#but I'm thinking through sludge tonight

[tap-tap-tap-im-in]

I'm helping a friend find a laptop on a budget, here is some general advice that might apply to anyone else looking:

1. I don't trust used SSDs. SSDs have a limited number of write operations when they are manufactured. Under normal use you probably won't run into these limits, but there are things you can do that make it a lot easier to run into them, and with used devices you never know what previous owners were doing.

2. Don't be afraid of APUs, the Nintendo Switch and the Steam Deck both use Radeon APUs. Intel's APUs are also getting better, but they don't have decades of experience making video cards.

3. There are three important numbers associated with CPUs (there are a bunch more, but there are three that are easy to look for), single core clock speed, number of cores, and power draw. Single core clock speed should be the average speed of a single core (this should be lower than the boost speed, probably somewhere around 2Ghz with a boost into 3 or 4). Number of cores is what both Intel and Radeon have been pouring money into to speed up applications. Applications that multi-thread well can take advantage of these cores to run operations simultaneously. Video and photo editing tend to multi-thread very well. Games are hit or miss. The power draw will tell you how long your cpu can sustain the boost clock speed. The lower the power draw, the less time it will boost for (but the better your battery life will be).

4. Modern Windows is memory greedy. It uses between 4 and 6GB unless you go into the settings and turn off some things. 8GB gives you enough memory to use the Internet, use a word processor, and that's about all. You can do more than that and the system will use a paging file to store the contents of your memory on your hard drive, this works, but you will feel a hang while your system writes or reads from the page file. If you want to minimize this, look for 12 or 16GB if you can. Never buy a Windows 10 or 11 machine with only 4GB of RAM.

5. If you can, and are buying a laptop, buy one with a user removable battery. This makes it easier to replace, and if your battery swells, you can use your computer without the battery (plugged in) until it can be replaced.

[cjlouwho]

Tommy and Eddie's Wild Adventure

**If you start reading and feel a bit concerned, please scroll all the way to the bottom for tags/spoilers. Otherwise, enjoy the ride!** (read here or on ao3)

“I'm gonna get us an Uber,” Tommy said, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He was a slightly off balance, the couple drinks he and Eddie had hitting him harder than usual tonight. Before he could get his phone unlocked, it slipped from his hand and directly down the drainage grate underneath him.

“Damn it!” He bent down to try and reach through the grate to get it. It was useless though. His hand was too big, plus the phone had already sunk beneath God knows how many feet of water and sludge.

“It's fine,” Eddie said, tapping his back. “We'll use mine.”

He started feeling around for his phone, then paused, his lips pursed together.

“What's wrong?” Tommy asked, standing back up.

“I don't have my phone. I must've left it at home.”

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Great! So we're stuck here then. We're gonna have to-”

“Tommy, shut up!” Eddie whisper-yelled, eyes wide as he gripped onto Tommy's shoulder.

“What? Eddie, what are you-”

“Shut. Up!” He demanded. He pointed behind Tommy. “Look!”

At the end of the parking lot there was a dumpster, mostly hidden out of view. There was a small amount of light that glowed from a nearby lamppost, just enough for Tommy and Eddie to see two men tossing what appeared to be a body into the dumpster.

Eddie nearly pushed Tommy behind a tree before hiding behind him, both boys holding their breath until the men drove off and they were alone in the parking lot.

“Oh my God,” Tommy said, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

“Go, go!” Eddie pushed Tommy forward, following behind. They carefully but quickly made their way over to the dumpster, where a body laid on top of boxes and bags of garbage.

“We've gotta get her out!” Eddie said, already pushing himself up and into the dumpster. Once inside, he checked for a pulse. “She's gone,” he told Tommy.

He shook his head. “Damn it.”

Eddie hoisted the woman over his shoulder. Tommy reached out and grabbed onto her, pulling her out and onto the ground. He took Eddie's hand next and helped him out of the dumpster.

“What do we do?” Tommy asked, staring down at the blonde-haired woman.

“Call 911.”

Tommy huffed out a breath. “We don't have a phone, Eddie!”

“Well we can't just stand here,” Eddie replied. “The killers might come back.”

“Why would they come back?!”

“Have you never watched a Dateline? They come back to like admire their work, you know, like it's a trophy or something.”

Tommy looked around the area, searching for any possibility that someone was watching. “We've gotta go get help.”

“We can't just leave her here.”

“We don't have any other choice!”

“Shh!” Eddie waved his hands, getting Tommy to quiet down. “We- We'll take her.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Take her?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah, we take her with us. To the police station.”

“Just... We just carry the body all the way to the police station? That's like ten miles!”

“I think it's only eight.”

Tommy shook his head. “You're insane, Eddie!”

“You got a better idea?”

*****

“You know they've killed people for less than this,” Tommy said, gripping the woman's legs tightly.

“What? They have not.”

“Oh, yes they have! We get caught carrying this poor woman down the street and next thing you know, we're on death row being asked what our last words are.”

“Whoa!” Eddie exclaimed, his hand slipping from underneath the woman's arm. He adjusted her before continuing. “What would they be?”

“What would what be?”

“Your final words, Man. What would they be?”

“Jesus, Eddie, I don't know. Who thinks about that?”

“I know mine! Watch your step.”

Tommy looked back and took a step left to miss some trash on the ground. “So what are they then?”

“'La muerte es segura, pero su hora es incierta.' It's a Spanish proverb. At least, I think it is. My abuela used to say it.”

“What's it mean?”

“It means death is certain, but its hour is uncertain.”

Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, causing Eddie to nearly topple over the body.

“What the hell?” Eddie shrieked.

“Eddie, that's the stupidest last words I've ever heard.”

“What?! It is not!”

“Yeah, it is. First of all, you're about to get a lethal injection-”

“I'm choosing the electric chair.”

“Whatever. They're literally giving you an exact minute of your death, so your hour is very certain.”

“That's not-”

“And second,” Tommy continued, speaking over him. “You really want that to be the last thing Christopher hears coming out of your mouth? Before you're electrocuted in front of him? Really, Eddie? Think this through.”

“Christopher is not going to be at my electrocution, Tommy. I'll talk to him the day before.”

“Oh, he'll show up,” Tommy replied with absolute certainty. “He will show up.”

“Okay, fine, if my last words are so terrible, then tell me yours. Also, start walking again. She's heavy!”

Tommy rolled his eyes but resumed his walk. “I told you I haven't thought about it.”

“Well, get thinking. Final words. Go.”

“Okay, fine. First, lethal injection, because who the hell chooses electrocution, Man, come on! Second, Evan would be there, so I'd probably look at him and tell him he gave me the best years of my life.”

“Ew!” Eddie gagged. “That sucks. You suck!”

“It's better than your stupid proverb that doesn't make any sense. Okay, I gotta put her down for a second.”

They moved into a little alleyway and placed the woman down gently, then Tommy ran his arm over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. “There's gotta be an easier way to do this.”

Eddie peeked out of the alley, turning back quickly when he spotted people coming their way. “Act cool, act cool!” he exclaimed, leaning against the brick wall with one leg crossed over the other.

Tommy took a couple steps back, plastering himself against a dumpster with an elbow resting over the top.

The people passed without noticing them and they resumed their discussion.

“Okay, let's think, let's think,” Eddie said, bringing a hand to his chin. “Your phone is down a drain, mine is at home. We've got a body here that we can't leave behind, but it's too risky to keep walking along the street. Also, too painful.”

“Excellent recap,” Tommy deadpanned. “Can we start the episode now?”

“You know this attitude your giving is not helping,” Eddie said with a glare. “Why don't you come up with an idea?”

Tommy took a deep breath, then looked past Eddie out toward the street. “Taxi.”

“What is this, 1982? Come on-”

Tommy pointed behind Eddie, making him turn around. There was a taxi parked across the street, a group of women laughing and fixing their dresses as they exited.

“You distract, I'll put the body in the trunk,” Tommy decided, nodding at Eddie.

“Wait, what?”

“Go, Eddie! Before someone else gets the taxi. Go!”

*****

“And what's that button do?” Eddie asked.

“That's the button for the radio,” the taxi driver replied, giving Eddie an odd look. “Are you sure your friend doesn't need help with his luggage?”

“Oh, no, no. He's got it.”

Just then, the trunk slammed shut and Tommy was getting into the taxi. “Could you take us to-”

“Fountain Avenue,” Eddie interrupted. “Anywhere on the street is fine.”

“Sure thing.”

They settled into their seats as the driver headed off, Tommy staring over at Eddie. “The police station is two streets over from Fountain,” he whispered.

“I know. Going right to the police station will look suspicious. We'll walk there from Fountain.”

“They'll see Lillian before that.”

Eddie looked over at Tommy quizzically. “Lillian?”

“Yeah. Lillian.”

“Who the hell is Lillian?”

“Eddie,” Tommy gritted out, eyes darting back and forth from the driver to Eddie. “Lillian.”

“Oh! You mean the dead girl?”

Tommy gave Eddie a punch to the shoulder. “Lillian is our friend. That we're surprising. With the gift. In the trunk.”

“Okay, ow.” Eddie rubbed at the spot on his shoulder, leaning in closer to Tommy. “It's a codename. Got it.”

“Anyway, I think we should get closer to the station.”

“No. We'll deal with Lillian from Fountain. It'll be fine.”

“We're gonna get caught.”

“Then we'll explain.”

“I don't know how you explain that.”

“We'll tell them,” Eddie said in an annoyed tone, “the truth. That we found the bod- Lillian and didn't want to leave her.”

“O- Okay,” the driver interrupted, coming to a stop. “We are a- at your location, sirs.”

“Great!” Tommy clapped his hands together, smiling at the driver through the rearview. “Pop the trunk for me, please. Eddie, pay the man.”

“Oh, no! No payment necessary. I- It's my gift for the night.”

“You sure?” Eddie asked.

“Mhm. Please, it's fine.”

Eddie shrugged. “Alright. Thanks! Have a good night.”

*****

“I'm never going out with you again,” Tommy said, back in position with his hands under Lillian's shins. “I should have stayed home with Evan. My back will never recover.”

“Oh please, when did you become such an old man? I'm carrying most of the weight here anyway.”

“You are not!”

“I am too!”

“Okay, I'll just let her go then. You can carry her the rest of the way yourself.”

“Don't you dare, Thomas!”

“Don't you Thomas me, Edmundo! What the hell are we gonna say when we get to the police station?”

“I'll go in first,” Eddie said. “Explain everything. You stay outside with the body until I get you.”

“Me? Why don't you stay outside with the body?”

“Because you asked me what we were going to say when we get to the police station, which means you obviously have no idea what to say, and I can just bat my eyelashes and get the lady behind the desk to listen to my every word.”

“Assuming it's a lady behind the desk is very sexist.” Tommy pulled a hand away to wipe the sweat from his hand onto his jeans, then switched to do the same with the other hand. “It could be a very handsome gay man.”

“Okay, so I bat my eyelashes at the man behind the desk. For the love of God, walk faster, Man!”

“I've been the one walking backwards this whole time, you try it! Also, no offense, but I've seen your game with women, I do not trust your game with men.”

“Don't be an ass,” Eddie glared. “I could've gotten you if I wanted you.”

“Ha! Don't flatter yourself.”

Eddie stopped, mouth agape and clearly offended. “You're seriously trying to tell me that Buck could get you by injuring me and moan about trying to get your attention, but you think I have no game? You're crazy.”

“And you're chronically single.”

“Take that back!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Tommy, I swear to-”

The sound of a siren cut Eddie off. Bright, flashing red and blue lights pulled up beside them. They froze in place.

It took a couple of seconds, but soon enough the driver's door opened. They both had to squint to make out the figure coming toward them.

Athena.

The passenger door opened as well, and there came Buck, his hands tucked inside the hoodie he was wearing.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Athena asked. “We have been chasing your behinds half the night.”

“You're not gonna believe this-” Eddie started as Tommy spoke over him.

“Evan, I swear this isn't what you think-”

“Both of you, quiet!” Athena demanded.

“It looks like you're, uh, trying to carry a body to the police station,” Buck offered.

“Then... Then it's exactly what it looks like,” Tommy breathed out in relief.

Eddie, still holding the body from underneath her arms, moved closer to Buck and Athena, forcing Tommy to move as well. “We saw her get dumped and we didn't know what to do because Tommy lost his phone and I don't have mine. We couldn't just leave her there so we decided to bring her to the station ourselves.”

“You don't have your phone, huh? And it didn't occur to either of you two walk right back into the bar and ask to use their phone?” Athena questioned. “Any phone?”

Eddie lowered his head. “Can't say that it did.”

Athena took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That body you're holding,” she said, pointing toward it. “That's a sex doll.”

Both Eddie and Tommy's eyes slowly turned to the doll. It took a few seconds for the realization to hit, but once it did, they both dropped it to the ground with a simultaneous, “Ew!”

“I gotta say,” Athena started, crossing her arms over her chest, “I don't usually see men your age getting drunk and pulling these types of dumbass stunts.”

“We're not drunk!” Eddie protested. “Just had a couple beers. Maybe someone drugged us!”

“I don't think so,” she answered, pulling a small memo pad from her back pocket. “We went and spoke with the bartender and he informed us you two started with a couple beers, then moved onto shots, then decided to try some specialty drinks and ended with something called a Fruity Tutti, which you apparently made up yourselves.”

“That... That does sound vaguely familiar,” Tommy said, his hands going to his hips.

Eddie smacked a couple times. “Is that why mouth tastes like an entire packet of lifesavers?”

“How did you guys find us?” Tommy asked.

“Eddie's phone.”

Eddie's eyebrows furrowed. “I told you I don't have my phone.”

“Yeah, you do,” Buck said with a nod. “It's how we tracked you.”

“Guys, I'm telling you, I do not have my phone!”

Tommy moved toward Eddie, peering around him to look in his back pocket. He reached around and grabbed at something before holding it out in front of Eddie.

“Well look at that!” Eddie smiled as he took his phone from Tommy. “My phone!”

“You butt dialed me twice,” Buck explained. “When I overheard you two talking about finding a body and trying to carry it to the police station, I figured I better give Athena a call.”

“And as it turns out,” Athena continued, “the driver from the taxi you two were in also called the police, because, and I quote, “Two men were in the backseat of my cab, loudly whispering about a body they had put in my trunk.” Poor man was too scared to call the police until you had left.”

“You two were also carrying the doll through the streets of Los Angeles on a Saturday night,” Buck informed them. “Dispatch got lots of calls from concerned citizens.”

Eddie sighed. “I didn't think anyone saw us.”

“Oh no, the majority of the county did,” Athena replied. “Come on, boys,” she said, taking a step back and waving them toward her car. “This'll all have to be explained again in the morning. Let's get you home.”

“Can I go to you guys' place?” Eddie asked, pouting. “My home is so far.”

“Your home is ten minutes from ours,” Buck reminded him. “But it's late- or early- and I'm tired, so yes, you can. Athena's gonna take us. Let's get in the SUV.”

“Oh, Evan, can we snuggle?” Tommy asked, moving toward Buck and draping an arm over his shoulder, leaning in close. “I love to snuggle.”

“Gross,” Eddie whined. “I get shoved in a guest room while you two get it on two doors down.”

“Nobody will be getting it on tonight,” Buck assured him.

“Hey, if you want snuggles you can bring Lillian,” Tommy said, gazing down at the doll. “She will give snuggles.”

When Eddie stared down at it for a bit too long, Buck reached over and gave him a smack to the back of the head. “You're not bringing the doll. Come on, let's go.” He grabbed at Eddie's shirt, pulling him away from the doll. “Now!”

*****

When Athena pulled up to Buck and Tommy's place she got out and helped bring the boys into the house. Eddie leaned on her while Tommy leaned on Buck.

They headed for the guest room first, Eddie plopping onto the bed with his shoes still on.

“Absolutely not,” Buck said, helping Tommy to rest against the doorframe so he could go over and pull off Eddie's shoes.

Once they were off, Athena helped Buck maneuver Eddie so they could pull the comforter down from under him.

“God, I'm tired,” Tommy mumbled. He toed off his own shoes and walked over the other side of the bed, falling down face first against the pillow.

“Tommy!” Buck exclaimed. “This isn't our room.”

“Sleepy, Evan,” Tommy murmured into the pillow. “So sleepy.”

“Okay, well, you can go to sleep in our room,” he replied, pulling on Tommy's arm.

Tommy groaned, causing Eddie to open one eye and glare over at Buck. “Just leave him. God, he's so whiny!”

Tommy threw his arm out, shoving over at Eddie. “You're whiny!”

Eddie reached over and shoved back. “You are!”

“Boys, I have a gun!” Athena yelled, causing them to stop immediately. They both drew their arms in and away from each other, but refused to move otherwise.

Athena looked over at Buck. “Should we try to get Tommy up?” she asked.

Both boys breathing had already started to even out, clearly falling into a deep sleep.

“Eh, leave him,” Buck decided, tossing the comforter over them. “They can puke on each other.”

.

.

**tags/spoilers: there is no actual death involved in this story. the boys are very drunk.**

[elizabebabe]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 ೀ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡: you're scouted for love island and you and your manager think of it as a business opportunity but what happens when you actually want to find love?, you're in for the summer of your life.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫: 4

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: use of y/n.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3k!

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬: sorry this took so long, been busy with real life stuff, love you all and thank you for the support on the last chapter! I typically re-read twice but I've only done it once so forgive me for if there's any mistakes. <3

‘ding’, 

he looks back down at his phone, “please pick a girl for your first date and get ready to leave the villa.” 

he pauses, “y/n, would you like to go on a date with me?” the girls cheer and most of the guys, romeo staying quiet. 

“mhm” you mutter.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you peeled a bit of slime off your shoulder as you walked upstairs, you were called to the beach hut and prepared to share your thoughts.

you walked into the room, closing the door behind you then sitting down, adjusting the red bikini that hugged you tightly.

“how was the challenge?” the questions starting quickly.

“it was fun, i feel really gross though.”

“you didn’t seem to enjoy that kiss with romeo, how so?” the deep voice continues.

you sigh, putting your knee up on the chair, “i feel guilty.” you pause, “i mean.” you quietly grunt, “i don’t know, i feel bad for chris and romeo, i feel like i’m playing them.”

“i think my feelings are leaning towards chris more so i think that's where the guilt is coming from.” you continue.

“how do you feel about chris’s kiss.?”

“it was sweet, however i wouldn't have minded if he kissed me on the lips.”

“and finally, how do you feel about your date?”

you giggle, “i’m nervous but excited, he’s easy to chat to so it’ll be fine.”

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you strip out of the bikini and walk under the warm water, scrubbing slimy sludge off your skin, layering soap on top and shaving a few stubborn hairs.

the water streamed down your back fogging up the shower door.

you stepped out, quickly wrapping a white towel around your body and walking into the makeup room, it was twilight out, the sun being soon to set, you sat at your vanity as kaia left the room to hop in the shower next, the rest of the girls already getting ready for the evening.

“how do you feel, y/n?” abby asks the moment you sit down.

“i’m excited, like i really like him.” you say with a quiet squeal as you pick up the primer on your vanity.

clair smiles, “so happy for you.” she says, grabbing your attention.

..

“i have news.” she continues.

you quickly look in her direction, everyone else following behind you.

“i like robert more, i'm telling aidan tonight.”

abby cheers her on.

“hell yeah!” abby exclaims.

“you guys are nice together.” leah adds as you nod your head in agreement. 

you can tell she feels validated since her lips curved into a cheerful smile. you move your lips over your water bottle, taking a sip between steps.

“how you doin’ abby?” you question.

“i don’t know, cade’s being a bitch right now.” she comments in a serious tone, ‘bitch’ taking you all by surprise making you chuckle.

“damn.” clair states.

“i’m gonna pull him tonight and ask what his problem is.” she says, standing up and walking to her open wardrobe.

“you alright leah?” clair asks, as she brushes her thick curls.

“fine, had a good chat with cyrus earlier but kaia is pissed.” she tossed her hair behind her.

“as she should be!” abby shouts, her mind focused on finding an outfit.

“you didn’t have to yell.” you giggle.

you quickly style your hair then get up and walk to your closet, sorting through your designs, 

“you should wear that dress.” clair shares her input, pointing towards it with her makeup brush.

you grab the pointed at hangar and pull it out, 

it was red, long and backless, you had some stilettos that you thought would pair nicely.  you quickly lotioned up and changed, sliding the heels onto your feet and observing yourself in the mirror.

“gorgeous.” abby says as she watches you in the mirror.

“okay, i'm going!” you say nervously.

multiple ‘byes’ leave different mouths, you slowly walk down the stairs and towards the front door, 

chris is waiting there, he's dressed in all black which happens to compliment your red attire. 

“you waited this whole time?” you question walking up to him.

“mhm and it was worth it.” he says, successfully flattering you.

you share a quick hug before walking out the door and to the car waiting in the gravel driveway.

you approach a cliff over open water, there's a table waiting for you both with candles delicately placed around the setting, the sundown starting at a perfect time, it was beautiful.

he pulls the chair out for you and you quickly sit down, adjusting your snug fitted dress, he sits across from you.

“how are you?” he asks, grabbing the wine bottle off the table as well as a corkscrew.

“i’m good.”, “happy.” you continue, fidgeting with the utensils on the table.

he angels the corkscrew slightly and pops the cork.

“i’m glad.” he mentions, pouring the red wine into your glass, then serving himself.

he places the bottle down finally making eye contact with you, you can’t help but giggle, he does the same.

“so today, the kiss.” you comment as you pick up your wine glass.

“mhm?” he intently listens.

“you didn’t kiss me.” you say awkwardly swirling the wine then taking a sip.

he scoffs with a smirk, 

“i technically did..” he says playfully, earning a sideways look from you.

“there was slime everywhere, everyone was watching, it just didn’t seem like an appropriate time.” you nod your head as you cut into a piece of chicken laid out on the plate in front of you. 

“plus i really like you and i want to take things slowly.” he hesitates but also gesturing with his hands, awaiting your response. 

“that’s nice.” you say after a bit of silent chewing.

“i like slow.” you continue, making both of you snicker.

he picks up his glass and takes a sip, “romeo.” he states, making you look up from your plate.

“how are things going with him?” he adds.

your manicured hand picks up your glass, “i don’t know..” you’re purposely elusive, wanting to leave him in the dark. sure you liked him more but you didn’t want him to know that, not until you were sure about him.

he puts the glass down, “don’t know.” he slowly nods, cupping his hand on his face, glaring at you.

his gaze felt intense.

your eyes darted around looking towards the scenery, how the sundown colors melted together, how the waves below crashed into each other.

“y/n.” he says seriously, catching your attention.

“i need to know that if i picked you it would be okay.” he continued sternly but also softly?

you smirk then bite your tongue, “it would be okay.” you hesitate, not wanting to put all your cards on the table.

“great.”

“so tell me more about you, i know you’re 21, have your own business, you’re family oriented, what else should i know?” he adds.

you smile, even though it felt like the bare minimum it was nice that he remembered all these things about you, “hm..” you think.

“what do you want to know?” you carried on.

“more about your job, i love that you paved your own path so to speak.” he doesn't take a beat to reply, it must have been heavy on his mind.

“well i started when i was 19 which was incredibly hard but my best friend, rhia, she really backed me 

…and my parents helped float my rent”, you say embarrassedly.

“that’s so sweet.” he comments with a mouthful of chicken, usually this would be an ick but it was cute when he did it.

“i basically sketch my designs, create them, then ship them, i hope to have a huge empire or somethin’” you say shyly.

he smiles. “you’re so cute.” you say resting your elbow on the table and placing your head on your palm.

you watch the blood rush to his cheeks from the compliment, “thank you.” he nervously looks down.

he pushes his chair back with his legs and stands up, he walks towards you and pulls out your chair.

you stand up, patting your dress down and adjusting your mic, he places his hands around you, slithering to your lower back, your tidy hands quickly wrap around his neck, reciprocating the tight hug.

before you knew it his hands slipped a bit lower but you didn't mind, rubbed up and down your body as you patted his back.

you slowly pulled away knowing your date was over, “who do you want me to bring for you..?” you comment quietly.

