#content warning for some darker parts that are discussed here

[op-dumpstertruck]

Ahh I sent that before I was done!!! Do you also have a timeline of events? I love that you jump around but it is a little confusing >~<

Oh yeah, I know, oopsie! Since I had that question a few times I'll try to give you a timeline under the cut, but I'm really not a writer:

Sanji leaves Germa as a kid, deeply insecure about being an omega. Sora tried to hide it first, but when it came out Judge was furious. It adds an extra layer of disdain he has for Sanji in this AU; but it was also the only thing that increased his value somehow, in Judges eyes. I think even as young as he was, Sanji did realise that whatever the plans were Judge might have had for him, they were.. not good at all. Omegas don't really exist on Germa, but if they do, they are seen, not heard. Even as a kid Sanji heard some really degrading, overtly sexist comments from his brothers. When he ran away, Sanji learned to hide that part of himself.

Zeff definitely knows, but he's the only one that does. Sanji is a extremly skittish kid when it comes to that, that alone has cost Zeff years of his life (he worries all the time, but they also never talk properly). Worldbuilding wise, I think male omegas are very, very rare. In the context of how the cooks talk to each other, Sanji definitely has heard a lot of very crude jokes about himself.

As old habits die hard, Sanji didn't tell the crew when he joined. With scent suppressants he easily seems like a beta - and even if they run out here and there (which he desperately tries to avoid) with all the smoking he does you can barely smell him anyway.

Zoro and Sanji happened. Neither of them expected that.

Zoro knows Sanji is an omega, probably even long before they got together, I'm not completely sure yet. He's the first one to know and is the only one that does for a long time - Kureha didn't tell Chopper on Drum Island, but he'll eventually be the next one to know.

Sanji gets pregnant (to his own horror) and has to deal with that. Because they are actually functioning quite well at this point as a couple (who would have thought) Sanji tells Zoro as soon as he suspects what's up. They find out together, but don't immediately tell the crew, since they are unsure how to proceed.

thriller bark happens and Sanji looses his mind in the aftermath for a hot minute. (he'll eventually tell the crew in the aftermath.)

close to sabody and marineford (or parallel to it) Sanji gets kidnapped. Omegas are often sold into slavery there, so the crew is on the wrong track for quite a while. As other things are happening simultaneously, and plot happens, the strawhats are sweeped up in chaos. (I might come back to those details later)

the world is made to believe that Sanji died. It is Judges doing, but the timeline plays into his hands: it fits the narrative of the navy retaliating and punishing the strawhats for both what happened at Enies-Lobby and marineford perfectly. Since the strawhats don't know about Sanjis family, they fall for it.

Kuina is born in Germas prison. Sanji does everything he can to convince Judge to keep her alive. He knows Judge has plans for him and threatens to kill himself, should Judge do anything to her. She continues to be the bargain chip through the next few years, to make Sanji to comply to do things. They don't even need to threaten Zeff here.

Sanji gets married off. It's not a happy marriage, but of big political interest for Judge. (This time, there is no one to stop the wedding.)

Kid two and three are born (I don't know their names yet).

It takes them nearly nine years, but Reiju and Sanji get Kuina out and send her on a journey to find the crew. Sanji doesn't see her for more than a year, before the strawhats are back and all hell breaks loose.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 1 - El Paso

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut - MDNI

The darkness within her became his obsession. She was his. Didn’t she know? When Azriel spies his wicked mate with another male, when he kills that male, what he knows as life shifts eternally. No longer is there life. No longer is there death. There is only Felina. Felina who has many secrets.

Series Masterlist - Part 2

Warnings: threat of self-harm/suicide, assumed character death (you’ll see), implied rape/non-con (some gross, shitty males discussing it in a tavern), dub-con, violence, obsession, dark themes, sexual content

One hour ago

Rhysand

All Rhys knew was that when Azriel returned from what was supposed to be a short inspection of the Illyrian war camps, he was different. His shadows whirred violently; his eyes… there was a darkness in them that he’d not seen even within the depths of harrowing interrogations; and while his scent remained his usual cedar chilled mist an iron tang tinged it.

