#but it was an old shoe box and that felt sad

[adaine-party-wizard]

i painted this box to give a friend and i did flames on the outside and oh was that ever a trust the process moment cause it was looking BAD for awhile

[itneverendshere]

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

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

💌MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

That phrase haunted him for years.

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

He got angrier, distant. 

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

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

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

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

He hated himself for that. 

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

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

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

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

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

His his chest was on fire. 

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

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

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

She should’ve been there.

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

Gone. Just like that.

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

They’d forget about her in a week.

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

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

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

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

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

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

“Figured I’d find you here.”

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not going anywhere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After her funeral, things changed.

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

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

Except when you were there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t here anymore.

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

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

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

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

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I come in?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She knew. She always knew.

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

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

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

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

He nodded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

That was his fault.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t just make it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

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

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

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

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

“I ended it. This morning.”

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

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

Topper still had that number. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “What can I do?”

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

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

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

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

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

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

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[ddiidi]

bf!Bangchan x gn!reader (ot8 mentioned)

Masterlist

When he calls you clingy, so you distance yourself

Previous Pt. 1

Pt. 2

Next Pt. 3

!Warnings: angst, swearing, fun at the end bc reader needs fun in life (lmk if i missed anything)

Important!Side-Note!: Should I do a happy ending for them?

It has been 3 days since that incident. 3 days and still not a single message from Chan, not even an apology for yelling at you, nothing. You've been texting him every now and then, to ask if he's okay, eats and sleeps. He never replied to any of them, nor has he seen them, so you spend most of the time packing your stuff and working from home. You were glad you had a job you also could work from home for. Every now and then, you went over to the building, to check a few things, walking extra detours, to make sure, you won't bump into Chan.

A few of the other members texted you the past days, asking if everything is okay and why the haven't seen you around for a while, to which you just replied with "Busy with work and private stuff, dww:)". It made you happy they actually care that much about you, just because they haven't seen you in a few days, but also anxious and sad, since they care, but chan hasn't even shown any intress in you the past days. You weren't even able to tell him that you're moving.

More days pass, and a few days, turn into a week of no textes from Chan. At this point, you wondered if he even knew that you still exist.

So here you were, in your old apartment, stuffed with boxes, not being able to get your mind off chan and his well-being, even though, you're still deeply hurt from what he said, you couldn't just not not care about him....He pointed out two of your insecurities, just like that as if it was nothing and he doesn't even care...not about you not your feelings.

You let out a deep sigh. You should be getting ready for a day with your friends. Not think about some man, who happened to be the love of your life, who calls you his partner, but doesn't even know how to cherish you.

You let out another, heavy, sigh as you drop to the floor to put on your shoes, Let's just focus on having a great time today, you thought to yourself and left the apartment.

Well, maybe it was not the best decision to go out today...

Chan for his part, had to listen to a lectur from Felix, after you ran out, crying. "Chris..you really shouldn't have said all that to her. I understand that you were annoyed or whatever, but that was no reason to yell at her" "Really now? They were just being a fucking, clingy and annoying crybaby that couldn't take no for an answer, for whatever reason." chan sighed out, at the younger member. "That crybaby...was really uncalled for chris. They're your partner, not some random person on the street you can yell at. I wouldn't wonder if they took that "Leave me alone" to heart and actually leave you after that action." "But I-" chan starts, "I'm just saying chris. You better fix this before it's too late. After what you pulled, partners are faster gone than you could blink" with that, Felix leaves the room, leaving Chan alone, again.

Since that talk, Chan locked himself in his studio, thinking about the best way to apologize for what he said. But he couldn't find one. No matter how long he thought, days, a whole week, there was nothing but regret. He just had to apologize in person and beg for forgivness, hoping that you'd actually forgive him.

So there he was, with a giant bouquet of flowers, fresh clothes and hope.

He had the code to your apartment, so he opened the door, ready to be greeted by the warm, wide open hallway, but was greeted with the cold gray of bunch of boxes instead and the first thing he felt, was panic."Y/n? Y/n are you there?" he yelled, as he ran through your whole apartment, but as he saw that even all your date polaroid pictures where gone, he couldn't help but panic even more.

He let's the flowers fall on the floor, running to your room and nearly collapsed when he found..nothing. Where were you? Did you actually go? Did you actually leave him? All these questions consumed his head and that's when he broke, crying to the point he couldn't breath. He took out his phone and called the first number he saw in his recent calls. It peeped a few times, before someone took the call.

"Hey Chris everything alr-" "They're gone! Felix they're gone, they're not here i don't know what to do! I've never meant it I was just-" chan cried and gasped out at felix on the other line. "Woah there calm down, try to breath I don't understand a word. Relax, I'll be there okay? You know there is an explination for everything, that's what you always say, so try to relax it's okay" Felix tried to soothen the older man, while grabbing his keys and running out to his car. Chan didn't reply anything to that and continued soobing.

I have your location, I'll be there in 5." that's the last thing chan heared from felix, before he collapsed on the floor in your apartment.

And you? You were drinking coffee with your friends, while your bestie told you guys a story how she saw a horse that nearly drowned.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾✧༺🖤༻✧✧༺🖤༻✧✧༺🖤༻✧☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

@finnbbl @wolfs-howling

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 14

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Author Note: So... I wrote the story outline until the ending. I didn't expect the story to turn dark. Prepare yourself.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

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Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

You knew that Steve and Bucky weren't as close as they used to be, but seeing it up close felt even more awkward. Bucky, on the other hand, didn't seem stressed despite his mother being sent to jail.

As you watched Bucky load your groceries into your car, you asked, “I don't feel any bromance between you and Steve anymore.”

Bucky shrugged, not missing a beat as he placed another bag in the trunk. “Well… I won’t deny it. Ever since we all went our separate ways, while Steve stayed, everything just became different.”

“I did offer him a job at the resorts, but he declined.” His voice held a note of regret. “It’s sad that we’re not close anymore.”

You watched him for a moment, feeling a pang of something you couldn't quite identify. You never had someone who used to be close to you turn into a stranger. The closest person you had was Ransom. He betrayed you once but still kept in contact. Then there was Harlan, the only older person who was like a grandfather figure to you. But he's gone now.

“You're a good friend,” you said softly.

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did… Did you just give me a compliment?”

“No.” You quickly got into your car, hoping to hide the faint smile on your face.

He chuckled and hummed, “Yes, you did.”

As you closed the car door, he knocked on the window. You rolled it down a little. “What?”

“I know I'm asking a lot, but could you help out at the resort again?” Bucky’s voice was earnest, almost pleading.

You raised an eyebrow. The idea of going back to the place that kicked you out felt just as wrong as when you got fired from Drysdale. Memories of the humiliation and hurt still stung.

Bucky seemed to sense your hesitation. “I will make sure the environment is different this time.”

That got your attention. “How?”

“You'll see it tomorrow.” He smirked a hint of mischief in his eyes, and then turned to leave. You watched him walk away, a mix of curiosity and skepticism swirling in your mind.

🏨🏨🏨🏨🏨

The next morning, you woke up with uncertain feelings. Should you go back? But you decided to give it a try.

When you parked your car, you saw someone walking out the door carrying a box. It was Natasha.

You got out of the car and walked past her. Natasha glared at you, spitting out, “Bitch. Are you happy?”

You stopped and turned to face her, feeling a newfound confidence. “What did I do that made Bucky fire you? Tell me. All the evidence points to Lydia.”

Natasha flinched, taken aback by your directness. The old you would have been too afraid to talk back to her.

In truth, only Bucky knew the real reason she was fired. She had been receiving hush money from Lydia. The first time she caught Lydia red-handed, stealing money from the vault and stuffing it into her designer bag, she was paid off to keep quiet.

Her front desk salary couldn't buy her designer bags and shoes with cash. The money from Lydia was the reason she could afford them. But no matter what she had, it was nothing compared to what you possessed.

“Tsk.” She clicked her tongue and walked away.

You sighed. She hadn't changed. She always lashed out at you.

“Did she bother you?” Bucky's voice broke through your thoughts.

“No. She just blamed me,” you replied, shaking your head.

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking genuinely apologetic.

“I'm used to it. She hasn't changed at all,” then turned and walked into the building.

You started working again. You felt more relaxed, perhaps because Lydia and Natasha were no longer there to cast their shadows.

‘Knock, knock.’

You lifted your head and saw Jake standing at the door.

“You're back,” he said, stepping inside.

“Yeah,” you replied, continuing your work.

He took a seat in front of you. “Me and the other employees are grateful to you.”

“Why?” you asked, looking up.

“Because those women are gone,” Jake said.

Your pen stopped moving. “Was it that bad?”

Jake shrugged his shoulders. “Well, we kinda knew. But we couldn't do anything. Especially me. This place was the only one that gave me a job after what happened.”

You leaned forward, curious. “Can I ask what happened to you? Someone as smart as you making a mistake like that doesn’t seem right.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “People won’t believe me when I tell them, but I guess you could understand it.”

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow.

He nodded. “Just like you, I was framed for something I didn’t do.”

Before Jake came back, he had a good job at an IT security company. But he was blinded by money when he got an offer to make a gambling website.

“Wait… what about the rumor you hacked the Department of Defense’s security?” you asked, intrigued.

Jake leaned in, lowering his voice. “That’s… well, off the record. I can’t tell you about that. But it wasn’t the reason I got arrested.”

The reason he got arrested was someone tipped off the authorities that he was the person who made the illegal gambling website. Jake did, but he was also accused of receiving $30 million from money laundering that was used on the site.

“Wow,” you said, shaking your head. “Do you know who asked you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, scratching his head. “It's my own fault too. I got the request from the dark web. It was difficult to prove to the judge, and I didn’t have the money to pay for a good lawyer.”

“How did you get released?” you asked, still in disbelief.

“I got a plea deal. I knew some secrets. Do you want to know?” Jake winked at you.

You scoffed, “No thank you,” and went back to work.

Jake chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “But seriously, thanks for what you did here. It means a lot to all of us.”

You nodded, acknowledging his gratitude, but focused on your work.

🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠

You went back home, only to see the last person you wanted to see walking out of your house—the mayor.

You stayed in your car until he left, then got out and headed inside.

When you entered the house, you saw Tom sitting on a chair with his head resting on his hand. He looked stressed and pale.

You rushed to him and touched his shoulder. “Father?”

Tom flinched, then looked up at your face. He patted your arm. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” you asked, your voice filled with concern.

“Could you stop whatever you're doing right now?” he said, his voice trembling.

Seeing how stressed and scared your father was, you knew it could only mean one thing—the mayor had given him a warning.

“Did he threaten you?” you asked, your eyes searching his face.

Tom shook his head. “No, he just gave me some advice. Lydia has all the connections. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Bullshit. It wasn’t advice. It was clear that Lydia and the mayor were partners in crime.

“I'll listen to you,” you said, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

Tom sighed in relief and nodded, glad you didn’t object. “I'm going to make some tea. Do you want some?”

Before you could answer, your phone vibrated. It was Steve. “I’m going to take this,” you said, stepping away.

You moved to another room. “Hey.”

Steve’s voice came through the line. “Are you busy right now?”

“No. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’ve arrived at the art gallery,” Steve said.

“That’s great!” you replied, a smile spreading across your face.

“Y/N?” he continued, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Hmm?” you prompted.

“I feel so small surrounded by these skyscrapers,” he admitted.

You remembered feeling the same way when you first arrived in the city.

“But it gives big opportunities,” Steve added, a note of hope in his voice.

You smiled, feeling a bit lighter. At least there was some good news. “Stay optimistic like that, and you’ll get it, Steve.”

🏠🏠🏠🏠🏠

In a big house, a woman lay on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine. An ankle bracelet adorned her right ankle—it was Lydia.

Bucky came home and walked into the living room, his footsteps echoing in the spacious room.

The moment she saw him, her expression twisted with anger. She hurled the magazine toward him, but he caught it effortlessly.

“You're just like him,” she spat, her voice dripping with bitterness.

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[greeniegirl23]

Alastor As A Father (Daughter Version)

- Boy howdy, this man plays NO GAMES about his little girl. From the moment she was born, he vowed to burn the world of anyone even thought about looking at her the wrong way.

-He treated her like his personal porcelain doll. You swore this baby had more clothes than you'd had both alive and dead. He shoes were always shined, her socks had little ruffles on them, and there were bows EVERYWHERE ON EVERYTHING!!

-Over time, Alastor quickly learned that his daughter was a bit different. When she took her first breaths, she didn't cry. In fact it was rare for her to cry at all. She also had a fondness for black objects, sharp shiny things, and something that concerned him the most was that she hardly ever smiled.

- Even as she got older, he never caught her smiling nor giggling as typical toddlers do. Instead she was a stoic little one. Cute as a button, but as monotoned as a black and white painting. Even her voice didn't change in tone very much unless she was trying to express something urgently.

-Alastor brought this up to you and you tried to assure him that everything would be alright. You knew how much smiling meant to him and he felt somewhat sad that he couldn't share that with his daughter.

- After 4 years of no smiling, Alastor finally talked to her about it and found that they had very different ideals.

- Apprently your daughter had a different phlosophy compared to Alastor and believed that her Dad's ideas could be applied in the same way to a face that was unchanging. Openly she expressed to him that she didn't agree with his philosophy and that she would prove her idea to be just as good, if not better than his.

- On one hand, Alastor was proud of his daughter showing the promise of being a potential Dealmaker. On the other hand, he was concerned and slightly offended that she couldn't see the beauty or the power of smiling 24/7. He truly believed he'd never see her do it.

- Until one day, he took her with him to Rosie's Emporium in Cannibal Colony. He enjoyed some coffee and a chat with his dear friend while his Little One played with the other children. Everything seemed to be going well, until it wasn't.

-Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor saw a young boy push your daughter out of the sand box.

-A high pitched whine shook the air, but before he could do anything about it, your daughter had swiped the lad's arm clean off. The same filthy arm that had decided to push his little darling in such a bold move of audacity.

- Horrified screams filled the air as the boy ran off to his mother who seemed to be in a state of distress. The other children rallied around her and started thanking her for what she'd done. Turns out that boy was a big bully to the other children, but was also the strongest on the playground.

- Happy at the attention she was receiving, she ran too him with her little arms up in pure excitement. It was her first real fight and Alastor was so proud, but what made it with all the more was the beaming white smile she gave him.

"Daddy Daddy, I got the bad boy! Did you see?!"

"Yes my little Bambi! That was quite a clean cut, right at the joint just as I've shown you before!" He beamed right back at her, hugging her close and poking her nose.

- Of course all the other parents were slightly concerned, but who was going to come up to him and complain and ruin his babygirl's precious moment? He fucking dared them...

- Of course, you didn't find out about this juicy little story until her 12th birthday when she let it slip and you held both her and Alastor captive by the ears until they confessed.

- After that day though, Alastor and your child grew closer as he prided himself on showing her more techniques for disarming a potential threat. He also showed her everything she'd ever need to know to both care and protect herself. She could shoot, cook, bake, sew, dress fashionably, summon her magic, clean, and was even sword trained all before 13 years old.

- "Daddy's going to make sure you are a strong independent young lady! That way of some vile man comes along thinking he can take you away from me, you won't be impressed by any of his mediocre skills." said Alastor, growling at that last part as if your marriage to this idiot was irrelevant.

- Even though she was a die hard Daddy's Girl, she also enjoyed spending time with you. Baking, crocheting, and anything artsy she loved doing by your side. You even had dedicated days where you'd sneak out of the hotel to go shopping while Alastor was away.

- All in all, she loved you both and swore to be the best version of herself she could be. P.S She also promised her Father that any of the men that tried to court her or broke her heart would end up on the dinner table.

Hehe Oops :D

[her-power]

So Called Chaos (Part Four: Modern single dad! e.m x fem reader)

❤️‍🩹🚨‼️18+ Minors DO NOT interact ‼️🚨❤️‍🩹

Trigger warnings/content warnings: Talk of Grief, Child loss, Death. Panic/Anxiety Disorder. Swearing. Fluff. Super cute friendship scene with Eddie & Robin.

