managed to...misplace his new pet.

You were supposed to be in your room, you were lucky you had even been granted the luxury of not just being crumpled into one of the boxes, but here Asa is, speeding down the halls and jumping/swerving around his traps like some kind of sick ballet in order to find you. You absolutely won’t be getting out of this without some serious punishment.

Asa curses at himself under his breath for making his place of operations so huge, it seemed like a good idea when he set up here and it was but damn if it wasn’t his Achilles heel in this situation.

Fifteen minutes of searching later his heart is picking up in an unfamiliar way, usually he’s not one to care about others or a stray victim but something in him can’t help but worry about loosing his newest subject already. Whether it’s because he cares for you or because he hates not being in control is anyone’s guess. (He’s soft for you and won’t admit it)

Finally as he’s cracking open a door at the end of the hallway he hears a sweet laugh echoing from further along. Bingo. You’re so dead when he finds you. As he’s about to slam the door open he realises this is infact where he keeps his enclosures for his specimens, he sighs and opts to open the door slowly and quietly as not to startle the bugs.

You don’t even notice Asa enter the room, currently too enthralled in cooing sweet words to the giant mantis in your hands.

Before Asa can demand to know where you’ve been and why, his breath hitches in his throat. There you are, sat on your knees next to the enclosure cases, covered from head to toe in his beloved bugs. The calm careful way you handle them and talk to them like they can understand tugs at his heart, his face softens at the sight, anger long forgotten and replaced by a feeling of fondness, the same one he felt when he was originally scouting you to join his collection.

The crickets cling to your stands of hair, a little messy since you had left your room before Asa got to around to brushing it but he’ll fix that later, sitting contently like they’d never been disturbed in the first place.

Moths and butterflies tap their tiny feet along your arms, fluttering their delicate wings, taking off and landing back with you when they please.

Asa takes in the scene breathlessly, if he hadn’t already been weak for you then he definitely is now. As he approaches by a few steps some thick hairy legs come into view, creeping slowly over your thighs and onto your lap. Tarantulas, two of them, using you as a lap cushion without a care in the world. You really are something special. In the back of his mind Asa makes another note to keep approaching slowly, despite you needing a punishment he’s not exactly wanting his eight legged pets to kick hairs at you in fright.

After a few minutes of blissfully observing one of the tarantulas unhurriedly totters off your leg and begins to move across the room. “Oh, where are you off to little guy? I need you over here with me, I’m already probably in big trouble with sir” you sigh. “I don’t want to loose you and make it worse, besides, I don’t think I could forgive myself if something happened to you under my watch”

In a strange way you suppose you understood Asa’s need to keep you under wraps right now, not wanting this beautiful specimen to disappear from your sight, much like Asa with you.

You swivel on your knees to coax the spider back into your palms, nudging its abdomen for encouragement and letting it waddle back into your hands. From your new position you catch a glimpse of heavy black boots in your peripheral. Oh.

You turn your attention fully to the man above you, heart racing at the idea of what’s about to come, however as you reach his eyes they aren’t filled with the rage or disappointment you were expecting. The black orbs are filled with softness, fondness, almost something sweet you can���t decipher.

Without thinking you present the giant mantis to Asa, still on your knees. “I named her apple!” A beat passes and an array of emotions flutter through Asa’s steely heart, his blank face still giving nothing away. After what feels like an eternity he crouches down in front of you, cupping his hands under your own, assisting in holding the mantis. “A fine name for her, pet. Do you know what species Apple is by chance?” He says in his firm but calm, leading voice, slipping into the tone he uses when teaching his lectures without even realising it.

“Uh-no, no I don’t sir…tell me?” You say, wincing a little at the stumble at the beginning, hoping asking him to tell you didn’t come off as rude or undermining his authority. Asa smiles, not letting anything on.

“She is a Giant Asian Mantis, or Hierodula membranacea, If you want to get technical. These are the most commonly kept mantis as house pets and come in an array of colours, but as you can see, apple is mostly light green. I think your name fits her nicely.” Asa explains matter of factly, hands still cupped under yours for Apple to totter onto.

“Woah” you say without thinking, watching Apple move to Asa’s palms and taking in the information. Asa exhales from his nose in a small chuckle. “Woah indeed, however I think it’s time we get you and Apple back to your respective rooms” Asa says with a quirked eyebrow, giving away that your not going to get away with this unpunished just because he finds you endearing.

Asa helps you round up the specimens and places them back in their individual tanks. After making sure you both wash your hands thoroughly he takes your now clean hand and walks you back to your room, letting you ask him more bug questions as you walk.

Despite how lovely this has been you’ll still be given a stern talking to once you return, Asa can’t bring himself to punish you for your little adventure and entomology lesson but isn’t one to let you off the hook without some kind of consequence, after all he expects your complete submission and obedience and won’t settle for any less. But for now that convocation can wait, and Asa can get you comfy on your knees infront of him, manoeuvring your head via the ring on your collar and finally working the comb through the snags in your hair with care.

I hope you enjoy this! Your rq was super fun to do and the idea was really cool! Thank you so much and feel free to send me more < 3

[with-my-calamitous-love]

lunar valleys in my mind

touya x reader

spending the night smoking cigarettes, eating takeout and kissing, you and your lover compare your beliefs on the universe. themes of death and nihilism, drawing from thoughts i’ve been having lately.

inspired by i hate it here

sometimes you feel like his consolation prize.

a lifetime of suffering, of burning up to the seems of his skin. a lifetime of believing comfort is a construct for fools, and finding warmth through setting himself ablaze. perhaps the universe decided to give him something, and perhaps, it was out of pity.

he doesn’t believe in pity, in good luck, in the existence of a god, or even in things being fair to him. he scoffed at those.

but if you truly were something, or rather someone, sent to ease his pain just a little… well, who is he to complain?

you’ve bugged him about smoking indoors, your compromise being that he open up all the windows before even thinking about lighting a cigarette. in turn, you’re cold. but that means you can lean cling to him and his embers for warmth. touya todoroki doesn’t feel cold- he isn’t capable.

he stands next to you, drying the dishes as you wash them. the lights are off, the only source of illumination being the refrigerator door left open. its warm, and that soft buzzing noise adds some ambience. laundry circulates in the back, and the leftovers sit on the counter, waiting to be stored.

“stop half assing it, touya.” you say, watching as we barely wipes the plates with the cloth wet. blue eyes flicker to you, and then back to his hands. just to bother you, he begins not drying them at all, putting them in their cabinets right away.

“oh, go fuck yourself.” you scoff, and he laughs, doing maybe a 2% better job at wiping them dry. “sorry, doll.” he chuckles under his breath, but he’s not sorry for getting you heated. he finds it adorable.

“when i die, i’m gonna haunt you forever.” you declare, playfully flicking water at him. you expect an asshole response from him. and in a way, you do. just not the kind you anticipated.

“you believe in that crap, doll? ghosts?” he says, a tone of finality in his voice.

“well… i think they could be real.” you say. “but i think theres more out there. heaven, reincarnation… the usual.” you hum.

the thought of there being more after death is comforting. in reincarnation, you could be a debutante in another life, one where you wouldn’t have to be scared to go outside. or maybe, theres heaven. that you’ll go to a place full of warmth and light, with a million suns to swallow you whole.

maybe, theres some place better than here.

but touya sighs dismissively, finding your naïveté cute. its always men that think they know everything, don’t they?

“i guess one of us has to have starry eyes.” touya says, extinguishing his cigarette on the ashtray. you can’t blame him for what he thinks, after all he’s been through.

you purse your lips curiously, challenging that notion. “so… what do you think happens after death mr. realist?”

he scoffs, a hint of a bitter smile blooming on his face, setting into his usual cynical expression.

“after death? nothing, doll,” he answers bluntly. “it’s just… lights out. game over. no cosmic beings, no rewards. just…”

“oblivion.” you propose. its the word that comes to mind based on his description.

“yeah. oblivion.” he confirms.

“so what?” you stand beside him, crickets of the night chirping just outside your window. “this is all there is, then?”

he nods, becoming more and more pessimistic as he goes on. “yeah, doll. thats it. oblivion. just nothingness.”

theres a silence that washes over you two as you continue your chores, moving through the house and eventually ending up on the couch, tired.

you want to believe that theres something more. and honestly, sometimes, so does he. its so easy to hate it here, to hate the world and those who inhabit it. so, you go to those secret, sacred gardens in your hearts and in your minds. the kind of place you need a key to get to, and the kind of key you swallow so no one can follow you.

no mid-sized city hopes or small-town fears. nostalgia is a minds trick- theres no point in reminiscing in what decade or moment in your past you would live in if you could. in the 1830s, you’d be freezing, married off to someone for the highest bid. any longer into the future, the world would be in fiery, climate induced ruins. maybe they’d find a better planet, where only the gentle can survive.

“well…” you start. his ears perk up, arms still around you.

“well what? don’t tell me you’re starting to believe me. your optimism was cute.” he chuckles.

“i’d rather have oblivion with you, than have everything alone.” you say.

just then, his smirk falters. he’s used to your stubborn optimism, and in a way, this is that. you’re finding the silver lining, even in cynical nihilism. and he can’t fathom just how you’re doing it.

“you’d… really?” he says, speechless, usual snide remarks replaced by something. wonder.

you nod, leaning your head on his shoulder. “its a pretty thought… heaven, reincarnation, something bigger than us.”

“it is.” he admits. he can’t deny that, even if he thinks that its bullshit. its a beautiful thought, for beautiful fools.

“but its also nice… thinking theres nothing. that one day, the world will collapse into oblivion. we’ll all go who knows where, and fade out from here. and thats a wrap. its the grand finale to it all.”

to your words, he stars up at the ceiling, as if picturing cosmos up before his eyes. he sees saturn’s rings and the moons craters up there. before, he thought that all of it, would turn to dest through the inevitability of death. that everyone would just have to be okay with being alone. but he isn’t alone anymore.

“you know, most assholes would find oblivion terrifying.” touya points out the obvious, chuckling. you nod.

“there is just something about it.” you say, eyes closing, resting. “that sooner or later, all that will be left is the darkness after the show, and the stars, and our dreams, stimulus, and love, everything and nothing, all in the void.”

he sees your sleepy state and takes that as an invitation to close his own eyes, your words not lost on him.

“you make nothing feel like everything.” he utters, lips pressing themselves to the top of your head.

