#cause the rest of the book is just a haze but i remember this one detail very vividly and i feel normal about it (it drives me insane)

[profmori]

remember when mq left, xie lian only remembered him cause he wanted someone to wash the dirty clothes. i think about it alot.

[astrologysaysno]

I saw an Omegaverse fanfic, thought of SVSSS and thought, why not mix them both.

So I offer to the masses the idea of a Second Gender-less Shang Qinghua.

I have a vision that pre PIDW, he had written a lot of books before that, some of which I can imagine are Omegaverse fics

So why not have the PIDW world collide with the Omegaverse and just give everyone secondary genders.

Not Shang Qinghua though, he's special like that.

I imagine that for his formative years, he freaked out constantly regarding the day he presents his second gender. He was really hoping to be an Alpha or a Beta to spare himself the travesty and possible karmic retribution of throwing away his original plans for PIDW by experiencing heat as an omega.

As the years go by, and every teen in his village starts presenting, it just never arrives.

Everyone is clueless. They initially think he's just a late bloomer, then after half a decade of when he was supposed to present, he's still not showing any signs, people just slap the Beta label on him and call it a day.

Going with the flow and not causing a scene, he goes through the Cang Qiong entrance exam, and he gets in.

Most of the people of the sect are immediately off put by him.

For a starter, he is completely alienated to all things scent.

He doesn't give off a smell that any secondary gender has. It's like the equivalent of the taste of water, no flavour, just the scent of his nervous sweats and whatever he accidentally spilled himself with that day.

His stuff gets confused for unused supplies constantly, which is a real hassle, getting his mattress from storage whenever a newbie finds his bed and thinks it's an extra that was never used.

He doesn't seem to recognize scent either. Senior disciples have tried using their scent to drive off Qinghua like they do all juniors, but it doesn't work since he can't smell their haze of intimidation, forcing him to learn tells of behaviors through visual observation alone.

This causes him to become incapable of the process of scenting, unable to smell or be smelt. All attempts for his peers to give him a piece of their scent, it is ultimately washed off like dirt under the pressure washer.

In this scenario, it's the reason why he has never been caught as a spy for Mobei-jun. The King of the Northern Desert has tried to mark him with his scent to declare his ownership, but it fades by the end of the day at most. This frustrates Mobei-jun as he can't seem to get Shang Qinghua to make him his in this manner.

The other big thing is that he has none of the instincts that having a secondary gender would give him, a key one would be on the realm of romance.

My belief is that because of his biology, he was chosen to be head disciple.

The An Ding Peak Lord was going through performance reviews, found Shang Qinghua with no record on any sexually aligned misdemeanors, gets his work done faster, and thinks, "Let's make this boy my disciple."

Again, condolences to Mobei-jun, but I need him to remember that words exist cause his beloved is incapable of being courted by normal means, he needs to be told that you like him romantically or all attempts will go out the door.

I think about how in this AU, Shang Qinghua probably thinks he's a complete outsider that puts everyone off because he can't connect to them in the same way, but the rest of the Peak Lords look at him like:

"Hello, here is our socially inept sibling who we can't do normal ABO things with, but he's incredibly good at organising stuff, so there's that, I guess."

[glader13]

Saudade pt. 2

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Bi-Han’s mind was in a haze, he felt unfocused in everything. It could’ve been because of the war, Tsung’s plans and army were making incredible gains, an act of true power. He envies it. Or maybe, the haze was due to Liu Kang’s foolishness, tainting Lin Kuei’s honor by making his clan, and him, nothing more than thugs for his schemes.

“Brother,” Kuai Liang’s voice broke Bi-Han’s thoughts, “You’ve been staring at this map for minutes without a word. Do you not have a plan?”

“I’m thinking,” was all he said, still feeling his mind slip to something else.

“About the plan or something else?” His brother pressed, causing Bi-Han’s annoyance to rise, who does he think he’s questioning?

“About things that don't concern you,” Bi-Han began, “And you forget yourself, questioning your grandmaster.”

“As your brother, I am worried,” he didn’t back down from Bi-Han’s icy glare, “For the past couple of weeks, ever since you returned home from that mission, you’ve been distracted. You won’t even tell us where you were for the night.”

That’s why he’s been in a haze, still smelling your perfume in his nose from that night. He can’t shake you from his mind, that night revealing the ache for you has never left him. He walked out of the room, and even the temple feeling frustrated at himself. Why didn’t he say more? Why did he say those things that caused you to leave? He treated you and called you a responsibility. He should’ve treated you like his wife, as his equal. You have never treated him in such a way, even when you were in the same situation as him. Doing familial responsibilities, but somewhere in the responsibility came love, and he didn’t know how to handle it, how to handle your emotions for him, and his emotions for you.

It became obvious that you were too kind, too sweet, too perfect for him. He had to let you go so he wouldn’t hurt you. But he misses you terribly. Bi-Han walked without a direction in mind, or so he thought. He found himself in front of your home, looking at your window, thinking back to how you were his sanctuary, a place where he could always clear his head. He climbed up your window, peeking into your room, surprised to see that you weren’t there. He then walked to another place where he suspected of you being. He peeked through the window of the medical center, watching you care for patients with a smile. You were so kind to him, and despite the sweet sensation that it gave him, it made him scared. It made him realize his emotional inadequacies. That night, he couldn't get it out of his head, it was consuming, always in the back of his mind. Despite his abilities, he was the one burning, being consumed by the fever, by the fire that is you.

He wants to put those moments past him, you behind him. He knows that he should, but he can't. He wants to hold you, to apologize. He never meant to hurt you, he just wanted to protect you. He let out a sigh of frustration, hating himself for his lack of courage. He couldn’t talk to you, at least not now.

As you sat in your medical room, your mind instantly went to the days you spent there with Bi-Han’s mother as she taught you everything you needed to know about being the grandmaster’s wife. Of course, not all the days were spent in there, when she was feeling strong, you would have your lessons in the garden, and the sign of her sickness would be nonexistent in the sunlight.

But there would be days when she would teach you from her bed, her voice was soft and quiet. You remember one day when she had fallen asleep leaving you to read up on Lin Kuei's history. But there was a point when the words were just words and every date seemed the same, spilling into each other. You eventually gave up on studying, letting out a sigh as you rested the book on your leg. You placed yourself on the floor, staring at the light’s shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.

You began to drift away, your eyes getting heavier. Instead of Lin Kuei, you thought of Bi-Han, seeing his dark eyes behind your eyelids. You could’ve sworn that you felt his hands sneak across your body, the recent nights together giving your mind the fire for moments like this. Your face warmed as a smile graced your lips, thinking of his voice and the sweet words that he would whisper.

“Studying hard?” You saw him kneeling by your head.

You nodded, causing him to quietly laugh, as he kissed your lips, before lying down next to you. He wrapped you in his arms, your face hiding in his body, being overwhelmed by the closeness of him. You kissed his neck, before tracing his jaw, then kissing his lips.

“Has she been asleep for long?”

“Maybe for forty minutes,” you say, “We were going over some more responsibilities, but we took a break, and then I read up on some history, but,” you smiled, “It didn’t stick.”

“Oh really?” He smiled, “Why not?”

“Reading is nice, but I need a tutor,” you murmured against his lips, “Maybe, some private lessons.”

“Straighten out some history for you?” You felt his lips curl into a smirk, causing your body to feel a spark.

“Then I can test her when you’re done,” her voice caused the two of you to push each other away, as Bi-Han’s face turned red.

“You were awake?” You found it kind of cute, how his voice was slightly shaky, even though you refused to meet his mother’s face.

“A mother hears everything,” she smiled.

How you wish that you could go back to those days when everything seemed perfect. Bi-Han was so happy, and you have never felt such love. You felt your heart twist with pain, thinking of the private moments when you would hide in medical books, trying to find something to help his mother, secretly working with her doctors. When she died, she took a part of Bi-Han with her, something that you tried to foolishly replace. But nothing can replace a mother’s love.

You remember the day she died completely, you were alone with her at the temple, still studying your responsibilities. She was quiet that day, barely opening her eyes and when she did, you wanted to look away, feeling something in your stomach akin to hopelessness. She seemed to be in transition, her eyes focused on something higher, outside of the world that you were in. The longer you were in there with her, your mind cared less about responsibilities, you just wanted Bi-Han to be there.

You remember the last words that she spoke to you as she held your hand, “No matter what, he loves you. Care for him, please.” But you didn’t care for him, you left him. He made it so easy to leave.

You left early that day, seeing that your parents needed you home. As you walked, you thought of how it’s been weeks since you had last seen him, and you were running out of hope that you’d ever see him again, thinking back to the past nights and how you stayed up in bed, with your best night garments, waiting for him. You were aching for him, and one night with him seemingly ignited a fire that you thought was gone. In your haste, you didn’t see him lingering near the medical center. But he noticed you, though he let you walk by, too stuck to talk to you.

You were rushed by servants as soon as you entered the estate. Your parents still didn’t mention why they needed you, all they mentioned was that a guest was coming over. You were immediately driven to your bathing room, bathing in the rose-scented water and soap. The servants then adorned you in beautiful gold jewelry that matched your red qipao dress trimmed in gold that had a slit on the side.

You felt sick at the sight in the mirror, realizing your parents’ intentions. Suddenly, you felt the longing from that night put you in a chokehold, chaining your heart. Once the servants left, you went to your jewelry box, taking out the pendant and the ring. You held them against your chest, looking at the spot where he slept next to you. Why were you clinging to him still, why were you holding your breath on a miracle? You moved towards your bed, sitting on the side where he slept, in your hands you once again inspected the ring and the pendant, wondering why you were still holding onto a man who so easily let you go, who so easily fell out of love? A knock on your bedroom door took you out of your thoughts before you could answer your question, your guest had arrived.

He sat across from you during the dinner, his eyes were soft, matching his smile. Everything about him was soft, from the way his lips graced your hand to how his eyes would lock with yours, making you feel so guilty. You wonder who he is seeing when he looks into your eyes, does he see himself or does he see Bi-Han? He’s an up-and-coming politician, and you have heard of him, and agreeing with his ideology and ideas.

He’s perfect, well, he would be perfect.

You engaged with him in conversation, not failing to notice your parents’ reaction, you could feel their eyes mentally taking notes, and you wanted nothing more than to leave. He offered you a more intimate setting, away from your parents. It was a boat ride, the lake was lit up by water lanterns, washing his face in warm hues of gold. But as you listened to him, you felt yourself slipping, going back to when you rode this with Bi-Han.

It was early in your relationship with him, and he wasn’t quite as talkative, but him being there was enough. He held you the entire time, making up for his lack of talking. He even made you a flower from ice that night, making it even more impossible to leave him. Such a small gesture captured your heart. When you look at the man in front of you, you realize that you weren’t looking at him, for him, you were searching for Bi-Han. Chasing a love that won’t come back to you, and that saddened you. But as the two of you set the lantern in the water, you felt yourself wishing for Bi-Han.

You returned home late, going straight to your room. Your mind was a mess of thoughts, and you needed to sleep. Torn between wanting to fix the past and not having your past destroy your future. You need to let him go, just as he did with you.

“You were out late,” you stopped in your doorway hearing his voice, “Why?”

“Bi-Han,” you said, feeling thrilled that he was there, “But why do you have to know? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks since you’ve been hurt. You haven’t spoken to me since our engagement ended,” you said the last part quietly.

“I … I know,” he didn’t look at you. He felt his mouth open wanting to say the two words, but they were stuck, so he said, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you smiled sitting next to him, your smile grew even more when he didn’t move away, “I went on a date, my parents arranged it.”

You studied his face, waiting for a reaction. But he had none, just a slight furrow on his face. You could have been imagining it, but you felt the room get a little bit colder. “Does he treat you well?”

“I only met him today,” you said, “So I don’t know, but I don’t want to talk about him. Why are you here, are you hurt again?”

“No, I was just checking in on you,” he said, “I wanted to thank you for your help.”

“No need for that,” you said, then took his arm, “It healed up nicely.”

“Only because of your hands,” Bi-Han said, his eyes drawn to your hands, how they were still holding his arm. Unbeknownst to you, your touch was a heavenly fire, keeping him alive. He has never felt such peace when you hold him.

“How have you been?” He asked, feeling himself cross a line that he swore to never do again.

“I’ve been good,” you began, letting go of his arm, “But better now.”

He nodded, moving his arm back so you could sit closer to him and you did. As you explained how you had just been in the medical center working, he felt himself thinking of your words: better now. Better now because of him, or because of the man who is courting you? He knew that you wouldn’t be single forever, that you would move on, but he still felt hurt. Suddenly, he’s in love but you’re not. Seeing your beautiful face, realizing that your soft smiles weren’t for him felt like a stab in his soul.

But as he told you about himself and the war with Tsung, he couldn’t help but open up, feeling as if he was put under a spell. He made a mistake, and it’s more clear than ever. But as he talked, looking into your eyes, he felt resolve grow in him, he won’t let any of those threats come towards you. If he can’t have you, at least he can protect you.