Summary: Full summary on Part One.

Word Count: 4k

Cold, it was so cold. You don’t know what happened; you remember laughing with Sam and then the next thing you see is the crack windshield and hearing the sirens. You don’t even know how they got Lily out, you remember her crying and then silence. 

“Sam…”

“I’m here baby.”

“I don’t wanna die.” 

“You won’t.”

“Everything hurts.” 

You turn your face to look at him, but when you do, his face is almost unrecognizable, his skin is blue, and the piece of metal in his stomach seemed to be three sizes too big. 

You scream.

Screaming yourself awake wasn’t uncommon for you, but it had been a while since you had a nightmare like that. Your hands shook as you sit up in bed, turning on the bedside light. You felt the sweat drip down your neck, and you take in three deep breaths. It was four o’clock in the morning. Only hours ago, you were the happiest you had been in a while, but that was now overshadowed but the crippling anxiety you felt in this moment. Pushing the covers off yourself, you go into the bathroom, opening the bathroom mirror to take your lorazepam to settle your nerves. You dry swallow it, gripping the porcelain sink in front of you as you try to settle your breathing. 

It was only a dream. 

Please, I can’t hear your voice right now.

I’m sorry.

You tried to think of making love to Eddie, you tried to think of the way his lips felt against yours, the way he made you laugh.

Nothing worked. 

You felt like screaming, you just wanted to feel peace. Not for those few hours like you did with Eddie, but you wanted the peace to be constant. Everything was so fucking chaotic inside your head; you were almost convincing yourself that the last 48 hours weren’t real. And that you were still locked up in the psychiatric unit, getting woken up every fifteen minutes, pretending to take your pills and your plan to end your life as soon as you walked out those doors. 

No.

You are here, in your childhood home. You have air in your lungs, your breathing is starting to slow down, your hands are less clenched. You are here, you are healing, and you are safe. 

Why do I have to be here and heal?

Why do I have to do it without you two?

Why couldn’t she have stayed a little bit longer?

“My beautiful baby girl.” You whisper, clenching your stomach, your throat burns, and you sob. You curl your legs up to your chest and lay down on the cool bathroom floor. It hurt, it hurt so bad. Your mind was playing tricks on you, you think you’re better off dead. 

No mama! Stop that!

Your eyes snap open and you gasp, sitting up quickly. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it.” 

Mama, you don’t need to be sad anymore. I’m with daddy.

“I know.” Your bottom lip trembles. “I know.” 

Go find kitty.

Lily’s lovey. Her all-time favorite stuffed animal that she took everywhere. You get up from your spot in the bathroom and go down into the basement. You sneeze immediately as you approach the back part of the basement, the smell of your parents’ old belongings bringing you back to a spot in your childhood, an overwhelming aroma of dryer sheets permanently stuck to the drywall. You find a box labeled Lilyand open it up, you find her old books, some of her old shoes. You find her coming home outfit and feel the tears immediately fill your eyes. You lift it up, it was a purple onesie, with tiny little mushrooms on it, it also came with a hat. You place it in your lap, and you almost scream in excitement when you find the cat. You pick it up, smiling at the raggedy looking thing. It was an orange and gray tabby looking cat, missing a plastic eye, its whiskers were bent in odd directions, and it’s left ear was practically chewed off from her teething. You take the small newborn outfit, shut the overhead light off and cuddle the cat as you go back upstairs. You go into your bedroom, jump into bed, and immediately fall back to sleep, hugging the cat close to your chest. 

Eddie was in a solemn mood, Robin could tell. He told her that he burnt the letter, he said he just did it on impulse, but he doesn’t regret it. 

“What are you gonna do when Hunter asks about her?” Robin asks gently and Eddie pauses as he’s cutting up Hunter’s strawberries. Hunter was content in his highchair, watching his favorite toddler show. 

“I’ll tell him the truth.” He says, placing the strawberries on the tray. 

“And what’s the truth?” 

Eddie looks at Robin, she had a way of Jedi mind tricking people to get you to think way too hard about things. “You know what the truth is.” 

“I know your truth.” She says, leaning against the counter. “But you need to tell him her truth.”

“I’m not gonna make her out to be a monster if that’s what you’re thinking.” He says, almost snappy. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” 

Robin asks Eddie about you, what steps are you planning to take. “You already slept together, so what happens now?” 

“I don’t know.” Eddie grumbles. “I haven’t talked to her in a few days.” 

Robin sighs. “Is that why you’re grumpy?” 

He whips his head towards her. “I’m not grumpy.” 

“Says the grumpy man.” Robin raises her eyebrows and gently pats him on the shoulder. “Just be careful, this is so new for the both of you and…you’re not the same people. I don’t want you two to strictly form a relationship on trauma bonding.” 

“It’s not like that Robin.” Eddie sighs, turning towards the sink and rinsing off a few dishes. 

“You just reconnected a week ago, man. How do you know that?” 

“I just know…I’ve always known. There’s been this tether there between us since that night in the woods.” Eddie groans. “It sounds crazy, I know it does. But, there’s something there.” 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Or her for that matter, but…” Robin takes a fist full of his hair in her hand and turns him to look at her, he mutters an ow and laughs. “You’re my best friend, dude. My brother. I can’t stomach the thought of you getting hurt again.” 

Eddie smiles sweetly at her, gently taking her hand out of his hair and squeezing gently. “I’m gonna be fine.” 

“Famous last words.” Robin smirks and Eddie rolls his eyes. “Just don’t let your guard down. That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Yes, mom.” 

Eddie had put Hunter down for his nap not too long after Robin left. He noticed Hunter was coming down with a little cold, his nose wouldn’t stop running and he was a lot more restless and he could hear his soft snores on the monitor. He had a low grade fever and when Eddie called his pediatrician’s office, the on call nurse said to monitor his temperature and to give Tylenol or Motrin to help with his fever. Eddie hated when Hunter would get sick, it always threw him into an immediate panic because he would convince himself he wasn’t breathing or if he gave him too much medicine. It was moments like this he really missed Olivia, and he hated admitting that to himself. She knew what to do, even if it was so hard for her to exist in that moment, she was always super mom. 

“Vapor baths to help with the congestion.” Her voice reaches his ears and he pauses on the page of the book he was reading. 

“Yup. Got it.” 

“I see you burnt my letter. Surprised it took you this long.” 

He doesn’t answer her, his eyes continue to scan over the same sentence in his book over and over again. His palms were getting sweaty. 

“Eddie, pretty soon I’m just gonna be a memory to you. Can you just look at me?” 

His eyes squeeze shut and he mutters a broken. “No.” 

“I’m not gonna be here much longer.” 

“Lucky me.” He mutters and he feels her presence disappear. He looks over his shoulder from the couch and slams his book shut, not bothering to mark his place. He hears the sound of Hunter coughing through the monitor and his soft whimpers. “Da…Da…Da…” 

“I’m coming, duder.” 

He makes his way up the stairs and into Hunter’s nursery. He was curled under his blanket, sniffling and coughing. Eddie places his lips on Hunter’s forehead and is shocked with how much hotter he felt. Hunter turns on his back and lifts his arms up to Eddie who picks him up gently. Even his back felt hot. Hunter rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder as he fishes the drawer one handed for the forehead thermometer. He places it on his forehead and it beeps twice, Eddie knows that’s not a great sign. The window was lit up red: 102.3. 

“Oh buddy.” He says gently, rocking him back and forth. “Let’s get some medicine into you and get you in for an appointment.” 

Hunter replies by sniffling and burying his face more into Eddie’s chest. Eddie had given Hunter some medicine to lower his fever and had called his pediatrician to get him an appointment. The outcome was the flu, on top of an ear infection. Eddie felt so bad for him, he was so uncomfortable and even with the vapor bath he still clung to Eddie like a lifeline. That night, they laid in the couch together. Hunter laid on Eddie’s chest with his pacifier as Bluey played on the screen. His fever had gone down, and Eddie had set up the pack and play in the living room so he could easily get to him if he needed him in the middle of the night. 

Hunter had fallen fast asleep on Eddie’s chest, Eddie let him lay there for awhile, gently rubbing his back, playing with his hair and just admiring his features. He loved this little boy so much. He would move mountains for him. 

Eddie’s phone buzzes on the kitchen table and he carefully places Hunter in the pack and play with his favorite blanket and stuffed animal and stretches out the muscles in his arm as he walks to the kitchen. 

You: Hey, sorry I’ve been MIA. Been in a weird griefy state but I’m okay now. How are you?

Eddie smiles at your message, his heart doing a back flip, excited to hear from you. Don’t apologize, I’m sorry. Been there, it’s not a fun feeling. I’ve been good, Hunter has the flu and an ear infection so I’ve been dealing with that. He’s okay, his fever went down. 

You: Oh no! Kids being sick is the worse. I hope he feels better soon. Do you need anything? 

Eddie: We’re okay! Got some medicine in him. Let’s get together when he feels better?

You: Absolutely. 

Hunter was almost 100 percent the next day, Eddie, however, felt like he got hit by a truck. He was curled on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders, his hoodie was over his head, and he had cold chills going all over his body. Robin had called him, and stated she was gonna come over when she heard the sound of his voice. Hunter was on the floor of the living room playing with his blocks when Robin walked in. 

“You look like death.” She laughs as Eddie turns to her, just having blown his nose. 

“You don’t want to come near me.” He grumbles. 

“If I get sick, it gives me an excuse to stay here and quarantine with you two.”

“This is awful, Robin.” 

“Go take a nap.” 

“I don’t need a nap; I need to lay down in the middle of traffic.” He chuckles at his own joke, but the chuckle turns into uncontrollable coughing and Robin rolls her eyes. 

“Dude. You have a giant bed upstairs.” 

His eyes flick to hers. “I can’t sleep in there.” 

Robin sighs. “Eddie…” 

“Robin, I really can’t. I’ll sleep here, or on Hunter’s floor.” His lip was almost trembling with how cold he was feeling. 

Robin sits on the floor and takes his hand. “Eddie, you need to start taking steps like this. You know that room looks completely different, you know that if you don’t get rest, you’re not gonna be able to function and we know how you are when you can’t function.” 

“It’s not the room itself…I just…I feel like I see her there. Lying there.” He inhales a shaky breath, his eyes well with tears. He was feeling so sick, and his emotions were all over the place, he felt like he was failing at being a dad because he was sick. “I don’t want to see her.” 

“She’s not there, Eddie.” Robin tells him gently. “Not anymore. That’s your space now. I’m not trying to force you to go in there, but you need your rest. This is already kicking your ass, and I know not being able to do the dad thing to your full potential is killing you.” 

“It’s killing me.” He whispers, tears fall down his cheek and Robin pats his face. 

“As soon as your head hits those pillows, you’re gonna pass out. Please. You’re gonna be okay, I know you are.” 

“You believe in me too much.” He mumbles, taking the tissue out of his pocket and blowing his nose. 

“Look at me.” She tells him and he looks at her, his lip quivering. “You can do this, okay?” 

After a few more minutes of pushing, Eddie made his way at the top of the stairs. He hovers by the bedroom door, tightening the blanket around his shoulders, reaching towards the knob. His hand shakes as he turns it and pushes open the door. He keeps his eyes closed and holds his breath. He flicks the light on, a soft amber light illuminates the room and his eyes open. 

It did look different. 

He gazes at the floor; he doesn’t see her; he still wasn’t sure after all this time if he was seeing her. He looks at the bed, a California king, bigger than the one they had together. The comforter was a dark gray color, the pillows were a navy, there was also a body pillow tucked behind the two pillows. He groans, feeling his fever coming back, places a water bottle on the nightstand and pops two cold and flu medicine capsules in his mouth. He pulls back the covers, lays down and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Last summer…

He was walking for miles it seemed; the darkness didn’t help, also the warm night was making his skin feel clammy. He couldn’t see straight; he had gone to a bar and had one too many whiskeys. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world; he knew Hunter was safe and was being looked after by Robin – but he still felt guilty. He didn’t want to get this drunk. It was a normal day for him, and suddenly he was struck with the overwhelming feeling of grief. There was nothing happening, no anniversary or song that came up – he immediately felt as if her death had just happened. His sneakers scuff against the pavement and the iron gates approaches his vision. He was at the cemetery. 

He used his flashlight on his phone to light his path, the light made everything look foggy, like it was just him and his ghosts. He hadn’t been here in months – but he knew where she was. 

He stops walking, his light illuminating parts of her name on the marble headstone. His hand begins to shake, and he feels a lump form in his throat. “So, we meet again.” He chuckles a little, the silence was deafening. He bites his bottom lip, staring at her name. “I don’t even know why I’m here, you’re not even in there; it’s just your body. Your soul is somewhere else.” He looks up at the sky, the moon was barely visible, it made the stars bright, beautiful. He looks back down at her name. “I loved you; you know.” 

A tear falls down his cheek and he quickly wipes it away, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t know if it was a romantic love, or I just loved you because it was us, and our son and we were making it work.”

A pain hits his chest. “We were making it work!” He yells, inhaling a sharp breath, not bothering to wipe his tears that started up again. “We were making it work, being a family and you took that away! You took it away!” He sobs, falling to his knees, the phone drops out of his hand, darkening his entire view. “You robbed him of a mother, and you know exactly what that did to me. You knew exactly how desperately I wanted that bond with a mother and how happy I was that my son would have that…you knew, and you did it anyway. Why? WHY, OLIVIA?!” He rips the grass blades with his fingers, his body shaking as he wailed with sobs. “We were your only family…and we loved you…we loved you…”

He doesn’t remember much after but waking up the next morning, lying next to her grave.

He hasn’t been back since. 

Eddie wakes up coughing, his body felt cold, and he realizes he hasn’t felt this sick in a while. Robin had come up the stairs with some soup, and another round of flu medicine. He kept falling asleep, his dreams all over the place. He dreamt of his mother, not seeing her face but her silhouette. It was like she was being incased a beautiful ball of warm light. He dreamt of you, and he how desperately he wanted to hold you again, to touch you. 

His chest clenches, and he wakes up gasping. His palms felt sweaty, his heart began to race, and he clenches the bed sheets below him. He felt like he was going to get sick. He hasn’t had a panic attack in months, and he knows that this vulnerable state he was in was causing it to happen, and everything that has happened since he ran into you. His gasping must’ve alerted Robin, because she’s barreling through the door, staring as Eddie is hunched over, holding his stomach. She climbs into the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling his head into her chest. “I’m here.” She tells him. “Breathe with me.”

He closes his eyes, and inhales a shaky breath, his hand grips the bottom of her t-shirt. “Where’s…Hunter?”

“Sleeping, it’s almost midnight.” She cups the back of his head, and he glances out the window, seeing darkness and little moonlight. “Slow your breathing down.”

“I’m okay.” He whispers.

“You’re okay.” She says gently, tightening her old on him, entwining their legs together. The pressure from her holding him, the feel of her touch, how safe he felt in that moment, he begins to calm down. He releases his grip on her shirt but keeps his hand there, afraid of fully letting go.

“It’s been a while since you had one of these.” Robin whispers and Eddie nods. “Can I get you anything?” The back of her hand feels his forehead, a motherly gesture that he had grown to love about her. “I think your fever is breaking.”

“I think…I need to stretch my legs.” He says quietly, but he didn’t want to move. He keeps his head on her chest, the sound of her heartbeat was oddly comforting. 

“Take your time.” 

His breathing slows and he carefully sits up away from her. She looks at him with concern and he gives her a silly smile, gently knocking her chin with his knuckles. “I’m okay, Rob.”

“I’ll make you some hot tea, you should probably have another round of medicine.” She tells him, getting off the bed and hovers by the doorway. She looked sleepy, and he couldn’t help the feeling of guilt that overwhelmed him as he looks at her, but he knew she would dismiss it, tell him he was stupid and walk away.