“everything and nothing.” you repeat. “thats us.”

through your words, touya concludes. love can create meaning in a meaningless world. that maybe it isn’t about finding the answers to the universe, or finding out what happens after. maybe you two will go to heaven (though he definitely isn’t), or you’ll end up in the void, fading into nothingness.

there may be nothing in the world, but there’s everything in your love. perhaps the two- everything and nothing- are meant to coexist. love gives meaning to existence, even if it ends in… well, oblivion.

but as he draws your face near, kissing you, touya feels himself in the presence of everything. of a love that transcends even the inevitability of the universe itself.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

this is based off of a fictional short story i wrote for one of my classes, which i might post on my personal blog if people enjoy this. in the face of my depression, my struggles, and nothingness, the love i get here means everything. thank you for reading 🪐

[the-kr8tor]

Happy 1 year !!! It went by so fast I didn’t even realize until u mentioned it 😭

Hope u don’t mind me adding an apothecary req to ur pile QwQ

Could I get cardamom + heart shaped bottle of waking up a little past midnight from a nap with hobie ? Lots of snuggles and maybe some random ass cozy 2-4 am activity 🥺

Happy writing! Remember to drink water, eat snacks, and take breaks ❤️ !!!

Thank you for sticking around! Here's your potion, I hope you like it 💕

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), cw suggestive, FLUFF!

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The metal fan whirs in the background of your shared bedroom. It's warm and humid, almost seethingly hot as you lay side by side with Hobie in deep slumber. Sweat dribbles off your back, moist clinging to the back of your shirt and seeping through the thin bed sheets. You groan, eyes still closed, hand reaching towards him blindly, fingers patting along the sheets to find his warmth. Still half asleep, you huff, unknowingly scrunching your face.

Hobie, also asleep, and yet his spider senses wake him up from your need to be near him. He snorts, foot kicking the blanket off him and onto the foot of the bed. Groaning, he flips himself to face you, eyes closed, he scooches closer to you despite the heat.

Your fingers brush along his bare arm and you instinctively hold onto him like a life preserver. He feels the sweat on your palm, making him crack open one eye in the dark. He sees your uncomfortable expression, and his senses fully wake him up.

“Fuckin' hell.” Hobie whispers, exhaling tiredly, he feels like ice under a heat lamp. You make a sound akin to the start of a sob, he immediately pats your bicep. “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

“It's so hot.” You softly complain, eyes half lidded, frown deepening with every drop of sweat. “I'm dying, Hobie.”

He chuckles, “I know, love, you won't even cuddle me like always.” The crickets outside chirp, summer air blowing right outside the houseboat window.

“If I get anymore near you I'd melt.”

“You always melt when you're near me.”

“That's different,” your tone has a slight lilt of playfulness. “this one is a disgusting kind of melt. The kind where you only see in the gym.”

“The disgusting kind?” His eyes sparkles with amusement.

“Yeah,” you blink away the remaining sleep. “the stinky kind.”

His knuckles brush along your arm, making you flick his elbow. “Ow, what's that for?”

“Too hot.” You say, face shoved into your pillow. “Sorry, I'm sticky, I feel icky, augh.”

“D’you want me to do something ‘bout it, stinky?” He smiles tiredly, fighting off a yawn, hand still atop your arm that you don't brush off.

“Our AC is broken, Hobs, you said it yourself. Unless you use that gorgeous brain of yours to fix it.” You change position, lifting yourself slightly off the mattress, you now face the ceiling, arms away from you like you're about to flap your nonexistent wings. “I'm dying, I'm gonna kill the AC cleaning company for not coming yesterday. I think they're the reason why it's broken. Too much dust.”

“The entire company?” He teases, beaming at you, tapping the pads of his fingers on your warm skin. “That's a bit ambitious innit?”

“I can handle them, ‘fear a woman scorned’ or whatever the saying goes, I'm too hot to remember.” You chuckle at the end.

“I don't think that's how it goes, love.” He slides himself closer to you, skin sticking to your skin. You make a face but don't push him away. His face looms above you, smiling softly, moonlight bathing him in all his glory. “You're right about one thing though,” the pad of his thumbs wipe sweat off your brow, and you do him the favour of wiping the sweat clinging to the tip of his nose. “You are bloody hot.”

You smile at him, leaning closer to his touch while he does the same. “Do you know what's gonna make me hotter?”

“Lingerie—?” You slap his arm. “What? You asked and I answered.” He laughs, palms rubbing the sweat off your temple.

“No!” You shake his shoulders, “the AC finally working and us sleeping peacefully.”

“I agree with the first one, but the second? I can think of other things—” He stops at the sight of your pointed glare. “—I can check it for you. I might be able to fix it.”

You sigh dramatically, like a weight off your shoulders is gone. “Please? I bet a genius like yourself can fix it.”

He fakes a scoff, already lifting himself off the bed, “you don't need to gas me up, love, ‘m already on it.”

“Thank you, the most genius, handsome Spider-Man in the whole universe—” His lips are suddenly on yours, pecking quickly before you could even hold him in place.

“Stay there,” Hobie stands on the foot of the bed, you place your chin on your palms, fluttering your eyelashes like a schoolgirl with a crush. “We're not done yet with our conversation.” He says while walking backwards towards the door.

“Fix it please and we'll have a very long conversation.”

He tilts his head, brow raised, laughing at the double meaning. His own foot betrays him, making him trip on nothing when you wink at him. A wink that is sub-par due to your lack of sleep, but it has him weak nonetheless. With a click of the door, your head hits the pillow once again, trying to survive the heat.

It must've been a good fifteen minutes since Hobie left but it felt like the most excruciating hours for you. Your pajama shorts and shirt have basically melted into one with the bedsheets, and yet you keep dozing off despite it. The roar of the AC finally starting has your skin jumping from your body, and you hear a faint cheer from somewhere around the houseboat.

You smile softly as cool air finally billows out, a cold breeze hitting your moist skin. Sighing, you comfortably adjust yourself on the bed, cheek squished on the pillow, eyes drifting off— Until the bed dips and you open your eyes to a very smug yet happy Hobie. He waits for your thank yous with a lopsided smile, he's clearly proud of himself.

“Do you accept payments in cuddles?” You murmur, arm already reaching up towards him, fingers beckoning him over.

Hobie acts as if he's thinking long and hard about his decision. “Am I free to negotiate?”

You shake your head with a smile, giggling against the pillow that smells like him. “Nope.”

He plops himself next to you, arm sliding under you, lifting you off the bed effortlessly to be placed on top of him. You laugh, immediately, placing your head on his chest. His arms envelope you, fingers kneading the small of your back. Meanwhile you cup his jaw, giving sleepy kisses until you're both satisfied.

“This is the best form of payment,” you say against his skin, eyes closing, sighing in content. You expect a rhetoric or a sarcastic reply from him but all you get from him are soft snores. “Thank you, Hobie.” You join him in dreamland, comfortable and cozy in his arms.

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .014

first part | previous part | next part

NOTES:

Hoping for the best that I get this out sooner than nearly 3 weeks haha I’ll update this part with how that goes.

Edit: I had a very hectic last few weeks. Oops. But here’s the chapter finally haha

Some of the ideas in the fic, like the Johnny section was helped by some of my anons on tumblr, ty guys for interacting!

As requested, here’s Rain’s repoll! Probably the only repoll I will do haha ^^ AO3 fans give me your thoughts! The poll will end in a week!

FROM THE EYES OF SOMEONE WHO HAS TO HELP SOMEONE OUT

“I thought I would find you here.”

It was a warm night. It was the type of night where one could sit outside for hours on end listening to the crickets chirp. The sky above was the perfect accompaniment this particular night, being so clear and free from clouds and any sort of light pollution that you could nearly see the entirety of the universe above. It was the perfect night for one to relax and enjoy life. 

But that was not what was happening.

You stood on the very beginning of the crest of the hill, a little away from Liu Kang. Your eyes scanned the hunched over form of your friend. It was an odd look on him, a form so undisciplined from one of the most diligent men you knew. As odd as it was, it only made sense. After all, how could you expect a picture perfect form from a man who has lost his best friend?

The grass rustled as you walked forward, moving to stand right next to where Liu Kang sat. You kept your gaze forward, not turning your head to look at him. You didn’t need to. Without even looking at his face, you could tell all the emotions that he must be experiencing. Frustration, grief, loneliness. It was the same emotions that had been clinging to your friend like tar for a while now.

So, instead, you stared adamantly at the tree. A rush of emotions surged through you as your gaze settled on it. So many memories were connected to this tree. Long days of just relaxing under this tree with Kung Lao came to mind. The three of you would sit under here, chatting and enjoying each other’s companies as the cicadas would sing in the background. 

Or sometimes, you would find Kung Lao here, having sneakily gotten out of lessons to simply sit and snack on a few treats he had stolen from the kitchen. You never sold him out. Even when your father gave you a pointed look, you would feign innocence and claim that you had no idea where the razor hatted man went. 

It only made sense to bury him here, underneath the tree he loved so, so much. It was even his favorite type of tree, the cherry blossom. 

A certain silence hung in the air. It was the silence that could only be made by those who have lost someone important to them. It was the combined silence of someone who had let grief consume him and of someone who refused to grieve yet. The two reactions to the death of your friend could not be any more different between the two of you, but the unspoken words between you two could not be any more the same.

You both missed him, dearly.

“He died in vain.” Liu Kang spoke, breaking the vow of silence he had taken on. His voice was hoarse. You knew it must be from the lack of talking. But there was another part of you who knew the gravel-like quality to his voice must be from his grief and how it tore at him. You could not help but let out a sigh as you dropped your eyes to the humble gravestone in front of you.

“I know.” You replied, your voice laced with resignation. There was a tremble in your voice, your lip quivered for a moment before you set your jaw to prevent the little sign of weakness from persisting. You could not help the slump in your shoulders. It was a hard, harsh truth you’ve come to accept. As much as you’d like to believe that Kung Lao’s death meant something, the invasions Outworld has been sending as of late has proven otherwise. 

You turned your gaze to Liu Kang. It was not inaccurate to say he looked like a wreck. Reddened eyes which felt like they carried the weight of the world met yours. You could still see the freshly dried tear tracks on Liu Kang’s face. It seemed like, at least for now, the champion had finally run out of tears to shed for his long time friend.

“Kung Lao would hate to see you like this.” You said, unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth. You observed the way the man carried himself, and how he almost seemed like a different man entirely. The fury that he had held when he had slain Shao Kahn had burnt out, and only in his eyes could you see the remnants of the dying embers.