“Az?” Rhys asked cautiously, trailing his brother up the stairs

“Not now.” Azriel growled, clenched fists shaking, pupils blown wide, sweat beading his brow.

Rhys said nothing more, following the frantic male to his room. Well- until Azriel slammed the door shut in his face.

Message received.

A few minutes later, Azriel re-emerged into the living area, a packed duffel bag in tow.

“Az? Talk to me.” Rhys pleaded. Fighting against the urge to dive into his mind. Azriel’s shields were ironclad but Rhys could break through them if absolutely necessary.

“Just stop. I’m fine.” Azriel growled.

He sure as shit didn’t look fine.

“I need to go handle some personal things. I have never asked for leave for anything. Can you please just allow me a couple of weeks?”

The High Lord’s brows creased, voice raising “Weeks? With no provided reasoning?”

“I said that it was personal.”

“As your employer, I can accept that it’s personal. As your family, Az, come on. What happened?”

“I’m leaving whether you grant me this or not.”

Azriel and Rhysand had many battle-of-wills over the years but this was different. Rhys could feel it in the very marrow of his bones.

And Azriel’s demeanor - Fuck, he’d always been dangerous but he was outright predatory in the moment.

Rhys shook his head. “I should kick your ass for talking to me like this but fine - go. Two weeks, Azriel, and then you’re back here or I tear the world apart looking for you. You aren’t abandoning us without reason. I will not accept it.”

Azriel’s only response was a tick of the jaw before stepping out the front door and launching skyward at breakneck speed.

Rhys spent the next hour nursing a glass of whiskey, fighting an internal battle of leaving his brother be or going to find him. Just when he began to lose that battle and head out searching, Cassian burst through the door. His hair disheveled from the wind and caked with blood, his eyes puffy and red as if he’d been crying the entire flight.

Rhys froze in his tracks at the sight of his brother who took a few steps forward before falling to the floor, knees giving out as he let out a deep, world-shattering scream.

Rhys sent his darkness to caress his mind, gently prodding for what could have left Cassian in such a state only to be met with crushing waves of grief. Rhys pushed his consciousness with great effort to cut through the viscous surge of emotion desperate for any sense of clarity.

He’d almost reached his own daemati limit when he was abruptly greeted by flashes of memory. Snow painted bright-red with blood. Azriel laying limp. Ash arrows littering his body. Lifeless hazel eyes. Long dark hair. Red lips. Eyes darker than night. Sounds of a female voice screaming. Tears falling onto blood coated hands.

Suddenly Rhys was thrust from Cassian’s mind as he fought against the induced slumber. Cassian’s body shuttered as tears broke free once again. His words slurred as he tried to communicate within his half dazed state, “Go. Ste-steppes.” Another broken sob. “Az is d- Oh gods!” He cried out. “Dead. And s-she’s”

“Who?” Rhys’ mind flashed to the female crouched over Azriel, screaming.

“Oh fuck, R-rhys. Go!!!”

Cassian fell back into his dream state before Rhys could press further.

Rhys willed himself to remain as calm as possible. Fighting to keep his mental voice steady before the grief could overtake him as he called for Amren and Feyre.

Elain, who had been in the garden, would stay with Nyx. Amren would keep an eye on Cassian and throw additional wards up, while Feyre retrieved Nesta from the House of Wind. Once Feyre returned she would be able to soothe his mind.

Feyre’s mental voice wavered, heartbreak surging through the bond at the news, but she agreed to keep details private until Rhys understood exactly what had happened.

——————

Three weeks ago

Azriel

War Camp inspections had a way of bringing out the worst in Azriel. As if his tolerance level for Illyrians was not already at a miniscule level, these inspections always seemed to inflate the egos of the Illyrians. Camp Lords and their cronies marching into meetings with puffed out chests and mouths spewing hatred particularly grated on his typically infallible patience.

