#battle to the death but with magic this time

[bunni3bab]

So I really like body horror, and I thought it was a shame that Pressure can't go more in depth about the whole turning an innocent man into a killer fish thing, so i thought this would be funny.

In all seriousness, the first few chapters are light but im going to go into gross detail about how Sebastian's magical girl fish transformation happened and it's not pretty.

This is going to be focused on Sebastian's time in Urbanshade and explore a lot of his character angst 👍

Growing Pains

Chapter One: Entering Jaws

“...I'm here on account of a company called Urbanshade. Ever heard of it?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Good, you're not supposed to...”

Sebastian was falsely convicted for a crime he didn't commit. Backed into a corner and faced with a pending execution, he's offered a way out.

This first chapter is real light for the most part but just in case, this chapter has mentions of: One singular corpse, prisoner mistreatment, isolation, very light injury mentions towards the end. The next chapters are only going to get worse so proceed with caution.

Nine people were murdered, all in a similar style. Their names were grouped together, unfamiliar faces smiling in photos they had taken before their ultimate demise.

It was a horrible tragedy, really. The news had surprised him, as the neighborhood Sebastian lived in was relatively safe. He had been born and raised in the area. This sort of thing was unheard of.

He sent his regards to the families, he truly did. 

He just didn't understand why he had to be held accountable for it.

Sebastian didn't know them. He had nothing to do with them. When he was sat down in the interrogation room with their faces staring at him from files they had slapped down on the table, he was left speechless and confused. He tried his best to answer their questions. He had never been involved with the police before. He had never been in legal trouble before. Their accusatory questions and dehumanizing stares nearly made him question if he had killed nine people and somehow forgot about it. But he still stayed as strong as he possibly could be. He insisted over and over, “I didn’t do it.” 

But his explanations fell on deaf ears. He was in the area, he didn't have a solid alibi, and his family didn't have enough money for a good lawyer.

Sebastian would admit it, it looked bad— but it wasn't him.

Time stopped when he received the death penalty. Months’ worth of paperwork and planning all meant to try and get him back home to his normal life were thrown away in an instant. No matter how much he begged and pleaded, the decision had been made, and he was powerless against it. His family, his career, his future— it all meant nothing to them, not when they were convinced he was a murderer. The situation was so ridiculous, so unbelievable, he found himself still in denial some days.

He wasn’t due for his execution for at least another fifteen years, he had been told. It took a long while for these things to get finalized. It tormented him. Rather than just putting him out of his misery, they were hanging the reaper over his head. He spent every night going to bed, in his dark cell, thinking about the fact that this is what his future looked like for the rest of his life- the life they let him have. His best moments were managing to stay calm under the harsh treatment he faced from the guards, his worst were in those late nights where he had nothing to distract himself from this harsh reality. His eyes would be crusted with dry tears. The red puff from crying battled the weighted eye bags in which one wanted to be more painfully obvious. He would be dead before he’d ever get the chance to hit 40, a fact that didn’t sit right with him. He used to think of those years as something so far into the future that it was out of his reach, but now it felt so close. Too close. 

He was never one to think too heavily about what his future looked like. He knew what he wanted, but he was open to anything as long as he was happy. Maybe he’d continue pursuing engineering and get a good career out of it, maybe not. Maybe he’d continue playing the guitar and writing songs he’d never have the courage to share, maybe not. He knew that’s what he wanted currently, but how was he to say if that would be the case 10 or 20 years from now. At least he wouldn’t ever have to worry about that, he thought bitterly. Now he knew for a fact that he was going to be a dead man. 

The sins of a crime he didn’t commit weighed heavily on him every day. Despite not being the one to spill it, the blood stained much more than just his reputation. He wore cuffs every second of the day. In the exercise yard, in the shower, it didn’t matter. Not unless he was in his cell, not that he left it often. He wasn’t allowed out of the claustrophobic thing unless he was showering or exercising.

Or if his mother was visiting him. He tried his best to stay positive for her. She always looked one second from breaking. She flashed him that same wavering smile. He had gotten familiar with it over the years, especially after his dad’s death. Despite his protests, she never stopped masking her troubles behind a positive attitude. Before, he took comfort in knowing he could at least help her out financially to take some of the stress off of her shoulders. He felt so helpless now sitting across from her, unable to do anything with glass separating them. 

She’d give him updates on how his siblings were doing. She’d tell him about how Callum was getting interested in computer science, which was ironic considering he claimed he wanted to get into more “exciting jobs” like acting when he was younger.. She’d happily rave about Mira’s promotion at work. She handled the aquatic life at a nearby zoo. He used to tease her for being an animal nerd, but he never stopped her from sharing her knowledge on strange and obscure fish. 

His mother always made sure to let him know that they were waiting for him. She never lost hope that Sebastian would be let go.

“They’ll realize this is all one huge mistake. Everyone knows you’d never commit such crimes.”

She visited him frequently. His sister did sometimes too, though she could never quite look him in the eyes. His mom always insisted that Mira didn’t think he was guilty, but Sebastian never believed it. How could he when she had that disapproving frown on her face the whole time. 

Callum never visited. Too busy focusing on his schoolwork, he was told. He appreciated his mom’s efforts of shielding his feelings, but sometimes he wished she would just be honest with him.

His days cycled the same. Eat, work out, shower, eat, sleep, eat, see his mom, shower, eat. But one day, there was a change that interrupted his daily admiration of the cold stonewall time. He had a visitor, an unexpected one. He was hoping it was his mom visiting at a strange time, or his brother finally choosing to see him. Imagine his disappointment when he found a man in a clad suit sitting at the table instead.

The man's hair was comically slicked back, and there was not a single crease on his suit to be found. He flashed Sebastian a bright smile as he was cuffed to the table, like he was catching up with an old friend rather than talking to a death row inmate.

“Sebastian Solace, I've heard so much about you.” He adjusted his papers. Sebastian caught sight of a printed-out news article about his arrest. The man winked. “All bad things, unfortunately, but don't you worry. I like to keep an open mind. You seem like a good kid, intelligent too,” he chuckled, “I mean…nine people, in such a short amount of time? That must have taken a lot of planning to pull off. I see a lot of sickos here, but this one certainly takes the cake.” When Sebastian only stared at him, the man put up his hands in defense. “But hey, I get it, mistakes happen.”

Sebastian swallowed in an attempt to combat his dry throat, “I didn't do it.”

He laughed, “I've heard that one before, but that's neither here nor there. Whether you're actually the culprit means nothing to me. All I care about is what’s written on paper, and as long as it reads that you’re guilty, you're looking at the electric chair. Not for a long while, of course, but you will eventually. I bet that’s just eating you up inside, isn’t it?”

Sebastian clenched his fists. 

“I'll take that as a yes. That's unfortunate, you know, you're still so young.” The man leaned forward as he carefully studied Sebastian's face. He couldn't bring himself to look at him. He was trapped in a never-ending loop of shame and anger, neither quite winning.

Shame because Sebastian was at his absolute lowest. Shame because of his helplessness. Shame because of how his name has been smeared beyond recognition. It swallowed him whole. Its gentle waves lulled him into a false sense of security, slowly dissolving any argument against his predicament.

Oh, but anger, it stuck around like a pestilence. Its flames reignited every time shame tried to drip too close. It refused to quiet down.

You're innocent, it reminded. This is unfair, it insisted. You need to do something.

Sebastian let his head hang, his cuffs coming into view. The chilled metal caused his arms to shiver slightly, and goosebumps to peppered his arms. Or maybe it was because of the man's scrutinizing gaze, Sebastian wasn't sure.

When the man found whatever he was looking for, he sat back, “Lucky you, you have another chance.”

Sebastian brought his attention back to the man in front of him, wondering what kind of sick joke he was trying to set up.