“I wish he were here to at least see it.” Liu Kang spat out, bitterness dripping from his voice. You did not flinch at it. You knew well enough the vitriol in his tone was not directed at you. Even if it was, the man was hurting. How could you blame him? His head raised to look at the cherry blossoms, idly watching as a few dropped and scattered around in the breeze.

“Hey, look at me.” You said, tone gentle and soft. You watched as Liu Kang kept his gaze aloft, eyes searching the skies above for an answer to his prayers. You sighed as you raised a hand, putting it gently to his cheek. Even when his fire was put out, he felt warm. Your thumb rubbed softly upon his cheek, taking a moment to wipe away the tracks that the tears left. “I know you’re grieving, but you’re falling apart.”

Liu Kang leaned into your touch. You watched as his eyes attempted to brim with tears he no longer had. His hand rose to cover yours, clinging to it as if your hand was a lifeline. You felt your heart shatter at the sight, but still, you refused to let the man in front of you see your resolve break. You could care less if he saw you at your weakest, you trusted Liu Kang enough to let down your walls. But you knew now you did not have the luxury.

The world was falling apart. Invasions were arriving. You and others would need to forge a group to fight them off. Raiden would need a confidant who had a clear mind. Liu Kang needed an anchor to keep him from drifting off. All of these duties needed someone who could rise to the occasion, and you were willing to do so your allies would not have such a heavy burden.

It was the very least you could do to make up for failing Kung Lao. You could only hope that the others did not see how much your heart was aching too.

“I’m not asking you to stop grieving.” You said. You were slow to speak, choosing each word carefully so as to not upset your friend anymore than he was. “I’m not asking you to forget him either, but you need to start living again.” The way you delivered those words felt less like a moving speech to inspire him to move on, but more like a desperate plea. 

“How?” Liu Kang’s voice cracked and at the same time, your heart squeezed. His eyes searched you, as if the answer to his question would be written upon your skin. You felt his hand squeeze yours with desperation. You did not complain about the tight grip, keeping your gaze steady on his face. “How am I supposed to live knowing he won’t be here anymore?”

In truth, you didn’t know how. But you couldn’t tell your friend that. You couldn’t let him drift aimlessly anymore than he already was, you had to do something. So, instead, you gave him a soft smile as you rubbed his cheek softly once more. You prayed to the elder gods that he did not see the weakness in your eyes.

“Well first, you must take little baby steps.” You said, trying to think of the years worth of advice you had gotten from your father. “I think the first step you can begin to do is to start taking care of yourself again.” You gestured to his form. “Stop skipping meals, stop spending hours out here on end, and start letting yourself accept the fact that he is gone.” You took a deep breath. “I know that sounds like a lot, but I can’t watch you let yourself deteriorate anymore.” 

“But Kung La-”

“Wouldn’t want you to stay by his grave like this.” You interrupted him, sending him a worried look. You closed your eyes and thought back to your friend. “If anything, he’d be upset that you’re doing this. He’d want you to live in his stead, to carry on his stories.” You paused, opening your eyes to watch Liu Kang’s face as you let him absorb your words. 

There was a long period of silence that stretched between you. Afraid to break the fragile tension, you even held your breath. Conflict danced in his eyes, wavering between whether to trust you or the hurt that dragged him down. Silently, you pleaded for him to believe you. You already couldn’t save one friend, you had to save another. 

You couldn’t fail again.

“Alright.” Liu Kang croaked. And finally, you let yourself breathe. His eyes fluttered closed as he seemed to lean his weight into your hand. In that moment, it felt like you took on his burdens. You forced your hand to be still, so he did not see your will waver. The slightest of slimes appeared on his lips, and you felt your heart soar. For even just a bit of his happiness, you would take on the world. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the way your voice nearly cracked. His eyes opened, and you put on a smile for him. You watched as he sat there, watching you for a few more moments before he let go of your hand. When stood up, wobbling just a touch. You wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Gently, you squeezed his hip. “Come on, let’s go inside, Princess Kitana has been dying to thank you for freeing her and I have to go with Nightwolf to find a new base in America to help with the recent invasions.”

“Thank you.” Liu Kang said, his voice full of warmth.

“It’s no issue.” You said, your words full of sincerity and fondness. “I would do anything for you.” You told him, a broad smile on your lips. Your heart felt lighter than it has in a while. Just barely, you caught the hint of pink upon his ears when he turned his head. “I’ll have your back, always, Liu Kang.”

Waking up felt like a haze. 

The warmth of Liu Kang’s flank against your side lingered. You laid upon the bed, which had been somewhat patched up due to you sewing up the sheets and the mattress. Your hand fiddled with the sheets, staring up at the soft glow on the ceiling as you ruminated upon what you had discovered and what to exactly do with this information.

How strange it was despite your long years of knowing Liu Kang, you still had memories left to discover with him connected to them. And those words you said, why did they feel so familiar? Not familiar in the sense that you had said them, but you swore you heard them elsewhere. You thought long and hard about it, trying to find a rhyme or reason why you had these feelings. There were several minutes that passed. You sighed as you rubbed your head. The most logical conclusion you could come up with was that it was because you’ve been in Outworld.

What else could it be? All these memories did resurface ever since you’ve gotten here.  

You paused, a sudden thought breaking through the rest like a sprinter did when they ran towards the finish. You breath caught as you stared at the ceiling. Was there any point in returning to Earthrealm if all your memories were here? You laid there for a long while after, unable to ignore the logic your brain was conjuring up.

You groaned as rubbed at your face. There was no point incessantly worrying over this issue, it was not like you could do anything to change the duration of your stay here. At least, that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself. The little whisper in your head would try and continue to try and think over it. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Your fingers glided over the hasty sewed up areas of the bed, noting the bumpiness. You’d just hope no one would notice. 

Then, after a few more moments of sitting, you sighed. You sighed so hard, like you were trying to relinquish your worries that way. You closed your eyes, trying to rid your worries once more. Then after that futile attempt, you got up and stretched. Might as well start your day.

After going through the morning routine you’ve become somewhat accustomed to, you stepped out into the hall. Perhaps it was the room, or maybe it was the last of the warm memories finally leaving, but it felt…colder outside. Not enough to have you shivering, but it sent a slight chill through you. A few goosebumps appeared on your arms.

You stood there for a moment. At first, you didn’t realize why, but then as you heard the tapping of feet coming from the far down hallway you realized you were waiting. You turned your head to see the usual culprit, Princess Kitana. You gave her a cheery wave to which she gave a respectable nod. You met her halfway down the hallway. If someone were to observe, they may notice, just for a fleeting moment, that her steps went faster before meeting you.

“Glad to see we’re both back on schedule.” You commented, a light playful tone to your voice. You watched as Kitana’s eyes squinted slightly, the edges of her lips curved upwards in the slightest smile. She hummed, a hint of amusement in her voice. As soon as you joined her side she seemed to be content and nodded, as if she were acknowledging that contentment. Still, as you stood next to her, you felt that familiar nagging feeling once more.

Why did you always feel it around her?

“I heard you got the privilege to tour the Imperial Academy.” Kitana spoke, breaking the silence. Her voice did not hide her intrigue at the idea of you at the academy. Her eyes seemed to rake over you, scrutinizing every little detail of you she could see. You resisted the urge to shiver, to not show the slight moment of weakness upon her observant gaze. “How did you find it?” She inquired a moment later, her voice seeming to imply she already knew your answer. Your eyebrows raised just very at the thought. 

“It was lovely.” You admitted, finding yourself unable to conceal the underlying admiration you felt towards the location. You tilted your head upwards to look at the vast expanse of white marble overhead, thinking of all the wonders you had seen. You were even beginning to see the swirls of magic within the material above. You didn’t think you were obsessed, but it would be hard to deny that idea with how you were seeing things that weren’t even there. You didn’t notice how her smile grew, becoming less restrained. “I wish magic was more used in Earthrealm, it’d be nice to see a school much like the academy there.”

“You seem very interested in magic.” The princess said, reading your reaction. It wasn’t an incredibly difficult feat though, it was obvious to anyone who could see. You could not help but nod in response, only feeling a touch embarrassed at being so obvious. A small chuckle left your lips. Her eyes seemed to soften, if just a touch. “If I recall correctly, you have magic as well. Animal shapeshifting, correct? I overheard it at the banquet.”

“Yes, animal shapeshifting.” You confirmed. You held out your hand, letting it shift into a lion’s paw outstretched with its claws out. You saw the hint of amazement in Kitana’s eyes. Her eyes traced the length of your transformed limb, then stared intently at the flesh where it transitioned. “I’d like to think I’m rather proficient in it.”

“I see.” The blue clad princess said, her tone indicating a hint of interest at your display of magic. “Had you been an Outworlder, I would say you would have a chance at excelling greatly at the Academy.” She admitted. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat at the high praise. Then, you felt a little silly at being so pleased at the compliment. After all, it’s not like it meant you could get in even with your magical skills.

“A shame that I’m not.” You say, a small wistful tone in your voice. It still felt…odd to not label yourself as an Outworlder. In Earthrealm, you did not feel right calling yourself one of them. But here, you did not feel right calling yourself an Outworlder either. Was there really a label you’d feel comfortable with?

“Perhaps, in another life, you could have.” Kitana said, offering you an apologetic smile. You nearly stumbled in your steps upon hearing those words, and the nagging feeling disappeared as the pieces fell into place. Your eyes widened and you stared at the princess, who seemed none the wiser as she gazed into the Great Hall, which you both had ended up at finally.

That’s why you had that feeling and why it was always around her.

Those were the exact words she said as she had laid dying in your lap, in that vision you had about the amulet. Your fingers twitched as you took in a deep breath, holding back a wave of nostalgia as you gazed at her for a few moments more. It was an odd feeling, seeing the princess alive and healthy with little idea of who you were compared to the last time when she had said those words and she had been one of your closest allies and dying in your lap.

“Enjoy the match.” Kitana bid you goodbye, offering a small smile before walking off. You nodded, barely able to return her goodbye before she was out of earshot. Your gaze lingered on her a moment more. Your stomach twisted, and you were uncertain how to make use of the information you had gleaned.

Why did it seem like everyone you had cared about in the last life died? 

Was that fated to happen once more?

Before you could get too lost in your spiraling thoughts, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Your thoughts paused, as if the hand on your shoulder pulled you away from all the noise. You turned your head slowly to see Kenshi looking at you, eyebrows raised. You sent him a bit of a forced smile, trying to not worry him any more than he seemed to be.

“You were spacing out.” Kenshi said simply. His eyes focused on you, searching your face for any indication for your unusual behavior. You felt your smile grow the slightest bit strained, like a string being pulled just a bit too tight. His eyebrows knit together, and you felt a sense of embarrassment at how he could read your expression.