The conversation then changed, you asked Bi-Han if he had anyone special, and he shook his head. The answer made your heart skip a beat, filling your head with fantasies, what if he loves me still? It grew even more comfortable between the two of you as you drifted between conversations of the politics of the and between realms, to even the simplest of things such as trying to convince him that he was hungry, because who knows how long he was waiting for you? You felt yourself growing cautiously happy, watching him eat the dinner’s leftovers as you prepared for bed. Things felt normal, and it felt as if you were at home, at the Lin Kuei temple.

It seemed as if you were going to bed with your husband.

“Taking off your clothes?” You teased, “You’re just going to take control of my room like that?”

He looked at you, smirking softly. He seemed to be doing things differently, taking off each garment slowly, starting with untying the bands around his arms. You felt your face burn, but you played it off by rolling your eyes, which caused him to laugh. When the two of you did make it into your bed, the two of you didn’t sleep. Conversation about anything spilled out from your mouths, including how much you hated your friends’ updates on their lives which you were pretty sure was just to put everyone around them down. Bi-Han assured you that you were perfect, that their lives were nothing compared to yours.

And when you woke up that morning, he was there. You were up first for some reason, early sunlight shining through the room. You looked over to see Bi-Han sleeping next to you, his hair falling over his face. But what caused you to hold your breath was that his arm was draped over you. You thought that you were dreaming, but everything, the heaviness of his arm, told you that it was real. You closed your eyes, trying to make the moment last a little bit longer, a small smile on your face.

A/N: I just graduated from university, so I am super sorry for taking forever to post the second part, but there is more to come.

- @sunsethw4 @cwbylikeyou @heartsia @neadivana, hope you all enjoyed it, and sorry it took forever 😭😭

[haunting-jane]

Aang's grief

From the first time I've watched Avatar: The Last Airbender, I've always been really attached to Aang's character and deeply sympathized with his pain. One of the reasons for that, I muse, is the show's bittersweet ending that always made me sad. Sure, Ozai was defeated, Zuko is the new firelord, and all peoples are in peace at last. But when one looks at the cheering crowd, no airbenders are found.

Aang is the only person dressed in orange and yellow amidst a sea of red, green, and blue. He succeeded in his mission of uniting everyone, but there is no way of bringing back or fixing what was done a hundred years prior. And this aspect in specific, I think, is where lies one of Aang's most stinging pain: nobody but him knows what the Air Nation genocide represents.

Nobody truly understands him, because they simply aren't old enough to grieve in the same capacity as him. Toph, Sokka, Zuko, Suki and especially Katara are all amazing, empathetic and kind friends and companions, and they are definitely essential parts of his grief journey. But they just don't. get. it.

Katara and Sokka lost their mother to Fire Nation colonialism, Toph was disinherited and forsaken by her parents, and Zuko's traumas don't even have to be mentioned. However, and I believe this extends to the audience as well, they cannot wrap their minds around a loss as big as that. And in my opinion, that is why so many fans tend to gloss over Aang's trauma or not interpret correctly some of his trauma responses.

Aang lost everything. And everyone. He lost his childhood friends, his home, his old toys, his clothes, his favorite culinary recipes, his parental figures, his books, his drawings, his bed. The Air Nation people weren't just eliminated, their culture, poetry, history, art, cuisine, fashion, ALL of it was erased. And as Aang slept for a hundred years, time went on and took anyone who could remember the Air Nation as it once was.

Although the rest of the Gaang suffered a lot, their pain can still be understood and felt by other people who went through similar situations. Aang, however, is alone. Nobody can really understand what it feels like: to be the only survivor of a genocide, with no home to go back to and suddenly awake in a world strange and hostile to you. At 12, to top it all.

This kind of pain, of rushed trauma causes immense disassociation, and I think Aang didn't even process what actually happened until like season two. Maybe even later. How could he? He woke up and the weight of saving the whole world was thrown onto his shoulders. How could a child, at the same time as all of that was happening, truly comprehend that they are responsible for bringing back an entire nation and culture? That's why I think he was so cheerful and generally happy in the first two seasons, he hadn't actually understood what had happened.

The pain, nevertheless, was there. Maybe Aang didn't truly comprehend that he was the only survivor of a genocide and what was at stake, but he did grieve for his people. And boy, he was angry.

I'm not a psychologist, but I consider that Aang was lost in a haze of anger and denial after he found out what had happened. And, to be honest, I really liked to see those moments when anger came out. It felt cathartic, it felt like something he was entitled to. Don't get me wrong, I fell in love with him as a protagonist precisely because he's a sweetie and a cutie pie. And he definitely deserves to be happy and silly as any normal child. But sometimes I feel like his anger is not really understood, maybe not even by himself.

He wasn't angry just at Fire Nation, he was angry at the Airbender elders who forced him into fulfilling his role as avatar at 12, he was angry at Gyatso for not defending him (or as he erroneously thought), but most importantly, Aang was angry at himself. He was the avatar after all, why did he run and abandon his people to die?

Being a child who did not have time or the means to properly grieve, and was also going through immense pressure, self-blame surely did a number on him and his mental health. Of course he would give up on learning firebending after he accidentally burned Katara. There was no way Aang would ever accept being remotely similar to those who took everything from him (and who took Katara's mom).

Of course he would be initially salty and angry at the people living in the old Air temple, they were acting as if the airbenders never existed in the first place, at least that's how he saw it. He was right there! Maybe his culture was dead, but his tradition still deserved some respect! Still deserved a place in the world! Still deserved to be remembered!

Of course he would be angry at EVERYONE when Appa was captured. He loved Momo deeply, but the lemur wasn't there with him while it all was happening a hundred years ago. Appa was the only one who saw everything, who had lost as much as him. Losing Appa was like losing his last connection, his last piece of the Air Nation. Of course he would be unfair, grieving children do tend to act irrational in moments of anger, especially when they feel isolated from everybody else. It couldn't have been any different, really.

And honestly, I think those issues persisted into his very adulthood. Naturally, losing absolutely everything might be something one never gets over, but considering that Aang never went to therapy and never resolved his internal conflicts and understood his grief, it all persisted.

And obviously he wasn't a very good father. Aang spent his entire life trying to fix what could never be mended, trying to make up for the time he was away in the iceberg, trying to convince himself that he wasn't a failure.

It might be an unpopular opinion, but I do believe he and Katara kept trying until they got an Airbender, and I do not think it would be out of character. Some Aang defenders try really hard to state that he wasn't a bad father. But guys, there's no escaping facts: it's almost impossible to conciliate being the avatar and the responsibilities that come with it with being a good parent.

Of course he would try to repopulate the Air Nation if he never really got over the belief that he was responsible for its destruction in the first place. I know, when studying with that guru, Aang seemingly understandood that he couldn't keep blaming himself for something that he was never in control, but I don't think this kind of conviction can be so easily internalized. Especially when you're blinded by such poignant and isolating grief.

So he favored Tenzin. How could he bring his culture back if he didn't prioritize his little Airbender's upbringing? I wanna make it clear, though, that although I understand why Aang was the way that he was, I'm not justifying his actions. Bumi and Kya were after all emotionally neglected by their father, and that was also not fair.

But, in the end, grief rarely is. Grief kept Aang from truly participating in his two eldest children' childhoods and from seeing that his legacy wouldn't lie on just bringing the Airbenders back.

And I think grief also clouded Aang's eyes with guilt as he realized he could never give Tenzin what was given to him. His tattoo ceremony must have been so sad for Aang, as there was probably only himself, Tenzin, Katara, Bumi and Kya present. The elders were gone, the sky bison were gone, the instruments, the music, the speeches. The richness and culture. He could never give that to Tenzin.

This too, I believe, is also a huge pain Aang carried. The pain of the certainty that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried on teaching Tenzin everything he knew, of trying to recuperate as much as humanly possible, the Air Nation he knew would never come back. He could find new Air acolytes, discover a new species of sky bison, sew their clothes as accurately as he could...The Air Nation technically would return, when Tenzin had children.

And he did, and Korra opened the portal and suddenly there were dozens of airbenders. But it would never be the same. They would never have the privilege that other nations had, of revisiting their own past, of having their history documented and culture preserved. No. That Air Nation would die with Aang, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

And due to the amount of pressure he put on himself, there was no way he wouldn't pass it on to Tenzin. Can you guys imagine how he felt after Aang passed? Now, he was the one responsible for the Air Nation, and he knew damn well that he was supposed to do it knowing he'd never be as good as Aang. He'd have to find a way to preserve tradition while never actually having known it. To fulfill his father's role and essentially, be him.

Tenzin's pains and traumas are certainly ignored too and deserve a post of their own, tbh. He most definitely compared himself to Aang all the time, and even though he spent most of his childhood with his father, I don't think it was necessarily easy.

Anyway. I'm not really sure how to conclude this. I don't consider Aang an ultimately tragic figure, he did live a happy life alongside his wife and his friends. But I don't think he ever stopped grieving. After all, he wasn't living in usual conditions prior avatars lived in. He had to take on so much responsibility, to grow up so fast, to witness so much chaos and death, only at 12.

In his soul, Aang was a gentle spirit, as Yangchen cleverly put, and a good person, in the raw sense of the word. It just wasn't fair. All that he went through.

Maybe there really isn't a moral of the story or a lesson here. Maybe things are just unfair and not fixable.

So yeah, although Avatar: The Last Airbender technically had a good ending, I can't help feeling blue every time it ends. Because I know Aang, my favorite character of the verse, never really, truly got a happy ending himself. And because I know he'd have to live the rest of his life carrying that pain and that grief.

It brings me a little comfort, however, of thinking that perhaps Aang was watching Jinora's tattoo ceremony. That he was seeing all those airbenders and he was seeing his little granddaughter becoming a master. And that maybe he smiled.

And that maybe, at last, he forgave himself.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Mariposa - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Thirteen of Pedrotober: Javi G Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Javi G x f!reader

Rating: This one's soft and SUPER angsty but is also rated E for some mature themes. Brief mentions of the softest of intimacy (oral and p in v sex occur) near the end but it's not exceptionally explicit.

Word Count: 4014 (idk if this can truly be classified as a drabble anymore, but here we are anyway!)

a/n: This is a VERY special day. There's a full list of notes about how this incredible collaboration came to be at the end, but I would be remiss if I didn't START by mentioning the unbelievable work created by @imdrinkingpedro and @alyssamariag. Before you read, please start by putting on THIS PLAYLIST by @alyssamariag and check out the stunning Book Cover she's created HERE. Then make yourself a drink with THIS RECIPE by @imdrinkingpedro and settle in to read THIS DRABBLE that inspired everything you're about to read here. Or you can save it for the end. The work below is actually a prequel to the world they so beautifully created. I want to note that I could not have done this without their love, assurance, and dedication to bringing this story to life. Plus the one brain cell that we seemingly share. This is their story as much as it is mine and I'm just thankful they trusted me with a part of it.

You always loved the feeling of the dirt beneath your fingertips.

It was one of your earliest memories, the way your small hands were enclosed in your grandmother's gentle embrace as she taught you how to help things grow. You could still smell the sweet scent of lemon and picture the blanket of colorful blooms that flourished outside the little home she owned in Mallorca, and as the golden sun beats down on your bare shoulders, you can hear the whisper of her lessons in the air.

A sigh of relief escapes you when your feet hit the dock. The Mediterranean is just as you remember it, reflecting brilliant hues of blue that you admire as you begin the walk to the estate on the hill. It's impossible for it to feel like anything but home as a wealth of memories flood your senses, and you will the salty air to calm your racing heart.

Your parents had been the ones to suggest that you return to Spain. On one hand, traveling halfway across the world to prepare your grandmother's home for sale, a long overdue task after her passing nearly three years prior, felt like an opportunity straight out of Mamma Mia! On the other hand, it also meant putting your life on hold for the entire summer. Not that there was much to put on hold.

The gravel path that leads to the only home your grandmother ever knew crunches beneath you as you adjust the duffle on your shoulder. The two lemon trees out front are larger now than you remember them, but are still standing proudly, and it feels a little like she's there when you pluck one from the branches, bringing it to your nose as you inhale its scent.

The rest of the house, however, immediately causes you to frown.

Long gone are the flourishing gardens, replaced instead by a wealth of overgrown beds and half-destroyed planters. Things aren't any better inside, where you cough the moment you open the door. A layer of dust unsettles as you push your way inside, clouding the space in a haze as your hope for an easy summer abroad quickly deflates. Each room is in desperate need of a deep clean, most of them need to be repainted, and you find that the floor in the kitchen is barely there. In another life, you can recall this home brimming with energy. Now, it simply feels empty.

But, as your grandmother said, emptiness can always be filled with love.

Unlike the house, the local market is exactly how you remember it. The distant sound of music is what draws you in like a moth to a flame, leading you to the rows of vendors selling everything from fresh vegetables to art. The noise of livestock mingles with the constant hum of the city, bringing the square to life in the same way it did during your childhood.