“oh sorry, what was that?” he rubs the date in your face.

“you heard me.” you gently and playfully push him.

he smiles, placing his hand on his chin.

“leah.” he states then winks at you.

you scoff, “whatever.”  you do your best ‘strut’ away, giving him a nice view before his second date and heading to your ride back to the villa. 

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you stepped into the villa doors, the only sound heard were your stilettos hitting the ground, you walked towards the backyard and noticed the girls on the swing and the boys at the fire pit, “i’m back!” you shouted, gaining the attention of everyone else.

they cheered in response and walked towards you, you shared hugs with the girl and boys, 

even though you weren’t gone for long you missed them. once you were greeted you pulled the girls for a chat at the fire pit as the boys stayed in the kitchen.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you adjusted yourself as you sat down, getting a good look at the girls you noticed their sad demenurs, abby’s smudged eyeliner, “what happened?” you quickly comment.

“how was your date?” abby hurriedly states, changing the topic.

you're a bit wary but decided if abby insisted it would be a good idea, “it was good, leah, chris picked you for his second date.” you swiftly mention.

she looks surprised, “ok.” she stands up, rearranging her dress and walking towards the kitchen, then through the doors.

“we just get on really well and the chemistry is there.” you continue with a smile, the girls rally, they all seem genuinely excited for you, you give them details but can’t help but sense a weird vibe around the villa.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you were in the kitchen, drinking water straight from your bottle, you headed inside in an attempt to find where the girls ran off, you noticed kaia and aidan having a chat in the living space but you headed upstairs to find clair and abby.

you carefully walked up and heard sniffles from upstairs, you walked towards the noise, and quickly realized it was coming from the makeup room, you walked in and noticed abby sitting at her vanity re-applying concealer with clair right next to her.

“what’s wrong?” you speedily ask as you fully walk into the room.

“cade and her fought.” clair answers for her.

you walk around clair and sit on the other empty stool next to abby, “what!?, 

you okay?”

“i’ll be fine.” she chokes through her words, continuing with a loose smile on her face as she looks at you.

“what happened?” you say worry lining your voice.

“he was upset about me kissing chris.” she begins to tear up again, “but it was a game.” you hesitatingly reply.

“that’s what i said.” abby says wiping under her eyelids,

“you missed a lot.” clair starts, earning a concerned face from you.

“kaia and cyrus also went at it.”

“holy shit” you rub your hand on abby's back, up and down in soothing motions.

“i just feel embarrassed.” she cries.

“no, no.” you hurriedly say.

“don’t be.” clair comments.

“i shouldn’t be crying. i met him yesterday.” she mopes.

“it’s okay to cry, you guys have something special.” you reply.

“and he knows that, it’s gonna be okay.” you continued, clair nods her head.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

after sitting with abby for a while you all headed back outside, you grabbed a champagne sitting on the counter and tasted it, this with the mix of the wine bubbled in your tummy.

you were sitting on the kitchen counter talking with aidan, he expressed him and clair calling it quits and his good conversation with kaia before your shoulder was tapped on, you turned to see romeo.

he pulled you to the fire pit, the heat keeping you cozy and warm.

“how was it.” he didn’t phrase it like a question, it was a statement.

“it was good, jus waitin to hear about leah and him.” you calmly comment, bringing the glass you held steady in your hand to your lips.

“you should definitely explore that.” he says monotony.

your head turns, why the sudden push towards him?

“i will.” you state, standing up and walking back to the kitchen, leaving him seated.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

you are sitting at the bean bags with abby and clair when you hear shouts coming from the door, they’re back, her arm was linked with his, internally lighting you on fire.

she made a beeline towards us and kaia came quickly behind, you all walked to your favorite spot, the swing.

you adjusted your long dress as you sat down, “how was it?” kaia asks.

“good, he’s sweet.” she states.

you smile, nodding your head as she shares details about the date, just him being a gentleman but also shedding light on his connection with you which earns a cheesy smile.

“i just think romeo’s more my type.”, “sorry.” she quickly continues.

“that’s fine.” you smile.

your conversation was interrupted by a loud ring from the bean bags, chris stands up, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“chris, the time has come for you to choose which girl you want to couple up with, 

all islanders must gather at the fire pit.” he continues, “#absoulutesteal, #allsfairinloveandwar.”

“shit.” cade comments.

you all walk over to the fire pit, chris stands ahead of it, beginning his speech.

he blows out air, “i’ve come in and been placed in a position where i have to ‘steal’ a young lady from a fine gentleman and that’s definitely been tough.”

you squirm in your seat, nervousness taking over you.

“i’m gonna have to end a coupling which i'm sorry about.” he smirks in a way that contradicts his comment.

“the reason why i’m picking this girl is because she's really sweet, she’s funny and she is someone who i can listen to unconditionally and that means a lot to me since i don't shut up.” he giggles, making everyone chuckle.

“obviously she’s gorgeous and just all around a nice girl, so.. the girl i want to couple up with is…”

…..

“y/n!” he exclaims, smiling towards you, you stand up and walk towards him sharing a quick hug before standing beside him, his arm glides around your shoulder.

you jump from a sudden ding, romeo takes his phone out of his pocket.

“got a text.” he states calmly.

“romeo, you are now single. at the end of the week all islanders will take part in a re-coupling. the boy not picked to be in a couple will be dumped from the island.” everyone lightly gasps, you look at chris.

“#un-koala-fied.” you notice chris’s attempt to hold his laugh, resulting in a low snicker.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

the re-coupling was over and it was time for bed, you had a long day and were ready for a potential cuddle in your new coupling.

all of you girls stacked up in the makeup room, using cotton pads to remove your makeup, you slid out of your tight dress and grabbed a pair of black shorts, you threw an oversized shirt over your head.

“leah, who are you leaning towards?” kaia asks as she lifts her top over her head.

“romeo, we kissed on the terrace earlier.” she says nonchalantly, making your head snap up from your mirror.

“is there anything else i missed? damn.” you comment with a giggle.

“sorry.” she replies.

“don’t be, i'm happy for you!” you lightly exclaim, adjusting your mic around your neck.

there was commotion in both dressing rooms, you walked to the hall then the bathroom to brush your teeth, robert was already using mouthwash. 

“hi” quickly left your mouth when you saw him, “hello!” he cheerfully responded, making you smile. you grabbed the tube of toothpaste from yesterday and laid a bit of it on your toothbrush, gently brushing in circles.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it was time for a nightly catch up so you groggily headed to the beach hut, ready to dish out your thoughts.

“how was your date?”

“it was good, so beautiful, probably the best date i've been on.” you easily reply.

“what do you think about what you’ve missed when you were gone?”

“holy shit.”

“apparently kaia and cyrus aren’t speaking and cade’s sleeping outside on a daybed, so hopefully everyone clears things up tomorrow, i don’t want there to be bad vibes in the villa week one.” you continue.

“what about romeo and leah?”

you giggle knowing this was going to be brought up to you.

“happy for them.” you smile.

“and your new coupling?”

“i’m excited to sleep, maybe cuddle?” you insist. 

you speedily finished up in your tired haze, then walked down the steps with the rest of your fellow islanders.

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

chris jumped in the bed, scattering the sheets.

your water bottle was in your crutches as you took tiny sips, “can i have some?” he said as you got closer to him, taking a seat on the opposing side of the bed, “sure.” you hand it to him as he slides the nozzle between his lips.

“thanks” he giggles, passing it back to you, you look around the room noticing romeo alone in the bed you once shared, you feel bad even though he had a sneaky kiss.

you placed your water down after a few quick sips and lifted your legs onto the bed, laying your head back comfortably.

you turned on your side to face chris, “you okay?” he calmly asks.

“mhmh” you hum.

he puts his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him, you oblige, nuzzling closely to him.

everyone quiets down again, followed by the lights turning off.

you peacefully drifted off, tossing and turning in your sleep, chris having no problem with continuing cuddles even with all of your movements.

what will this new coupling bring? find out next time on love island…

is it crazy to say this feels like a filler chapter?, I personally cannot wait till we get later into the weeks, casa amor will be very interesting.. :) when we travel to places (date's, challenges) i'll keep up with the whole visual thing, i think that definitely helps.

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Part three. I realised I never specified an exact timeframe so I'm clarifying that this is the last few year/months of him being undercover, about '94 Rust. I'm an ao3 girl so I'm figuring out how to lay fics out on Tumblr. Deeply appreciate everyone who's reading

Warnings: Drugs, drinking, swearing, smut insinuations and references to past violence but it is a True Detective fic, so

'Do you think we can ever truly talk about God?' Cassandra pipes up, as she's smearing herself in her pre-work lather of coco butter. When the sheen of the grease hits the light, it emphasises the taught expanse of her stomach and the tendons in her calfs. An amalgamation of divinity and delicate mortality; the pathetic fragility of the flesh, blood, skin and bones all knotted together, craving cosmic importance. 'Our soul, if there even exists such a thing,' Rust thinks, 'is just a ghost in a machine.'

Rust glances over to where she is standing in a matching lace, navy set, leg elegantly poised on the counter as she continues smoothing the ointment onto herself. He's lying on the mattress, still fully clothed, as he pinches his cigarette and stares back up to the ceiling. The events of the past few days, a visit to a meth lab in Galveston with Ginger followed by a drug and booze binge, have fucked his cognitive workings into a scramble of old memories and new sounds: the smell of gunpowder on his biker jacket, Cassandra's absent minded humming of an old Willie Nelson song, the brown sludge in his nail beds from when he was draining his Harley's oil, the black grease mixing with the residue of the red, Texan dust. He wills himself to give her a semi-coherent answer,

'I don't believe there's anyone there to talk to,' he drawls.

'I said about, not to.'

'What's your point, Cass? I ain't got the fuckin' will, tonight.' Rust thinks he can feel the chemical reactions behind his eyes; his enzymes breaking down proteins, the Speed throbbing through his neurotransmitters.

She rolls her eyes at him as she swaps leg, 'Chill out, I'm only wondering what you think. You know I value your opinion.'

He stiffens at that. 'Don't do this, baby,' he thinks 'It ain't worth whatever you think it is.' She's been doing this more often, letting that docility seep through the crevices of her impassible constitution. She hates herself for it, he can hear it in the acerbic tinge of her words, when she says shit like that to him. Sometimes, when he really concentrates at the expression in those dark pools of her eyes, he knows she believes she has deserved every horrific thing that has ever happened to her.

'I ain't really got an opinion on this matter, yet,' he says through an exhale of smoke, 'Why don't you tell me yours?'

'I know why, like, logistically we talk about God in modern languages, that's self explanatory. But it feels wrong, like we're corrupting the actual concept of a god.'

Rust doesn't look at her but says, 'Go on.'

'I think speaking about God in a dead language preserves him. Dead languages are frozen in time: absolute. They don't allow the transmutation or fucking corruption that modern languages do which are always evolving with dialects and younger generations,' she pauses, slipping her leg down from the counter as she slides her loose Budweiser t-shirt over her body, much to Rust's dismay. She continues,

'Also, on a more personal, aesthetic note, I think worship sounds a lot more metal in a language that isn't the one I use to order at fuckin' Waffle House.'

Rust snorts at that. He hears the slight smile in her voice as she replies,

'I know it sounds dumb when I condense it like that but that's literally my entire point. Worship is so often so dependent on the words we use and we venerate God in the same language that the televangelists or politicians use to con people on TV, the one that the girls at work use to sweet talk a customer into a lap dance? Seems fucked and incoherent to me.'

'I'm sure you can do that shit in a dead language too.'

'Nah, they existed before us. Whatever we try to imbue them with means fuckall, they don't participate in the reality of our information anymore.'

That gets him to sit up, the conversation staring to sober him up, 'Reality of information, huh? You've been stealing my books again, Cass?' a trace of a smirk on his lips. She huffs at him, stood in the middle of trailer,

'You were gone for three days and class is off for Spring Break, what the hell else was I supposed to do?'

'Buy some decent nightwear?' he remarks dryly. The reference to another one of her seduction tactics gets a mischievous smile from Cassandra . The past couple of weeks, she has been going to bed in some very short and, sometimes, very sheer nightdresses. Despite having made the chivalrous choice of sleeping on the floor of the trailer, chivalry being a virtue Rust is largely unacquainted with these days, his isn't unaffected by the sight of her sprawled out, almost beside him. Especially, when the nightdress naturally rides up during the night; a factor that has forced him to take too many a late night smokes outside.

'Nah, not when I know you enjoy it so much.'

'Cassandra,' Rust warns.

'Shit, full name?' she teases, 'You know, you're the only person who I let call me Cass.' She walks towards him, crawling onto the mattress and lying down next to him to look up at the ceiling. Rust doesn't move, not a goddamn inch. 'She'll know,' he thinks, 'Fuck, she probably already does.' Girls like Cassandra, girls too sexy and too tough for their age, always know. They have to. Growing up in a trailers, apartments and halfway houses, knowing that their tips which become their meals are based on how long they'll allow a drunk patron to stare at their tits or pat their asses as they serve them. They can smell male attraction from a mile off, tongues running over canines in mouths addled with whiskey and cigarettes. Oh yeah, they can tell and they know exactly how to play that game.

Rust wonders if he should feel some resentment towards her for it. He doesn't.

'Oh yeah?' he mutters, unimpressed.

'Yeah.'

'Lucky me.'

'You are. You know how many of your brothers would kill to give me a nickname?'

'Sounds to me like they already do,' his tone being harsher than he intended.

She goes silent and Rust hates himself more now than he did the other day, when he smashed a meth cook's head into a sink 14 times for screwing the Iron Crusaders' supply. The fragments of teeth and filaments of saliva mixed with blood that were left in the sink have nothing on the current look in Cassandra's eye.

'Don't be an asshole, Crash. You know I don't enjoy any of it,' her voice hoarse.

For the first time this evening, he looks her in the eye. 'I know,' tone steady but with a trace of true acknowledgment. Cassandra picks up on it, nodding her head. In these two innocuous actions, both have apologised and are forgiven. She stands up and grabs her duffel bag,

'You gonna swing by, tonight?'

He fucking wants to. Badly. He'd stomach the neon lights fucking with his Synesthesia, the lurid couches and the other Crusaders betting on how well each girl would 'take it'. He'd endure the fucking mire just to have Cassandra looking at him when she's on stage, the lights making her white smile a cool lilac.

'Nah. Can't tonight. Something at the clubhouse.'

'Oh, ok.'

'Poor kid. Like a kicked puppy,' he thinks. For the second time tonight, he can't stand that look in her eyes. He offers,

'You want a ride to work, baby? I'm headed in that direction, anyway.'

Something shifts slightly in her eye. The ball is back in her court. She savours it, rolls it over her tongue as victory coats it in something sweet and tart. Never one to show mercy, Cassandra toys with him,

'You'd give me a ride even if you weren't headed anywhere.'

Rust scoffs, fixing her with a look of chagrin; gleam of affection ,almost, trepidation in his eyes,

'I know, baby. I know.'

[johnmcclanes]

just watched the new music video (i haven't watched any since bejeweled but want to roast the mental illness appropriation)

lmfao i feel like i watched this exact video intro from the 2005ish emo scene. this is genuinely so cringe and low quality and corny.

some lyrics made me wonder if she ever did go to a hospital and kept it super quiet but nah this looks like someone who, again, filters that idea of "i was so horny for matty i lost my actual mind" through 2005 panic! at the disco visuals.

the video is so genuinely bad and undeveloped, it says absolutely nothing, there's no connection at all between the intro setting and the conclusion

and in summation i've been in the actual psych hospital 4 times in my life, two full hospitalizations and two partial. and i'm not mad about the video because this is just hilariously inept.

anyway thinking tonight about the classical pianist i met the last time i was there who played Rachmaninoff for us in the rec room and provided some of the only calm i could feel during that time, shout out to the real artists who haven't turned their art into flavorless pink sludge mcpatties and produce stuff like a shitty low budget video by an emo band launching a freshman album with $500 and a shooting studio that they got into for a few hours by bribing security with weed

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Can we get some more bob velseb vore? Perhaps a continuation of the prompt you did for him before?

Yeah, definitely! I presume this one is asking about this story, so that's what I'm working with.

Barry still couldn't quite believe that this was actually happening. He'd been quiet the whole way there, letting the deranged cannibal simply drag him along. Now they're sat down at a restaurant for a dinner he'd reserved with his boyfriend. Except...his boyfriend is just some sludge pumping through the killer's bowels, and instead, he can only watch as Bob greedily tears into his third steak.

""Mmm..." Bob gulps the last bite down and licks his lips. "Now, this place knows how to make a steak. Haven't had one that good in a while." He chuckles to himself and pats his stomach a few times, which lets out a noisy groan against his hand. Barry can't help but stare at it.

"But..." Bob slowly rubs along it, his near-perpetual grin widening just slightly. "...I'm still starving over here. Guess those treats at the haunted house weren't enough, even with the steak." Barry finally looks up from the killer's stomach to meet his eyes, seeing the light of a hungry predator gleaming from them. "Wouldn't want our first date to end on a hungry stomach, would we?"

"F-First?" B.arry asks hesitantly. Is he implying more? Why the hell would he go on more dates with this guy?! He should be calling the cops! Why hasn't he?! Bob has gone unnoticed so far since everything just thinks its a costume, but surely the police will listen and--

"Of course first!" Bob exclaims with a laugh. "I'm your boyfriend now, you think you can get away with taking me on just one date? You didn't treat the other one like that, did you?" He rubs over his gut slowly and tilts his head. He stops when it lets out a noisy groan. "Speaking of...I'm still starving."

Barry shrinks back in his seat slightly as he watches Bob summon the waiter over with a gesture. With a slurp of his lips, the cannibal yanks the man down, drooling maw opening impossibly wide to take him. in. Actually watching Bob eat a man whole was...quite the experience for Barry. He already knew the killer could do it, but that's different from seeing it happen. Bob's jaws stretched so easily over the thrashing waiter, each gulp sucking him down the hatch as easily as it had those bites of steak. In no time, kicking legs are disappearing with a wet slurp, and Bob is licking his lips again as his belly bloats outward with its latest snack.

Bob lets out a thick belch and pats his gut a few times. It's pressed tightly against the table now, gurgling up a storm. Barry finds himself staring at it again. "I don't mind if ya wanna touch it," Bob says with a lax smile. "Go ahead. I don't bite."

Touch it..? Why the hell would he want to touch it?! This is disgusting! It's wrong! It's...It's...really soft. That's the first thing Barry thinks when he does put his hand against Bob's stomach, feeling it squish with all the fat already on it. It's warm, too, especially thanks to the digestive process going on inside. Barry can barely feel the waiter inside through all the heft...he can barely hear the man, too.

"How about...we get some food to go and we finish this up at my place?" Bob offers with a big grin. "And you can spend tonight gettin' real personal with the ol' tank here." He pats the side of his stomach a few times and chuckles darkly. For some reason...Barry likes the idea.

[ancientwastedlores]

Hiii! I've missed your fics and I was so glad to see you back! I saw this idea on IG some weeks ago and omg I want it.... so Tom H is being forced to marry someone because of some family agreement that happened ages ago, and he has to see it through because he is a gentleman and a man of his word... but Reader is hired to plan the wedding (basically the event of the year!) and Tom falls in love with her! I'm thinking Antony Bridgerton vibes, pain and longing! thankuuuuu <3 <3

My goodness, it's been a while! What with having a job and everything, I've lost touch with writing, but I do miss it. So glad to see you missed me too, I was afraid I would return to darkness :')

With love, from me to you...  

NOTE: I meant for this to be just 1 part, and it ended up being 3. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Masturbation, 18+ only

WORD COUNT: 4991

FREED BY FATE (PT 1)

This wasn't happening.

A promise made some 10 years ago... surely, she would have found another man. Surely, she would have fallen in love with someone else.

Tom Hiddleston, hiding away in his London townhouse with the curtains drawn and lights off, gaped at the headlines on his phone.

"Honoria Sterling, Heir to Worldwide Hotel Empire, Set to Marry Marvel’s Tom Hiddleston."

The words almost seemed to be in another language. Taking another swig of his whiskey, he tossed his phone aside and glared into nothingness.

He would have to call on Honoria. She would just have to understand.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

24 hours after the news broke, Tom found himself at the door of Honoria's penthouse apartment, knocking with all the strength of a man after a painful trudge through one of London's miserable rains. He would have driven, but he needed the walk. As hot as his head was getting thinking about Honoria’s betrayal, it would take London’s cold showers to calm him down before seeing the woman face to face. 

He heard her shuffle inside before unlocking the door and pulling it open. What greeted him was a tall, classic English beauty with curlers in her hair and a sour look on her face. 

"I was expecting you." she said curtly. She tossed him the towel she held in her hand. "Come in and dry off."

Dripping wet, he took the towel and attempted to dry his hair as he entered the lavish apartment. Any other day, he would have carried Honoria in his arms and fucked her on her designer couch while marveling at the city lights. Tonight, however, the thought of touching her made his skin crawl. 

He glared at her as he made his way to her expensive fur carpet and sat down on it in defiance. The wet sludge on his shoes made their insolent mark, and he all but smirked at her. 

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you made your point. Just talk like an adult.” 

"You had no right to break the news that way."

"I knew you wouldn't commit to it. And I wasn't in the mood to have a fight."

"What if I were seeing someone!?"

"Oh please, you broke up with that singer like a month ago. You're not one to move fast."

Tom still gave her the dirtiest look as he wiped his hair. "You had no right," he muttered.

Honoria sat on a barstool across from Tom and crossed her long legs. She was unperturbed by his accusations. "We had a deal. I told you... I collect."

"You could have warned me."

"Would you have agreed to it?"

"NO!"

"That's why I didn't warn you."

He sighed. Silence seemed like the only appropriate thing for the moment. He could hardly muster the energy for anything else. The walk to her house took everything out of him, and the only thing he could think to do was sleep. 

“I’m staying on the carpet tonight and we will discuss this in the morning." 

Saying this, he grabbed a pillow from the couch, put it down on the plush carpet, and settled in for the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You were among the youngest recruits in the wedding business but a formidable force. Small in stature but a towering personality that always got the best of the company’s toughest suppliers. It was never any point in negotiating contracts with you, so they decided it was better to be your friend than foe. 

From handling suppliers like an expert to striking deals that made both your boss and your clients happy, you were possibly the best thing to happen to ‘Mosaic’ since Kate founded it 6 years ago.

You were practically invincible, and Kate knew it. Little by little, she felt comfortable giving you bigger weddings to handle, and you never disappointed her or your clients.

So when the Hiddleston-Sterling wedding crossed Kate's table, it was obvious who she’d choose to assist her. 

"Be my number 2 on this," she pleaded.

"I don't know, Kate, I'm already managing 2 weddings this month..."

"Hand it off to Alison and work with me on this one! Come on, you know you want to."

You did... this would be the biggest contract Mosaic had ever seen, and you'd been wanting to talk to Kate about becoming partners in her business. This would be your in... impress her, and she might agree to give you shares in the company. But you also had to consider the well-being of your existing clients. 

"I... it wouldn't be fair to my other clients, Kate. I can’t switch up on them and make Alison the point of contact out of the blue."

"Y/N... I don't trust anyone else. I’ll speak to the clients! And this wedding will need 2 very capable, very active people to contact at all times with questions and requests. I can't do this alone."

"Um..."

She looked at you with eyes the size of saucers.

"FINE" you exclaimed, instantly a giant grin crossing your face. "Hiddleston-Sterling!"

Both of you squealed in her office before you had to compose yourself and walk out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun rays filtered through Honoria's intricately patterned curtains and fell on Tom's sleeping face in the most beautiful way. He stirred awake, disturbed by the light and blinked to focus his sight. He was still on the floor in her living room, and she was off in the kitchen brewing herself a coffee.

"Honoria?"

"Oh hello. You're up!"

She walked to the living room, 2 cups in hand, her heels clacking against the Calcutta marble floors. She set down one cup for Tom and motioned for him to get up.

