#but all i could understand was 'it felt like some kid pulled the rug from under my feet (a joke they do in turkey) and i was pulling myself

[leonalovesalot]

You make me perfect I

Ex!ArtDonaldson x Reader

wc:2.4k

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Art was miserable.

Everyday was slow and torturous. He could feel every minute go by and it was starting to drive him crazy.

You left.

You left him- how long had it been? Two months, seven days, and nine hours.

You left him for some stupid reason that he could barely even hear through his loud sobs and pleads to make you stay. Something along the lines of how you both “brought out the worst in each other”.

What a line of shit.

You two did not bring out the worst in each other right? At least from his side of things, you were the only good thing going for him. Without you, what was the point? What was the point of the money? The accolades? What was the point of tennis? What was the point of eating? Breathing? Living?

The sudden sounds of cheers and claps interrupted his train of thought. Were they cheering for him? Of course they weren’t.

Art lost.

His game was nothing short of turbulent these days. During almost every match, he could see his coach from the corner of his eye with his fists clenched and eyes shut tight in frustration.

Art didn’t care. It seemed he stopped caring about a lot of things after you left.

Art had a complicated relationship with tennis. He grew up playing but somewhere along the way, he didn’t know when, he lost his fire.

That fire came back when he met you. You were so curious about him and his career. You weren’t familiar with the athletic side of things. He liked that. He liked that you were an academic. It fascinated him because it took him months to finish books that you’d finish within a day.

The feelings of intrigue and admiration were mutual. You began coming to every game and Art began playing better. You made him better. You made him perfect. He wanted so badly to impress you. To see your eyes light up and your body jump up to cheer when he won a match.

He loved running towards you and kissing you until you pushed him off giggling and jokingly ordering him to go shake hands with his opponent first.

You fuelled his fire. And he fuelled yours.

Many sleepless nights were spent as you typed away at your thesis about a topic he didn’t really understand. He’d nod cluelessly, not really listening to you, but thinking about what he could do so you’d pay attention to him.

“Your mind is so beautiful”, he’d say in a breathy voice. Hand sliding up your thigh as he moved closer to lay his head on your lap.

“Just a few minutes and then I’m all yours, okay?”, you’d look down at him with your pretty half-smile while ruffling his hair slightly. You loved his blonde curls.

Your mind was indeed beautiful. He meant that wholeheartedly. But your heart? He had reason to think it was black and full of tar. Because you left him. How could someone with an angelic exterior have such an ugly interior?

The day after you ended things, he cut his hair. He didn’t know why, he wasn’t really thinking.

He had been experiencing the five stages of grief but had yet to reach acceptance. At this point, he didn’t think he ever would. As the days went by he tried to make peace with that fact because what other choice did he have?

He tried to call you. But you had blocked his number. He reluctantly went to a mutual friend’s birthday party, only to see that you didn’t come and he wasted his time surrounded by people and that sick apologetic tone that they’d speak to him in like he was some little kid. Maybe that’s why you didn’t come. You hated being talked to that way. He smiled as he remembered.

“Art? Where do you keep going off to man?” a rugged voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Darren, his coach.

“Nowhere,” he mumbles back. He takes a gulp of his water and begins walking to the locker room to take a shower.

The cold water grounds him. He’s alone, finally. He didn’t feel like playing at all today. But now that it was over, even though he lost, he felt the tension leave is body slowly.

It was only a few seconds before his thoughts crawled their way back to you. Again.

The two of you had showered together on many occasions. It seemed that your entire relationship was stuck in that can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other phase. He didn’t mind. It’s what he wanted. It’s what you wanted.

You’d shower together, sometimes having sex, sometimes not. There was never any obligation. But you’d stand together, arms wrapped around each other, talking about your day and giggling about water getting in your mouth when you’re trying to speak.

On the days you did have sex, it always was you who initiated. Art was happy to go along with anything, but he never wanted to pressure you into it if you weren’t in the mood. It always started with your left arm around his shoulder, with your hand massaging the back of his neck. And your right hand would slide from his chest, to his stomach, and down to his cock, already erect, begging for your touch.

He’d let out a low moan in response and throw his head back muttering a string of “please” and “that feels so fucking good” and, your favourite, “thank you”.

It was almost too easy to make him finish. He used to be embarrassed, but you really didn’t mind. If anything, it boosted your ego. He also always made sure to last longer when he was actually inside you, which you appreciated.

Art was lost in his thoughts when a guttural groan brings him back to the locker room showers. He threw his head forward and used his free hand to steady himself against the wall. The other hand was wrapped around his cock, vigorously moving back and forth until he came. The water washed away his release and he stood there, ears ringing slightly, and heavy panting. What the fuck is wrong with him? God, he was so pathetic. He turns the shower off and leaves feeling a storm of guilt which he didn’t understand.

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Ever since the break up with Art, you threw yourself into your studies. The only thing on your mind was your PhD and nothing else. There didn’t have to be anything else. This was perfectly normal. You were in your mid- twenties, what is more important than education right?

Your friends were worried that you barely reached out anymore. But you couldn’t. Your life with Art was too intertwined and all your friends befriended all his friends and now it seemed there was no one on this earth who knew just you and not him too.

Your goal was to get your doctorate and get a job as a professor somewhere far away. Maybe, Europe? Canada? Somewhere you wouldn’t walk down the street and see Art’s face on a billboard advertising some car. What the fuck does a tennis player know about cars?

Days and nights passed without you realizing. They all blended together. You didn’t know if it was a weekend or the middle of the week.

But you did this, you’re the one that broke up with him. So, you needed to stick with your decision. Otherwise, you did this all for no reason and what good did that do?

On some days you couldn’t remember why you broke up with him. He was perfect. Good listener, funny, kind-hearted, affectionate, the list could go on for eternity.

So then why did you break things off? Was it because he was a little messy? No. Was it because he was clingy? No. Was it because he forgot your one-month anniversary? No.

No, it wasn’t any of those things. It was because you were scared. The relationship was intense and you loved him with every fibre in your body. And you knew he felt the same. That was ideal wasn’t it? Isn’t that the dream?

It was. It’s what you thought you wanted. But when your lives became so interwoven and the two of you got closer and closer, if that was even possible, you felt like you began slowly losing your identity. Art was consuming you and maybe he felt that you were doing the same to him- but whatever it was, it wasn’t healthy.

Who were you before Art? You laid awake one night thinking about this question over and over with him softly snoring next to you. His arm around your waist and his curls tickling your cheek.

You couldn’t remember. What did you like to do for fun? What shows did you like to watch? Where did you like to go to clear your head?

It disturbed you that you could barely answer the questions.

Right, that’s why.

A silver lining was that your career paths and day-to-day lives were the only thing that didn’t overlap. So you could continue on studying and writing without worrying about running into Art.

Or so you thought.

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On a rainy night, you were driving home after a long day spent at the library. Time got away from you, you hadn’t even eaten dinner and it was almost a quarter past eleven. Your stomach growled, the rain drops slapped against the windshield, and the radio blurred into the background. The roads were mostly clear because it was a Wednesday night and everyone probably getting ready for the next day. You longed to be surrounded by the walls of your apartment. You wish you could just teleport but there were still twenty minutes left in your journey.

In an instant, you felt the car jerk downwards in the back corner. You screamed, panicked and quickly pulled the car over, put it in park, and turned it off. You sat there with your hands on your face as you caught your breath. The only thing you heard was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The rain was continued on, and the radio host continued talking, but you cried. Sobbed. Loud and ugly. It was like two months of emotion came out all at once. You didn’t know how long it had been until you finally wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. You sniffled and took deep breaths. Your eyes wander to the time on the dashboard. Ten minutes until midnight. You gather all your energy and get out of the car, immediately soaked, as the rain showed no signs of slowing down.

You stumble to the side of the car. The ground was all muddy and uneven. This irritated you more and a few more tears fall. You bend down to see a flat tire.

Just your luck.

Just your fucking luck.

Why did this have to happen?

You sat in the drivers seat again and stared out ahead. Not seeing much because the night was pitch black. You mulled over your limited options. You couldn’t call your parents because they were asleep. You couldn’t call your friends because you hadn’t seen any of them in weeks and this would make it seem like your life was in shambles. It was, but you didn’t want them to see it. Being vulnerable was a scary thing, and the last thing you wanted was for someone to look at you with pity in their eyes.

There was a name on your mind you tried not to pay attention to.

Art.

Art.

Art.

You felt like you could hear the whispering chants in your ears. You were definitely going crazy.

You grab your phone and scroll through the contacts to find him. As you went to unlock him, the screen went black. The battery died. Are you serious? Your face scrunches up and you almost begin to break down again but knew that wouldn’t solve the problem at hand. You look around quickly and see a small gas station across the street. You get your soaked self out of the car, lock it, and walk towards the gas station. The rain had completely drenched your clothes and hair and you were trembling which you couldn’t tell was from the cold or the frustration. You walk in and were met with slight warmth and it made you feel slightly better. Walking towards the front desk, you were met with a man yawning.

“It’s really coming down out there, huh?” He asked trying to make small talk.

You tried to force a smile but you didn’t succeed.

“Do you have a phone I could use, please?” You say with a sore throat from all the crying. God, you were pathetic.

“Yeah, you have a quarter?” He points at the small phone at the back of the shop next to the slushy station.

You bring your hands to your pocket and fish out your wallet. You did have a quarter. Finally, something was going right.

“Yes, thank you,” you walk to the phone and put the quarter in. You click in his number not knowing how to feel about the fact that you still remembered it. But this wasn’t the time to have a crisis about your relationship.

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Art sat on the couch mindlessly scrolling through Netflix. Nothing was appealing and he thought he’d just call it a night and head to bed.

The rain made him sadder than he already was. You loved the rain. You loved staying in and drinking tea on rainy mornings with him. He started to like it at some point because of you. But not anymore. He was back to hating it. It was too wet, too cold, too muddy, too fucking depressing.

He hears his phone ringing faintly in the background. His head snaps to the sound and he gets up to walk to the kitchen counter where he left it. His brows furrow. A number he didn’t recognize was displayed on the screen.

He declines the call.

He slips the phone into his pocket and walks back to couch and plops down.

The phone rings again. He takes it out. It was the same number. He scoffs annoyed, these scam calls were too damn persistent these days.

He declines the call again.

Within milliseconds, the phone rings again. Art’s patience vanishes and he stands up in irritation and brings the phone to his ear. All his movements were quick and sharp.

“What?” Art spits with a raised voice.

“Art?”

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There will definitely be a second part!! If you’d like to be tagged when I post it please let me know!

Thank you for reading!

[ghostssimp]

Arguing// Aegon Targaryen

You will know where the inspiration took off when you read the lines, and I'm on my knees for Aegon in that scene, I don't care. Rhaenyra, you are my Queen, but your brother is so damn fine, I'm sorry.

Once again, I want to thank you all for your support and reposts of my works! I haven't been writing in a long time and to have such a support on my works when I get back into it means a lot!

18+

I've deacided that if you you feel like it, you could ask for a request and I would be writing it! Feel free!

It always seemed like he was impossible to talk to now that you've grown. Head up into his ass, not listening, always being on onto his way, and the thing that got on your nerves is that he looked too damn good.

It was just a month in when the two of you got married by your grandfather's wish. Alicent was first to be against it, after all you're Rhaenyra's daughter. Would you turn her own son against her? Of course not, you didn't give a damn about her.

But just maybe, she was the reason behind Aegon's actions. Aegon was an asshole, bit before when tje two of you were kids, he was always there for you. You didn't have much girls around here. Well, Haelena was there but most of the time you didn't understand what she was talking about. It was mostly bugs and she has ton of them but still it seemed like she was in her own world.

So you had to be with your brothers and uncles. Sometimes your brothers would get on your nerves, by saying that you're a girl and that you can't play with them, or even train. You always wanted to be part of them, but felt a little rejected. Aegon was there to give you a hand and pull you towards them, sometimes just the two of you would run off somewhere to have hours of talking alone. It all seemed perfect then.

Now, your dear husband is ignoring you, wenting off to get drunk and be with some whores. It was getting to you slowly, your heart clenching at the tought of him with someone else. It's not fair for him to be so good to you, then throw you away like a rug.

The night has rollled around and you retreated into your shared chambers. It felt like you didn't have a single friend in this damn castle as your family wasn't here. You already started to wonder if your letters have made it to them in the last month, as you didn't recieve any of them. You had a feeling that certain someone, has their claws in it. Here and there, you would go to your grandfather and sit by his bed. It hurted you to see him in this state. You would read to him, all until Alicent would come and woosh you out.

Targaryen, all alone amongst them. What a scary tought.

The doors of your bedroom flew open as your eyes fell on your husband who had a frown on his face as he entered. He didn't even seem drunk, for some reason. He may have took a cup or two, but not more. His eyes searched the room as they fell on you. They softened a little at the sight. You wore your nightgown, your hair let down in silver, silky waves as your violet eyes stared at him in wonder. You looked like a little deer, just waiting for the predator to sink it's teeth into you.

"Aegon?" Your voice got him out of the haze and the frown made it's way back.

"What seems to trouble you, husband?" You step towards him and reach out your hand, but before you can even touch him, he slaps it away. You pull back shocked. Your mouth little gaped as you couldn't believe it. "Aegon, what has gotten into you!"

He groans rolling his eyes and turning his back away from you, undoing his shirt roughly. "What has gotten into me?" He was irritaded and his voice deep and above whisper.

"The fact that you seem so comftrable next to male servants, laughing and touching their hands. So happy and out of your mind that you can't spare your husband a glare." He says angrily, throwing his shirt away, his bare back staring at you as he leans on a chair staring at the fire. He was out of mind to think that you would give anyone else attention than him.

You did laugh with servants, but because today you didn't look where were you going and you collided with them. You felt sorry for you to be so into your head and you helped them up, laughing about the situation.

The confusion you had has been replaced with anger. "The fuck did you say?" You saw his back freezing at your tone. He turns around, his head leaned a little with a deep frown. "Did you just cuss?"

"I did. And I will fucking again, for your head to be so fucking high in your ass that you blame me for something you think you saw, while you go and fuck the others as your wife waits for you, in your shared fucking chambers and hopes that just for one damn moment you would come and be the same sweet boy you once were." You stood with your hands opened wide as anger seeped off of you.

Something in him steered for a moment. To see you like this. To voice it off. To show fire in your eyes. His mother may have been wrong about you. "Please, and you have to go to a first men to find comfort in." He shakes his head at you, still blinded by his jealousy.

You chuckle at him biting your tounge. "I have no fucking friend here Aegon. No one. And for you to come and throw accusations like this, at my face. You fucking idiot. Haven't you seen how much I wanted to be your wife? How much I wanted to be given to you? And instead, you go off and fuck the others. You had me just once, on our wedding night and you were drunk."

You smirk knowing the next words would sting him. "Couldn't even satifsy a woman." You see something in his eyes flash.

His breathing deepens. His eyes narrow at you. Did he heard you right? Couldn't satisfy? Maybe you were right, because he didn't show you what you truly meant. What he needed to do to you. His eyes fell to your nightgown. He looks back, your eyes meeting his.

"Take it off." His voice deep and raspy. His eyes dark and hungry. He takes a slow step towards you, but you didn't move an inch. "Take it off before I rip it off." He stood in front of you and wanted to wipe off that challenging look out of your face.