Azriel had been staying at the River House for some time now, carefully avoiding Elain as much as possible, and trying his best to avoid giving Rhys anything to pull rank over. And fuck, he was so tired after a day of negotiations. With nothing but tension awaiting him at home and overwhelming fatigue, he found himself at a shitty Inn in the Illyrian Steppes.

He’d seated himself at a small corner table, shrouding himself in shadow as he observed the belligerent patrons of Rosa’s Cantina, a shoddy tavern attached to the Inn.

“Witch.” He heard a group of males call her. Their eyes fixed on a stunning female swaying her hips in time to the music flowing from a rickety piano at the front of the bar.

Remaining silent, the Spymaster listened to the ruddy males lecherous conversation.

“I wouldn’t mind being under her spell.”

“You’ll sooner find your balls nailed to a stake than completion - even with tits like that it’s not worth it.”

Azriel snarled to himself. Even outside of the Illyrian camps, the males in the Steppes were abhorrent. Backwards in every way. The woman continued twirling, her raven-black hair flowing with each movement of her supple body.

“Not if I tie her down first.” A burly male chimed in, his slurred voice gruff.

“I’ll bet you five marks that you won’t survive the encounter with all of your appendages.”

“Look at what the whore is wearing. She wants it whether she knows or not.”

The brute of a male stumbled up to her and Azriel sighed to himself, he really didn’t want to get into it tonight. But….

The male put his greasy hands on her and Azriel instantly jolted upright, preparing to step in. She tried pulling away as the male yanked her into him. The female whirled in his arms, looking up to him like a lover. The male immediately dropped his arms, palms in the air as if placating a wild animal, he began stepping away slowly. When he turned around, Azriel noticed the blood drained from his face as he threw gold marks on the table and immediately left the cantina. The males only laughed and went back to their drinking.

“Wicked Felina” they called her.

“Eh? How much money have you won off the males she scares away now?” One of the patrons chimed in.

“Enough to cover these boys.” The male slapped the new pair of leather boots adorning his feet.

Azriel hadn’t seen what the male saw in her face when she looked to him but his shadows whispered to him.

“Darkness”

“Like calls to like”

“Look”

And maybe it was the stale mead he’d downed but he did. He strode right up to the female and could have sworn he felt time stand still as the patrons of the bar watched.

He didn’t touch her, only spoke in a low tone, “May I have a dance?”

The female whirled towards him and Azriel had to fight to keep his footing steady. Before him stood the most breathtaking female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes met his and his heart sputtered as he stared into the depth of them. Blacker than night, constellations and blood and something “other” swimming inside of them. He could sense her darkness and instead of his typical urge to question, it drew him in like metal to a magnet.

As she took him in, he heard her heart skip a beat for only a moment, before that darkness invaded his senses once again. No, it wasn’t darkness to run away from at all. It was alluring, captivating, dangerous. And he wanted to drink it all in.

“You are a brave male.” She spoke with a slight, unfamiliar accent. So similar to those of Velaris but with something else mixed in.

Azriel’s shadows whirled around the female, winding through her hair and between her fingers. She didn’t balk from them, she only remained intensely focused on him.

Her scent surrounded them and he couldn’t breathe the female in deeply enough.

An hour later he found himself driving into her. Her breasts bouncing so beautifully that he nearly came from the sight alone. He’d spent so long fisting his cock as he fantasized of Elain that he’d forgotten just how glorious the feel of a tight cunt wrapped around him felt. And this female, Felina, her moans were like a sirens call, drawing him so deeply into her that he didn’t know where she ended and he begun.

He would have gone slowly with her, tenderly, worshipped every centimeter of cool, exposed skin, but she had begged him so prettily to fuck her until she forgot what she was. Who was he to deny a female who knew exactly what she wanted. He’d never fucked a female so hard and still she pleaded for more, sensing that he was holding back. When he finally let go of his restraint, he had to dig his nails into her moonlight pale flesh just to keep her from sliding away. She bit her lip and held his gaze through every thrust. Those damning eyes looking at him like she could read every fucking tendril of his own inner-void.