"We still need to talk," he reminded her.

"Plenty of time for that. I have to go to work now. I've got the planner coming to meet me at the office and her assistant will come see you later."

"What planner?"

"What planner? The wedding planner! Come along!"

"Honoria... we can't do this. "

"Thomas..."

"Oh dear," he shook his head at the mention of his full name.

"Tom," she corrected herself. "I need this. I will have nothing if you back out, you know that."

He looked up at her from the ground, still in a daze.

Honoria was beautiful... a classic English beauty with soft features and a timeless elegance about her. Tom couldn't break her heart.

"When is the assistant coming?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Binders, forms, stickers, and color pens in hand, you rapped on the door of a fancy London townhouse. This was by no means your first time meeting with a high-profile client, but you were afraid of falling into his charms.

Tom's every interview online felt like he was flirting with the camera, and you couldn't help but feel like you were on a date every time you watched one pop up on YouTube. But no... you had to be professional. The man is getting married. To a billionaire, no less!

A second later, the door was opened.

It took you what felt like hours to compose yourself.

Tom Hiddleston, all 6 feet and 2 inches of him, stood before you with his blonde curls, soft smile, and a crisp white shirt. Fighting the urge to take a deep breath and smell his scent, you mustered up a professional smile for the groom-to-be.

"Mr. Hiddleston! I'm Y/N." you said. "I'm here to discuss the wedding, the office must have informed you."

"Of course, Mosaic Events. Come in!"

You stepped into an immaculate hallway with antique-style tables and fresh-cut flowers atop them. Of course, his home was pristine. "Right this way..." he pointed to the living area, where there was already a teapot, 2 empty cups, and a plate of biscuits.

His attentiveness during the conversation surprised you. You thought he'd be dismissive or distant, perhaps too overwhelmed by his situation to pay much attention. But no, Tom was all ears and eyes. When he told you what he wanted, it felt almost intimate... like getting a glance into a side of him that was forbidden. He talked about flowers and how he wanted his late grandfather's poetry to be read out at some point during the wedding or reception. It told you the story of a little boy planning his special day once he'd found the love of his life.

"I know men don't usually give this much thought to weddings..." he said sheepishly. "Honestly, I want Honoria to have whatever she wants, so if my ideas step on her toes, you can just discard them."

You smiled at him. "We try to accommodate both the bride and groom so it's special for both of you. And... I think it's beautiful you've given it so much thought."

"Do you have a lot of men so specific about their wedding needs?" he asked, hoping for some solidarity to make him feel better.

"Actually... more than you'd think!" you decide to give him a little gossip to make him feel better, "Once, I had a client tell me he wanted his bride to walk down the aisle to the Jurassic theme."

"What?"

"Not naming names... but he got a piano version of the theme made and had his to-be wife walk down the aisle to that. She had no idea. Probably still doesn't!"

Tom laughs, now relieved. It's a beautiful laugh, but you always knew that.

"Thank you, Y/N. For talking to me and getting my ideas down."

"You're very welcome!" you stand up and collect your things.

As he walks you to the door and opens it for you, you sense a hesitation in his actions.

"You want to ask me something," you say.

He looks surprised. "Um... well, yes.”

“Go on, then. I’m sure I’ve heard worse” you tease.

“Gosh, no… I - I wanted to ask if you're single” a fierce red creeps into his cheeks. 

"Ah. You want to know if the wedding planner has planned her own wedding," you tease, "Always the planner, never the bride."

He laughs. "I reckon that's a yes."

"Yep. Far too much on my plate to handle a man."

"It's a man's job to handle you, not be handled."

"Well..." you shrug. "Never met a man who didn't need handling. And the good ones are all taken so... here I am."

You’re not sure why you’ve just revealed such an intimate detail. Perhaps the wedding planning made him so vulnerable you felt you had to share a tidbit. You force a smile, however awkward, to your face. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Hiddleston. I’ll be seeing you soon!” 

You leave through the door and skip down the steps as Tom watches you. “I sure hope so.” he mutters under his breath. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The Mosaic Events office had been buzzing for the last month. The date for the Hiddleston-Sterling (or as you’d termed it: Hiddling) wedding had been set, sending everyone, especially Kate, into a frenzy. 

You’d met Tom only one more time after the initial consultation, only to discuss the wedding date and venue. Honoria was present at that meeting, and you were frankly a little intimidated by her presence. She was beautiful, powerful, sophisticated, and to your surprise, incredibly funny. You saw why Tom would marry her, and it was obvious why she’d marry him. 

At the time, though, the air wasn’t as charged with excitement as you’d expected. Tom seemed miles away during the discussion, mainly agreeing to anything Honoria said. It seemed possible he was just having a bad day… 

But today… today was important. You had planned a cake tasting and were scrambling to get your planners and papers in order. 

As the morning sun glinted off the skyline of London, the pastry chefs and bakers at The Tea Room began setting up for the day's events, and you were right there with them, setting the table for the session. A round table was meticulously set up, laden with different flavors of cakes and their respective icing options. A stack of notepads, pens, and swatch cards lay beside each plate, ready for notes about preferences and decisions.

As Tom and Honoria arrived, the tension in the air was palpable. Tom's usual charming demeanor seemed to have an undercurrent of unease as Honoria, ever the elegant figure, swept in, her eyes glittering with excitement. You couldn't help but notice the lack of intimacy between the couple — a stark contrast to the warmth and affection that typically filled these tastings.

You sat across from Tom, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was inquisitive and held a sense of familiarity that caught you off guard. Honoria took her seat beside him, her diamond engagement ring sparkling under the chandelier light.

The session started with a selection of classic flavors — vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. Tom was attentive and involved, asking about ingredients and the possibility of personal touches to the wedding cake. You were taken aback by his thoughtfulness and interest. He wasn't merely agreeing to Honoria's choices this time but engaging in an honest dialogue about the cake design, the flavors, and how it all tied back to the theme of the wedding.

You couldn't help but lean in, captivated by his earnestness. Tom noticed your attention, his eyes meeting yours again. You saw a flicker of something and, as a reflex, pulled back. 

"Honoria, I quite fancy the idea of having lavender in our cake. It might be unusual, but it could be a homage to the lavender fields in Cotswolds where we had our first trip together." Tom suggested.

Honoria seemed taken aback. "Lavender? In our wedding cake? I don't know, Tom, it sounds rather odd."

Tom visibly withdrew after this rejection, and you couldn’t help but feel a tug at your heartstrings. 

"Actually…” you heard yourself jump in, “Lavender can be a beautiful, subtle flavor when done right. And it's symbolic, too. It can represent love and devotion — which seems apt for a wedding cake, don't you think?"

Tom's eyes brightened, and he looked at you with appreciation. "Yes, exactly!"

However, Honoria, her gaze icy, swiftly shut the idea down. "I think we'll stick with the classics, Thomas. No need to experiment on our wedding day."

You sensed the disappointment on Tom's face, but he simply nodded, not wanting to push the issue further. The cake tasting continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. The spark in Tom's eyes had dimmed, and his voice lacked its previous enthusiasm.

As the day ended and decisions were made — a towering traditional white cake with ribbon fondant, pearl detailing, and roses — you couldn't help but feel like something was missing. These tastings were usually filled with laughter, curiosity, and excitement as the couple debated over flavors and playfully teased each other for their sense of taste. This one felt… formal. Almost like a wedding activity to check off the list before Honoria returned to managing her empire and Tom returned to set. 

You began packing up your duffel bag filled with binders and samples when you caught Tom’s eye. He walked over to you, a shy smile on his face. "Thank you for today. And for understanding what I wanted... even if it didn't make the cut."

You returned his smile, the air between you humming with an unspoken connection. "No problem. Sorry it didn’t work out, but…” you reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a small cake box, “I got them to bake you a vanilla pastry with lavender. If I were you, I’d eat it on my couch while binge-watching something.” 

Tom’s smile faded, and his eyes widened. It seemed as if someone had reached into his heart and pulled out the very desire he’d been desperate to manifest, though it seemed little to do with cake and more to do with your gesture. 

“Thank you, Y/N” he said softly. “This was… this is wonderful, thank you.” 

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Tom sat on his couch, playing reruns of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, savoring every bite of the pastry you got made for him. It was delicious, unique… perfect. He couldn’t help but think of you - ache for you - as he took bite after bite and imagined you next to him, tasting each pastry. 

He carefully set aside what was left of the pastry and stared into nothingness. After settling into the couch and putting his head back, he took a few deep breaths before unbuckling his belt and reaching into his pants. 

It had been a month since he first saw you, and he’d stopped himself from thinking of you in any capacity other than a friend. This day, however, watching you try cakes, get frosting on your fingers and lick it off (an act that horrified Honoria’s delicate English sensibilities), and enjoy sweet flavors with sinful sounds, pushed him over the edge. 

After taking a moment to breathe and recenter himself, he let his mind drift. Images of you from earlier in the day surfaced, making his heart race. He remembered the way you had playfully argued about the lavender in the cake, the way you had laughed, and the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. He found it enthralling.

He imagined you there with him on the couch, your laughter filling the room as you bantered about the show on TV. His heart ached at the thought, and he let his hand move, his touch bringing a much-needed release.

As the night deepened and the laughter from the TV echoed around the room, he found himself lost in fantasies of you. Each touch, each stroke, was fueled by thoughts of you — your smile, your laughter, your kindness.

His other hand traced imaginary lines over his chest and stomach, his mind picturing your hands instead. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought of you touching him, your fingers dancing over his skin.

The fantasy of your touch, the imagined sound of your voice whispering his name, drove him over the edge. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath hitched, and a low groan escaped his lips. 

As the wave of pleasure washed over him, he let out a soft sigh, a single word slipping from his lips, "Y/N..."

In the quiet aftermath, Tom was left panting on his couch, his mind filled with thoughts of you. It was a strange sensation, both satisfying and overwhelming. He realized that he was falling for you, despite the complicated situation he found himself in.

And as he lay there in the silent room, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to actually have you there, right next to him. To hear your laughter not in his imagination but echoing in his living room. And above all, he wondered what it would feel like to taste lavender not just on a cake but on your lips.

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“Do you like it?” you asked Honoria, hope in your voice. 

“It’s absolutely perfect!” she exclaimed. "You've truly outdone yourself, Y/N," Honoria continued, her eyes wide with admiration. She turned to look at the grandeur around her, at the majesty of the venue that you had turned into an elegant dreamscape for her and Tom.

The venue was the epitome of classic elegance and beauty. Vaulted ceilings adorned with ornate carvings led the gaze toward the expanse of sky visible through the massive glass dome. The walls, cloaked in ivy and twining roses, held vintage gilt mirrors reflecting the magnificent chandeliers, which dangled like a constellation of stars.

The attention to detail was impeccable. From the antiquated bronze candelabras holding flickering candles to the opulent drapes of heavy silk, everything showcased old money. The tables were dressed in pristine white, topped with silver cutlery and crystal stemware. Centerpieces featuring an array of flowers in hues of white and soft pink added an ethereal touch.

Tom was left speechless. He felt as if he had been transported into another world, a world fit for a king and queen — a perfect analogy for him and Honoria, considering their royalty status in the media. They were the IT couple, constantly scrutinized under the public eye.

As he looked around, a soft gasp left his lips. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to the next, each more breathtaking than the last. "Y/N," he whispered, turning to look at you, "it's... I'm at a loss for words."

His heart pounded in his chest as he took in your prideful smile. As beautiful as the venue was, nothing compared to your smile. It was infectious, lighting up the room even more than the grand chandeliers. It warmed him, made him feel alive. But it also tore him apart.

He wished he was marrying you.

The reality of his situation dawned on him, bitter and heart-wrenching. He was to marry Honoria, not you. The beautiful, perfect venue was for her. The gorgeous arrangements, the grandeur, the elegance, it was all for her.

"I... It's perfect," he choked out, his eyes never leaving yours. "You've done an incredible job, Y/N."

But as he said those words, all he could think about was how much he wished he was saying them to you, not as a wedding planner, but as his bride. He wished he was telling you how beautiful everything was because it was for your wedding — your wedding with him. And as he stood there amidst the grandeur of the venue, he felt an ache in his chest at the thought.

You managed to tear your eyes away from Tom’s and approach Kate to confirm some last minute details. 

Honoria walked over to Tom while you were gone and took his arm in hers. “This looks fit for us, don’t you think?” 

“...it really does.” 

She turned to face him. “You know… I really appreciate this. I know I don’t say it enough but you are practically saving my life.” 

Tom nodded, well aware of their predicament. “Sure, don’t mention it,” he said curtly. His eyes went back to you, now engaged in an animated conversation with the caterer. With only a week left for the wedding day, the noose around his neck only got tighter. 

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As the night wore on, you found yourself in a little pub tucked away in a quiet corner of London. Kate had just finished her fourth pint and was bellowing out laughter at a joke that wasn't that funny. But the night was full of merriment and euphoria, your upcoming deadline – the Hiddleston-Sterling wedding – drawing close.

Suddenly, Kate stood up, her face flushed. "I've got to go, Y/N," she slurred, grinning. "I'll leave the tab with you."

As you protested, she waved you off, promising to make it up later, and stumbled out of the pub, leaving you alone. Sighing, you sauntered over to the bar to settle your tab. 

You were halfway through paying when you spotted a familiar figure hunched over a glass of whiskey at the other end of the bar. Tom Hiddleston sat there, alone, his shoulders slumped. Your heart throbbed as you watched him down his drink and immediately ask for a refill. He looked lost, alone, and incredibly drunk.

"Tom?" you called out, approaching him hesitantly. He looked up at you, surprise flickering across his features.

"Y/N," he slurred, a sad smile playing on his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here with Kate," you replied, glancing at his drink. "How much have you had, Tom?"

He shrugged, turning the empty glass in his hands. "Don't know. Lost count after the fifth one."

You sighed, biting your lip. "You're too drunk, Tom. I can't let you go home alone like this."

With some struggle and a few mumbled protests from Tom, you managed to get him outside and into a cab. The ride back to his place was quiet, except for Tom's occasional drunken ramblings. 

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Once inside his apartment, you guided him to the couch, helping him sit down. He slumped against the cushions, watching you with bleary eyes.

"Tom," you began, your voice gentle, "Why are you doing this? You're marrying in a week. You should be happy."

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. "Happy?" he echoed, sounding hollow. "I wish, Y/N. I wish."

Your brows furrowed, and you sat down next to him. "What do you mean? Why are you marrying Honoria if you're not happy?"

His laughter died, replaced by a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his hair; his gaze focused somewhere far away. "Honoria's father," he began, "he's dying. And he put this absurd clause in his will. If Honoria doesn't get married before he passes away, she loses everything. Her inheritance... her father's hotel empire."

“Okay… what… I mean, that’s awful, but what does that have to do with you?” 

“When she found out, she asked me… she asked me to be her safety. We agreed that if I wasn’t seeing anyone that I’d be the safety.” 

"So, you're marrying her out of obligation?"

Tom nodded again, his gaze finally meeting yours. "I'm trapped, Y/N. I couldn't let her lose everything. She’s been my friend since I was in college, she means so much to me, but I’m just… I’m not in love. And that sounds so selfish in the face of everything she could lose, all because she isn’t married to some guy.” 

A mix of emotions surged through you. Anger because of Honoria’s father, sadness for Honoria’s situation, and pain for Tom’s obligation. You were in no position to help any of them… the only thing you could do was ensure the day went smoothly because the bride and groom seemingly had enough to worry about. 

“None of it matters. It doesn’t matter how she feels… how I feel. How much I feel…” he trailed off. Still drunk, he let his head roll back as he settled into the couch. He took your hand and pressed it against his chest. “Your hands are cold,” he mumbled. 

Squeezing his hand gently, you murmured a quiet "sorry," pulling your hand back and rubbing them together for warmth. 

"You need to sleep, Tom," you gently prodded, standing up to fetch a glass of water from his kitchen. Returning to the living room, you pressed the glass into his hand, helping him sit up. He drank it obediently, but his gaze never left you.

"It's not fair, is it?" he mumbled, his words barely a whisper. "Being forced into something you didn't choose..."

You didn't have an answer to that. Instead, you helped him lay back on the couch, grabbing a throw blanket from the back and covering him with it. His eyelids were heavy now, the alcohol and the late hour taking their toll.

"I'm sorry you're in this position, Tom," you finally said. "Just... try to get some sleep, alright?"

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed. "You're a good friend, Y/N," he slurred out, his voice drowsy. "Thank you."

With that, he drifted off, his breaths evening out into the steady rhythm of sleep. You sat there for a moment longer, looking at him, at the man who was about to get married out of obligation rather than love. A mix of emotions welled up inside you, but you pushed them down. Now wasn't the time. Tom needed his rest, and you... You had a wedding to plan.

Rising from your spot next to the couch, you quietly collected your belongings and left his apartment, the echoes of his words replaying in your mind, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn't fair; none of it was. But life rarely is.

As you left the building and hailed a cab, the night seemed colder, lonelier. But you steeled yourself. You had a job to do, and no matter what, you would do it to the best of your ability. Even if your heart ached with every passing second. For now, though, you needed to focus on the task at hand: creating a fairy tale wedding for a couple trapped in their own twisted version of reality.

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The days that followed blurred into a haze of activity. Each sunrise brought a fresh onslaught of tasks that barely gave you time to dwell on Tom's revelation.

There were the vendors to deal with - florists who couldn't seem to get the shade of blush on the roses right, caterers insisting on last-minute changes, the musicians bickering over the setlist. 

The bridesmaid dresses were another matter entirely. They arrived two sizes too small, causing panic amongst the bridesmaids and a whirlwind of frenzied phone calls to the designer. Hours were spent on damage control, finding a local seamstress who could fix the dresses and ensure that they fit perfectly.

Then there was Kate's nervousness. She was typically level-headed and unflappable, but the sheer scale of this wedding, the media attention it was garnering, was getting to her. There were multiple reassurances that you had to offer, countless instances of telling her that everything was under control, that she was doing a fantastic job, and that the wedding would be beautiful.

Your nights were spent tossing and turning in bed, Tom's words echoing in your head. You found your thoughts drifting to him constantly, wondering how he was faring, how he was dealing with his own emotions.

The sight of Tom and Honoria together during the pre-wedding events was a constant reminder of the impending wedding, a countdown that was ticking away relentlessly. Their smiles seemed forced, their laughter too loud, and their touches lacked warmth. But the public ate it up, their faces splashed across every tabloid, their love story narrated with a romantic flair that felt too hollow to you.

As the days dwindled down to hours, the buzz around the wedding escalated. It was being touted as the event of the year, the union of two influential figures under the watchful eyes of the world.

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MASTERLIST

Chapter 2 of Freed by Fate here

Requests are open! &lt;3

[magsey02]

season i episode ii : what it takes to be a hero

1st person

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"n/n!!" My little sister called out as she ran over towards me, her small, young hands tugging on my joggers

"we're out of strawberries and you promised you'd make Hakkaido rolls tonight!!" she protested with a sad look scribbled onto her face 

i laughed at her antics and my older brother xeon walked into the room, leaning agaisnt the door, smiling playfully. 

"you did promise us you'd make it" 

i sighed and laughed gently. Ever since i can remember i've always been making food for my  brother and sister: whether it was lunch for school; dinners and desserts or even just a simple breakfast. It's not like they ever made me cook for them, it just felt like the nice thing to do. Besides it's not like our father was ever going to do it. There'd be the rare occasion, once a month, where he'd make us some random dinner and fore my brother and i into some formal family meeting about our quirks, hero conferences e.t.c. I always felt a tang of guilt whenever me and Xeon would sit at these as there'd be no-one for our little sister keiikai to be with. Father never bothered to include her as he felt no need. She had no quirk. Keiikais' around 5 now so we just assumed she was a late bloomer. Or we hoped so, for her sake.

"alright alright!" i reapeated, looking outside the closest window "i'll go pick some up now before it gets dark, in the meantime, go set the table, dinners just cooling in the fridge" i said, patting keiikai gently on the head 

i grabbed my keys and headed for the front door until i felt a dark presence loom over me 

"where do you think you're going?" father asked sternly 

i looked up with a straight look plastered onto my cold face "to mexico" i bluntly stated. Obviously unamused by my snarky remark he gritted his teeth like a dog and grumbled "y/n."

i sighed and pushed past him "to get strawberries you old man"

before he could protest i slammed the door shut with a slam

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As i was walking down the street i zoned in and out, enjoying the peaceful silence as my footsteps echoed down the unusually quiet street. As i passed the park i could hear screams of laughter and joy as I saw some children happily playing, i smiled contently as I reminisced on what i unfortunately missed out on as a child. I barely got to play or socialise with other children and the only other people outside of my family young me had ever talked to were media reporters. I thought about this more and i knew how I didn't want this life for keiikai, it's not any life a kid should have to live and why should i put her through the torment me and my brothers had to face. i want to change this for her but if I'm being honest I don't know if i can...

i was so lost in my thoughts I almost didn't hear the loud explosion coming from down the more busy part of town. i rushed over to investigate the commotion and my face morphed into one of shock as I witnessed the sight in front of me

it was awful...!

a spiky-haired ash blonde was contained and captured by this green, icky sludge that encapsulated him. bright red burning flames surrounded them, i assumed it was the boys quirk as the likelihood of the sludge monster also being a fire monster was pretty small. i ran closer to the scene, noticing how shitting ugly that pile of goo was. As i came closer i saw heaps of pro heroes watching this all unfold.

i saw heaps of pro heroes doing nothing

could they not see this poor boy about to be called by death? were their thoughts too clouded with their own insercurites to not even try to save him? instead they'd rather just watch him suffer and be killed in cold blood?

i quickly thought about the best way to go about this. i had to be careful with my quirk usage. As without a hero license (something i don't have) it's pretty much illegal to use my quirk on that thing. i knew i already had a some air stored in my body, but not nearly enough to make a slight tear on the villian, whose body appeared to be soley thick sludge, meaning it'll take a lot of power and force to get an effective hit on the guy. i thought about it tactically and if i could get a distracting attack on the thing i could not only buy the heroes some time but also the teenage boy  a chance to breathe. i prepared myself to gather more air but suddenly a flash of green shoved passed me. A small weak looking boy jumped into the scene, with tears pouring out of his wide green looking eyes. i paused in shock for a minute as i watched him scrape away at the villain, not even trying to use his quirk. 

'he's going to get himslef killed!' i thought as i watched the pro heroes who seemed to be on holiday at the moment 'that 's it!'

i swiftly raised my arms upwards and down as i sprinted towards the three

"hey! what are you doin' kid!!" some hero angrily yelled out 

"your job!" I called back, successfully making him shut up. i ran towards the side of the frail boy as i looked towards the two teens

"I don't need your help deku!!" the blonde furiously yelled at the timid boy, jeez.. thats ungrateful

"i- i couldn't just... s-stand there an'...watch you die" deku choked in reply stuttering over his tears that streamed down his freckled face, as he showed a wobbled smile.

the sludge villain shifted slightly in an attepmt to also swallow the smaller boy

" watch out! " i called as i used a little wind to push him gently out the way 

'm' gonna have to change plans' i thought. 'wait... theres dust and ash everywhere!'

i began circling the villain, grabbing its attention as i let my body absorb any dust and debris. using a small amount of air to boost myself above the things height, i called out to the angry blonde

"shut your eyes!!" He shot me a worried but harsh glare as he reluctantly did so. Hastily i then released a vast amount of air,dust and rocks onto the villain. Puncturing the sludge  but not to the point where hurting the thing would be illegal. it allowed the boy to take a deep breath in, as its grip on him loosened. i sent the villain a sly smile and from behind me, on cue (as always) all might suddenly appeared. with ease he smashed the villain into the orange sky with a single, effortless punch. i stood back and admired the power that resided within him. All might is seriously... something else! He isn't just powerful...he is power. 