Or maybe you were just easy to read in general. Either way, you didn’t feel too great about that.

“Early mornings, you know how it is.” You said, using possibly the lamest excuse you could have. You nearly wanted to smack your forehead as you realized how uncharacteristic that sounded as well. If anyone were to say that excuse, you were the last one who should have. Your jaw set a tiny bit more, trying to make your smile more prominent.

“I see.” Kenshi said, after a few more moments. There was an odd tension between the two of you. It was the type of tension that could only be made between someone who had lied very, very horribly, and by someone who could see right through the lie as if it were the most polished glass in the world. His hand squeezed your shoulder. 

Your gaze dropped to the hand on your shoulder. You stared at the tattoo on his hands, having nearly forgotten the designs on his hands. He didn’t put them on display very often. Your lips pursed, and you thought long and hard about whether he had similar tattoos, if any, in the old timeline. You don’t think he did.

“See something interesting?” Kenshi’s words cut through your thoughts. You glanced up, seeing his concerned expression having changed into one of interest. The ex-yakuza member’s eyebrows were raised, and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. His eyes, which you now noted to be just the perfect shade for him, were trained on you. There was a certain tone to his voice that you couldn’t pin down, was it playfulness?

“I was just looking at your tattoos. They’re really pretty.” You admitted, before wanting to smack yourself. It was not because of the admittance, it was because you had forgotten the connection the tattoos had to his past. “Not that I think they’re too pretty, because of your connection with your past.” You quickly added on, resisting the urge to cringe at the addition. You sighed and closed your eyes, shaking your head. “I think they’re nice, regardless of your past, is what I meant.” 

“Maybe the early morning is getting to you.” Kenshi said, his voice having just the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt to it. Once more, he squeezed your shoulder. His eyes seemed to shine a bit, and a smile grew. Out of all your champions, he smiled the least. But whenever he did, you always seemed to notice how bright it felt to you. “But thank you for the compliment, now let’s join the group. Even Cage is there now.”

And so, the two of you walked over to the group. A round of greetings were passed between the group. You did your best to maintain your steady composure. It was getting harder and harder with all the memories coming back rapidly, especially with how dreadful they’ve been lately. Liu Kang and Kung Lao’s greetings were the hardest to return as you were trying your best not to space out and linger on the differences between their past selves and now.

Still, you did it, and no one seemed the wiser. Kung Lao had even given you some food. You were nearly honored by the gesture, knowing he saved you some food instead of taking it all for himself. You let out a small huff at the little wink he sent your way when he handed you an extra portion. 

“What was up with your little moment with Tattoo?” Johnny asked, leaning over with an all too nosy tone in his voice. You’ve seen the older women in Fengjian be less nosy than he was. And man were they always vying for some gossip whenever you visited Madam Bo. You sent him a perplexed look, which seemed to spur him on. “You know, like, when he had his hand on your shoulder.” He said. His hands were very emotive, portraying the story all on their own.

“Nothing.” You said, dismissively. You shrugged, and you watched as Johnny seemed to deflate at your answer. He was either not pleased at the lackluster answer, or how little you elaborated. Probably even a mixture of both. “It was seriously nothing, he just noticed I was spacing out.” You continued, hoping to satiate the little bit of curiosity he had.

“Mhm, sure.” He replied, a hint of skepticism in his tone. “We’ll discuss this later.” The actor insisted. You opened your mouth to respond that there was nothing else to discuss, but then the Empress and princesses strode in, causing you to fall silent. Instead, you sent him a hint of a glare. Of course, the actor didn’t care, just sending you a sunny grin in return.

What unlucky timing.

“Once again, we gather to witness another day of the tournament.” Sindel announced, scanning the crowd. When her eyes landed on Raiden, who seemed to be growing in confidence with every win, her lips pursed. You held back a chuckle at the slight annoyance that glimmered in her eyes. You saw her take in a deep breath before continuing. “After three fights, your resolve has not yet broken.” She observed, raising an eyebrow. “Today, we shall see if that will change.”

There was a pause before she continued.

“Today, you shall fight one of my most trusted allies.” The Empress announced. You were surprised for a brief moment. The last two fights were chosen by the general, did she finally get fed up with his choices? You held back yet another laugh at the prospect. “Sheeva of the Shokan shall be your opponent today.” 

From the end of the hallway emerged a broad, tall figure. Nearly rivaling Kotal in size, a woman dressed in battle-ready armor appeared. You felt a slight buzz upon seeing her, but nothing overly major. Her armor, though indicative of a warrior, appeared different from the ones that both Reiko, Kotal, and General Shao had all donned. It was a hint more decorative, and it reminded you very slightly of the umgadi gear. A purple sash that matched Sindel’s colors was pinned across her body.

“Sheeva is one of the best warriors from the Shokan. Fierce and loyal, she is one of the best guards and warriors I have come to know.” Sindel said, a certain type of fondness in her voice. It felt like a stark contrast to the way she had regarded Li Mei. Sheeva seemed to take the praise in stride, holding her head up high. All four of her arms flexed, showing the muscles that she had gained through the years. “May she grace us with a fight to display just how well she can fight.”

“I have heard many things about your prowess, young one.” Sheeva spoke, gazing down at Raiden. Her face, though it looked unimpressed, did seem to hold just a bit of respect within it. Her upper arms crossed over her chest, while the lower set of arms were firmly placed upon her hips. Her gaze was so strong it was nearly unnerving. “We shall see if they are true.”

“I will try my best to prove it true.” Raiden replied, nodding. Despite the difference in both bulk and height, Raiden seemed to not be cowed in the slightest. You smiled at the sight, feeling proud of the strength he displayed. He has certainly come a long way since the beginning of your training. From a meek sapling to a strong, sturdy tree.

Sheeva’s way of fighting reminded you a bit of Reiko’s. They both utilized the same grappling style, trying to latch onto Raiden like a leech to hit him. The Shokan was amazingly proficient at using all of her arms within combat. Her fighting style, though like the second in command, did not match the calculated way she fought. That part of her felt more like Kotal.

Her brutality was not out of bloodlust, but from the cold precision of knowing her true strength and how to use it against her opponent. Even when she stomped harshly on Raiden’s back, there was no maniac energy from her. It was a detail that you did not miss.

Had Raiden not fought against other grapplers and those who already outsized him in a match, he would have fared far worse. But, unfortunately for the Shokan, it seemed that the previous two matches only served to prepare him for this fight. Sure, he did take a heavy hit here and there, but for the most part it went far smoother than the last few matches did. 

It did not take long for him to stand over Sheeva, a tired but elated look on his face.

“I hope that proved my determination to you.” He said, his voice a bit breath as he adjusted his rumpled clothes. A groan left the beaten Shokan’s face. But as she stumbled to her feet, she seemed to nod in response. Her head dipped low, a look of shame coating her face. She seemed to hold herself a little less tall now. The two exchanged bows, before the woman walked out, her footsteps heavy with defeat.

“Congratulations upon yet another win.” Sindel said, her lips curling upwards. Her smile, once again, did not reach her eyes. In fact, her eyes did not even seem to follow the victor. Instead, they trailed after Sheeva, a slight look of disappointment within them. She cleared her throat, and the momentary weakness disappeared. “We shall adjourn at first light once again.”

“Hah, was that even a challenge for you?” Kung Lao spoke, walking merrily to his friend. A playful shove was sent Raiden’s way. A small “ow” left his lips as he rubbed his arm, which certainly must be sore from how Sheeva had been tugging him around. “I think you’ve got this in the bag!” He encouraged, though this time it lacked the little shove.

“Indeed, your training reflects well in your matches.” Liu Kang added in. He sent a little bit of a look towards Kung Lao. “Remember not to grow complacent, the next few matches may prove to be more challenging than the previous ones.” He warned. His hands were clasped neatly in front of him. The fire god’s gaze then turned to you, expectantly.

“Lord Liu Kang is right. As long as you remember what we taught you when you fight, you’ll do fine.” You said, giving him a small smile. You crossed your arms as you shifted your weight. “But I do agree, you’ll need to be vigilant. I’d say it was a lucky streak that your last opponents had similar fighting styles, but the next few may fight very differently from them.” You placed a hand on his arm, trying to be comforting. “But I, and so do the rest of us, believe in you.”

“I-” Raiden began, seeming a bit caught off guard by either your words or the touch on his arm. He cleared his throat, a faint flush on his cheeks. Johnny took your attention away by slinging an arm around your shoulders. Turning to give him a confused look and to shrug off his touch, you missed the brief look that Raiden sent your way before you turned back. “I understand, I’ll do my best.” 

“Good.” You commended, sending him a bigger smile this time. Then, after a moment, your hand dropped from his arm. Liu Kang picked up from your little moment, telling the group a few things before he dismissed them. You watched as Liu Kang, Kenshi, and Raiden all walked off. But Kung Lao lingered, a look of contemplation on his face. You tilted your head as you walked forward to stand next to the man. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking.” Kung Lao answered, a thoughtful tone to his voice. You raised your eyebrows, nodding to see if he would go on. After a few moments, he did. “I know Raiden deserved to be the champion but…” He said, trailing off as he looked to the side. You nodded, placing a hand on his bicep and squeezed it gently, making him return his gaze to you.

“I admire your willingness to fight.” You said, cautiously picking your words. The memory of the old Kung Lao dying because he had been far too eager to fight lingered in your mind. Was it a warning of things to come? Or was it merely just a stain in your mind that would never go away? “But know that we all see your value even without you launching yourself head first into battle.” You pinched his arm. “Don’t go around and be reckless to try and prove yourself, okay?”

“If I were to fight though, I’d win.” Kung Lao retorted playfully, but that attitude melted away to reveal a more genuine smile. “I know, though.” He said, nodding. “I promise I won’t go around picking fights…unless they deserve it.” He said, grinning at you. When you sent him an unamused look, he rolled his eyes before laughing. “I’m kidding! I won’t.” He claimed, raising his hands up in surrender.

“Good. I’m going to do some shopping now, okay?” You said, nodding with a satisfied smile. You dropped your hand, missing the way the farmhand’s eyes trailed after it. As you were about to walk off to go tour Sun Do for gifts, you felt a hand upon your arm. Your eyes trailed up from the hand to the culprit. It was none other than Johnny. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah.” The actor said, his smile that was so bright it nearly rivaled the sun. His hand dropped so he could spread his arms out wide. “Saw the other day that Rai-dude got to have a day with you, it’s my turn now.” He announced, seeming almost a bit too proud of himself. “That, and I did say we had stuff to discuss later.”