“…what?”

“You seem skeptical. There's no tricks here, friend. I'm Jackson Barlowe, and I'm here on account of a company called Urbanshade. Ever heard of it?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Good, you're not supposed to,” he winked, “we handle a lot of boring legal and monetary issues, nothing you’d care for. But they’re interested in you.” Barlowe slid a packet across the table. The cover had some sort of strange eye logo taking up the center space. 

Urbanshade: For the better of the Modern World.

“They’re interested…in me?”

“Well don’t let it get to your head there, pal, they just need more volunteers. That’s all this is, really, volunteer work. But, it does have one key perc I think you’ll enjoy. You’ll get out of death row.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. Hope glimmered in his heart for a moment, but it was shortly lived as he reminded himself that there had to be a catch. This was too good to be true. There’s no way a company would be able to keep him alive as long as he did simple volunteer work.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, that’s the whole deal.”

“There’s always a catch.”

Barlowe chuckled and turned his head. He looked like he was mentally debating something, “I never said the volunteer work would be fun. You’re going to be expected to do whatever they say at the drop of a hats’ notice. And you’ll still be a prisoner. Cells, cuffs, limited privileges, the whole package. I’m not exactly handing you a paradise here, but it ain’t death, and that’s more than what you got now.”

“What’s the volunteer work?”

“Ah, minor stuff mostly. You’ll have to answer questions for research, test a few equipment pieces, that sort of thing.”

Sebastian tried to hold back his skepticism, he was in no position to bargain after all, but he was never quite good at holding his tongue. “What happens when they don’t need me anymore? For…volunteer work, I mean. Will I ever be able to go home?”

Barlowe took in a deep breath and stroked his trimmed beard. He thought for a long while before responding, “Anything is possible. Urbanshade is pretty flexible with these things, if you can imagine. You behave well and you’ll see your family again. That is what this is about, yeah? You miss your folks?”

He almost laughed, “Is that even a question?”

“What a family man. Well then, Sebastian, at the risk of losing my job,” Barlowe leaned in close and whispered, “Urbanshade has been known to pardon some lucky souls before. Play your cards right and that could be you. You’ll be happy to know that they work fast too. They might not need you for long. In just a year or two, you could be walking out of there a free man.”

Sebastian internally battled with himself. On one hand, the man’s words were unnervingly vague. Barlowe never guaranteed anything, this whole deal was a big game of luck and chance for Sebastian. But what other choice did he have? He couldn’t continue to waste his life here, waiting to succumb to death. He hated going to sleep on his cold and hard bed in his cramped cell. He hated spending most of his day thinking about what he could’ve been doing had he not been caught up in this mess. 

But more than any of that, he hated not only being able to see his family for a limited time through glass. He missed helping his mother cook. He missed annoying Mira while she was trying to study or playing video games with Callum. He missed seeing them happy- genuinely happy. He hated the fake smile his mom put up to make him feel better. He hated the look of shame across Mira donned. And strangely enough, he hated that he hadn’t even gotten to see a disgraced look upon Callum’s face. He didn’t care if it was a glare, bottling up all of the world’s hatred and wrath, he wanted to be given the chance to see him at least.

“You can always decline the offer and bite the bullet now, if you prefer those chances, of course. Maybe death row is more comfy than I’m giving it credit for.”

Right, “offer”, Sebastian thought bitterly. “Offer” implied that there was a choice, like he had any room to say no. It was pretty obvious what he wanted to do— what he had to do. Not only for himself, but for his family. 

The man slid a pen over as Sebastian flipped through the packet. It was full of a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo. The information was decorated in fancy language Sebastian wasn’t familiar with. His grip on the paper tightened, creasing the sides. It wasn't a matter of deciding, but rather finding the will to pick up the pen and sign his name on the dotted line, that made the process so difficult. He felt his pride wilt away with every draw of the line, and he couldn't keep his eyes open when he went to dot the “i”. Hope resided in his chest. He had gone this far, he could keep going.

He’d make it home, and his mother would understand, she always did. From the time that he broke her favorite flowerpot, to the moment he was arrested.

“You're a good boy, Sebastian. The rest of the world may have forgotten that, but don't let yourself, for even a moment, doubt it.”

Barlowe collected the papers and pen, “You made the right choice, Solace.”

He certainly hoped he did. 

Barlowe wasn’t lying when he said Urbanshade worked quickly. The moment Sebastian had finished his meeting, he was transported to the back of a truck. A bag was placed over his head for the whole drive. For privacy reasons, he was told.

The drive was long and difficult. His cuffs would dig into his skin every time the truck took a turn and set him off balance. The bag smelt like it had been sitting in a basement its whole life, and it was incredibly itchy. Some of the loose ends would get tangled in his outgrown hair from time to time. He wasn't alone either, there were armed men in there with him. He knew that because he could hear them adjust their hold on their guns periodically.

He tried his hardest to keep a steady breath, fighting against the dizziness that consumed his system. He couldn’t help but be on edge. The knowledge that several guards were surrounding him, ready to aim if he stepped out of line, had his tied down limbs shaking. He tried to focus on the cold sweat dripping down his forehead to keep from spiraling down into a panic. 

When the truck finally stopped, he was blindly dragged out. Sebastian couldn't make out where he was. The air stunk of fish and salt. The sound of water splashing echoed throughout. By the time he was finally freed from the bag, he was already being shoved inside of what he assumed was a submarine. 

He wasn't the only one there. There were other prisoners, all heavily strapped down. There wasn't a single part of their bodies that wasn't tied down, and bags were placed over their heads. The top half was made of mesh, allowing them to state at Sebastian silently. The bottom half was a white plastic, what purpose it served, he wasn't sure.  Some of them had “high risk prisoner” stamped on their suit in red ink.

“High risk?” Sebastian mumbled to himself.

A guard, dressed from head to toe in sleek black body armor, gripped him by the shoulder.

“I wouldn't stress about it, just try to keep your space and you'll be fine.” He laughed as he shoved Sebastian into an empty seat, and began to fasten the restraints. 

They were needlessly tight, the one wrapping around his stomach left little room for air. Sebastian's breaths were shallow, his abdomen trying its best to fight against the strap. His breaths only became more shaky once the guard went to place a white bag over his head.

“Don't take it personal, kid. We have to do this to all of you regardless of behavior. Protocol and all.” His words went in one ear and out the other as the bag was placed over his head. 

Sebastian could only focus on the pounding sound of his heartbeat as the guards exited the submarine. 

Sebastian was in Urbanshade’s Hadal Site, he learned quickly. Submerged deep into the murky waters, away from civilization and contact. 

The air always felt thick and moist. The place reeked of the strong scent of cleaning chemicals and sanitation, and the rooms were towering. They swallowed you whole in big open spaces. It was a nice change from the tiny rooms he was squished into before, but the vast rooms held so much room for possibility, like anything could be waiting in the corners. It was unnerving.

“You’re next, Solace.”

Sebastian was shoved forward by an armed guard. He stepped in front of the height chart and held up his card detailing his name and assigned ID number. 

“Smile.” The photographer snapped a picture, the blinding flash burning his eyes. “Off you go now, low-rank.”

Sebastian stepped off the black mat and handed in his board. A new uniform was placed into his hands as a replacement. Guards led him down a long hallway. They idly chatted amongst themselves, as though Sebastian weren’t there.

“Did you hear that Jeff got moved over to the N.O.S.T security division?”

“You’re kidding! That’s one hell of a promotion. Those guys always get to retire early. Heard the pay is incredible.”

“It doesn’t sound all that worth it to me. They barely ever come back to get paid in the first place.”

“Eh, yeah but they get to see all of the cool stuff. The fish get boring after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There’s been reports of something real dangerous and big floating around the drills. The thing eats bullets, some of the survivors say. I wouldn’t be surprised if they start sending in low-ranks to handle it.”