You weave from booth to booth, reminiscing about the way your grandmother would hold you by the hand as she introduced you to the people she shared her life with. You recognize some of them, still here selling their wares, but you eventually find yourself gravitating toward a booth, not unlike the one she once ran.

The memory is intensified when you spot the young girl hiding behind her mother's skirt, clutching a stuffed fox in her hand, and it's almost like you can see a younger version of yourself in her eyes. She smiles back at you when you offer her a small wave, and soon you're being led around the small booth as she eagerly explains the meaning of each flower to you.

Her name is Sofia, you learn, and she's about to explain the significance of tulips when you realize that you aren't alone in your crash course on flora.

"Javi!" Sofia yells excitedly, abandoning you as she rushes toward the man you know has been watching you. He's tall. Handsome. Incredibly so, with messy curls and broad shoulders covered by a knit top that perfectly emphasizes his arms. He drops to a knee as Sofia rushes to embrace him in a tight hug, and when your eyes meet his, something shifts.

Like there is only before and after this moment.

"How are you today, Little Duckling?" he asks, rubbing Sofia's back gently when she releases him from her grasp. "Selling lots of flowers?"

"Lots of roses," she groans, her smile morphing into a look of disgust.

It causes you to laugh, and Javi glances up at you, a flame erupting in your chest that you quickly try to dampen. Something unspoken passes between you, and you wonder if he feels it too, but then he focuses again on Sofia. "Roses are pretty gross, aren't they?"

She nods. "I think tulips are better."

"Yeah," he agrees, turning back toward you, but you're already gone. "I think they are, too."

"These are for you," Sofia explains the moment you step into the booth the following week. She's holding a brilliant bouquet of yellow tulips out for you to take, and when you attempt to refuse, she reaches out for your hand, gently wrapping your fingers around the stems until you have no choice but to accept them.

You shake your head regardless. "I didn't buy these, Sofia."

She smiles brightly, eagerly letting you in on the secret she's already tried and failed to keep. "They're from Javi."

Javi, the man who has infiltrated your thoughts for the better part of the last week. The entire week if you're being completely honest, no matter how hard you tried to resist. A quick search had granted you far more information than you perhaps wanted to know. You learn that he grew up in the olive business, that he writes for film, and that he's able to buy you far more flowers than you could ever afford. You know already that there's no way for your life to fit into his, but it does little to dull the ache you feel.

"Are they now?" you ask her, tilting your head as you look to Sofia's mother, Helene, for confirmation. Her response is nothing more than a knowing glance before she returns to another customer.

"Tulips," Sofia begins, standing a bit taller as she begins her lecture, "represent soul mates. He said the yellow reminds him of you. Of his Mariposa."

Your eyes widen. "A butterfly?"

"Specifically a yellow butterfly," comes his accented voice from behind you. You find him in a yellow shirt that hangs loosely over his shoulders, and you wonder if he chose it on purpose. "But yes, a butterfly. Thanks for helping me pick them out, Little Duckling," he finishes, winking at Sofia before she scampers back to assist her mother.

"You didn't have to do this," you tell him the moment you're alone, unsure of what else to say.

"I wanted to." It's a simple statement, one that immediately threatens to counteract any resolve you might have. "Plus, Sofia insisted that I buy the pretty girl some flowers."

The two of you observe as Sofia cunningly convinces another buyer to change from roses to tulips. "I suppose she is rather convincing."

"Can I be convincing, too?" he asks playfully. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"

You almost say no, but what feels like a whisper of the wind convinces you to say otherwise. "Walk me home?"

Javi nods, taking a step in the direction of the hill you climb each day. How he knows where you live, you don't ask, but this is a small town, and you've already learned that most of the community will be rabid with discussion tomorrow about Javi Gutierrez and the newcomer together on the cliffside.

The walk is, at first, spent in silence, although it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It feels nice to have someone beside you, filling the space in a way you haven't felt in a long time. Your reasons for traveling to Spain had been about more than just your grandmother's estate, and you feel a sense of ease by his side.

"She reminds me a bit of myself," you offer as you start the climb. "Sofia, that is."

"How so?"

"I grew up here. That's my grandmother's house," you point to the home you're heading toward. "I spent every summer until I was ten visiting her and I'd join her at the market every week just like Sofia does. I'm just back now to get it ready for sale."

You both stop at the end of the drive, taking in the yard that's still thick with thistles and overgrown herbs. "I would have taken care of it if I'd known," he tells you.

It's an odd statement, one that you aren't quite sure what to make of. "That wasn't your responsibility. Plus, you weren't even here," you continue, exposing the fact that you already know more about him than he likely knows about you.

Javi scuffs his canvas shoes against the earth. "I still would've taken care of it. Carmen was a wonderful woman."

It shouldn't surprise you, really, that he would have come into contact with your grandmother at some point, not in a place as tight-knit as this. Not when you know he's spent his entire life here too, and you wonder if you crossed paths in a different life, too. "You knew her?"

"She used to let me pick the lemons," he notes with a soft smile, stepping toward the two trees covered in yellow fruit at the edge of the yard. He moves forward, closing his eyes as he breathes in their fragrance.

"My grandfather planted them for her as a wedding gift," you explain, joining him. "She said that the scent calmed her nerves."

"It calms mine, too," he says with a sigh. The unspoken seems to be louder than the little he admits, but you don't say anything, letting him process whatever it is that seems to have a grip on his mind. "What happened to your grandfather?" he asks eventually.

You consider the roots at the base of the tree and the way the short truck barely seems to support the weight of the leaves and fruit at the top. "He passed away when they were still young. They only had a couple of years together before he got sick."

"And she never remarried," he replies, more of a statement than a question.

"No. She didn't."

A beat passes, and the two of you stand again in silence, golden light bathing you both. When the moment breaks, when his dark eyes take in your form, you feel the fire ignite again, the blush creeping into your cheeks until he nods toward the garden behind you. "How are things going here?"

You turn, letting out a breath. "I..." you start, and then you hear it again. The reminders she's left behind for you.

You don't have to shoulder everything.

"It's a little overwhelming, to be honest."

"I could help," he offers, nervous energy radiating off him, matching the feeling you have in your bones. Like you're both flying a little too close to the sun and if you aren't careful, you might get burned.

Javi, you quickly learn, is not a gardener. But for what he lacks in domestic skills, he makes up for with his company, quickly charming you as you instruct him on how to take out the dead plants and clear the land to make space for new ones.

In turn, he shows you his home. He takes you to the places you remember from your childhood. He drives you along the cliffs, your hair whipping in the wind, making you feel more carefree than ever. And in the evenings, after you've shared glasses of his homemade limoncello, he lets you fall asleep against his shoulder. He introduces you to the films that made him want to write, even if you can't seem to figure out why he's stopped writing now.

Despite the overwhelming scale of his life, he fits into yours as though he's always been there. You talk about what feels like nothing, even when it also feels like everything. From the way you take your tea to the places you want to go. The foods you couldn't live without and the kinds of things you like to read.

When he learns what you're most afraid of, you're standing near a dock that sits on the far reaches of his compound.

"Come on, Mariposa," he begs in the voice you can already recognize as the one he drops into just before he gets into trouble. It's light, completely unlike the man you expected him to be when you read article after article about the controversy surrounding his business years before. "It's just water."

A shake of your head confirms your denial to follow. "I don't swim, Javi." He raises an eyebrow, moving closer to you before carefully taking your hand in his like he's afraid you might break if he grips too hard. You roll your eyes, but you let him lead you toward the waves, your sandals echoing on the wooden dock. "You're not going to change my mind."

He stops at the edge, turning toward you before letting your hand fall back into place. In one quick motion, he grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. His shorts are discarded next, leaving him in just his boxers, and you barely catch a glimpse of the grin on his face before he lets himself fall back into the water.

"Javi!" you scream, immediately fearful that he's made a mistake. That he didn't actually mean to fall into the water. You rush to the end of the dock just as he reappears, head bobbing up past the surface as he shakes some of the water from his hair. "Don't ever do that again," you scold, shifting so your legs hang over the side, feet dangling in the waves. Close enough, your mind reminds you, causing you to grip a little tighter on the boards you sit on.

"You've really never swam in the Mediterranean?" he asks, floating closer to you, his arms swinging up onto the dock to hold him out of the water at your side.

"Never," you state.

"Will you?" he questions honestly, growing a bit more serious, "before you leave?"

You hesitate, unsure of what to tell him. Unsure that, at this rate, you'll ever convince yourself to go at all. "Maybe." He seems to accept your answer as he pushes back off the dock. "What are you afraid of, then?" you ask.

He dips down beneath the surface for a moment, causing you to hold your breath until you can see him once more. "I was afraid of my father, once," he explains, arms swaying through the water to keep him afloat. "He was not a kind man. But when he got sick, I think I realized that, really, I was never afraid of him. I was simply afraid to let myself love him."

"Why?" you question, even if the answer already echoes in your mind.

"Because everyone I love leaves."

The summer races by. Javi helps you repaint the house, the two of you spending hours breathing in the fumes and ending up with more color on you than on the walls. He hires someone to fix the floor in the kitchen, even after you protested that the house was your responsibility. He works in the garden at your side, Sofia and her mother joining you as you plant new blooms where old ones once grew.

You're kneeling next to him, both of you covered in dirt, when you realize that he's not patting the soil down firmly enough for the plants to root. You stop him with a laugh, instinctively taking his hands in your own, shifting so your knees are touching. "Like this, gentle," you breathe out, guiding him the same way your grandmother had done for you.

The pads of your fingers burn as they linger on his skin, and neither of you speaks when you pull back, the silence deafening for the first time in weeks until Sofia races to join you.

"Mariposa, I found a butterfly!" she exclaims, holding her hands out to show you the beautiful creature perfectly balanced on her fingertips. "Just like you!"

"It's beautiful," you note, wishing you had your phone with you to take a picture to save for later, for when you were missing this place and these people.

"She is," Javi notes from beside you, and it's only later that you learn that he hadn't been looking at the butterfly at all.

"He's a good man," Helene notes as you watch Javi carry Sofia's sleeping form, the two of you trailing after them on the cliffside. "And he looks at you like you're the sun."

You don't know how to respond, your focus solely on the person you're quickly finding it difficult to live without. You've desperately tried to keep some space between you and Javi throughout your time in Mallorca. To put the breaks on what feels like something quickly speeding out of control. But with each passing day, you find yourself wanting.

Wanting to give in to the thought that maybe you would adjust to the massive scope of his existence. Wanting to stay here, on the island, the way your grandmother had. Wanting to pull him into your bedroom and give in to the desire that now regularly overcomes every muscle in your body. Wanting to know what it would be like to have his lips on yours.

"He's my friend," you lie, to yourself and to the woman beside you.

Helene hums. "Sofia will miss you when the house sells," she says softly, and you know she's talking about more than just her daughter.

"I know."

Someone buys your grandmother's home.

The buyer isn't disclosed, but it puts a definitive end date on your time in Spain. You don't tell Javi, but he seems to know anyway, even if he never brings it up. You notice a difference, though, in the way he's acting. The way he'll stand closer when you're both tending to the garden or the soft hand he keeps on the small of your back when you walk through the market.

None of it changes your mind.

He takes you to the cliffs the day before you're scheduled to leave, silence lingering between you. You let him take your hand in his, let him guide you from his jeep and lead you down a well-trod path to what feels like the end of the earth.

And when you step to the very edge, the water below flickering specks of gold as it crashes against the rocky shore, your shoulders tense. It frightens you. Both the vast expanse of the sea and the emotions swirling inside you, and your eyes fall shut as you breathe deeply.

It's only when he steps behind you, arms gently wrapping around your waist in the way you've longed for them to all summer, that you relax. "Trust me, Mariposa," he whispers against your ear, "open your eyes."

So you do.

Music envelopes you when you step into the safety of his living room, the space bathed in the last of the golden light as the sun sets on your final evening in Spain. You don't speak, you don't think you can when he draws you back into his arms, swaying slowly to the record he's set to play.

"I started writing again." His confession hangs in the air, a silent plea for you to stay, because while he's never told you why he stopped writing, you know exactly why he's started.

"Javi," you return, your voice begging for him to stop, to let this be the end and let it be easy. To let you make a clean break the way you know you have to. But you can't even manage to convince yourself. You only hold him tighter, and you don't stop him when he guides your lips to meet his.

It's gentle, the way he holds you like you're the most precious thing on earth. Surrounded by reminders of his wealth and status, but with a gaze that only sees you. He finds the straps of your sundress, sliding them over your skin until it floats to your feet. You find the buttons of his shirt, delicately undoing them one at a time until you can push the fabric from his shoulders.

He lowers you to the ground once you're both bare, his lips tracing a path to your center until he's settled between your legs, one of his hands stretching to lace his fingers with yours as you arch into his mouth. When he presses into you, you finally feel whole, and he guides you higher and higher until you're certain you float amongst the stars.

Javi murmurs into your skin when he collapses against you.

"Don't leave."