“We’re taking turns hanging out?” Kung Lao spoke up, having not left yet. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between you and Johnny Cage. A look of utter confusion was obvious on his face. You were nearly certain that a similar look was upon your face. You were no less confused than he was. “When am I getting my day?” 

“We’re not taking turns, don’t worry about it.” You reassured the former farmhand. You looked back at Johnny with an exasperated look. “Don’t say things like that, people will get the wrong idea, Cage.” You scolded him pointing a finger his way. “Why do you even need me to accompany you today?” You inquired. You noticed the slightly irritated tone in your voice and sent him an apologetic look. “Not that I mind.”

“I need someone to help take some pictures of me around Sun Do so I can post it on my socials.” The American informed you causally. Either he didn’t notice the tone in your voice, or didn’t care. You were assuming that with him, it was the latter. A broad grin crossed his features as a more confused look appeared over your face. 

“But I wouldn’t anyone else be bet-” You began. You were shortly cut off by Johnny grabbing your hand. With a surprised shout, you were dragged off by Johnny outside of the palace before you could protest more. Too stunned, you let him lead you away, mind still mulling over the strange excuse he had given you.

Left in the dust was Kung Lao who looked at where you two had disappeared to. There was a moment where there was nothing but sheer confusion spread across his face. Then, Kenshi passed by, having returned to the Great hall. He looked at the farm hand with a perplexed look as well. He glanced back and forth between where Kung Lao was looking and the man himself.

“Are you okay?” The swordsman asked, having not been there to witness the little scene. 

“Yeah.” Kung Lao said, snapping out of his stupor. He shook his head, trying to dispel the strange hurt feeling he felt before shrugging. “I’m just really, really confused.”

“You didn’t have to drag me out here, Cage.”

“Nah, I totally did have to.” Johnny said simply. The blunt response stunned you for a moment. Normally, you would have a witty remark or be able to bounce back. But with how strange Johnny has been lately, you’ve found yourself more and more uncertain of what to say in response. You didn’t quite like how speechless you’ve become. 

“No, you really didn’t have to.” You insisted. Your words fell upon deaf ears as Johnny continued to drag you towards the capital. It wasn’t until you both made it to the city that he finally released your hand. You sighed as you sent him a look before shaking your head. “Well, we’re here.” You stated the obvious, looking around at the crowd. “Where did you need the picture?”

“Oh, we don’t need to do that now.” The actor told you with a grin. You stared at him with a look of disbelief. “In fact we have to wait. I wanted to do these pictures at sunset so we can get those sweet, sweet colors.” You looked upwards into the sky, noting just how early it was. Sunset was hours away. You sighed, you guess you were stuck with the man for a bit. He didn’t seem dismayed at all by your reaction, instead slinging an arm around you and leaning in close. “So, where to first?”

“I didn’t really have a plan.” You said, crossing your arms. “I was really going to go window shopping.” You inform him, trying to think of ideas for the two brothers you hadn’t gotten gifts for yet. So far, you were drawing a blank. Glancing over to Johnny, who seemed to be very pleased with placing almost all his weight upon you, you pursed your lips. “I suppose you don’t have any ideas for what to get Bi-Han and Kuai Liang?”

“The ninjas?” Johnny inquired, eyebrows raising. Before you could correct him that they weren’t quite ninjas he continued, “I dunno, some breath mints for frost face?” He suggested, shrugging. You sent him an exasperated look, but you supposed asking Johnny out of any of them was the wrong decision. He probably didn’t hold either of them in such high regard after what they did to his…Hichuli. He laughed at your reaction, nudging you. “Okay, fine, how about we go window shopping like you said, we’re bound to think of some ideas.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You said, nodding. You stood there, waiting for him to move. When he remained leaning against you, you raised your eyebrows. “Are you expecting me to be able to drag you around everywhere?” You inquired, a tinge of amusement in your voice apparent. A smile spread across your lips. Maybe it was because he was an actor, but he never failed to be entertaining to you.

“Where’s your sense of fun?” He groaned, a hint of a pout on his lips. Still, he relented and got off of you. With an overexaggerated bow that reminded you of certain characters in a movie, he gestured towards the city. “Lead the way?” He inquired, his eyebrows waggling playfully. You rolled your eyes at the grand performance and chuckled before beginning to walk over to the stores.

Even after touring part of Sun Do with Raiden, there were still plenty of shops you had not explored yet. Both you and Johnny peeked into stores, marveling over their wares with different degrees of wonder. There were a few times where you’d hear mutter how he wished that he had an easy way to convert his American dollars to the Outworlder coin. 

It took a while until you found a good gift. Or rather, until Johnny found a good gift.

“How about this?” The actor asked. The two of you had ended up in some sort of jewelry store. While you hadn’t been too keen on the wares here fitting the idea of a gift for either of the brothers, you both decided to tour it anyways. Upon seeing the suggestion Johnny lifted towards you, you were infinitely glad that you did.

You grabbed the ribbon he had held up, eyes wide with amazement. It was made of gold and black fabric, perfectly long enough to do someone’s hair. In fact, it seemed meant to be tied into one’s hair to keep it up. The thread work was immaculate. It was woven intricately, creating a pattern that vaguely reminded you of a scorpion. 

It was practically perfect.

“Where did you find this?” You asked. You rubbed your thumb over the design before flipping it over and admiring how soft the fabric was. You looked from the ribbon over to Johnny to see what may be the smuggest look you’ve seen on his face. “I mean, this is pretty much what I’ve been looking for.”

“Just over here.” Johnny told you, pointing his thumb in the direction of a display of other ribbons. You wandered over, humming as you perused the rest of the collection. Unfortunately, there was nothing that stuck out to you as something you’d want to give to Bi-Han. Still, as you looked back down at the ribbon in your hands, you were grateful to find something. “You seem really pleased by my findings.” He observed. You could hear the grin through his words. “Do I get to have a reward or something?”

“Or something.” You sassed back, shaking your head. Still, you looked over to the man with a smile. “Thanks for helping me, Johnny.” You thanked him sincerely. The smile he sent made your heart skip a beat, though you weren’t quite sure why. Deciding not lingering on the why part, you turned and went to the counter to pay for the item.

Surprisingly, it was cheaper than you expected. A fact that you were grateful for so you did not completely lose your money on this one gift. The centaurian man who helped you even offered to package it in a pretty gift box for free. 

“You’re not trying to find a pretty little trinket for yourself, wildstyle?” Johnny inquired as you rejoined him near the entrance. He sent you an inquisitive look as he crossed his arms. You shook your head as you tucked the box away into your bag for safe keeping. You would be devastated to find that you had lost the perfect gift for Kuai Liang. “You’re a strange one.”

“Really now?” You quipped back, raising your eyebrows as you turned back to look at him. You peered over to the sky, noting how low the sun had gotten. Browsing around had taken far more time than you had expected. It was nearly time for taking pictures soon, assuming that the man still wanted them. “Did you want to go find a spot to take your pictures now? Or did you still want to help me look for Bi-Han’s gift?”

“Still don’t get why you’re buying gifts for the man who broke my Hichuli, but I guess we’ve got some more daylight to burn.” Johnny replied, shrugging.

And so, the two of you continued to browse. Unfortunately, even between the two of you, you still failed to find something appropriate for the icy grandmaster. Luckily for you, you still saw that there were plenty of stalls to go through. Tomorrow, perhaps you’d have better luck.

That’s how you got to the pier, squinting down at Johnny’s phone. You’ve rarely touched his phone. The only times you’ve bothered to interact with it was to play Candy Crush whenever the actor wanted to bribe you to give them a break, or to show Kung Lao the video. 

Still, holding it in your hands, something about the device felt oddly…familiar.

“You know how to take a picture, right?” Johnny said, leaning over to point at the screen. You looked over to him, giving him a sigh.

“That’s what I was going to tell you, Cage.” You told him, sending him an exasperated look. You had nearly forgotten about his little excuse to drag you out here. How silly it seemed now. You thought about telling him if he had just asked to accompany you on your little shopping trip that you would have let him, but you figured you were past that point now. “I have no idea how to really take a picture, so your luck with me taking actual quality ones for your social media is pretty low.”

“You’ll probably have a knack for it.” The actor encouraged you. He positioned so he could wrap his arms around you, placing his hands upon yours. While Johnny was usually touchy, this felt…different. You suppressed a shiver as you noted how gentle he was being. “Here, lift it up to this angle.” He instructed, his voice quieter than usual. And yet, when it was right next to your ear you hardly noticed how he was pretty much whispering. Was your face getting hot?

“Good.” Johnny praised, and like usual, you could hear the smile in his voice. The smile your heard though, was a different type of smile. It wasn’t arrogant or smug. It felt like he was proud of you. “You’ll want to tap the screen if it’s out of focus.” He said, and tapped on the screen to demonstrate. You nodded, pursing your lips as you tried your best to focus on the task at hand. Did he really have to be this close though?

“Anything else I should know?” You asked, hoping the way you spoke didn’t reflect the way you were feeling oddly nervous right now. You had no idea why your nerves were acting up, it isn’t as if you were being tested on anything. You did not turn your head, feeling like you would grow more nervous if you turned your head to look at the man.

“Nope, you should be good. I’ll be telling you whenever to take a shot. Oh, taking a picture is this button by the way.” He said, pressing the circle at the bottom of the screen. You nodded diligently, back oddly straight as you tried to focus on anything but him. You had to hide your sigh of relief as he unwrapped his arms, backing up. “Alright, let me get into position.” 

You watched as Johnny jogged over to the spot he had apparently determined in his head. You kept your arms up, not wanting to lose the perfect angle that the man had decided for you. Still, the memory of his touch on your hands lingered in your mind. Johnny prepped himself, moving between a few poses before he settled on one and called out for you to take a picture. You grinned at the rather amusing pose he struck. Was he trying to pretend to hold the sun?

Nodding, you moved your thumb to press the button. Accidentally though, you made the screen flip, making it turn to your smiling face. Following that accident, you pressed the button. With a sigh, you furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to figure out how to turn it back around. After a few moments, you offered him an apologetic smile as he walked back to you.

“Did you get the shot?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. You shook your head and handed the phone over, sighing.

“I told you I didn’t know how to take pictures.” You sighed, pointing at the screen and how it was still using the forward facing camera. “I accidentally flipped the screen and made it take a picture of me.” You explained, your tone indicating your embarrassment at not knowing how to navigate the device well. You watched as he lifted the phone up, so he could see it better. The only issue now was that you couldn’t see it. “So I didn’t get the picture, sorry.”