“Hah, hear that, low-rank? You might have to swim with the fishies soon.” The man knocked his shoulder into Sebastian’s. The men laughed. He could only keep walking, wondering to himself if they were trying to scare him or if there was seriously something horrifying in the waters that consumed them.

Eventually, they stopped at a locked door. One of the guards scanned something on their wrist, causing the sturdy machinery to whirr and open up his new cell.

It was much bigger than he expected, at least in comparison to what he had before. It was well lit and cleaned, not a speck of dirt in sight. In the corner was a curtain concealing a toilet. How kind of them to give him privacy.

“There ya go, pal. Get changed ASAP, that new jumpsuit is what prevents you from being shot on sight.”

Sebastian turned to the guard with wide eyes, hoping to find any signs that it was a joke made in poor taste. His only response was a shove into his cell and the door sliding shut. He stood there for a solid minute, desperately trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. He was miles away from home, stuck in a place whose location was kept a secret from him. This wasn’t ideal, but he could make this work. It wasn’t permanent anyway. If he did as they asked, Sebastian had a chance at being let go, and that was more than he had before.

He looked down at the neatly folded uniform in his hands. Stitched onto the chest of the dark blue fabric was “LR-P.”  He squinted as he noticed an inverted pentagram printed onto the suit. That was…strange.

He decided not to read too much into it as he changed.

Sebastian was kept surprisingly busy. Every day he was called in to complete a task or a test, and without any explanation of what it was for, he would be sent back to his cell. It was all strange. One day he’d be requested to donate blood, the next he was taste testing candy canes.

One particular instance easily won as the strangest questionnaire he had to participate in. He was sat down and shown a picture of a skinned and headless corpse. You would have thought it would have made him sick, but it only filled him with desperation instead. He felt the strange need to provide it with furs so she could stay warm. 

He was asked to identify the corpse, and found himself stating, with no hesitation, “That’s my wife.”

“Have you ever been married, Mr. Solace?”

“Never exactly got the chance. Being arrested for murder really kills your chances.”

“And yet this is…?”

“My wife.”

He hadn’t realized how strange the situation was until he was sent back to his cell. From the murmurs he picked up on his way out, everyone recognized the corpse as their wife. 

Sebastian never cared for ghosts or the paranormal. He wasn’t a huge believer in them like his sister was, but it was hard to ignore the glaring red flags present. The inverted pentagrams stamped everywhere, the corpse that makes you think of it as your wife, the strange fish situation the guards brought up when he first got there. And the list didn’t end there.

Guards were posted everywhere, heavy duty guns in hand at all times. At random, sirens or alarms would sound, and swarms of guards would rush out in a single file line. Some came back, a lot of them didn't. If he strained his ears, he could hear faint cries throughout the day.

He was constantly being watched. There were security cameras at every corner. As if that wasn't enough, there were men and women in lab coats who regularly circled through the cells, silently watching. Sometimes they’d take another prisoner with them. What they were looking for, Sebastian wasn't sure, but he still felt unease settle within his stomach everytime their eyes lingered on him. It all made him wonder what Urbanshade was even trying to achieve. 

Despite the constant state of unease, he was doing relatively well. His tasks were simple and to the point.

Well, they were simple in concept. Having to carry around heavy boxes wasn’t fun. Sebastian grunted as he set down a heavy package beside a fellow prisoner. He was sat at some table with a prototype of what looked to be some sort of flashlight. 

A beeping collar settled around the disgruntled man’s neck. He had a cigarette between his lips and the top half of his jumpsuit was left neglected to hang at his hips. He grunted out a quick, “Thanks.”

Sebastian’s eyes drifted down to the printed “Doug - MR-P” tag on his shirt. The man followed the movement.

“You new here?”

Sebastian shrugged, “Got here about a week ago.”

Doug shook his head, “Yeah, I can tell. Word of advice? Play nice and you’ll do fine, boy. Do yourself a favor and work up to medium rank. The work gets grueling but the benefits are worth it.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigs. He offered the box to him. Sebastian shook his head.

“Thanks, but I don’t smoke.” He had tried it once back in high school when a friend offered it. He coughed it up immediately and faced the wrath of his sister when he got home and she smelled the nicotine on him. She had promised not to snitch as long as he never picked up another cigarette again.

The man laughed, “Hah, just give it some time. Once you’ve seen what I have, you’ll do anything to ease the edge.”

Sebastian swallowed, seeing an opportunity now that the guards weren’t breathing down his back. “What does this place even do? I’ve done everything from reviewing lollipops to identifying corpses and I can’t get my mind around what all of this is for.”

The man blew out a trail of smoke, “See, that’s your first mistake. You’re askin’ questions. Don’t do that. Less you know, the better. Trust me.”

That did little to reassure him, but he didn’t get a chance to push further. He was rushed off to try different ice cream flavors. 

Weeks flew by with the same routine. Weeks of not speaking to his family weighed heavy on him. He never got a chance to tell his mom about the “offer.” If he had known Urbanshade would whisk him away so quickly, he would've asked to take some time to think about it. It would be some time before he’d be able to see them again, it’s not like they could swim down to see him. He wondered what they were told, if they even knew where he was. He hoped they wouldn’t be upset with him for leaving without warning. 

They’d do fine without him, he reminded himself. They were all strong enough to keep going without him there, they always were. And once Urbanshade was done with him, he’d see them again. He’d finally be able to hug his mom again, to know that she’s really there, and that all of this was behind them. It would take some work, but he’d do whatever necessary to earn back Mira and Callum’s respect. He’d prove to them that he was never the heartless murderer the jury deemed him to be. And they’d be together again, safe, happy, and home.

He just needed to figure out how he could work his way to getting pardoned. 

Sebastian awoke one night to his cell door sliding open. 

“Hey, what prisoner rank are you?”

A pool of light crawled through the doorway, a silhouette of a man being the only thing to shield him from going blind. He sat up slowly, sleep yet to have released him from its clutches quite yet.

“Huh?”

“This is the low-ranking section, yes? Am I lost again?”  A man dressed in a long white lab coat stood before him. The glare in his safety goggles made it difficult to make out his eyes, but his rosy nose and lips stood out. He looked flushed and sweaty. One glance at his tag read that the man was named Dr. Truman, part of the bioparanormal team. 

Bioparanormal? What did that mean?

Sebastian cleared his throat, “Uh…yeah, I’m low-rank...sir.”

The man nodded. “Perfect, perfect, that's perfect!” He adjusted his goggles to scratch at his eye before placing them back down. He awkwardly fidgeted with his hands for a moment, pacing in his spot as if he forgot that Sebastian was there. When he finally looked back up at him, he made a face as though he remembered what he was doing, “Come with me!” 

It was funny how he said it as though it were a suggestion. Like his hands weren't cuffed in front of him, like guards hadn’t rushed him out of his room using the tips of their barrels to push him forward. Rather, it was said like he was a fellow coworker the man was excited to show off his latest findings to. He envied how excited the man was able to be at what felt to be an ungodly time. It was difficult to tell the time when you were plunged underwater, but he could feel it in his heavy eyelids.

They led Sebastian to an area of the blacksite that he hadn't seen before. The rooms were much larger. The doors were huge, made to not only fit crowds of people through, but giant trucks loaded with cargo as well. Workers travelled through the rooms. He heard the familiar faint cries he occasionally picked up on while completing his jobs. They were much louder now, the low growls shaking the floor. It all nearly made his heart stop. Just what were they keeping here?

As they walked, Truman occasionally turned to look back at him. His expression was difficult to read. His face changed rapidly, never satisfied. Eventually he clapped his hands together, “So! It's Solace, right? Am I right?” He looked back at him, an eager smile present on his face.