Instead, he says. “Okay, mom.” He chuckles, unzipping his sweatshirt and running his hands over his greasy hair. He had waited for her to go downstairs and carefully gets out of the bed. His body was still sore, but the sleep helped, and he was feeling a lot better. He goes into his hallway closet to get some clean clothes and carefully walks into Hunter’s room. He peeks over the railing and smiles; Hunter was splayed out, his binkie hanging out of his mouth, his favorite blanket was curled at his feet. Eddie gently caresses his head, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. “I missed you today, little dude.” Hunter stirs a little, and Eddie takes it as a cue to quietly leave the room. 

After showering, he felt more alive and quietly goes down the stairs. Robin was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug in her hand, her long legs were bent under her chin as she swallows back a yawn. Eddie nudges her shoulder. 

“Go home.” He tells her, sitting down across from her. 

She shakes her head. “I will tomorrow, I need to make sure you’re 100%.” Another yawn escapes her.

He sips the tea, the warm liquid soothing his throat. “Robin, you’ve been here almost every day. Vicky must be furious at me.”

Robin smiles. “No, she enjoys her alone time. Plus, she said it gives her time to set up a surprise for me, she knows how nosy I am.” She leans her head back against the chair, closing her eyes.

Eddie smiles at her, and stares at her face. “Thank you…for being here.”

She lifts her head to look at him, her eyes tired, but kind. “Definitely worth the risk of getting sick for getting to hang out with that little boy.”

“No, I mean…for almost two years…since Olivia—” He clears his throat. “You’ve been constant, even when I wasn’t easy to be around.” She looks at his face, hers softening at his kind words. He slides his chair over to her, taking her hand. “You befriended me right off the bat in art class freshman year, and I thought you were so weird, but I realize that you thought I was weird and that’s how we mesh. I had such a crush on you, but I realize now that I think it was because I knew you were totally gay and would never give me a chance.” She laughs and he grins. “I never believed in soulmates, but I think you’re mine. Not in a romantic way obviously, but I don’t think soulmates are based off romance. I think soulmates are two people who just work, can deal with seeing the ugly without running away. You have seen so much of my ugly these last few years, I was certain you’d run away. But I’m glad you stayed. Hunter loves you, and I couldn’t have picked a better person to help me navigate this thing called fatherhood. You’re my person, Robin. And I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and how much I love you.”

“Eddie, COME ON dude.” Robin says, tears springing to her eyes as she gently slaps his face. “You can’t say shit like that to me when I’m on two hours of sleep and I have caffeine coursing through my blood stream.” 

Eddie laughs, pulling her into a tight hug. She hugs him back tightly, and he kisses the top of her head. She lets out a sigh. “You’re my person too.” 

“Always.” 

(Taglist - thank you for all your support my beauties, it means the world) @mysticpeachobject @kellsck @eddiesguitarskills @fearless-wretch-insanity @darknesseddiem @amberolivia666 @amandahobblepot @sxdghxstsbxxkshxlf @sariahs-stuff @trixyvixx @h-ness1944 @munsonzgf @ali-r3n

[gaykneecaps]

i feel so sad for people who hear the word love and only think of romantic love. they cage themselves into boxes. when i hear the word love, i think of staring out the car window, looking at the steep dives of the hilly countryside, knowing in that moment that i would never be able to remember the exact way the hills and mountains curved, but knowing i would always remember the love i felt for them and the land that i grew up on. when i hear the word love, i think of the dark music classroom under the stairs, deep underground in the music department. i think of leaving that music room, and looking up through the sky window to see a black sky and rain falling down onto the glass as the fairy lights on the roof reflect off of the ice cold panes. when i hear the word love, i think of standing with the wind tugging at my hair like a child with its plaything as i stare out at the ocean, knowing that it has existed long before me and will exist long after me, that my love for it will never be acknowledged because it has had so many love it before and so many will love it after, and knowing that there are other people out there staring at the same, endless blue sea of love and memories that i am. When i hear the word love, i think of the patch my sibling's partner gave me from one of their gigs, sewn into my pants with my other sister's embroidery thread. When i hear the word love, i think of craning my neck through the pain to stare up at the cloudy sky. When i hear the word love, i think of sitting under the green canopy of a tree, watching the rain fall in buckets and waves, and the feeling of the stray raindrops that find their way to me through the thick green leaves. When i hear the word love, i think of messaging my friends at 3am just to make sure they know how much i love them. When i hear the word love, i think of the pair of boots i got from the opp shop, kept together with various different shades of duct tape. When i hear the word love, i think of the memories i have of friends long past, of staying up until 1am with them to play minecraft on our glitchy, shitty computers. When i hear the word love, i think of the rain against my window as i listen to calming music, of hearing the beep of my headphones as i turn them off so i can listen carefully to the sound of the raindrops hitting the glass panes. When i hear the word love, i think of the old rusting spoon, hidden behind trees and thorns in the very back of the old paddock our family owns, the spoon having been there decades before we bought it, and knowing that it will be there decades after i die. When i hear the word love, i think of all the moments that have led me here. When i hear the word love, i think of the chickens in the back of my grandma's home that she hand-made a home for. When i hear the word love, i think of the pieces of my favourite wikipedia article that i have pinned up against my wall. When i hear the word love, i think of the shoes my sibling gave me, laced with the mud-tracked rainbow laces they handed me with a smile. When i hear the word love, i think of my sister's growing collection of sewing machines of various ages, of her collection of metal bits and bobs she finds in the side of the road. I think of watching her eye light up as she spots something glinting on the sidewalk, of bending down and picking up the piece of metal like a prize. When i hear the word love, i think of taking the train to school having had no meds, coffee or food just so that i could see my friend who had an exam that day, even though i was under no obligation to go to school. When i hear the word love, i think of the amount of love that i hold for the world that fostered everything that i love. I think of how much love i hold for the soil underneath me and the trees that grew out of it, the rain that falls from the sky, i think of staring up at the moon as a child and considering it my friend, watching how it followed me wherever i went. To convince yourself that love means nothing but an empty kiss and sorrowful promises sounds hollow and miserable.

[kittygamer2888]

Sarah The Cat

[Reference sheet]

This was made a few months back, I just never posted it because it felt like I was missing something... but nope, this is all there is.

Height: 5'3

Age: 14 (she could be considered as 900 years old, but she didn't start aging until later on, sooo... yah.)

• Is a nervous wreck sometimes [this is before her ✨️character arc✨️ or.. whatever it's called, I forgot]

• Does not like water at all, she hates the feeling of w e t

• Her scarf belonged to her caretaker but was given to her as a gift and now wears it most of the time.

Backstory[UPDATED]:

Sarah used to have a mother named Melody sterling, but due to a war that happened too early for their own good, Melody paused Sarah's age, gave her a special blue bracelet, and sacrificed herself to send Sarah to the human world along with guards that would take care of her.

900 years pass, the guards passed away, but Sarah finally opened her tiny beady eyes as she ventured out into the woods to find for herself. It took 4 years for Sarah to survive, but at the age of 5, she discovered a power that she had that only caused nothing but destruction. Her beast form.

It looked much smaller due to her age and height at the time, but she couldn't control herself in it, so she feared about herself for a very long time.

Sarah eventually found a city, but she was rejected by everybody because of how different she looked, causing her to live in alleyways or steal food from trash cans near restaurants. They were very sad years for Sarah, but luckily, she finally found someone that could take care of her.

A woman with long black hair, glasses, ring piercings under her mouth and on her ears as well as a red turtle neck sweater with leggings and black shoes; She discovered the young cat inside of a cardboard box on a rainy day and decided to take her in.

Sarah was shy at first, but over time their bond grew stronger and they were almost like family, and even recieved a gift from Laura, as well. It was a red scarf-- Granted, it was old and the colors were grayed out, but she still cherishes the gift nonetheless. Sarah and Laura spent 11 years together, and it was the best years of their lives- and wouldn't you know it? Laura was also the one to name this pink cat "Sarah" since the cat didn't know what her name was before, so she stuck with it!

Alas, those says wouldn't last long, however, as this lady known as Laura would be going through her own personal troubles as well as dealing with family.

Laura grew up in a strict household, and with a dinner night that went wrong one day, her addiction grew ever more worse as Sarah had to witness her very own owner self-destruct in such a manner.

Sarah tried her best to make Laura feel better, but nowadays her smile has been starting to fade the more Sarah tried.

Laura was ridiculed for being different, she didn't follow her parent's orders for a long time, she's been bullied countlessly for her preferences and sexuality.

But... it was one fateful day that broke both Sarah and Laura.

Laura had just started to get back to her home after a terrible family gathering, one where she felt both embarrassed and ashamed, but she also brought Sarah with her in the car since she lives alone most of the time in the house.

Laura was crying while driving, trying not to let her frustration out on the wheel as she proceeded to drive, but suddenly a maniac began to drive recklessly inside of a gasoline truck. It seemed to be an idiot drunk-driver who had been passing over the speed limit.

It wasn't just the speed limit, however, but it was snowing, too. Not a good idea.

The driver swerved to the left too fast and, due to the ice, it would cause a faulty wheel to slip and, causing the truck to tilt to the side a bit too close to the vehicle Laura and Sarah were in and get crushed.

Through some miracle, Sarah survived as she struggled to get out of the car due to the truck on top of it, but once she made it out, she could barely see Laura's crushed body inside the car. Not only did this scar Sarah, but she ran away from the scene, crying and screaming as she ran as far away as she could.

Sarah was back in the woods, lost and alone again as she cried. She begged for help, pleaded to not be alone again, and she cried out her owner's name at the sky in sadness as she didn't want to believe what she just witnessed.

Sarah cried, sobbed and screamed for only a few minutes as her grief was interrupted by a sudden blue portal that seemingly spawned out of nowhere. Sarah was sucked inside and was introduced to a new city. It looked to be more advanced and, the difference? It was filled with animals just like her, but only normal.

Sarah wasn't sure how to react as she seemed terrified. Glances and eyes were pointed towards her as Sarah's confusion and fears worsened. She tried to adapt, but the memory of her owner- no.. her friend, a mom, even- was burned into her mind. The incident kept repeating none-stop, causing Sarah to stress about the memory and lash out at everyone in the city, making the people witness her beast form.

After Sarah's uncontrollable rampage, she was deemed a monster; an outcast and a danger around her as she hid in the shadows in fear.

Hiding didn't help, however, as she would get picked on by 'pranksters', bullies, and even hunted down by bounty hunters.

This reputation of hers proceeded to spread all across the big city to the point where she wasn't safe anymore.

Or... so she thought. Little did she know that a certain anthro dog would eventually start to see otherwise and uncover the truth of this misunderstanding.

[liaromancewriter]

Child’s Play – Part 1 / 2

Premise: A beloved childhood toy gets a new life.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); ft. Sophie and Eloise Ramsey (F!OCs) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 1,260

A/N: Thanks to @potionsprefect for this fic idea. Submission to @choicesmonthlychallengenov2024 prompt day 21 "memories"

Rain splattered against the large plate glass windows of the cozy toy shop, nestled between a second-hand bookstore and a shabby tea shop with frilly curtains. Outside, a red double-decker bus came to a stop, releasing passengers who hurried off, hoods up and umbrellas snapping open.

From inside, Wilhelmina thought the clouds looked angry, rolling and churning across the sky like that. She sent a silent prayer of thanks that she was warm and dry even if she missed her friends.

Of course, she did not miss Jasper, the little red dog who loved nothing more than messing up her delicate tutu and satin pointe shoes. He was why she was now here instead of having tea parties with Miss Patty and Miss Bernadette.

Still, the view was ever-changing, and she saw the most interesting people. Like the old lady who wore two thick coats and always had something for the birds in the park across the street. Or the little girl who told her the most lovely story about a brave princess.

I wouldn’t mind being brave, mused Wilhelmina. She could even be a superhero like the ones who hung out at the back of the store.

She was getting sleepy when a man stopped outside her window and leaned in to stare at her. She thought he had kind green eyes, sighing as a smile spread across his lips.

A few minutes later, Wilhelmina heard the bell above the door jingle, and then a hand reached in, grabbing her shoulders from behind. The man from the window turned as she approached, his wet hair shimmering under the lights.

“She’s perfect.” He chuckled, gently holding her in his hand and tracing the hem of her pink skirt with one finger. “My daughter will love her.”

When the shopkeeper placed her on the dusty glass counter and reached for a bag, Wilhelmina felt butterflies flutter in her tummy. She had found her forever home.

Many years later…

The light hit her face, and Wilhelmina’s eyes fluttered open. In the hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, memories flooded in.

A little girl with yellow hair and green eyes squealing excitedly when she first met Wilhelmina, hugging her tight. Watching her twirl around the room on her tippy-toes, her long pink skirt perfectly matching Wilhelmina’s. Teardrops falling on her head on a sad day, late-night whispers of love lost and found. Feeling safe, tucked under the covers with her forever friend.

And then, one day, Wilhelmina fell asleep, tired but comfortable, in a bed of soft blankets as the lights went out. She didn’t remember being jostled as the box she was placed in was carried off to storage or when it was brought back to the delight of two little girls visiting their grandparents.

“Mommy, was this really yours?”

Cassie Valentine looked up from perusing an old photo album when her daughters Sophie and Eloise waved a familiar doll in a ballerina costume.

They were visiting her parents, and her mom had brought down some boxes of her old stuff so that they could sort through them and decide what to keep.

Sophie rushed over to show off the doll while Eloise stayed behind, bending over the box with her grandmother, listening to stories attached to each piece they removed.

“A ballerina doll. Why am I not surprised?” her husband, Ethan Ramsey, murmured in amusement beside her, pointing at a photo of her in a tutu skirt, getting ready to go on stage. “Is she the one who inspired you to learn ballet?”

Cassie gently held Wilhelmina, cherished childhood memories running through her mind. They had been inseparable, traveling the world together, one of the few constants in her life back then.

“No,” Cassie said softly. “I was already taking lessons. My dad found her in a toy store in London and bought her for me.” She looked into Sophie’s green eyes—the color was Valentine green, but the shape was pure Ramsey. “She was my confidante growing up for anything your Uncle Max thought was too girly for his ears.”

Sophie traced her fingers over the doll’s soft, well-loved fabric, brushing across the faded tulle skirt and the hand-stitched smile that had watched over her mother as a little girl.

“Did you take her everywhere?” Sophie asked, her voice filled with awe, making way as her twin sister joined them on the couch.

“What’s her name?” El asked, crowding into Cassie’s other side, her curious gaze fixed on the doll with equal fascination.

“Wilhelmina,” Cassie said, smiling as both girls leaned closer, captivated. “She’s been my friend since I was about your age. She was part of the family and even had her own little suitcase for when we traveled all over the world.”

Cassie watched her daughters’ elated expressions at this peek into her past. “Want to know a secret?” Sophie nodded emphatically while El tucked herself into her father’s lap. “Whenever I was sad, Wilhelmina made everything better. That’s her superpower.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, guessing where this was going, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Dolls can’t be superheroes, Rookie. Remember who you’re talking to.”

“Whatever, Nighthawk,” Cassie scoffed.

Yes, their girls were fanciful, but what was wrong with that? A little imagination never hurt anyone, especially at this age.

“So, she’s like a superhero?” Sophie gasped as El, who’d been making funny faces in the reflection of her father’s phone screen, suddenly showed renewed interest in the doll.

“Would you two like to adopt Wilhelmina?” Cassie asked the twins.

As always, they communicated silently before making a decision with a few shakes and nods.

“I think Sophie should take Wilhelmina,” El declared, jumping off the couch to do a cartwheel. “Besides, she likes ballet and dolls more than I do.”

“Can I take her on adventures, too?” Sophie asked, hugging the beloved doll tightly.

Ethan chuckled, placing a comforting arm around Cassie’s shoulder and tucking her to his side. “Looks like Wilhelmina, the ballerina slash superhero, is about to start a new chapter.”

“Now, we have to find an old toy of yours to give to El,” Cassie said, adding when Ethan turned towards her, perplexed, “It’s only fair. One childhood toy from each of us.”

“We’ll see,” he said, non-committal, watching Sophie run off to the window seat to whisper secrets to her new doll. “I doubt my dad still has any of my old stuff.”

Cassie didn’t argue, but she suspected Alan had kept everything, hoping to pass them on to his grandchildren one day.