You felt your stomach taking turns. You have never seen Aegon like this, moving to you like you were a prey. You have hit the nerve. "You wouldn't dare." You pull your chin up to look at him even more challenging. Huff came out of him. Then a deep chuckle, raspy and dark. It made your legs almost weak to see him smirk like that.

You weren't sure how it happened so fast, but your nightgown has been ripped and on the floor as you were pinned under him on the bed. Gasp left your lips as his hand found your needy cunt, spreading the wetness around. His fingers worked his way as your moan was captured with his lips against yours. You did have to touch yourself for nights wishing your husband to be here to help you, but you couldn't imagine anything would feel like this.

The hunger you both sweeped off, the desire. It was all bottled up and finally it's seeping out as he pulls himself out of his tightt pants and pushes into you slowly as his hand found your throat. He looks at you deep in the eye as he pulls out and slams back into you, another whimper and moan getting out of your lips.

"I have dared. And I find it stimulating."

[awriterinthenight]

"You're all I need, love,"-Five Hargreeves

requested: anonymous

words: 866

warnings: uhhh idk really, maybe a bit of angst, no Five and Lila, they do get stuck together, but nothing happens between them

summary: Five has been stuck for 7 years without you, and now he's finally home.

7 years.

7 long years.

But to her it's only been an hour. Five had gone off on one of his adventures to try and figure out how to solve our apocalypse problem. Even though it was barely an hour for her, Five had been on the worst trip from hell for a whole 7 years.

He would constantly think of how having her there with him would've made everything better, but no matter what he tried he could never get to her. Every train line seemed to take him farther and farther away.

To him being away from her was the punishment no apocalypse could ever make him feel. Being without her, traveling from timeline to timeline, felt like walking through each layer of hell alone, with only the distant thoughts of the person you once loved to keep you company.

Of course he has Lila there with him, but even she was starting to hate his mopey attitude, and how every other sentence was how much he missed her. She herself missed Diego and her own kids, which made her understand how Five felt. They both had someone who truly understood them, and now here they were stuck and trapped with the hope of getting back to them, withering away like a flower stuck in eternal winter.

But, when Five found the notebook with the instructions on how to get back it felt like maybe believing in a higher power wasn't so horrible, and that some god or deity wanted him to get back to her. He would trade his whole life just to be able to find a way back to her, and here it was in his hands. The messy writing giving the perfect instructions on every step needed to make his way back.

When he and Lila found themselves back at the front door of her house it felt unreal. It felt like at any moment someone would pull the rug out from under their feet, and tell them it was an elaborate mirage. But it was all real.

Every second felt like a moment wasted, so they opened the door where Lila's kids ran to her, full of joy of seeing her again. To them it had only been an hour. Maybe you wouldn't think he was the same? Maybe you wouldn't notice anything and act like it was just his normal self?

All of these thoughts went through Five's head, thinking of every possible way the both of them would react when seeing each other. When she finally appeared she immediately moved towards him, happy to see him again. She saw how he looked sadder, but somehow happier at the same time. Their hug lasted for longer than it seemed time could handle.

"I missed you. I missed you so much," He whispered into her hair, softly stroking it while pressing her so far into his chest that their heartbeats were felt by the other.

She smiled, amused by his loving words, "You've only been gone an hour, was it really that bad?" she asked, concerned about him, willing to devote every inch of herself to make him feel better.

Five moved to press their foreheads together, "Yeah, it was that bad," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper, as he downplayed his 7 years he couldn't have dreamed of in his worst nightmares.

"I'm sorry then. But, now I'm here," she told him, knowing that that was usually enough to make him relieved. He just held her tight, breathing in her scent, as if it was a quintessential part of his life he hadn't had in an eternity of suffering.

He would move to peck her lips softly, or to place a kiss somewhere on her face. To her it was just him relishing in her presence and showing his love to her. But to him it was his way of making sure she was really there. That she was really in his arms, that he could really kiss her, that he could finally tell the face that haunted his dreams with the presence he thought he would never be in again, how much he loved her.

All those years apart from her made him realize how much he would give for her love. Maybe she was a goddess in disguise, since it seemed almost impossible to make a person go crazy just from not being with them. No matter what, she was his savior. She was the one keeping him going all those years, and the only reason he kept looking for an escape to the point where he would've sold his soul for a way back to her.

Being there in her arms gave him a feeling he wanted to bottle up and savor till his death. "You're all I need, love," he told her, his words meaning more than he had ever meant anything before. She was all he needed to live a perfect life.

And finally after all these years he was back with her. This time not even the heavens or hell, or anything in between could separate him from the person he would run to if the world was ending.

[vhyunjinverse]

WIFE !

Min Yoongi x black!f reader || (18+) || reblogs would be appreciated! <3

warnings: role play, Yoongi is called “Suga” or “Agust” throughout the story, mascara, crying, hair pulling, dom!yoongi, reader has locs, edging, degrading, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), using a safe word!, praise, soft ending.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs, “the fuck are you good for hm?” He takes a deep breath, eyes shutting briefly before staring into your almond shaped brown ones.

“You can’t cook, cleanings fine- but you suck with kids.” Your eyes water, gasping slightly. “You can’t be a good mafia wife if you can’t understand half the shit that goes on.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Seems like the only thing you’re good at is taking dick, am I right?”

The pink head of his cock pop’s out of your mouth, spit alongside your mouth as you panted. Fat, black tears seeped from the side of your eyes. Suga sighed once more, cock twitching at the sight. A fucking mess you were. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His leaking tip rubbed against your plump lips, your lip gloss mixing with the cum. All Suga could do was smirk. He enjoyed it. “Yes..yes sir.” You whimpered. Your cunt throbbed around the toy he had inside of you and you hated it. He knew just how needy you were after all.

“If that were the case..should I have married you?” His ring covered fingers reached down to stroke your cheek, wiping the tears from your face, mascara ruined. “A whore could do the same.” His hand found your locs, put up in a cute ponytail with a pink ribbon, and pulled your head back. “Y- Suga.. please..” You trembled, eyes shutting at his grip tightening. Felt so fucking good. Your pussy ached for his attention- anything from the man who wrecked you with just a few words. You whined loudly, his other hand going around your neck. The toy inside of you buzzing even more. It had your legs straining against the floor. “You’re a good wife aren’t you?” He smirked, cooing softly at his doll. You gasp, hips rocking forward. Between the toy and his hands you were on fire.

“Mmmhm..m’a good wife m’promise..”

“And If I fill this hole up you’ll be a good mother, too, won’t you?”

“Mhm!” Your eyes open, hips jerking. Your stomach had a pooling feeling. “Cum-“

“Now you know it’s not that easy.”

Muttering softly, Suga motioned for you to stand. He hummed at your body, taking in how breathtakingly beautiful you looked. Cunt wet with slick spread on your inner thighs, nipples hard and wet with his spit, bite marks all on your shoulders. A mess. His touch lost, the toy cutting off abruptly. “Please..” you sniffled. Cute. He found you absolutely adorable.

“Spread your legs for me.” He leans forward, tongue licking along your v line. Getting closer..so close. The flick of his tongue to your clit sent you over. “Fuck!” You reach out for his hair, Suga lapping at your clit, sucking as you came. Your cunt squeezed around the toy until it fell on the soft rug beneath you. Suga’s hand landing a smack to your ass. Shaking, he kept his mouth on your sensitive cunt.

His thumb dragged your slick, playing with how wet you were while he made it worse.

“Have a seat.” Leaning back, Suga starts stroking his cock. Flushed and red, he adjusts for you, your body fitting perfectly over him. His cock teased your hole, groaning at how wet you sounded with just the tip slipping inside of you. “Oh fuck..oh fuck-“ You throw your head back, finally getting what you wanted. His cock buried deep inside of you, taking it to the hilt. He shudders against your chest, your nails digging into Suga’s arms while you leaned against him.

“Look at that..taking it in all at once.” His tongue darted out to lick small stripes upon your chest. You started to move slowly, gasping at the noise. His size was..insane, but enough for you. Suga grips your hips, another groan ripping from his throat while you squeezed around him. So sensitive you were, after just cumming. At some point you didn’t have the strength anymore to lift yourself. He held you at an angle, hips lifting while he fucked into you hard and slow. “Knew you could take it like a good girl.”

A small whine leaving you breathless, sounds growing louder by the second. And god it hurt so good, you didn’t know what to do but enjoy the ride. Suga talked to you but you couldn’t hear a thing, too lost into everything. Lost..you knew where you lied with him. No matter what.

“..at me.” It was all a blur. “Look-“ You gasped, his cock hitting a certain spot inside of you. So deep, you squeezed onto him. Eyes watering once more. “Suga-“ You felt your head being lifted back, you saw the ceiling, illuminated by the candles lit around the room.

“Angel.” It was like everything stopped. You hiccuped, legs shaking as you blinked the tears away. Yoongi looks at you, frowning softly. He was quick to stop, but..

“You- safe word. Yoon-“

“Shh..” He knew you inside and out. That small motion of quietness was enough. He knew you were tired, fucked out. He had came inside of you minutes ago.

Kissing your delicate shoulders softly, Yoongi stood carefully, slipping out of you with a loud hiss. The night ending with you in his arms, hand rubbing all over your body as he took care of you. Delicate kisses lingering all over your body, a warm bath, and Yoongi’s voice putting you to sleep.

[fancyfeathers]

Burn It All Down

(Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice)

Based on Yandere!Justice League with their darling!children AU

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Seven, People Like Us -> Next Chapter

This chapter is told from the perspective of Clark Kent’s Daughter

Each chapter will be the perspective of the reader but as the different children since when I originally had this concept, they were all darling/reader characters.

You sat in your bedroom in the house where you all were staying, dressed in your pajamas, your skin still damp from a shower. You had quite the stressful day, your super hearing coming in sooner than expected which sent you into a whole panic attack, only to be calmed by Songbird, you still felt overwhelmed, so you decided to keep to yourself for the rest of the night. You bolted to sit up when you heard the creaking of footsteps down the hall, your still overwhelmed state making you sit up from where you were sitting in bed, Songbird’s footsteps were silent because she knew how to control her weight, Huntian’s footsteps were soft, balancing his weight from leg to leg, Blitz’s footsteps sounded like rain puttering because of how fast she tended to move. This was someone else, they sounded familiar, but familiar to you right now was dangerous. You stood up from the bed, stepping towards the door, to try and take a peak and see who was outside in the hallway.

Before you could even have the chance to react, you felt a hand clasp onto your mouth and pull you fully out of your room and into the hallway, the person’s other hand snaking around your waist and arms, pinning your arms to your side as you struggled against him. “Hey, hey, hey, calm down kid, it’s me.”

Your eyes went wide as you recognized that voice, you remember it from all those years ago, five years ago you think, when you remember staying with your grandma and grandpa while your father was busy with Justice League business and he came back with another man and he introduced him as your Uncle Conner, your father’s brother, well that is how it was told to you at least, after all you were thirteen years old and they could not expect you to understand everything.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, but don’t scream.” You felt his hands let go of your body, instead coming to rest on your shoulders as he turned you around to face him and you saw the other people with him, other heroes or vigilantes you would guess. You forced yourself to stay calm as you felt your heart pounding in your chest and your breathing had grown strained and rugged. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down-” You cut him off by shoving him, not knowing your full strength yet, you managed to shove him back five feet or so. You staggered back a bit, stepping away from Conner and the other strangers you did not recognize. You could see the look of shock come on your uncle’s face as he caught his balance again. “Your powers… they finally came in.”

“Powers? I thought Superman said she received her mother’s human genes?” One of the strangers turned to Conner, looking clearly cross at him as if something was kept from them. The stranger was tall, dressed in nearly all black but a blue symbol across his chest that somewhat resembled a bird. Beside him was a green-skinned woman who resembled the Martian Manhunter, but she had stark red hair and freckles that dotted her skin.

“He did! That’s what we all thought at least.” Conner sighed before stepping forward, reaching out a hand to you like you were some scared and wounded animal, probably like a wet kitten. “Hey, it’s okay, we can go home and we can figure all of this out-”

“N-no!” You looked down at his hand, shaking your head no as you began backing up away from him. “I… I don’t want to go home…”

“You don’t know what you are saying-”

“Yes, I do.”

“Knock this off, I am taking you-”

“Don’t touch her!” You heard a voice yell out from somewhere, it sounded like Diana’s son but you could not see him. Everyone looked around in confusion, but that green skinned martian girl seemed to know something or at least sense something. 

“He is invisible.”

“Oh, they can turn invisible now?” You heard the other man with your uncle look towards the Martian girl as she spoke out, but then suddenly he fell to the ground as if someone swept under his leg, banging his head against the carpet. “Okay, they can turn invisible now.”

“Please don’t fight us, we just want to talk.” The Martian girl called out, it took a second before you all could see a figure form out of the nothingness, it was indeed your friend, the son of Diana Prince. The Martian girl stepped forward to where your friend stood, speaking out to him. “You’re the son of Wonder Woman, right?”

“Yes… I am.”

“Since when have you been able to turn invisible?” She asked him, and he stayed silent for a moment, just staring at the ground, not making eye contact with her. “It’s okay, you can talk to us-”

“You just tried to read my mind.” he snapped back at her, glaring down at her. “Clearly you don’t actually think that I can talk to you.”

“Look we don’t want to fight you-”

“And yet you came here to kidnap us.” He snapped back, cutting the girl off. “I think that is quite contradictory to not wanting to fight us.”

“You all are in danger, most of you ran away-”

“Ran away? Most of us are adults, one of us has been on their own for five years, Supergirl over there is eighteen-”

“Almost nineteen actually.” You glanced over at him, correcting his mistake, he sighed and nodded, giving you a small smile which made you smile in turn.

“We quite literally do not have to go anywhere with you crazy bunch.” There was a stiff silence in the air, like in those old movies when there was a standoff between two characters. You were not actually supposed to watch those movies because your dad thought they were inappropriate for you, but how is he going to stop you when you are at a sleepover and he is off the planet? “Look, we’ll sit down and talk if you tell us how we are in danger as you put it.”

“We… we can’t actually tell you.”

“Let me guess, the League classified that information?” You spoke up, finally fed up with this conversation. “Of course they did, they will never tell us anything, but they will tell a bunch of other people who are probably only a few years older than us everything.”

“Watch it.” Your uncle glared at you after you spoke, you remember being told since you were little to always talk respectfully to your family members and it practically felt like your father was staring you down when Conner did. “You kow better than to talk like that.”

“I don’t care anymore.” You suddenly felt a hand rest your shoulder from behind, you recognized the touch, the breathing, and the soundless steps, it was Songbird. “Song-”

“It’s alright.” She stepped forward, between you and the group that have come into your home uninvited. You noticed the man’s eyes, the one in the black and blue, narrow at her and you could see the way her shoulders tensed in turn. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Dick.”

“Y-You…. You know him?” You questioned your friend and she nodded in response to your confused ask. 