"young akiyama! what a suprise to see you here"

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After checking us for injuries and such, the pros quickly turned to 'deku ' and scolded him harshly for his 'idiotic' and 'reckless' actions. personally i thought they were quite brave, so i chimed in 

" he did more than any of you pros can say you did! seriously i didn't see any of you make any form of help here" the messy haired boy looked up at me,staring in shock "at least thank him for-" i began, before i was pulled back by some other heroes to stand next to the grumpy blonde kid, who was now sat lazily on the floor. scowl prominent on his face. Many pros swarmed round us, congratulating us on our bravery and quirks, a few even commented on my knowledge of the restrictions and 'legal-ness'. soon they started babbling about agencies and work. however i was too busy thinking about the fact that i still did not have my much needed strawberries!! any good stores by now would be packed up or closed!

"bakugou katuski" he grumbeled 

ok. 

" y/n akiyama" i responded, looking down towards him with a small smirk

"have we met bef-" we both started to ask before we were annoyingly interrupted. a blush of embarssment tinted my s/c cheeks as apro asked 

"hey... aren't you Synodics'daughters?" 

oh shit! maybe i was a little too obvious? it wasn't uncommon for me to be recognised, after all i was the number 2 heroes daughter and had been seen at celebrity events and such

i should really try and keep more on the down low

suddenly i felt a contiuous buzzing from my pocket, worried i answered the phone withoiut looking to see who called

"What the hell was that?! That certainly wasn't getting strawberries! nor was it going to mexico!"just from the automated yell i knew it was father.

ah shit, i needed to get home ASAP

"m' i have to go now! bye!" u briefly yelled out, bowing, before i sped off as quick as possible. i heard a few yells and 'waits' as i turned my head back to see both boys stairing at me 

lol how funny

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when i got home i was sternly reminded how soon UA exams were and how hard i needed to train or my father would sell his soul to get me in. i was also angrily reminded how that little stunt of mine will not be tolerated. 

i didn't get to make Hakkaido that night....

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3rd person POV

for the next few months y/n spent tireless hours relentlessly training and preparing for the entrance exam. Her father making it clear to her that sclacking was not an option and if she were to disobey the appropriate punishments would be put into place. all day and everyday she would train. Luckly, the next month came arounf quickly and y/n was fairly confident that she could muster whatever UA had to throw at her 

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word count: 1657

[thebibliosphere]

"But you're so successful without it."

Content warning: This post contains mentions of suicidal ideation.

I got a message earlier tonight that I'm not going to post, but I did ask the person involved if I could talk about what we subsequently ended up talking about in DMs because I feel it's important.

Basically, it was along the lines of "My kid got diagnosed with ADHD and really wants to try meds. I know from reading your blog that correct treatment for ADHD can be really beneficial, but I just don't think she's severe enough to need them."

The message then went on to ask me, as someone who is unmedicated with ADHD, for some tricks and tips on how to be successful without medication because clearly, look how well I'm doing without them. I mean, look at my blog, look at my book(s)! Surely if I can do all that without ADHD meds, other people can too. Surely there's a trick. A skill. Something you can learn if you just try hard enough...

This is not the first time I have received a message like this. In fact, I probably get about 2-5 messages like this a week.

Usually from other people who also have ADHD/suspect ADHD but don't want medication because they don't think they need it/don't want to need it, and yet can't figure out why they're struggling so much, and ask me how do I do the thing(s) and cope so well and get so much done, etc., etc.

So I'm going to tell you what I told this person tonight in case it helps someone. Yes, I have ADHD. No, I am not medicated due to severe health complications, and yes, I get a lot done. From the outside, I am sure it looks incredibly productive and successful. But I'm going to let you in on what that success feels like.

It feels like dying.

It feels like my brain is on fire; every nerve in my body scraped raw; every part of me wired and exposed to the noise of the world. There is no quiet; there is no calm. And even when my brain does fall silent, it's another kind of death. The inside of my head is sludge, flowing uphill like treacle, weighing me down, pulling me under in the riptide of my inability to focus. I can see what needs to be done, I can see it so clearly, yet sometimes it's like I don't control my own body. Not enough dopamine. Not enough brain chemicals for the message I'm screaming in my head to make my limbs do the simplest of tasks. Like, feed myself. Take a shower. Answer that email. Text my friends back. Go to bed when I'm tired. Write a best-selling novel...

A novel that almost killed me and not because of my other ailments, but because of my unmedicated ADHD.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I was already operating at critical mass when I went into final rewrites/edits. Every coping mechanism I had fell apart. Like training wheels falling off a tricycle, leaving me to wobble unsteadily until the main wheels fell off, swiftly followed by the handlebars until all that was left was me peddling frantically trying to keep my balance and not getting anywhere. I didn't realize it then, but I was heading towards a complete mental collapse. And even when I dragged myself across the finish line with the above and beyond help provided by my friends and editors, I was so burned out I couldn't enjoy my success. Worse, my success made me suicidal.

It took me until very recently, almost two years later, to be able to read Phangs without feeling suicidal. My brain associated it with the trauma of experiencing complete ADHD burnout but having to complete a monumental task anyway.

I had to go into intensive therapy to recover. I am still in intensive therapy for it.

It took me even longer after that to be able to sit down and write without harming myself. I still struggle with it, and I tell you this in all honest sincerity in the hope it makes you realize what it costs me to be "successful" and unmedicated.

And this wasn't the first time I've had to deal with this, either.

I struggled all through high school, all through college, all through every career job I ever had, knowing there was something wrong, but not quite being able to put my finger on it because hey, I still got stuff done, so it couldn't be that bad, right? Surely everyone went through life feeling this way? Right?

...right?

It wasn't until I got my ADHD diagnosis as an adult that I realized what was happening. Why I struggled so much. Why life was so hard. In many ways, it was like the sun coming up. An internal dawning of realization and acceptance, but also rage.

So much rage.

Rage at how much I'd had to struggle because no one noticed because I was quiet and undisruptive. Rage at a system that forced me to learn in ways that were not intuitive to my brain. To always being told, "doesn't apply herself" while it felt like I was clawing my brain apart trying to do what people wanted from me. To a work-life balance, that rewards all the things that make ADHD actively worse. Rage. So much rage it hurts. And to top it all off, I can't be medicated for it. I finally know what's different, I finally know why my world feels raw and turned inside out, and I can't take any of the medications that might help me.

Do you know how angry I wake up every day that there is a possible solution just within my grasp, but my health conditions prevent me from trying them? Do you know how much it hurts? How much I grieve for the person I could be if I was able to have help beyond therapy and coaching? How much happier I could be...

Not productive. Not successful. Happy.

So ask yourself, what do you want more? A child who has to go through all of this and resents you for prolonging their suffering? Who winds up hating themselves by internalizing the false concept that if they just try hard enough, they can do whatever they set their mind to.

Or do you want to help them?

Or if this is you, why are you afraid to help yourself?

Please, don't use me as an example to harm yourself or others. Yes, I am successful without medication. But the toll is high. Too high.

Rid yourself of the idea that you need to suffer more to be allowed help. You don't. They don't. No one does.

[arctrooper69]

Stayin' Alive

You may be tough, but sometimes you still need someone to save you.

A/N: I think I may have given up on the whole Whumptober thing. I'm still gonna use some of the prompts but yeah, there's no way I can catch up and do all of them when they're supposed to be done. This was prompt #6: "I've got a pulse!"

Warnings: Heavy mentions of death and blood. Medical talk.

--------------------------------------------------

"I'm glad you're doing okay over there." Kix said softly. You smiled and even in the blue glow of the hologram, Kix could tell you were blushing. He loved that he could always make you blush with even the smallest sentiment. It was endearing.

"I miss you too."

"Any word on when you're coming back?" He asked, knowing that technically he wasn't supposed to know exactly where you were.

"I think we're about finished here," you replied quietly and glanced over your shoulder. "Someone's coming so I gotta go, but I think we should be back pretty soon - in the next couple of days I'd imagine."

Kix nodded, "Good. I can't wait to see you. I love you. Be safe!"

You chuckled, "I always am. Love you too."

The holocall cut off and Kix was left in the dimly lit medbay supply room. It wasn't actually a room - more like a small closet that was closed off by a curtain. As Chief Medical Officer of the 501st, he had to make due with whatever he could find and fashion into some semblance of a medbay. They'd already been on this force-forsaken planet for a month longer than anticipated and supplies were running low. The 501st and 212th battalions would need some kind of relief soon if this campaign went on any longer. Kix stepped outside to get some air before he began his shift. The grey, cloudy skies had given in to a night sky that was starless and dark. It was raining - as usual - turning the already muddy ground into a thick soupy sludge. Even when it wasn't raining, the air was hot and damp. No matter how many times he tried to air himself out, Kix felt like he'd never be fully dry again.

He walked into the medbay and grabbed a cup of caf.

"Sir!" He was greeted by one of his medics with a salute. The trooper's shiny white plastoid was already streaked and spotted with mud.

"At ease soldier, what's the situation here?"

"Not much going on right now, sir. It's pretty quiet."

Kix winced at that word.

"Well now you've done it." Jax, one of his more senior medics retorted with a roll of his eyes. "You've doomed us all."

Kix chuckled at their banter, but silently hoped to all hells that tonight wouldn't be too crazy. He was excited to see you and he knew that if it was too busy, he wouldn't get the chance.

As if the Force itself was mocking him, the coms suddenly blared to life.

"Rex to base we've got casualties incoming. Sending report now." The datapad chimed.

"Copy that, Captain. Report received."

Kix froze, he felt his chest tighten, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. You had been with the Captain. You had been at the center of whatever just happened.

Focus Kix. You can't afford to freeze up now - that's a shiny move.

But his hands still shook. Images flashed through his mind. You covered in blood, screaming in pain. You blown to pieces. You never coming back to him.

"Sir, I have the report, sir!" the shiny medic called out, pulling Kix out of his downward spiral.

"What do we have, trooper?"

"Mass casualty, sir. Multiple blasts from unknown ordinances. We've got multiple burn vics incoming, as well as a lot of blunt force trauma. 15 minute ETA."

Kix nodded. Osik. He swallowed, chest still feeling like he'd swallowed a rancor. Please be ok. Please be alive. Please - to whatever gods, Force, Maker, or anything...please let her be okay.

"I want cots ready, surgical droids on standby, crash cart prepped. Now! Go!"

His medical team hurried away to carry out the orders. Kix rushed to the supply room, gathering anything they'd need. He'd be prepared for anything. Another body pushed back the curtain enough to slide into the room behind him.

"You ok, vod?" Jax put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He was one of the few people who knew about your secret relationship with his CMO. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be ok. She's smart. One of our best."

Kix nodded but didn't say anything. They both knew that didn't mean anything. War could claim even the strongest and smartest of them all; no one was immune. He appreciated his vod's encouragement anyway, convincing himself that any moment you were going to run into the medbay beside the men you'd dragged from the firefight and get to work doing what you did best.

Time seemed to freeze in the few moments of heavy silence before he heard the first of the gunships approaching and the casualties began pouring in.

No time to think. Time to do.

Kix didn't know how much time had passed as he ran from trooper to trooper, his hands doing the job they were made to do.

Jax met his eyes from across the room. Still no word.

"Kix!"

The medbay doors abruptly swung open, blowing rain into the room. Tup burst into the room out of breath and covered head to toe in mud. One arm was slung around Jesse's waist, supporting most of his weight. The other was guiding a hover gurney. He hurriedly set Jesse in a chair. Jax and another medic rushed to the gurney. Tup sat down heavily next to Jesse after giving a report to Jax. He looked up at Kix.

"Kix I'm so sorry."

Kix's heart stopped. That wasn't you. That couldn't be you. You were supposed to be carrying a gurney, not lying on one. He felt numb.

"What...what happened?" he asked, approaching the two, kneeling down in front of Jesse to get a better look at him. Cuts. Bruises. Dislocated knee. Nothing a bacta tank couldn't heal.

Jesse shook his head. "I'm not sure. One minute we're heading back to camp and the next we're being fired at. I think I got knocked out or something cuz next thing I know, y/n was dragging me to cover."

Kix made a note to run a neurological scan on him due to the supposed head trauma.

"Blood pressure dropping fast!" someone shouted.

"Find that bleeder and tie it off!" Something in his brain snapped. Kix sprang up as if he'd been electrocuted, pulled fully from his head, acting purely on instinct fueled by terror.

"What've we got, sergeant?"

The young medic kneeling on the gurney looked up at him. "[ __ ] year old female. Unconscious. Crush injuries to right leg. Multiple abdominal lacerations. BP 80/50 and dropping."

"Keep putting pressure on those lacs. Give me the scanner. With a BP that low, there's internal bleeding somewhere that we need to find fast." Kix barked out orders quickly and efficiently like he'd done so many times before. You must have been caught in the blast and thrown, he thought. He kept his hands held fast on your wounds trying desperately to keep working so that his thoughts wouldn't have time to spiral. He'd be no use to you if he panicked.

"I'm losing her! Get that crash cart over here now!" Kix yelled. Right now he had to be Kix the Combat Medic, not Kix the worried boyfriend. But it was so hard. "Keep at it, solider. We can't lose her!" I can't lose her.

"I lost her pulse, starting compressions."

Kix knocked aside the shiny medic and jumped up onto the gurney, kneeling beside you.

"One. Two. Three. Four..." Kix pumped at your chest, allowing himself to fall into the all to familiar rhythm of his compressions. You were pale. Too pale. "Come on baby. Come on cyar'ika. Y/n come back to me!" His compressions became erratic, like his breathing. "Come on!" He yelled with anger and grief. You weren't even supposed to be out there tonight. I was.

If I'd never agreed to switch, she'd be alive, she'd be fine.

It's all my fault.

My fault.

My fault.

Kix couldn't breathe. He couldn't see through the tears blurring his vision.

Jax placed a hand on Kix's shoulder. "Vod, take a break. Let me handle this. You go see to Jesse."

"No!" Kix violently shrugged him off. "No, I need to save her. I have to fix this! She needs me!"

"Kix, listen to me!" Tup grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his hands from your chest as Jax took over. "Breathe, Kix. It's gonna be ok. It's gonna be okay, vod."

"It's not okay! She's dying!"

Kix's legs gave out, allowing Tup to guide him into the chair beside Jesse who put a comforting hand on his knee. "She's strong, vod. You saved her life."

Kix knew Jax was right to take over. He was too close. Seeing you like that - it was too much. He'd froze and if it wasn't for Jax's quick thinking he might have lost you. He almost lost you. He still might.

"I've got a pulse!" Jax yelled. Kix jumped to his feet, running over despite Tup and Jesse's attempts to keep him away. Relief flooded though him, watching your vitals slowly stabilize.

It wasn't until much later, sitting beside your bed, that Kix broke down and cried.

You were going to be okay.

You woke slowly, flitting in and out of consciousness before finally coming to. The first thing you discovered upon taking a deep breath was the pain. Your chest hurt. Badly. IV lines snaked up both of your arms. You felt stiff and sore. It was only then that you noticed a figure sitting beside you. Kix was slumped over, head resting on the side of your bed. His hand rested on yours. You squeezed it. Kix shot up immediately. He looked terrible, as if he'd spent the last week in the medbay picking up extra shifts just to be near you.

"Hey," you whispered. Your throat felt raw.

"Hey yourself." Kix smiled. A tear escaped the corner of his eye.

"You're crying!" You wondered how close to death you'd really come for Kix to look the way he did. Kix didn't cry. You'd never seen him cry. You reached up to brush his tears away.

"I almost lost you, y/n. You....you died!"

"I...died!?" You shivered, thanking the force or whatever else was out there that Kix wouldn't be alone.

Kix nodded, "Don't....don't ever do that again!"

You grinned weakly. "Wasn't planning on it, cyare."

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@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

[seasonsbloom]

planets orbit around you. ( cassian andor )

pairing ; cassian andor x female!reader

synopsis ; on a rainy night, on a planet made for leaving, you and Cassian dream.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral m receiving, unprotected p in v), alcohol abuse, some unnecessary musings on class disparity

note: ... at this point, i don't even know what to say anymore. sorry if there are any inaccuracies in this, I'm not an expert on Star Wars lore.

title stolen from "wish on an eyelash" by mallrat.

thank you goes, as always, to sunderlust for reading over this for me. i'd be nothing without you bestie, and I mean it.

When it rains on Farrix, all the dark and twisted things crawl from their hiding places.

The streets turn into ankle-high sludge then, mud that sticks to your boots, that dries stiff and crumbling on your bare legs. Dampness settles everywhere - your clothes, your hair, your home. Even the moon seems to swim in the sea of the sky, plunging its silvery head through the surface only for a moment when a cloud parts before the night goes dark again.

You live in the filth here, live with the clanging of hammers on metal, with the roaring of sawing and scraping and metal being welded to or pried from other metal, with the sounds of people working their way steadily, constantly, unyieldingly toward an early grave.

Cassian Andor is a sad man, you know this the first time you ever meet him. It’s the sort of sadness that lives in the eyes; it lingers even when he smiles.

Not that you plan on that, anyway. You like to keep your cards close to your chest.

“Tsiraki,” he says, pointing at the shelves lining the wall behind you, the rows and rows of bottles.

“Tsiraki,” he says, pointing at the shelves lining the wall behind you, the rows and rows of bottles.

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment. That’s not usually his drink of choice. It’s not usually anybody’s drink of choice unless they want to get drunk fast and don’t care how they’ll feel in the morning. Judging by Cassian’s current state, you think any aftereffects of the drink will do little to worsen it.

When you turn to get the bottle off the highest shelf, you watch him in the mirror mounted behind the counter. The circles beneath his eyes are deep and dark, something haunted ghosting through his eyes. He’s always scrappy, always rides the razor’s edge of paranoia: Quick glances over his shoulder, tensing before he rounds corners, positioning himself so he can keep his eyes on the door. Like he’s always half-expecting something to finally catch up to him.

Tonight, there’s something heightened to all that. Something acute.

You pour the blue liquor into a glass before you put the stopper back in the bottle, strain to return it to its original spot on the shelf, nestled between other drinks that promise better times, better cures, better things. When you turn, he’s already looking at you.

It’s quiet in the bar tonight. Barely anybody braves the rain for the watered-down, overpriced stuff your boss makes you serve, and you can hardly blame them. It’s marginally less depressing in here than it is outside, lamps hovering over greasy tables dipping the room into purple plumes of light, soft music playing from hidden speakers. The air smells like sweat, and the overly sweet fumes of the hookah a group of men is smoking.

“Busy night,” Cassian says, something like a smile lifting the corner of his mouth half an inch.

You return the expression, push the drink toward him and get to wiping down the counter. “I hardly know what to do with myself.”

He chuckles, then winces as the movement of his mouth seems to tug at the bruise. His fingers fly toward his cheek on instinct, hover there in helpless static for a moment before he drops the hand back toward the bar top.

“What happened?” you ask, against your better judgement. It just slips out, the peculiar mix of worry and affection getting the better of you.

Cassian shrugs, moves to take a long swig of his drink. When he sets the glass back down, his lips are damp with the liquor. “Not important.”

You nod because that was the exact answer you expected. It’s not like you ever talk, the two of you. Not really. Not about anything that matters, at least.

“Which means you don’t want to tell me,” you say, and hate how it comes out, how it tinges your voice. Bitter, pathetic, scorned.

Realistically, you have no right to it. Not to these emotions, not to his honesty. You’re not his wife, not his girlfriend, not even his friend. You’re just… well. You can’t rightly say what you are.

Somebody he likes to play pretend with sometimes.

His gaze on you burns like a hot iron, but you don’t look at him. Keep your eyes pointedly on the rag leaving soapy trails across the bar. On your fingers, rough and calloused and older than your years.

“What time do you get off?” he asks finally, and you recognize it for what it is. A peace offering. An apology. Something in the place of all the things he should say, could say, wants to say, and never does.

And you, like the stricken, starved fool that you are, go for it. The way you always do.

“Another hour.”

If Cassian hears the hope in your voice, he does not comment. That’s a mercy, maybe. He simply nods, picks up his glass, pushes off the bar. “I’ll wait,” he says.

+

It’s like a riptide. You see it from far, far away, expect it, anticipate it, but when it’s there, it pulls you under with a strength you cannot fight.

Cassian is on you the moment the door clicks shut behind him, his finger tangling in your hair and his mouth slotting to yours. You let him lead, let him direct, let him crowd you up against the wall and tangle his tongue with your own.

He tastes like rain, like the sour tang of the tsiraki beneath it, like something that should be foreign but has become so familiar it scares you. You’re both dripping water onto your floors, and you find yourself entirely past the point of caring.

“Missed you,” he whispers into the kiss, his cold, cold fingers finding their way beneath your shirt, onto the naked skin of your hip. You jump at the contact, whimper, melt against him.

“Your fault,” you manage to croak out, your own hands twisting into the damp fabric of his coat. “You didn’t come to see me sooner.”

He chuckles, and his breath is blessedly warm against the goosebumps raising on your skin. Sometimes it feels like the only time the cold on this damned planet recedes is when you’re with him, like this, body to body and mouth to mouth. “Was busy,” he reminds you gently, and this time you’re not foolish enough to inquire.

You just go on your tiptoes, sling an arm around his neck to get closer, to get more insistent, to sink your teeth into his upper lip until he yelps at the same time that he smiles. In revenge, both his hands creep beneath your shirt, palms pressing flat to your back, and you screech at the feeling. Like ice cubes pressed right up against your skin.

Cassian pulls away to laugh properly, a sound so rare, so strange, you can hardly believe it exists outside the confines of your apartment. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s something he does only for you.

It’s a childish thought, but it blooms inside of you, and you let yourself indulge, just for a moment.

Your tiny, shitty, cheap apartment is mostly dark, littered with scrap metal and unwashed clothes, with dishes piling in the sink and empty bottles like pitfalls on the floor. You find little sense in even attempting to keep a place this ugly neat.

Reluctantly, you pull away from the warmth of him and stumble toward the unit that controls the light, shivering in the sudden onslaught of cold air. You flip a switch to moody lighting, finger hovering over the one that would turn on music, then decide against it.

The silence is a respite, even if, far away, you can hear the stuttering of exhaust pipes and revving engines.

When you turn back to Cassian, he’s leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes fixed on you. There’s something on his face now, almost gaunt in the yellow lights. He’s always hungry, you think, but you can never tell what for.

You stay where you are, suddenly unsure how to proceed. Let him take the next step, steer the ship, dictate the night, you think. Let him be brave instead of me.

After a tense, stretching moment, Cassian pushes off the wall and crosses over to you, pulling you with him over to the tiny alcove with your bed. He pauses in front of it, turns to get closer, his arms forming a crescent around you.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks, and ah. So this is what it will be.

Warmth floods you, sudden but welcome, and you relax against him.

“Nothing,” you lie because it isn’t the truth he wants anyway. Squint your eyes to better look at his face.

“We could leave,” he says, the words familiar, practiced, the opening notes to a song, to some ritual fight, to your constant game. His fingers are so tender on your spine it cuts something open inside of you. His face is so open, so young, it robs you of your breath. “Run away.”

“Where would we go?”

He hums, nuzzles his face into your neck like he can’t stand to have you looking at him anymore. The lilt of his accent vibrates through your skin. “Anywhere.”

“Where?” you demand again, poking him in the rib to nudge him where you want him.

“Somewhere,” he whispers, “with a sea.”

You giggle and tip your head back for better access. “Somewhere with a forest.”

“Somewhere with a river,” he counters, and his mouth slides down your jugular, down to where your pulse jumps rapidly beneath your skin.

“Somewhere…” Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer toward him, as his fingers dig deeper into your back. “Somewhere with a sunset.”

You can feel the curve of his smile burning an imprint into your neck, a matching one into your heart.

“Good one,” he compliments, voice lighter than it’s been all night.

It’s like a well-rehearsed dance, this. Something choreographed down to the most minute detail, down to each spin, down to each dip in his voice or rise in yours.

You deal in dreams - dreams of open spaces and empty streets, dreams of silences that stretch and echo, of air that smells like blooming things, like living things, dreams of any place far away from here, any place where you could be free, could be different, could be happy.