Watching her daughter hold Wilhelmina so dearly, she felt a tug of nostalgia mixed with joy. She leaned into Ethan, whispering, “It’s funny… I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. But here she is, just right for Sophie. Like she was for me all those years ago.”

“Maybe it’s meant to be,” he said, his gaze shifting to El as she wobbled in her awkward handstand.

He grabbed her legs before she could lose balance and tumble onto the side table with its Tiffany lamp.

“Not inside the house, El,” he said sternly. “Take your sister and go outside to play.”

Cassie hid a smile, waiting until they were alone before doubling over in laughter. “You sounded just like Dr. Ramsey scolding interns,” she teased, deepening her voice to mimic Ethan’s gruff tone. “Didn’t anyone tell you kids not to run in the halls?”

“I don’t sound like that!” he protested, towering over her with his arms crossed in mock indignation.

“Sure, Jan!”

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @justyourusualash

@lady-calypso @kyra75 @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect

@queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[seeminglydark]

hi! is there are reason that you decided that cassette tapes would be john’s chosen form of physical media? how would john organize his music (i.e., genre, band name, release date) and what would john keep his cassettes in? i can imagine him either having stuff in old shoe boxes or a cassette case that he hand-painted himself!

Yes! It's my personal favorite form of media, I'm really partial to cassettes, i think from growing up in the early 90's when it was the norm, so imprinted on my brain. I love mix tapes, jumping up to smash the record button when my fave tune came on the radio, so id always miss the first 10 seconds haha, my first several cars had tape decks. i love Walkmans, it was such a HUGE thing in my life to be able to put headphones on and take my music with me for the first time. I translate a lot of that nostalgia to john. I always imagine him with his Walkman and headphones, or small portable stereo, in bed with all the lights off except the white christmas lights that criss cross his ceiling, Creaky on his chest, listening to the episodes on repeat.

John organizes his music by How Much he Currently Likes A Band, grouped by band name and then oddly enough by album color. (so if he had several cassettes by say, Social D, they'd be next to each other in rainbow or light to dark.) He does most things by color, he's slower at reading and alphabetizing is a bit of a chore and makes him feel self-conscious and stressed. He doesn't mix music and books on tape, they each have their own shelf. He does rearrange a LOT.

Right again re: shoe box and painting the cases! I actually wrote a little snippet of this a long long time ago that didn't make it into the comic, but you can have it now, under the cut.

'Caro eyes a shoe box on the shelf curiously, its covered in stickers, anti fascism and punk rock bands. 'Can i look at this?' they ask, he nods, his back to them. They pull it down and settle it in their lap, lifting off the top to discover... cassette tapes! Oh wait, John did say Maddie recorded their show for him onto cassettes. There were at least 40, all lined up in the order of episodes. Caro pulled one out, the white paper inside the case was filled in with bright colors and shapes, elaborate images of ghosts and snakes and monsters. They pulled out another. A cartoon portrait of the little blond, violet eyes wide at the barrage of brightly colored spirits hovering behind them. 'Is this me?' they ask out loud. John turns to look and freezes. 'Oh….' embarrassed. 'Uh yeah…' 'Wow the art is so…?' they murmur, pulling out another, this one done in greens and blues with metallics. 'Ive never seen anything like these before?' They saw a lot of fanart, but this was different somehow. It felt more personal. Like the person who made them really put their soul into it, like it wasn't just fanart to the artist, but something really deeply important. 'I…um….' Johns face is bright red now..' um…I mean, you know I dont have social media..' he reminds them softly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Wait.' Caro looks up, he's so flustered now, shuffling his feet, ears on fire. 'These are YOURS? You did these?' Somehow they've forgotten he used to fill up notebooks with colorful drawings, street art and tagging. Liquid letters and cartoon animals with thick black outlines. 'Sure.' He shrugs and turns away, back to them again, 'I would draw on them while listening, you know. It just felt kinda sad to leave them blank. Maddie showed me some of the fanart online, and the box set of the first season. I can't do the same kind of art, I'm not good like those other people, but…I didn't want to leave them blank, so I made my own I guess.' he pauses. 'I'm sorry…you must think I'm so fucking weird.' 'I don't think its weird…' they murmur looking at the tapes. 'I think its really cool. I didn't know you were such a talented artist.' He laughs, a short bark that sounds like a cough. They put the box gently back on the shelf, and sit on the bed, deciding to spare him. They can see he's smiling though, even if he's trying to hide it with his fist pressed against his lips.'

[stardustedknuckles]

There was a woman sat on the curb with a typewriter when I left taco bell, with a sign taped to her folding table advertising personal poems written for you on the spot. And you know... Sometimes you have to let people surprise you. I stopped, in my Dyke shirt with my caduceus clay book in one hand, and I told her I've never seen a poem about asexuality that wasn't sad.

We chatted for a good fifteen minutes, in which she - self describing as hypersexual - asked me more about my experience. She had friends who were on the ace spectrum, which was a relief on my part to not start from zero, and I just told her what I could. About growing up with friends who would stop talking to me once they got partners and tell me I would understand one day, about how it feels a little like being in a musical but never having heard the words everyone else knows or learned the steps to the dance they're all doing in unison. We laughed together at the way I'm mystified by story plots that revolve around bad decisions made due to being just that horny, a situation she was intimately familiar with and having a 43-year life full of those stories.

At the end she asked if I happened to have a title in mind and at first there was nothing. I hate titles. I tend to default to song lyrics for ao3. But as soon as she asked, I remembered standing in the cafeteria in eighth grade and being annoyed that all the Greek gods of love were of that kind of love. I remember wondering if there was a god/dess of friendship, and I remember the closest I found was Philotes: goddess of friendship, affection, and sex. In eighth grade I took the last one with a kind of "that's close enough I guess" attitude, but at 30 I think it's perfect actually. Lack of attraction has nothing to do with what feels good. There's nothing out of place about it to me these days.

I hadn't thought about that in years, no idea why it came to mind except I was also thinking of eighth grade me when I talked about my friends fucking off one by one to be with their partners. She wrote down the spelling, thanked me warmly for the talk, and returned to her typewriter.

I spent the next half an hour with a delightful Dyke who gave me a business card, on which her title was printed - no joke - "Lesbian Mayor of (neighborhood)." She was my parents' age and when she remarked with the utmost sincerity and approval that "you're kind of a weird big bang theory" I choked down the feeling of being directly assaulted and said hey, my dad watches that.

At some point Lisa finished her work on her typewriter. When I arrived it was fully light out, but by then it was getting dark. She stood in front of the bench where I was, fumbled on the phone light, and read to me what she had typed. And damn if the first two sentences didn't take me right the fuck out immediately. "I thought in middle school that if I was ever going to write a poem it would be an ode to Philotes," I had told her, a memory that comes with the affectionate sort of cringe reserved for your twelve year old self, earnest as they still were. And the same feeling came over me as she read the poem out to me - but it wasn't cringe I felt. It was the feeling that I had started something in 2005 that was only taking real shape nearly 20 years later.

I don't know if it's a "good" poem. That was never my strength. But it was written for me and for me, and the opening line "build me an effigy that transcends flesh" knocked the breath out of me immediately. I have the paper here beside me on the couch, and it feels like the kind of thing that goes in a treasure box, or maybe a frame.

I also had to remind her to give me her zelle so I could pay her - clearly also affected, she had turned to start on the next poem (a raunchy sex limerick as requested by a guy in a backward ball cap and boat shoes) and had forgotten entirely.

It's gonna overdraw my account when an auto payment hits next Wednesday, but honestly... Worth it. I just wish the fee would've gone to her instead of the bank.

Let people surprise you.

[bluecottenswab]

Capitano x N!by/n

This is a comfort story, has angst in it

Warnings ⚠️

Small mention of blood

__________________________________

You work for the Adventures guild 

—————————————————————————

YOUR POV

You know when people say "oh you will always have that one day of the year when you just are in the worst mood ever. Wanting to cry, but can't" 

Well to day was that day. Taking commissions for people, HAVING TO FIGHT MONSTERS. Can be very tiring. The world feels as if it is punishing me for no reason. Cuts and bruises can be seen scattered across my body. Dried blood on my palms from gripping my weapon too tightly. Even the food I have today was either too hot or wasn't even cooked properly. My feet hurt, I don't know if I have blisters on my feet or not, but it feels like it. 

Why? Why must everyone need me. Sure it feels good to know that people rely on me, but.... As night time approaches, rain drops fall on my head. A warm and cold feeling can be felt. Finally time for myself. Spreading my arms wide, I let the  rain consume me.

"Y/N! Can you help me deliver groceries to my grandmother?"

A little girl calls out. Just when I thought I was going to go home. Turn around I walk over to the little girl.

"Sure, do you know where she lives?"

The girl nods and leads the way. I pick up the boxes of groceries. WHY ARE THEY SO HEAVY?!  And how did she even get them out of the store?

AFTER HELPING 

Opening the front door I'm met with silence. All lights off, only the fish in the fish tank can be heard. Walking in, I place my bag on one of the hooks next to the door. Placing my shoes in the shoe cubby. Going to the bedroom I take my clothes off. Going over to the bath tub I fill it up with hot water and put bubble bath liquid it in. Lighting two candles, I dim the lights. Slipping my body in the water I feel a sense of calm wash over me. Closing my eyes, I start to fall into dream land. BUT NOOO, the jingle of keys can be heard from the other room.

"Love you home?"

I shout

"Yes, I will be with you in a second"

I smile just thinking about him. Capitano. We might be dating but we act as if we are married. As he walks into I stare at him.

"Hi honey, taking a bath I see. Rough day?"

"Tell me about it"

I chuckle

"Give me a second I will join"

"Well don't I have the pleasure of getting the Number one Harbinger all to myself"

We both laugh at my sarcasm. As he gets undressed, I drain some of the old water and replace it with warm, clean water. Scooting forward, I make space for Capitano to join. As he sides in, I lean back against his chest. Sitting in silence, I grab Capitano's hand and rub my fingers over his scars.

"Y/n?"

"Yea?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Hm, I-... just a rough day. Everyone expects so much from me. I try s-so much to meet everyone's expectations. I-"

I choke on a sob. Capitano's hand wrap around mine. My hand moves upwards at he places a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

"You know, whenever I have a rough day I think of you. You are always the light of my day.  Next time you feel powerless or sad, think of something happy."

Nodding I lean the back of my head further into his chest. Looking up I realize he hadn't taken off his mask. Pulling it off, I set it next to the tub.  By now the water has gone cold. Getting up I step out of the tub and grab for my towel. Capitano soon following. Leaving the bathroom I get my silk robe and wrap it around my body. 

"Y/n let's get you to bed. I'll even tell you a bed time story."

Chuckling, we both slide under the covers. Snuggling closer to Capitano, he wraps his arms around me, whispering words of comfort into my ear. I trace the scars on his chest, while kissing each one. This horrible day has turned into a night full of warmth and happiness. Closing my eyes I listen to his soft breathing, lulled to sleep. 

MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 

The warmth I felt before disappears. Opening my eyes I search for Capitano. Not seeing him in our room, I get out of bed and search around the house. Entering the kitchen, I notice a note on the counter top. Picking it up I read:

"Y/n I'm sorry, but you have become to much to handle. I have found someone else more worthy of my love. I wish you were better."

Staring at it, my eyes burn. Tears streaming down my face. I-I thought we were happy. Why didn't he tell me. Am I really such a hassle. The world around me turns black, my body falls forward. Just as I am about to hit the ground, I scream.

NO ONE POV

Y/n bolts awake. Sweat and tears run down their face. Capitano just stands there in the doorway with a glass of water. Noticing their distressed state, Capitano makes his way over. Pulling Y/n into a tight hug, Capitano asks what is wrong.

"Capitano...I-I am sorry I'm such a hassle. Please I'll leave you alone." 

Y/n mumbled. 

"No no no, when did I ever say you were a hassle?"

"The note. Kitchen. Y-you said..."

Looking down, Y/n cry's more. Tightening his grip, Capitano sits down on the bed and pulls Y/n into his lap.

YOUR POV

As soon as I'm on his lap, I immediately wrap my arms around him. Pulling my chin up, Capitano gives me a kiss. Not one with any passion. But a kiss that is meant to show that he is never leaving. I pull away. Capitano pulls my head to his heart. 

"I will always be here. Even in death."

I listen to his heart beat. Realizing that it was just a dream, I close my eyes. 

"Cap, please let me just be with you for a little while"

"Of course. I won't leave ever again."

Capitano picks me up with his arm under my butt . He walks over to his side of the bed and goes under the covers. Laying on top, I snuggle into his neck. I fall asleep to him rubbing his fingers along my back.

When people tell me that they had an awful day and will always remember it, I realize that they didn't have someone that loves them the same as how Capitano loves me. 

"Y/n, you will always be the one I love. No one can compare to you. If any of the other Harbingers or even the Tsaritsa harms you, I will cut them down."

Relaxing, I close my eyes once again. The night mares can't scare me anymore. Crickets from outside set the mood. Cedar can be smelled. All my senses are at a state of calm. 

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

wait, so, someone tell me if I'm wrong here:

Baxter is 3? Years older than MC in Now & Forever? (I've only played through once and have a shit memory lmao) MC is 10 which, I believe, makes him 13 right?

He's one year older than the MC in Beginnings & Always. So that makes him 14 in the step 2 scene, since MC is 13.

That also makes him 17 in the Now & Forever step 2 scenes, since 4 years have passed, I believe, while MC and group are all 14.

Like, damn 😂 Poor boy wasn't kidding when he said he started to feel the age gap after a few years. I mean, I laugh because the sudden change in dynamic for kids to teens is CRAZY when you think about it but also, that must have been rough for all of them too 🥲 jeeze.

Like, don't get me wrong here. It's, in my opinion, perfectly normal to have a 3-5 year age gap between friends when you're growing up. That is just the experience of the school system (which is usually designed in facilities of that age range) at work. Grade school, High school, etc. We can also take into account that it's a small town, which adds another level to familiarity with people outside of your peer group and makes that acceptable age gap even larger. Typically, anyways.

But, we also know that your teen years are very hard when it comes to finding where you fit, and that social norms dictate a lot of really stupid things and pressure people into boxes they're not made to fit for the sake of 'harmony'. So it's really kind of sad when you think about it, how it must have felt to be in Baxter's shoes once he noticed that difference between him and his friends 😞 I wonder how much of an impact things like that play in the overall story, honestly 🤔 Qiu is the youngest out of all the boys too, after all, so how are they inevitably affected by it?

It's food for thought anyways 😂 controversy surrounding age gaps has always really pissed me off, as someone who grew up with a lot of much older friends (3-70 year age gaps) and younger ones too, once I was also finally considered old. The wealth of knowledge two people who are possible generations apart from each other can take and learn and apply is so important to people as a species but everyone thinks age gaps are cringe and sus so I guess we'll just continue to grow stupider rather than stronger 🤷 oh well.

I'm interested to see what kind of dialogue the game uses with this. It could be an excellent plot point in the right hands! I hope that it doesn't fall into the same potholes most things do but, we'll just have to see.

[bcbdrums]

A Touch of Warmth

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Sixth in my series of 31 prompt-based one-shots (filling them out of order; this is prompt 5). Prompts from this list.

A/N: More of the academy days for my faves, but super early this time. I wanna say...maybe just a few months of partnership here. And living in cheap academy dorms haha. Imagine a sad college dorm room I guess. Stein is only 10 years old and Spirit is 13. Long, long, rambly stream of consciousness relationship stuff that I wrote like...in the first week of December. And then didn't finish until just now (late March) and there was only a little bit left to go. Oops. Wonder how much that gap impacted the story/writing style... If you like long rambly things that don't really have a point, well, here you go. Enjoy. 5. Puzzling

A Touch of Warmth

An icy chill like breath across his cheeks was what roused Spirit from sleep. He shivered and then blinked twice before tightly closing his eyes again. Even the air was cold, assaulting the tender moisture beneath his lashes like the slap of cold water.