“Yes, Dick Grayson who is also known as Nightwing… he is also my oldest brother.” The look of shock on your face when said that out loud was apparent, but everyone else’s expression remained completely calm, even Huntian, you guessed that he must have also figured that out before she said that, based on her mannerisms and how she spoke to him. Her eyes fixed back on her brother, her arms crossed, but she did not look exactly intimidating in her pajamas. “You came to kidnap us and yet failed to introduce yourselves to my friends, how rude.”

“Sort of defeats the whole purpose of a stealth mission, baby bird-”

“Don’t call me that I’m not six anymore, Dick.” She cut him off, glaring at him before her eyes glanced at the green woman beside him. “Megan Morse, otherwise known as M'gann M'orzz, Miss Martian, the niece of the Martian Manhunter… I remember you when I saw your file from when I hacked Green Arrow’s computer and some of the Justice League files before I left Star City. Then it seems we already know who Superboy over there is, Conner Kent, right? I know I’m right.”

“So your sister is a know-it-all all, Nightwing?” 

“Unfortunately she is.” The man you now knew as Nightwing sighed as he answered your uncle’s question. “She is also the biggest sneak you will ever meet.”

“Yes I am, I even managed to sneak into a closet and text someone for help before you all even realized where Supergirl was.” There was a moment of silence as Songbird reached into her pocket and took out her phone, checking the time on the lock screen as if she was mentally counting down or waiting for something. “He should be here in three… two…”

“One.” 

You barely had any time to react as the ground gave out beneath your feet as if there was now a void where there was once carpet. Your body fell and fell until you were met with solid ground, though when you fell on your head it did not hurt, you suppose it must be your Kryptoian genes kicking in finally. You pushed yourself off the ground, standing up to look at where you must be now, it looked like some sort of penthouse apartment, you had landed on the hardwood floor of what must be some sort of front entry to the apartment. Songbird and Huntian had landed on their feet and you could see across the way that Blitz was sitting on a couch in what was probably the living room, you guessed that Songbird must have given her some sort of address and she ran here ahead of you all.

“Supergirl, huh?” You heard a voice call out to you. You turned your head to see a man leaning against the front entry wall, dressed in a long red leather coat. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Um… who are you?” You asked, glancing in between Songbird and this new stranger for an answer. 

“This is the son of Giovanni Zatara and the younger brother of Zatanna Zatara, or as the hero name he chose, Hex,” Songbird answered your question, walking over to your side and resting a hand on your shoulder. “His locator spell is how we found you all and his teleportation spell brought us here.”

“It is nice to meet you,” he spoke in return to you, a smile on his face but not extending his hand out as he must have sensed your clear unease. “We are currently in Upper Manhattan, Songbird gave me the address, a safe house from another friend of hers.”

“I have a lot of friends… or just one really rich friend.”

“Clearly.” He laughed, his small smile growing larger with his laughter. “Come on, there are a few other people we’d like you to meet.”

“People like who?” “People like us.”

[anya-nya-nya]

SFW, GN! reader, yandere, manipulation, use of Harmony

P.S. The lack of information about Sunday's Harmony ability in Wiki and absolutely small presentation of this skill in the game itself wasn't enough for me to understand it fully so please bear with me and the way I described Harmony here.

“People's need for a savior went back centuries. It's engraved in them from the very childhood: kids tend to seek parents' protection from scary monsters under their bed, teenagers love comics about heroes who're saving a world in crisis, someone just marries a healthy person to care for their needs, but most adults pray for Aeons’ blessing, praying to find a rest in religion..“ - Bright sky with yellow overlay seems to attract the attention of the speaker more successfully than your figure behind his back did. Or maybe Sunday just wasn't ready to face you and find none of the changes he hoped his words would make in your mind.

“And who am I to tear apart this basic need? To push them from the inborn behavior of the protégé?” - His voice continued to torture you by pouring another sliver of his ideology in your already aching minds.

The position Sunday drove you in both by endless lectures and his Harmony ability was rather unpleasant, to say the least: maybe no physical chains hurt your body, but the colorful clouds in your head were enough to prevent you from even getting up from the chair he put you in. More than that: every mental resistance felt like a whole workout, wearing down any attempts to not believe this Halovian.

“The savior, the hero, the chosen one, the parent or patron: it's the same role with different fonts, so I'm ready to bear them all and let people of Penacony live their dreams..”

“The chosen one? Are you sure they would even choose a psycho like you?” - The spiteful bite was the only parry you could think of, with the angle Sunday decided to use for his arguments. What else can you say when in the global meaning his words are nor devoid of truth, but the ill intentions he's pushing through it are too blurry to point them directly..? Yet your words laid at least some effect on him, enough to drag him away from the window to shift the perceiving gaze on your sweaty face.

“And tell me exactly at least one moment in human history, when the choices they made were hundred percent successful? Tell me at least one century when humanity wasn't in distress by one, if not a few, problems?” - Soft rug muffled the motion of his legs and chair’s creak, but even with your head down you could sense how the oppressive feeling of Harmony increased due to his approach. Gloved hand moved to yours, a gentle, caring move that didn't really match the mental pressure.

“And YOU tell me at least one moment when humans’ bad choices made the whole world crump? If humanity were so doomed in your eyes, then we two wouldn't be sitting here right now: our ancestors would be too stupid to survive without a savior, huh?” - The way Sunday used abstract words and didn't count himself as another human pissed you off. The way your hands gained the weight of a whole planet and you can't pull away from Sunday's touch pissed you off. The way malaise provoked by Harmony slowly breaks your mind pissed you off. Everything was so overwhelming that somewhere in the back of your head a tired voice of your mind whispered to give up.. Or did Harmony creep inside you so deep to gain such disguise?

“It seems you didn't learn enough about the historical geography of our universe, as I can give you a whole list of abandoned, defunct planets whose history of success wasn't that long. I will add a few books for your morning routine, it would help you adapt and understand my ideology a little quicker.” - He didn't even try to hide irritated disappointment in the ring of his voice before standing up again. The veil of pain didn't blind you enough to not realize now something was wrong: all Sunday’s actions suddenly become more measured, as if images of subsequent events amuse his imagination for many times already.

“The fuck you mean under that? Neither I will read any books recommended by you nor even give you permission to choose the way I would spend my mornings!” - Your words didn't possess a real bite, being just a vessel for increasing anxiety and fear. But even this zeal teetered down when you felt the familiar feeling of his glove on your neck from behind, a touch rather possessive for someone who's bandy about words of religion and hope and saviors so much. Any of your protests died in your throat as soon as the whisper of Halovian made your heart plummet somewhere in your guts.

“Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their mind with a hot iron, so that they will not be tempted by any sins or blasphemous ideas. Please sear their eyes with a hot iron, so that they will not be tempted by the view of iniquity and will only see the right. Please sear their..”

Would true need in a savior not appear in people's mind but be brokered by pain you just bear? It's a little bit late to ask, with your body going limp in Sunday's arms as he slowly caresses the trembling flesh with care unnatural for his previous actions.

Kids would stop asking their parents to check the wardrobe. Teenagers would stop reading their comics if heroes don't match their worldviews. Gold diggers would drop their man if he's too bossy and seeks for unhealthy control. Believers would open their eyes and stop praying for the cult.

Everyone would make a mistake and choose another opinion.

Everyone, except you.

[drunkenlionwrites]

I am soooo happy you are taking requests. Finally, we're having more Vash content 😌

Can i ask for a fluff/smut about Vash finding out the reader is pregnant? Just imagine, he sees she is hiding something and is eager to know what is making her so anxious, then she tells him. He loves kids, I know he would be a good father. 😆😭

Thank you so much

Oh God I did it! I did iiit 😭 It was in my notes for weeks - being written and re-written, wiped and written anew again. Didn't know if would be this hard for me. But honestly? I like the result. It could be more ansty than I anticipated, but in the end Vash comforted us all, so it's all good and fine, right? Warnings: nsfw, soft smut, pregnancy, fem reader, angst, hurt/comfort, post-Trimax Vash :3 Word count: 2017

Seeds of Tomorrow

The kettle whistled low and pitiful on the stove, but you didn’t move to take it off the heat.

You sat at the small kitchen table, hands wrapped tight around a chipped ceramic mug, staring blankly at the dusty window. Outside, the golden light of late evening stretched long and thin across the sand, casting the world into warm hues you barely noticed.

The doctor’s words still rang in your ears. "Congratulations — you’re pregnant."

Pregnant. With Vash’s child. You didn’t even know it was possible. Neither did he. You thought you’ve just gotten sick and were prepared to get some medicine for stomach flu, yet you found yourself a future mother.

A trembling breath shuddered from your chest. You were happy - you were, but under the happiness was something much colder, much heavier: anxiety and fear. Gnawing, clawing fear.

How could you possibly carry a child whose blood wasn’t wholly human? Would your body even know how to protect them? Feed them? Would they grow too fast? Too slow? Would they hurt inside you without either of you knowing how to help?

Your mind spiraled faster than you could keep up with. And Vash…

Your gaze dropped to your hands, chest tightening until it hurt to breathe. Vash’s hair had been nearly black these days, streaked only lightly with blond now, causing you to check upon it feverishly, anxiously at night when he slept. What if this joy, this impossible miracle between you, came at the worst time? What if he vanished - if he used too much of himself again and disappeared like his brother had, leaving you stranded, carrying pieces of him inside you he’d never get to meet?

The kettle shrieked louder, a sharp painful note. You snapped out of it, raising up and reaching stove it two quick steps with hands fumbling, and yanked it off the stove, burning yourself on the hot handle.

“Damn it,” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears, cradling your hand against your chest.

The front door creaked open a moment later. You heard the scuffle of boots against the worn rug, the soft thud of a bag being dropped by the door.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Vash’s voice drifted in  - warm, a little tired, but bright as ever. “Sorry I’m late. The farmer at the north fields wanted to show me his new water collector. You wouldn’t believe the…”

He stopped.

You didn’t dare turn. You knew what he’d see: your hunched shoulders, the way you clutched your burned hand, tears that just burst from your eyes.

“Hey,” he said again, softer now, closer. Boots padding across the floor. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter as you felt his hand brush your back, featherlight. “Angel… what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

You turned and crashed into him, the kettle clattering somewhere on the counter, forgotten. Vash caught you instantly, arms locking around you, warm and strong. His coat smelled like dry sun and soap, and the familiar scent made something inside you crack wide open.

For a moment, you just clung to him, sobbing into his chest while he stroked your hair and murmured soft, soothing nonsense you couldn’t even understand.

When you could finally find your voice, it came out small and broken. “I went to the clinic today.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, worry knitting his brows together. “What happened? Are you okay? Are you-?”

You cut him off with a trembling laugh and shook your head. “I’m… I’m pregnant, Vash. I’m pregnant.”

He blinked. For a heartbeat, he just stared at you like he couldn’t comprehend the words. Then the light broke over him - slow, stunned, then radiant.

"You... we..." His hands framed your face as if you were something holy. "You're carrying our child?" His voice broke slightly on the last word, rough with awe.

You nodded, new tears slipping free. But this time, they weren’t entirely from fear.

He laughed - a breathless, bright sound, and pressed his forehead to yours, squeezing you closer. His hands were shaking. "That's... that's incredible. That's..." He choked on another laugh, blinking rapidly. "I didn't know if we could… I didn't even know that was possible."

Neither did you. But even with his joy so palpable, the heavy fear coiled in your gut didn't ease.

Vash must have felt it, because when he pulled back again, really looked at you, his smile faltered.

"Something’s wrong?" he whispered. "Aren't you…glad?"

You couldn't lie. Not to him.

"I don't know what to do, Vash," you said, voice cracking. "I don't even know if my body can... can support this baby. I don’t know if they're going to be okay… if you're going to be okay-" You hiccuped, gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline. "I’m scared of losing you. Of raising them alone. Of something happening to you. Your hair, Vash… your powers…"

He gathered you back into his chest, swaying slightly like he could rock your fears away.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured fiercely, kissing the top of your head. "I promise you. I swear on everything I am, I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving them."

You shook your head against him. "But what if you use too much? What if you disappear like Knives?"

He caught your chin gently and tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

His blue eyes - somehow even older now, threaded with traces of sorrow and endless, endless love - held yours steady.

"I'm not him," he said quietly. "I know my limits now. I want to live." He smiled, that soft, aching smile he only ever gave to you. "You taught me how, remember?"

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

"And if anything ever felt worth fighting for..." He trailed his fingers over your abdomen, reverently, wonderingly, though there was no bump yet, nothing visible. "...it’s this. You. This…family."

You pressed your forehead to his, closing your eyes, breathing him in.

You could feel the sincerity in every word. You could feel it in the way he held you like you were fragile and precious all at once. You could feel it in the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against yours.

"I'll go with you to the clinic next time," he murmured against your hair. "We'll ask every question. We'll find out everything we can. We’ll figure it out together, okay?"

You nodded weakly.

"And if - if - anything is different about them, or about the pregnancy..." His voice shook slightly, but he pushed through it. "Then we'll find a way. Together."

You clutched him tighter. "I love you."

He huffed a soft, tear-choked laugh. "I love you too. More than anything."

The sun dipped below the horizon outside, leaving the kitchen bathed in soft, dusky light. And for the first time all day, the fear eased its grip enough to let in something else: hope.

Later, after dinner (which you barely tasted) and a bath (where he insisted on washing your hair with such gentle, reverent touches it nearly made you cry again), you found yourselves curled up together in bed.

The desert wind whistled low outside the window. The sheets smelled faintly of the two of you - sun-warmed cotton and Vash’s skin, a mix of clean soap and something deeper, something that had always smelled like home to you.

You lay on your side, facing him. Vash lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched protectively to you. His hand rested carefully over your stomach, even though there was of course no visible change yet - just the barest promise of something new taking root inside you.

He kept his palm there, warm and steady, like he could shield the tiny life with just the strength of his will.

“You know,” he said softly, voice quiet, “I have never used to dream about this. About... a family. A home. Somewhere safe." He shifted slightly, glancing down at his hand, his thumb brushing mindlessly over your skin. "I never thought I’d actually get it.”

You nuzzled closer to him, your head tucking under his jaw. "I did," you murmured. "I always knew if anyone deserved it... it was you."

His arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against his side.

For a while, there was only the sound of your breathing, the rustle of the sheets, the steady drum of his heart under your ear.

Then he whispered, almost like he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace, "What do you think they'll be like?"

You smiled softly against his chest. "I think... if they have even half your heart, they'll be unstoppable."

He chuckled - a breathy, worn-out sound that you felt more than heard.

"And if they have your stubbornness," he teased lightly, trailing his fingers up your spine, "the world better watch out."

You laughed, but the sound caught in your throat when his hand smoothed back down, lingering at the small of your back, warm and grounding. His touch was tender, casual, domestic even, but it lit a slow-burning heat low in your belly.

Maybe it was the flood of emotions you’ve experienced throughout this day, or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now -  like you were the only thing existing in his entire world -  but you suddenly needed him closer.

You tilted your head up and kissed him.

It started gentle - a soft brush of mouths in the half-dark. But Vash made a small, helpless sound deep in his throat, and the dam between you cracked wide open.

He kissed you back like he was starving - like he was trying to memorize every inch of you with his mouth, as if it wasn’t already accomplished years ago.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head just right, while his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, hauling you over him.

You straddled his hips instinctively, your nightshirt riding up your thighs, baring you to the cool air and his feverish hands.