Sebastian hesitated. His name tag was clipped to his jumpsuit, wasn't it? He decided not to answer as he found nothing nice to say in his tired and grumpy state, and he needed to keep a clean record. Comply to get pardoned, he reminded himself. He settled for a nod.

“That’s a nice name. Never heard that one. You’re pretty lucky, some people out there get the short end of the stick when it comes to last names.”

“...Yeah, sure.” Sebastian blinked away the haze that clouded his vision. Truman was extremely talkative, more so than any of the other workers here. Maybe he could get answers. “Hey uh, out of curiosity, is it really possible to get pardoned down here?”

“Oh, someone’s not enjoying their time down here,” He had the audacity to laugh, “that’s only for the prisoners who sign up for more…special tasks, to put it lightly. But cheer up, I’m sure you’ll get that opportunity some time! What we’re doing today won’t qualify for that, unfortunately for you.”

Great.

Truman perked up, “You look nervous, is this your first time?”

“First time doing…what?”

“Oh, you know! Helping out the bioparanormal division- well, not technically. I explained to the big man so many times that I specialize in paranormal beings, but he still insisted on giving me assignments dealing with non-paranormal entities. So even though you’re helping a bioparanormal specialist, you’re not helping the division, but that’s neither here nor there!”

It took Sebastian a solid minute to digest all of what Truman said. “I'm sorry, entities?”

“Oh, so it is your first time! I better not spoil anything in that case.” 

Truman stayed quiet after that, leaving Sebastian to openly gape on his own. Entities? Is that what Urbanshade was about? Studying monsters?

What had he gotten himself into?

Eventually, Dr. Truman led them inside a huge room. Sebastian was pushed inside, the door closing behind him. It was pitch black, save for the little light coming through the giant window. Empty waters sat on the other side of the glass. 

Truman’s voice came over the intercom, “My apologies, we have to keep everything dark. This entity’s eyes are pretty sensitive!” 

Sorry, he was in a room with one? Sebastian’s breathing became shaky. He was going to die, wasn’t he? 

“Now, Solace, your job is going to be very, very simple,” Truman continued, “Am entity is going to come in front of the glass. I’m going to observe how you react to it, and if you survive, then you get to go back to your cell. Easy, right?”

A beat passed by.

Truman didn’t add anything else.

He was serious?

“Alright, get ready!”

Sebastian heard the sound of a heavy gate being lifted. He couldn’t see anything in the window, not for a long while.

But eventually, a subtle green glow emerged from the deep waters.

“Sebastian?”

Sebastian froze in place, goosebumps trailing his skin.

“Mom…?” It sounded like her. Exactly like her. But she couldn’t be down here. No.

“Mijo, what are you doing down here? You’re supposed to be home.” Her voice, her words, her tone, her her her her.

This was wrong. All of his senses were screaming that at him. His eyes burning from dryness, his ears ringing, his skin crawling, it all came together to tell him that this was wrong.

And yet he couldn’t look away. Not when the alluring green light grew closer and closer.

“This is all a misunderstanding, Seb. Everyone knows it. They’ll let you come home now that they know.”

Home, that’s all he wanted right now. He wanted to go home.

“They’ll let you go, I know they will. All you have to do is look into my eyes.”

He had been trying so hard to remain strong for his family, for himself. He was tired of it. He just wanted to go home now. Home. All he had to do was look. Then he would be home.

“Look into my eyes.”

Bright green eyes bored holes into his own. It stung staring at them, but it felt so freeing. So comforting. He was going home.

“Good, good, just keep looking into my eyes.”

Her voice was sweet, sickeningly so. It was…wrong. Wrong his senses reminded him, wrong. This wasn’t right. He felt something wet above his upper lip. He looked down as he gently wiped it. Blood. 

“Look back up at me, Sebastian. You want to go home, don’t you?”

Sebastian’s head hurt now that he was looking away. How he had missed such a splitting headache like this before, he was unsure. He looked back up, and this time, it wasn’t the alluring green eyes that caught his attention first, but rather, the giant shark that it belonged to.

You could’ve stacked twenty men and it still wouldn’t have been enough to reach even half of its length. Its grey skin had rips and tears in it, with bright emerald eyes peeking out of every nook and cranny. Fishing hooks and spears decorated its fins, and layers of dead and shredded skin hung off of the beast like it was a thin robe. 

“Look into my eyes, Sebastian. Don’t you want to see your family again?” The voice was loud and ear splitting. It tried so hard to sound familiar, and if he let himself give in, it would have. But he couldn’t let himself fall under its spell again.

Sebastian turned his back to the beast, trying his best to steady his shaking hands. It was as though his skull was getting ripped open, allowing the contents to spill all over the twisting floor that shook beneath him. The once smooth design of it now swirled into shapes and colors until it dissolved into nothingness. 

“Look at me, Sebastian. You’re letting them down, you know? All you have to do is look into my eyes and you’re refusing?”

Sebastian began slowly walking back towards the door. The room swayed in protest, his head naturally trying to swivel back to face the monster behind him. He fought it off with each trembling step. 

“You had no issues signing your life over to Urbanshade. You had no issues moving miles away and burying yourself hundreds of feet underwater. It was so easy to leave them behind, can’t you do them this one favor to make up for it?”

That wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, he couldn’t listen.

“Look. Into. My. Eyes. You’ll never see them again if you don’t! Look at me!” It chanted it.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

Sebastian heard the distant sound of the door opening. He heard footsteps. He felt someone grabbing his arms and forcing him forward.

You’ll never see them again, Sebastian. Never.

[fatcatscafe]

Promise Me

Sebastian Sallow x GN reader

Summary: After a dangerous encounter with dark wizards leaves you injured and recovering in the Hogwarts hospital wing, Sebastian sneaks in to check on you. Words are spoken and unresolved feelings linger in the air.

Context: This is a continuation of my other fic but it can be read as a stand alone. This happens after the Slytherin Scriptorium quest.

Part One | Part two

You told yourself you needed rest. After enduring the searing pain of Crucio, you vowed to take a break—you deserved it.

But the following days offered little reprieve. Owls arrived incessantly, each carrying a plea for your help. Natsai wrote seeking assistance with her plans. Poppy begged for aid against poachers threatening magical creatures. Even Amit, ever the dreamer, invited you to stargaze.

You kept yourself busy, shoving aside your exhaustion and pushing through each task with determination. It wasn’t until you confronted a group of dark wizards in a grueling battle that the toll became undeniable. Victory was yours, but your body, battered and strained, finally gave in.

So, when you dragged yourself back to Natty, looking half-dead and barely upright, her reaction was immediate and fierce.

“You’re going straight to the nurse!” she demanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

You tried to wave her off, mumbling something about chugging down some Wiggenweld potions will fix you, but the wobble in your step betrayed your words. Natty wasn’t having it. She grabbed your arm—not unkindly, but with enough force to let you know she wasn’t backing down.

So here you are, lying in the hospital wing.

Nurse Blainey gave you an earful when you arrived all bruised up. Neither you nor Natty dared to fully explain how the two of you had snuck off to track Rookwood and Harlow’s movements, only to be ambushed by dark wizards along the way.

So instead, you both decided to stick to a safer story: “It was a bad broom accident,” Natty had said smoothly.

You’d nodded along, adding, “We snuck out to fly in the middle of the night... it got out of hand.”

Nurse Blainey had narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she let it slide—perhaps for her own peace of mind.

Now you’re left lying there, the quiet hum of the hospital wing giving you too much time to think.

Three days had passed since Sebastian, Ominis, and you ventured into the dungeons in search of Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium.

You hadn’t seen either of them since. The silence was deafening—no passing glances in the halls, no shared whispers in the common room. Even when you forced yourself to attend classes, neither Sebastian nor Ominis was there. 