After taking another moment to realize he was awake and not dreaming, he fully processed the freezing sensation as one he should not be feeling on a desert morning. He clutched his blanket close to his chest and sat up in bed, squinting. White was what overwhelmed his blurred vision, and he snaked an arm out of his warm cocoon and felt almost blindly along the windowsill until his fingers met something very cold and wet.

He gasped and drew back, blinking until his sight clarified to reveal what it was he had touched.

Gathered on the sill near the open window were a line of melting snowflakes.

Spirit's jaw fell slack as he reached out to touch a cluster again, watching it turn to water rapidly even as it cooled his fingertips. But when he looked up and out the window his eyes went wide.

Where there should have been dirt, stone, and dried grasses in the backyard of the dormitory there was only white, and the sky was gray as snow fell in lace-like curtains, thick and silent, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see.

It was several moments of staring, captivated by the scene and breathing the icy air, before Spirit reached out to slide the window closed. And then he spun around to face the bed of his roommate.

"Hey Stein, wake—"

Spirit blinked. His very young meister was not in his bed.

The red-haired teen took stock of their tiny dorm room quickly, noting the boy's blankets uncharacteristically tossed back and his pair of shoes sitting neatly next to his desk. It appeared as though Stein had gotten under his bed at some point, because the corner of a box was sticking out near where the blankets were carelessly draped down to the floor. Then Spirit noticed the door to the hallway was ajar.

"Stein?" he said again as he glanced once more around their small room. The boy was definitely not there.

Spirit threw his own blankets aside and hurriedly dressed, selecting warmer clothing than he would ever choose for a day in Death City but something he was more likely to wear on an extracurricular assignment far further north. He gaze was continually drawn to the astonishing view through the window as he fumbled with a pair of boots, still not quite believing that a seeming winter had arrived in the middle of Nevada.

He had experienced snow a couple of times in his life, but never at leisure, and nothing at all like what he was seeing outside as it seemed to be sticking to sand and stone, transforming the barren landscape to one of wonder and quiet mystery.

"Stein?" Spirit asked again, peering down the hallway after pulling the door open. The dormitory was dark and silent.

Spirit's brow furrowed as he turned toward the bathroom that all the students in his wing shared, wondering if that was where the boy had gone. His meister operated like clockwork, and it was the startling deviation from the norm that had Spirit perplexed and was driving him to find his partner almost as much as the desire to share his newfound excitement at the change in the weather.

Most of the students in their building had gone home for the holidays, but both Stein and Spirit had declined that privilege, neither offering any explanation to the other. And Spirit was glad for his decision, knowing the snow wasn't anything he would have seen otherwise.

"Stein?" he whispered, peering into the darkened bathroom but already fairly certain of what he would find. Every stall door was open, the showers and sinks were silent, and the lights were off.

Spirit stuck his lip out in annoyance at the same time his brow furrowed in worry. He'd wanted to enjoy the experience of the fresh falling snow with his meister. But as Spirit turned to walk toward the front door concern began to overtake his initial elation. Just where was the boy?

It wasn't that he didn't think Stein couldn't handle himself; the few combat training classes they'd already had proved that he could. But the meister was just so young, and he looked it. Spirit was barely thirteen and this was the first time he'd been on his own, but in the few months they'd been roommates he could tell that the silver-haired ten-year-old was already accustomed to fending for himself.

Spirit had no background on his meister, and the boy was distant without being blatantly rude. He seemed to genuinely not know how to interact with their peers along with something else Spirit couldn't yet place. But the teen was patient, and Lord Death had specifically chosen Stein to be his meister. That alone was worth everything.

He pushed through the front door of the dormitory and a biting chill rushed in along with a few flurries of snow. Spirit grinned, a chuckle rumbling in his chest as he closed his eyes and took in the feel of the ice hitting his face like unforeseen kisses, softly leaving their mark before vanishing and stirring his thoughts toward the ethereal and imaginative. There was a promise of something new in the snowfall, and Spirit wanted to take advantage of every moment of it.

He stepped fully through the door and into the wall of white, his boots almost soundless as they pushed through the drift that had already built up in the uncovered entryway. And that’s when he saw the single point of color: a telltale shock of silver hair.

Next to one of the benches that lined the sidewalk to the dorms knelt Franken Stein. Snow had collected in a thin layer atop his head, shoulders, and the backs of his legs, though one could hardly tell for the plain white pajamas he wore, causing the boy to be almost invisible in the newly whited-out landscape. He was bent over some small mechanical device placed on the bench, his concentration so full that he didn’t notice when Spirit closed the door. Another point of color were the pale soles of his feet; he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Stein?” Spirit asked in surprise, hurrying forward. His delight at the weather had wholly evaporated at the sight of his young meister barely clothed out in the cold. “What are you doing?”

The boy didn’t reply, but scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. He reached for the device and Spirit recognized a microscope as he approached. Stein had picked up a small glass slide, and Spirit watched as he leaned back from the bench to slowly wipe it on the hem of his shirt, and then hold it out to catch a few falling snowflakes. His hands shook as he replaced it under the lens and quickly leaned down again, turning the focus knob to bring his subjects into clarity. As Spirit finally stopped next to the bench he could see it wasn't just Stein's hands, but his entire frame shaking from head to toe, and his usually colorless lips were a frightening shade of blue.

“Stein!” Spirit cried in protest, his voice rising in pitch.

“Don’t breathe.”

Spirit blinked, the harsh but monotone directive confusing his train of thought.

“What?” he asked, but held his breath nonetheless.

“They melt too fast if you breathe.”

Spirit rapidly went through the arguments in his head that he wasn't even near the snowflakes on the slide, and that Stein himself was so cold now that he'd be surprised if he had any warmth left in his lungs. But none of those words came out as somehow, as always, he was drawn like a magnet to his meister's side and knelt down, curiosity rising in him despite the chill beginning to penetrate his coat.

"What are you looking at?"

"The structure of the snowflakes."

Spirit looked at the cluster of white that had in fact already begun to melt on the slide under the lens, and then back to his meister, his face hidden as he stared down through the microscope.

"So far they are perfectly symmetrical and each one has six branches, but no two are alike. The probability of two being the same eventually is strong, but..."

Stein stopped suddenly, and Spirit watched the meister move his hand away from the focusing knob, place it between his thighs where his left hand was already hidden.

Spirit frowned.

"Get up."

"What?"

Stein was still peering into the microscope.

"Get up or I'm picking you up."

That got the meister's attention. His eyes snapped to Spirit's, confusion overlaid by defiance and something else hard and threatening. It had only been three months, but it had taken less than a day of acquaintance for Spirit to learn that the boy would not tolerate being touched without express permission.

"You can't do this like this," Spirit continued. "You're going to freeze to death."

Stein's expression didn't change.

"If you want to be helpful you could get me a notebook to record my findings. You don't have a camera, do you?"

Each word was spoken through trembling blue lips, and Spirit noticed that the rest of the boy's unnaturally pale skin was rapidly changing hue. His heart began racing as he made his decision, not knowing what the ramifications would be but knowing that he had no choice.

Stein didn't speak when Spirit stood, but when the weapon's gloved hands came down under the meister's armpits he jerked away with a strength Spirit wouldn't have thought him capable.

"Don't touch me!" was the protest that sounded before the boy began fighting back, pushing and beating against Spirit's shoulders, but the weapon was determined.

It was a battle of hands and arms and legs and feet as he half-fought, half-dragged Stein back into the dormitory hall, tuning out every word of protest that was laid against him with each step. He only finally paid attention again when Stein managed to free one arm just inside the door and landed a glancing blow against Spirit's cheek.

He shuddered in response, not letting go but halting the movement of his feet. The hit may not have fully connected, but it was still hard and for a moment the world was spinning and Spirit's only point of focus were his hurried breaths and the heavier panting of the younger boy upon whom he still had an iron grip.

When his eyes refocused on Stein's face the meister appeared shocked—quite the change from his typically guarded expression—but his skin was still unnaturally blue, and there was something off about his eyes even past the unusual expression. It sent a wash of fear through Spirit that rapidly overrode the pain of the punch.

He reached past Stein and kicked the door closed hard.

"Stein. I'm not going to let you die out there because you were too stupid to get dressed before running out to play in the snow."

"I... I wasn't..." Stein began, still breathless and something definitely off about his vision.

Spirit ignored the pulsing of pain in his cheek and while Stein was distracted, he scooped the smaller boy up like he would a toddler and stalked hurriedly down the hall.

"Hey! Stop it!" was Stein's weak protest this time, and Spirit noted he was struggling a lot less than when they'd been pushing through the ankle-deep snow outside.

When he reached the bathroom he all but dropped Stein for how much he was twisting to escape. When the meister's feet hit the tile he slipped on his wet, bare soles and would have hit the floor had Spirit not still had his hands on him. Stein clung to Spirit's arms in surprise, not having expected the backward plunge, and when Spirit had righted them both he finally let go.

He reached back to hit the light switch and Stein flinched away, holding a hand up to cover his eyes as his breaths still came far too heavily for the minimal exertion of the struggle to get indoors. When he finally squinted at Spirit his expression fell to shock again. It finally occurred to the red-head that there was something other than the fact that he'd interrupted Stein's ill-conceived experimenting that had shaken the boy, and he turned around to see his face in the mirror.

Spirit nearly gasped for how utterly terrified he looked. Terrified and furious, perhaps in a way that his young partner had never seen another person look before, if the way it froze the boy in place was any indication.

Spirit knew he needed to calm down, calm his expression and be reasonable so he could explain to his meister just how dangerous his actions had been. But as he turned back to face the boy he only felt the anger swell to a greater presence in his soul.

Stein's clothes were nearly soaked through, the white of the pajamas turned gray from moisture and his hair darker for it. The color of his skin was wrong. He was visibly shaking from head to toe, and his vision was hazy and seeming unable to really see Spirit even though his eyes hadn't left the red-head since the moment he'd let him go.

Spirit opened his mouth to speak, but the movement of his jaw caused his cheek to sting where Stein had punched him. He hissed and reached his fingers up to the spot before jabbing his other arm past Stein to point, the motion causing the boy to jump.

"Get in there," he commanded coolly, his voice low and laced with threat. "Get under some hot water and sit down. I'm going to get you some dry clothes."

Stein's expression of shock remained, the boy still frozen by the look on Spirit's face. They remained unmoving for several moments, but when the meister's breaths began to even out he finally turned toward the showers to comply with the weapon's words.

It wasn't until Stein had fully obeyed, letting the shower run until the water was warm and then stepping under the stream and sitting down to lean against the tiled wall, that Spirit finally turned to go.

He let his anger carry his feet briskly back toward their shared bedroom, blindly going through the motions once there of making Stein's bed, dragging the only spare blanket from the closet to place atop it, and then yanking his own bedding free to add on top of that. Horrible scenarios were racing through his head of what he might have found out in the snow instead of his insatiably curious young meister studying the patterns of snowflakes had he slept in a little later, or decided to enjoy the surprise of the weather from the comfort of his bed.

Spirit stopped abruptly from where he'd been casting off his winter outerwear and blinked at nothing as the realization struck.

Stein had been looking at snowflakes.

The fear crashed fully over Spirit's anger, obliterating it as the teen sat down on the floor and began to cry. He could have lost his meister, might still lose him, because the boy had been just as excited about the snow as he was.

If he hadn't immediately gone outside to play...

Spirit didn't know how long he cried, but the sudden realization that he could still lose Stein drove him back to the present. He didn't know anything about frostbite or hypothermia or any other manner of freezing-induced ailments. They were all alone in the dorm and he had no one to call for help since everyone had left for the holidays. And just how long had he left Stein alone in the shower with his vision hazy and his pallor looking near death?

Spirit stood so fast it made him dizzy, made his cheek throb where he'd been hit, and he rummaged through Stein's drawers until he finally found the boy's thicker socks for winter assignments along with underwear and more pajamas. As an afterthought he grabbed his own thick bathrobe and then both of their towels before turning to run back down the hall.

He slowed his step before entering the bathroom, terrified of what he might find. At least he could still hear the shower running, but...was that a good sign? Instead of entering he peered cautiously around the doorjamb.

Stein looked exactly as Spirit had left him, seated against the tile and curled tightly in on himself as the warm water poured over him. His arms were folded atop his raised knees and his hands were tight in fists, and his face was hidden where it lie on his arms. Spirit licked his lips and took a cautious step forward, and then another. There was no reaction from the meister.

Spirit paused, took in a silent breath...and then he flicked his eyes sideways to the mirror. He didn't look angry anymore, although he could still see it rise behind his eyes the moment he thought about it. No, now he looked every bit as scared as he felt, perhaps even more than when he'd drug Stein back indoors, and his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying.

Any other time Spirit would have been annoyed by his transparency, but since it had seemingly helped to get his meister to comply he decided he didn't care.

He turned back toward the small, gray form in the shower, felt his heart rate quicken as he mustered the courage to speak.

"Stein?"

Stein lifted his head.

The relief Spirit felt was enough to make his knees go weak, and he leaned on the counter to steady himself as he set the clothing down and draped the two towels over his arm. He sucked in a few breaths, looked up to the mirror again and saw a brightness fitting itself behind the fear in his eyes, and he grimaced before turning to approach the meister.

"You, uh... You ready to come out of there?"

Stein didn't respond, only watched Spirit's approach, watched him stop about five feet distant, his expression having returned to its usual dull, esoteric impassivity. And as his eyes locked on Spirit's the red-head thought he looked even more withdrawn than before. But, blessedly, perhaps less hazy.

He didn't know if staying under the warm water longer would be better or worse for Stein's recovery, but his own anxiety couldn't stand the inaction. He pursed his lips and stepped forward, reaching around the stream to turn the water off.

Stein slowly began pushing himself upright, his eyes not having left Spirit's face even to blink.

"Uh...here," Spirit said, holding out the two towels. After a moment, Stein slowly reached across the distance to receive them. "There's clothes on the counter, uh..."

Spirit realized he needed to give the meister some privacy to change, and he thought quickly.

"I'll go get you something warm to drink. I'll uh...I'll be right back."

Spirit turned and hurried out of the bathroom as quickly as he could, making long strides down the hallway.

The tiny kitchen that could hardly be called such was at the other end of the building, and Spirit didn't want the meister out of his sight for any longer than was necessary just in case there was some delayed danger to whatever cold-induced condition he'd brought upon himself.

As Spirit passed the main entry he took careful steps to avoid the melted snow that had found its way inside from the struggle through the doorway, and then something occurred to him that halted his rush.

He turned and dashed back out into the icy air, his breath catching instantly as cold assaulted his body. He grimaced at the irony that it was now he who was under-dressed and risking himself in the elements, but he picked his way through the piling snow to the bench where the microscope was gathering a larger collection of specimens than it was designed for. Spirit tucked the freezing object safely against his chest and hurried back inside to be free of the snow falling into his face and the chill already seeming to seep into his bones.

He didn't hesitate but to close the door behind him, and then took the microscope the rest of the way down the hall and into the small kitchen.

Inside the narrow room he quickly opened the freezer and considered a moment before pulling out a few boxes of frozen meals left by other students to make space, and then he carefully placed the heavy instrument inside. He turned the freezer's temperature lower and then quickly closed it, blowing into his hands to warm them as he tried to remember his original purpose, his mind still awash with fear.

The microwave dinners on the counter was what returned his focus, and he quickly filled two mugs with water and set them to heat as he considered the beverage options. It took less than ten seconds to decide on tea, considering he didn't even know if there was hot cocoa mix around and he still really didn't want Stein out of his sight any longer than necessary.

Another thought occurred to him as he watched the microwave's timer tick down, and he turned and ran silently on his toes back to the bedroom. Once inside he didn't even look before diving for the box sticking out from beneath Stein's bed, and sure enough it was the box the microscope had been housed in. He carefully removed every delicate glass slide that remained tucked in the Styrofoam, and then cradling them gently, he ran back to the kitchen.

Once there he opened the freezer and carefully brushed a few snow clusters from the microscope onto each slide, including the one still beneath the lens which he removed. He brushed the remaining snow off the instrument into the freezer, and then carefully lifted the heavy device out.