“Main man Lord Liu Kang should really get you a phone so you can start learning. Don’t sweat it though, Teach.” Johnny observed, humming as he tapped the screen a few times. His eyes lit up after a few moments. A small smile curled onto his lips. Then, almost as if remembering you were there, he cleared his throat as he looked back to you. 

It was rare to see him taken off his guard.

“Here.” He said after a few moments. When the phone was handed back to you, it was correctly oriented this time. “Try not to switch it again, or do, I don’t mind having a few photos of you in my phone.” Johnny teased you, sending you a wink. Before you could retort, he jogged back to the spot. You shook your head, unable to resist a smile.

This time, you took what you thought was a pretty good picture.

By the time you and Johnny returned to the palace, it was dark. You had spent the fading bits of daylight on taking every picture you could. You thought it was excessive, but the actor had told you something along the lines of “we don’t finish until it’s perfect in the industry”. You had tried to tell him that there was no industry here, but he promptly ignored you.

You had half a mind to groan at his stubbornness.

“Busy day?” Raiden inquired, seeing the both of you walk into the hallway. It seems the reserved seats had changed for the both of you. You had a choice of either between Kenshi and Liu Kang or between Raiden and Kung Lao. You slipped into the one next to the champion, humming as you reached over to get your share of food. 

“You could call it that.” You replied. You muttered an apology as you bumped into Raiden as you leaned over. He took your apology in stride, smiling generously at you. “I managed to get another gift under my belt. No luck in finding one for Bi-Han though.” You said, sighing. “Then again, I predicted getting a gift for him would be the most difficult.”

“Maybe tomorrow I can help.” Kenshi spoke up. You glanced up at him, a bit of surprise on your face. You nearly missed the look of what you could only call betrayal on Kung Lao’s face. Why that was the case, you had no idea. You felt a little bad, it looked a little funny. You brought a hand to hide the bits of a smile that threatened to slip through. You hummed, tilting your head after you recovered from your near smile. You thought about the offer for a moment before nodding.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” You said. As you peered down at the food on the table, you missed the pointed looks the swordsman got. When you looked up, they were gone. “I’ve found that I find the gifts whenever I’m with one of you anyways, might as well not break the streak.” You said contemplatively. “How was the rest of the day for you guys?”

The rest of dinner went smoothly from there. There was chatter here and there, catching up on each other’s day. It wasn’t until dinner was over that you encountered something unexpected. You stood up from your seat, excusing yourself. You had plans to get a bit of alone time before your usual meeting with the princess. Yet, when you turned around you were met with the sight of Rain.

“Oh, hello.” You greeted, blinking owlishly. You offered a small wave, to which the mage returned. “Did you need something from me?” You asked, looking around to see if there was something obvious around to indicate what he wanted. 

“Ah, nothing much. I just wanted to talk.” He said, offering you a smile. You returned the smile, a hint of surprise and joy in your eyes. You knew Rain had offered you friendship the other day, but you didn’t actually expect him to want to spend more time together than he did yesterday. “Do you have the time for a little chat?” He inquired, his hands sweeping out to gesture to a hallway.

“Oh, definitely.” You said, nodding perhaps a bit too eagerly. You weren’t sure why, but Rain and you seemed to click quickly. You chalked it up to the shared interest in magic, and how he seemed to admire your drive to get better. “I’ll see you guys around.” You said, waving to the group before you walked off with your new friend.

“Lord Liu Kang, your stare is…intense.” Raiden pointed out quietly after you and your new friend disappeared down the hallway. The Fire God diverted his gaze away from where you had gone to the champion. He cleared his throat, putting on a cordial smile.

“Do not worry about it.” Liu Kang reassured the man. He cast his gaze upon the rest of the group, nodding at them. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I shall see you all tomorrow for Raiden’s next fight.” He then stood and disappeared too, retiring to his chambers.

Even gods like him were not immune to human emotions.

You had talked longer with Rain than expected. 

It wasn’t until you saw the man yawn that you realized just how late it had gotten. You felt a twinge of guilt course through you as you quickly realized you had to dismiss yourself. Searching around, you excused yourself, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I really should be going, I struggle with waking up without proper sleep.” You lied. You did feel bad lying to your new friend, but you weren’t certain just how public the information of your meetings with Mileena were. You figured it was best to play it safe and pretend they did not occur. With an understanding nod, the mage smiled.

“I understand.” He said. There was a pause, his lips parting before he shook his head. Your eyebrows raised at the action, but didn’t question it. You didn’t want to be too forward and scare him off.  “I hope to talk to you soon. It’s refreshing to talk to someone like you.” 

“I feel the same.” You told him, nodding. You watched him walk off, taking slow steps away. Then, as soon as you deemed yourself safe enough not to be caught in a lie, you slunk off in the darkness to the hanging gardens. You nearly transformed to make the job easier, but you figured that was more suspicious, so you stuck to the teachings Madam Bo had taught you.

Reaching the gardens, you let out a sigh. Here you felt safe enough to not sneak around. You looked around, spying for any sign of the princess. You caught a hint of pink, and walked right over. Just as expected, she was waiting on the bench for you.

“Apologies for my late arrival.” You said, not even certain if you were even late. It is not as if you had a clock to judge the time. Even if you did, you weren’t even sure if Outworld ran on the same time system as Earthrealm did. You rushed over to take your spot near her after she indicated towards it with her hand. “I got caught up in conversation.”

“Lucky for you, I just got here.” Mileena remarked. The jesting tone in her voice had you relax, letting out another sigh of relief. Hints of thinly veiled amusement sparkled in her eyes accompanying the little smirk on her lips. “I assume you were giving your champion a rousing speech for tomorrow’s match?” She inquired, an expectant tone in her voice.

“Ah, no actually.” You said. You felt a little silly, realizing that her assumption was something you actually should be doing. You knew Raiden did well off of praise. Not only that, but it didn’t hurt to be a little more encouraging towards the champion. Maybe you should do that tomorrow night, especially since you knew that if he won this one, he would have to fight the princess beside you. “I was talking to the High Mage, Rain.”

“I did not know you two were so…familiar.” The princess said, raising an eyebrow. You heard the curiosity in her tone. You chuckled at her phrasing, shaking your head as you waved your hands dismissively.

“Not at all.” You said, holding back a disbelieving chuckle. “He and I simply got along well during the banquet and became friends of sorts..” You explained. You turned your gaze away from the princess to the sky. “It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about magic with such fasciation and depth.” 

“I did not realize you were so intrigued by magic.” Mileena remarked. This time, a hint of surprise appeared in her voice. “Do you possess magic yourself, or are you simply fascinated by the subject?” She inquired. Her gaze scanned your form, trying to see any indication of magic upon your person. Her calculating gaze felt just like her younger sister’s.

“I have magic.” You said. “Magic doesn’t really exist in Earthrealm in the same ways it does here.” You explained. “Very little people know magic themselves, and the ones I know who have such magic don’t have the same passion as the people I’ve met here.” You shrugged causally.

“Perhaps it has something to do with the goddess Delia.” Mileena proposed. “As far as I am concerned, the only god Earthrealm has is Lord Liu Kang, correct?” She inquired. You nodded. You doubted Liu Kang would have hidden another god of Earthrealm from you. “Delia is the goddess of magic, it is natural that Outworld would simply have more magic than Earthrealm.”

“I suppose.” You said, not knowing what to quite respond to that. She was probably correct. You pursed your lips as you pondered on the subject of magic for a few moments more before realizing that Mileena had been staring at you. “Oh, right the story, my bad.” You said, straightening up. You cleared your throat before glancing at the princess. “Any particular stories you’d like to hear about tonight?”

“How about you tell me about Earthrealm’s version of magic?” The princess proposed, connecting the prior conversation to the story she wished to hear. You smiled at the sentiment, thinking of what to tell her before nodding and proceeding.

That night, you told her of magic. And that night, you tried your best to ignore the longing ache in your heart.

part fifteen

tagged - @bonezisded @lollipopin @simpxinnie @zhivaxo @koisuko

[i984]

Wounds, Not Dreams

|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x gender neutral reader

|Warnings|: Soft ooc! Wednesday Addams as usual, Hurt/Comfort(?), crying but it's okay cause crying is good, mentions of gore and death, let me know if there's more.

|Summary|: Wednesday doesn't like bad nightmares.

|A/n|: Requested by Sam! See end of post for more notes.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The night feels cold and lonely—much like the fingers trembling and gripping your shirt to the point of ripping. You wake up with alarms blaring in your head, as only one person would sneak to your dorm in the middle of the night, and she wouldn't tremble.

"Wednesday?"

The girl in question didn't respond. Instead, she presses her face closer to your chest, clinging to you tightly. The fabric of your shirt may muffle her sniffles, but you know your girlfriend has been crying and is currently trying to hide the fact that she still is. 

You carefully wrap your arms around the Addams girl. She didn't refuse your touch. 

"What's wrong? You know you can talk to me."

Your question is left unanswered again, but that doesn't discourage you. You know how Wednesday is; intelligent, forbidding, and sadistic. But she is also solemn and emotionally reserved. She's a strong human capable of expressing her thoughts, and if any of her past actions are any indication, she's never afraid to do so. 

But sometimes, Wednesday is also fragile. She's continuously guarding how she presents herself to the world—not wanting to appear vulnerable. But here she is, grasping at you urgently, almost like she's afraid of letting you go.

So, you hold her. You cradle her tight—Wednesday doesn't like soft hugs; she refers to it as a worthless attempt at strangling someone—and the girl melts into you more. 

Wednesday likes warm hugs.

You whisper sweet nothings to her—simple I love you's, and I'm here muttered into the room. The trashing beats of her heart slow into a calm rhythmical one; your now damp t-shirt still muffles her quiet sniffles. 

Both of you stay like that in the uncountable moments, you calming her as best as you can with the occasional forehead kisses and Wednesday breathing more evenly with each one you give. 

The space is filled with something resembling silence—the whir of your air conditioning and the occasional cricket noises are the only sound heard. Neither of you says a word because they're irrelevant. You know what Wednesday needs.

She needs you.

They say silence is gold, and maybe that's true for now. The girl finally lifts her head, eyes trained at the hands bunching up your shirt. You take them in yours and caress her knuckles gently. The fingers feel warm. 

"I had a nightmare," the ravenette says. "A bad one."

Wednesday stares at you through her bangs. Her eyes are swollen, and her lips quiver so subtly that nobody would notice, but you do down to the faint furrow of her eyebrows and her jaw clenching slightly. 