You were guessing that Sebastian had immersed himself into studying the spellbook and Omnis probably took a few days off to grieve his aunt’s death. 

With a sigh, you sank deeper into the medical bed. You closed your eyes, desperate for sleep, but it was a futile effort. Someone else in the ward was snoring so loudly you might as well have been trying to rest beside a giant purple toad.

You groaned softly, shifting under the covers, when another sound caught your attention. Beneath the snoring, you could just make out a faint, irregular rattling noise. It was subtle, almost like the whisper of wind slipping through a cracked window, but there were no windows open in the hospital wing.

Focusing, you noticed the rattling sound was coming from the door. You sat up slightly, straining to listen, your heart quickening in your chest.

Suddenly, with a soft click, the door to the hospital wing slid open.

You squinted, your eyes narrowing as you peered through the dim light. Was it your imagination, or had you seen a figure crouching just inside the doorway? But when you blinked, it was gone.

Maybe it was just the nurse. Perhaps she’d forgotten to lock the door when she left for the evening. You didn’t think too deeply about it as you slid out of bed, intending to close the door yourself.

Still, a nagging feeling gnawed at you, the distinct sensation of being watched crawling up your spine. Perhaps the dark wizards had done a real number on you this time, leaving your mind jumpy and suspicious.

You barely reached the door when, out of nowhere, a pair of hands shot out from thin air, grabbing you.

Instinctively, you prepared to fight back, adrenaline surging as you opened your mouth to scream—only for the hands to clasp over your lips before a sound escaped.

“Shhhh, it’s me,” a familiar voice whispered urgently.

Your eyes widened as, piece by piece, his body materialized before you. First the outline of a face, then the curve of a smirk you recognized anywhere.

Sebastian.

“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” you hissed, your voice trembling between relief and frustration. “I was about to obliterate you into oblivion—oh, for gods’ sake, what are you doing here, Sebastian?”

His smirk widened, though there was a sheepish glint in his eyes. “I used Disillusionment to sneak in here,” he said matter-of-factly, as though sneaking into the hospital wing in the dead of night was entirely reasonable. “It was to come see you, of course.”

“Of course,” you echoed, rolling your eyes. “Because breaking into the hospital wing and scaring me half to death is such a normal way to check in on someone.”

Sebastian chuckled softly, the sound a strange mix of genuine amusement and something heavier, like guilt or worry. “Well, you weren’t exactly making it easy to find you,” he admitted. “And... I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“It was Imelda,” Sebastian said, his tone dripping with irritation. “She was going on about how she’s still the best flyer in the school, bragging endlessly as usual. And then she mentioned you.”

“Me?” you asked

He nodded “Apparently, someone told her you got into a broom accident and were lying in the hospital wing injured. Of course, she couldn’t resist turning it into another chance to proclaim herself the reigning champion of Slytherin—but that isn’t the point.”

“I didn’t believe it,” he continued, almost hesitant. “You? Getting into a flying accident? That sounded about as plausible as a troll performing ballet. So, I started thinking... maybe it wasn’t a broom accident. Maybe it had something to do with me.”

You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

“With the Crucio curse,” he finished, his voice laced with guilt. “I thought... maybe it was still affecting you somehow. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”

You almost wanted to laugh if it wasn’t for how serious Sebastian looked. 

Before you could open your mouth to explain, a loud cough from another patient in the ward snapped both of you to attention. Your eyes darted to the other beds, realizing just how precarious this situation was. If anyone caught Sebastian here, it wouldn’t just be you getting scolded—it could mean serious trouble for him.

Sebastian glanced toward the source of the noise “Let’s go somewhere more hidden,” he whispered.

You nodded the ache in your limbs made you stumble a bit. He reached out instinctively, steadying you as you followed him to a secluded corner of the ward. The hospital dividers provided a decent amount of cover, though you both moved carefully to avoid drawing attention.

Once hidden, Sebastian let out a soft breath. “Alright,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Talk to me. What’s really going on? And don’t you dare say it’s a broom accident.”

You hesitated, glancing at him, the shadows of the makeshift corner making his expression harder to read. But the concern in his voice, the way he leaned slightly toward you, told you he wouldn’t let this go until he had answers.

You let out a heavy sigh. Lying to Sebastian felt impossible, even if you wanted to.

“It was Rookwood and Ranrok,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Natty said she found a lead—something she thought would be worth investigating. We thought it’d be a quick look, nothing too dangerous.”

“But we ran into dark wizards along the way,” you continued, swallowing hard. “And, well... it didn’t end greatly. We fought, but there were too many of them. Natty managed to get away unscathed, but I wasn’t so lucky.” You gestured vaguely at yourself, at the bandages and bruises.

“Fool—” Sebastian snapped, his tone sharp and cutting. “You should have asked for help. Rushing in like that was reckless and downright stupid.”

Part of you understood his anger—it came from a place of concern—but the way he spoke to you only added fuel to your own frustration. You straightened slightly, your voice defensive as you shot back, “It’s not like I had a whole lot of options, Sebastian. I didn’t exactly have a list of people ready to step in and help.”

His eyes narrowed, but before he could retort, you continued, your tone laced with exasperation. “And let’s not forget—you practically disappeared after the Scriptorium. I didn’t even know if you were okay, let alone where to find you. Besides, Natty asked for my help, not yours.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then hesitated, guilt flickering across his face.

“I—” he began, but his usual confidence faltered, his voice quieter now. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that betrayed his unease. “Listen, I wanted to visit you and Ominis, I really did. But that spellbook we found?” He paused, his eyes lighting up with an intensity that was both familiar and unsettling. “It’s incredible. I’ve uncovered so much—magic and spells that are never taught at Hogwarts.”

You could hear the fervor in his tone, the way his words quickened, tinged with both excitement and desperation.

“And I know—” he continued, his voice growing more resolute, “I know that somewhere in those pages lies the answer to Anne’s curse. Something that no one else has tried. Something that might actually work.”

He looked back at you, his expression softer now, the fire in his eyes tempered by guilt. “I didn’t mean to disappear,” he admitted quietly. “I just... I didn’t know how to face you after that. After everything we went through in the Scriptorium.”

A silence stretched between you, heavy and full of unspoken words. The faint sound of the other patients’ breathing and the occasional rustle of sheets were the only noises that broke the stillness.

You wanted to say something, to fill the void, but the weight of his confession left you momentarily speechless. The vulnerability in his tone was so unlike the Sebastian you were used to—the confident, sometimes cocky boy who always seemed to have a plan.

Finally, you found your voice. “Sebastian...” you began, your tone gentle but firm. “I get it. I know how much Anne means to you, and I know you’ll do anything to help her. But you can’t shut people out—I won’t stop you in your pursuit, but just... be careful, alright?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Could say the same thing right back at you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite the tension. “Touché.”

Sebastian’s smile lingered, but the weight of everything unsaid still hung in the air. “I mean it,” he said after a beat. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed right now, not me. You need to be careful too. I don’t think I could handle...” He trailed off, his gaze steady with yours.

“You won’t lose me, Sebastian,” you said softly, your tone steady. “I promise.”

He looked up at you then, something unspoken passing between the two of you. For a moment, it felt like the world outside the hospital wing didn’t exist—the dark wizards, the curse, the spellbook. It was just the two of you, sharing a fragile but meaningful connection.

Perhaps the two of you were too absorbed in the moment, lost in the intensity of the conversation and the connection you shared, to notice the time slipping by. It wasn’t until the faint glow of dawn began to filter through the hospital wing’s windows that you realized how long Sebastian had been there.

The quiet creak of the door opening made your stomach drop. Nurse Blainey stepped inside, a clipboard in hand as she began her early morning rounds, her sharp eyes scanning the ward.