The morning sun warms you as you stand on the dock, waiting for the boat that will bring you home. Tears still threaten to spill over, the same way they have since you slipped quietly from Javi's arms this morning as he slept. You turn back to look at your grandmother's home atop the cliff, sitting above the town that has felt more like home than the one you're returning to, when a small shape appears along the road that leads to the top.

Sofia.

It takes time for her to reach you, but her form is unmistakable, and once she's close enough she races down the dock. "You can't leave, Mari!" She's in your arms the instant she reaches you, your duffle bag abandoned at your feet so you can fall to your knees and cling to her just as tightly as she's clinging to you. "I have to show you my new house!" she cries into your skin.

Helene appears at the end of the dock, and you meet her gaze instantly. You don't even need to ask the question for her to confirm the answer.

They were the ones who bought your grandmother's house.

How, you weren't sure. You knew how much it sold for, and how distant the price was from their means. Still, the tears fall freely, and you bury your face in the crook of Sofia's neck until Helene encourages you to look up at her. Her gaze tries to convey something she isn't supposed to tell you. Something you were never supposed to know.

But as the boat finally arrives, shaking the dock you stand on, everything clicks into place.

You find him in the garden. Not the one you'd carefully nurtured at your grandmother's house, the same house Sofia would now grow up in, but the one just outside his home. He'd followed you around one evening, listening intently as you outlined where everything could go - the raised beds, the irrigation system, the greenhouse, the lemon trees - all overlooking the sea he so loved.

The sea that reminds you of him.

He's facing away from you, wearing the same thing he was the day you met, his shoulders slumped slightly as he takes in the space in front of him. It's empty, the same way you'd felt when you'd arrived. The same way you supposed he's felt for longer than he lets on. Until somehow, some way, your souls found each other.

When he turns, the world stops, and you know this time that there is only before and after this moment.

Your breath hitches when he wraps you in his embrace, his hands tenderly pulling you closer. When he kisses you with a silent promise, it feels like returning home. And as the breeze swirls the fabric of your skirt against your legs, it brings with it the faint scent of lemon and the whisper of the words your grandmother once told you.

Emptiness can always be filled with love.

a/n: Let me take you on a quick journey. Months ago, @alyssamariag created a Spotify playlist aptly titled "javi g's living room after he drives you through the cliffs." It's 97% of what I listen to while working. Unbeknownst to me, @imdrinkingpedro created a drabble that wove the music into an incredible story about two souls who found each other amongst the lemon trees. Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago, when I was looped in so we could collaborate on something extra special for the one and only Javi G.

To continue your story, if you haven't yet read the original drabble by @imdrinkingpedro, which is set after the events of this work, please read HERE. It's gonna melt your heart. PLUS, go check out the recipe for a drink inspired by Mariposa HERE.

For your listening enjoyment, you can find the playlist HERE, and please go see the artwork created by @alyssamariag that brought this all together HERE.

[420thewritersroom]

Not Your Fault

Another warhammer 40k piece, this time about my Salamander Primaris from the successor chapter Covenant of Fire!

Characters: Darnassis Or'nar, Belialaro

Warning: Death and slight description of the cause of death

Word Count: 986

Darnassis stares at the metallic flooring outside the many med bays on this side of the Flaming Scripture. His eyes trained on his removed midnight helmet, the dimmed visors looking directly back at him, judging him. He was still recovering after the last incident with the Death Guard left him nearly paralyzed from the neck down, bruised and beaten to kingdom come, no thanks to the leap of faith he made off an impossibly high cliffside. He finally regained some feeling in his legs after being incapacitated for 2 days, although the Apothecary has advocated that he remain bedbound until complete recovery. But Darnassis had little concern for his own well-being; there was someone he'd been meaning to ask about.

Even though the answer was one he already knew.

The sound of the mechanical doors sliding open doesn't startle the Primaris. Belialaro, a close friend of the Salamander, exits from the other room, steps filled with calculated precision as he makes a sharp turn to walk down the corridor. He just so happened to face in the direction where he noticed Darnassis NOT resting as he instructed him not too long ago.

"You shouldn't be roaming in your condition, Darn."

"I am but a room away from where you usually work; I'm not roaming," Darnassis said.

"Go back to your cot, Darnassis. You needn't strain yourself."

There was a mild standstill between the two. Darnassis remained sat on the bench, frozen in place, and Belialaro stood his ground until his fellow Primaris returned to his medical bed. Neither was budging, and Bel was close to dragging Darnassis back to his room.

"Did she survive?"

The question didn't throw Belialaro off; if anything, it only strengthened his resolve. "I'm not answering that, Darnassis."

"You can't bar that information from me, Bel. I want to know, I must-"

"Do not pretend as though I only known you yesterday; I know what you will do with that information."

"It's a simple yes or no answer!"

"To anyone else, it is that simple. But to you, it is not."

Darnassis could feel his blood boiling like an active volcano. Even though he knew the woman was dead, he still remembers her body slumped on top of his when he was going in and out of consciousness from that dreadful leap of faith. The momentum from the fall and the impact from his armor, despite holding her close to his person, cause her neck to snap and head to dangerously slam against the armor, the symbol of his chapter, unintentionally ending her life.

But he wanted to believe—believe in the impossible, believe that maybe there was a sliver of hope that she survived. Maybe he wanted Belialaro to lie to him, even though he knew it would be a lie. At least he could pretend that he saved her. He never intended to harm her; he was so sure she would survive if he held her close, allowing himself and his armor to take the brunt of the fall damage. His mind couldn't help but see her frightened eyes as he protected her before the fall. How he foolishly allowed himself to believe that such a fall wouldn't be endangering. He should've stood his ground, as impossible as that was, against the coming Guard that was cornering them closer to that cliffside. Should've fought for her life until his last bolter round. He should've been better, stronger…

Darnassis stands up, his vision hazing and body wobbling as he stood up too quickly for his own good, facing the Apothecary beside him. "Just answer the question: Did she or did she not survive?"

Belialaro stared directly at him, unwavering, but there was a sympathetic twinkle in his eye. Bel could always read him like a book; they both knew what happened, so why beat around the bush?

"Darnassis," Belialaro says slowly and firmly, "You carry the spirit of our chapter close to your being. The fire that burns within you is the brightest I've ever seen among our brothers. But your anger, your retributive spirit, it is misguided, and me giving you the answer to that woman's fate will only stoke this uncontrollable blaze."

Belialaro turns on his heel, facing away from Darnassis, "I see no point in consoling you in this matter. This is not the first nor last time I or anyone else has told you this. The tools are there for you to use to quell this doubt you have in yourself. You did what you must; you did all you could for her. Do not let her death become another name in your secret book of so-called failures."

Belialaro walks away, but not before instructing the young Primaris to return to his bed.

Darnassis watches Belialaro get further and further away from him. A cocktail mixture of anger, shame, and sorrow wells within him. Darnassis was always told he was more sensitive than most Salamanders. And try as Darnassis might, his hearts could never let go of every death of the mortals they were supposed to protect, of his fallen brethren whom he could've saved, if he was stronger, faster…

Darnassis returns to his hospital bed, as instructed, even he knew that straining his already broken body wasn't going to help it recover any faster. Inactivity fosters unnecessary thoughts, and Darnassis wished he was put under so that he might just sleep the guilt away. To hell with his Astartes biology, which prevented him from sleeping like mortals do.

His eyes glance to his removed midnight helmet, the dimmed visors looking directly back at him, judging him. The helm sported its own set of war scars. However, most of them were self-inflicted. Darnassis reaches for a hidden combat knife and scars the helm, placing a fine line next to a prior set of tally marks.

Number 200. She will be remembered as the 200th person Darnassis could've saved.

[spareseratoninplz]

Obey Me! Brothers x Reader: How the brothers react to MC summoning them when in danger. **Part 2**

Quick trigger warning: suggested domestic violence and attempt at SA. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don't read.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

************************************

Satan

Why did I agree to tag along to this?

They knew bars weren't my thing. I'd much rather be at home cozied up in front of my space heater with a mug of tea and a good book.

I took another sip of the 'mock-tail' in front of me before setting it down and letting my finger drag along the rim of the glass lazily.

I definitely hadn't dressed up for the evening. The last thing I wanted was to catch the eye of some sleazy, wasted bar patron-

"Hey there." He said as he slid into the seat on my left that I had purposely left vacant.

Well... Dammit.

"Hi there, cutie." A second one slid into the seat on my right side, and I suddenly felt trapped.

I took a deep breath and decided that I didn't owe two complete strangers any type of conversation. I tried to meet the bartender's eye to get the message across that I was uncomfortable, but he seemed to be more interested in the body shots that were going down on the far opposite side of the bar.

"What? You're too good to talk to me?" The one on the right asked, bringing his hand beneath my chin to point my face in his direction.

I quickly pulled away, but just as I did to turn the other direction, I was met with an unsavory smell as one of them spritzed something in my face that caused me to clap a hand over my mouth and nose to keep from gagging at the intensity of the stench.

"Do you like my cologne?" The other one asked, and I shook my head as I stood from the bar and started coughing. The smell was horrible and very overpowering.

"Where you going, baby?" One asked, gripping my bicep.

"You're not looking so well." The other said, leading me by the waist.

"Don't... don't touch... me..." My words were slurring and my head spinning. Something was definitely not right here. I tried to get away but my strength was beginning to leave me. If I didn't do something, a number of unsavory things could happen next.

"D-denizens... darkness... *mumble* hear me... do as I... command... *mumble*" I was hoping and praying that this spell worked regardless of the slurring of my words.

"A-avatar of... wrath..." They were passing me back and forth, grinding their bodies into me and laughing about it. My legs were becoming weaker by the second from whatever they had sprayed at me.

"..... Satan..." I felt myself lose it then. I felt my entire body crumble, and feared for the worst.

"Woah, hey... (Y/N)...!?" I heard his voice, but couldn't respond, my body wouldn't move on its own. Oh good. The spell worked.

"... WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!" I could hear him shout, but I was coming in and out of conciousness. Somehow my body knew it was safe, and I slipped into the blackness of unconsciousness.

***later***

"(Y/N)... can you hear me? Please say something." His voice was as soothing as ever to me, and his presence more than welcome. My heavy eyelids finally managed to open but my surroundings were still obscured by a haze.

"Satan...?" I asked, and he hummed in response.

"That's right. Just lie still until the rest of the drug is out of your system." He said, blotting a cold rag against my forehead.

"Drug...?" I asked, and suddenly remembered what had occurred.

"I don't know what they used. Only that it was fast acting, and made you pass out..." He admitted. The world around us was becoming less distorted, and I realized we were in a hotel room at the Corvo.

"How long... ugh... how long was I out?" I asked, bringing a hand to my pounding head.

"About an hour... don't worry. I dealt with the two that did this. They won't be putting you or anyone else in danger again." He assured. Being that he was the Avatar of Wrath, I decided not to question his methods.

I moved my body forward, latching onto him. He quickly hugged me back, and I could feel him relax against me.

"You came..." I said, and I could feel him smile into my neck as he held me close.

"You called." He purred into my ear as he continued to hold me tightly against him.

************************************

Mammon

I hummed absentmindedly as I prepared the living room for a night of bingewatching my favorite show I placed the snacks down and cozied up on the couch, wondering if the pizza would arrive soon.

buzzz

"Oh, good timing." I mumbled to myself as I stood once more to walk to the door. I opened it without a second thought, and my blood ran cold as the realization hit me that this was in fact not the pizza delivery person, but my extremely abusive ex boyfriend.

"What's with that look? Thought I wouldn't find you?" He asked, his face void of any real expression. His eyes were dark, and the smell of alcohol and smoke hung heavily in the air.

snap!

The sound of the switch blade he carried around unfolding echoed in my ears and I wasted no time slamming the door shut, only to be met with immediate resistance in his end.

Something tells me he's not here to talk.

I pushed the door back with all the strength I could muster, and took a deep, shaky breath to try to clear my mind as I began to mumble to words to the spell.

"I, (Y/N) call upon you to send forth one of your number. I summon the avatar of greed- Mammon!"

There was a quick flash, and he appeared in front of me with his back turned. A pair of dice fell from his hands, and I realize I must've interrupted him at the casino.

"Huh...?" He hummed before turning to see me. His eyes widened at me before settling on the door, and he quickly picked up on the situation as his brow furrowed with anger.

He stepped up to the door silently as I was still struggling to fight back my ex's attempts to break it down, and placed his hand against the wood. He then looked to me and slightly nodded indicating that I could move away. I did so, and he held the door easily without expending so much as an ounce of his strength.

He waits a beat, and pulls the door open. My ex charges in, and Mammon immediately seizes him by the throat. He drops the knife to the floor, and begins trying to pry Mammon's hand from around his neck, to no avail.

"I've had a real crappy run'a luck tonight... this is just what I needed to blow off some steam." He said, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Just don't kill him." You ordered, and Mammon shot you a look to be sure you were serious.

"Tch... you're no fun, (Y/N)." He said, dropping your ex who grasped at his neck, fighting to reclaim the oxygen he'd lost he looked up at Mammon with hate-filled blood shot eyes.