He was methodically drying it with a dish towel as the microwave sounded completion, which he ignored in favor of caring for the delicate equipment. He didn't know for sure that moisture would damage it, but it seemed a fair guess, and he went at its crevices carefully with paper towels until the microwave beeped a second time.

He realized with a jolt that he had left Stein alone for well over five minutes now between all he'd been occupied with, and he hurriedly grabbed the mugs from the microwave and then pocketed a small handful of tea bags and sugar packets from the basket on the counter next to the stove.

He forced himself to keep his pace to a brisk walk this time, mindful of the steaming mugs in his hands. He was so lost in the anxiety of too many what-ifs and the need to hurry, hurry, hurry that he almost bumped into his meister as the younger boy was standing waiting outside their bedroom door, chin dipped low to his chest. Spirit gasped and startled back a step, then hissed as a splash of hot water hit his hand.

The meister had no reaction to Spirit's pain, looking downright sullen in the oversized bathrobe. But Spirit noticed his hands were tucked deeply into the pockets, and his hair was still wet although it showed signs of having been towel-dried.

"Stein..." Spirit breathed, continuing his visual assessment; was he imagining it, or was Stein's skin less blue?

The boy met his eyes through a curtain of damp hair, and Spirit sighed. As ever, his young meister was unreadable, except Spirit knew that somehow, in some measure...Stein was very displeased with him.

"Come on. You're getting into bed."

Spirit carefully gestured with one mug, and he expected to have to put forth an argument, but atypically Stein simply obeyed. Spirit watched for a moment, and then followed the boy a few steps inside the door and pulled it closed with his heel. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until his chest began to burn, and he let the air out slowly in hopes of not drawing Stein's attention.

The meister had paused in the center of the room, clearly making note of all the changes and liberties Spirit had taken before he seemed to resign himself to his fate and climb into his bed. But instead of lying down, Stein shifted his pillows up against the wall to sit and face Spirit's bed and the window on the wall between them. Once he was settled with too many blankets piled atop his lap and tucked up to his chest, hands buried deep inside the cocoon he'd made, he drew his knees up and shifted his eyes to settle on the window. Spirit didn't need to look to know it was still heavily snowing, and his breath hitched again when Stein slowly dragged his dull gaze back to him.

Spirit covered the gesture with a slight cough and then stepped forward to set the mugs on Stein's desk.

"Do you like sugar in your tea? And uh..." He pulled his small hoard from his pocket, some of the packets falling to the floor in the process. "I grabbed... Earl Grey, chamomile, mint, peach oolong... What's oolong..."

"Mint," Stein replied quietly, and Spirit realized it was the first word his partner had spoken since he'd deposited him unhappily in the dorm's bathroom.

"Sugar?" Spirit asked, after putting the tea bag into one mug.

"No, thank you."

The meister's voice was somehow more void of inflection than usual, and Spirit felt his stomach twist in unease as he ripped into one of the packets of sugar for his own mug and poured it in. He realized he'd forgotten to grab any stirring sticks and stepped back to his own desk to procure a pen to use as a substitute. He had decided on the peach oolong, the only other flavor appealing to him being the mint, but apparently he'd given the sole bag to Stein.

When he stepped nearer the meister's bed to hand him the tea, it was a moment before Stein moved to extricate his hands from the blanket-nest he seemed to be burrowing deeper within. His fingers brushed against Spirit's when he wrapped them around the mug's handle and the distinct chill the weapon felt at the contact set his heart racing in fear again. Stein had been under a hot stream of water for at least fifteen minutes if not longer, but he was still cold. Should Spirit have let him stay there longer? Was that even the right thing to do?

Spirit felt his head begin to ache and he rubbed his brow, feeling the pinch of his skin where it twisted in worry. He absently stirred the sugar into his mug with the back of the pen and tried to push his feet out of his boots. The laces were too tight however, and the result was him stumbling against his mostly-stripped bed and barely preventing the tea from spilling as he lost his balance entirely, his knees hitting the floor hard.

He cursed under his breath and then bit his lip in regret. His young meister had likely never heard such foul language, and he shouldn't be the one to introduce him to it.

He set his tea on the windowsill and then reached down to loosen his bootlaces just enough to tug them off, and then pushed himself back on his bed against the wall in a mirror of Stein's pose. The room was still chilled from the window having been open all night, and he shivered despite himself as he drew his knees up high to his chest, tucking his hands under his rear for warmth.

It was only after another shiver that he let his gaze travel across the room to meet his meister's eyes. The boy looked slightly more curious than he had before, but overall he still appeared more detached than the weapon was used to seeing. What Spirit didn't know and wished he did was whether it was just from the upset at his pulling him away from his fun, or if it meant the fun had already had a dire consequence.

"Uh..." Spirit said, feeling suddenly very awkward. Stein lifted his head slightly, sipped from the tea, but his expression didn't change. "Are you, uh... How are you feeling?"

Stein stared at him blankly, and while Spirit thought three months had gotten him used to how unfeeling the meister seemed from his countenance, he realized that it only counted in a predictable context. In class or on a mission, Spirit was learning what to expect. But Stein was about as antisocial as anyone he'd ever met, and it suddenly pressed against his mind just how little he really knew about the boy he lived and partnered with.

"Cold," Stein finally said, so quiet Spirit almost didn't hear.

He looked at just how very small Stein looked wearing the large bathrobe, bundled as deeply into the blankets as he could get while still upright. His hair was looking less wet but still a darker shade of gray than its usual mystifying silver. When he lifted the mug to take another sip of tea, Spirit noted how small the meister's hands were as they clutched tightly to the cup for the extra heat.

He tried not to think of Stein as a child. He hardly thought of himself as more than that, when he was honest with himself. But between the two he was the far elder and more experienced, and as the weapon it was his responsibility to protect his meister. Even from himself.

Spirit glanced away and out at the snow falling less in thick curtains now and more just in scattered flakes, still dense but allowing a view toward the other dormitory buildings before the scene faded into a white haze beyond which he knew the rest of Death City rose up above the sand. But for the moment it was as if the tiny bedroom existed separate from the rest of the world, and Spirit and Stein the only two people in it.

"Have you, ah...ever seen snow before?" Spirit continued, fishing for conversation.

Stein looked up past the rim of the mug again, seeming to analyze Spirit with every question, and then shook his head no.

Spirit swallowed under the scrutiny, and continued. "I've seen it a couple of other times, but...nothing like this."

The red-head shivered again and watched the way the flakes fell, most tiny and notably slower than rain, but others in large clumps that hurried past their smaller companions. It was captivating, and when he turned back to Stein the boy had resumed looking out the window.

"I had hoped we would see it on the assignment to Alaska, but...then that got canceled," Spirit said, dropping his gaze to the gray of his jeans.

There was still only silence in response, and this time Spirit let it linger, only briefly lifting his eyes a couple of times to find Stein still watching the display through the window. The curiosity in the boy's eyes had turned to something deeper; there was a longing now, and endless questions racing somewhere behind the brilliant, green eyes.

Spirit's gaze snapped up to focus as he realized with a flood of relief that the clarity was returning to Stein's vision. It had to be a sign, he hoped, that the surprise winter wasn't going to steal the life of his young meister after all.

The red-head looked at the window again and sniffed once, his nose starting to run due to the cold air in the room. The wonder and beauty of the snowfall began to fade as he considered again the terrifying possibilities of what could have happened. Suddenly the soft, white landscape seemed just as barren as the desert sands.

And yet...

"I'm sorry."

When he looked away from the window Stein was watching him, his brow risen in slight surprise. Spirit dropped his gaze as he shivered, moving his arms to wrap around himself and tuck his fingers under his armpits. He focused on the lines of denim across his knees as his eyes burned with the threat of tears, hoping that in saving his young meister he hadn't irreparably damaged their relationship when it had hardly started.

It was true they had been able to resonate practically immediately upon partnering, surprising everyone except Lord Death. But Spirit knew that the road ahead of them would require far more from them both than the superficial connection they had made so far. And in dealing so harshly with the boy, he could have undone their three months together and hurt the chances for their future.

"I'm not sorry for saving you, Stein. I was just so scared, and... Your face was all..." He gestured briefly to the still-unhealthy hue to the boy's skin. "But I... I probably could have...done that differently... And, you're not stupid. I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

He didn't look up, only pressed further back against the wall and tucked one set of toes under the other in search for warmth as he became more aware of the chill to the room. He suddenly realized that since all of the students had been expected to go home, the heating had likely been shut off to the dormitory. That, in addition to his window having been open all night to the unexpected winter weather, explained the bitter chill he was feeling in the usually comfortable room. It wouldn't reach dangerous temperatures, but it was still a bit much for the simple jeans and t-shirt Spirit had hurried into after waking.

Stein didn't reply, and Spirit sniffled again, grateful the cold air at least gave him an excuse as he fought back tears. His mind began racing with a whole new set of horrible fears. What if Stein decided he didn't want to be his partner after this?

"You didn't need to give me your blankets and pillows."

Spirit sniffled again and looked up. Stein was watching him and the weapon studied his blue-gray pallor, the rising brightness in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat as concerns of illness rose and shook his head.

"You need them more than me."

Spirit had no sooner rested his cheek—the uninjured one—on his knee, than he heard faint slurping across the room. He raised his head again to see Stein tilting the mug all the way back and finishing the tea, after which he settled his head back against the wall, continuing to clutch the now-empty mug. He shivered.

Spirit frowned and considered offering to microwave another mug, and then looked at his own forgotten tea on the windowsill. Steam was still rising from the liquid.

He slowly uncurled himself from against the wall, feeling the little warmth he had gathered seep away in seconds as he slid his feet back to the floor and picked up the mug.

"Here, I didn't drink any," he said when he offered it, Stein's brow rising, and then, "...Oh."

He pulled out the pen he'd used to stir the sugar in and frowned, making a mental note for the future that Stein preferred his tea without the sweetener. After a moment the boy reached out with a shaking hand and they exchanged mugs. Spirit set the used one on Stein's desk with the pen inside before turning back toward his bed.

"You can sit here."

Spirit stopped and looked at the meister, blinking in confusion as he failed to process the words.

"What?"

There was silence for a moment, the weapon watching the meister's small hands clutching tightly to the cup for the warmth it provided as he sipped the steaming liquid. Then the green-eyed gaze rose again.

"You can sit here, too."

Spirit's mind slowly pieced the meaning of the words together, his brow rising in surprise as he considered. It wasn't the sort of offer he would have expected from the meister in any typical situation, and especially not after he'd manhandled him indoors and ordered him around. But he was growing too cold too fast to find any reason to protest, and after a moment he climbed onto the bed and pulled the blankets back to tuck himself in next to Stein, his back against the wall and a few inches of space between them.

Stein tugged one of the pillows from behind him and pushed it toward the weapon, and Spirit gratefully shoved it behind his back, his spine instantly feeling the relief. He adjusted the blankets perhaps more than was necessary, making sure Stein still had enough to bury as deeply beneath them as he wanted, but grateful for the added warmth immediately.

The view out the window wasn't nearly as good as it was from his own bed, but at least Stein had the better position to continue watching the snowfall. He peripherally observed the meister take another tentative sip of the tea, purse his lips at the taste, and then balance the mug on his knees, both hands still wrapped tightly around it.

Spirit sighed lightly. If nothing else, at least it would help keep Stein's hands warm.

"Thanks," Spirit said quietly, suddenly finding he couldn't meet the meister's eyes. After the way he'd treated him, Stein's kindness was startling, and he wasn't sure how to respond other than accept the offered protection from the cold and continue to hope the younger boy would be all right.

"My microscope cost almost three hundred dollars."

Spirit was startled by the non sequitur and turned to look at the meister. The boy's eyes, definitely no longer glazed, were hardened in the way they looked when they were in class and he was frustrated by something their professor was saying. Spirit swallowed nervously just before words bubbled out of him faster than his brain could keep up.

"I was very careful, I promise! I didn't touch the lenses and I got every crevice. I even went over it twice to make sure it was dry!"

Stein had turned to look at him during the rush of words, and it took Spirit a moment to realize his expression had changed. The hardness had left his eyes, his usual aloofness now the dominant expression, but there was question and curiosity and surprise hidden beneath it. The boy's lips were parted, his jaw ever so slightly slack as he stared unblinking back at Spirit. The intensity of it startled Spirit so much that his words stopped for a moment before he licked his dry lips and fumbled for something else to say.

"And I...I put snow on each slide for you to look at later. They're in the freezer, I turned it down so they shouldn't melt. Sorry I... I should have asked before touching your things. I'm sorry."

Spirit licked his lips again and looked down. He should apologize for going through Stein's clothing too, he knew, but he was suddenly feeling very self-conscious and like he was the one under the lens of a microscope as Stein continued staring at him.

He thought the three months had gone well, all things considered. He wasn't used to being around someone as stoic as the partner he'd been assigned, but he had been trying very hard to learn what made the boy tick and how to be the best partner he could, responding to the meister's quirks and for the most part simply staying out of his way since privacy was what Stein seemed to value most. And Spirit had violated that repeatedly that morning.

He suddenly felt a yawn coming and restrained the action with effort. As his heart raced with the excess of nerves he glanced over to check the time on Stein's alarm clock on his small nightstand. It was just after eight o'clock. He chewed some of the dry skin from his lower lip and considered how to voice the question pressing against his mind after the embarrassing outburst of moments before.

It turned out he didn't have to, because when he turned back he found Stein had been following his gaze.

"I was outside before seven," Stein offered.

Something was different about his tone, and Spirit shifted his gaze to meet his partner's. Stein's expression had changed again to something the weapon had never seen and didn't know how to interpret. His eyes had lost the hardness almost entirely and seemed to be seeking something. Before Spirit could even try to figure it out, Stein surprised him again by handing him the mug of tea. He took a sip and then immediately a larger swallow as the liquid coated his throat, soothing some of the strain he hadn't realized was there as he continued worrying.

When he returned the cup to let Stein keep using it to warm his hands, his fingers brushed against the meister's cooler ones. He frowned at the contact and looked away, his gaze flitting between the window and the clock as he worried.

He wanted to believe that Stein would be fine. But he'd been out in the snow for over an hour and his hands were still cold, despite the heat of the shower, despite having been wrapped around the mugs of hot tea for several minutes.

Spirit felt the sting of coming tears again. He bit his cheeks in attempt to fight off the instinct, let his eyes dart over the room in search of some anchor that would help distract him from the fears and anxiety swirling through his soul. But just as he felt his emotions would collapse, Stein surprised him once more.

"I'm sorry I hit you."

Spirit's brow rose. He had nearly forgotten about the glancing punch and lifted his fingers to lightly press to his cheek. The flesh was tender, but it was nothing like the hits he'd taken in their combat classes or on missions. Of course those were different too, having been taken in weapon form.

"It's okay," he answered.

Stein was looking up at him almost like he'd never seen him before. The curiosity in his eyes was different somehow—not the clinical gaze he favored most things with, nor the apathy that came after the boy determined something held no value to him. There seemed to be almost more color to his eyes as they remained locked on the weapon's, and fascinated by the meister appearing so human, Spirit held his gaze.

The fear that had been consuming him changed somehow, under the inquisitive look that Stein had set upon him. The situation no longer felt hopeless or beyond control. In fact, the way his meister was looking at him now, his eyes held perhaps more life than Spirit had ever seen.

"Hey, ah..." he said, his voice quivering suddenly from an emotion he couldn't place. "When you're feeling better, maybe we could have a snowball fight."

Confusion joined the curiosity that Stein had fixed him with.

"...Snowball fight?"

Spirit smiled. "Yeah. You make balls out of the snow, and throw them at each other. For fun. Snowball fight."

Stein finally blinked, once, but didn't break eye contact. The intensity of his gaze was starting to feel unnerving, but Spirit found he couldn't look away. Not when he was so worried. And not after the long months of trying so hard to understand the enigmatic, private boy. Something had finally seemed to spur the beginnings of a mutual connection, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Or...or maybe build a snowman?" he suggested, realizing suddenly that throwing hard-packed snow at his meister after nearly freezing was probably not a good idea, even if it would be several hours later. "I've always wanted to play in the snow..."