You turned to Sebastian, panic flickering in your gaze. “You need to go. I’ll distract her. You sneak out. I can’t have you caught twice because of me.” 

“Wait!” Sebastian grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Before you go, I—” He hesitated, fumbling inside his robes. “I wanted to give you this. Honestly, I thought you’d be asleep when I came in, but...”

He reached into his robes and pulled something out. It was a crumpled piece of parchment, which he pressed into your hand.

“Before you say anything,” he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable, “just... read it later, when you’re alone.”

You stared at the note in your hand, your mind racing with questions, but the look in his eyes stopped you from prying further. There was something raw there, something he wasn’t ready to say aloud.

You hear Nurse Blainey walking closer now, “Sebastian,” you whispered urgently, “you need to go. Now.”

With a reluctant nod, he began to activate his Disillusionment Charm again, the shimmer of magic cloaking his figure. Before he disappeared entirely, he whispered, “Be careful. And thank you.”

You gave Sebastian a small smile before turning and walking away from the corner to Nurse Blainey. She was definitely mad, seeing you up and walking around despite her clear instructions to stay put. 

As she continued to lecture you, saying something along the lines of, “If you’re well enough to walk around, you’re well enough to attend class,” you caught sight of the faint shimmer of Sebastian under the Disillusionment Charm.

He paused briefly, his figure lingering near the doorway. His gaze—though invisible—felt fixed on you for a fleeting moment before he quietly slipped away, disappearing into the early morning light.

You held Nurse Blainey’s gaze, nodding along to her lecture, but your thoughts were elsewhere. As the faint shimmer of Sebastian disappeared from sight, a small smile tugged at your lips.

Once she finally moved on, you scurried back to your bed and pulled out the crumpled note Sebastian had pressed into your hand. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unfolded it, revealing the hurriedly scrawled words:

“You matter more to me than you know. Don’t you dare forget that. -S”

You stared at the words, your heart tightening as you reread them. Whatever doubts you’d carried about where you stood with him, this was his answer—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud but had etched onto the parchment instead.

The sun’s rays spilled into the ward, painting everything in a soft, golden hue. For the first time in days, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease.Sebastian might be infuriatingly stubborn, but beneath it all, his heart was in the right place.

And that was enough.

For now, at least.

Author's note: i hope you enjoyed that! i'm working on the third part where omnis and the mc get more interaction.

[sunny374940]

I will stay with you through all of this

Hello again, so here is a little story of Emmrich rushing to Rook's aid and almost killing himself in the process. Rook is (understandably) upset about it.

Cw: tiny bit of gore at the beginning

Here on ao3

And here is the rest of my stories.

Emmrich hated fighting the Antaam. The qunari were brutal, difficult to take down and their wielding of fire and explosives did not endear them to Emmrich in the slightest. Yet here he was again, battling them on the Rivaini coast.

He could hear the twanging of Rook’s bowstring as he was shooting at the Antaam from a vantage point somewhere behind Emmrich, his aim true and deadly, and his opponents were falling before they got a chance to get any closer to him.

Emmrich was firing blasts of necrotic energy from his staff, sending his enemies scattering, but he could feel his mana running dangerously low. He finally dispatched the last qunari in front of him and looked up to see Taash, locked in combat with a berserker. They were defending themselves with all their might, but the qunari's warhammer managed to catch both their axes and he sent them flying backwards with a kick to the stomach.

As Taash fell away with a grunt, the berserker turned to Emmrich, rushing at him in great bounding leaps. Emmrich sent a bolt of magic at him with the last of his mana, aiming for the throat and hoping that it would be enough to stop him.

It wasn't. He hardly even flinched.

Emmrich was frozen in place. Running was pointless, there was no way he could get away, so he raised his staff, determined to defend himself to the last. As he was preparing to dodge the first blow, he spied a blur out of the corner of his eye and Rook was there, planting himself between Emmrich and his attacker with a yell, brandishing sword and dagger, his arrows long gone, sticking out of the corpses littering the battlefield.

But the warrior didn't even pause in his run, raising his warhammer to strike and Rook went for the chance to stab at his momentarily unprotected stomach, but he was too slow, the exhaustion of the battle taking its toll on him. The warhammer connected with a horrible wet crunch, catching Rook's right arm and the side of his chest, sending him whirling away.

“Rook, no!”

Emmrich couldn't move, couldn't defend himself and the warrior was nearly on him, but suddenly he stopped and fell onto his front with a gurgling noise, Taash's axes sticking out of his back.

And Emmrich found himself moving at last, running to Rook's side where he lay unconscious in the sand. His right arm took the brunt of the blow and was bent unnaturally, splintered bone sticking out of the skin above his elbow. And the blood coming out wasn't just flowing, it was spurting in the way of arterial bleeding. Oh no. This was bad. A tourniquet could save his life, but the arm would be lost by the time they got help.

It had been mere seconds between the blow that threw Rook away and Emmrich's arrival to him, and yet even less time before he decided what he would do. He had been reading up on the possibilities of casting with something else than mana as fuel, after the first time Rook came close to death, though he hadn't expected to use the knowledge so soon. There was considerable risk in doing this, but it was his fault that Rook was lying here right now, bleeding out and about to pointlessly lose his arm if he didn't do anything.

He placed his hand on Rook's arm, muttering an incantation, drawing on his own life force, making it flow into Rook. The bleeding was slowing, the artery knitting itself together and Emmrich realized too late that he'd given too much. He felt his heartbeat slow and slumped over Rook's body, unmoving.

He woke up in the infirmary, feeling like death warmed over, but he elected to count that as a victory, since he wasn't actually dead. Which he quite expected to be, after his miscalculation. He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, which was spinning unpleasantly, until he heard Rook stir on the cot next to his own.

There was a grunt of pain and then Rook was sitting up, breathing heavily from the exertion, clutching at his right side. His broken arm was in a splint to prevent the bone from moving as it mended and he looked at it in surprise.

“What the f-”

“Hello, darling,”

Rook's head whipped towards him and Emmrich guessed from the wide eyed look he'd been given that he must have made for quite a pitiful sight. Then Rook's eyes narrowed and Emmrich could see the gears turning in his mind as he seemed to be recalling the fight.

“Did you heal me?” he finally asked, curious. “You couldn't even cast a spell when I got to you. And Taash certainly didn't do it, so how am I still alive?”

There was no point in obscuring the truth, Rook would have found out sooner or later. Emmrich sat up, trying to ignore the spots dancing across his vision as he did so.

“I used… alternative methods.”

“Alternative methods?”

“I may have given you some of my life force,” Emmrich said, steeling himself for Rook's reaction. He didn't disappoint.

“What?” he yelled, hissing at the way the deep breath caused his bruised ribs to throb in pain. “Isn't that really fucking dangerous? Like kills you dead kinda dangerous?”

“It isn't without its perils, but I did what I had to do.”

“You did what you had to…” Rook repeated with some incredulousness. Now it was Emmrich's turn to yell, since Rook insisted on being obtuse.

“You would have lost the arm!”

“What do you think I'd rather have, you or two arms?”

The words threw Emmrich off balance and he found himself unable to respond for a moment. Rook, on the other hand, had more to say.

“You're unbelievable! It's always ‘no, Rook, don't go rushing into danger on my behalf,’ and then you go and do exactly that!”

And now Emmrich was getting annoyed. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss, but it seemed that it would be too much to ask.

“I knew what I was doing and I was prepared to pay the price,” he said, as haughtily as he could manage while fighting back nausea.

Rook gaped at him.

“Pay the price? You’d sacrifice yourself for my fucking arm? Do you even hear yourself? Gods, I can't deal with you right now.”