"WHO THE F*** ARE YOU?!" He demanded, spit dripping down his chin as he shook with both fear and anger.

Mammon said nothing yet, smirking coyly as he quickly shifted into his demon form. He squatted down a bit to be more on level with my ex, as he fell backwards onto his rear end from the shock.

"I'm her first." He said plainly, and I felt my cheeks engulf with heat as I continued to watch the scene unfold.

"THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY...?!" He demanded, throwing his fist forward which Mammon caught easily. He twisted it, and pinned it behind his back as he screamed out in pain, and used his foot to kick him out the door.

"I wouldn't come near (Y/N) again if you know what's good for ya... THE Mammon won't be inclined to let ya off so easy next time." He slammed the door, and waited a moment before turning towards me.

He was nearly knocked to the ground as I threw my arms around his neck. He placed one hand at the back of my head as he held me close, burying his face into the crook of my neck.

"I'm sorry I pulled you away from the casino..." I mumbled.

"Don't be sorry. I told ya to summon me any time, and I'm glad ya did... I'll always come for ya. No matter what." He assured.

The two of us enjoyed the rest of the night in together watching movies and eating pizza.

************************************

Asmodeus

"What a cute top..." I mumbled to myself.

"I think something tight would look better." An unwelcome voice interrupted my thoughts as a random guy intruded upon my line of sight. I pulled my head back and flinched at his sudden proximity.

"The spandex is over there." I said, pointing off towards the opposite corner of the store, and moving away from him.

"Although it's mainly shape-wear for women, I won't judge. Good luck to you." I said, waving him off, only for him to follow me.

"You think you're funny?" He asked, somehow offended by what I'd said.

"Not at all. In fact, let me be a clear as possible this time." I turned towards him, my brow furrowing as I felt my teeth grind.

"Go away, and leave me alone." I said plainly, a finally text of warning. Unfortunately, I could tell it didn't register with him when a twisted grin stretched across his face.

"C'mon. I could show you a good time. Don't be like that."

He reached out to touch me again, and my stomach turned over.

"I said no...!" I said, gasping suddenly as he seized my arm and reached for the hem of his jacket, lifting it slightly to reveal a concealed pistol tucked into the waistband of his slacks.

"Keep your voice down." He demanded, and any noise died in my throat as my blood ran cold.

"Go change into this. I'll be waiting outside the dressing room, and I'm gonna take you somewhere really nice." He said, squeezing my arm tightly before placing the dress over my shoulder and finally releasing me towards the dressing rooms.

When I was finally inside, I could feel the panic set in. This could potentially be a very bad situation. I slid my eyes closed, and took a few breaths to calm myself.

"Hear me denizens of the darkness... you who are born of shadow, and you who give birth to it, hear me and do as I command-" I jumped suddenly as he slammed his hand against the door of the dressing room.

"Hurry up in there!" He hissed.

I swallowed thickly and continued.

"I (Y/N) call upon you to send forth one of your number- I summon the avatar of Lust- Asmodeus!" I exhaled quickly as I felt a rush of cool air.

"Huh? Oh my... (Y/N)!" He exclaimed, wrapping his arms around me in a hug. I quickly hugged him back, feeling immediately at ease, but still shaking with fear. He picks up on this quickly.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong hon? Are you-" His words are cut off by another loud slam.

"Hey! I said hurry up!" He hissed.

"Asmo... he has a gun..." I said quietly, and I watched his face change from that of anger to an unreadable smile.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, (Y/N). Asmo's got this. <3" He assured. He turned to face the door, unlatching the bolt, and then violently kicked it as hard as he could. The door flew off its hinges, and the man was thrown back, hitting his head on the ground.

Asmo stared down at the man, the smile wiped clean from his face and replaced with a look of disgust and anger.

"Seems you've picked the wrong girl to f*** with." He said plainly.

The man reached for his gun, only for Asmo to step his foot down onto his hand, curving him to release it.

"Ugly and stupid... let me make something clear for you." He said, suddenly smiling again as he crouched to where the man could hear him.

A moment passed before Asmo allowed the man to scramble to his feet. He left the gun in the floor and promptly ran straight out of the store.

"Asmo... What'd you say to him?" I asked, thoroughly impressed.

"I only told him that if he didn't leave immediately I would crush his skull and leave him for the buzzards. Seemed effective enough." He said. Smiling sweetly at me, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"Let me take you for lunch. I know the cutest little cafe just down the street from here! <3"

[enigmatist17]

The world came back in bits, flashes of color breaking through the white haze that had overwhelmed his senses when the bloody chip in his head fired off. He can't really remember what set it off in the first place, but can feel pain blossoming from several points all over his body, so it was clear he'd been attacked.

Oh, wait.

A bar, some men harassing a woman, and Spike stepping in with good intentions. He'd failed to notice two other men until they'd attacked, the chip preventing the vampire from fighting back or defending himself as he was beaten into submission. At least the bint who'd caused it all got away, so there was at least one mark in the white hat column for him.

The alley he had been in felt kind of soft under his shattered bones, and it took a long minute for the vampire to realize he was inside somewhere and on a bed. Oh, Spike doesn't remember getting up and going somewhere, but he'll take what little he can get these days, and gladly surrenders to oblivion.

He wakes once again to find himself feeding, the blood soothing the hunger he'd had constantly ever since the Initiative had used him for a sodding lab rat. While it's not the blood of a sire, something Spike hadn't tasted in several lifetimes, whoever was taking the time to feed Spike was clearly part of the Aurelian line and a fair bit older than himself. He lets out a soft snarl when he's pulled away from the source of the blood, annoyed when he can hear a chuckle somewhere to his left.

"You'll have more soon, don't worry."

What the?

Spike doesn't have the energy to open his eyes or speak, drifting back into sleep to the feeling of bone and tissue knitting back together. The next time he wakes, he's able to open his eyes and sit up, but he growls at the memory of being bested by bloody humans as he looks around the room he is in, sitting up slowly as he tests his limbs.

"Finally, he wakes."

"Penn?" The elder gave a short nod from his seat across the room, closing the book he'd been reading and setting it on the table beside him. "'Eard you were dead."

"Nearly died, survived." Penn shrugged, getting to his feet with a slight wobble. "Luckily for you, I am not, Angelus could not come."

"The poof wanted to come 'ere?" Spike was pleased to find his legs moved without pain, slinging them over the edge of the bed to face Penn proper.

"Yes, we found some...information on this Initiative group that is operating in town, but one of his pe-humans had a vision." The elder looked annoyed for a moment but shrugged it off. "Color me shocked to find you a bloody pulp in some alley, you don't seem the type to fall to humans." Spike cursed internally as he and Penn held each other's gaze, the other more curious than eager to find some sort of weakness Spike may or may not have.

"You'll want the Watcher, Slayer is never far from 'im." Spike finally scoffed, able to stand with minimum pain, Penn rising with him.

"Not coming with?" Those eyes narrowed as Spike growled.

"No, I'm not. He's not far from here, 'ave fun Penn." With that he swept out of the rather nice hotel room and into the night, heading for his crypt for some decent rest away from the prying eyes of family. He thanks his past self for ensuring proper sleeping quarters below the crypt he'd chosen, too exhausted to even kick off his shoes and he sinks onto his bed and back into sleep. It spared him from thinking about how humiliating it had been for Penn, of all people, to find him, and he knew that the Slayer and the others would most likely let slip his "condition" out of pure spite, leading to even more mockery. Maybe he'll just dust in his sleep; the Slayer of Slayers is gone as a footnote in demon history because of some bloody scientists.

Man his unlife just sucked, why the hells had he come back to Sunnydale?!

It's a pleasant surprise when he slowly starts to awaken to someone running a gentle hand through his hair, and Spike wonders if he's dreaming. Dru had been gentle in her rare lucid moments, whispering his poetry with a tender voice as she would hold him, both soaking up these peaceful moments before Miss Edith would inevitably return. Perhaps his brain was giving him a small mercy, so Spike decided to play along, chest rumbling with a purr as the hand continued its gentle pace.

Should we wake him?

No, he'll be asleep again soon, he's still weakened.

I still wish to hunt them sire, the ones who hurt him.

I know, but right now, my childer needs us.

Will we take him with us to L.A.?

If he wishes.

Spike isn't surprised to find the hand touching him is real, but is familiar with hiding his surprise to find that Angel is the one to touch him. He was sure Angel would have killed him; the hot pokers and torture were more than justification enough for his death, right? Instead, he's just...touching him, and speaking with Penn, who almost sounded like he gave a shite about Spike's health. Spike isn't sure what to make of this, so he just focuses on the gentle touch, lying to himself that it was just like old times until his brain decides to fall back asleep.

He can worry about everything later.

[lavenderlyncis]

Interview music tag game

Tagged by @twostarscolliding thank you so so much <3

RULES: Put your playlist on shuffle. For each of the 10 interview questions, select a lyric from the random song that comes up. (Skip if there aren't any lyrics and make sure to drop the name of the song in your interview answer!)

1. First off, how would you describe yourself in one sentence?

'Cause we are living in a material world

And I am a material girl

Material Girl - Madonna

2. What kind of [insert my super secret zodiac sign] are you?

Cocaine and drinking with your friends

You live in the dark, boy, I cannot pretend

I'm not fazed, only here to sin

MONTERO - Lil Nas X

(This is a very Scorpio line lol)

3. You're visiting your favorite spot, what are you thinking about?

Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true

You'll see it's all a show

Keep em laughin as you go

Just remember that the last laugh is on you

And always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the bright side of life - Monty Python

(This song single handedly cures all my problems)

4. If your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

"You're such a sweet young thing

Why'd you do this to yourself?"

Or alternatively

"What made you want to live this kind of life?"

Ain't No Rest For The Wicked - Cage The Elephant

5. Say you get a book deal, what are you titling your memoir?

It's better to burn out than to fade away

My, My, Hey, Hey - Neil Young

7. Think back to when you had everything all figured out in high school, what was your life motto as a teenager?

It's Benny Worm

It's Benny Wo-o-orm

It's Benny Worm

It's Benny Wo-o-orm

Benny Worm - Jack Stauber's Micropop

(This is actually really accurate lmao)

8. Describe your aesthetic now:

I feel the lavender haze creeping up on me

Surreal

Lavender Haze - Taylor Swift

9. What's a lyric that they'll quote in your eulogy?

Only the good die young

Only the Good Die Young - Billy Joel

(This would work especially well if I die of old age)

10. And for our final question, say we believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of meeting you will be?

If you want to sing out, sing out

And if you want to be free, be free

Cause there's a million things to be

You know that there are

If you want to sing out, sing out - Yusuf / Cat Stevens

(MY FAVOURITE SONG!! I'M SEEIN YUSUF TOMORROW LIVE AAAH)

No-pressure tagging @godsofwoes @drownedlove @lilyflxwers and anyone else who wants to <33

[ylans-03]

Feelin' Yellow

Chapter 3: Gravity of Moments

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual names or events are purely coincidental. No copyright infringement intended.

"The present always has a way of pulling you back, even when your mind prefers to linger in the past."

I don’t know why my mind keeps wandering back to you. Maybe it’s because you’ve always had this way of making even the smallest things seem monumental.

Like that one time I failed a quiz. Almost half the class did, but no one bothered to comfort me—not that I expected them to. I wasn’t exactly the type to share my frustrations openly. I was on the verge of losing it, my patience unraveling with every thought. But you? You stayed calm, cracking jokes like it was the easiest thing in the world, telling me it would all work out.

That was just who you were—charming in your way. I remember another time in the library when all the seats were taken. Without hesitation, you stood up and offered me yours, brushing it off like it was no big deal. “I can stand,” you said casually. I rolled my eyes and tried to act unbothered, but deep down, I knew that moment would stick with me.

Especially that time when my seatmate handed me his phone to distract me with games, seeing how bored I was. I didn’t even notice you rummaging for a book. Then, out of nowhere, you started reading it in front of my face, dramatically narrating every word. I couldn’t hold back my laughter—you always found a way to amuse me, no matter how ridiculous it was.

You weren’t always so gentle, though. To be honest, I mostly saw you as a silly person, always finding ways to lighten the mood. Like the time I wasn’t feeling well, and you handed me a hot drink.

“Here,” you said with a smirk. “I figured this would scare the cold away.”

You looked so pleased with yourself that I couldn’t help but smile. I took the drink, and before I could say anything, you walked away. That simple, sweet gesture stayed with me long after.

Speaking of drinks, you never failed to make me laugh with your ridiculous pick-up lines. I still remember when our professor was explaining how certain beverages could cause palpitations. You leaned over and whispered, “I think I’m addicted to you.” You grinned so widely that I couldn’t hold back my laughter, even though I tried.

But it wasn’t just the drinks or the jokes. It was the little things you did that stood out: how you remembered my favourite snack, how you always walked on the traffic side of the road when we went out as a group, or how you’d pull out your umbrella to shield us both from the sun. The heat would fade with the shade, but somehow, my cheeks would burn every time.