Vash broke the kiss only long enough to gasp, "Are you sure? We should be careful, I don't want to…"

You shut him up with another kiss, smiling against his mouth. "I'm sure. Please, Vash. I need you."

Something in him broke at your words.

He rolled you gently onto your back, settling between your thighs with a reverence that made your heart ache. Every touch, every kiss, was slow, deliberate - a silent litany of thank you, thank you, thank you.

He peeled your shirt up carefully, kissing every new inch of skin he exposed, worshiping you with lips and hands until you were trembling under him.

When he finally slid into you, it was almost overwhelming - the way he buried his face in your neck, the way he whispered your name like a prayer, the way he held you like he was terrified you might vanish if he let go.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic.

It was home.

You clutched him close, your fingers threading through the black strands of his hair, grounding yourself in the solid, living heat of him. You whispered your own confessions and promises against his skin - how much you loved him, how much you believed in him, in this - and he shuddered and whispered them all back, voice thick with emotion.

When you finally broke together, it was quiet, overwhelming, a release that left you both clinging to each other with shaking limbs and wet cheeks.

Afterward, he stayed wrapped around you, his head resting over your heart, his palm splayed possessively over your belly again.

"You’re not alone," he mumbled sleepily. "You’ll never be alone. I swear."

You tangled your fingers in his hair and closed your eyes, letting his words anchor you.

The fear wasn’t gone. Maybe it never would be.

But with him breathing steady against you, his hand curled protectively around the tiny spark of life growing between you, you knew somehow, some way - you'd be okay.

[fandomnerd9602]

Three's Perfect

WandaNat x Male Reader (Modern AU)

For @aloneodi

Rain hammered against the attic window, mirroring the storm brewing within Natasha. She sat bathed in the amber glow of a dusty photo album, her fingers tracing the faces that mocked her longing. Wanda and you, curled on the rug near the old rocking chair, watched her carefully, shadows clinging to your eyes.

Your polyamorous relationship, once a vibrant tapestry of whispered secrets and shared laughter, felt fragile now. Natasha, usually unflappable, was unraveling at the seams.

She choked back a sob, slamming the album shut. "Maybe it's just not in the cards for me," she rasped, her voice raw. Wanda reached out, but Natasha flinched away, a wounded animal seeking solitude.

Natasha had just gotten back from the doctors. They gave her some of the worst news she had received: there was only a slim chance that she could ever have children. The news had broken her heart into a million pieces. The three of you had dreamt of having kids for so long. Seeing Natasha's agony felt like being trapped behind a glass wall, you could see her pain and there was nothing you could do to soothe her.

Wanda, ever the empath, sensed her turmoil. She held your hand, the warmth of her touch grounding you. "I won't leave your side, Nat," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "Our love builds our family, remember?"

Natasha whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "But we talked about a whole nursery, tiny socks, bedtime stories..."

She trailed off, the image of an impossibly happy future shattering like a dropped glass. You swallowed the lump in your throat, reaching for Natasha. She leaned into your embrace, your own tears stinging your eyes. You held Natasha tight, not wanting to let this amazing woman out of your arms.

"This doesn't change how I or Wanda feel about you," you whispered, your voice laced with the ache of understanding. "Love doesn't change"

Wanda joined the huddle, a silent trinity full of grief and yet hope. The rain intensified, drumming a fierce rhythm against the attic roof.

Natasha, sensing the shift, pulled away, wiping her tears. "So, what now?" she asked, her voice a raw inquiry.

You met her gaze, Wanda's hand tightening in yours. "Now," you said, a hesitant smile gracing your lips, "we build that nursery. We can always adopt."

Wanda's eyes lit up, and Natasha, for the first time in hours, managed a shaky smile.

"Yeah" Wanda smiled, "I love it! I can see it now! You're gonna be such an amazing mother, Nattie!" Natasha actually began to giggle.

"Not as amazing as you, Wanda" the two gals hug each other and then you.

The storm outside hadn't relented, but within the attic, a new resolve bloomed. The love that they all shared would never changed. And the children that would run down the hallways of their home would feel that same amount of love.

You picked up Natasha and carried her down the stairs of the attic. Natasha giggled in your arms, just feeling all the love she needed.

Later, curled up in bed, the rain having mellowed into a soft patter, you held Natasha and Wanda close. The silence spoke volumes, a shared vow etched in the quiet. Their family was built on unwavering love that had weathered storms far worse than this. As they drifted off to sleep, nestled in the warmth of each other's arms.

Eventually the dream grew. The three of you adopted a little baby girl who Natasha named Maria. Wanda gave birth to twin boys who she named Billy and Tommy. And despite everything that she had been told, Natasha gave birth to a little boy who you named Alex. Your family of three grew to a family of seven and all of them knew only love.

[blackcoldcrackedheart]

Part 2 over here

The rest of the story in where Tommy fosters Daniel, Buck's bio kid, under the cut.

Tommy didn’t immediately go back to the house after seeing Daniel. The first thing he had to go through was making sure all his documents were in order for the emergency foster placement to be approved and, fortunately, he had to go through background checks for his job. The only thing that needed to be checked off was his home.

“Tommy, this is Dedrie.” Claudia introduced him to an older Black woman with a polite smile wearing a dark green and black suit. “She’s with DCFS and a great social worker.”

Amir, who was watching all of this with a knowing smile, interjected in. “She comes highly recommended. She helped a friend of mine who also had to go through getting an emergency placement for their friend’s foster kid.” He patted Tommy’s back in support, “You’re in good hands.”

Tommy felt the vice around his heart give a little, everyone seemed so confident in him.

It felt a little off putting.

But this wasn’t about him.

This was about Daniel. Who was still nestled in Tommy’s arms, his little head resting on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Shall we head out then?” Dedrie asked, “I’m sure you and Daniel are excited to get home?”

Tommy sighed happily, “Yes, I’m sure this little guy would love to meet Hondo.” He cooed at the little toddler when he asked, “Would you want to meet my corgi puppy?”

Daniel, who was lightly dozing off, looked alert at the mention of a puppy. “You have puppy?” he asked, “I wanna meet puppy!”

The adults around him laughed, “A puppy! That’s so exciting Danny!” Claudia teased, not surprised that Daniel turned his head away from her- the little boy was getting restless around so many people since he had arrived at the hospital.

Tommy was seriously relieved that his team had agreed to not stay.

Before they could head out, Tommy asked Amir and Claudia about Daniel’s parents. “Still no change.” Amir told him disappointedly with a heavy sigh, “At this point both families have been told about their state, only time will tell.”

Claudia didn’t have much of answer for him regarding Daniel’s extended family taking him long term. “They haven’t changed their minds, unfortunately. I’m sure Dedrie will keep you posted since once he’s discharged his case will go to DCFS until there’s a decision.” She gave him a hopeful look. “No pressure, of course.”

No pressure indeed.

-

Dedrie seemed impressed with the home so far, she had nothing negative to say or flag when she looked around Daniel’s room. Especially since Daniel lit up and squealed “Bluey!” excitedly, pointing to the rug and the bedsheets. He wiggled in Tommy’s hold, signaling that he wanted to be put down. Tommy did so gingerly, reminding him to be careful since Daniel’s leg was still in a cast.

“He seems like a rambunctious 2 years old when he’s with you.” Dedrie complimented him as they watched Daniel pull himself onto the bed and start playing with all the stuff animals (of course Ashara had to buy a stuffed Bluey and 2 teddy bears wearing a flight suit and a firefighter turnout). “He didn’t seem so responsive when I first came into his room to speak to him.” She noted, her voice hinting at some concerns. She pulled her notebook close to her chest, “He seems very safe with you. I was very surprised when I saw that he was talking with you.”

“He wasn’t talking at the hospital?”

Dedrie shook her head, “No, he was very scared. Which is more than understandable after what he went through.” She looked at Tommy with an impressive look, “You saved him.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “Part of the job, y’know?” He didn’t know what else he could say, it wasn’t like he had managed to save Daniel’s parents.

“Saving him is part of the job,” She motioned her hands towards Daniel and his room, “Taking him in isn’t, Mr. Kinard.”

Tommy faltered at that, unsure what he could say. He never saw himself as anyone’s father. An uncle? Sure. But a father? An actual dad? It felt so out there. The only time he even entertained the idea of having kids was when he was with…

No.

Tommy cleared his throat, his stomach twisting as he replied weakly with “Yeah, I know. Guess I didn’t think about it that way.” He tried to smile but Dedrie gave him a look that seemed to convey she had picked-up on him being uncomfortable about being complimented.

“Mr. Kinard-”

“Tommy.” He corrected her, “I feel like we’re probably gonna see a lot of each other, right?”

Dedrie nodded, chuckling as she agreed. “Tommy then.” She looked over at Daniel, who seemed to be enamored by the teddy bears now. “Might I ask why you decided to take in Daniel?” Tommy felt his mind go blank momentarily as she continued, “The medical social workers seemed to be unsure but relieved that you stepped up. I’m just curious?”

Tommy nodded wordlessly at that, he leaned against the door frame and just looked at Daniel. “I-I don’t know, it just felt right? Something in my gut was just telling me to do it. I’ve been a firefighter for almost 20 years now and I’ve seen kids go through things that no kid should have to go through, but I was always able to do my job, process the emotions later.” He caught Daniel playing with the stuffed animals, making the firefighter and pilot bear save Bluey from the stuffed dragon animal and laughed, the nerves he had felt dissipated. “Till now. I saw him and I couldn’t let go. Felt like he needed me.” He felt his eyes sting, he kept having to remind himself that this was probably temporary, like most things in life.

Daniel’s parents could get better.

His family could change their minds and take him in.

Anything.

He cleared his throat, realizing how washy and nonsensical he sounded. “Guess that’s not really a good reason.” He murmured more to himself than at Dedrie.

The older woman didn’t seem to mind his answer, she seemed to be pleased if Tommy wasn’t mistaken. “I don’t about that.” She hummed, “Sounds like a good reason to open your home and heart to a kid who really does need someone right now.”

After signing documents and getting a full rundown of what was to be expected as a foster parent (meetings, keeping Dedrie up to date with appointments, etc), Dedrie wished him luck for his first night with Daniel and informed him she would see them again soon.

Now it was just the two of them (three, if you included Hondo the corgi, who now seemed to be Daniel’s dog in the span of a few hours).

Tommy had figured that since Daniel was a toddler, that he would be a picky-eater. Nope, the kid had an appetite. “You like mac and cheese, huh kiddo?” Tommy asked as he got another plate (Bluey themed, again.) for the kid. Daniel seemed to really love veggies too, eating spinach and broccoli that Tommy had gotten for him with no problems.

“Yesh!” Daniel answered excitedly, his eyes all sparkly as he looked up at Tommy. “It’s yummy!”

“It is yummy.” Tommy agreed, “What else do you like? Do you like pizza?”

“Yesh!”

“Hmm, I bet you don’t like cookies though?”

“I like cookies, Tummy!”

Tommy laughed, Daniel’s scrunchy face was too adorable. “Okay, but I don’t think you like chocolate chip cookies though.”

“I like chocochip cookies.”

Tommy feigned playful excitement, smushing his own hands against his cheeks that gotten a laugh from Daniel. “You like chocolate chip cookies too?”

“Yesh!” Daniel laughed, eating another bite of the mac n cheese happily.

“Atta boy.” He lifted his hand up in front of Daniel, “Can I get a high-five?”

Daniel gently slapped his hand against Tommy’s, “Fist bump?” Tommy asked, laughing as Daniel gave him a high five instead. “We’ll work on that.” He noted as he continued to eat his dinner with Daniel.

It wasn’t easy to admit out loud, but he missed having someone else at home. The house had been quiet since…then.

But Tommy felt relieved, he was enjoying cuddling up with Daniel and Hondo on the couch to watch Coco. Laughing silently as Daniel tried to sing a long and getting half the words right or garbled in his adorable two-year-old way. The kid even got Tommy to sing along.

When it started to get late, Tommy decided to call it a night since Daniel was dozing off again. He gently picked up the kid who whined about not being sleepy yet, “I know.” Tommy assured him, rubbing Daniel’s back and betting that Daniel would fall sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Another thing he wouldn’t admit was that he sort of had this weird sort of jealous feeling towards his brother-in-law and nephew’s relationship. Chet was an amazing dad and Tommy had seen the way his brother-in-law treated his nephew, Tommy had felt happy but down that he never got a dad or even a father figure like Chet and a part of him had always believed he would never be a dad. It was those small moments in where he saw Chet and his nephew, or Eddie and Christ, or Bobby and Bu-

“I don’t wanna bwush.” Daniel whined sleepily as Tommy let him stand on the stool (another thing Ashara had bought him for his bathroom even though Daniel had his own bathroom), the kid was basically leaning against Tommy. His tiny arms wrapped around Tommy’s leg, Tommy snickered. “I know, kiddo. But we gotta brush our teeth every night and morning, okay?” he got out the new (Bluey again?!) toothbrush and was ready to pass it over to Daniel but he noticed the little boy had began to doze off again. Tommy tried to suppress his giggle, picking up the little boy in his arms, “Okay, c’mon bud.” He patted the little boy on the back, “I think we can survive one night without brushing your teeth, just this one time, got it?” he asked, knowing that the toddler was gone to the world.

Tommy felt his heart stutter and crash as he felt Daniel wrap his arms around his neck, snuffling against his neck as he got comfortable.

‘Bobby once told me that having a kid was like having your heart walk outside your chest…’

They-

He had mentioned children once…

Tommy took a shuddering breath in and then out.

His priority was on Daniel.

Not on his own stupid heart.

He tucked Daniel in, not even a bit surprised that Hondo had opted to sleep at the foot of the bed. “Really, you like him over me already?” Tommy asked the corgi playfully, scratching the pup behind the ear. “Can’t blame you.” He decided.

He watched over Daniel for a moment, making sure the kid was okay before he left the room, opting to leave the door open since he wanted to make sure Daniel would be okay during his first night.

Tommy was surprised that Daniel was taking everything well so far.

-

Tommy opened his eyes.

He wasn’t sure that he had heard it at first, thinking it was an auditory hallucination from a dream he couldn’t recall.

But he heard it again.

Sniffling and soft cries.

In an instant he was up and out of bed, walking quickly to Daniel’s room and turning on the light.

Daniel was still in bed, hugging the firefighter teddy bear tightly as tears fell. His face and eyes blotchy and red as continued to cry. “I wan mommy and daddy.”

“Oh bud.” Tommy picked him up,d not minding that Daniel’s snot, tears, and spit would get all over his t-shirt. “I know, I know you do.” He pressed a quick kiss on the toddler’s forehead as he let Daniel cry it out, rubbing his back soothingly.  

“I wan-I wan mommmmy.” Daniel cried harder, “I wan mommy.”

This was breaking his heart in so many pieces that Tommy knew it was pointless to stop his own tears from cascading down his cheeks. He had seen kids lose their parents, their entire families really.

And it never ever got easy for him to witness it all.

He knew the kids who had survived from that sort of trauma just couldn’t “shake it off”. Hell, thirty years later and Tommy still wasn’t over his own mother dying.

Being there for Daniel, being a constant for him was just the tip of the iceberg of what Tommy needed to do for Daniel’s sake.