When she came, he came with her. The Inn shaking with the intensity of their combined orgasms. As he came down from the high, the darkness in her eyes banked momentarily a deep, blue flashing in them before once again overtaking them. He gasped sharply as a snap yanked in his chest. Gold tethering him to her.

“Mate” his shadows sang

“Our mate, our mate.”

Azriel’s breathing grew frantic. She climbed out of the bed, her exposed backside red from the slaps he’d pressed to her round ass. “Did you feel that?”

She turned her head over her shoulder, those eyes meeting his again. “Feel what?”

Azriel’s heart sank. “Nothing.”

“Hm.” She shrugged. “Intresting.” And poured a glass of water from a pitcher on an oak dresser with nonchalance. As if they hadn’t just had life-altering sex, like the ground itself hadn’t shook with the force of their coupling.

Her mouthwatering breasts bounced with each step toward him, her lightly toned abdomen baring silver, faded scars.

“Who gave you those?” Azriel asked.

“I’m as willing to talk about them as you are about those.” She nodded toward his hands.

Touché

“Curiosity can be a dangerous thing.” She stated before bringing his head to her chest and running delicate fingers through his hair until he drifted into a deep slumber full of darkness and a golden thread.

When he woke, she was gone.

And he would have thought he’d dreamt it all, had it not been for the nearly-healed crescent moon imprint of her nails littering his body. He hummed in satisfaction at the sight.

He only hoped that next time she’d leave marks deep enough to scar. He should have staked his claim on her too.

——————

Two weeks ago

Azriel

He searched for her, frantically, day in and day out but she was nowhere to be found. How could he have found his mate and been so foolish to lose her in such a short period of time. He hadn’t even told her his name.

Eventually, he had to take pause, and venture into the camps due to a couple of missing Illyrians. Through his questioning, he’d found that the males were shaking, reporting a fanged creature that swept from the trees and picked off several of their men, one by one. When they returned to reclaim the bodies, all that was left were scattered body parts. Fingers, tongues, and cocks mostly.

He remembered the whispers in the taverns of “Wicked Felina.” Surely it was just paranoia.

Azriel returned to the tavern each night, hiding outside within his shadows. She was never there.

His patience was infallible, no amount of space or time would deter him. He would find his mate, he would embrace that pit of darkness dwelling within her - even if she were the creature the men were speaking of. She hadn’t hurt him, she’d only awoken something within him. His Felina may be dark but she is not the villain. She couldn’t be.

He pushed the sight of the ghostly pale brute running away from her at Rosa’s far into the back of his mind.

——————

One week ago

Azriel

Something tugged at him that night, urged him to find her again. Felina had become the focal point of his thoughts, consumed with her 24/7.

He was a desperate male, he wanted - no, needed - to know every piece of this dark anomaly. Mind, body, spirit. He’d sought someone whose light cast upon his obsidian soul for so long - finding hope in the radiant enigma that is Mor and the gentle, sweet presence of Elain. But all along the mother knew he needed someone who could step into his shadow and find solace. When Felina stared into his eyes, he knew she saw it, saw home. He saw it in her too.

She was so new to him and yet so familiar.

His brothers would tell him he was infatuated, that this was just another Mor, but they would be so far from the truth. This was a need, as essential to him as water or air. He thrummed with desire for his Wicked Felina.

She was the other half of his soul and he would not lose out on the opportunity to make her his.

Tonight was the night, she’d be there, he felt it deep within.

And she was.

Not inside. No, in a dark corner of the alley adjacent to Rosa’s Cantina. With a silver haired High-Fae male, nearly as tall as Azriel, muscled, well-groomed.

And she - her back was pressed against the wall. Her head flung back from the crook of his neck it where her face had been burrowed, pure ecstasy written all over those seductive features. A moan escaping her plush lips.

And then he saw it. Blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

No.

No.

This couldn’t be.

He HURT her. She didn’t want this. Didn’t she know that he was her soul-bonded mate? She wouldn’t fuck someone in the dark corner of an alley willingly.

Didn’t she know she was better than that? Didn’t she know she was everything?