Efforts like those don’t go unnoticed. Not by me, anyway.

//Funny Snap-Back to the Present:

The memory made me smile, but it didn’t last long.

“Leizam!��� Cali’s voice shattered the nostalgic haze. I blinked, suddenly aware of where I was.

“Wha—what?” I stammered, turning toward her.

“You’re holding up the line!” she said, pointing at the annoyed enrollment officer glaring at me.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” I hurriedly handed over my forms, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Cali leaned in, whispering, “You were daydreaming again, weren’t you? Was it about him? You always get that weird, dreamy look when you think about him.”

“What? No!” I hissed, fumbling with my pen. “It wasn’t—just mind your business!”

“Sure, sure,” she teased, smirking as she walked ahead.

I sighed, my heart racing. Great. Not only was I stuck thinking about you, but now Cali had ammunition to tease me with for the rest of the day.

Next in:

Chapter 4: Crossroads of Conversations

I'll try posting the chappiee 4 laturr!!! >_<

[omegalomania]

highlights from the virtual signing joe did back before his book tour, cause i havent seen anyone talk about it yet:

ppl who participated in the signing got to do a sweepstakes for a merch package and when the spokesperson was showing it off joe was like "and it's got a LOCKPICK and a GARROTE and a BALACLAVA so just DO WHATEVER DAMAGE YOU LIKE"

he introduced black flag, his favorite band, to his daughter and she thought it sounded terrible lkdfjldjfkd

when fob went to induct green day at the hall of fame joe mentions smoking weed with joan jett and miley cyrus. icon.

he regrets not having better tools to deal with his anxiety about touring and worrying about how every time he got in the van he'd be leaving home. "...and i wish i had, instead of looking out the back window, looked toward the front of the van and realized i was with four or five of my best friends and that i was in safe company."

re: the rest of the band, "they are like brothers, at the end of the day. it's a brotherly relationship."

his 8 year old begs him to watch horror movies and r-rated movies with him and he tells her she can watch them when she's 30

"let's talk about music. nothing better than talking about music. don't listen to it. just talk about it."

when asked about his proudest accomplishment: "i love all my children equally. but here's the reality. i am SO proud of fall out boy because it's a gigantic band that i started as a teenager. we just did stadium shows supporting GREEN DAY."

he's also super proud of the damned things and how honored he was that scott ian from anthrax, one of his personal heroes, trusted him to do so much writing

the interviewer goes, "all right here's a softball" and joe goes, "SOFT ME. uh, what?"

his favorite guitar is his 1965 reverse-body gibson firebird

his favorite transformer is grimlock

this question was supposed to be a lightning round but when asked "nintendo or sega" he says nintendo and then spends about 3 minutes talking abt punchout and then rattling off obscure sonic trivia. i love him.

his favorite video game is final fantasy 7. he says he "nearly flunked" out of middle school because of it.

he has a hard time picking a favorite horror movie since he loves horror but he picks "texas chainsaw massacre" as the one that affected him the most. he also recommends "anything for jackson" because it will "give you nightmares, if you are interested in having nightmares"

his favorite star wars character is yoda because his wisdom applies to real life very frequently

a fan-submitted question talked about with knives and how much the fan liked his vocals and both the interviewer and joe smiled REALLY big!!!!

sadly he doesn't like singing that much cause he doesn't like his voice. also he says fall out boy has a really good singer already. but he won't rule out doing some solo venture and recording super distorted vocals someday

re: what he wants to be remembered for the most - "having a sick bod, man."

"no, genuinely, i want my children to remember me as a good father. that's like the truth. and for having a sick bod."

he really doesn't hold any grudges about the hazing he got in the early days of touring because it was an initiation ritual and it weathered him quickly to touring life. he doesn't think people could get away with it now though.

"if you're gonna punch somebody though, do it when they're not looking"

re: favorite song to play live - "i don't care" because it "Just Rocks." and it's really fun!

his bluetooth in his car started playing "of all the gin joints in the world" and he texted patrick about how good of a song it was and how it'd be nice to play it live again

"as the kids maybe used to say, it SLAPS." brief discussion regarding the difference between a bop and a slap.

currently most of his musical ambitions lie in whatever fall out boy will do next

he tried scoring and composing for commercials and the like and he found that he really does not like it that much

he apologizes for not getting a haircut before the livestream. "this is just how i am, sloppy and unpresentable." (note: he was doing this livestream after a 13-hour flight from rock in rio in brazil)

[heartfullofleeches]

can we get a scenario where y/n founds out Selene's obsession towards them

"Selene.. what did you do?"

Scrapbooking. That's what your wife had alway claimed to be doing everytime she headed down to the basement. Selene was a woman of many hobbies, given the fact she had time to spare. It was kind of funny how she'd cover the living room in new novels, your bed in balls of yarn when she did crochet at night; but she always kept anything related to the active she was most passionate about downstairs.

"I'll show you someday, dear. When we're old and grey, and can look back fondly on it."

Those were her words almost verbatim each time you asked. You eventually grew too curious for your own good. All you wanted was to see what brought such a wide smile to her face every night. She deserved it after her upbringing; the only joys she had nowadays being you, the home you made, and whatever lied below. One little peak couldn't hurt, right?

You find the key in her jewelry box; having to ever so carefully sort through the trinkets to not walk your sleeping wife resting in bed. With key in hand, you head to the basement. It was a behind a door in the kitchen and down a flight of stairs; a place to go for no distraction from the surface world - no sound able to enter or exit.

Unlocking the door; you're met with darkness and the faint scent of apple blossom, the flavor of her favorite candle. You remember the room's original smell when you first moved in and the only other time you had entered; mold and stale air. She rolled up her sleeves the next day and cleaned out the room top to bottom from what you heard.

You search around for a light switch; another scent masked by the sweet smell of fruit wafting through. You cover your nose with your shirt; thinking some animal must've come through and died, and carry on. Eventually, you find that little switch and turn the lights on; faced with a reality you never could have imagined to be true.

A table sat against a back wall; the only surface the room's dim light seemed to illuminate. Pictures were taped along the walls, and a black book rested atop the hard wood. With it being the easiest to spot, you decide to check out the book first.

It was her scrapbook; the cover bare except for a golden trim around its border. Opening the booklet, you find a pink heart on the first page; text written in cursive over its center.

"My love."

Flipping through, you find page upon page to be full of images of you, and her on occasion. The pictures from a photo booth on your first date, photos from your wedding, ones of you around the house, you... asleep. The more you looked through, the stranger they got. You behind a shower curtain, taking to neighbors, going about your day in town. You were sure there were even a couple taken before you got together given the date penned beneath, all taken without your knowing.

If there was anyone beside her in the photo, their image was distorted in some way. Scratched out with some sharp object, covered up by spots of paint or just straight up cut out. It made your stomach twist into knots. Flipping and turning. The pages get messier. Once placed in a four to a page format; photos now cram each page with no space in between. A few stains dot the white edges; the pads of her fingers dipped in a crimson dye.

After a while, the pages turn up blank, but you keep going. You couldn’t stop. On the final one, you find one last picture. The one you took on your first night home; a tagline beneath and the red print of her hand beside it.

"Everything I do, I do for you."

You slam the book shut, rocking the table on its legs from the force. You take a step back, unsure as to what you've seen. The room feels cold; that stench causing your mind to haze. Looking at the table again, you notice something you hadn't on first go. A drawer, slightly ajar and red leather poking through. A journal. Even as the wise part of your brain tells you not to, you begin to read. The first dozen pages are torn out, cursive letters written on those that remain.

"Just one night away, and I'll be married to the love of my life. It feels like a dream I never want to wake up from. I used to spend so many nights awake wondering if they'd love me, if I deserved their love. I can put the nightmares of my past to rest while in their arms."

"We've just moved into a new house, our forever home with hope. Our neighbors seem friendly and so do the friends my Y/n has come to make. They've always attracted a crowd."

"One of their friends invited them out for coffee today. Y/n asked if I'd like to come, but I politely declined. I needed to grab a couple things from the store, and happened to see them at the shop. They had their hand on Y/n's arm."

"That friend came by again, when Y/n wasn't home. They asked what made them happy, they asked if I made them happy. I heard something in the hallway today."

"They came by again. They always do. Looking for Y/n, so I let them in. Y/n, I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

"I saw them again tonight. I wonder if Y/n misses them. I wonder if they've heard the sounds from the basement. Late at night, I can hear their screams. Y/n holds me tighter those days, when I'm cold. They've always been there for me. They're all I need. From now on, everything I'll do, I'll do it for them."

You swallow the lump in your throat; your hands clammy from the sweat that ran down your palms. Hesitantly, you look towards the wall; the final place you had yet to look. Before your eyes could take in the sight before you, a voice comes from your right.

"Y/n...?"

You look towards the door. Selene stands on the last step, robe snuggle around her shoulders. Her face read innocent, but her eyes told so much more.

"What are you doing down here?"

You didn't even realize you were crying until the tears drip off your chin; only able to utter a single sentence.

"Selene, what did you do?"

"Y/n, honey, just come back to bed."

"What did you do."

She enters the room, holding out her arms to you. "It's not easy to explain.. we can take about it in the morning."

"What did you do?!"

"What I had to!" She shouts back. "You don't know how many people want to take you away from me, how much they tell me I don't deserve you. I need you, Y/n. I love you."

She walks towards you, placing her head on your chest; feeling the heavy drum of your heart. "So much... that it hurts."

You gently push her away, refusing to look her in the eyes. "Selene, you have to tell me everything."

She shakes her head. "No.."

"It'll be alright. You just need to tell me what happened."

"They'll take you away from me.."

"Selene you hurt someone.."

"I did it for you!" Selene grabs the basement key which you had careless left on the table, running to the door before you can even realize what was going on. The door shuts before you can make it across the floor, the lock clicked into place. You pound on the door; shouting her name.

"Selene? Selene! Please open the door."

Selene is eerily calm, placing her hand on the door as it vibrates from your banging. "It's okay, my love. I'll let you out when you've calmed down. We can talk this over during a nice breakfast in the morning."

"Dont leave me down here!"

"I'm not going to." Selene sinks down beside the door, making herself comfortable on the hard floor. She doesn’t sleep that night; even when the pounding stops and your tears begin. She offers you the best comfort as she can through the thick wood; no one there to do the same for her while the shadows linger beside her - but that's okay. Listening to their damning whispers for one night is the least she can do as your loving wife.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

have a little pregnant reader fluff with some mild angst. enjoy! 

“Hey, how d’you want your eg - whoa!” Hopper’s eyes bug out a little bit when he turns and sees you standing in the kitchen doorway. “What?” you reply, rubbing a fist over your eye.

Hopper’s haze flicks down to your belly - the belly that hadn’t been there last night. A small, soft smile flickers underneath his moustache. “You, uh, popped last night, huh?”