After watching two episodes of Bluey, singing (roughly), and getting him a warm glass of milk, Daniel was still crying.

Tommy had an idea. It was a long shot, but it always helped him.

He opened his patio door, it was something they had done when they used to stay the night at his place.

-

“You like looking at stars too?” Evan asked, surprised when Tommy confessed that the upside of flying at night was catching glimpses of the stars.

“Always did.” Tommy admitted, trying and failing to sound nonchalant but Evan’s bright smile had him smiling as well. He scooted closer to the younger man, preening as he felt Evan scoot closer as well.

“I always loved looking at the stars, something about them. It-it’s just calming, y’know?”  Evan pointed to the night sky, a smirk on his face as he asked Tommy, “Bet you don’t know which constellation that one is.”

-

Tommy laid back on the patio sofa, sitting Daniel on top of him, mindful of the cast as Hondo jumped right next to them.

“Hey Daniel.” He pointed up, wondering and hoping this would work. “You see the stars, bud?”

Daniel was still crying but nodded, “Do you see that one?”

“Yesh.” Daniel sniffed, rubbing at his snotty nose as he looked up. Tommy brushed away the tears again.

“That’s Ursa Minor, the little bear.” Tommy took Daniel’s hand gently in his and pointed to the sky. “Can you say little bear?”

“Wittle bware.”

Tommy laughed as he stuck out his fist for a fist bump, not surprised at all when Daniel gave him a high-five again.

“What about that one? Do you know what that one is?”

“Yesh.”

-

Tommy slowly opened his eyes, first registering the weight on his chest and legs, and then the dull ache in his neck.

'So the patio sofa wasn't comfy enough to sleep on, noted.' He thought miserably, already anticipating the soreness and aches he would have once he stood up.

He heard a click- the sound of a phone's camera clicking.

"Morning wolfy." Lucy's smile was wide and adoring as she took another picture.

Tommy was careful not to jostle the still sleeping Daniel on his chest and the sleepy Hondo on his leg (of course his damn corgi slept on top of his leg and not in his own bed Tommy had bought for him). "What are you doing here? What time is it?" The overcast made it difficult to tell if it was still morning, but Tommy wouldn't be surprised if he had managed to sleep past 9 after last night.

"I'm here because I was in charge of coffee, bought you a cup from Dinosaurs. The others are making breakfast."

Now Tommy was awake. He planted his feet on the ground, ignoring Hondo's whining for Daniel's fussing over having to be adjusted from where he was sleeping. "The others?"

Lucy cocked her head towards the house, "Yes, you thought we would leave you alone for your first morning with Danny boy there?" She asked, all smiles as she tickled Daniel's arm and got a sleepy smile from the toddler. “Clearly you need the reinforcement if you spent your first night out here.”

Tommy huffed, only mildly annoyed as he followed Lucy back into his house. “It actually went pretty well.” He hitched Daniel up higher, “Just little buddy here started missing his parents and nothing seemed to work, so I took him outside to watch the stars.”

“And that worked?”

Tommy shrugged, “Worked well enough that he fell asleep again.” He took a deep inhale of the sweet and salty aroma coming from his kitchen, finding Melton and Ashara already in the middle of cooking some fancy looking omelet, bacon, something that looked like a stiffer version of crepes, and of course- more coffee in his coffee pot.

Tommy didn’t know what to say as he saw his teammates get comfortable in his kitchen, “You guys didn’t have to do this.”

Melton was the first to respond, first with a scoff and then with a “I think the word you’re looking for is “Good morning, this smells great!””

Tommy gave his teammate a sheepish “Sorry”, getting a smack on the shoulder from Lucy, “It really does smell great.” He tried again.

“We know.” Ashara grinned, “Morning Danny.” The little boy gave her a shy wave, lightening the mood in the kitchen for a bit. Ashara pointed to the rooms down the hall, “You two wash up, breakfast should be ready in a bit.”

Tommy and Daniel washed up, it was cute to see Daniel mimic him. Looking up at Tommy for approval as Daniel brushed his teeth and wash his face. “Look at you look all bright eyed now.” Tommy teased, “You ready? Let’s go change out of these pjs.”

“Ready!” Daniel squealed excitedly, “Up pease.” He lifted his arms up, making little grabby hands as Tommy picked him up and “flew” Daniel (plane noises and all) to his room to change.

“Oh that is adorable!” Lucy clapped her hands as the Tommy and Daniel came into the kitchen wearing matching gray hoodies and jeans.

“He looked too cool so I just had to dress so I looked just as cool, right bud?” Tommy asked, poking Daniel in the cheek and getting an excited squeal back.

“So we got French toast sticks and scrambled eggs for Danny boy there.” Melton informed Tommy, pointing to the small plate of food and orange juice set aside for the toddler. “All kid approved food.”

Tommy eyed the meal as he got Daniel into his high chair, “Uh, I don’t know. Kid isn’t a picky eater. I’m sure he would inhale the omelet and those fried crepes.”

“Muqalab.” Ashara corrected, icily setting down a jar of honey next to said plate of muqalab.

“A non-picky 2 years old?” Lucy asked incredulously, eyeing Daniel playfully. “I’m not sure about that.” She pretended to scowl at the little boy, “You gonna be a big kid and eat an omelet?”

“Yesh!”

Tommy watched Lucy, Melton, and Ashara laugh at Daniel’s excitement. As the three got their plates ready, a weird heavy feeling began to set in Tommy’s stomach.

This felt like a family.

He was close to his team, but never this close.

Never “Let’s have breakfast at each other’s houses” close, it felt jarring.

He only had this in small doses, mainly with-

“Crap.” He quickly got up and ran to get his phone, answering the others’ concerning question of “What’s wrong?” with “I forgot I texted my sister last night!” He picked up his phone from the nightstand to see multiple missed calls and texts from his sister.

‘You little twerp! Answer your phone!’ was the last call he got from his sister, at 6 am.

Oh, he was a dead man.

Grant it, Sarah was only four years older than him and a whole eight inches shorter than him.

But she could still terrify him.

He called her back but only got her voice mail.

Maybe she was pissed?

He left a quick message, noting what happened with Daniel over night and that he was sorry that he had sprung the news about him being a foster dad on her so quick. “Love you, tell Chet and the kids I miss them.” He hung up, rubbing his face as headed back to the kitchen.

“You good?” Melton asked at the same time that Daniel went “Hi Tummy!”, the toddler was happily munching away on a piece of honey covered muqalab.

“Yeah,” Tommy replied, sitting down to the empty chair closest to Danniel’s highchair. “Hey kiddo.” Tommy happily accepted a piece of muqalab from Daniel. Melton patted him on the back, Ashara was trying to steal away a piece of strawberry from Daniel’s plate, much to Daniel’s chagrin, and Lucy was happily sipping her cup of coffee.

So…

This was what “Found Family” meant?

It was nice.

[bullet-prooflove]

Blankets - Bishop Losa x Reader

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @abby2 @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @vannabanana1995 @beardedbarba @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @est1887 @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @kishie8 @saltyunicorn079 @nessamc @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @lyly00 @oureternalbond @beccabarba

When Bishop first meets you, he isn’t at his best. He’s exhausted, the stench of smoke and cordite clinging to his skin. He’s seen too much tonight; he just wants to go home and drink himself into oblivion, but he can’t because now there’s a kid involved that he has to do right by.

When he’d heard that there was a stash house in his backyard he was pissed. He thought the club had sent a clear message the last time Vatos Malditos had encroached on their territory, but apparently, he had been wrong. They’d expected drugs, a little smack, a couple of kilos of coke but they hadn’t expected the kid. He’d known they were into some dark shit but trafficking kids for sex…

Putting bullets in those animals had been way too fucking quick.

They’d found the kid cowering in the corner of a princess themed bedroom, nine years old he guessed, hair in pigtails, a schoolgirl’s uniform with a skirt that was far too short and a tie that was far too low. They’d tried talking to her in English and then in Spanish, it wasn’t until Bishop saw her hand gestures that he realised she was deaf. He couldn’t imagine how fucking terrifying that must have been, to be at the hands of monsters with no way to communicate, to have your voice stripped away from you. He knew a little sign language; he’d started learning when Aidan had been diagnosed with hearing difficulties.  He’s rusty has fuck but he manages to tell the girl she’s safe, that no one in this room is going to hurt her, she signs back to him quickly, too quicky and he has to hold his hands up so that she understands that he’s a novice.

He discovers her name is Mari and she sticks to him like glue after that. He’s forced to ride in the van with Creeper because she refuses to let him out of her sight.

It’s Coco that suggests taking her to the community centre. Stitches has been running a clinic out of there and knows the manager, she’s helped out in situations like this before. It’s a happy place he tells Bishop, kid friendly and they’ve been doing some great work in the community. He can’t stand the idea of just dropping Mari off at social services, so he has Creeper swing by.

You’re waiting by the front door when he arrives. It’s been a while since he has been by this way and the place has changed a lot. Shit has been going downhill since the Galindo Agra Park project stalled and it looks like you’ve stepped up, he notes the additional services that are now on offer. The clothing drives, the food banks, the pop-up children’s library…

All of these things make difference to people who are barely managing to keep themselves afloat.

He thinks he recognises you, but he can’t be sure, it might have been back after Aidan was born and he was taking him to the Tummy Time play sessions. Even back then he knows he would have noticed you. He’d been committed to Antonia, but there was definitely something about you.

“Thanks for helping out with this.” He says, shaking your hand. “I only know a little ASL.”

There’s a thrum of connection there, something he hasn’t felt in years. He almost pulls away, but he finds that he can’t bring himself too. You like him, he’s gruff but earnest. He could have dumped Mari at social services, but he chose to bring her here, to a place that hopefully she’ll feel safe so that you can find out more about her.

Mari refuses to venture anywhere without him, so he finds himself seated on a red bean bag in the children’s library, his motorcycle boots resting on a brightly coloured patchwork rug. It makes his chest ache being back here, it’s different than before but the memories of Aidan, they’re everywhere. When he sees the Gruffalo book, it almost feels like he can’t fucking breathe.

It’s the motion of your hands that distracts him. You’re sitting cross legged on the rug across from Mari, continuing a conversation in ASL. It’s moving too fast for him to follow, but he’s captivated by the flourish of your movements, the speed and grace in them. It’s clear that Mari’s impressed too. The kid has been withdrawn ever since they found her, now she’s animated and rapt. He figures it’s been a long time since anyone’s actually spoke to Mari in her language.

“She says she was brought here by her Uncle.” You tell him later on in the break room, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. “When he couldn’t pay his own fee, he traded her to pay off the rest.”

“Man, that’s fucked up.” He says, his gaze on the young girl curled up under a blanket on the couch. The kid is fast asleep, a stuffed lion clutched to her chest, it breaks his fucking heart. “What’ll happen to her?”

“I have a friend who works at a charity who deals with this sort of thing. She’ll be here in a couple of hours.” You told him with a grimace. “Sadly, it’s more common than you think.”

Bishop sags back in his chair, his head tilting back as he sighs. The world is a fucked up place and he knows that but tonight, somehow it feels a thousands times worse.

“Obispo.” You say his name quietly, your hand coming to rest upon his. It’s warm, your touch. He doesn’t expect it, part of him wants to yank his hand away because that brief moment of connection is too much. He’s been alone for such a long time, he’s forgotten what it feels like to have someone actually give a shit, about him, about the people around them. You could have told him to fuck off tonight, you could have called social services, stayed at home drinking a glass of wine or whatever you did to wind down, but you hadn’t. You’d stepped up and he fucking admired that. “You did a good thing tonight. If you hadn’t found her…”

You let the words trail off  because the truth is you can’t bring yourself to say it. He gets that, he doesn’t want to think about it either. He slouches down in his chair, arms crossing over this chest. It’s cold in here, colder than he thought it would be. You’re wearing a black sweatshirt with white stars over your jeans, it clings to your form in a way he tries not to notice. All he has on is a short-sleeved shirt and his kutte.

“I’ll stay until she gets here, your friend.” He says, his gaze coming to rest on Mari as he rubs his hands together to warm them. “I don’t want her to wake up scared.”

“Ok.” You tell him, before snatching up a blanket from the back of the second couch and handing it to him.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t need that.”

“You have goosebumps.” You point out, gesturing at his biceps. “I’m still working on getting the heating fixed but it’s a process…”

He fixes you with a stare, it’s meant to be a glower but you can see the exhaustion in his handsome features, how tired he is both mentally and physically. He’s stubborn, you shouldn’t like that, but you do. You set the blanket down in his lap. He huffs before rolling his eyes and shaking it out. You watch as he tucks it around his chest and upper body, drawing it up to his neck.

“I’m doing this because the heating’s out.” He tells you with a scowl.

“Not because it’s comfortable as fuck,” You summarise. “Yea I think I got it.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you busy yourself collecting the coffee cups and depositing them in the sink.

“You didn’t have to stay you know.” You tell him, glancing at him over your shoulder. “I can keep her company.”

Bishop tilts his head towards the little girl asleep on the couch, he remembers the way she clutched onto his kutte when he helped her to feet, how she refused to let go of his hand when they’d first stepped inside the community centre…

“Yea.” He said, closing his eyes as he hunkers down in the chair. “I do.”

Love Bishop? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[survivalist-anon]

Log 13: Concerning Wolves

Sitting in Jame's office is a strange mix between having a candid conversation with an older friend and being in trouble I'm the principal's office.

"Young lady, I trust you know that you're about to embark on a rather tumultuous experience right?", his drawl was a bit more serious than usual. "This ain't like the movies where you know how things will turn out either.....things can go so far down south right into hell now that the Astartes are involved."

Remembering what had happened the night before, the circumstances of Grandpa's murder, and what I've seen, I had no excuses to ignore the dangers. "Yeah, I can see...... listen if it's about Jeff....and Fjord tossing the patrol car, he was trying to protect me. I didn't ask him to throw the car at Jeff a-", Jame's eyebrows arched up.

"He did what?", apparently he hadn't been told about that.

"Fuk. Well anyway....Jeff pulled his gun on me thinking I was someone trying to attack on him or something and Fjord reacted to protect. He was just doing his duty.", I could tell James was already going to reiterate the responsibility. A heavy sigh slide through his lips once more.

"It's ok, however Fjord's going to have to be kept on a tight leash and control himself around folks or he's gonna have to stay home. Do you understand me?", his tone felt like there was something else underneath.

"Ok...I understand sir....also....how....long you've known about all of this?", I ask only of curiosity...if he wasn't willing to tell me than that fine too.

James relaxed his seriousness and mellowed abit, taking out a photo album. "They've been here far longer than I have kid, in fact Aldercon was my great grandfather's Astartes. Way back when folks had come here for free land. He told me that Aldercon had come from the sky, landed squarely in the heart of the Wyoming wilderness. He was shellshocked, covered head to toe in blood and dirt....I remember stories of my grandfather and Aldercon, as wild as the tales of Paul Bunyan and Babe. The two had become folk legends out in the ol' West."

He opened the book to show me the first page, it was a collection of aged, photos from the late 1800's. One of the pictures was of Jame's grandfather, he really did come from an American lineage of cowboys. He was far more rugged than James however... I glanced at the tall, stockier man in a much more humble looking uniform, same black fist on his pauldron too. "Holy shit, this can't be him...for one he's smiling, and second, I thought -", I could see James giving me a look that said 'but you didn't '.