You nod, signaling you're listening and ready for her to continue.

"I went looking for you after the battle with Crackstone because you were nowhere to be found. And then, I got to your room. When I opened the door, I saw you on this bed."

Wednesday stops and squeezes your hand. She takes a deep breath.

"There was blood everywhere— The floor, wall, and sheets. I immediately ran and saw you gasping for air. There was a cavity in your chest�� Your rib cage is drilled, and the lungs p-popped out of with every single breath—"

Her sobs cut through her words before she could even finish her sentence. You hurriedly wrap your arms around Wednesday, her wails once again muffled into your t-shirt. Stroking her head gently, you sit up to hold her properly, comforting her as she wills her stutters away.

"I thought I was too l-l-late. The ripped bedding and the claw marks on your body made me furious. And then you stopped gasping, and I thought I lost you—"

You pepper sloppy kisses on her cheeks, nose, and jaw, anywhere you can reach to hush her words. "I will always be here for you, Wednesday," you assured. Her cries pierce the warm air, so you rock her body with you while hugging her as tightly as possible. 

"It looked so real..."

You don't need her to continue; you know why she's so afraid. Wednesday has seen people die in her visions way too many times. She fears your death even though the event would've happened in the past. What she saw was just a dream, and the girl obviously knows. 

But right now, she doesn't need a reality check. She needs to know you're well and alive, even if it means breaking down her well-built walls and presenting herself to you as vulnerable as is. You're going to do just that.

"I'll always be here for you, Wens. Now and forever, in this life and the next. Do you know why?"

Her crying ceases a little, and a tear rolls down her cheeks as her glassy eyes blink to look at your tender ones. 

You smile. "Because I'll always be yours as you're mine," you place your hand on her cheek and wipes the tears away. "Because I love you."

Her face starts to warm up. 

Yours has been since the very first day you met her.

Maybe the salt on her lips was from the tears. Her small hand grips yours while the other rest on your chest. Wednesday feels so delicate, like the flowers on your window sill, and you want to protect her with every touch of your lips. Her nose nudges yours, and if you open your eyes, you'll see her lush eyelashes gleaming in the stray moonlight. 

You pray with every kiss a single thing: to be the wound that nestles into her flesh and soul, stubbornly refusing to heal. Because then, you'll stay intertwined with her until the very end, allowing her to remember what it feels like to be loved.

To be Wednesday's very own pleasant, warm wound. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A/n2: Hello! I've been MIA for the past week or so, and for that I apologize. I do have news though, gonna take a break this month so in the meantime, do feel free to revisit old posts :( I'll make a follow up post regarding the situation but right now I just wanna thank you guys for the overwhelming amount of love and support. I can't be grateful enough 💗

Check pinned post for Tag List!

[rosemaze-reveries]

alice deross x you on an espionage mission, you and alice share a rare moment of quiet

You’ve been finding Alice lost in thought more and more lately.

She sits at the kitchen’s windowside table, lips pressed firmly to the rim of her china teacup. It’s not unusual for her to spend her rare moments of leisure nursing on a drink, but her eyes are lost somewhere else, and she’s rigid as a stone. Maybe she’s just that content letting the hot steam caress her lip. You watch her for a few seconds, waiting for the sip you’re sure must come eventually. She doesn’t move.

Sweet white coffee with one lump for good measure. It’s her favorite, but she’s not very fastidious about the brew as long as it’s sweet enough—Alice drinks more sugar than she’d ever care to admit. After months spent working with her, it’s become second nature to prepare it for her every morning. Or every night, like tonight, when you both were to stay up late and keep watch on the townscape below. Another recon mission, as it always goes.

“Too hot?” you ask, taking the seat across from her. She glances up at you to flash a reassuring smile. Her lips are pulled together sweetly, practised, desperate. It’s the smile she uses to push back whatever wretched thoughts are weighing down on her, one you’ve only been able to parse in recent weeks. You pray she doesn’t realize you’ve noticed—she’s much quicker at picking up on the subtle things than you are.

“Just thinking,” she corrects, then finally takes a sip to indulge you. Her smile fades as she turns to the window. “I didn’t expect to grow so fond of this place.”

You follow her line of sight. In the distance, you watch the orange sun sink behind the city’s rooftops as pinks and violets spear through the clouds. Nights here have always felt so tender. They never carry more than a gentle breeze with them, bringing out the songs of the crickets and junebugs that live in the brush outside. It’s so, so quiet. Sometimes you feel like it’s just you and Alice in the world, like you’ve left your pasts behind.

But you know better than that.

“We shouldn’t get too attached, Eury,” you tell her. Her brows crinkle at the name. A flicker of guilt takes hold of your heart. That was cruel of you, and you know it. But that peaceful lifestyle you’re both dreaming of doesn’t exist in either of your futures, at least as you are now. It’d be crueler to pretend like it does. Alice turns back to the window.

“I know.”

The room falls into silence after that. At one point you steal another glance at her. When she catches you, she lapses into that smile again, the one that’s so devastatingly beautiful and guts your heart all the same. Your gaze quickly drops to your lap, where you pinch the hem of the lace tablecloth. That smile will unravel you if you stare at her a minute longer.

With a musing hum, Alice sets down her teacup. “You’ll miss these nights just as much as I will,” she remarks, and you can’t argue. “You don’t have to play tough in front of me. We can enjoy it, just for a little while.”

That’s all the permission you need before you crumble.

“‘A little while’ won’t be enough,” you say, slumping back in your seat. The legs of your chair scrape back against the hardwood. And before you can stop yourself, “I’ll miss you.”

“Me?”

“Living together,” you clarify, or try to, at least. That still doesn’t do much to explain. You and Alice have been partners for just under a year now, jumping from station to station, wherever the Madame positions you. This mission is just one of many. Eventually, you’ll both re-live this day again, in a new city staying at a new base. But there is something special about the few days you’ve spent in this town, how intimate it’s felt, and you’re afraid to lose it.

Thinking about that, all the rationality you tried to cling to a second ago splinters off. “We should run away.”

Alice is quick to stop you. “Oh, now you’re dreaming.”

“I mean it. I’m tired of running around.”

“I think the late hour is getting to your head.” She rises and rounds the table to stand in front of you, one reckless threat away from subduing you there. “Don’t be rash. You won’t get far before they drag you back.”

“I know,” you sigh, reaching for her hand. “I wouldn’t leave you anyway.”

“Promise me,” she insists. She laces her fingers with yours, squeezing you tight. The prospect of you running off and getting caught might’ve frightened her much more than you intended. Her eyes are boring into you with a conviction you rarely see from her. A bit startled, you bring an apologetic kiss to her knuckle.

“Yes, I promise,” you say, and the words barely leave your lips before Alice tugs you forward.

[gay-caesar-truther]

Tehe drew my fucked up scientist <3

I'm also putting their whole backstory below uhh

Cw for self harm, suicide attempts, human experimentation and death

Name: Vespa Rubedo Valentine

Age: 26

Gender: Agender, they/them

Sexuality: Pansexual

Other- 

Severe phobia of the cold 

Loves bugs :3

Vespa was born in a very science focused Vault- mostly focusing on inducing mutations in various species in order to forcibly adapt them to a post-nuclear environment. 

Ves' mother, Dr. Ruby Valentina focused primarily on crop species and inducing harmful mutations in pests as a way to prevent crop loss. 

Ruby wasn't married, didn't have a partner nor did she intend to have either, but wanted a child- Both for the benefit of the vault and a means to have a tangible legacy, so agreed with a fellow vault dweller that he’d help give her a child- but would have no familial contact with Ves. 

Ves’ early childhood was mostly uneventful. Ruby gave Vespa the nickname “Cricket” due to how energetic and chatty they were. 

However, Vespa was about 4 they got infected with an experimental microbe after sneaking into the labs to visit their mother at work (it was not intended to be a pathogen but alas) and made them INCREDIBLY sick, causing permanent damage to their lungs, immune system, blood platelets. Ves was essentially bedridden for years, being constantly monitored, subjected to experimental treatments, almost dying several times. The microbe didn't affect adults severely, but given the example Ves was providing- was pretty devastating to kids. They were essentially home schooled by their mother and kept isolated from the other children until one of the experimental treatments proved toxic to the microbe and Ves was able to leave isolation.

At the age of 10 Ves was cured of their infection, and found in good enough health to go to school. However due to being the "new" kid in a Vault, and well known for being really sick/unhealthy/’diseased’ Ves struggled to make friends, or connect with the other children. 

They were subjected to significant bullying- the other children purposefully playing games that Ves couldn't join in with, being pushed and hit, having things thrown at them- etc, etc. As they aged the bullying just got more violent and aggressive. 

Ves became jaded and bitter, choosing to isolate themselves- not trying to make friends, focusing exclusively on their studies.

They would sit with their mother in the lab while she worked- learning about the various insects that would blight crops, and what insects could be used as natural pest control (start of their bug obsession), assisting with her research more and more as they aged and their own scientific knowledge improved. Their mother was the only real social contact they had.

When they were 17, around 3 months before Ves’ 18th birthday-  Ruby decided to leave the Vault and take her research to the NCR- people needed it, this could save lives by preventing food shortages but she didn't want to expose Ves to dangers of the wasteland, and as they were almost an adult make the decision to leave them behind for their own safety. She knew her child was determined and headstrong so decided not to leave any clues as to where she went, or why, in the hopes of dissuading Ves from following . 

She left instructions to the other adults in the Vault on how to help Ves cope with this change, hoping Ves would be forced to interact with others and develop a healthy social life now she wasn’t there for Ves to cling to. Ves did not give them the chance, isolating themselves in their home/ their mothers lab. Thinking that it was something THEY did that caused their mother to leave. They decided to forgo human contact entirely, it was something that had only caused them pain- As far as Ves saw it humanity was inherently cruel and inherently flawed, studying the social behavior of insects (ants and termites primarily) and comparing the “community focus” to what they’d experienced in the vault . They turned their interest towards solitary predatory insects (Tarantulas, Centipedes, parasitic wasps) as an example of how to be- fierce, independent, successful on their own and on their own merit. Any attempts to reach out by fellow vault dwellers were rejected- didn't need it, they would be okay on their own, these people were below them. 

Ves only left the lab at night to steal food from the canteen, the rest of the time they stayed locked away. Obviously the isolation and abandonment issues did some major damage to their mental health, they started self harming, and experimenting on themselves. They used the excuse of trying to make themselves tougher, conditioning themselves to have a high pain tolerance, so they can be strong, and only rely on themselves.