“Oh!” you look down at the slightly protruding curve of your stomach and run one hand over it slowly. “Yeah, this is new.” Your cheeks heat in a blush when you realize that Hopper can’t stop staring at your stomach. Using both hands, you cover the swell, self-conscious about his gaze. “I was flipping through the book this morning, it’s a little early to be so big, but...” you trail off and shrug. “It’s...uh....” Hopper trails off too. He looks conflicted and you get it. You really do. But the way your body is changing is difficult on you too. You feel foreign in your own skin and the way he keeps staring isn’t helping things. “I’m just gonna go get dressed,” you mumble, hands still over your stomach as you scurry back into the bedroom. Your back is turned when Hopper smacks himself in the forehead and mutters, “asshole.” It’s too hot out for the cotton sweater you put on, but it’s big enough to hide the growing bump. You return to the kitchen, a falsely bright smile on your face. “So, what’s that I heard about eggs?” If Hopper’s surprised by your sudden brightness, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he nods and puts a plate of scrambled eggs in front of you. “Scrambled, ‘cause that’s easiest and I’m runnin’ late.” He kisses the top of your head and squeezes your shoulder before turning and shouting, “El! Let’s go!” “I’m not ready!” she shouts back and you put up a hand to stave off an outer shout from Hopper. “I’ll take her. I’m starting at the library later today anyway,” you say quietly, forking some eggs and taking a bite. Hopper checks his watch and nods. “Okay, yeah. Stop by for lunch?” he asks, already heading for the door and snagging his jacket off of the hook. You nod. “I’ll pick up sandwiches or something.” “Great,” Hopper steps outside and calls back, “I’ll see you later. Bye El!” The door closes behind him and you slump a little at the table. El’s out of her room a minute later, dropping into the chair across from you and grabbing the orange juice Hopper had poured for her. You study her features quietly - it was hard to believe you had only known her for a little more than a year, but she was already one of the most important people in your life. You wonder how your heart could possibly expand any more than it already has. “Y/n?” El’s voice breaks your thoughts and you startle. “Hm, sorry, hon. Ready to go?” you push away from the table, standing and already looking around to remember where you left your keys. “No,” El replies and then shakes her head. “Yes. But aren’t you going to be hot?” You raise your eyebrows and look down at your sweater. “Oh, the library’s cold, sweetie. I’ll be fine.” It’s a little bit of a lie, but Jane doesn’t have to know that. The girl shrugs, “Okay.” She immediately changes topics in a non-sequitur, “What are we naming the baby?” Her question is a throw-away, asked as you’re shuffling her out the door. El’s excited about the baby, you know, and she asks questions randomly, as she thinks of them. “Not sure,” you reply, one hand resting over the newly visible curve. “Do you have any ideas?” “Not yet,” El says smiling. “But I can think of some!” You smile brightly - a real one this time, not the fake one you gave Hopper earlier - “I’d love to hear your suggestions. How about we talk about it over dinner?” She nods happily and then the rest of the ride to Hawkins High is quiet. ******* It’s a little after one when you step into the police station, waving happily at Flo as the door shuts behind you. “He’s been in a real mood today, honey,” Flo tells you in a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe an appearance from his sweetheart will do some good.” That’s odd - he had been fine when he left the cabin this morning. You bite the side of your cheek and nod. “I’ll try my hardest, Flo. Can’t have him making your job harder than it already is.” Flo laughs and waves you back to Hopper’s office. It’s quiet - Callahan and Powell are nowhere to be found and there’s only a handful of other officers milling about. You push open the door to Hopper’s office without knocking. He doesn’t look up at the noise, only saying, “Flo, thought I told you I was busy?” “Too busy for lunch?” you reply, smiling a little and kicking the door shut behind you. Hopper looks up now and his face splits into a smile at the sight of you. Even as he’s smiling, his gaze drops to your stomach. You’ve got the take-out bag blocking the new curve, but his gaze feels like an X-ray. Your smile becomes a little more forced and you sit down in the chair across from his desk. He takes the brown bag from you and pulls out one sandwich and two drinks. “You not eatin’?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “No,” you shake your head, taking the bottle of iced tea and cracking it open. “My stomach’s turning. Nothing’s appetizing.” “I can run out for crackers,” Hopper offers, already half out of his seat. You wave a hand at him, shaking your head. “Eat, Hop. I’m okay,” you promise. “Now, what’s got you in a mood?” Hopper pauses from pulling back the foil on his sandwich. “Nothin’,” he says, rubbing at the side of his nose. “Oh, bullshit,” you roll your eyes. “I know you, Jim Hopper. Plus Flo ratted you out.” Now it’s Hopper’s turn to roll his eyes. “Damn woman, can’t stay outta my business.” He bites the inside of his cheek and looks at you again. “It’s nothin’, I promise, Y/n. Just...feelin’ off.” “Off?” you repeat quietly. Hopper’s gaze is back on your stomach - his forehead creased and eyebrows knitted together. You huff. “Goddamn it, Jim. I’m getting fat, I know. Enough with the fucking staring.” He startles. “Shit,” he exclaims, looking you in the eyes. “It’s not...you’re not gettin’ fat, sweetheart.” “Then why the fuck do you keep staring?” you mutter, embarrassed and annoyed by the tears that fill your eyes. Hopper scrubs a hand over his face, pulling down on his beard. “Just...makes it real. There’s really a baby in there.” “Yeah,” you sigh. “There’s really a baby in here.” “Y/n, sorry if I’ve been starin’,” he sighs. “I just can’t stop lookin’ at it. It’s all real now. Before, it was like, like fake. But now, I can see it. We’re havin’ a baby.” “Yeah, we’re having a baby,” you agree, your voice wavering. “But you seem so freaked out by the idea.” “Hey, c’mere,” he says, gesturing you over. You stand reluctant and sit on his lap after he pats his thigh. Resting his forehead against your arm, Hopper admits, “Maybe I wasn’t as excited as I shoulda been, but fuck, honey, seein�� you this mornin’ with that belly all of a sudden...” he trails off, thinking. “I got so fuckin’ excited. And then I felt guilty ‘cause I don’t deserve you and the good shit.” Your annoyance at him melts quickly and you relax in his embrace. “Jim, you do deserve all the good things,” you say quietly, one hand resting against the back of his neck. “You’re allowed to be happy.” He gives you a wry little smile. “Been halfway-happy for so long, I don’t remember what full-happy is.” “Halfway-happy?” you cock your head in confusion. “Ask El,” Hopper laughs. He lifts his free hand and it hovers over your stomach. “Go ahead,” you encourage him, covering his hand with your own and gently pressing it down until it covers your stomach. His fingers splay out and his hand’s large enough to almost cover the entirety of your stomach. Hopper closes his eyes briefly, his eyebrows drawing together over his nose. “Jim?” you murmur, biting your lower lip. His moustache twitches as he smiles and moves his hand slowly over the bump. “We’re havin’ a baby,” he says, his voice low and reverent. You drop your head to the join of his neck and shoulder, a muffled sob escaping your mouth. “Yeah,” you choke out, “we’re having a baby.” The knot that had been building in your chest for weeks finally loosens and it feels like you can breathe easily now. The arm that’s wrapped around your back, holds you tighter and the hand covering your stomach stays there, a warm, heavy, reassuring weight. Hopper rests his cheek against the top of your head. “God, how the fuck did I get so lucky?” he mutters rhetorically. His thumb brushes small circles over your belly button. You sigh happily, brushing your nose against his neck. “You picked me, that’s how.” Dropping your hand to cover his, you squeeze his fingers and enjoy the sense of calm that’s settled over Hopper’s office.

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[heliads]

Can You Hear Me?

Based on this request: "Thomas x sister imagine but they share the gift of telepathy. And they can feel each other's pain when one of them gets hurt the other feels it."

the way the telepathy part of the maze runner books was so fun, i get why they couldn't put it in the movies but still 😭

masterlist

Can you hear me?

It takes you a while to wake up. Far too long, actually. You’re not sure how you know that, how you can set your standards of right and wrong without any prior experience, but somehow you know anyway. It’s instinctual, some base instinct that some mistake has been made, an error in your programming that causes your nerves and neurons to freeze.

That’s the worst part about this, you think, the lack of experience. You’re halfway asleep still, trapped in some haze of closed eyes and swimming darkness. You’re just conscious enough to form thoughts, and those thoughts all totally freak when you realize that you have no memories. No hands held, no laughs memorized. You can’t recall a single voice that has ever said your name, if you have a name at all. What is it, to be known? You cannot even know yourself.

I need to know if you can hear me. It’s me, it’s–

It’s this sheer fear, both of your lack of memories and the insistent voice, that starts to drag you out of your state of sleep. You fight like a drowning man, tugging your consciousness up and out of the endless nothingness until you start to surface. It’s like taking greedy lungfuls of air, how your fingers start to twitch at your sides and your eyes blink for the first time in what may be forever.

You sit up as soon as you can, gradually forcing your torso up until you can rest upon your forearm. You’re in a room of sorts, shoddily constructed by woven branches and bits of brick and stone at the base. There are two boys in the room with you, and although they’re across the space from you, they still notice the moment you start moving. Perhaps they’ve been waiting for it for a while. You certainly have.

Are you there?

Your voice is hoarse and cracked when you first speak, although it evens out with practice. “Who said that?”

A blond boy glances at you, evidently confused. “Sorry, what was that?”

You cough and try to gather your wits back about you. “I heard a voice. Who spoke?”

The other boy in the room, this one dark-haired, speaks next. His eyes dance with some strange combination of mirth and curiosity. “Nobody’s talking, Greenbean. This is fantastic. First girl we get and she’s out of her shuck mind.”

The boy’s blond compatriot smacks him on the arm before speaking again. This time, you notice his strong British accent. “Shut it, Minho. If you’re not being useful, you can leave. Go bother some of the others.”

Minho grins shamelessly, and you get the feeling that he and the blond boy have had variations of this conversation many times before, on all sorts of days and in all sorts of settings. “None of them take my bothering half as well as you. Besides, you asked me to be here to help out.”

Newt widens his eyes to make a point. “Yeah, to help. Not to freak out our guest, which is what you’re doing right now.” The blond boy turns towards you, as if remembering that you’re still there. “Right. New girl. How do you feel?”

You rub a tired hand over your face. Neither of them seemed to hear the voice, and you’re perfectly fine with ignoring it for now. The last thing you need is for the first people you can ever remember thinking you’re insane.

“Like I can’t decide whether to go back to sleep or never close my eyes again. What happened to me?”

Newt folds his arms. “We were hoping you had some idea of that. You’re in the Glade right now, same as the rest of us. Every month, a boy is sent up, and you seem to be the latest arrival.”

You frown. “I’m not a boy.”

Minho chuckles. “Yeah, we can see that fairly well,” he adds, despite a warning look from Newt, “Also, you were unconscious when we found you, which was weird. Like the Creators put you in before they finished what they had to do with you.”

Your brow furrows. “The Creators?”

Newt nods. “That’s our word for the bloody slintheads who sent us up here in the first place. It’s also something we don’t tell the Greenies immediately, Minho.”

Minho grins, apparently so used to Newt’s exasperation that it can wash over him like a wave. “My bad. Just ignore that last part, will you?”

You give him a curious look. “We were sent up here, then, and these Creators can control us. Why was I unconscious?”

Newt and Minho exchange significant glances, and although you’ve only known the boys for scarcely a few minutes now, you’re surprised to see the dark-haired boy’s joking attitude drop away from him like a stone. The characteristics of your arrival in this Glade must have been unusual, because neither one of them seems all too certain of themselves.

At last, Newt speaks. “We’re not entirely sure. It was strange. The whole thing is strange. To make things worse, our latest arrival seemed to recognize you instantly. It was a boy, he knew your name the second he saw your face. That shouldn’t happen, obviously, and–”

Newt keeps speaking, but another voice speaks over him. Again, the voice in your head.

Can you hear me? It’s me, it’s–it’s–

“–but I don’t think you should have to be too worried. We’ll sort this out soon enough, we always do.”

You hold up a hand. “Who was the boy who knew me? What was his name?”

Newt and the boy in your head speak at the same time.

It’s me. It’s Thomas.

“Thomas. He’s an odd one, to be sure, but this whole situation is odd. Do you know your name, though?”

You press a hand to your head, to try and stave off the voice still ricocheting against your temples if anything else. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything.”

The voice in your head repeats, this time insistent, as if certain that you’re ignoring him.

You know who I am. I think you do, at least. It might have been a long time ago. I’m Thomas. You’re Y/N.

Your eyes widen. “Y/N. That’s my name, isn’t it? That’s what Thomas said.”

Minho and Newt exchange glances again, this time even more nervous than the first time around.

Minho chuckles unhappily. “Well, I don’t like that at all. Either Thomas is just a really good guesser, or something’s going on.”

Newt presses the bent knuckles of his index finger against his mouth, trying to figure this out. “We’re in the Glade, Minho. Something is always going on. I don’t like it either, though.”

Minho cocks his head to the side. “Think they knew each other beforehand? That might explain it, even if their memories were wiped. Maybe they’re remembering each other.”

Newt nods slowly. “Could be. They have the same look in their eyes.”

Minho finishes his sentence. “Like trouble.”

You look warily between the two of them. “Can I meet this Thomas guy? I feel like that might answer at least a couple of questions.”

Newt shrugs. “Sure, why not. He’s around back, probably in the Deadheads. Those are the woods, by the way,” he clarifies upon seeing your confused look.

Minho scratches the back of his head. “I’m sure you’ll find him fairly easily. The two of you certainly seem well enough connected for that.”

You’re not sure quite what he means by that, but he’s not entirely wrong. You’re restless to do something, so you swing your legs off of the hospital cot you were lying on before and make your way out of the building.

The sun is blinding in the sky, and you have to raise a hand to block out some of its brilliance. You spot a low crop of trees nearby, and start to make your way across a grassy field. There are other boys dressed similarly to Minho and Newt all around you, working in various areas. They all pretend not to stare, but you can feel their eyes pinned to you as you walk.

The shade of the scraggly woods is a blessing, both from the brightness of the sun and for protection from the others’ eyes. You head further into the twisting thickets, and soon enough, the voice in your head makes itself known yet again.

Do you know who I am?

You answer out loud this time. “Thomas.”

When you turn around, a boy is standing behind you, hand raised as he ducks underneath a low hanging branch to get closer to you. He feels familiar, somehow, like passing somebody in a hallway when you swear you’ve seen them before.

He’s studying you, and you realize that you must be doing the same.

“You said my name was Y/N?” You ask, just to fill the silence.

Thomas nods hesitantly. “I don’t know how I knew it, I just did. You’re my–” he breaks off, then tries again a moment later to no success. “We’re–”

You answer before you realize what you’re doing. “You’re my brother,” you try, and somehow it feels right.

Thomas’ eyes clear. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s right. I didn’t realize we could talk to each other in our heads until about an hour ago. It’s like I could feel you coming up in the Box. I don’t know how to explain it, but I did.”

You nod. “I can feel you know. In my head.”