I could see a tiny difference between him from this photo and now. I can tell his hair was darker, I can definitely see that thousand yard stare of a man who's seen war, and his armor was slightly different from the Marines back at the fort.

James turned the page, this was one was a genuine surprise. "Even your great grandfather, had one.", next to him was a man fresh off the boat from Eastern Europe, my Great grandfather, dad for some reason or another was reluctant to tell me his real name...he kept calling him "Big George", after the Butcher Boy George from Hungarian folk lore. Then right next to him, probably helped bag a rather ominous looking bear, was Sten. That white stripe on his head wasn't present, he didn't change as much as Aldercon. This picture was even more older than James's granddad's photo.

"You see Lorey, they've been around for a while now....lord knows for how long though.". He began to reminisce about the past.

The implications of these Marines having been around is giving my inner history buff a massive concern. "Well....it would be extremely stupid to try to bargain the fact I thought they joking, but I'm starting to see...I take it this will be more complicated?".

He looks up at me, "Yes ... because just like with basic folks like us, there are bad folks....that big black one your grandpa wasn't lucky with....is one of them...there seems to be at least five or so kinds out there based on my sources.....one of them is out there right now reeking havoc near highly populated campsites..... Aldercon told me Sten and Toke will be in disposed of for the next week.... meanwhile have Fjord keep a sharp nose out for that one...it's the fastest I've seen of these ones....I'm not too familiar with the either...so I'm giving you a very special assignment. I need you to put your research training to go use."

He handed me a small leather bound journal.

"Keep track of them, now....let's go have some grub.", he gets up from his chair and pats my shoulder.

I sat there feeling something complex in me, I'm....going to catalog them? I open the journal and I SWEAR James has been screwing with me at least to this point....this journal aestheticly looked a DnD character sheet of it focused on identifying and profiling. I place it in my inner jacket pocket. "What the shit....", I still wasn't too sure of my role in all of this....I could understand why now.

I'm just part of a lineage of....marine handlers? I don't know.....

As I leave the room, I see the Fjord was getting a lesson in paper football from one of the volunteers.

James takes the desk bell and rings it to call the attention of everyone in the center. "Ladies, Gentlemen and folks. I would like to make an announcement, as of now. Be on high alert for any unusual activity. Anything and everything in regards to disappearances of livestock and or people, property damage of unexplained or unusual nature, and any purported sightings of creatures of unknown origin...I.e...NOT BIG FOOT.... We'll have to be reported to me, Lorey and Ronnie for the time being.

I figured Ronnie also got the information, I look at him and he was a little more on edge than I was.

Fjord, definitely knew what this whole deal was about.

With a ringing of the doorbell to the nursery, Shelly has brought in some new little guests.

"Oh guys come and see! The babies are opening their eyes!", Shelly, Ronnie and I have been researching the local wolf packs in the area and monitoring their behavior. One of the females under our care have recently gave birth a few days ago.

I check in the box as Shelly laid it on the table, 5 beautiful cubs. In their state, they're roughly two to three weeks old. As helpless as human babies. "Fjord, would you like to see them?"

He was a little curious, he walked over to see the five cubs. ".... they're so....small.... they're...just wee little things...".

I could see he was trying to piece together something....not certain what, but from my perspective he was wonder struck.

As the cubs peeped and whimpered, as all cubs do, one has just opened it's eyes. Showing a pair of smokey blue irises. Than, Fjord did something I wasn't expecting him to do. He gently placed his hand next to one of the cubs. "... interesting...."

"Oh careful please, they're fragile little ones.", Shelly had all the right to worry. These may have been wild animals, but even young wild animals need to be treated carefully.

His finger alone dwarfed the cub, he was so still and so focused. By this point I completely lost in what could he be possibly thinking. A little cub wiggled right on top of his finger, using it as a heated pillow.

Fjord, let out a soft but eerily convincing howl, low enough that it could be considered an indoor voice, but it was very real. All the cubs let out their first howls, right there, all with varying skill and ability. But every single one had howled for the first time in their lives.

The room was quite, understandably, this was extremely weird for everyone.

Anderson decided to break the moment, "ugh...yeah I'd like to report something.".

"Anderson hush.", James to the rescue. "Fjord seems to understand these pups pretty well.

Shelly was mesmerized, "Oh my gosh, they all just did that at the same time. In all my years here, I have never seen something so amazing before."

I kept looking at Fjord, if I could read minds, this would be a great time to use it.

After a few hours of everyone enjoying their food, drink and few games. I sat with Fjord in the back of the room.

I sipped the last of my ginger ale, I still couldn't get his expression out of my mind. "Fjord. That thing you did with the howl ....can...you explain that to me?"

He sat there, lips wrapped around a rib bone. "Oh, that....it just...why are yeh wolves so small? I mean, I seen some out there in the forest and yonder ....I'm use to the wolves back home. Ferocious and mighty beasts, equivalent to Astartes! Strong enough to bare us and ride into battle. The cubs from thosd wolves are just a wee bit smaller than your fully grown ones. They're born with their teeth already out. These ones.... they're.... just wee bairns...".

I still didn't really get it. "Ugh, you mean...you're confused on why they're small.....?", I ask.

He takes out the bone from his mouth, "I mean....why do they remind me of mortal children? Small, helpless.... fragile...".

The tone he took had felt familiar, it was the same tone I used when my expectations would be challenged. "Wait...are you telling me you're disappointed by our wolves?", I satirically question him.

"No lass, it's just.....they remind me of....well....me... before I became an Astartes. The wee one ....it had blue eyes....I ....use to have the same eyes.", that last comment took me a little to figure out he was actually feeling.

It was self reflection. I just gave this guy a massive 'thing' to think about.

"well, all wolf pups have blue eyes when they're born, than as they grow, they change colors... mostly to yellow, amber or green.", looked to the room watching everyone enjoying themselves.

I suddenly felt him gently pull the side of my jaw, making me face him directly.

"Interesting....you have green eyes.", he bluntly stated.

I could feel my heart pounding by this point, we just both intensely looked into each other's eyes. I didn't know what it was, but something about the way he kept looking at me, just burning into my soul, felt strange...yet I liked it...it wasn't human either....

"ugh....this feels a little bit....um.", I didn't want to be mean about the situation by calling it 'cheesy' or 'corny'.

"----Hey you guys want t-", Jonas broke the tension for the both of us. "oooooh you two were?", she gave a cheeky grin.

"Jonas! You scared me.", again I had no idea what to say but hey it was something.

Fjord snapped out of his stare and looked to Jonas, "oh hey lass, to do what?"

Jonas chuckled a little, "it's almost time to close up the station and let the night crew in. We're heading down to the bar tonight actually. Why don't you bring your kegs too, Franky doesn't mind it."

I had completely forgotten about those two kegs, if Fjord sticks to the. He could save me a little of money.

"Ah I could use a drink, I've been parched for some for a little while lass.", he looks to me as a way of asking for approval by this point.

"ok fine.", I lean in to whisper in his ear. "Please behave yourself, Aldercon's orders."

He looks at me was a smoldering look, leans into my ear, "I'll do my best.".

I have no idea why, but the way he whispered into my ear shot the best feeling in the pit of my being.

End of log 13

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@squishyowl

@starfrost740

[braindump333]

To my future husband…

It’s not easy for me to say this, but I want to be honest with you about who I am and how I am in relationships. It’s something I’ve been working on understanding about myself. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been the “needy“ one in relationships. I know that word has negative connotations, but it’s how I’ve often felt. When I care about someone, I care intensely. It’s like my whole world starts to revolve around them. I guess it all started in my childhood. My parents well I think they did love me, but their love always felt conditional. My mom was very absent. Some days she would be around and actually be a mom, while other days she’d be gone, lost in her own world. I never knew which version of her I’d get. My dad, on the other hand, was always working. He provided for us, but he was never emotionally available. When he was around, it felt like I had to compete for his attention. I remember doing everything I could to make him proud, like getting great grades in school, to make him notice me. Their relationship was precarious. My dad was very manipulative and didn’t treat my mom very good. They’d get into fights, then eventually sweep the problem under the rug, and pretend everything is OK again. As a kid, it was very confusing and scary. I never knew if our “family“ was OK or if it was all about to fall apart again. I think that’s where my anxiety in relationship stems from. I learned that love is unpredictable, that it can be here one minute and gone the next. So now, as an adult, I’m constantly on high alert in my relationships. When I start caring about someone, it’s like a switch flips in my brain. Suddenly, I’m hyper aware of everything: every text, every call, every slight change in tone or expression. I’m always looking for signs that you’re pulling away or losing interest. I know it can be overwhelming. I tend to need a lot of reassurance. If you don’t text back quickly, my mind starts racing: “are they OK? Did I say something wrong? Are they losing interest?” I know it’s not rational, but in those moments, it feels so real. I crave closeness and intimacy. When we’re together, it’s amazing. But when we’re apart, I feel this emptiness, this anxiety that gnaws at me. I want to reach out constantly, to know that you’re thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you. And conflicts, confrontations, disagreements, that’s when my anxiety really goes into overdrive. Any sign of disagreement feels like a threat to the relationship. I might become clingy, or I might lash out. Deep down, I’m terrified of abandonment, of losing you! I know I can be intense. I feel everything so deeply. When things are good, they’re incredibly good. It’s like I’m floating on cloud nine. But when there’s any hint of trouble, real or imagined, it’s like my world is ending, like hell on earth. I’ve noticed I have a tendency to lose myself in relationships. My interest, my friends, my goals, they all take a backseat to the relationship. I know it’s not healthy, but it’s like I don’t know how to be any other way. Sometimes I test a relationship without even realizing it. I might create conflicts or dramas, just to see how you react, to reassure myself that you care. I know it’s not fair to you, but it comes from this deep, seated fear of not being enough, of being rejected and abandoned once again. I want you to understand that when I’m acting clingy or needy, it’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because I don’t trust that good things will last because I’ve learned that good things always come to an end. My childhood taught me that love is fleeting, that people leave, and I’m terrified of experiencing that pain again. But I’m trying to work on this, finding myself, building my self-esteem, healing from my wounds, becoming more secure, and learning to self soothe instead of constantly seeking external validation from you. I’m trying to understand that your need for space doesn’t mean you’re abandoning me. I know it’s not easy being with someone like me.

You might feel suffocated at times or frustrated by my need for constant reassurance. I get it, but I want you to know that I’m aware of these issues, and I’m actively trying to change. If you choose to be with me, I need you to please be patient. There will be times when my anxiety gets the best of me. Times when I might seem clingy or overly emotional. But I also promise you unwavering loyalty, deep empathy, and a love so strong it might overwhelm us both. I need open communication. If you need space, tell me. if I’m being too much, let me know. I’ll try not to take it personally, even though that’s hard for me. And please be clear about your feelings and intentions. Ambiguity is like kryptonite to me. I can’t promise you it will be easy. But I can promise you that I’ll try every day to do better, to love you in a healthier way. Because despite all my fears and anxieties, I do want to learn how to have a secure, balanced relationship. I understand if it’s too much. If you want to walk away now, I get it, even though it will hurt like hell. But if you’re willing to try, to work through this with me, then I’d be the happiest woman alive. Because all I’ve ever wanted, is someone who sees all of me - fears, anxieties, and all the ugly - and chooses to stay and love me anyway.

[fictionobsession]

Thenii Begins

Pairing: None

Summary: What's her deal?

Word Count: 4,972

Warnings: domestic abuse, horror themes, this is emotionally painful

A/N: this is my baby. i love thenii so so much, and i feel very strongly about her character. if you don't like this or it isn't your thing, that's cool, but if i can get anyone to love thenii as much as i do, i wanted to try!

--

She looked across the room, squinting against the blinding light as it reflected off the dwarf’s bald head, highlighting the sheen of sweat that had begun to gather at the beginning of the meeting. She’d been at this job for twenty years, working hard, schmoozing harder. Getting a leg up for this position was supposed to be the saving grace of an otherwise terrible experience as a patriar’s secretary in Baldur’s Gate. As soon as a position opened up for an assistant to a magistrate, her application had been filled out. She knew she had the experience and skill, and, from the way this idiot stumbled over his words, an increasing confidence in her understanding of Baldurian politics compared to even those already serving in these positions. Her initial team of interviewers had made it clear she was the obvious choice. She just had to wait for the actual people in charge to make the final decision. 

“We’ve decided to go with another applicant.”

Her green eyes snapped to the man’s face, looking for any sign he was joking, that it was some kind of sick prank. His eyes quickly fell to the table, his hands reaching to dab sweat from his forehead. The room spun as she felt the rug pulled out from under her. She felt nauseated. The room became stuffy, claustrophobic, as if there wasn’t enough air for her lungs. The man had picked back up with empty platitudes, but she could no longer listen. She could only focus on forcing the in and out of her breathing, her vision tunneling. 

“Help.”

A voice came from right beside her. Her head whipped to the side, trying to pinpoint the source. There was no one else in the room, no speakers to project the plea. Her anxiety was too strong, making her panicked desires manifest outside her own mind. She closed her eyes for a second longer than normal to allow a bit of space to even her breathing. She forced herself to nod along to the last of the man’s obviously prepared speech, heard herself thanking him for the opportunity, and left, already writing her notice in her head and regretting the last 20 years of her life.  

She didn’t know where she would go next. She hadn’t made any plans outside of this, really. It’s what her parents had wanted her to do. Work your way up the political ladder, get in good with someone important, make a good look for the family name. She looked up to see gray clouds covering the sun, casting a shadow on the world. The world felt in tune with her as she felt the first hint of rain lightly tapping her face, winding down the side of her nose, getting lost in the cracks of her lips. She should be crying, or at least upset at the loss of her future, she thought, but the weather seemed to be feeling that for her. 

She watched the people of her town on the walk home, appreciating the diversity of her neighborhood, but feeling detached from it all somehow. The young kids playing in the alley regardless of the weather, her elderly drow neighbor stopping by the newly married tieflings home with baked goods. The cobbler giving a tight smile to the new Fist rushing out his door, uniform on mostly correctly. It seemed a wonderful place to live, everyone accepting each other without the presence of a singular culture or race, the thing that had drawn her to Baldur’s Gate in the first place - but none of them looked happy. She felt them all going through the motions of what they “should” be doing. The tall building that held her home stood menacing as she rushed under the awning, leaving the calming rain behind. 

She could hear the sounds of men playing cards, losing money to one another in her home, her key pausing in the lock when she heard him yelling at the others about lost rounds, and knowing her rent money just went out the window. The sound of a tankard hitting the other side of the wall where she stood pulled her out of her musing. She sighed, steeling herself for the fight she knew was coming. She pushed the door open, slowly, cautiously, expecting something else to come flying toward her. She hoped to make it to the bedroom before he noticed, but luck evaded her yet again.

“You were supposed to be back an hour ago.” His accusation was heavier after the weight of the afternoon. The other men in the room went deathly silent. 

“My shift was over an hour ago, but I had that meeting about the, uh, the job.” She cringed at her own tone, waiting for a hit that never landed. 

He grunted. “Well hurry up and make dinner. I’m hungry.” A pause, long enough that she took a hesitant step toward the safety of the bedroom. “At least you’re getting paid more soon. Actually be useful. Worth something.”