Rook threw back his blanket and limped out of the infirmary, supporting himself on furniture as he went, too weak to walk on his own, though that didn't stop him from making his exit and slamming the door.

Emmrich wanted to follow, but he simply couldn't get out of bed. Not for a lack of trying, but every time he managed to stand up he was overcome with such dizziness that he had to sit back down for fear of passing out.

The door opened again and Emmrich looked up, hopeful, but Rook wasn't the one walking through it.

“Hey, how you doing?” Taash was coming in, Harding in tow, and they were bringing him food and some kind of potion. They deposited the tray on the nightstand.

“A little better, Taash, thank you for asking.”

“Potion’s from Neve, she said it should help you with” - here they waved their arms expansively, indicating the whole almost killing himself in the process of saving Rook - “this mess.”

“I will give her my thanks once I see her.”

He drank the potion and the liquid was one of the worst things he'd ever had the displeasure of ingesting, burning all the way down his throat, but it made the room stop spinning at least.

“And why did we see Rook stomping out of here? Well, dragging himself is a better way of putting it, but he looked like he really wanted to stomp. He wouldn't even talk to us.” Harding was studying his face, looking for a clue as to what happened.

“He is a touch unhappy about the way I helped him,” Emmrich replied airily, hoping it could be left at that.

“Pffft, a touch?” Taash snorted, though there wasn't much humor in the sound. “He looked real pissed. He's in his room, if you wanna go check on him.”

“I shall.”

He contemplated foregoing the meal and going to see Rook right away, but the gnawing emptiness of his stomach convinced him otherwise. Giving one's life force to someone (a quite ungrateful someone, he had to say) really took its toll on the body, so he settled with the bowl of vegetable stew in his lap, eating as fast he could.

Taash and Harding excused themselves and he was glad for it, as he didn't much wish for any witnesses to his miserable trek to Rook's room. He was quite thankful that it was just next door, though the long corridors proved themselves capable opponents and he arrived at Rook’s door out of breath, needing to lean against the wall for a bit to allow his head to stop spinning.

He knocked at the door, but there was no sound from within. After a second fruitless attempt he decided to just walk in, as Maker knew Rook had done the same to him countless times already.

Rook was sitting on the chaise longue, watching the fish in their tank and he didn't acknowledge Emmrich's entrance at all. Emmrich crossed the room to sit next to him and pretended he didn't feel strangely bereft when Rook didn't reach out to him.

“Darling-” he began.

“Don't.”

Rook was still staring straight ahead, refusing to spare Emmrich even a glance, and though íit was hard to see in the dim light of the room, Emmrich imagined he could see tears drying on his cheeks. He felt the need to explain himself, to make him understand, so he spoke up again and this time Rook didn't stop him. The words came out in a rush.

“It was my fault he got to you, you wouldn't have been in his way if it weren't for me using up all my mana. I had to make it right, I couldn't let you pay for my mistake.”

And this had Rook finally turning to him, eyes wet with tears, but there was anger burning inside them.

“You can't make shit right by dying! I need you!” he yelled, and Emmrich was quite taken aback by the force of his words. Rook leaned away again, rubbing at his eyes, and Emmrich wanted so badly to hold him, but he didn't seem quite ready for his touch just yet.

“I can't do this without you,” Rook sobbed quietly, tears flowing anew.

Ah. There it was.

Emmrich reached out, arms open in offer of an embrace and Rook threw himself at him, curling up against his chest. He held onto him in silence until the sobs stopped.

“Darling, you have repeatedly proven you can face impossible odds and still emerge victorious. But I will do all I can to stay by your side through all of this.”

“Promise?” Rook leaned back to search Emmrich's face for reassurance.

“Promise.”

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

Cast Life; it’s just Grian stealing the premise of Witchcraft SMP

Scott & Cleo: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

[kingandqueenofgoodtime]

Do you think about this scene at least once a day like me or are you normal?

(this scene needs to be posted as a video too because gifs can't do Margo's anguish justice)

[gayestcowboy]

oh my god cazador’s legendary action is NASTY i’m never actually attempting true honor mode because i could not possibly survive this in one try

[loregoddess]

Unicorn Overlord continues to be the wildest srpg I've yet played, I just recruited a character's sibling, I know these siblings start off wanting to kill each other, but the new recruit sibling's class specifically states she works VERY WELL with her brother's class, and I'm already planning a unit to force them together so I can unlock those rapport convos as quickly as I can

[mars-ipan]

had an absurd amt of fun doodling cal last night so take the other dnd character i've been playing this semester (her campaign just ended </3). her name is pellet (full title sir pellet the rambunctious) she is a spores druid and she is Stinky (i love her dearly)

[drizzileiscool]

hey guys did you know that the max number of tags a post can have is 30. totally not related to the tags I have explaining what would happen if a drizzile and rindo kanade fought to the death

I'm curious let's go

[ihaveaskeleton]

A Self-Indulgent Scene from a Fic That Will Probably Never Be Written.

MCU!Loki and Sigyn marrying.

Inspiration was taken from here. The idea was inspired by learning that comics!Loki despised Sigyn in at least a few issues, as well as watching Loki (spoilers in the tags but not the actual scene).

Sigyn had always imagined her wedding to take place among her neighbors and friends. As she accepted her groom's ancestral sword, she glanced out at the hundreds witnessing the act. Among them, her grandfather's face was the only one she knew.

The sword she presented the prince of Asgard was less ornate than the one she received but equal in quality. Her grandfather's thousands of years of mastery was evident in its blade, and the snake engraved in the leather wrapping its hilt had been carefully etched by herself after he had told her of her betrothal to the Snake Prince of Asgard.

Servants in finer clothes than she had ever dreamed of wearing placed the wedding bands on the hilts of their swords to be exchanged. As Loki took his ring, she warmed her smile with her silent wish that their marriage become a friendship. His own smile faltered. As their eyes met, his expression became colder than the deserts of Jotenheim. Though the moment was brief, it left her with a lingering sense of dread.

The prince thrust his sword into the soft dirt between them. He wrapped his hand on its hilt and looked at her expectantly. She hesitated. She was tempted to flee before their vows bound them eternally, but to do so would be a grave insult against the prince and, by extension, King Odin himself. She wrapped her hand around the hilt, her fingers accidentally brushing against Loki's. The strange cold of his skin only intensified her worry that she had not married a man but a monster.

[sequesteredbhaalspawn]

I really just think Bane's character growth over Shadowdale and Tantras is so interesting.

[wtfforged]

my campaign hiatus has gone on for too long so to cope ive combined my interests at their maximum potency and had some dnd-strawhats thoughts

thoughts in depth under read more... :)!

this is SO self indulgent. their designs literally did not change. but i am a firm believer that dnd doesnt have to be european high fantasy. and also one piece literally IS fantasy. no changes are necessary to fit into dnd. ive already imagined plenty of campaign/oneshot ideas inspired by one piece. so this was basically just an exercise of trying to replicate their canon abilities in dnd 5e as much as possible without totally homebrewing everything. well. aside from luffy. you just cant take away or change his stretching.

LUFFY: (human monk. drunken master subclass. outlander)

the only plain human of the crew to balance out with the fact that he still has rubber powers. obviously a monk. but drunken master subclass specifically because i think the flavor(not the fact that its about being a drunkard) and abilities both fit him really well. this line in the subclass' flavortext especially fits him: "A drunken master often enjoys playing the fool to bring gladness to the despondent or to demonstrate humility to the arrogant, but when battle is joined, the drunken master can be a maddening, masterful foe."