Your voice cracks on the last word. You don’t know what this is, some sort of sick game or cruel joke, but you’re in the middle of a massive maze without any memories and someone able to talk to you in your mind. This is wrong. You don’t know who put you there, who the Creators are or what they did to you, and all of this not-knowingness is eating away at you like acid on bone.

Thomas’ hand twitches, like he wants to reach out to you then thinks the better of it. “Listen, I know how this seems. It’s bad, right? Very bad. It gets better, though. Promise. The guys here are nice for the most part, they’ll help you fit in. You’ve got me, too, if that means anything.”

You let a hesitant smile spread across your face. “I’m starting to think that it does.”

As it turns out, having Thomas means everything to you. Sure, the Glade is still a mess of confusion and danger, but you’ve got friends, and you’ve got your brother. You’re certain that he is your brother, more certain than you are that there is a way out of the Maze or that you will someday know a life outside of these walls.

The mental connection is strange, immediately, but it works. You and Thomas are able to exchange casual comments throughout the day, something that’s extremely useful when the two of you start working on opposite sides of the Glade.

And, when one day turns bad and Minho and Alby don’t manage to make it through the Doors before they close, you get to watch as Thomas throws himself through the shrinking gap in the stone walls. You reach for him with Newt, you come up short just like Newt. Thus you stand before the impassive stone, and for the first time you wish that the mental connection wasn’t there so you won’t have to feel a sudden, all-encompassing emptiness and know that Thomas is dead.

That emptiness never comes, though. A few hours later, Thomas dares talk to you, although his communications are few and far between as he’s running for his life against the Grievers. He sounds terrified, but you’re able to give him directions when he needs it. No one asks why you’re in the Map Room at midnight, and no one needs to know. You hear Thomas say where he is, and you tell him where to go. No other explanations are needed.

You’re able to hear Thomas in your head the whole night, but you don’t feel yourself relax until the first threads of dawn begin to wind themselves about the Glade, pulling and tugging at all of you. It’s time to start a new day, and when morning finally rises, it finds you standing at the Doors with Newt, Chuck, and the others.

Thomas isn’t there at first, not when the Doors first open. You stay, though. You can hear Thomas whispering that he’s almost there, and if there’s one person you trust, it’s your brother. That’s why you’re smiling even before he rounds the corner and comes into view, why you know it’s going to be alright in the darkest night. He’s your brother, and that means you will never have to be alone.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @hiya-its-amber, @thatfangirl42, @gods-fools-heroes

[amourlyns]

⠀ 「 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 」

⠀ ━━ 🌷 💕

✦ 𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 ⨟⠀ You haven’t talked in so long, you thought he’d put you in the past by now

✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 ⨟⠀Octavio 〞Octane 〞Silva + fem!reader

✦ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ⨟⠀Part two of one ➜       masterlist

✦ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ⨟⠀ Suggestive commentary Alcohol Vomiting

⠀ ★ ⠀ | ITS BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE YOU’VE seen Octane and yes, you have been counting the days. surprise, surprise! how the hell can he waltz into your life again and ghost you after? God. He’s infuriating

So, instead of texting him back like any normal person would you decided to go clubbing, clubbing at the very club his fans said he would go to actually— you were going to confront this man, whether or not he likes it.

It was odd y’know? the club he decided to show up at was the very same club you met him in, it must’ve been a coincidence— but you couldn’t help but reminisce let’s not for get that reminiscing got you in this predicament in the first place.

You push through crowds of dancing bodies, there’s nothing but weed, drugs and sweat. All of octanes favorite things another thing was you his stem. The air is thick heavy with intoxication, the smell seems to haze your mind. The smell of tequila floods your nostrils— good gods these people could drink. But hey, this is the party scene of Solace in what would you expect?

Time goes by fast— somehow you ended up taking a few shots, because who can say no to such persuasive party goers? one turned to two and two turned to five. By now you were drunk, damn that tequila was strong! A kind fellow lead you towards the couches, urging that you’d take a few moments to rest and collect your thoughts. Words slur but he can tell you mean well as you say 〞 thank you. 〞

You ended up passing out, about four hours passed and it was three fourty two a.m, the party was still going on for some reason and despite this you still haven’t found Octane, and to add on to that your head was pounding. You take a few seconds to close your eyes but the caving of the seat to your side causes you to open them slightly, gazing at the stranger who decided to sit right besides you.

Fuck!

❛ Damn chica, didn’t think you’d still have that party animal in you. What are you even doing here? ❜ something about his loud, obnoxious voice wasn’t mixing too well with your excruciating headache, it’s funny because he gives you some medication for the pain, along with some water. He reads you like a book. All he does is smirk, watching you that same look again from two weeks ago. That adoration

You take the medication, making no intention to talk to the legend, instead you stand up making a b—line to the nearest exit. Octane is still sat down, watching you with a small smirk.. What is he laughing at? Oh— fuck.

You must’ve stood up too fast, the world starts spinning again and you run to the nearest toilet. Thankfully, you still remember the layout of the club like the back of your hand. He follows you, holding back your hair as you vomit. A gloved hand rests against your stomach, drawing soothing circles on heated skin.

You whisper a small thanks, wiping off the remaining residue from the corner of your mouth. A small shiver runs down your spine at the touch, you respond with pushing back the daredevil. A frustrated huff escapes your lips as you gaze at his dopey smile.. why did he mess around with you like this? coming here was a horrible idea!! You should’ve left hours ago—

❛ What’s with the long face? And, that hurt my feelings by the way, I held back your hair!! ❜ Octavio utters, now you feel even dumber and sorta pissed? Why is he such a dumbass? ❛ I came here to find your ass because you wouldn’t answer any of my texts! Who the hell kisses someone like that and just leave like that Octavio—? stop running away from me dammit. ❜

It all just slips out, all those feelings you had bottled up for the past two weeks. His expression softens, brows furrow and lips contort into a pout. Is he sorry?.. He doesn’t say a word when he leads you out the bathroom.

Octane is always on the go, you could hardly keep up with this pace, he’s dodging and weaving party goers and you’re stumbling over your feet! He really was on a mission wasn’t he?..

You ended up at your place, he offered you a ride and you couldn’t find it in you to say no to him Tavi opens the door for you as stumble in, he follows your tail soon after, a firm grip is on your waist. He steadies you to a halt, you’re confused at first— what did he want? But then he holds you, carrying you bridal style to your bed. He lays you down placing a small kiss on your forehead.. just like that one night

❛ Fuck chica.. you know I’m not good with words— so just let me talk for a second ok? Un momento. ❜ you couldn’t even process what he was saying to you, the only thing that caught your attention was the way held you, must’ve been serious about this— And he was you could see it in his expression, the way he searches your face for any displeasure… he was sweet.

❛ I got scared ok?! I didn’t know what to do or say, so I left. it’s what I’m best at aye? What do you think these legs are for bebecita!.. ❜ a pointed look. ❛ Right, right bad joke—sorry not sorry. Mierda, I wasn’t expecting to see you at the party tonight and Che would’ve told me to fix my mistake and talk to so now I’m here. In your bed. Talking to you. I texted you up that night because I missed your face, your voice.. tú eras el paquete completo, mamá. ❜

He felt like this the whole time..? why didn’t he— you’re stopped before you can finish your mental rant. Octavio kisses you, and damn he’s good you almost forgot how good he was you kiss back with the same amount of vigor, this was good right? You both got the happy ending you wanted.

❛ I missed you. ❜

❛ Me too tavi. ❜ now that answered your question.

[zuluc]

summary: once he’s comfortable with skinship and the like, he can’t keep his hands off of you

pairing: xiao x gn!reader

style & genre: written; angsty with reflections but it is ultimately fluff

warnings: mildy suggestive

notes: i am manifesting early for him, please come home. this is literally, COMPLETELY, self-indulgent. i read his backstory and i am DEVASTATED to say the least so this is my interpretaion of his thoughts. enjoy <3

hi god, it’s me again. can i please have a xiao in my life?

Another day passes by as he awaits your visit that he thinks to himself: How did I get into a situation such as this?

The adeptus couldn’t recall the exact moment he found himself thinking about you, having the thoughts of you plague his mind for days on end. All of which was especially so whenever you both parted only to reunite again at least days later or at most, months. 

He missed the way you talked, smiled, and laughed even when he did none such things himself. The progression to this stage of your relationship was slow and steady but you both were patient, and the times in which you thought it wouldn’t work out, a human and adeptus, something always brought you back together. He noticed how you didn’t try to pry your way into his life and he appreciated that to be able to make the effort to return your, at the time, unsaid feelings. 

Maybe it was because of how genuine you were with your actions that allowed him begin to take an interest in you. The way you made almond tofu just the way he loved it or how you would keep a bit of space between the two of you when you chatted.

He hoped you wouldn’t notice that he would try and close the gap little by little until the day came for him to ask you to officially be his. Well, you had noticed but for his sake you kept it to yourself, happy with the end result.

Xiao’s mind wanders to what had been and what it was like before he met you. Years alone and years of resentment towards himself and his actions hardened his walls to that foreign feeling. He hated you at that time not out of pure negative emotions but of confused emotions. You never pried and left him alone when it seemed that was what he wanted. But he never wanted that as seeing you turn your back and walk down the steps felt worse than having to see your face. 

He thought about those times believing you wouldn’t come back one day just to leave him alone as he was. 

He looks back at when you are finally together, the awkwardness of a new relationship finally dawning on the both of you as you say your acceptance to his confession. It is five months exact until he could look you in the eye without the feeling of butterflies pushing their way around his stomach, not that it still isn’t apparent now. He never asked if you felt the same but the flush on your face indicated as such.

He thinks about those times whenever you are away, replaying them in his mind like a broken record to keep the memories fresh. Every single one is important and to be able to remember it is something he will cherish. After all, all good things must come to an end.

And for this he hopes that the end is too far for him to see.

--

You can tell when he’s too lost in his thoughts again.

Verr Goldet informs you that he had shown up a while ago and had been unmoving from his spot since that time. You thank the woman, who at this point has lost all motivation to reprimand you from calling her ��boss lady” again, and quietly walk up the steps.

When you reach the top a gentle breeze brushes by your face and your eyes land on the ethereal being that is him. His hair moves along with the wind and his eyes dart to your emerging figure, immediately taking action and walking towards you with urgency.

This visit would be one of the longer ones and you already booked a room for the next few nights, all for spending time with him as the mission you accepted was that lasted months. 

He digs his fingers into your clothed back, welcoming you warmly into his embrace. Was it three months since he last held you like this?

Whatever the amount, Xiao holds you with just the same amount of gentle firmness. To bystanders they would be shocked at the display that this known adeptus exhibits to you and would think that he had been some other person. This is why he prefers to keep these moments only between the both of you away from prying eyes that might try to take advantage of one of his weaknesses.

Yes, you.

You hold him tightly and await his questioning, but it never comes. Instead, he trails his hand that was rested on your back to the back of your head and pulls away to look at you clearly. You shiver from the coolness of the night air and the intensity of his gaze when he eyes your lips.

“May I?” He asks in a whisper that could be so easily missed. You are able to collect yourself and nod, raising your own hand to lightly graze his cheek. "Forgive my hastiness.”

Xiao’s lips slot against yours and you hum at the feeling. His lips are smooth and soft and you melt when he splays his fingers of the other hand to hold you steady against him. He’s pressing you closer and closer and you wonder if there is physically any space left. His last statement rings out to you when you notice how restless his hands are and how needy his kisses have turned. Just what was he thinking about before I got here?

His lips detach from your when he remembers that you need to breath but his ministrations continue on to your neck, nipping at the exposed skin and leaving marks in the wake of his path. You gasp when he lands on a particular spot at the juncture of your neck and shoulders which causes you to push back a little out of reflex. His hands holding you prevent you from going any further from him and he continues to press alternating soft and messy kisses along the column of your throat. 

Xiao trails his lips back to your own when you have caught your breath and he kisses you again, the initial contact a bit more aggressive than the first. But you don’t mind, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair to pull at lightly, eliciting a low groan from him.

You finally notice that you are up against a wall but in the haze of what just happened you aren’t surprised at how you got there. His hands are roaming your body without restraint and you have to remind him of where you two are.

He doesn’t look like he cares.

“No one comes up when they are aware of both of us being here,” he reassures you, whispering into your ear.

He kisses you again and again and again until you run out of breath just as many times and your legs are growing weary. Xiao plants a few last, soft kisses to your forehead, tip of the nose, and your lips before guiding you to sit on his lap as he positions himself on the ground. You take the offer without hesitation and snuggle into his hold, tired from the events of the day and the events just seconds ago.

You don’t have to ask him what’s going on when he cups your face and looks down at you with pure adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t need to tell you how much he cherishes you and cares about you, willing to do everything the archons allow him to keep you by his side.

You let him have his moment for a little longer but are able to tell that he had been holding himself back. You take your hand and curl it around his wrist, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

“You’re done already?”

Never have you seen him stand up with you hoisted in his arms as fast as he did to carry you to your room. You may be poking fun at him for his eagarness now, but you will soon see who’ll be most eager in a bit.

At least in this situation and for many more, he has you in his arms.