She heard the question within the statement, heard him walk up behind her in the hallway. She stared at the small puddle on the floor where she’d been standing. 

“You made a fucking mess of my floor. Better clean that up. Not like we can afford a maid, even if you got the job.” 

“I didn’t - “ The whispered admission was cut off as his rough hand cupped her chin, tilting her head so that she was forced to look him in the eye. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, on his skin. 

“You know how I feel when you mumble.”

She tasted the blood that welled up as she bit the inside of her cheek. She sent a quick prayer to whichever god deigned to listen to her. They never did. The hallway torch flickered behind him, giving him a beautiful, almost angelic appearance. She took that as a small sign, and had hope as she spoke again, stronger. “I didn’t get the position. They gave it to someone else. Some half-elf, power drunk on daddy’s money.”

The slap surprised her, though she should have been expecting it. She had been too candid, given too many details. She pressed her lips tight together to keep herself from crying out, to keep herself from making it worse. He turned on his heel, stumbling slightly into the wall, not seeing the tears forming in her eyes. Not caring when she sniffed back a sob. “Get out of my sight before I do something you’ll really regret.” 

She shuffled backward until she felt the door handle press into her back. She spun to open the door, shutting and locking it behind her. She stripped her clothes, tossing them in the hamper, and went to wash up. The only thing on her mind was getting clean. Maybe she should have been more concerned about the rest of her life, she thought, but she just felt dirty. 

She ran a bath in their small tub, the water as hot as she could get it. The tears fell then, the water putting false distance between her and the real world. She slid down as far into the tub as she could, drowning out the sounds of the men in her sitting room, giving herself permission to think, to wish for a better life. 

“Help.”

The voice again sounded external, though she knew it could only be her own plea to the gods, or the universe, or anyone, anything that was listening. She realized at that moment that there was no help for her. If she was going to find a better life, she would have to do it herself. 

Once there were no more tears to cry, she got out of the bath, toweled off, and started planning. She didn’t have much that was her own - her pay went to him, always  - but she had enough stashed to make it a few days. She could make it to her sister’s, she thought, it was a twelve day journey, and she could surely make it that far. 

She grabbed her old bag from the closet, stuffing it with a few days of clothes, the spare potions and tools she kept hidden under the loose floorboard. A coil of rope was tied to the side of the bag, just in case. She dug around her dresser for the knife her grandfather had given her on her fiftieth birthday, only five years prior. Her hand wrapped around the comforting leather of the hilt, pulling the dagger out. She meditated on its familiar weight for a moment before hooking it onto her belt, then stuffed the backpack between the bed and her nightstand. She cleaned the puddle in the hallway, started soaking his dirty clothes from the day before, and waited for him to fall asleep. After the others left, he wouldn’t remember that she hadn’t made dinner; the beer made sure of that. 

“Go.”

Her inner voice sounded farther than it had, almost muffled, as if on the other side of the wall. Shortly after, his snores drifted through the tiny apartment. She rushed to the bedroom, slinging the backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her old bow and quiver from under the bed, and crept to the front door. She dared a glance into the sitting room, where she saw him passed out. His sleep had to be deep, she thought. The snores trailed off, and he had fallen asleep with a tankard still in his hand. There was dust swirling around his face, imperceptible if not for the moonlight shining through the window, landing across his chest.

She inched the door open, slipped through, and ran. She didn’t stop running until she reached the edge of town. Someone running down the street in the middle of the night should have caused some alarm, perhaps, but this was Baldur’s Gate after all. She would hardly be the only person running from something that night. She settled her bag more comfortably on her shoulders, and set off down the road. She pulled her sending stone from her pocket, leaving her sister a simple message that she was on her way. Her sister only said “Thank Sylvanus,” and told her to be careful. 

Her racing thoughts and development of a plan proved to be a much needed distraction from the stress of the day. The stress of a year, the stress of many years, culminating in one trip to another town, hopefully far enough away. Just a few hours into the journey, she started to wonder if she should go back. She wondered if he was out looking for her, though she suspected he likely wouldn’t be out of his stupor until the next morning, anyway.

In the pauses between the fantasies her imagination provided, the fear kept creeping back in. The voice in her head was absent, or at least back to normal, but she couldn’t shake the concern she now had about why it had sounded so alien in those times of greatest stress. She thought it may be her body’s way of processing. She felt herself start to get comfortable, finding some catharsis in the sameness of the road, the quiet acceptance of the forest, and the thoughts of who she may become.

After two days with minimal food, she could feel hunger growing in her stomach, the effort of the journey almost too much for her underfed body, and she pulled out the last apple she had snagged from the kitchen as she fled. She knew she would have to stop again eventually for sleep. She had walked straight through the first night, and she hadn’t even considered sleep until that moment. She had no bedroll, so a night under the stars would have to do. She could imagine worse nights than that, assuming no unsavory characters decided to make an appearance and ask for money she barely had. She walked a bit farther, thinking, the sound of her sister’s voice telling her to be careful echoing through her mind. She tried whistling a tune from her childhood, she tried telling herself stories out loud, anything to make the anxiety lessen. But none of it could drown out the thoughts. She still couldn’t get the fear out of her mind. Walking down a mostly unfamiliar road, toward an uncertain future, all for the chance at a new life, some money, some friends. Initially she thought there was hope there, an escape, at least, from him. From the Gate. From the politics and the fake people and the bullshit. 

She knew this trip would be long, and she hoped it would be boring. The sky turned to gray as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Yet, her journey continued. The thoughts never ceasing, never letting her breathe. Of all her anxieties, sleeping under the canopy of trees was not one; however, in all her attempts to distract herself from that exact thought, she had let herself become unaware of her surroundings. She noticed a few homes, likely farmhouses, a ways in the distance. She hadn’t remembered there being a town, even just a small farming village, between the Gate and her sister, but she assumed that many things had changed since she’d last been this way.

“Help.” 

She startled, looking around for the source of the… sound? offer? question? “I don’t need any help, I can take care of myself, thanks.” She turned around, waving off the stranger, but there was no one. There were no other people on the road as far as she could see. Had been, she considered, the only person she’d seen on the road for the last two days. A general store was the only building directly nearby, and it appeared to be permanently closed, with wood criss-crossing the entrance. Her brow furrowed, one hand reaching for the bow slung across her shoulder, before deciding on the dagger instead, on the non-zero chance she was too out of practice with the bow to survive a proper fight. She shook her head clear, putting aside the fear she was losing her mind, and went back to work looking for a safe, or at least mostly safe, place to lay her head for the night. 

Resigned to sleep just off the road, in a bit of a clear patch mostly hidden by trees, she started to shrug off her backpack when her skin crawled with anticipation and the voice returned.

“Run.”

And she did. Slinging her pack back over her shoulder as she went, she ran as far as she could, losing her sense of direction completely, driven by adrenaline alone. When she finally stopped, she had the distinct sense of being followed. Tracked. Hunted. She hid under the porch of one of the farmhouses she had seen, begging the dark to hide her tracks from the pursuant. She crouched, eyes closed, waiting for his face to appear in the light outside the porch. Instead, she heard the squelch of feet in mud coming closer. She couldn’t help the sharp inhale when she heard the voice again. 

“Come.”

Calmer again. 

“Help.”

She backed further into the safety of the porch. The steps came closer. Stopped. She let herself look, just a peek, and saw…

Nothing.

There was no one there, no footprints in the mud to mark the passage of another living thing. 

She knew it had been a hallucination. Exhaustion induced, perhaps. She was road weary, she knew she had been through a lot, but she still felt that hallucinations were a bit of an extreme side effect. 

She extricated herself from her hiding place, the rough wood of the porch scraping across her back as she moved. The place where footsteps should have been, the direction from which the voice came, was empty. In fact, the whole space was barren up to the treeline, save for the puff of her breath in the cold, her own footsteps, and the rundown home that had hidden her.

The wind nipped at her cheeks as she inched forward. The quiet of the night was overwhelming, her mind distracted by a fear of what she thought she had heard. She could hear nothing but her teeth chattering, and the distant hoot of an owl, who left her alone with her fears. Her thoughts drifted back to that voice. 

It had offered assistance, comfort, she thought, but it had also followed, pursued. It hadn’t seemed dangerous, but neither had its intentions seemed friendly. If it hadn’t been a hallucination, she knew she couldn’t go back to the road immediately, offering herself up to a potential threat. Not that it would have done any good. In a clearer headspace, this house was nothing like the farmhouses she had seen on the horizon, and she had no idea which direction she’d come from. She’d just get more lost trying to get back to the road. She wondered, if briefly, about the lack of people she had seen since she started her journey. She had seen others, she was certain, but not since… no. She hadn’t seen a single person since leaving Baldur’s Gate. 

Blinking away the fog of adrenaline, she dusted herself off, worked to set her heartbeat to its normal rhythm, and set off to the front door of this random house. She knocked, only briefly wondering if she was going to be met by a knife to the throat. Waited. Knocked again. An ancient gnome opened the door, mostly obscured by shadow, only his wide, gray eyes visible as he took in the disheveled elf before him. “Can I help you?” He asked, his voice loud against the night. His frown seemed permanent, the wrinkles covering his face gave away no sign of happiness. She didn’t get the impression this man would help anyone with anything at all.

“Could I possibly get directions back to the road to Baldur’s Gate, sir? I got a bit turned around, and I’m not entirely sure where I am. Some direction is all I need, and then I’ll be going.” She reached to wipe invisible sweat from her forehead. When she pulled away, her hand was slick with brown-gray mud that wouldn’t come off no matter how much she wiped her hands on her pants. The old man shut the door slowly, calling “No, just keep on goin, thief. ‘M not falling for that. I may be old, but I ain’t no fool.”

She sighed, leaned against the doorframe for a moment as she once again surveyed her options, or lack thereof. There was the forest, a little further down, this house with No Fool inside, and the general store building back where she’d started. Wherever that was. There still weren’t any other houses in sight. The simple dirt path ended with No Fool’s walkway. Of all her options, the great unknown was the forest. She studied it from the driveway. She could feel the strange energy pulsing from it. She imagined the dark, twisting paths, complete with brambles and roots to trip on. The trees that were likely indistinguishable in the dark would make navigating difficult, even for someone who grew up in similar woods.

She imagined some poor kid exploring the woods on a soft summer day finding her remains if she was unable to make it out. She imagined the poor schmuck finding her frozen body somewhere in the expanse of nothingness if she tried to find her way back. She felt for the knife at her side, always accessible “in case of emergency,” as her grandfather had insisted, and rubbed a thumb over its hilt. A breath in, a breath out, and she walked toward fate.

She trudged the worn down path for quite some time, appreciating the beauty of the forest life, before the voice she had come to associate with her exhaustion returned. 

“Left.”

She turned her head to the left, and found nothing but the dense trees that had been surrounding the path from the start. Nothing appeared different or special here. The trees were just as thick, the forest just as dark. The sticky sweet smell of sap tickling the back of her throat, the feel of an entire ecosystem watching her every move. She continued on, her feet starting to drag as the remainder of her adrenaline wore off.

The minutes passed like hours, the hours like days as she continued along the neverending trail, until she came to a split. The path looked identical in each direction, nothing giving away the secret to the way through. She felt drawn to the leftmost path, and remembered the hallucinations, the voice saying “Left” clear and obvious in her mind.

She took the path to the right.

A searing pain shot through her head. 

The whole world faded out. 

A voice. That Voice. 

“Again.”

The blur of green and brown mixed with the feel of the crunchy grass beneath her, and her aching head, gave away that the night had not been a dream.She pulled herself off the ground, did a quick inventory. She still had her bow and quiver slung across her back. Her knife was still in its place on her belt.  Her backpack was still on her shoulders, undisturbed. She touched her head to feel for the knot she knew must be there, the blood she thought might be, and felt nothing. No physical evidence existed that she had been harmed. She had no injuries that she could find. She looked up. The split in the road stared back. 

“Left.”

The Voice startled her, though she should have perhaps expected it. She was not, she thought, about to have a conversation out loud with her subconscious in the woods. And this had to be her subconscious. It certainly didn’t feel like the voice of any deity she’d ever heard of. She imagined that arguing with yourself in the middle of a random wood was how forest witch legends were born. Though she didn’t want to give in to the Voice, she set herself on the left path regardless, hoping that the throb in her head would go away. 

The trees seemed less threatening somehow, on the left path. The dirt beneath her feet was solid, safe, like it hadn’t seen rain in weeks, despite the region having consistent rain for the last four days. No roots twisted their way around her ankles. She could still feel the eyes watching her, but their energy was no longer hostile. Nonetheless, the cold wind still blew, the night became darker, and she couldn’t stop the shiver when the owl’s triumphant hoots sounded over the terrified squeaks of its dinner. 

As she walked, a loose pile of dirt caught her attention. The Voice, or the feeling behind the Voice, compelled her to dig. 

The soil was soft, marred only by the occasional leaf, its edges sticking into the flesh of her hand. No insects, no worms crawled around her as she dug. A bit of oddly colored rock stuck out of the ground, and she brushed away the last of the debris, revealing a small white bone underneath, approximately the size of her pinky. She rubbed her thumb along the length of bone as she stood, feeling each divet, crack, canyon; feeling where it had once connected to the larger Being, and she understood what it had felt in the last moments. 

She felt the ache of the day in the creak of her joints as she continued. She slid the bone into her pocket opposite her knife. The silence here had begun to calm her, as if she had curled up beside a warm fireplace in the middle of a winter storm. The trees themselves seemed to push her forward into the shadows, her feet moving without having to tell her mind. 

She carefully stepped over a fallen log, crawling with ants she tried not to disturb. She paused on the other side to watch them working together perfectly, feeding themselves with the leftovers of the larger world around them, unbothered by the dark and the quiet around them. She jumped at the rustle of leaves, looked up to find the owl watching her closely, as if committing her to memory. It flew off, seemingly satisfied that she was neither friend nor food. Its flight stayed low, and it stopped on a branch farther along the trail. 

“Follow.”

She hesitated, the implications of following, perhaps literally, the voices in her head keeping her immobile. A tingling sensation began to work its way around her head, the pain from before returning, though not in full. It was enough. As her vision began to tunnel, she stepped toward the owl, her intent freshly set. 

She followed the owl through the darkest parts of the forest she had seen thus far, the path winding back and forth, ruining any chance she had of knowing the direction. When her legs struggled to keep her moving forward, the owl would stop to give her a chance to catch up. If she waited too long, the tingling would return. The sky was still dark, still cloudy where the trees thinned, and the path widened. She stopped to look back at the warm embrace of the forest before stepping out into the clearing. 

The house, the house where No Fool lived, stood at one edge of the clearing, which could be considered its yard, of sorts. The middle of the yard was empty. A stack of stones leaned against the house. She tried not to notice the owl, eating its dinner at last, sitting on the roof. Tried not to notice the drips of blood on the porch that may have been too large and old to belong to that particular meal. 

She saw the rocking chair, moving slightly with the wind, now contained a small box. She walked up the porch steps, unsure how the house had gotten here. It was, assuredly, the same house. Small, but not too small. Made of stone, having more so the appearance of a traditional cottage than the cheaply built homes she’d seen in the Gate. She lined her hand up perfected with the muddy handprint she had left on the door frame those unknown hours ago. 