Stein continued to stare at him. He offered the tea to Spirit again, who took it and only sipped from the mug this time, not wanting to steal away the hot liquid that was helping Stein warm his hands. He held the eye contact, and Stein didn't so much as blink even after the mug was handed back.

Spirit began to feel self-conscious under the meister's gaze, though he couldn't determine why. He reached up to run his fingers through his hair and watched Stein's eyes follow the motion, linger on the spot where he'd briefly scratched his head, and then slowly return to his face again.

"O-Or...if you just want to play with your microscope, that's fine too. We don't have to play together, if you don't want to. I was just thinking—"

"Okay."

The train of Spirit's thoughts that had started running out of control was suddenly halted.

"Huh?"

"A snowball fight sounds interesting."

Stein abruptly handed the mug back to Spirit, who blinked and sipped from it obediently; the tea had begun to cool. Stein's eyes finally left Spirit's face, and he buried his hands under the blanket and tucked it up higher to his chin as he turned his gaze toward the window.

Spirit looked back to find that the snow was falling in thick curtains again. If Stein did feel up to going out later, at least there would be no lack of the stuff to play in.

He leaned his head back against the wall, sipped the sweet tea again, and sighed. He felt Stein look up at him, but he kept his gaze on the window. Part of him wanted to fill the space with talk about the few times he'd seen snow in the past, but a wave of tiredness was hitting him rapidly. For once the best choice seemed simply to remain silent. He was sure Stein would appreciate it.

His eyelids began to feel heavy as he stared at the continuous rain of white flakes that left the room feeling small and isolated, and he realized he was no longer focusing on holding the mug. He swallowed down the last of the cooling liquid and then reached to set the mug down on Stein's nightstand. He knew he shouldn't doze off sitting in the meister's bed, especially since he should still be watching him to make sure his health wasn't in jeopardy. But the snowfall was hypnotic, and coupled with the sugar and the rising warmth from the blankets, and probably an adrenaline crash, it was suddenly very hard to keep his eyes open.

"It's pretty."

Spirit blinked and glanced down, surprised to hear the quiet voice. Stein was watching the unusual weather, but then looked up to meet his eyes again. His expression was still curious and seemed more relaxed somehow. The usual, calculating tension was absent from his jaw and forehead, and his green-eyed gaze—brighter now—slowly slid back to the window when Spirit didn't say anything.

Spirit was the one to stare now, noticing that Stein looked less tense overall. Only his head and shoulders were visible above the blankets, but he wasn't holding himself coiled up anymore the way he so often did, like a snake ready to strike. An ease that Spirit wasn't sure he'd ever before seen in the boy had settled over him, and he looked far more his young age as he looked out the window, his thoughts apparently having drifted back to scientific interests rather than being upset with the weapon.

"Yeah," Spirit said.

Stein glanced up briefly, as if expecting more, then returned his gaze to the snowfall. And then, wide-eyed and curious as he appeared staring out at the world of white, he yawned.

Spirit slowly let his head rest against the wall again as he watched his meister, and he smiled.

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 28. Where is my mind

Previous chapter

Masterlist

Hi friends! 

This is a hard read, Nadia is wading though the mess of her history and its a very sad history at that.

If it helps things are always darkest before the dawn <3 

Things will get better for our girl! 

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: angst, PTSD, canon-typical violence, soft Pietro, Nadia needs a hug

“Where were you born?”

“St. Petersburg.”

“What is your name?”

Nadia Morozova. That’s what I said, again and again.

My name is Nadia Morozova, I was born in St. Petersburg on the 16th of November 1989.

“Where are your parents?”

I never knew them.

“Where are you parents.”

I gasped for air, sweat beading my forehead. My muscles ached with the tension that lived within them for the past three weeks. My throat was raw from yelling and cursing at the agent who stood at my bedside, observing and noting down the words I spoke. A cool cloth dabbed at my feverish skin, my head lolled to the side, revealing Anna. There was a frown on her lips that seemed to be permanently etched into her expression these days.

21 days earlier

I didn’t see Anna until I got off the plane in Brazil, she was waiting for me at the private airstrip.

“The plan is to try to unravel some of the memories that are troubling you and hopefully if they’re less tangled, you’ll have some more clarity.”

I nodded, looking down at my hands. More and more trees lined the road as we continued. “Where are we going?”

I felt her gaze on me for a moment before she looked back ahead. “It was organized by Ross, he wanted somewhere discreet, somewhere without distraction.”

“Somewhere like?”

“The amazon.”   

The number of trees only grew as, and the road thinned out into a dirt track where two men stood waiting. One in a button-up shirt that had him appearing immensely out of place, and the other an older man, hair white and sparse with wrinkles and sunspots covering his face. Anna parked the car on the side of the track, going to the back to collect the bags.

“Agent Pimenova, I’m assuming?” Button-down asked, hand outstretched toward me. I glanced at it before turning to grab my bag from Anna. The man cleared his throat, dropping his hand back by his side. “I’m Dr Norris, I’ll be overseeing this… operation.”

“Where the hell is this place?” The older man stepped forward then, pointing toward the dense tree line before us. I looked over my shoulder at Anna. “What the fuck?”

“I hope you brought comfortable shoes.” She handed me my backpack and a bottle of water before gesturing for me to enter the trail ahead of her.

The old man who’s name I’d learned was João lead us through the forest, no map nor compass of any kind, no hesitation, and no stopping. The trek was mostly silent, save for the crunching of leaves beneath our feet and the heavy breathing of Agent Norris. I knew Anna wanted to say more, though she remained silent. Whether it was the presence of Ross’s agent, or my lack of attempts to make conversation, I was unsure. I chose to address it at a later time. The hike was long and arduous, the heat baring down on us to the point it felt like I was suffocating. I pulled the tank top from my sweaty stomach, using the bottom to wipe my forehead.

“How much further?” Anna asked.

“Little.” João grumbled.

It took us 2 hours and 45 minutes to reach the cabin, according to my watch. My watch, which was taken by Dr Norris at the door of the cabin. He placed it into a metal box along with my phone. “It’s protocol, though, the phone won’t be much use out here, it’s a black zone, no service, impossible to be tracked.” He spoke casually as he stowed the box in the room, I was assuming was his.

I surveyed the cabin, moderately sized, with three rooms off of the one we’d enter into. There was a small kitchenette, an old couch and many large jugs of water sitting on the floor in the corner. João was gone when I turned around, like he’d never even been there in the first place. Anna and Norris led me into the room I’d be staying in, withing the four walls was a double bed, beside a table filled with an array of strange devices and a screen. I dragged my finger over the various machines as Norris spoke.

I only caught bits of what he said. “Cognitive therapy… memory loss… hippocampus…”

In the morning Norris attached hooked me up to one of the larger machines, wires running from patches that he placed across my forehead. The screen was moved in front of me, and I remember making a snarky comment about the likelihood of getting a streaming service out here. That is the last clear moment I can recall from that time.

The heat never let up, there were times when I felt sure I’d burn alive. Sweat seemed to become a constant part of my existence, after a few days the shaking set in, so intense it was as if my bones were rattling around beneath my flesh. João came back sometimes, he’d make a pungent tea that burned my nose and made my head foggy.

I think the nightmares were worse, though to be honest most of the time it was hard to distinguish my dreams from reality.

On the screen there were bizarre black and white shapes that morphed and pulsed, making me dizzy. I remember a clicking sound and then the shapes changed again. Another click and everything was red.

The girl before me had ringlets of chocolate brown hair the jostled as she thrashed. I blinked rapidly, watching the man with the mask choke her. I could see flesh peeking out from beneath her suit where he’d nicked her with his blade. He wasn’t supposed to be here, I didn’t even know who he was. This was supposed to be a quick mission, in and out. That is what Dreykov had said. It was my first real assignment. Though really it was Arina’s I was just supposed to shadow her. The best way to learn. My hands were shaking as my fingers wrapped around the cool metal, it was heavy, and my arms were still weak. My heart was thudding heavily in my chest, and I could feel my lip trembling even though I wasn’t sure what I was doing was wrong. This is what I am supposed to do; what they tell us to do. My fingers were small, so I had to squeeze extra hard, holding the gun with both hands. Even with the silencer that pop was loud to my ears. Afterwards everything stopped. The man behind Arina went still, save for the way his shoulders fell and his spine straightened slightly. A circle of red sat in the center of his forehead, a stream of blood trickling down from it just before he fell backward, twitching for less than a second before his body went limp. Arina rolled her head on her shoulders, pressing a finger to her in ear and speaking quickly, smoothly, unshaken.

“Complete.” She placed a hand atop the gun that was still poised between my hands, pushing it downwards and stopping directly in front of me to look into my eyes. “Nice shot.”

I was 11. I’d only ever shot targets before then.

“Nadia.”

Anna was there, dabbing a cool cloth across my forehead. Blurry to my half-lidded eyes. Darkness consumed me with a blink.

“Are you certain she’s taking to the new treatments?”

“I am certain she will.” It was the man with the glasses, thick German accent coating each of his words. “The mind can only take so much.”

Natasha stood behind me, helping me tighten the feather headpiece. “Just like we practiced, remember, pretend there’s no one in the audience, it’s just you and me, I’ll be right here in the wings while you dance.”

I’d never been Odette before. I was terrified. I neared the edge of the wings, the stage still dark as the music began. A shove to my shoulders and I went tumbling forward, suddenly in the center, beneath a blinding spotlight. I looked toward the wings to see no sign on Natasha, or anyone. There was, however, someone before me. In the audience the were people, three of them. I wandered closer, squinting against the light to see their faces but it was futile. The closer I got the blurrier they became until there was no one there at all. I realized then that the music had changed, a different song altogether had become. It was no longer Swan Lake. A second spotlight appeared then a loud shuttering filling the room as it did. Across the stage was another dancer, dark-haired with a different garment. A long white dress with a blue and red corset vest over the top. I knew it was Giselle, but she seemed unaware of my presence. My feet felt cemented to my place on the stage, locked down and immovable. I called out for her attention, though she never even turned her head. The picture stuttered, blurred and jolted and I fell to my knees against the hard floor. Giselle twirled around me, still facing away. I called to her again and this time she stopped, her head whipping toward me but she had no face, it was only blank smooth skin, yet she spoke.

“What is your name?”

I stared up at her in bewilderment. “I-I…” The moment jolted again, distorted like a scratched CD. “Nadia.”

She was eerily stiff as asked. “What is your name?” Even without eyes I felt her gaze burning into me.

“I just told you.”

“What is your name?”

I told her again and again she asked.

“I already told you.” I was growing tired of this. Less afraid of her expressionless face. I moved to my feet before her.

“It ends whenever you want it to.”  

My eyebrows furrowed; it was not her speaking at all. I looked around to find no one but us. The voice asked me again. I blinked and Giselle was gone, then she was back. “You tell me.”

“Where are you parents.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Tell me.”

The music swelled, Giselle act 1: overture. I didn’t know why I knew that I just did. More music began then, Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act II. I’d danced it a hundred times before. It was so loud, the two songs merging and clashing. I clutched my ears to shield them from some of the immense sound. I fell back to the floor, pressing my forehead against the cold surface, knees tucked beneath me whilst I continued to cover my ears.

“Tell me your name!”

I clutched my ears tighter; the music only grew louder.

“Tell me!”

“I don’t know!”

The metal of the seat dug into my skin as my arms and legs were strapped down. I pulled against the restraints but there was no give, the walls were sterile white, so stark they hurt my eyes. The man with glasses was there but he was speaking in a hushed tone to someone I couldn’t see.

“She isn’t ready…” The movement of my neck was limited by something. I saw a blank screen before me on a trolley.  “Subject 114… this will all be undone if she is transferred before she is ready.”

The man turned swiftly, catching me glancing over at him. He returned to stand before me, turning the television on and lifting a metal ring from beside me. I looked up as best I could to see what he was placing over my head. I’d never seen anything like it. A metallic halo with wires attached. The moment the screen turned on I was back on the stage and the music was playing again.

“Where are your parents?” I was back in the chair.

“You tell me.” A sharp pain emerged in my forehead and arm. I flinched at the shock.

The shocks happened a lot. The response to incorrect answers I realized.

“What is your name?”

“I already told you.” But it wasn’t my voice that spoke. A little girl who sounded nothing like me had spoken when my lips moved.

Another electric shock.

The cool of the cloth Anna pressed to my head anchored me to reality for a moment. I wasn’t sure what day it was or how long I’d been lying here. But she was wearing different clothes than the last time I’d seen her and there were dark circles around her eyes.

My body was weak, completely depleted of energy. The truth was, this felt a whole lot like dying. A tear ran down my cheek. The hot liquid felt cool against my overheated flesh.  “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I know.” She gripped the towel tighter. “I don’t want you to do this anymore either. But you are remembering things. We’re getting somewhere.”

I swallowed over the dryness in my throat. “Where?”

“It seems, from the memories we can piece together and the visceral reaction to the ballet… well, the working theory right now is that hydra conditioned you to be a kind of sleeper agent but instead of commanding you to complete an assignment when activated your task was to forget. Perhaps to mask their training techniques or to make you forget recognizable traits of the Red Room. It’s like they’ve put boxes of memories behind a locked door and Giselle is the key.”

I turned my head away from her, looking up again. The ceiling had become a strange comfort to me, browning at the edges, paint peeling. When I was staring up at it, I knew I was here, in this room, not locked in my mind. Though, the comfort never lasted long.

A metal hand wrapped around my throat pinning me to the ground in the training room. My muscles ached from the days I’d spent being interrogated by Dreykov and the others about Natasha’s defection. His eyes were so dark they almost appeared black as he stared down at me, no emotion present on his face.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” I was losing count of how many times I’d said that since she left.

His grip didn’t let up, it occurred to me then that he could kill me, in fact he might if he believes I’m lying. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that fact. His hand closed around my throat until he was cutting off my air supply. I grabbed at his hand, attempting to pry it off but all my strength was no match for the metal limb.

I lurched upright in the bed gripping Anna’s arm as the fog cleared, the moment of clarity was short-lived however as I was forced backward against the bed. When I opened my eyes again Anna was gone and I was in a different room, white walls, fluorescent lights baring down on me. Hands held me down against cold metal and it was Dreykov’s voice that I heard then. “Calm now, my Nadia, the graduation ceremony is a reward for your strength, you should feel honored.”

I thrashed against the hands that held me, but my body went still when I heard the music begin.

‘Stars shining bright above you.

Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’

Birds singin’ in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me’

I was looking down at my feet which sat atop black dress shoes that moved us across hardwood floors. Little pink toenails stark against the polished leather. A warm palm pressed to my back, another clasping my right hand softly. My eyes rose and I saw a white dress shirt, with a tie hanging loosely around the collar, once neat and uniform, now relaxed. Humming filled my ears next, and it was as if the moment was coming to life around me. The sound of his voice was warm and strangely comforting. He couldn’t quite remember the words, that’s what I was thinking as we danced, then that is what he said to me.

“We’re doing famously to remember this dance, chickadee.”

A giggle was the next thing I heard, small, light-hearted. It had come from me I realized. The longer the moment went on the less I felt a spectator and the more I became an active participant.

“Should we show mama and buggy before dinner?”

“We absolutely must, my girl! It would be rude to hide our talent for ballroom from them.” Another giggle. I stepped off of the man’s feet as he spun me around before grasping my sides and lifting me off of the ground. My hands clutched at his forearms, as the wind whipped around me and her pulled me into a tight embrace. Just like that his face was revealed to me, brown hair that was lightening with age, a thick mustache atop his upper lip and lines by his eyes that creased further as he smiled at me.  “I think we’ve earned a treat after all that work. What about you?”

I nodded fervently. “Ice cream?”

He pretended to think for a moment, pursing his lips and humming out loud. “I’d say it’s definitely on the cards.”

“With sprinkles?”

“What is ice cream without sprinkles?!”

His hand was a warm weight filling my own, swinging back and forth as he led me ahead, however, the gentle hold was gone abruptly as I was yanked backward.

“Where are your parents?” The man in the glasses gripped my chin, scanning my face.