ZORO: (tiefling fighter. samurai subclass. bounty hunter)

a fighter with the samurai subclass is so very incredibly obvious... but i actually had a lot of fun geeking out while comparing the abilities to what he can do in canon; Fighting Spirit, Rapid Strike, and Strength Before Death especially! tiefling is also pretty on the nose for his demon pirate hunter shtick and asura form, but i thought he'd be really human-passing for a tiefling and theorized about his tail getting cut off at some point or another before joining the strawhats. initially wasnt gonna give him a feat, but i gave sanji a feat so i thought itd be unfair to not give him one as well, so sentinel fits the bill pretty well i think!

NAMI: (tabaxi rogue. arcane trickster subclass. criminal)

cat burglar -> full grown literal humanoid cat. this one is INCREDIBLY self indulgent... i love... cats... theres nothing deeper to this and no other reasoning. i took cat burglar and ran with it. can you tell that i love izutsumi dungeon meshi? rogue for the aforementioned burglar-ing as well, and the arcane trickster subclass for when she picks up climatact! the mage hand will be very useful for her pickpocketing. in the future as she levels up with timeskip, i can totally see her multiclassing into wizard as well! weather wizard!

USOPP: (lightfoot halfling artificer. artillerist subclass. urchin)

I HAD SO MUCH FUN THINKING ABOUT HIS CHARACTER SHEET. halfling's Naturally Stealthy ability lets him hide behind his crewmates since theyre (almost) all bigger than him, so its perfect for hiding behind zoro or sanji all the time. Lucky is also perfect for him, and I think Brave fits pretty well too when he puts on the sogeking mask. artillerist artificer is also very fun! tinkering and making magic items for his crew, and i think Eldritch Canon or Arcane Firearm could both be easily reflavored as kabuto or any of his inventions. for emphasizing his sniper-ness, the spell sniper feat was also necessary. i think hes my favorite of all the concepts. big ears and long nose combo is so cute to me.

SANJI: (half-elf monk. drunken master subclass. guild artisan (cook!))

race was mostly based on vibes i wont lie. squints. and that vinsmoke balogna or whatever too ig. but mostly vibes. along with the idea that i think a dwarf zeff raising him would be really funny and cute. monk is also obvious, and same subclass as luffy for mostly the same reasons. though the flavor fits him much less, i think the abilities still fit him perfectly, and this blurb specifically; "Your martial arts technique mixes combat training with the precision of a dancer." i really wanted to give him a different subclass from luffy, but i dislike all the other monk subclasses a lot and i found none of them fit him as well anyways, so to try and give them SOME differences, i gave him the crusher feat.

CHOPPER: (awakened deer(shifter statblock) cleric. life subclass. hermit)

this ones definitely a mouthful im sorry. awakened deer for obvious reasons, but due to magic instead of devil fruit stuff. when i was struggling with his race, i looked a lot at shifter because of his forms, but it occurred to me that itd be super cool if he could shift between all of the different shifter options instead of being stuck with just one to replicate his rumble balls. something like heavy point/guard point=beasthide, horn point/arm point(?maybe?)=longtooth, walk point/jumping point=swiftstride, and brain point=wildhunt. hed definitely need some kind of nerf though to balance out that homebrew... and cleric for class. duh.

ROBIN: (high elf wizard. order of scribes subclass. criminal)

robin is definitely the one i struggled the most with just because of her class. elf came pretty easily- shes very elegant and i think shed look cute with super long ears- and i landed on high elf instead of wood elf for the int-based abilities. i was really on the fence between sorcerer and wizard for her because i knew shed be a full spellcaster, but i didnt feel that any of the subclasses really fit her. i ended up going with wizard for order of the scribes since it focuses on texts and knowing everything. but also because robin with a flying talking sentient book would be crazy cool. it could also be similar to how she spawns mouths and eyes places to talk to or watch people. my "fuck it, why not. this would be rad. its my house" mindset kicked in with her i will admit. also the One with the Word ability made me cackle out loud when i read it. thats the funniest ability ever. anyways, i cant really think of a way to replicate her powers, but maybe we could just reflavor a bunch of spells to be her limbs or clutch; hold person, maximillian's earthen grasp, or evard's black tentacles. thatd probably work okay, and theres a handful of spells to replicate her ability to spawn eyes or mouths. unrelated, but i imagine nico olvia to be a drow. why? her hair is white. i am a simple man!

[kuromi-hoemie]

i can't believe i used all my tags on this. i have MORE TO SAY. honorable mentions i will not elaborate on: pikmin, runescape, OG animal crossing.

the reason for all my tags is because there's a difference between "most fun" and "most important" and feel like if they're important u should at least say why :3

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

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[humanityinahandbag]

Steve would absolutely be down to play D&D with Hellfire. The only condition is that he gets to be whatever character he wants (with Eddie's help crafting the sheet, of course), and Eddie is so completely enamoured and excited that he agrees wholeheartedly.

Turns out, Steve didn't really understand the concept of fantasy characters and assumed that it included all kinds of fantasies. Elves, Dwarves, Mages.

And naturally the lineup of Steve's 1987 Fantasy Basketball League.

The rest of Hellfire is ultimately accepting of it, and even gets into the character as time goes on. But those first few sessions were confusing as hell. Especially because they weren't quite sure what to think when Steve's only supplies and weapons included sports bars, tiny shorts, and a basketball.

Eddie though?

Eddie's been having a goddamn field day with the chaos his beloved hath wrought.

"Alright Steve. Roll to attack."

Steve rolls and lights up. "Eighteen!"

The other players cheer.

"Good luck," said Will sullenly after his magic missile failed to take the villain down. In fact, so far, nearly every attack from each member had failed to do enough damage to even make a dent.

Eddie writes down a note behind his DM shield. "Alright so the ghost approaches you. What are you..." He pauses. "Wait. Sorry what's your name again?"

"Larry Bird," says Steve helpfully.

"Right. What are you, Larry Bird, going to do to the Ghost?"

"I'm going to dribble across the enchanted bridge and hit him with a hook shot."

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done..." Dustin whispers.

He's shushed by everyone else who has become absolutely invested in the fate of their resident Point Guard Paladin.

(the best part is that the end of the campaign in what was meant to be a difficult and long battle, in which almost every single Hellfire character dies a gruesome death, Steve effectively ends it by rolling a single D20 and dunking a zombie's head into the Boss' face.

Hellfire is elated but isn't sure how to explain to future Hellfire members that a kill shot was once carried out by the small forward of the Boston Celtics.)

[abandoneddinosaur]

Do you ever think of how, to Arthur, Merlin is a clumsy, idiot of a servant with no care for tradition, but he makes Arthur laugh and gives the best advice and somehow, without Arthur even noticing, has become his best friend in the entire world, the person he wants to face every battle with, not only so he can protect Merlin but also so he can have Merlin’s support and approval

And then it turns out that Merlin doesn’t need protecting, and he’s the most powerful sorcerer to exist, he has magic, and has actually been the one protecting Arthur this entire time

And Arthur has to face their entire relationship being turned upside down, because okay you have magic, he’s had his suspicions about magic not being evil for a while now and of course Merlin isn’t evil, but it’s more how dare you not tell me, after I’ve came to you for everything and I thought you did too, I thought I noticed when things were wrong and put a smile on your face but this whole time you’ve not trusted me

And in a matter of hours he has to relearn their entire friendship and try to understand why Merlin has done this and why he keeps doing this and make sure that everything else about our friendship is true please say the rest was true

And by the end, because he is dying and the end is so very near, it doesn’t matter anymore because he is Arthur and he is Merlin and it doesn’t matter that they’re also the Once and Future King of Camelot and Emrys the Most Powerful Sorcerer Ever to Live

No, they’re just Merlin and Arthur in their last few minutes together and they both know it and this is his last chance so it’s not you betrayed me and I need time and how could you do this to us, instead it’s it’s okay and hold me and thank you because if this is his last chance to protect Merlin then of course he is going to take it, that’s always been his job and neither death nor magic is going to change that