“We could do that,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your neck, tugging your shirt higher up your back, exposing more skin to his touch, to the cold air, “couldn’t we?”

“We could,” you breathe back. 

In the silence of the room, it sounds like We won’t.

There are a million reasons why you can’t. No money, no ship, no prospects. Most of all, though, you want to cup Cassian’s face in your hands, say, no matter where you go, you’ll take yourself with you. No matter how far you run, you will still be the same people.

It’s a pipe dream, a mirage. It will never be reality. You will die in this dirt, on this planet, without an ocean, without a forest, without a river, without a sunset. You will die in the dark. You know this.

And still… Still, you long, the same way all desperate, poor, lonely people too. Hands stretched to the sky, eyes closed, dreaming and hungering and aching for more more more. For something. Anything.

It is the gift and the burden of the poor that they know how to dream better than those that have it all.

So just for tonight, just with Cassian, you will allow yourself to dream.

“Cassian,” you say, and your voice is a fragile thing, fissures all over, “can you kiss me again? Please?”

He comes willingly, two fingers beneath your chin, angling your head up. It’s always so easy between the two of you, like pieces falling into place. Maybe that’s part of the dream, too.

For a moment, he just kisses you, slowly, his hands still on your face, yours fisting the hem of his sopping shirt. Water squeezes from the fabric, drips down between your fingertips, runs below your sleeve and up your arm in icy trails. Cassian draws away, looking down at the droplets collecting on his boots. A frown forms between his eyebrows, deep furrows that carve lines into the smooth skin of his forehead, and you can’t help it - you laugh.

“What?” he asks, his voice a little miffed.

“I don’t know,” you answer, shaking your head. “You have a funny face.”

Cassian chuckles, and the sound catches somewhere between affront and genuine amusement. “You really know how to woo a guy.”

“I don’t have to woo you,” you remind him, but you’re taking a step back and letting your jacket slide off your shoulders, try to make it at all appealing even as you know you’re fumbling it. “You’re already in my apartment.”

He watches your improvised strip-tease with a raised eyebrow. “What about romance? A man likes to be wooed every now and then,” he says.

You laugh as much at his words as at the mock insult on his face. “Just take off your clothes, Cassian.”

It could be whatever strange mood he was in earlier, it could be the tsiraki, it could be a million things you know nothing about, but for once, Cassian Andor actually obeys an order. It’s a stunning sight. And here, you’d always thought insubordination was ingrained into his DNA.

This part is perfunctory, routine, undressing a step away from each other, making quick work of the indignity of boots and socks. You get to work on the buttons of your shirt while Cassian gets rid of his jacket. They both hit the ground heavily, soaked with rainwater. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye while you toe off your shoes, watch him shimmy out of his shirt furtively, all the tanned skin and the scar by his collarbone and the last remnants of raindrops glistening like mercury in his hair, like you haven’t seen it before, like you’re not allowed to look.

When you’re down to just your panties, standing in the middle of your apartment with your naked toes curling against the cold of the floors, you pause. The rain drums against the tin roof without rhythm, the wind howls like an animal. You shiver in an invisible draft. Something inside of you aches with a longing you can’t explain.

“Hey.” Cassian’s voice is soft, his hands so warm when they slide across the exposed skin of your shoulders that you think he must have rubbed them together to warm them up. He steps up behind you, his chest to your back, and his words vibrate right by your ear. “You okay?”

You twist around in his arms, knees knocking against his, toes overlapping with his, one palm braced below his clavicle, the other hand reaching up. He flinches when your fingertips trace over the blossom of the bruise, but you ignore it, ghost them feather-soft over his cheekbone and into the hair at his temples. 

“What happened?”

Cassian sighs, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. You think he’ll pull your hand away, but instead, he just stays like that, his grip loose around your arm, his eyes dropping closed when you rake your fingernails across his scalp in the lightest of touches.

“It’s better maybe if you don’t know,” he says, and there is so much in that it almost bowls you over. Panic flares low in your belly, hot and insistent, and then fizzles out as quickly as it came.

This is a dream, you remind yourself, but it feels hollow, empty, obsolete. Nothing matters.

“Can we really do it?” you ask, and his eyes open, big and brown and clear, and your heart stutters, your stomach plummets, your breath quickens. “Can we just… leave? I want to leave.”

And Cassian indulges you. Wraps his arms around you, pulls you to him so both your elbows bend at odd angles between your chests, leans down and kisses you firmly and decidedly like he’s shaking someone’s hand to seal a deal. “Yeah,” he whispers against your mouth. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

The thing about Cassian is that he can take you apart with perfect precision. He’s so much more observant than he lets on, seems to take note of everything going on around him, of every person, every droid, every alien. Knows how people react to him, knows how to avoid whoever he owes money to, how to avoid unpleasant conversations. 

In your bedroom on a rainy night, he’s no different. He’s catalogued all your weaknesses, committed them to memory, and now he uses them against you. Kisses you until you’re so weak in the knees that his arms around you are the only thing keeping you upright, until your brain has descended into the folds of a pleasant, thick fog, until your lips are swollen and tender and you’re wet and aching between the legs, straining for any kind of friction. And then he runs his fingers down your spine, all the way from the hairs on the back of your neck down to the last knob and says, voice husky with something you’re too scared to give a name to, “Get on the bed.”

You’d do as he says, but he guides you anyway, watches as you slump back into the sheets, blink as the cold fabric whispers against your exposed skin, reach up for him. He smiles, the expression almost tender, takes your outstretched hands and threads his fingers into the spaces between your own, crawls after you onto the mattress. For a moment, he pauses to part your thighs with his knee, then he leans down and kisses you again the way you want, lets his tongue dip between your lips, his fingers trail between your breasts.

“Missed you,” he says once more, and you feel like you’re on fire, like something buzzes beneath your skin. 

“Missed you too,” you confess, triumph in the pleased hum it gets you. 

Cassian slides his mouth down your throat in a long, hot, wet drag, his beard rasping against the skin and you’d forgotten - the tender skin between your thighs, the feeling of his stubble leaving burns on every inch of your skin, the taste and the smell of him, and his weight on top of you, inside of you, his eyes warm and trusting in a way they never are anywhere but here, here with you, when he takes you apart, and you put him back together, when you dream together. It’s been so long.

When his fingers dip between your legs, pat at the soaked cotton of your panties, your eyes squeeze shut, and he groans.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, his lips moving against your collarbone, his fingers over the fabric, parting your folds, brushing your clit and then moving on before anything real has the chance to build. “Is that for me?”

He presses the pad of his thumb to your opening, the panties clinging to your wetness, and you gasp, bite your lip, arch your back. Drop to the mattress like a sack of potatoes when he withdraws the pressure, swallow heavily, squeeze your eyes shut so tight galaxies wheel past. “Yeah,” you whisper as heat rises into your cheeks, spreads through your limbs, into your fingers, your toes, the tips of your ears until there’s no place for the cold to hide. “It’s always for you.”

It’s like this. Cassian is so sure he has nothing, and you don’t know how to tell him that he’s wrong. That he has you, that he’s always had you, that really, at the end of it all, you’re his, completely, entirely, irrevocably.

Very softly, he says your name, leans up to kiss you again. You’re distracted enough by his mouth that you don’t notice his hands going to the backs of your thighs until it’s too late.

You shriek as he flips you over, and then you giggle, your legs spreading over his hips, knees digging into the mattress as he grins up at you, his head dropping back into the pillows. He looks pretty like this, with his hair spreading around him, his pupils dilated, his lips pink and swollen with your kisses. You can still see the faint, white imprint of your teeth just above his upper lip, and something in you clenches.

“You look good like this,” he says, as if he’s echoing thoughts he has no business knowing, raising one arm lazily to drag his thumb over your mouth and down your chin, to cup the back of your neck firmly. “On top of me.”

The imprint of him is hard against your thigh, and you test your purchase, rock your hips forward to watch his head tip back, his eyes close, his chest inflate.

“I don’t think you’re real,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, then almost bite your tongue.

Cassian cracks one eye open, something smug settling on his face along with his grin. Like a mirror of your own actions, he kicks his hips up once, the head of his cock catching against your clit, your fingers spasming against his chest, shockwaves running through you, and he says, “I don’t know, but this feels pretty real to me.”

That’s just the thing. While you’re in the dream, you never question it. It isn’t until you wake, blink the fog of sleep from your eyes, that reality crashes back.

Sadness goes through you like a flash of lightning. Even as it happens, you always know the end, and it tugs at you, aches in you like an old wound.

“Hey.” His fingers squeeze around the back of your neck, demanding your attention. When you glance down at him, all the guards are down. He’s looking at you like you’re something precious, something valuable, something other than everything you are, and you have to bite back the bitter taste of tears. “Stay with me, okay?”

You nod, let him tug you down, your breasts pressing to his chest. His mouth opens beneath yours, and it’s a wet kiss, a filthy kiss, but it’s tender too in some horrible, awful way that sinks into your heart like a knife, like a dagger, like a lightsaber, sears right through you.

When you pull back, you leave a trail of kisses down his neck, his chest, his stomach, try to ground yourself, try to get rid of the dizzy feeling spinning your head in circles, the ringing in your ears.

“What are you doing?” he mumbles, patting at your ass like he wants to get his hand on it at least once before you’ve scooted out of his reach.

“Missed you,” you say again, like that explains all of it, and then you’re sliding even lower, your legs rasping against the sheets. You press your nose into the patch of dark hair leading down his abdomen, eyes slipping closed as you smell him, as you try to fix the scent in your mind, try to keep it there, something to stave off the longing when he disappears from your life again, when he doesn’t come for days or weeks or months. Something to fill the nights when the cold and the damp settle in your bones and nothing can drive them away.

Cassian’s fingers slide into your hair. “Yeah? You want to show me how much?”

You nod, heart hammering against the confines of your ribcage. And then you take a deep breath and move until you can mouth at the head of his cock, taste the salt of his pre-cum. Cassian hisses, and a muscle in his abdomen jumps. You kitten lick around the shape of him, feel him harden against your tongue. Press dry kisses to his cock and then let spit drip from between your lips, dribble all over his length.

“Is it okay?” you ask against his skin, wondering if you sound as unsure as you feel. He always makes you feel things you’ve never experienced before, takes you higher, faster, better, and you can’t help it, can’t help but want to make him feel the same. Can’t help but want to try and give him something that will make him come back.

He curses, his fingers twitch against your scalp, his breath stutters. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, it… Feels incredible. Shit.”

You smile, your own core clenching in answer, and you think you might have to throw these panties out tomorrow. What with the amount of slick pooling between your legs.

When you slide half of him into your mouth without warning, lather your tongue across him, Cassian makes a choked sound somewhere at the back of his throat. “Fuck,” he whispers. From between lowered lashes, you blink up at him, only to find him looking at you already. The look on his face makes your belly flip-flop, your fingernails sinking into his thighs. If you didn’t know any better, you’d call it reverent, and it echoes through you like his voice through the darkness.

So you take him deeper, spurred on by his reaction, take him far enough into your mouth that you can feel the phantom trace of his head against the back of your throat. He’s so heavy on your tongue, his fingers so tightly fisted into your hair that the sting of it travels right to your clit. Tears pool in your eyes.

“That’s it,” he encourages as you hollow your cheeks, suck at him with insistence, with a mission, move your palm over what you can’t fit into your mouth, and he moans, a sound loud enough to cut the silence, his free hand fisting into the pillow by his head. His thighs tremble with the effort of keeping his hips from moving. And still, you can’t look away from him, even as the shroud of the tears blurs your vision to a point you barely see more than his silhouette, even as you choke and splutter, even as your jaw aches and your wrist cramps, even as coherent thought slips from your grasp. “Just like that, you’re doing so good, so….”

You whimper around him, buck your hips against the mattress in search of friction, of relief, of something, and then suddenly Cassian is moving, is pulling you up and into his arms, hooking one finger beneath the waistband of your panties to tug them down your legs, to toss them somewhere. As you clamber into his lap, frantic, burning, trembling and disoriented at the pace of it all, thinking if he’s not inside of me now, I’ll die, I will, I’ll die, and he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to lick the taste of himself out of you.

Cassian says something to you, something that might be more praise, something that might be something dirty, but you can’t hear him over the rush of your blood in your ears. His hand finds the back of your neck again, angles your head the way he wants you.

It goes without preamble from then. He slides inside of you without resistance, splits you open, spears inside of you until your eyes roll back, your head drops into the crook of his neck, until you think you’ll die with it.

“Shit,” Cassian whispers into your skin when he bottoms out, gives you a moment to adjust, his body trembling with the strain of it. “Feel so good, love.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, pull yourself against him until there’s not a breath of space between you, no place where you’re not touching, nip at his earlobe just to watch the shiver race down his back, and then you lift yourself off his cock and drop back down, relish the slide, the stretch, the fingers spasming against your spine. It works like that for a moment, you setting a pace, him letting you. Desperate mouths on skin damp with sweat now instead of rain, fingers grasping for bodies, the sound of skin on skin and your muffled whimpers, his moans.

Then Cassian paws at your back, one palm spreading wide on your ass, his legs splaying below you as he gets his feet flat to the mattress. It slides his cock deeper into your pussy, and you sob at the feeling, mouth opening around something you never say. His name, maybe. A prayer, maybe. You can’t remember the difference.

He holds himself like that just for a second, a torturous, endless moment that drags on and on and on, that leaves you alone on a precipice, waiting, fearing, anticipating, and then he pistons his hips upward, and you swear you see stars. Crumble against him, fall apart, fall to pieces, and let him gather you in his arms, let him hold you together. He fucks you slow but hard, insistent, determined like he’s trying to leave the imprint of himself inside of you long after he’s gone. 

You moan his name, sink your fingernails into the skin of his shoulder as his thrusts rattle you, as the frame of your miserable bed creaks and groans. It’s like you’re clay in his hands, malleable, moving wherever he wants you, molding yourself into whatever shape he wants.

I’ll do anything he wants, you think so suddenly, so violently, that it leaves the taste of fear behind on your tongue.

Cassian uses the hand around your neck to tug you away from where you’re still hiding your face, to pull your mouth back to his. It’s the hot slide of tongue on tongue, the nip of teeth, the panting of breath meeting. He tastes like your sweat, you taste like his precum, your limbs tangle, and your hair sticks to his temples, and his fingers catch against your thigh, and it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. You wish it could stay like this forever, the two of you as close as two people can go, melded, united. You wish you never had to wake.

He bends you further back, his hips snapping into you, his cock grazing some spot inside of you that makes you think you might slide off the face of the earth, until your back is arched enough that he can get his mouth on your nipple, and you cry out. You take whole fistfuls of hair as he sucks at you, silky strands that run through your fingers, as his teeth graze over the underside of your breast, as his fingers knead where they’re still on your ass.

“Cassian,” you gasp, as it keeps mounting, keeps spiraling, as it gets better and better and yet doesn’t go where you need it, doesn’t go all the way, isn’t enough. “Cass, I… I need….”

He hums. “I know, love. I got you.”

And then the finger of his free hand finds your clit, rubs in a way that lets you know he’s not playing around, that he wants you to cum, that he’s close himself. It’s dizzying, blinding, deafening, it rages through you like a blaze. It should be impossible for one body to hold this much pleasure, all your sinews singing with it, all your muscles locked in anticipation.

“I’m… I think, I… Cass…” You’re beyond words, somewhere where nothing matters but for the cord to snap, for the pinnacle of this pleasure, for the bubble to burst. Now, you only need him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hips pumping fast, cock twitching inside of you, fingers slick and unyielding on your clit, “let go. Let go for me now.”

You always do what Cassian says. Because you’re his. Because you have been since the very first time he walked into that bar and will be long after he walks out for the last.

You cum with his name on your lips, with your legs tightening around him, with your fingers in his hair and him deep inside you. It’s hot, a shockwave of heat that runs from your toes to the top of your head, that burns all thought in its wake, that curls your toes and arches your back and squeezes your eyes shut. That bowls you over.

For a moment, you can’t even remember what cold felt like.

Cassian groans, his cock jumping as your walls flutter around him, try to draw him further down, and he maneuvers both of you around until he can lower you onto the mattress, pull out and jerk his cock once, twice, three times, strong strokes from root to tip, and then he’s cumming across your stomach. Thick, warm ropes of cum hit your skin, and you moan, the exhaustion so overpowering you can’t even lift your head. Feel like you’re drifting somewhere out at sea, your head tipped up to the stars, your arms spread in all directions, where nothing can hurt you and dreams never end.

He lands on the mattress next to you with a groan, one arm immediately wrapping over your chest. Like now that he’s started touching you, he can’t bring himself to stop.

“I know we talk about going away,” he says, and his voice is so low you need to hold your breath to hear him. “But this isn’t so bad either. Your bed.”

Without opening your eyes, you smile, even as fear curls low in your stomach, fear that comes suddenly, without warning, because there’s something in his voice you can’t name, something you can’t understand, something that tells you remember you’re dreaming, it’s just a dream, it’s not real.

But you’re not ready to wake up. Not yet. So you tip your head back, demanding a kiss, and Cassian gives it to you. Kisses you softly and carefully, and still, it’s enough to have you clenching where you’re wet and still pulsing with the afterglow of your orgasm. It feels an awful lot like a goodbye.

When he draws back, finally, he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, cards strands of hair from your face, watches your lashes flutter as you fight to keep them open, that horrible, awful, ugly fear choking you.

“Go to sleep,” he whispers.

You know this is a fight you couldn’t possibly win. Already the hands of sleep hang heavy onto your ankles, like weights dragging you steadily toward the bottom of an ocean.

“You’ll stay until I’m asleep?” you ask, and hate how helpless you sound, at his mercy entirely.

But Cassian just smiles, nods, leans down to press a chaste, quick to your mouth, then casts around for something to clean you up with. “Yeah. I promise.”

In the morning, when you wake in the gray dawn to the sounds of hammer hitting metal, he’s gone, his side of the bed cold. You turn onto your back, blink up at the ceiling, at the hanging cables like the roots of some giant tree, at the water stains and the missing slats, and the grief carves holes inside of you.

That’s the thing about dreams. They end. Outside, the rain begins anew, falling plink plink plink against the tin of your roof.

[munsonsduchess]

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

summary: you've had the worst day in work but lucky eddie is there to pick up the pieces pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader warnings: none this is just fluff, maybe a little hurt/comfort if you squint w/c: 1305 authors note: this has been rattling around my brain for days and i'm self isolating with covid so i'm being entirely self indulgent. please reblog they're so appreciated, please don't be a silent reader!

not beta'd all mistakes are my own, we die like heroes!

(Moodboard by Me)

It had been a shit show of a day and it was only noon. First of all you'd slept through your alarm so you were late getting up which meant you were running late for work, then you'd popped a tire about six blocks away from where you needed to be leaving you to hoof it on foot trying to take shortcuts which only made you later when your sneaker got stuck on something disgusting in an alleyway and you had to spend five extra minutes dealing with that, so you were late for work after all which caused your boss to ream you out about timekeeping and how lazy this generation was and because you needed to be "taught a lesson about hard work" you'd been given the absolute worst job in the entire place which meant you being up to your elbows in sludge and other various unspeakable substances. 

When your shift had finally ended all you'd wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed but then wouldn't you know it the manager's son who was supposed to work the closing shift had calling in 'sick' so you'd had to stay on and now there you were standing in the pouring rain waiting on your ride that had apparently forgotten all about you since they were now, according to your watch, forty five minutes late. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was cry, it had been possibly the worst day of your life and the universe didn't seem to want to let up any time soon. Rifling through your pockets and your purse you made your way to the payphone on the corner of the store and dialed the only other person you could think of to help you out of this mess, 

"Munson" 

"Eddie, baby, can you come pick me up? I know you've got Hellfire tonight at the school but I - " you had to stop for a moment to wipe away the tears that were streaming down your face and try to sniff quietly so your boyfriend wouldn't hear how pathetic you sounded,

"Hey, hey, what's going on? Are you crying?" 

"It's stupid, just a bad day at work. I shouldn't have called, have fun at hellfire!" you did your best to sound upbeat before ending the call and with another sniff you steeled yourself for the long walk home.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The universe was really really not in your favour today. Staring up at your dark home you frowned, no wonder no one was around to pick you up from work they weren't even home and you didn't have any keys because you hadn't grabbed them on your way out the door thinking you wouldn't need them,

"Maybe I ought to just lay down in the street and hope a homicidal clown comes to take me away" the thought was tempting, even if you still hadn't finished that book entirely yet.

So instead you stood there on the doorstep trying to figure out if your parents might have left a window open somewhere that you might be able to shimmy in through or if your cranky old neighbour might let you dry off in their place when your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wheels on asphalt before coming to a screeching halt at the end of your driveway. 

Like a golden carriage from a fairy tale there was a beat up old van you'd recognise anywhere and behind the wheel the frizzy curls of none other than Eddie Munson, 

"Get in the van!" he called opening the passenger side door so you could jump in, "come on!" 

Your legs moved on their own not even waiting for your brain to catch up and you took off running down the driveway and leapt into the van, 

"How did you know where I was?" 

"After you called I came to get you but you weren't at work and you weren't on any of the main streets so i figured you'd tried to take a shortcut home and this is where i'd find you" 

"You came looking for me?" somehow you couldn't quite believe that Eddie had come in search of you especially when it was a Hellfire night, "what about Hellfire?" 

"Cancelled it. You needed me more" he smiled at you and you felt the warmth of the sun in those big beautiful brown eyes of his and you couldn't help it. You started crying. Which in turn kind of freaked Eddie out, "Hey woah what come on don't cry, it's ok, look whatever i did I'm sorry i know I'm a jerk sometimes but please babe stop crying!" 

His attempts to get you to stop crying by reaching out for you or looking your way for a second while he tried to keep his eyes on the road were adorable to say the least. The poor boy looked so confused, it was endearing. 

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

When the van pulled up outside Eddie's the rain had subsided and you were able to get into the brightly light trailer without adding to the dampness of your already soaked clothes and hair. The familiar smell of beer, cigarette smoke, weed and the cheap cologne Eddie used was inherently comforting and you wondered when Eddie's trailer had started to seem more like home than your parents house,

"Wayne was at the laundromat earlier today so there's clean towels and I'll get you a dry shirt" Eddie was talking at a million miles an hour as you sat on his bed looking around at the posters you'd become so familiar with, "there should be plenty of hot water so stay in there as long as you like"

"In where?" you questioned, truthfully you hadn't really been listening to him as he spoke, too absorbed in your own little world,

"The shower dummy" he laughed flicking your forehead, "for someone so smart you sure don't listen" the teasing smile on Eddie's face made you roll your eyes, 

"I'm listening" you argued with a similar smile. Eddie just pressed a t-shirt into your hands and gave you a little push towards the bathroom.

You didn't intend to spend as long as you did in the shower but once the hot water hit your frigid skin you couldn't bring yourself to step out, it was only the fear of using up all the hot water that pushed you to turn the faucet off and leave the bathroom now clad only in a pair of boxer shorts and one of Eddie's old faded Mötley Crüe shirts. 

The sounds of music were coming softly from Eddie's bedroom and you padded your way back in announcing yourself just as softly, 

"There's my girl" Eddie beamed at you from his spot on the bed, "I wondered where she went" 

If you lived to be a hundred you didn't think you'd ever get tired of looking at Eddie, no matter what anyone else thought about him, the reputation he'd garnered at school for being a 'freak' a 'burnout' and worse. You didn't care about any of that, you loved him through and through. 

"Thanks for coming to get me. Today was … difficult" 

"Come on, why don't you tell me all about it and you can tell me who it was that made you cry first" 

"That was - " Eddie cut you off with a soft kiss as you climbed onto the bed next to him, his hand cupping your face to bring you closer to him,

"No one makes my girl cry. Now, tell me all about your day. We've got time before the pizza arrives" 

Eddie Munson was many things to many people but to you he would always be the kindest person, someone you could always rely on no matter what. Your very own Prince Charming, in a leather jacket.