“Open.”

The Voice came again. “Help.”

She let out a breath as she realized it had never been offering help to her, but had instead been asking for her help. She knew it had to be done, though she still wasn’t sure what “it” was. She rubbed her hands together and picked up the box, sitting where it had been in the chair. She pulled the top loose and tensed as the box fell open. Inside was nothing unusual. She found a matchbook, four candles, a bit of chocolate, and a note, written in crude Elvish. She unfolded the note, the messy scrawl almost illegible, 

Thank you for help. 

Light candles.

You know what to do.

The items, she realized, were inside a metal bowl in the box. She looked at the stack of stones again, noting the deliberate sizing of these random rocks. 

“Begin.”

She nodded, more to herself than to the Voice, which she realized she no longer thought of as a piece of herself, but rather a very external Being. Starting with the largest stones, she made a circle, with one medium stone between each large one, making the clearing resemble a map compass. 

She tiptoed out of the circle she had made and gathered enough of the smallest stones to make an impromptu fire pit. Satisfied, she went back to the box, bringing it to the inner circle. She removed the items one at a time. Each candle balanced on top of a large rock, lit using the matches. The box was used as a kindling, along with the note as a firestarter. Her brow furrowed, hesitant, unsure. 

“Offer.”

The offerings were placed in the bowl. The candy to nourish the soul, the bone from her pocket to give respect to the dead, and… 

She hesitated, waiting for guidance. She felt there should be three offerings, but she had only two. “Offer.” The Voice insisted, sounding closer now than ever. She started to stand to look for the last offering, but the sensation in her head brought her back to her knees. 

“OFFER.” Forceful this time. 

She trembled, whispered, begged, “Don’t make me. Please.”

Her request was met with silence. She sighed, thinking to relish the feel of warm breath leaving her body. She raised her knife, ready to obey. Knowing it could make her obey, regardless. As the knife point began to dig into her neck, the Voice returned. 

“Stay.” Not a command, not an insistence. An offer. For her. 

She stopped her motion and looked around. The house, empty, she somehow knew. The rocking chair in the shadow of the porch, beckoning. The owl, watching, anticipating. The trees stilled, waiting. The entire forest was waiting. The front door of the house creaked open, and she could see a fire burning in the fireplace. She could feel the potential of her life shift, in that moment. 

“Stay.” The offer again. Softer, maybe. 

She nodded, looking into the forest, somehow aware now that she was in its heart, had become part of it. The knife slid across her palm as she sealed the final offering - the promise. The contents of the bowl began to smoke, their essence burning away, giving life, or at least form, to something greater. The shadow being had never been, she realized, particularly malicious. Nor had it been entirely good. It was released into the world now to do its work, whatever that meant, but she smiled as she surveyed her home and decided the world was none of her concern.

[fractalnavel]

"I come from a small, rural town in Wisconsin—the kind of place where the high school mascot is sacred, the churches outnumber the stoplights, and the local diner still offers political commentary with your scrambled eggs, all filtered through a Reagan-era lens of rugged individualism and bootstrap theology. It’s a town that raised me, yes—but also one I outgrew, not out of arrogance, but out of an insatiable curiosity that was simply not compatible with fences and familiar last names.

My childhood was an oddity in that place. While most of my peers stayed anchored in the gravitational pull of local norms and traditions, my parents handed me a passport and pointed outward. Road trips across the US turned into train rides through Eastern Europe. I was the kid who collected fossils and insects instead of baseball cards, who could name capitals but not quarterbacks. Later, I moved abroad. I pursued higher education. I immersed myself in history, science, philosophy, and the relentless pursuit of knowledge and understanding, trying to understand not just the world, but why people move through it the way they do.

And then, like some tragic protagonist in a novel about the perils of nostalgia, I came back.

If distance grants perspective, then returning to the town of my youth was less like coming home and more like stepping into a diorama. The streets hadn’t changed, but I had. What once seemed wholesome now felt performative. The patriotism wasn’t pride—it was ritual. The friendliness wasn’t openness—it was surveillance. And beneath it all ran a silent, suffocating current of fear: fear of change, fear of the other, fear of being left behind.

This divide isn’t just geographical. It’s evolutionary.

For 95% of our species’ existence, we lived in small, kin-based bands where survival was contingent on cohesion, predictability, and suspicion of outsiders. Tribalism wasn’t a flaw—it was a feature. It kept us alive. To be skeptical of the unfamiliar, to prioritize the known over the unknown, was adaptive. But we don’t live on the savannah anymore. The threats we face are no longer predators or rival clans, but climate collapse, income inequality, and information warfare. Still, the reptilian brain lingers. And it does not care about nuance. It cares about belonging.

Rural America, in many ways, remains a living museum of this tribal wiring. In places where diversity is minimal and ideas circulate slowly, identity calcifies. Community becomes echo chamber. It’s not that people don’t think critically—it’s that critical thinking is punished. Conformity is rewarded. Outsiders—literal or ideological—are threats to the fragile cohesion of a community whose worldview has not been tested by difference but merely reinforced by repetition.

This is the root of the urban-rural divide—not intelligence, not morality, but exposure. In cities, survival demands adaptation: to new cultures, new technologies, new ways of seeing. In rural communities, survival demands continuity. And so when the firehose of modernity blasts through cable news and social media, it’s not processed as information—it’s processed as attack.

And the right wing has weaponized this brilliantly.

They’ve learned that fear is easier to manufacture than hope, and far more profitable. That a brain wired for tribal survival will always choose the strong lie over the complicated truth. That it’s easier to sell paranoia than policy. In my town, like so many others, they claim to be patriots who love their country, but they’ll vote for the man who promises to burn it down. They don’t believe in climate change, but their crops are drowning and their wells are poisoned. They don’t want to be ruled, but they’re desperate to be led—by someone who speaks in absolutes, who confirms their suspicions, who reflects their anger back to them like a funhouse mirror.

And this is the part that stings the most: these are not all bad people. They are people trapped in a feedback loop that exploits the very instincts evolution gave them to survive. They have been trained to confuse subjugation with strength, cruelty with conviction. To them, surrendering their rights to a strongman is not cowardice—it is tribal loyalty. It is faith.

So when I walk those old streets of my youth now, it feels less like homecoming and more like fieldwork. I see not just neighbors but a case study in inherited fear. A once-hopeful people turned against themselves by a machine that knows them better than they know themselves. A culture that clings to its myths not out of ignorance, but out of necessity—because without them, the whole house of cards collapses.

And the tragedy is this: the world they’re fighting to preserve no longer exists. The 1950s never really happened—not the way they remember them. What they mourn is not the loss of a country, but the loss of an illusion. And in their desperation to reclaim it, they have become foot soldiers in a war against their own future.

But still, I hope. Because if evolution has taught us anything, it’s that adaptation is possible. That fear does not have to rule us. That our tribal instincts, while ancient, are not immutable. That exposure, education, and empathy—slow, hard, and human—can expand the circle of who we call us.

I don’t know if my hometown will ever change. But I know I have. I know that what we choose to do with our understanding—how we wield it, how we share it, how we live it—matters more now than ever.

Because history doesn’t just happen to us. We are it. In every conversation. Every vote. Every time we choose truth over comfort, connection over fear.

That’s the long arc. That’s the work. That’s the hope."

Oliver Kornetzke, May 1, 2025

[zmrzeltm]

in no means was she trying to pry any information out of him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t appreciated when he offered it in its entirety. the openness between them was evidently beginning to grow. in comparison to their previous interactions where you could tell they were still trying to figure each other out — their proverbial guards still up. i guess little by little they would begin descending.

all of these thoughts swirled away freely in her subconscious in the back of the uber; she didn’t expand any on his phone call, just nodding away in understanding. i guess you could say she was still a little unsure of how to approach any conversation regarding his little family — she still felt like it wasn’t her place to ask anything in regards to that, but the little specks of information he was willing to share, she would duly note.

the only time she was snapped from her own inner trail was when his callous hand landed on the contrasting softness of her thigh, hazel hues peaking up at him as he spoke — pink tinted lips curving up into a beaming smile at his words. “that was the whole reason i came out here, are you kidding?” a witty retort, lined with playful sarcasm. “see, i would be kinda mad if you bounced on that lil’ plan. been waiting about a month for this exclusive viewing.” before he removed his hand, her own found itself settling atop for a couple of seconds. these fleeting touches were so juvenile in comparison to how they acted a few hours prior, yet . . they had the same impact?

“i don’t have any plans.” the words were offered softly. “i came here for you and only you.” honesty? you got it. ample timing as the uber pulled up to the entrance of the hike — wrapping up inside the vehicle with payment before they soon found themselves by the gate. adjusting the bag on her back over both shoulders now, eyes peaked over at the male. “you fancy a little adventure?” the words sounded suggestive. “follow me.” tipping her head in the direction of what was considered the hardest route of the trail, she wasted no time leading the ohioan in the direction of what used to be ‘her little secret’ whenever she would partake in a hike on this mountain back in her cheerleading days.

“it gets a lil’ rugged and there might be a gate hop at some point . .” she informed very casually.

when: 3.8.25 / 8:45am where: los angeles, ca. who: @zmrzeltm

Between the early morning rise and the haze of lust that they had only now just acted on, Jon was spent. Content - but spent. From the time in the airport garage to the knocked over lampshades in the room and everything in between, they had both managed to find themselves on the king bed he had noted to her before, an exhale finally falling from his lips.

"...need me to get you anything? Some water? A towel if you want to shower?" He chuckled, bringing her slender frame into his for a moment, practically making himself de facto big spoon. "Gonna have myself a quick cig on the porch and we can get some breakfast, if ya want." He mumbled into her hair before getting up from the bed to find the pair of sweatpants that were ...somewhere around here.

He grabbed his box of menthols and stepped out onto the balcony, keeping the sliding door open just a crack to let some fresh air enter the room for a moment.

[ladykailitha]

The Places We Hide Part 5

So I decided to just post both of the last pieces together, so just one more post after this one. What can I say, I’m a sucker for Wayne being the only over 40 adult that gets Steve.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

*

The next time Steve had one of his attacks, Eddie wasn’t home. He was running some errands in town.

“Munson residence,” Wayne said.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Steve hissed.

“Where you at?”

Steve paused. “Home.”

Twenty minutes later there was a knock on Steve’s door.

“You didn’t have to come,” he murmured as he let the older Munson in.

“Boy, I think I’m about the only one who understands,” Wayne said gently before pulling Steve into a hug.

Steve went a little reluctantly, but once he felt Wayne’s strong arms wrap around his back, he let out a shuddering breath. A breath he didn’t even know he had been carrying. And then another. And another. Finally all the weight that Steve had been holding deep in his chest lifted and he could breath normally again.

Once Wayne could see that Steve was feeling better he told him to lead them to the front room.

Steve did as he was told. He sat down on one of the sofas and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Eddie told me that other than him, you’re the oldest of your little group of friends?” Wayne asked, his voice warm and comforting.

Steve huffed. “There’s a lot of us now, but yeah, me and Eds are the oldest.”

“Is that why you latched on to my nephew so fast?” Wayne teased.

Steve’s laugh was a little lighter and Wayne took that as a win. “One of them, yeah. The other reason was that he’s so easy to like.”

Wayne grinned. “Yeah, he is.” He licked his lips. “He also said that the other parents tend to treat you like another kid.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Yeah. I mean, I get it. When all this shit started I was barely sixteen, so they still see that sixteen year old.”

“Instead of the twenty year old warrior with a good head on his shoulders?”

Steve blushed. “Now I see where Eds gets his way with words.”

Wayne waggled his eyebrows and Steve finally let loose a real laugh. “I don’t have that problem, Steve. I met you as an adult. Sure, you are half my age, but I can tell you are a very capable person.”

“Except when I get like this,” Steve murmured.

Wayne grimaced. “Only I know something that your logical part of your brain forgot, but the rest of you didn’t.”

Steve looked up at him and frowned. “What’s that?”

“Next month is the anniversary of the earthquake.”

Steve’s eye went wide. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Wayne chuckled. “You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve groused. “You’re right. My brain may have forgotten but the rest of me didn’t.”

“The town wants to sweep it under the rug. What happened, what they nearly did to my nephew because they were looking for someone to blame,” Wayne’s voice was hard for the first time since he got there.

Steve nodded. “All those deaths. All that destruction. And they want to pretend it was just some gas leak.”

“The unfortunate dark side humanity,” Wayne agreed. “Bury and forget. So throw a party at the park. Invite all your friends. Everyone that survived that, that you want to see celebrate just being alive. Put up banners announcing what it’s for.”

“Aaaannnddd there is Eddie’s sense of justice, right there,” Steve said with a grin.

Wayne grinned back. “You keep that up and I might just blush.”

Steve laughed. “Eddie loves you. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had someone like you instead of parents that ran away from their problems.”

“You counting yourself as one of those problems?” Wayne asked with a raised eyebrow.

Steve ducked his head. “Look around you. Where are they? I can’t even see their presence in this house. It looks like one of those damned real estate magazines.”

Wayne looked around the room they were in for the first time. The bland pictures on the walls, none of the Harringtons. Not even wedding photos. The perfect furniture, the tasteful decorations. Soulless.

“Why do you still live here?” he asked after a moment.

Steve looked up. “For everyone else, I guess. A place to hold parties, D&D, use the swimming pool. To fill with a laughter and good times. With family.”

Wayne nodded. “You also realize that most of your panic attacks are when you’re here, right?”

Steve reared his head back. “I didn’t actually.” He looked around the room, too. “I guess some ghosts just can’t be exorcised.”

“You have all the money the government gave you for two world ending events,” Wayne reminded him. “You could probably buy another house in Loch Nora, one without the ghosts.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “You know, I’d forgotten about that money.”

Wayne sighed. “You’re a good kid, Steve. But sometimes your upbringing shows up in the strangest of places.”

Steve winced. “Like forgetting I never have to work a day in my life if didn’t want to?”

Wayne huffed out a laugh. “The very like.” He got to his feet. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

Steve frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“The hardware store,” Wayne replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And why are we going to the hardware store?” Steve said as he put on his shoes.

“To get you a key to our place,” Wayne said with a grin. “Eddie says you can drive when you get like this, so if you’re home and need to get out. Come on over. Open invitation. No questions asked.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but snapped it closed with a gulp. “Thank you.”

As they drove off in Wayne’s truck, Wayne turned to Steve, “Plus this gives us a great opportunity to talk about you and Eddie.”

Steve glanced at the door and then back at Wayne. “Are we going too fast for me to jump out now?”

Wayne cackled. “No, but I will if you open that door.”

Steve gulped. “Fair enough.”

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, or even give you the shovel talk,” he explained. “I just want to know if my boy has a chance.”

Steve’s head whipped around. “Eddie likes me like that?”

Wayne laughed. “Boy, he’s been flirting with you since day one, and you’re telling me you didn’t notice?”

He blushed. “I just thought he was overly affectionate with everyone.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Fair enough. What about this thing you two have going with the panic attacks?”

That one was harder to explain away. “I guess I never thought about it. Which is awful to say in hindsight. But it just felt as natural as breathing.”

Wayne just smiled.

Part 6