 In this time period they tried to take their own life by drinking random chemicals several times, fortunately their mothers work didn't involve hazardous chemicals so being unwell for a few days was the worst that happened (To this day being unwell is majorly upsetting to them- reminding them of both their childhood, and attempts on their life). Inspired by both their existing knowledge of invertebrates, and reading about the strength of ants, the toughness of carapace, etc Ves’ desire to be more like an insect branched out from just emotional resilience and solitary survival and into somehow gaining these physical characteristics. 

That in order to survive humanity had to be like insects- driven, independent, not beholden to emotional attachment, with the strength and sturdiness to allow them to thrive on their own. They began experimenting with attempting to forcibly mutate mammals via chemical exposure, genetic manipulation, on turning mammals into insects (or at least giving them all of the desirable features of them)

After a series of very successful tests on lab mice, and having no larger test subjects Ves thought they'd do the residents of the Vault a favor, granting them the gift and the mercy to be free of suffering that is being human, deciding to test their formula on them.

Maybe other people would be grateful, and Ves would get the adoration they secretly desired if they saved them from being mammals and made them stronger. 

Ves snuck out in the night, spiking the food and the air supply with their formula, and routing clean water and air to their own quarters- They were a good scientist, needed to observe the effects if they were ever going to be able to reproduce this on a larger scale (The world). They could wait- the formula had to be perfect before they’d use it on themselves. 

 To put it bluntly the test was a disaster- the changes started within hours, but the other Vault dwellers did not survive the physical stress. It took months of living with excruciating mutations, organ failures, and open wounds but eventually the whole Vault was wiped out. 

Ves decided it was their vault, they simply didn't want to be better than what they were. They hated Ves so much they'd rather die than watch them succeed. Ves took over the whole Vault, cleaned up the half mutated corpses and started again. After this failure Ves attempted to take their own life- again, but after waking up alive they went back to work- determined to not leave their great work incomplete, nor fail again.  

They Set traps for innocent wastelanders so they could serve as test subjects, and continue working to find the perfect formula to free people from the shackles of humanity. 

[willowser]

okay this but more.

the man staying in room 6 is kind of...odd. very handsome, dresses nice, has a great charm about him—but he comes in at terrible hours of the night, a little more ruffled than he left. and there's something so surface level about him; his penchant for standard small talk and his perfectly timed quips, almost like he's recited the same lines a dozen times and practiced them even more.

gojo satoru is the name you find on the registry.

(a series of spontaneous, not-so-thought-about decisions have left you working—and staying—in the far countryside, at an inn on a hill overlooking a meandering river. it's a far drive from town, but the views are nice and the worst guest you have is a high-maintenance woman in room 2, that would never forgive you for serving tea cold.)

(you're up late fixing her a glass of warm milk, in the tiny kitchen of your tiny lodgings, when everything goes awry.)

"got enough for one more?"

you jump at the sound of his voice, hushed and raspy as it is, before spinning from the counter to face him. it's the kind of quiet night that makes the crickets sing and footsteps thunder and you're not so sure how he managed to slip into the kitchen behind you, pull out the chair at the small dining table and plop himself down without rattling the whole inn.

—but he's there regardless. gojo satoru, looking a little worse for wear; hair shiny and down, clothes dark and clinging to his skin, as if they'd been soaking wet not long ago. it hasn't rained in days.

your heart is nearly beating out of your chest, but all you can manage to say is, "you're bleeding."

the smile that brightens his face drops, sending the little droplet of blood down his cheek. there's a small gash marring his perfectly high cheekbones, vibrant and stark against his smooth, pale face.

gojo reaches up a long finger to wipe it away, and when he pulls his hand back to assess the stain on his hands, he frowns.

"yowch," he pouts, and his eyes drop to his chest, as if he's expecting there to be more. "someone has to do something about that gang of cats living outside."

when you snort, it draws his eyes back to you and something silly warms the center of your chest; his wide gaze has always made you feel a bit young, school-age and easily flustered. you're sure he can hear the stutter of your heart and the flip of your stomach.

you gain a little bit of ground when the microwave beeps behind you. "cats, huh?" you ask, though instead of pulling out the mug, you fish a dish towel from the drawer. "that why you need the milk?"

gojo takes it quietly, when you offer it. but instead of dabbing at his face, he only stares at the little flowers patterned on the material, runs his fingers over the thread. it's an old, handmade thing, knit by the wife of the owner to the inn—but it looks small in his large hands, heartfelt in contrast to his expensive suit.

something shifts, as if you've given him more than you have, and when he raises his head to look at you, his wound seems brighter, fuller and painful. his eyes are always so big on his face, but they're—too big now, round and all-seeing, like whatever it is scares him.

"gojo?" you murmur, but his head wrenches hard over his shoulder, looking out into the small lobby, and before you can question him further, he's dashing out of his seat and crushing you into the countertop.

the edge digs into your hip painfully and you cry out against his chest as he hugs you—but the sound is lost under the deafening blow that tears the inn in two.

gojo's body is further rammed into yours, but he's all encompassing; a shield against the explosion at his back; cradling you beneath the ceiling as it comes down on the both of you.

you try to scream but inhale drywall and debris, the fabric of his damp shirt with how tight he's pressed you to him. when he groans, you feel it in your teeth, the sound lost under the incessant ringing in your ears; you think you say his name, but you can't hear.

the explosion has completely shattered your bearings, and you don't realize you've been shoved to the floor until gojo is throwing pieces of the upstairs carpet off his back and hauling you to your feet. he says—something, but you can only blink the dust from your eyes, even as he shakes your shoulders and begins to drag you along the battlefield of the kitchen.

a gaping hole has been blown into the right side of the inn, the night ready and waiting as you come to stand at the precipice. gojo is still talking, shaking you by the arm until something catches his eye: he brings a hand up to your head, lightly touches at your ear before curling a fist. blood is on his fingers—but you can't even be sure if it's his or yours.

"gojo?" you feel yourself ask again, and just the movement of your jaw has a sharp pain shooting to your head. you think you're going to be sick—even moreso when that horrific look pales his face again, has him twisting around to see a ghost you can't.

again, gojo winds his arms around your body tight, before tossing you both off the ruined edge of the inn. the grass rushes up to punch the air out of your lungs as you're flung downhill, barreling straight for the river below as a second explosion blows what remains of your quiet life apart.

[fluffyzoey]

Sleepy Headcanons (i had to)

Ocean

-Sleeps best on her own with NOTHING touching her. She uses one very thick sheet, and only one pillow. No plushies, no throw blankets, nothing. Also a very light sleeper.

Noel

-Sleeps best wedged between Mischa and the wall next to their bed. Heavy sleeper, sleep talks, needs to cling onto either Mischa or a pillow or sleep just won’t happen

Mischa

-Can sleep anywhere, wearing anything, but for Noel’s sake he sleeps beside him. Snorer, but Noel could sleep through a fire alarm going off right next to him so no matter.

Ricky

-Does not sleep at night. At all. Instead, he takes weird little cat naps at random times. And thus, he is pretty much able to sleep anywhere. Has been known to sleep sitting up sometimes, which freaks Ocean out.

Penny

-Sleeps with AT LEAST 10 blankets, no lie. She does not want to be warm, she wants to be cold and then made warm again by blankets. Semi-light sleeper, not as bad as Ocean is.

Constance

-Sleeps with one of those noise makers that plays cricket noises or doesn’t sleep at all, she needs it. She also sleeps with socks on, which is something that she calls her ‘psycho trait’

[zoropookie]

If we’re doing drool worthy Scara like that, can I request him being all goopy and needy in his feels (not needed to be sexual more of like him clinging and growling that he misses u and wants attention)

— psssttt this is 17+

You expected a lot of things from your boyfriend, but none of the days that you were expectant could have prepared you for the night that he was dripping in adoration for you.

Kuni walked inside of the house silent that night, and hadn’t said a word to you. The agriculture of the area had made the atmosphere chillier, and you both found yourselves relaxed from the tolerable air.

Something still seemed off from his general moods, and you sensed it when you put your phone down to watch him head to the restroom. Your eyebrows lifted curiously, looking back down at your screen but with absent eyes this time. He usually announces what he’s doing to you.

You knew this was around the time that he took a shower, in hindsight. So instead of inquiring about it, you waited patiently, but it gnawed at you. All of the sounds that encapsulated in your ears were almost amplified— you heard the water running, the sound mingling with the reverberating hum of the crickets outside. The house was dimly lit too, so it didn’t aid to the ominous feeling.

The water ceased along with your roaming thoughts, and with the few minutes of silence after that, you can hear him rustling in his closet for something to wear. He emerged from the room after that, his hair damp, clung to his forehead, and dressed in loose clothing.

“Too…many mosquitoes out, right?” You called out softly, your lips twitching. “I know they were ruthless earlier. I’m still kind of itching.”

His figure looked down on you, his eyes meeting yours with a linger of tension knitted between his brows. A vulnerability and raw openness that made your heart kind of twinge in anxiousness. He was different today— it was apparent in the way he drew closer to you, despite your prattles of ongoing talking.

“Fuck, like, the market was really busy! I don’t know how you negotiate to lower prices, but I’m pretty sure I’m on the older auntie’s hit list now. She’s never selling to me again—!”

The distance closed closer and closer to each other, not giving you the opportunity to focus much on your thoughts. “Uh…margarita time?”

“Fuck,” Kuni interrupted quietly, his voice a mere whisper. “You smell good.”

“Uh oh, I don’t think I want to have one of those nights, bucko.” You let out a soft laugh, giving him a nudge. “This isn’t some AO3 type of stuff.”

“Holy shit, can you manage to shut your mouth for ten minutes, fucking—” He couldn’t finish what he was about to say because his sharp eyes were already lingering on your skin before feathering you with soft kisses that made you tingle. “Smell really good..” He murmured in between your flesh.

“…It’s literally nothing but my shoulder,” Your voice presented lighter. “Pretty sure I sweated off any scent today.”

His lips pressed against your shoulder as he went further down your body, fervent gentleness crashing hard on him as his warm breath hitched against you. “Yeah. That’s the whole point,” He pulled back slightly, looking at you with just as much darkness and intensity as he came to the main room with. “Take your shirt off.”

“WOOOOOAAAHHH.” You peeled yourself away slightly before standing up, cheeks flushed instantly. “Goodnight, sir!”

“Your collarbones, I wanted to see your collarbones!” He defended, but by the time he finished, you already rushed to go shower and change into your pajamas.