[chickenparm]

Trust the Process (Jericho/Reader)

this came from an anonymous benefactor. i think their words were, "woe, fish be upon ye"

this one is a two-fer with an extra little drabble at the end. anyway it's really cute, a total departure from the filth i'm normally spewing. enjoy!

Jericho/Reader 2,013 Words + 568 Words - SFW Fluff, Pre-Established Relationship, Cooking Dinner Together <3

---

When you’d first met him, never would you have thought it’d be like this. 

Jericho cuts an imposing figure - tall, broad, rows of sharp teeth, and a voice that positively booms when he gets just a little too excited. It happens more often than not, considering his boisterous nature, and that’s what drew you into his stand in the first place. 

What kept you coming back were the jokes he’d crack that not many people understand thanks to the dialect he uses. The extra portions he’d drop in your bowl at no cost, the time you’d stumbled in and asked for ice for your face right after you’d been mugged just a block down the street. 

That night had been interesting. Jericho had been enraged, the whole stand shaking with the baritones of his voice as he all but demanded who did that to you, while simultaneously holding a frozen bag of mystery meat to the swelling on your cheekbone. The dichotomy had startled you at first - the anger mixed with the tenderness - and that’s when the first inklings of something silly had started to bloom. 

And then, like a wildfire, you were engulfed in too many feelings about this monolith of a man. Not one to beat around the bush, you tugged him down to you by the goatee and kissed him. It’s something you laugh at now, considering it was more of your lips pressing against his teeth, the gold one slick beneath your touch, but it got the message across rather nicely, you think. 

Considering you come home to him every night, sprawl across the bulk of his stomach as you sleep, wake up to the humming noises that come from his chest as he sleeps. It’s like a song, almost mournful in a way, and when you asked about why, Jericho gave you a shrug and a wider smile than usual. It’s just the way he is, you suppose. Vastayans are impossible to categorize with their unique characteristics.

Still, in the early morning hours, long before he’s due to wake and go downstairs to the food stand in front of your shared home, you let him cradle you as he sings. Whether it’s on purpose or not, you cherish it just the same, just as you covet every other part of Jericho. 

This evening, you’re not home quite yet. Instead, you’re coming back from the grocer, a paper bag clutched in one hand and a knife in the other. It’s a habit now, to protect yourself after what’d happened before. While it’d been the catalyst to bring you together, it wasn’t a particularly happy memory in itself. 

The bag, steadily soaking through thanks to its contents being on the slimier side, is clenched tighter in your hand. Just a bit further and then you can pass it off to Jericho for the dinner the two of you are supposed to be making together. He’d been exceptionally excited when the grocer sent word that a particular cut of meat he’d ordered had arrived, and all but pushed you out the door to go get it while he closed up the shop. 

If you’d known it was going to smell like this, you would’ve put your foot down. Maybe that’s why you feel safer tonight - no one’s going to approach you while you smell like rotting kelp and vaguely of dumpster sludge. Jericho always tells you to trust the process, but you’re not sure how he’s going to make a masterpiece out of something like this. 

Have faith, you chide yourself as your keys jingle, the door unlocking for you to come home. The wide door shuts behind you, echoing through the apartment in a way that tells of your arrival, but you shout into the home anyway, “I’m home, J!”

The rambling of his vocalizations comes from the kitchen, likely already preparing what he needs to turn this foul mass into something palatable. When you step over the threshold into the kitchen, he’s turned around and grinning, a cleaver in one hand and flowers in the other. They’re fresh, and you have to pull your lips between your teeth tightly to keep them from wobbling. 

That’s why he made you go get this. 

His greeting shakes the rafters above, so ecstatic that you’d think you were gone for weeks instead of less than an hour. Those flowers are thrust out toward you, and you toss the bag onto the counter in favor of taking them with both hands, a sort of reverence coming across your features as you take in their scent. 

Flowers aren’t common down here, and you spare a wonder on how he managed to get them. Then it dissipates as he grins down at you, obviously proud at the gift he’s given, and you all but throw yourself around him in an effort to show your gratitude. Only one hand is needed to hold you to him, and he secures you across your back with his palm as you dangle from his impossibly broad shoulders.

“You’re so sweet, J,” It’s mumbled into his chest, your head having rolled forward to press a kiss right at his sternum. The odd feeling of two heartbeats, one under each of your arms, nearly shakes your whole body as he holds you tighter before letting you slide down to the floor. As your heels hit the floor, so too do his lips hit the top of your head in a kiss of his own. 

For good measure, he shakes his head back and forth like he’s really gotta get that kiss smushed in there and mess your hair up at the same time. Laughter peals from you as you swat him halfheartedly, both of you knowing it’s got no real conviction behind it but he stands straight anyway to point his cleaver at the meat. 

Dinner time, you realize after putting the flowers away. Instead of helping like you expect, you’re instead relegated to supervising thanks to Jericho easily picking you up and placing your backside on the counter a respectable distance from where he’s about to work. Thankful for not having to handle it directly, you still ask about the meat, “What is it?”

Though it smells awful to you, Jericho nearly inhales it as he opens the bag and jams his nose in there. No kisses for him until he washes his face, you decide. It takes a moment for him to get himself back to rights before he explains while dumping it out onto a plastic cutting board. 

It’s unidentifiable. Really, it’s just a slimy purple mass that has no distinguishable features, but somehow Jericho knows exactly which pieces to shear off with that cleaver and which should be saved. Hammerjaw Eel, is what he calls it, and when you ask about the smell Jericho simply grins. 

No explanation comes, and that’s how you know it’d likely put you off the dish altogether. You don’t ask again. Instead, you pull your legs up to sit cross-legged and take charge of an easier part of prep - peeling potatoes into a garbage can just off the side of the counter. This is something you can do, a job you recognize and almost relish in its simplicity. Jericho can handle the rest, as easy as breathing even as he asks about your day and listens to you ramble about anything and everything. 

For someone so talkative, Jericho’s an exceedingly good listener. There’s a lot of information in that head of his, thanks to that skill, and sometimes you worry that it might get him in trouble. You’ve voiced that before, but he only waves you off with a massive hand and tells you that he’s too valuable to certain parties to be in any real danger. 

You hope that’s true, for your own sake at least. It’s concerning how quickly you’ve grown attached to him over the months, but you don’t shy away from it like you should. Instead you hop down to the sink, scrub the starchiness from your hands, and say, “I love you.”

The kiss that smacks against the side of your head nearly ricochets you away, but you brace yourself in time for him to grumble his own version of the endearment against your cheek. Then, he has the audacity to blow a raspberry against your face and it sends you into a fit of laughter and retaliation that doesn’t affect him like it does you. And it makes your face wet. It smells like that meat.

The rafters above are more than tall enough to accommodate the extra height when you use the counter to boost yourself to sit on his shoulders as he looms over the stove. The meat’s cooked low and slow, just enough to get the internal temperature up before he sears the outside of a surprisingly good looking steak-like cut. One of his arms crosses his chest, putting itself between the stove and your legs that hold you upright - a way to protect you from splatters, you realize.

The top of his head is smooth, giving you the perfect surface to bend down and prop your chin onto it to watch him work, “And the potatoes?”

Soon, he tells you. When the meat is resting, the potatoes will be handled. That’s fine; While you always hang around him while he cooked, you aren’t a fool enough to think he’d be anything less than determined to do everything himself in the kitchen. There’s a reason no one works at his stall with him, and it’s not just for lack of space - Jericho is simply particular about things, and prefers to do it himself. 

Standards, he calls them, but you think he’s just a little bossy when it comes to his kitchen. 

Eventually there’s too much going on for you to hover over him anymore, and you’re ushered off to the kitchen table to take your significantly smaller chair while waiting for him to finish up and plate the food. Enraptured, you watch him work his magic, blindly grabbing spices and tools as if he’s memorized their position to the exact centimeter. You’re certain that he has, considering his track record.

And then the mystery meat is placed in front of you.

It looks… surprisingly delicious. The smell is completely gone, and in its place is a cut of meat that’s a deep purple with a nice sear on it, and mashed potatoes that are heavily spiced. Your fingers itch to dig in, but you wait for Jericho to settle in with his own before you go for it - and it’s heavenly. It nearly melts on your tongue, and you flop back into your chair with an appreciative groan. 

It’s good, I know, is what Jericho boasts about, and you can’t even bring yourself to deny it as you go back in for a second and third bite, making feeble attempts to slow down and really enjoy every bite like he desperately wants you to. For someone that’s so over-the-top, you’re surprised at the reverence he seems to show his food when he’s making something he’s truly proud of. 

So you humor him as best you can, and indulge in the more subdued, sweeter smile Jericho gives when you look back at him. He hasn’t even touched his, seemingly content to watch you instead, and it makes your heart flutter at the attention. Jericho sits with his cheek on his hand, so much love in his eyes that your very bones warm under the attention. 

The night outside is quiet, the only sound being the occasional laughter that filters through the open window from the bar down the street. It cools the warmth of the kitchen considerably, enough that you’re suddenly struck with the urge to spend the rest of the evening sandwiched between the blankets and the man finally eating across from you. Like he’s truly categorizing every spice he’s used, his eyes close as he eats. 

Again, you’re lovestruck for this man. Trust the process, indeed; What an interesting process it’s been. 

---

It’s such an oversight that you’re not sure if it’s on purpose or not. Maybe it’s a stereotype, taught through childhood as the mark of a true chef. Jericho is a true chef though, and while perhaps his food doesn’t always look palatable to those who aren’t used to it, the flavor is where he really shines. 

Whether he wants it or not, this is for your own comfort, you decide. There’s no way he can continue on this way with such a large piece of chef-dom missing from his tool kit. Sure, he’s got the cutting board on his shoulder for his knives, and yes he has the apron, but what he’s really missing is the hat. 

What you don’t realize though, when you slowly make your way home to Jericho, is that the most-likely reason that he doesn’t have one is that they just aren’t made for a cranium that size. It’s something you’d have to have custom made, and while you did put the order in at the tailor, this will have to suffice for now. 

Jericho, like always, positively beams when you step into the food stall and sidle up to one of the stools in the very middle of the counter. It groans under his weight as he leans across to kiss you on the forehead a bit sloppily, a garbled greeting following soon after. You’re home early, that’s what he remarks, and you answer him by simply lifting the bag that holds the consolation prize.

“I got you something. Well, I’m getting you something, but I got this for you in the meantime.”

It’s snatched from your hands fast enough that the handles rip, but it’s in no way heavy enough to fall. Jericho’s hand strains the bag at the seams as he reaches inside, and you realize that it looks even smaller than you remembered as he plucks the hat from the bag. 

With a look of unbridled glee, it’s arranged very carefully on his head, and he gives you such a wide grin that you can see every sharp tooth in that mouth of his. The chef’s hat is comically small, barely big enough for a child’s head, much less a man as massive as Jericho. Yet he seems delighted as he turns his head this way and that for you to observe.

“It’s… a little small.”

It’s perfect, is his answer, loud enough that the condiment bottles on the countertop rattle with the force. It’s decidedly not perfect, but as you spend the rest of your evening keeping him company between customers, not once does he take it off. In fact, if it starts to slip he’ll stop everything he’s doing to rearrange it against the smooth skin of his head. 

The large one will suit him better, but you can’t deny the glow that surrounds him as he shows it off to the regulars that come by. Respectfully, they make no remarks on its size, only give him an enthusiastic thumbs-up around whatever the special order is for the day. It only serves to stoke his pride even more.

When the new hat comes in, you still occasionally will come by and see him wearing the miniature one. Whether he knows it cheers you up or not, you don’t ask, but there’s a knowing little glint in his eye when he turns away to get back to work. 

[phanboyo]

Under the Skin, Behind the Eyes

*swoops in at the last minute with the first chapter of a new fic* Sorry it took so long, this month has been very hectic, but here's a fic based on @five-rivers 's prompt, "For centuries, the cult has anticipated the glorious rise of Lord Phantom. That time is at hand. All they need to bring him fully into the mortal world is the perfect sacrifice: Danny Fenton." featuring a bit of @idiot-cheesehead-archenemy 's prompt, "Jazz is beginning to think she might have psychic powers."

Content warning: contains kidnapping, violence, murder, thoughts of suicide and self harm, and disassociation

AO3

FFN

In the darkness of his room, Danny slowly opened his eyes. The amber glow of the streetlights outside seeped through the cracks in his curtains and made odd shadows out of the clothes and books and games littering his floor. Danny's room, no matter what state it was in, always served as a safe, comfortable space for him. It was a place he could escape from his nagging sister, or his crazy parents, a place away from the rest of the world, where he could just be alone, with his own thoughts, if he chose, or with friends if he preferred. He didn't realize how comfortable that privacy was until tonight.

As his eyes roamed the room, he saw nothing out of place, and he took a deep breath to try to calm himself. He couldn't remember the nightmare, but he felt the aftereffects, unsettled by something entirely unknown. He looked up at the glowing stars stuck to his ceiling to ground himself.

Danny jumped at a noise from the hall outside his door and immediately berated himself. He was fourteen, not a kid anymore. He could handle a nightmare. Deciding that it was obviously just Jazz or one of his parents getting a glass of water, Danny stubbornly laid his head back down and pulled up the covers, his back to the door. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the fact that his unsettled feeling hadn't gone away.

And so, Danny met his alarm clock's shrill greeting with annoyance and exhaustion. Whatever nightmare that had gripped him so tightly through the night as to bar him from true sleep was chased away by the light of the morning. With the light, there were no unfamiliar shadows or imagined unknown depths. His room was his again and he angrily got dressed for school.

The living room was filled with the scent of frankincense, which was never a good sign for his folks. Danny decided to skip breakfast and leave before they could catch him, in hopes that whatever had them worried might ease off by the time he got home. He yanked his backpack out from under a box of white sheets sitting on the couch and headed for the door.

"Oh, Danny!" called Jazz as she entered the room. "There you are!" she walked over to him and smiled, relief easing her shoulders as she met his eyes, which Danny promptly rolled.

"Do you need something?" he asked anyway.

She bit her lip and glanced to the box of linens on the couch. "Um, no, not..." She examined him again, looking somewhat distracted, but Danny wasn't really in the mood to ask. "No." she decided.

Danny nodded slowly, lamenting his family's weirdness. "Well," he said slowly, "I'm gonna go to school," he pointed to the door with his thumb.

"Oh, let me drive you!" She walked briskly to the bathroom to grab something from the counter, and with the door ajar Danny noticed that the mirror was covered by a white sheet.

Jazz plucked her keys from the hook on the wall, slung her bag over her shoulder and turned back to the door just in time to see it shut. "Danny!" she called after him.

_____

The school day progressed normally, with Danny mostly paying attention in class between doodles. Lunch was as unimpressive as ever, some sort of chunky brownish-gray sludge paired with dry baby carrots and a cream-colored cookie as hard as a hockey puck. Danny deemed the carrots safe enough.

"-even listening to me?" Danny looked up at Sam who was looking at him expectantly.

"Uh, yeah," Danny started, trying to play back in his mind the conversation he hadn't actually been listening to. "Occult holiday? Very cool."

Sam seemed to accept this answer well enough. "Yeah, well you only get an overlap of celestial phenomena like this once every few centuries."

Danny perked up at this "Oh are you talking about the Luceli comet tonight?" Danny had been in such a funk this morning he'd nearly forgotten.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yes. I knew you weren't paying attention."

"Get the future astronaut and the astrology nut on the same page and I'm out," Tucker said.

"I'm not an astrology nut Tucker, that's way too mainstream for me," Sam insisted.

"Yeah okay, don't act like you don't have your rising and moon and everything all mapped out," he said. It was about then that Danny checked back out of the conversation, having no idea what they were talking about.

Danny walked home after school, his shoulders sore from his backpack straps digging in, and his head empty. He was so tired. He couldn't wait to go up to his room, shut the door and collapse into bed. He hoped the incense didn't pervade the house enough to reach his room.

Danny was suddenly seized by a large arm locking around his thin body, easily picking him up to leave his feet kicking in the air. A cold piece of cloth was pressed forcefully to his face and Danny yelled through it, panicking. His head was yanked back into the chest of his attacker and the pressure of the hand against his face made his nose hurt.

Whatever the cloth was soaked in smelled astringent and oddly sweet, and before Danny could think to hold his breath his vision began to blur and his exhaustion overcame him.

_____

"-small, are you sure he'll have enough blood in 'im?"

Danny's whole body felt sore and heavy. His neck hurt and he could barely register the hard floor under his shoulder.

"Dolohov you idiot, did you even read the ritual? The amount of blood doesn't matter, it's only purpose is as a conduit for the life force."

Danny's mind felt cloudy. Were these people talking to his parents about their weird ghost stuff? It didn't sound like his parents. It didn't smell like frankincense or sage or lavender. It smelled like paint and burning pine.

"Well so-rry Masters, we can't all be college dropouts." The voice came through more clearly now.

"That wasn't my fault and you know it! Besides, I'll have my revenge on that dolt soon enough."

Danny fought through the fog and blinked his eyes open to a dim light. He moved to rub his eyes but found something tugging on his wrists.

"Ah, I think the little lamb is waking now."

Danny drew in a sharp breath and nearly coughed. He was in a large room, lit by many candles. He laid on his side with his ankles and wrists tied with a rough chord that scratched at his skin. Underneath him were scribbled lines, too dark to make out in the dim lighting. He saw a few men dressed in dark flowing clothing and white masks.

"Good, we can start the preparation." He felt a cold hand yank him up by the arm, and it was only then that he realized that he had been stripped of all his clothes, covered only by a white linen tied around his waist.

He couldn't find the strength in his legs to stand, but the man gripping his arm seemed to have no trouble holding him up. He peered at Danny's face, and Danny could make out gleaming dark eyes through the eye holes in the mask. "We'll need you quite sober for this, little lamb. Don't worry though, we won't draw it out too long."

Danny's heart hammered in his chest. Was this some sort of weird prank? It was definitely up his parents' alley. But that feeling of dread from the night before had returned in full force, pooling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew that this time it was real. "Wha-what are you gonna do t'me?" Danny's voice sounded terribly weak and raspy to his ears.

The man hummed. "You have the honor of being the world-opening sacrifice to the Tromeros Phantaezo, the great and powerful Lord of Death."

Danny's blood ran cold and he realized as his cheeks begun to cool that at some point he had started to cry.

"Brethren let us begin," called a deep voice from behind him. "We must have him prepared before Venus reaches its zenith."

With that another masked man came, reverently carrying an ornate silver bowl, addorned with engravings that gleamed like stars in the flickering candlelight. "To purify the vessel."

A fistfull of Danny's hair yanked his head back as the bowl was brought to his firmly closed mouth. It was warm against his lips and the smell wafting from it was of honey and sweet spices. "Drink" he was commanded.

When he refused to obey, his jaw was yanked open quite painfully, and he let out a cry as the sweet liquid filled his mouth, which was then promptly held shut by a sweaty hand. He stared angrily at the men in front of him through tears, and in his defiance another pinched Danny's nose, forcing him to swallow so he could breathe.

"C'mon little lamb, that wasn't so bad now was it?"

He distantly registered chanting behind him in some foreign tongue, and Danny tried to yank out of the cultist's grasp to no avail. "Let me go, you freaks!" Danny's throat felt thick and his voice sounded abnormally high and muddied.

The cultist in front of him grabbed his chin and looked into his eyes. "You should be honored, little lamb. The pain will be over soon enough. Shame you won't get to see the Lord of Death in all his glory as he makes this world his."

A wooden stick with a blackened end was dragged across Danny's forehead, uncomfortably warm. "Yew ash," a voice said, barely audible above the now constant chanting.

Danny was brought to kneel in the painted symbols on the ground, a cultist at his back with a fistful of dark hair. Another approached, a knife in his hand gleaming in the firelight.

"A life touched by Sight," he said as the chanting reached a crescendo, "given to open the door!"

The knife was plunged into Danny's chest, cold and hot as he was gripped with shock. He dimly registered the hot blood leaking down his stomach, seeping into his loincloth and dripping onto the floor. His vision swam and his hearing dimmed. He no longer felt a tension at his scalp and he collapsed to the stone floor in a heap.

His eyes fluttered, desperately trying to stay open, but they felt so heavy. He could barely make out a bright light in the shape of a man, a cold, otherworldly green instead of the warm yellow of the candles. A piercing screech hit his ears and it all went dark.

_____

Danny hadn't been expecting to wake. He hadn't thought too deeply about the existence of an afterlife before, but he was quite shocked to find consciousness at all. He felt a dull ache in his chest. He reached up to touch it, surprised to find his hands unbound. He looked quickly around the dark room, the sight that greeted him making his heart drop into his stomach.

Despite the lack of an obvious light source, he could see quite clearly the remnants of the ritual, as well as the still forms of black-clad, mask-wearing cultists laid all throughout the room. Their masks were no longer white.

Danny felt his stomach roiling at the stench of blood. He tried to retch, but all he had eaten today was a couple of dry baby carrots and spiced honey water. He found himself on all fours, staring at the concrete and trying to breathe deeply enough to calm his nerves. The smell was making it worse.

His eyes wandered over to his hands, which were dark up to the elbows, covered in blood. What happened?! The question repeated over and over in his mind, panicked, confused, and overwhelming.

He stood on shaking legs and looked around the room, trying hard not to look at the corpses littering the floor, still warm. I have to get out of here.

Danny spotted the door, stained with a large smear of blood at eye level, smeared down to meet a cultist leaning up against it as if crushed against it while trying to escape. A sob choked its way out of Danny's mouth as he lurched towards the door on shaking legs like those of a newborn doe.

Danny fumbled for the knob and tried to yank it open, sobs growing louder as he failed to pull against the dead weight at the bottom or the lock holding it closed. He yanked and pushed the handle desperately in rapid succession, irrationality taking hold, and suddenly fell through the door.

He landed hard on the other side and gasped. He turned and stared up at the door. It was still closed.

"... what..?" his voice was whispered, but deafening in the silence around him. He took deep breaths of blood-free air, trying to clear the snot and tears from his throat.

'Get up.'

The thought was so loud that Danny looked around, thinking someone else had said it. Finding himself alone, he took another deep breath and got up. The concrete was cold against his feet, but not uncomfortable.

He padded up the stairs at the end of the hall and pushed open the door, leading into a long hallway, dim moonlight streaking in from large spaces out windows. Could he just leave? Should he try to find his stuff, or find a phone and call the police?

'How do you think the police will react to find you covered in the blood of a dozen dead men with not a scratch on you?'

Danny jumped at the voice. "W-who's there?" he looked up and down the hallway and saw no one. It was silent, save for the beating of his own heart, much slower than he would have expected.

Danny's hand came up to his chest where he had been stabbed. He felt smooth skin underneath dried blood. Startled, he looked down at his body. He was still mostly naked, and covered in blood, but the voice was right, there wasn't a scratch on him.

He was suddenly very aware of the drying blood crumbling and flaking on his skin as he moved and felt an overwhelming urge to scrub it off. He walked silently down the hall, opening doors until he found a bathroom. Before he could think about the sense of his actions the bloodstained linen was in the wastebasket and Danny was standing under a stream of hot water, watching it turn rust red as it snaked its way towards the drain. He scrubbed his skin until it stung.

Danny stood in the shower perhaps longer than he should. He had no idea where he was or what time it was. If it weren't for the unfamiliar shower he was standing in and the shampoo that wasn't his, he would be thinking it had been some sort of crazy dream. But he could still feel a phantom of rough hands on his jaw, still smell the ghost of the sweet odor of chloroform, still feel the cold metal of a silver dagger push through his skin.

Danny pressed a hand to his chest, just over his heart. A second passed. Two. Three. Just as Danny started to panic, he felt a beat under his fingers. It was slow, but steady. He must have imagined it, then. There was no way he could have survived that. Was he crazy? Sane people didn't hear voices.

He did his best to shove that thought out of his mind, shutting off the water and grabbing an emerald green towel off the rack. After drying off, he rubbed at the fog on the mirror, looking at his expression. He looked normal, despite how different he felt.