Then, he too, was gone.

The room I found myself in was large and dimly lit, one wall lined with books and the other windows. There was a record player in the corner, atop an ornate side table. I gently navigated the needle to touch the vinyl, awaiting the beginning of the song.

‘You’ve got a cute way of talking

You’ve got the better of me…’

I danced around the room as the lyrics poured out.

“You make me feel like dancing.” I sang, swaying and spinning to the beat.

The first crash had me frozen in my spot, but that was the only warning before the door burst open. Light poured into the room, and I felt my blood turn cold. The music echoed through the house as I ran, the first man was much stronger than me, but I was small and quick, giving me an advantage as I slipped from his grip and under his arm. I could feel my heart racing in my chest as footsteps gained on me. Further, crashed sounded as I thrashed around in the arms that grabbed me. I pulled things from shelves and kicked out, knocking over décor and anything I could get my hands on, all in an attempt to grab ahold of a surface and pull myself free. Glass shattered across the floor, carnations and roses splaying as the vase disintegrated into shards. I could still hear the music as the cloth was placed over my mouth and the world began to fade.

I cried and cried and begged for it to end. The man in the glasses never even flinched as he wheeled the trolley before me, switching on the small box television where Giselle would appear, again and again. Wires were taped to me and I was strapped to a cold metal chair. The final strap laying across my forehead, forcing me to be still, ensuring I couldn’t look away at the ballet played out before me.

The man appeared before me again and I waited for him to ask me the same questions he always did. But when he opened his mouth, he didn’t ask me a question.

“Your name is Nadia Morozova. You were born in St. Petersburg, Russia on the 7th of November. You are an orphan; you never knew your parents.”

I closed my eyes tightly as he repeated the words, over and over. When I opened them, it was just Giselle.

Tears were gathered in my hairline, leaving the sides of my forehead damn with more than just sweat. I felt fingertips dusting across the flesh ever so gently, pushing back my hair, wiping the tears. Then the cool cloth was back but the hand felt closer than usual. Anna had sat by my bedside normally, but now it seemed she was right beside me on the bed. I felt was warmth of the body beside me and when I inhaled a shaky puff of breath it was not her expensive perfume that enveloped my senses, but one that was nonetheless familiar. It was a struggle to open my eyes and when I finally managed to the room was barely lit making my groggy, heavily lidded eyes work even harder to make out the figure beside me. Even the meagre light offered by a few candles beside my bed was hard to adjust to. When my eyes cleared slightly, I felt a bizarre combination of what might have been utter relief and complete dejection. Relief that it wasn’t another nightmare or exhausting array of what I could no longer deny were memories but devastation that it was just another dream. Albeit a new one.

I let my eyes fall shut again, willing the heartache to subside.

“Nadia.” I felt the gentle touch of a hand sweeping over my cheek and when I opened my eyes again, he was still there, clearer this time as if I were slightly more awake. My eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Is this a dream.” My throat was still dry and sore as it normally was when I’d wake, voice barely even remaining.

He didn’t sound like him either as he spoke again. “No.” His voice was thick, weighed down with an unclear emotion. His eyes glistened and he swallowed heavily. When I only blinked up at him, he took ahold of my hand, lifting it to press against his chest where his heartbeat steadily against my palm. I closed my eyes tightly, an overwhelming stinging sensation making itself apparent as a waterfall of tears formed so quickly, they were streaming down my face before I could even process that they were there to begin with. “Don’t cry, please, I can’t watch you cry anymore.”

Both his hands took ahold of my face, thumbs wiping the tears from my cheeks as he pressed his forehead to mine. I held onto his wrists for dear life, with all the strength I had left in my body. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.”

He shook his head fervently. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter, not now.” The tears continued to fall no matter how much I willed them away. “You were right, I would have tried to stop you from going.”

I only held onto him tighter. As if he might disappear if I let go, like he was the only thing anchoring me to reality, to consciousness. We were both silent for a long time before my mind began functioning somewhat akin to normal. “Wait… how did you find me?”

“Anna called.” He pulled back ever so slightly to look into my eyes. “She said you were progressing well, so Ross was allowing you to have a visitor.”

I still felt groggy, and words were not so easy to form yet I felt more alive in this moment that I had in some time. “But aren’t you supposed to be on assignment?”

Pietro’s eyebrows furrowed as he gazed down at me, eyes flitting across my face, confusion evident in his expression. Several beats of silence passed between us before he responded. “Nadia… it’s almost February. The assignment’s over.”

February.

I felt sick to my stomach as his words echoed over and over in my head.

That couldn’t be right. I’d left on Christmas day; I couldn’t have been in this cabin for over a month. Pietro moved to settle in beside me once more. “I guess I haven’t really been here to know.”

For a day there were no ballerina’s though the memories still jolted into focus occasionally. It occurred to me that the break was perhaps more for the sake of my sanity than my progress. Pietro lay by my side the entire day and when Anna took me to the small bathroom to help me bathe, as she had numerous times since arriving, he was waiting for me by the door.

I awoke sometime during the night or the early hours of the morning to hushed voices. Despite the low volume I could tell they were arguing.

“She is progressing.” Anna said matter-of-factly.

A scoff sounded from Pietro. “Progressing into what, madness?!”

“Do you really think I would let that happen?” There was silence between them for a moment, I knew Anna well enough to know she was attempting to gather herself. “That girl in there means the entire world to me, you find it hard to see her in this state? Try being here every day. Watching her writhe and cry and be so exhausted she can barely stand.”

“That is exactly the point! She shouldn’t have to go through that-”

Anna spoke up again, cutting him off. “No, she should not, Pietro. I wish she didn’t have to. However, she is never going to get better unless she can confront the things that are demanding to be remembered.”

“There is nothing wrong with her.”

It was Anna’s turn to scoff now. “I don’t think you really believe that, but the fact that you’re sticking with it is exactly the reason you weren’t allowed to come with her, why you weren’t given the clearance to know this location.”

I turned over in the bed, facing the opposite wall and closing my eyes tightly as they continued to bicker.

“Can we not argue about this right now?”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t take one day off!”

“Darling… You know how important this meeting is and how much pressure I’m under right now.” A few more words were exchanged but I couldn’t quite make them out. “You do know the line of work that I’m in. I can’t just take a day off when I feel like it.”

A beat passed before I heard the door open and close. The silence carried on for a while, I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

That was when the humming started, soft, almost inaudible. When I opened my eyes again there was no Pietro, nor Anna at my bedside. Instead, there was a blonde woman whose face was turned away from me. Curls falling over her shoulder as she reached for something on the bedside table, a different room I realized. The walls were white but in a way that was neat, rather than sterile. There were things hanging, pictures that I couldn’t make out and, on the wall, just past the woman was a large canvas print, I narrowed my eyes to read it, but my efforts were fruitless, I could see blurs of flowers and pink but couldn’t make out any of it beyond that. A cool cloth was pressed to my head again. The humming grew louder, and the song seemed familiar though I couldn’t place it at first. The sound of a door opening and the clicking of dress shoes against hardwood flooring joined the symphony, pulling my attention away from the woman. I noticed his brown hair and eyebrows, but I couldn’t quite make out his face, not until he sat on the side of my bed, gazing at me with an uncanny warmth. His mustache made him a recognizable figure in my mind. He took ahold of something that lay beside my legs atop the duvet, holding it with two hands and sizing it up for a long moment.

“Here’s your arty bear, chickadee.” He spoke softly, wiggling the stuffed teddy bear beneath my arm. He leaned over me slightly, adjusting the duvet to tuck me in a little tighter.

I opened my mouth to speak but before I had the chance I was sent tumbling though my mind once more. The crashing that came before the door was thrown open, the music playing from the record player and then I was back in the metal seat with Giselle playing on the screen before me.

I’d lost track of how long I had been sitting here for, forced to stare at the television; it might have been days.

“What is your name?”

I stayed silent. The question was repeated and when I didn’t answer that time a sharp electric shock travelled through me making me flinch hard despite my attempts to appear unaffected. “You tell me.” I ground out over my pain; hands clenched into fists as best I could around the restraints.

“Up the shock level.” The man spoke.

“Are you sure?” A new voice, one I’d yet to hear. “She’s only small, I’m not sure she can handle much more.”

I looked around frantically, searching for a way out, anything that could help me. “Up the shock level and do not question me again.”

“Yes, Dr.”

“Your name is Nadia Morozova. You were born in St. Petersburg, Russia on the 7th of November. You are an orphan; you never knew your parents.” I shook my head. “Repeat it.”

“No.” An excruciating pain travelled through every inch of my body. I screamed at the pain only grew as the moments passed. When it subsided, I was short of breath and shaking violently. The man in the glasses told me to repeat it once more. “No.” I echoed my earlier sentiment, bracing for the pain that rushed through me shortly after.

There was silence for a long few moments but my head was so fuzzy from the jolts I hardly noticed. The strap around my forehead was the only thing keeping me upright. “It ends whenever you want it to, Nadia.”

“That’s not my name.” The pain was so intense then that I barely had time to register what I’d just said.

I lurched upward, a high-pitched cry falling from my lips, my entire body seizing in agony. The restraints were gone I realized though they’d been replaced with the warm weight of someone’s embrace. When I opened my eyes, Pietro was clinging tightly to me, eyes shut tightly, cheeks damp with tears. I was shaking so hard I felt dizzy. The more conscious I became the less the pain felt real but when it passed the exhaustion set in once more and I collapsed back against the bed.

I attempted to wipe the tears from Pietro’s eyes but the energy to lift my arm was hard to find. “It’s okay. Don’t cry, please…”

Pietro finally opened his eyes, gazing at me with a profound sadness that made it all so much worse. He shook his head. “How am I supposed to leave you like this?”

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my shaky limbs and clear my mind enough to find a response. “You will go, with the knowledge that soon I’ll be better, and I will be back to taunting you in no time.” I attempted to force a smile onto my lips to reassure him, though even I was unconvinced by my words. Pressing my cheek against his chest I clung to his shirt, finding comfort in the warmth, the familiarity. For a long while we just laid there, the only sound my ragged breathing.

“Did you know what you were saying, when you wrote me that letter?” I furrowed my eyebrows as much as I could in my exhaustion, eyes still shut. “Inima mea îți aparține.” He murmured.

I shook my head. He cradled my head as it fell against his chest, stroking the hair back in a comforting gesture that did little to stop the impending grasp of sleep. Just before I drifted off, when I lay in a state somewhere between consciousness and slumber, he spoke again, though, I could not say for certain whether the words were really his or just another dream.

“My heart belongs to you.”

[the-evil-lovable-simp]

Sideshow Bob x Vampyre Reader

(wwdits)

You were in the store, on your own since your familiar was too scared to leave his house. He said something about some guy, called Sideshow Bob being released a few days ago. He's scared of him killing him, which is preposterous, if anyone were to threaten you or him you'd kill them, or at the very least scare them away. You looked at the products in front of you, without the boy here how were you supposed to know what these things properly were? Bart's dad, Homer, had asked you to go get Duff, or whatever the hell that means. You see someone you think works here.

"Errr, excuse me, do you happen to know what duff is and of its whereabouts?" You asked the scrawny 19-year-old, he turned looking at you.

"Um, if I'm remembering correctly, I think it's on the 11th aisle," he replied.

"Why thank you," and then you quickly disappeared around the corner, looking for the 11th aisle. When you finally got there you looked around and spotted cans that said duff on them. As you grabbed them some teenagers walked past.

"Hey, it's not Halloween, loser!" You turned to face them.

"And good evening to you too, my young fellows!" You said, they gave you weird looks and walked off. You looked back down at the cans in your hands, whilst doing so you could sense someone looking at you. Thinking it were the teenagers again you snapped your head up in that direction. You made eye contact with a man, who was most certainly not the teenagers. He smiled nervously not wanting you to recognise him from the news. Now you got a good look at him, you noticed his hair was shaped like a palm tree, a maroon one. Your eyes scanned down the man, he had a blue shirt on with a bit of a round middle, your eyes scanned lower to his beige pants, and then your eyes lingered on his shoes, in all your time you had never seen feet that size. You were cut from your thoughts as the man started walking towards you and talking. He didn't want you to figure out who he was, little did he know you don't look at the news. "Don't listen to them, I like your costume," he said smoothly. You looked at yourself then back at the man in front of you.

"What costume?" you asked confused. The man looked dumbfounded.

"I-I-I duh um," but before he could explain himself he could hear a phone ringing. You got it out of your pocket once you finally found it, answering it it was Homer.

"Heeeeellllooooooooo," you said strangely.

"Have you got my beer yet?" Homer whined on the other end.

"Oh! oh yes! The cans with liquid inside" you said waving the duff around, whilst Bob stared at you.

"Just hurry up already!" Homer cried like a baby on the other side.

"Ok ok" You sighed, you looked back up at Bob.

"Goodbye palm tree man," you waved to him as you walked away, leaving Bob to wonder what had just happened.

--------

You walked past the Flanders' house and saw Ned waving at you from the window, you felt uneasy, you could feel all the crosses and religious stuff in that house, you ran away and got to the Simpsons' house. You had already been invited into this house before, so you formed into vapor and seeped underneath the door.

"I'm back!" you yelled, Homer came running.

"Heeeeeyyy...how did you get in-*gasp* Beer!" He then suddenly went sour.

"Only six!" He grabbed the beer off you and walked back to the couch. You then went up the stairs, walking to Bart's room. You opened the door to get hit in the head with a rock, that had been fired with a slingshot. It didn't faze you, it practically did nothing.

"Oh it's you, I thought you were Sideshow Bob, sorry" Bart sat back down on his bed looking sad.

"S'fine," you said in a monotone voice, you smiled ruffling his hair.

"Get some rest kiddo," Bart giggled. After Bart had finally fallen asleep you went to the window to watch stars slowly move across the sky, you were also waiting for it to be morning, your bedtime.

----------

You climbed out of the coffin you and Bart had disguised as a toy box. It was finally the start of the night. You walked up to Bart's window and opened it quietly, and tried your best to quietly close it. Once that was done with you transformed into a bat. You flew all the way to the park. You found a spot you wanted to land and transformed back and landed on your feet.

You calmly walked down the path, but your lovely stroll was soon rudely interrupted. A man in a hoody had walked up to you with a gun.

"Give me your wallet!" he shouted, you stared at him, waiting for him to correct his mistake.

"If you continue, you will regret this," you said emotionless.

"GIVE ME YOUR FUCKI-" You cut him off, grabbing his throat, and you shoved him into the grass, he shot you in reflex and it didn't really do anything, there was blood but it healed quite quickly. You showed your teeth and sunk them into the man's neck, draining his whole blood supply and discarding his body. His blood didn't even taste very nice. You started walking again, while you were walking you noticed a figure ahead of you. As you got closer you realised it was the man from the store. You quietly snuck up behind him.

"Fancy seeing you here," you said startling him since he didn't know anyone was there. He turned around

"It's you from the shop, you called me Palm Tree Man," he said recognising you.

"Well, I don't really know your name," you said childishly.

"Robert," he said thankful that someone doesn't know him as a criminal.

"Sooooooo, what are you doing out this late?" you asked, he was taken aback.

"I-um I like walking at night, you?" continuing the conversation.

"I just had my breakfast!" You said happily.

"ch-bu-h-what? Breakfast?!" He asked, not sure if he heard correctly.

"Yup" You answered starting to walk again, he started walking with you. That's when he noticed the bullet hole in your clothes and the blood on your shirt.

"Oh my! Are you alright?" he questioned concerned, you looked down.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, it's nothing" You smiled walking backwards. Bob knew it was most certainly not nothing but he didn't push because he'd only just met you he doesn't want to scare you away. You were enjoying talking to this man, you kept walking until he had stepped on a rake, he flinched closing his eyes waiting for it to smack him in the face and for the pain, but it never came. He opened one eye and saw that you had quickly grabbed the rake before it could hit him. He looked at you, your face looked so, angry. All of a sudden you were happy again and flung the rake into the sky and it disappeared. Bob watched in awe as it didn't seem to come back down.