Images of the ritual room flashed through his mind again in painful detail. His breath hitched and he held the eyes of his reflection, trying to ground himself and not really succeeding. He could hear the dripping off the shower faucet, steadier than his own breath.

"Did I kill those people?" He asked himself.

His reflection's eyes flashed a cold, otherworldly green. "No, I did," the echoey voice left his mouth without his input and Danny jumped back from the mirror, falling against the tub with a startled cry.

"Wha- oh, oh man I really am crazy." Danny's hands climbed into his hair, fingers pulling at the wet strands.

'I am not a hallucination.'

"Very reassuring," Danny responded hysterically, only vaguely aware that he was now talking to himself. "Sounds exactly like something a hallucination would say."

'I am Phantaezō.'

Danny froze. "Lord of Death?" His voice was small. Were his parents right about spirits being real all along? Did something happen during the ritual? Maybe it wasn't all in his head, but could he afford to entertain that possibility? If he was wrong it would only drive him further into madness.

'I'll prove it.'

Danny felt a chill run up his spine and suddenly he felt lighter. When did he stand up? He looked down to find that he was in fact not standing, but floating. Danny yelled. His eyes were glowing green in the mirror again.

"Stop it! Stop!" Danny yelled, clutching at his head and clenching his eyes shut. He felt his butt hit the floor again, cushioned by the plush yellow bath mat, and felt slight relief at the familiar return of weight to his body.

He thought of how he fell through the door to the hallway. Surely he couldn't just have imagined that. He stared at his hands, thinking about passing through the door. He felt a chill and his hands became translucent. He gasped and they flickered back to normal. He turned them over, staring.

"...What did you do to me?" he whispered.

'I saved you.'

How, Danny was about to ask, before his parents' constant distrust of spirits kicked in. "Why?"

The spirit was quiet for a long time, but Danny could feel its presence in his mind, cold but intense, burning like frostbite. Finally it spoke.

'They wanted me for their bidding, those foolish mortals thought they could control me, me.' The spirit paused. 'In their effort to hold me, they made a mistake trying to close the Door. If I hadn't latched onto a stable form I would have been torn.'

Danny was silent, trying to digest this. A god of death saved his life and possessed him in order to avoid being destroyed by cultists, whom it then killed using Danny's body.

"Why me?"

'You have touched death.'

Danny's breath caught in his throat as the Phantom pain of a dagger struck his chest. "Am I dead?"

The spirit paused. 'Not… anymore.'

Danny took a deep breath and pressed his hand to his heart, feeling for the slow beats to reassure him that the spirit was speaking truth. He was alive. He was possessed. What should he do? "Exorcism?" He ventured.

The spirit scoffed. 'As if any priest could remove me.'

Danny clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that aloud. He was posessed by some great god of death. Could a priest handle that? Twelve occultists who seemed to know what they were doing certainly couldn't. Maybe his parents could help, they knew about this kind of thing. His mind went back to the corpses lining the room. No. No, he wouldn't get them killed. He bit his lip. They were probably worried sick about him. He had no idea how long he'd been away. The change from day to night showed that it had been at least several hours since school ended, but for all he knew it could be days.

'Human?' the voice interrupted his thoughts.

"My name is Danny," he replied absently.

'Danny,' it said pointedly. 'If you build me a new Door I can leave.'

There was a way out? Danny stood. "Okay, how do I build this door then?" he asked eagerly. His thoughts then returned to the ritual, the cultist's voice echoing in his ears. "A life touched by sight given to open the door!" He slumped again, filling with an odd combination of rage and despair. "I won't kill anyone."

'I can take care of that,' it said.

Danny's eyes snapped up to the mirror. They were blue. He pointed at his reflection nevertheless. "No," he said forcefully, ignoring the shake in his muscles. "You are not killing anyone."

The spirit huffed a long sigh.

"Promise!" Danny demanded.

'You want me to promise?' it asked in amusement.

"Yes!" Danny exclaimed. "Swear!"

Danny resisted a flinch as his eyes swirled green. He watched his shoulders relax and a smile eased its way onto his face. A low, echoing chuckle oozed from his mouth. "How could you possibly stop me, little lamb?"

Danny was starting to really hate that nickname. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt a coolness wash over him that had nothing to do with the ghost inside of him.

"I'll kill myself."

His reflection tilted it's head, eyeing him curiously.

"I'll kill myself, and then you won't have a-a stable form to latch onto."

A hand came up to brush his lips as if in thought. The smile on his face became challenging. "What makes you think I couldn't just bring you back again?"

Danny's stomach dropped. Was he forced to be the puppet of some murderous evil spirit against his own will? Trapped with this demon in some sort of hell on earth? Surely there had to be some way out. Maybe he could destroy himself beyond repair. Surely even this thing had its limits.

"I-I'll throw myself in a wood chipper," Danny tried. "Jump into an inferno. Bury myself in concrete. Drag myself to the bottom of the ocean." Danny's breath hitched. "Launch my ashes into space."

His reflection examined him for a long moment. "You feel very strongly about this," it noted, amusement mixing with curiosity.

Danny nodded, his breath coming in and out more quickly than he'd realized. "Yes."

It stared at him for another long moment before seeming to make up its mind. "Alright," it said. "I won't kill anyone while I'm here."

Danny nodded. "Promise."

His reflection rolled its eyes. "I promise not to intentionally kill anyone while I'm here. Cross my heart and hope to, well," it smiled. "You know."

Danny took a shaky breath and turned away from the mirror, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, so how do I build this door?"

'Well, without some sacrifices to part the veil, it'll take a while. I suggest getting comfortable, we're in it for the long haul, kid.'

_____

It took Danny a while to find some clothes. The layout of the mansion (it could only be described as a mansion) was confusing, and the continuous green and gold color scheme that adorned the winding hallways didn't help. Phantom seemed to pick up on the layout much more quickly however, and let Danny know when he was backtracking or going in circles.

The fifth bedroom that Danny found was the largest so far, and the only one with clothes in the closet. Nearly all of them were suits, collared shirts, and slacks, and silken pajamas, but he found some sweatpants, which he cinched tightly at the waist, and a Green Bay Packers hoodie.

"That explains the decor," Danny muttered. "How crazy can you get?"

'Cultists, remember?' the spirit chimed.

"Your cult," Danny reminded him, pulling the hoodie on.

'I don't claim them,' he replied hotly. 'They tried to control me.'

Danny rolled his eyes. "Betrayal cuts deep, huh?"

The spirit made an offended noise. 'I was never affiliated with those misguided idiots!'

Danny rolled up the hems of the sweatpants to keep himself from tripping on them and felt tiny in the oversized clothes. "Yeah, okay ghost boy," he muttered as he began looking for shoes that could potentially fit him, but quickly gave up. If he couldn't find his stuff he might have to brave the world in sweatpants and socks.

'Ghost boy?' it asked incredulously. 'I am the Regnandi Sarruum Phantaezō, Lord of Death, defeater of Pariah Dark, conqueror of the Infinite Realms-'

"Okay, okay, touchy," Danny said. "Reggie, Sam, Phantom, whatever."

Phantom didn't grumble, per say, but Danny could feel his irritation, buzzing like static on a TV. 'You were not this impertinent before.'

Danny snorted. "Threatening to throw you in a wood grinder isn't impertinent?" His grin faded and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think I have any more energy to deal with ridiculous things like threats of violence today."

'Sleep, then. There is much work to be done if I am to return to the Infinite Realms.'

Danny shook his head. “I wanna get this over with as soon as possible, I don’t want you here any longer than necessary. Danny shut the closet door. What do we need to get started?”

'Well, a lot of things. Raven feathers, silver, dead sea salt, highly conductive metals for energy relay, beta flos sanguinus-those will be vital if you're going to continue to be adamant about the whole "not killing anyone" thing-oh, and we'll need some explosives-'

"Explosives?!"

'We'll be punching a hole between dimensions, kid. Don't worry, explosives are easy to come by in this plane.'

"That's not what I was-" Danny huffed. "Okay, whatever. Explosives, sure. What's the, the beta floss?"

'Beta flos sanguine, a type of flower with special properties. Witch hunters tend to have them, do you know of any?'

"Do I know of any witch hunters?" Danny asked incredulously.

'Yes, they go from town to town with diverse weapons of torture, hunting-'

"I know what a witch hunter is!" Danny said, rolling his eyes. "It's not the 1600s anymore, witch hunters aren't a thing!"

Phantom seemed to consider this. 'I'll admit, it has been a while since I was last summoned, and news of your realm has been rather scant of late. Alright then, who fights against the creatures of darkness nowadays?'

"The creatures-" Danny shut his mouth before he could make another sarcastic remark and thought for a moment. Sam would probably call herself a creature of darkness, but that's probably not what Phantom was referring to. "Uh I dunno, priests?" Horror movies like The Exorcist and The Conjuring came to mind.

Phantom made a scornful noise. 'Doubtful they'd have such things. They don't know the first thing about the occult, or actual mechanisms of summoning and banishment. They merely rely on their paltry faith.'

Danny hummed as his mind went back to Sam. She definitely educated herself on the occult. It was one of the reasons she first became friends with him. Danny's mother made him wear a protective talisman to school after he came home with bruises courtesy of Dash. Sam saw it and immediately began to inundate him with talk of the occult and supernatural, which, much to her delight, he easily followed. She eventually realized that, despite the knowledge gained from his unusual upbringing, he had very little actual interest in the occult. By then, however, she had already deemed him a good friend and they had been ever since.

"I have a goth friend who's into gardening. She might know where to find rare occult flowers."

Phantom hummed. 'Yes, we'll have to give that a try. Best to do it quickly, the process to convert them for our purposes will take a couple months at the least.'

Danny's heart dropped as the reality of his situation began to sink in. He was stuck with a murderous spirit inside his head for months at the least. A spirit that had shown that it could take control of his body to some degree. What if it's intentions were more malicious than it was letting on? His parents always told him off the cunning and guile of evil spirits. He had stopped believing them in middle school, but now he had to wonder about the truth of it. Would this door they were preparing really rid him of Phantom? Or would it bring on the end of the world? Could Danny live with that? Would he live at all after this?

"How do I know I can trust you?" Danny asked, before amending his statement. "How do I know that this is actually going to send you back and not cause the apocalypse?"

Phantom tsked. 'You really don't know anything about the Infinite Realms, do you? Or multidimensional planar configuration?'

Danny paused. Multi what? "Uh, no. Can't say that I do," he said quietly.

'Well,' Phantom started, 'The Infinite Realms is unique in that it has all of the right physical properties and dimensional positioning to easily access a multitude of smaller planes, hence the name of "Infinite Realms."'

"Okay…?"

'It is much more vast than any other realm in existence. This is due in part because of the fluidity of what you call "ectoplasm," which makes up most of the dimension. It allows for great spatial manipulations and lends itself well to the creation or linking of pocket dimensions. Its size is also due its age, one of the two oldest realms known.'

"What's the other one?" Danny asked curiously.

'... Yours. ' Phantom said. 'They formed, near as we can tell, at the same time. More solid and stable elements of this dimension allowed for the elasticity of elements in ours, and vice versa. They are nearly opposite. Two sides of one coin. Impossibly different, but inherently linked.'

Danny listened now with rapt attention.

'It is for this reason that you can trust that I do not seek to destroy your realm. Only a fool would seek power at the cost of such imbalance. Chaos and destruction in your world would bring the same in mine.'

"... Oh," Danny said simply.

'Yes,' Phantom said, his voice taking on a softly melancholic tone, 'It's such a shame you will not have the honor of seeing its chaotic beauty.' His wistful tone became far away and nostalgic. 'The silvery green mists of the Far Fields that cling to you as you float through them, like a cold caress. The ringing sound of ectoplasmic winds through the barren zones, like the bow of a skillful player across enchanted strings, the soft glow of pertarials as you push energy through them, as if beaming in delight at your care…'

An odd feeling settled in Danny's chest as he spoke, a hiraeth that felt cool but comforting, aching but soft, certainly new, but distantly familiar in a way that was almost primordial.

"... It sounds lovely."

'It is.' Phantom said. 'And I would like to get back, so if you wouldn't mind getting a move on to wherever you're going to start this-'

"Oh, y-yes, right," Danny said, exiting the large room.

_____

Danny finally found the front door. He had searched every room he could find (which was rather a lot) but didn't find his backpack or clothes. They must have dumped them somewhere else. Danny opened the front door and was greeted by a cold wind, which would have normally chilled Danny to the bone. He didn't get so much as goosebumps. Normally this fact would have concerned him, but Danny was looking down at his feet, shod only in socks that were slightly too big for him. He looked out the door again at the woods in front of him. This small mansion appeared to be secluded. "Great," Danny muttered. "Nothing better than being lost in some creepy woods at night."

'Hey, you've got me,' Phantom said in a tone that was probably meant to be reassuring.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Ah yes, lucky me."

'Indeed!' Phantom exclaimed. 'Onward!'

Danny adjusted the leather bag on his shoulder, another thing he'd found in the house, to carry water, a flashlight, a little bit of food, and some cash he'd found, just in case. With a breath, Danny took a step outside. He could barely feel the stone walkway beneath his thick socks.

"Onward," Danny echoed.

____

After about twenty minutes of walking, Danny found a dirt road, which led, about forty minutes later, to a paved road. Danny found that the unfamiliar terrain was quite easy to see and navigate through, despite the night clouds dimming the already faint moonlight.

"Alright, now we're getting somewhere." Danny knew the positions of the stars pretty well, but not quite well enough to know exactly where he was. He started walking down the road in a northeast direction. "Hopefully someone will drive by and be willing to pick up a shady teenager on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere,"

'I wouldn't worry, you don't look like any shadowy wilderness spirit I've ever seen, ' Phantom reassured.

Danny rolled his eyes. "Thanks, but I was thinking more along the lines of 'mental asylum escapee,' or perhaps 'murderous delinquent.'"

Phantom gave a confused hum. 'But you've been very clear about your aversion to murder, you didn't change your mind did you?' he asked, a with a little too much excitement.

"No!" Danny said emphatically. "No murder." He put his face in his hands. "And here I am talking to a murderous voice in my head. Who wouldn't want to pick me up?"

'I'm sure someone will come along,' Phantom said.

About an hour later, Danny was considering taking a break, when a pair of distant headlights came into view. Eagerly, Danny stuck his thumb out into the road. "C'mon, c'mon."

The semi truck slowed to a stop next to him and Danny resisted the urge to cheer. The window rolled down and a man leaned over to get a look at him. He looked Danny up and down, lingering on his wet, dirty socks, before coming up to look Danny in the eyes again.

"Hey kid, you lost? It ain't safe out here this time 'a night."

Danny nodded. "Yeah, I don't know where I am, could you give me a ride?"

"Hop in," he said, pushing the door open and pulling back into the driver's side. Danny climbed up into the truck and sat in the large seat, smiling at the warm air blowing on his damp socks as the driver continued back down the road.

"How old are you, kid? You a runaway?" he asked, glancing at Danny out of the side of his eye.

Danny shook his head. "I'm fourteen."

"Fourteen," he repeated. "And what brought you to the middle 'a nowhere Wisconsin?"

So I'm in Wisconsin, Danny thought. That's only a few states over. Maybe his journey back home wouldn't be so long after all. "Cultists," Danny replied.

"Reaally?" the man responded dubiously.

"Yep."

"Cultists."

"Mhmm. Tied me up to sacrifice to a god of death." Danny said without a beat.

"Well you look pretty good for a sacrifice victim."

Danny shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a tough kid."

'Having a powerful otherworldly spirit with supernatural healing abilities on your side doesn't hurt,' Phantom said.

"Yeah, I'll bet you took them all out with your bare hands when you escaped," he said.

Danny's smile faltered as he remembered waking up in a dark room surrounded by corpses and covered in blood.

"... Yeah," he said quietly.

The driver glanced at him a little longer this time. "Alright, well, do you have a name?"

He nodded. "Danny."

The truck driver nodded too. "I'm Rick. Nice to meet'cha, Danny. You know, I've got a cousin named Danny, crazy fella, this one time we were rafting up in Quebec…"

Danny relaxed, watching the dark trees slide past the window and listening to Rick tell stories. He was a good storyteller, and he had a lot of them. Danny was exhausted, and with the smooth rumble of the truck and the warm air blowing through the vents, he easily fell asleep.

____

Danny was shook awake, and without a thought his hand shot up to grab the wrist of whomever had touched him.

"Whoa, easy tiger," said Rick, putting up his other hand placatingly. Danny let go of Rick's arm.

"S-sorry."

"'S okay," Rick said. "We're at a rest stop. Figured you might wanna take a bathroom break. Plus ya haven't actually told me where you're headed. You might need ta catch another ride."

Danny nodded and looked out the window. The sun was up, brightly lighting the rest stop, it looked about mid afternoon. He must've slept all through the morning. "Yeah," he nodded again. "Yeah, okay."

"Alright," Rick said, stepping out of the truck and stretching with a groan.

Danny hopped down and looked at the convenience store next to the stop. "Thanks for the ride, Rick."

"Sure thing kid, glad I found ya when I did." Rick crossed his arms. "Promise me you'll stay outta trouble, now."

Danny bit his lip. With Phantom in his head he was neck deep in trouble and he had a feeling this was only the beginning. "I'll try," he said.

Rick pursed his lips. "Alright alright, just, be safe, okay?"

Danny nodded.

"No, I mean it. You're in danger, you do whatever it takes to get yourself out okay?"

Danny hesitated.

"Listen," Rick said, "I know that sounds drastic, but I've been through some shit, and I've seen others go through worse. You don't deserve that, and letting yourself get hurt for someone else ain't right. It won't fix anything, okay?"

Danny stared at his sock-clad feet. Rick didn't get it. His situation was different. Rick didn't know what Danny was. Danny didn't even know what he was anymore. Just a ticking time bomb. A freak. A danger.

"Danny," Rick said gently and Danny looked up at him. Danny wouldn't ever see Rick again. He could just say yes and leave. Rick didn't know him. Rick was just some truck driver. He'd never know Danny was lying.

Danny took a breath and nodded. "I promise I'll be safe," he said.

Rick's shoulders fell slightly and the determined look in his eyes became sad.

He knew.

Danny looked away again and Rick let out a sigh. "I wish you luck on your travels, kid. Bright side of the tunnel is coming, I promise."

Danny nodded and with one last "Thanks," left Rick, walking toward the convenience store.

The convenience store was, in fact, very convenient. Not only did it have the usual snacks and drinks, but another section had car parts and accessories and a few pieces of clothing in sizes from medium to XXXL, a few t-shirts, sweaters, and safety vests. To Danny's delight, they even had boots.

The smallest they had was one size larger than Danny usually got, but he also grabbed a couple pairs of thick socks and hoped that would make up the difference. After purchasing them and throwing his dirty socks in the trash, Danny bought a small pepperoni pizza and found that he was ravenous.

'What is this food?' Phantom asked, 'It is quite delicious.'

"You can taste my food?!" Danny asked abruptly before slapping a hand over his mouth. He looked around the dining area, and saw that the few people there hadn't looked up from what they were doing.

'At the moment, we share a body. Most unfortunate. However, that means that, yes, I feel the same sensations you do.' Phantom supplied.

"Oh," Danny whispered. "This is called pizza and I'm gonna get another one."

'Excellent idea.'

After the second pizza Danny felt less like he was being eaten from the inside out, and found that he only had a couple dollars left. He decided to see if he could find anyone heading to Amity Park.

After asking three truckers, a pair of newlyweds, two skiers on their way to Quebec, and a mom juggling three restless children, he found a small group of musicians who were traveling to St. Louis and would be passing through.

"Sure kid, we can give you a ride. As long as you don't mind sitting next to the drums."

"I don't mind at all," Danny smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe he would be getting home today.

_____

The trip was bumpy without a seat belt, but the musicians were a great crowd. They were loud and friendly, and their frequent laughter lifted Danny's spirits and eased the ever-growing dread and anxiety that had been pooling in his chest since the previous morning. For a moment, Danny thought that maybe he could do this. Maybe his situation wasn't impossible.

"Amity Park, a nice place to live!" called Eric from the passengers seat. Danny perked up and stood on his knees to look over the other chairs and out the front window. The sky had darkened once again, but was lit brightly by the familiar city lights in the distance.

Mads slapped him hard on the back. "Here you are, Danny, home sweet home!"

"Check out those buildings!" Xan said, pointing at the network of Axion Labs facilities behind barbed wire, the letters glowing a cool blue in contrast to the warm yellow security light around the buildings. "Man, it must be cool to live here," they said.

"Yeah," Danny shrugged. He had never really thought about it before. It has always just been where he lived.

They pulled up to a gas station and everyone got out, stretching and sighing.

"You gonna be able to find your way from here?" Mads asked as Danny got out.

"Yeah, he smiled. Thanks for the ride. Good luck with your gig!"

"Thanks dude!" Eric said, waving as Danny began to walk away.

"Look us up when you get home!" Xan called.

Danny laughed. "I will!" He waved at them one more time and began to walk. He was only eight blocks away.

As he walked his hometown streets again an odd mixture of feelings churned within him. Despite the lateness of the hour and the potential dangers hidden by the nooks of shadow the streetlights couldn't reach, Danny felt comfortable and secure, finally being somewhere familiar. He felt excited with the anticipation of finally getting home, relieved that he'd finally made it after such an arduous journey, but he also felt… fear. His skin crawled, knowing that he was not just Danny anymore. He was bringing home something else. Something dangerous and unnatural, harboring a horrific creature, a wild animal that could strike at any moment, bringing unknown pains. Any harm brought by this demon would be on Danny's hands. Could he hide it? Could he truly pretend that he wasn't dangerous, that he wasn't tainted, taken, compromised? He felt like a liar and a traitor, because despite the fact that he hadn't even reached his front step, he knew that he would. He knew what he would say.

Nothing.

As Danny approached FentonWorks, he began to feel chill. Phantom buzzed at the back of his mind, a cold, anxious energy. He walked up the first step and was immediately bombarded by a yell so loud Danny could have sworn that the neighbors heard it.

'STOP!' Phantom yelled, and with a jerk Danny turned around, taking several steps away from the house without his input. It was so weird to feel your body move without telling it to.

"What?!" Danny yelled, before glancing around to ensure that no one had heard.

'What is this place?' Phantom asked.

Danny huffed, throwing his arms out in exasperation. "My house," he whispered harshly. "What's your problem?"

'Oh,' Phantom said, 'I thought you were- well, nevermind. It is warded. Please remove the sigils, they are very…' he paused. 'Uncomfortable.'

Danny rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're uncomfortable? Sure, sure, let me just take care of that for you."

Danny marched up the steps and ripped the protective talisman off the front door, tossing it in the bushes.

He tried the handle and it resisted. Locked. He didn't have his key. He juggled the handle again and again, frustration and exhaustion rising up within him.

'You can simply phase through the door,' Phantom said, amused.

"Shut up you-" Danny hissed, but then stopped as the lock clicked and the door swung open, a sliver of light casting Danny's shadow into the street.

"Danny?" Jack asked, a smile splitting his face. Danny's breath hitched at the watery look coming from his dad. "Danny!" Jack yelled, scooping Danny into a big hug. Danny felt the tension that had been building over the past two days melt in his dad's warm embrace.

After a few seconds Jack set Danny back on the ground, and he was pulled into another tight hug.

"Sweetie, we were so worried about you!" his mom said. She released him and began fussing over him, checking for injuries. "Where were you? Are you okay?" she asked.

He reached up to stop her frantic hands, her arms feeling so warm against his cold fingers. "Mom, I'm fine." He smiled weakly at her, trying to ease her worried expression. She hugged him again, only for a few seconds this time before letting go.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry, whatever we did to upset you, we didn't- Danny we love you so much-"

Danny shook his head emphatically. "I know mom, it wasn't you or dad," he said, getting pulled into another hug.

"You know you can tell us anything, sweetie," Maddie whispered into his hair. Danny gripped her shirt tighter and he felt his throat become dry.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

After a few more seconds Maddie released him once again, and looked at him for a moment before rubbing at her eyes. "I'll go let the police know you came home," she said, walking into the kitchen.

Danny looked up at caught Jazz's gaze, staring at him from the stairs. Her eyes were wide and her fingers gripped the railing with white knuckles.

"So, Packers, eh Danny?" Jack asked. Danny didn't break eye contact with Jazz. "You know, an old friend of me and Maddie was a huge Packers fan in college. I wonder how he's doing."

She knows, Danny thought.

______

'There's no way she knows,' Phantom said as Danny pulled on his pajamas.

"I'm telling you, she knows," Danny said quietly. "Did you see the way she was looking at me?"

'You're being paranoid,' Phantom said. 'You look just as pathetically mortal as you did before, trust me.'

Danny shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. "No, she's always had some sort of sixth sense about this stuff. Weird stuff. Bad stuff."

'Met a lot of otherworldly spirits of death5 have you?' Phantom asked sarcastically.

"No," Danny huffed and sat on the bed. "It's just…" he bit his lip. "I think she knew I was gonna get kidnapped. She was acting weird that morning and-" he sighed. "Now that I think of it, it's not the first time she's been weirdly right about things."

Phantom didn't say anything for a long moment. "Phantom?" Danny asked.

'Get some sleep, kid.' Phantom sighed. 'We've got a lot of work to do.'

And so Danny laid in bed and stared at the familiar glowing star stickers on his ceiling. He was back in his old room, but it did not bring the same comforts as it once did. Here he could no longer hide from the chaotic things of the outside world. He could no longer sit in silence with his own thoughts. He could not relax with friends, knowing what danger he now posed to them. He could not be alone even in his own head. The darkness of his room reflected the newfound darkness in his mind, and in the darkness, Danny slept.

[chokemeanakin]

idk if you do like song request sorta things, but could you do a fic based on the song "night bus" by gabrielle alpin? especially the "suddenly i know that i'm on my way home to you for the last time" part--maybe an angsty sort of thing where the reader and anakin's relationship gets discovered and she gets sent away or smth? idk i couldn't stop thinking ab it last night and i have no motivation to write it myself and i love your writing so maybe?? tysm!

Oh sis this was so much fun to write. Even though it is sad... idk i liked getting in the feels. Anyway I hope it meets your expectations. If it didn’t, well, pls write it yourself and tag me! I’d love to see what your vision was ❤️🤗

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

WC: 1.8k

Night Bus - Anakin x gn Reader angst

You swore this would never be you. You promised yourself it would last. If two people love each other, there should be no reason you couldn’t be together.

That’s childish thinking, you tugged your jacket tighter around you. Your boots dragged through the grey sludge of the sidewalk, remnants from a lazy downpour of wet snow a few hours before. Your mind whirled and stomach churned as the streetlights began blinking on one by one, the markets closing up for the night. 

It should have been a peaceful thing, but you felt sick. With each step closer to your destination, you felt as though a current was dragging you back, the darkness closing in around you. You knew as soon as you reached him, it would be for the last time. Your fairytale would come to an end, and as you walked through the bitter streets of Coruscant on your way to the Jedi temple, you prepared yourself to say goodbye to your prince charming. 

“It’s selfish, what you’re doing,” Master Windu had hissed at you. You were still reeling from his admittance that he knew about your and Anakin’s relationship. You had been so careful to keep it a secret, you had no idea how he found out. 

“Obi-Wan told you,” your lips felt like rubber.

“He did not,” Mace leveled his gaze at you. “He knows, I’m sure of it. But he respects Anakin too much to give him away like that. A flaw on his part, which will be dealt with later.”

Your head was swimming. What did this mean for you? For Anakin? For the both of you together? Obviously you knew what was next, but your mind couldn’t wrap around it, couldn’t accept it.

“You need to let him go,” Mace declared, not a hint of mercy detected. 

“I can’t.”

“Then he needs to let you go.”

“He won’t.”

“Then you will be the fall of the Jedi!” His sudden outburst made you flinch. Your heart beat fast, blood swishing in your ears. His body was still as a statue, but his eyes were wide and his chest was heaving with an anger that was barely under control. Master Windu was of the more… pessimistic Jedi, but you had never really seen him lose control so completely. Now, you could see he was overwhelmingly stressed. No, not stressed-- panicked. 

“He needs me,” you replied shakily, unwilling to stand down. Anakin had made it clear over and over again that if you just said the word, he would leave the Order for you. The only reason he was still here was because you wouldn’t let him abandon his purpose for you. Windu may think you would be the downfall of the Jedi, but you were the reason it hadn’t completely fallen yet.

“You’re a poison to him.”

It looked like neither of you would be backing down. Windu saw this, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, he strolled to his seat, and then motioned for you to take the one beside him.

“Let me explain myself,” his voice was much calmer now, but the hard look in his eyes remained. “Anakin is important. Not just to the Jedi, but to the balance of life itself.”

“He never asked for any of that.”

“But he still is,” Windu argued. “There’s no changing that fact. He is powerful. He has potential. And he’s unstable. He was before he met you, and he is now-- even more so.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of how he feels about you.”

You clenched your fists and glared at Windu. “How could being in love ever be a bad thing?”

“Love is an attachment. When one is attached to something, it can be taken away. When it is taken away, it breeds anger and hate and resentment, a path to the dar--”

“Oh, spare me the lecture,” you spit. “I know of your Jedi laws and morals. Now tell me why our love is so forbidden if all it’s bringing him is happiness and peace?”

“For now. It’s happiness and peace for now, because it’s new. I should have stepped in sooner, should have stopped it before it was too late. But with the start of the war, I lost sight of it, got too distracted…” Windu shook his head. “If you end it now, he’ll be able to move on. The damage won’t be permanent.”

“I don’t understand,” your chest stung. 

“He loves you. Any Jedi can sense that. And you love him, too.” You couldn’t meet Windu’s gaze. “If something happens to you, and you are taken away from him, or-- Force forbid-- you die, it will break him. He will be consumed by anger and hatred and he will fall to the dark side. His emotions are strong, far too strong to be handled easily. If Anakin goes to the darkside, the Jedi will be no match for the Sith. We will perish, and the war will be lost, and so will any semblance of peace that exists in this life.”

Mace’s tone softened as he saw the tears build up in your eyes. “This path is inevitable, and it needs to be prevented. The only way we can be sure is to remove you from his life. It was a mistake letting you two get so close, and the Council takes full responsibility. But now, you must let him go.”

“How certain are you,” you forced the words from your aching throat. “How certain are you of this future?”

“Yoda had a vision.”

Your breath left you like a balloon deflating. You were glad you were sitting now, because you didn’t think your legs could handle the weight as you felt your world crumble around you. Anakin’s smiling face flashed through your mind, and a tear trailed down your face.

“You have until sunrise to leave Coruscant,” Mace’s tone was back to authoritative, formal and commanding, leaving no room for argument. “You can never return. Not as long as Anakin is here. You may never come in contact with him ever again.”

“And who’s going to stop me if I do? Who’s going to stop him?”

“If you have any respect for every innocent living being in this galaxy, you will do what needs to be done. Now go. You have a job to do.”

You swore you could hear your heart drop and shatter to the ground in a million tiny pieces as you stood from that chair and walked out of the council room. You spent the day mulling over your conversation, crying, pacing, and pulling at your hair. You tried to think of anything you could do to be with Anakin-- pretend to leave him and be even more secretive, get a different identity so you could stay on Coruscant, run away together. You knew he would if you asked.

But deep down, you knew Windu was right. The Jedi needed Anakin, and you were his weakness. If Anakin left, or fell to the dark side because of you, it would be the end of the galaxy. Just because it wasn’t a possibility now, doesn’t mean it wasn’t one in the future. Yoda had a vision, after all, and the fear in Windu’s eyes told you it was serious. 

Now here you were, walking to Anakin’s place to spend one last night with him before you had to leave him. Forever. Your body ached from the cold, the grief, and from packing your belongings all afternoon. You could barely form words as you booked a ship off the planet for early next morning. Then, you had numbly pulled on your jacket and boots, and began your trek to Anakin one last time. 

Cars whizzed overhead, the honking distant in your hollow ears. You were shaking, but not from the cold, as you caught sight of the Jedi temple ahead. The entrance was only a few feet away. You just had to walk through the door, sneak down the hallway, and you’d be there. He’d open the door, offer you a blinding smile, pull you inside, and warm you up with a drink and a kiss. You would put something on the holonet like you always did, just for background noise, and lay down on the bed and just be together. Talk, or kiss, or hold each other. Feel his laugh vibrate through your body because he was pressed so close to you, watch his curls bounce as he shook his head, listen to the soft sounds of him sleeping. The moonlight always made him look like some sort of space prince as it glistened off his cheekbones, painting him in a pale blue. You would trace your fingertips along his face, and he would pretend to still be asleep as he smiled and kissed your fingertips. So happy, so at peace, so in love--

You stopped in your tracks.

I can’t do this.

The pain was building up again. You thought your heart had already shattered, but the ghost of it kept cracking. Something awful was breaking in your chest with each breath, each second, each step toward your goodbye. There was no way you could face him and be okay tonight. The tears were already making an appearance.

“You need to let him go,” Windu’s voice battled your sorrow. “You will be the fall of the Jedi.”

The breath you took was like swallowing razor blades as the cold air filled your lungs. Steadying yourself on the wall of the temple, you pushed your way past the entrance and entered the main hall. The familiar smell worsened your nausea, and you kept your hood up and head down as you walked the familiar path down the hall, taking the elevator up, and then crossing the last hallway before you found his door.

You schooled your features and shoved down the swirling tempest threatening to spill out of you. Once your hands stopped trembling, you brought a fist up and knocked on the door.

Anakin opened the door. He was smiling brilliantly, blue eyes sparkling in the light. The image of his face falling, eyes clouding over in confusion and hurt as he searched for you the next morning and found you gone flashed through your mind. You knew he would never stop searching for you. This is not what he would have wanted. But Mace was right-- he would heal, in time, and he could live the life he was supposed to live; as a Jedi, a General, and the Chosen One. 

“Anakin,” you forced yourself to smile. “Hi.”

His smile turned from charming to soft, hands immediately moving to pull you into his room for the last time. “You’re freezing, my love. Let’s get you warmed up, I already made you something to drink.”

[hot-wiings]

The One Where Armin Arlert And [Y/N] Yeager Never Get To Say The Words They Really Wanted To Say. 

Death Trigger Warning. 

Edited: 1-25-2021

Armin took a minute to compose himself before he entered the infirmary. He rubbed his sweaty, clammy hands up and down on his pants, wiping the residue liquid off as he took a minute to calm himself and figure out how to compose his words to the person he was looking for. He pushed the doors open and walked in towards the people he was looking for: The Yeager siblings, [Y/N], and Eren.

"How's the arm holding up?"

"It's fine. You know me, I regenerate like crazy, it'll practically be good as new by tonight."

Armin decides to address Eren first, far too nervous to address you and his thoughts. Your arms were crossed as you sat on the edge of an infirmary bed, your eyes never leaving Captain Hanji as she looks over your leg to see if anything was broken. Eren would have crossed his own arms, but he had one in a sling, his eyes, however, were glaring at the back of your head, burning an imaginary hole.

"Doesn't even matter, Captain Levi is making me sit out tomorrow's expedition."

"Rightly so!"

You bark your words out at your brother, upset that he was upset at his punishment. His punishment for starting a fight that is. Your dumb brother overheard you telling private information to the other girls in your squad, private information about your love life. Ultimately it resulted in an argument, which led to a physical fight, where you broke his arm and it felt like he twisted your ankle.

"You're sitting out the expedition because you injured yourself in a fight that you started. Not my fault Captain Levi saw me beat your ass."

"All right [Y/N], it looks like your ankle is all good. You might've just pulled a muscle, I would stay off it for the rest of the day, but you should be good to go on the expedition tomorrow."

Hanji stood up from her crouched position to go check on Erens arm again. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't happy that you had broken Eren's arm. It was completely thrilling to observe how fast the boy's injuries could heal, completely exhilarating to have the chance to do further research on him.

"And stay out of fights when Levi is around!"

"Wouldn't have been a fight if [Y/N] knew how to control herself."

"Says the boy who threw the first hit."

You jumped up from the edge of the bed and pulled your sock and boot back onto your foot before you took off out of the infirmary to go to your bedroom and rest as Captain Hanji said to. Armin followed you out into the hall, hesitant to say what he wanted to. The thought had been floating around his head ever since after he saw you and Eren fight, ever since Captain Levi had sent you both to the infirmary followed by a few choice words. He had been too far to hear what was said, but it soon spread among the squads that Eren was being forced to sit out tomorrow's expedition.

"Maybe you should sit out tomorrow's expedition too."

You stopped in your tracks as soon as Armin's words hit your ears. You quickly turned around to face Armin with furrowed brows. Your lips tipped down into a frown. Hurt and upset at what he was proposing. Was he really on Eren's side of the argument? He didn't even know what the argument was really about.

"Why should I sit it out?"

"You pulled a muscle in your ankle, your weak and-"

"Wow, thanks for that."

Armin backtracked his words. He was nervous, that wasn't what he meant to say. Not even in the slightest. You're growing upset expression and aggravation only caused Armin's nervousness to grow more.

"That's not what I meant. I just, I don't want to lose any more comrades, I don't want to lose you. Petra died in the last expedition, so many people died in the last expedition. Eren would be so upset if you died, just sit out."

"I can't believe you. Do you hear how selfish that sounds? I don't care if I'm weak, we signed up for this knowing what it entitled. Captain Hanji said my ankle will be perfectly good by tomorrow morning, not that I'll need to be on my legs much anyway."

"[Y/N], I didn't mean it like you're weak. I just think you work better when you have Eren with you. I just think you should stay with Eren, makeup from your fight, let your ankle rest more."

You ran your fingers through your hair as you looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep your gathering tears in. Whether he meant you were weak in general, or if he was referring to your ankle didn't matter. Nothing hurt more than having the guy you like tell you how weak you are. Nothing hurt more than having the guy you like tell you that you should sit out on the sidelines while other people risk their life.

There was nothing more insulting or embarrassing. 

"You and Eren can screw yourselves. It’s a pulled muscle, not a sprained bone, I'm going on the expedition. Captain Hanji thinks I'm well enough, and Captain Levi wants me in his squad. He trusts me, he thinks I'm strong enough, so I'm going. End of story."

You turned around and made your way to your room, you would've run off but you wanted to let your ankle rest like Captain Hanji had said to. The tears make their way down your cheeks once the door is closed. Why did he think you were so weak? You had progressed and grew so much. You knew you were weak, so you worked harder. You knew you were weak so you sought out advice and help from Captain Levi.

You were a far better soldier than you were at the last expedition. You would show him. You would show him how good and strong you were.

It wasn't long before the morning of the expedition arrived. With a heavy heart you had rolled out of bed and pulled your gear onto your body. You fastened each strap and buckle, your mind racing equally fast as the leather material. Expeditions were dangerous, you knew this, you knew the risks. You knew the risks and the horrors, the fear, and realities of the statics of you not making it back. Yet, you also knew it was your duty to go on the expedition.

You quickly brushed your fingers through your hair as best as you could before pulling it up into a hair tie making a bun as best and neat as you could. Captain Levi hated when people didn't look presentable, or rather he equated presentable with clean. You briskly walked down to the cafeteria and grabbed a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast. It wasn't exactly your favorite, but it was what there was available. You sat down at your usual table with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. Eren didn't look happy in the slightest, still bitter over getting benched. Armin looked, guilty, sad almost, whereas Mikasa had no clue what exactly had happened between you all, but undoubtedly, she was on Eren’s side. 

You knew Armin hadn't meant to exactly call you weak. The fact was, you and him were some of the weakest soldiers inside of the Survey Corps. But you had gotten stronger, so much stronger and better. It hurt and deeply bothered you that Armin didn't seem to take notice of that. You wanted him to see you as someone strong and worthy.

You didn't dare look Armin in the eyes, and he didn't dare look at you. Instead, you kept your eyes casted down on your bowl, eating every last drop of sludge while you ignored Armin and your brother. It wasn't tasteful, but it did provide energy that would be needed for the expedition. As soon as you were done taking in your breakfast, you stood up and wrapped your green jacket around your body.

"Good luck. Kill a titan for me."

You bring your head up to where Eren and Armin were. His eyes were upset, but if he was he didn't voice it. It didn't matter, he thought you were weak. He thinks you’re weak and pathetic. You don't address him, instead you respond to your brother. Your brother, who despite being angry at you for getting him benched, was not going to allow himself to let you go beyond the walls thinking he was angry at you. He wouldn't let you go beyond the walls, risking your life, without partially fixing things. You could resume your hatefest as soon as you come back for all he cared, but for the time being, he wanted you focused on the mission.

"I will. Gotta make up for you’re stupid ass getting benched."

"Whatever. I love you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Quit acting like I'm leaving, I'm gonna come back, that's a promise."

"I know. Just keep Armin safe for me."

You turned on your heel and stalked off towards the stable, where most of the soldiers were already gathering to get their own horses prepped and ready to leave. Eren didn't see it, but you had a small smile on your face. Just the knowledge that he wasn't that mad at you, was like having a heavyweight lifted off your shoulders. You hated going into expeditions when your brother was upset with you, while you planned to keep your promise to Eren, there was still that chance of dying and charging into the unknown. With him being mad at you, was like dying with regrets.

You grabbed your saddle and made your way into your horses stable. You saddled her and placed the reins on her face before you adjusted each buckle and hook correctly, then you pulled her outside and placed one foot on the bootstrap before pulling yourself up and swinging your other leg over. You guilded your horse out towards the rest of your squad, but not before you passed Armin.

"Hey."

"What?"

An indecipherable expression crossed Armin’s face. He wanted to tell you that he was sorry for arguing with you yesterday, he wanted to say it wasn't out of thinking you were weak, but out of his feelings. His deep, rooted feelings for you. He didn't think he was strong enough, that was the problem. He wasn't strong enough to protect you, and not having Eren there to back you up either bothered him. That was the real reason he wanted to stay back, and that was what he wanted to tell you, yet the words got stuck in his throat.

"Stay safe, okay?"

"Yeah. You too."

You click at your horse to get her going over to Levi's squad who then guides you outside of the walls. The first hour of riding went well. No distractions, and a lack of titans. It was too good to be true. You should have known there would be complications later on in the mission, a lack of titans meant you would later on come across a hoard. Unfortunately, among that hoard was an abnormal. 

You saw it running directly at Armin. The strings in your heart pulled strongly against your chest. He had this, he had this didn't he? You had gotten stronger, you wanted him to see that, but that meant you had to treat him like he had gotten stronger too. It only takes one quick look in his direction too see there were too many titans, his squad was wrapped up, and it looked like some of them were missing, they needed help.

You quickly pulled on your reigns, changing course and charging after the abnormal. Once you reached Armin you pulled out your ODM gear to attach yourself to a tree and slice the abnormal titan’s neck open. It didn't stop there, not when there were so many, you sliced and diced, getting to as my napes as you could. You stopped for just a second, catching your breath on a tree branch. You thought they were all down and taken care of, you did it, you took down so many. You turned over to Armin and threw him a smile. 'See, I'm strong, now'.

Your smile dropped as you saw a titan approach from behind him. Quickly, you sprung into action by using your ODM gear, and Eren’s words rung in your head. Protect him, protect Armin. You just were not quick enough. This was a lifestyle you chose. You knew the risks, you knew the dangers, you knew the statistics of not coming back. You were not quick enough, all you could do was knock Armin out of the way, taking his place instead. The titan smacked you harshly against a tree making your body fling back as Captain Levi sliced its nape open meticulously.

Your body began to slide down the tree, but you knew you wouldn't be making it home. Something snapped, you heard it. Something broke, and it aches all over. You put your hand on your stomach to see a sword sticking out. Your own damn sword. It must’ve gotten knocked around when you flung in the air. Armin quickly flew over to you and placed his hands on your stomach, the blood seeped through to his fingertips, no matter how hard he applied pressure.

"It's gonna be okay, you've gotta make it back. You promised Eren. You promised him."

"Armin... It's- ok- Okay. "

You struggled to get your words out through the pain. Your body felt so cold, so numb. You wanted to tell him how you felt, the insurmountable feelings you'd kept in and desperately hidden for so long. You couldn't find yourself to say the words, you just wanted to shut down. Shut down and close your eyes, shut down and rest. You slowly moved your bloody hands up to his face, and cupped his cheeks. He hand moved his right hand up and kept your hand there as tears slid down his cheeks.

"Don't close your eyes, please don't close your eyes!"

"T-Take care of, him. Mm-kay?"

Your uttered out your very last words. You barely managed to get them out, but you desperately needed to say them. You needed to go knowing Eren was safe, you needed to go knowing he would be taken care of. You needed to go with a mind of peace. That would be enough so long as he kept Eren safe. You needed your death not to be in vain. Your body didn't give him time to reply, it didn't give him time to say yes, I'll take care of him.

"No don't. Please... Please don't. Please stop! Please!"

Your eyes fluttered close, and the hand he held against his cheek went limp and grew ever so cold against him. You were gone, you were dead. Armin pulled you, and your still blood pooling body against his. He wrapped his arms around you and let his sobs dissipate into your now cold neck. You were gone, he had to get back to moving. You were gone, he needed to toss your body with the other dead bodies, should Captain Levi say they had the room to carry you back home. You were gone, and it was his fault. You were gone, he would have to live with this forever.

Eren stood by the entrance to the stables. He had just finished cleaning out all the stalls and refilling all the troughs with food and water, before Captain Levi left he told Eren to use this opportunity to clean out the empty stalls. He suspected that they would be returning soon, it had been a long time since you left. Eren would be lying if he said he didn't worry about you being outside the walls without him. He feared that one day you would face the same fate as your mother. He felt more at ease knowing Mikasa and Armin were out there with you. They'd help you, and you'd help them. You'd keep each other safe, and you all would return to him.

The sound of hooves could be heard as horses rode into the Survey Corps, headed straight to the stables where the hungry and thirsty horses could finally take a rest. Eren spotted Armin and gave him a wave before he kept on searching for you with his eyes. Armin slid off of his horse, not giving care as it walked off in search of water. All he cared about at that moment was talking to Eren.

He had to tell him, he felt like it needed to come from him. You were gone, you were dead. You died in his arms, and he wasn't quick enough to save you. He had to tell Eren what happened, but how do you even begin that conversation. How do you tell your best friend that his little sister is dead? That the last of his family is now gone?

"Why are you covered in blood? What happened?"

Eren's words fell on nearly deaf ears. He didn't hear him, not really, just the moving of his lips. He was still drowning in the shock. Your blood was on his clothes, your blood was dried against his skin. He hadn't been able to even bring your body home, and he wasn't even sure what had happened to your horse.

"Where's [Y/N]?"

"She- Eren... She's gone."

"No. You're... You're wrong. [Y/N] wouldn't- She promised me."

Eren clenched his fists at his side. There was no way you were gone, you couldn't be. You were all the family he had left. You promised him that you'd come back. There were still things he needed to do with you. You were supposed to help him rid the world of titans, you were supposed to get married and have him walk you down the aisle, he needed to watch you grow old with him in a titanless world. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you.

"Eren, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. She was a hero, she saved me. She died a hero."

"You bastard!"

With one quick motion, Eren pushed his clenched fist across Armin's face. He pulled it back and hit him again until he was on the ground. He hits him again and again, in a rageful frenzy. Armin just laid back and let Eren have his way with him. Every cut and bruise, he deserved. He deserves this. He should've saved you. He should've protected you for Eren. He should've been better.

"She loved you! She loved you, you bastard."

Tears streamed down Erens cheeks as Mikasa and Jean pulled him off of Armin. Armin let his tears trickle down his face and mix in with his own open wounds. The tears stung but it didn't match the ache in his heart. You felt the same way about him. You felt the same way about him the entire time, and now he would never get to tell you he returned those feelings.