Visions of the scars on her abdomen and of the male who joked about tying her down to have his way with her came to mind.

No. Not his Felina. Nobody would harm her now that she was his.

Azriel didn’t think further as he barreled for them, unsheathing truth-teller and slitting the males throat before he could even lock eyes with him.

Felina let out a quiet inhale of shock, onyx eyes blown wide.

“No. No. No.” She dropped to the male. Her nostrils flaring at the sight of him, his bloodied neck, checking for a pulse.

There was none.

Felina looked up to him with near-black, pleading eyes. “Azriel.”

And despite the peril of the moment, the fact that he clearly misread the situation, his name rolling off those pretty red lips made it all worth it.

Until the thought occurred to him. He’d never told her his name. “How?”

“Az….” Her voice cracked, the slightest bit of silver lined her eyes before darkness began radiating from her, rage filling those deeper than night eyes. Her voice became cold, deadly. “I told you that curiosity was dangerous.”

Shouts from bystanders rang out, creating panic among the villagers.

“You need to go now. They’ll recognize you.”

He paused, mouth gaping as she looked to him. He knew what she was saying but remained frozen in place.

“Azriel, please!” She cried.

There it was. His name again. Had she been as taken by him as he was by her? Had she sought him out too?

It was then that she unsheathed a dagger and held it to her own throat. “If you don’t leave, I will end it all right now.”

If he’d have looked closely, he would have seen the way her hand shook, the way she couldn’t quite touch the blade to her pale skin.

“I will find you again, Felina.” He vowed - threatened - Don’t even think about escaping me. You’re mine.

“Go.” She mouthed.

——————

Four hours ago

Azriel

Staying away for days was impossible. When she’s wander at night, he’d watch her from afar, remaining unseen. The small village mourned the dead male, apparently the esteemed ruler of this shit hole place. He caught glimpses of a mourning Felina. He felt something in the bond but he couldn’t quite make it out.

Resentment, perhaps? Jealousy? Longing?

And despite the black apparel she donned through the village, her face remained neutral with only a tinge of sadness.

Villagers whispered as she walked by. She paid them no mind.

He imagined they likely suspected the death was over her. Azriel’s shadows reported he had a wife. Why would his Felina sleep with a married male? If he was willing to cheat on his wife with her, he couldn’t have been a good male. Azriel did right by the females for eliminating him from the picture, right?

It was then that a flash of auburn appeared. The male’s wife with several large males behind her carrying torches. “Whore!” She spat. “Only fucking my husband wasn’t good enough, was it?”

“You had to sleep around with another male, one you surely had under your spell, just as you had with mine. You vile witch! And now my husband is dead because some enchanted soul grew jealous over you. You will burn for this!”

Suddenly she was placed in shackles, his shadows zooming into her vision. She must have noticed them as she whipped her head searching for him. She mouthed “no”, shaking her head in the direction his shadows raced off to. They came back.

“Blue not black. Blue not black.”

“Still beating. Still beating.”

“Mate. Mate. Mate.”

It was then that wings burst out of her back. Like Illyrian wings but white, the light casting a holographic range of gentle hues of blues and purple, and pinks. Talons emerged from her nails, but her lovely face remained impassive.

His shadows stirred aggressively.

“Alike. Alike. Alike.”

Another shadow shot back to him, beginning to report something when Azriel saw the pyre lighting in town as the villagers threw obscenities in her direction.

Felina held her head high, accepting her fate so easily.

The fire grew and Azriel once again acted on instinct. They couldn’t take her from him. And to burn her? Rage roared within him.

Azriel flew in, obliterating the large males jerking her toward the fire.

“The Shadowsinger!” someone cried out. Azriel saw nothing but Felina and the rising flames. Never would his mate be subjected to licks of flame marring her flesh. She was far too precious to burn.

Anyone who tried to lay hands on he or Felina were eviscerated. “The key!” She cried, pointing to a dead male. She ran toward it. Azriel launched in front of her, his speed overtaking hers as he retrieved it. She caught the key but her talons made it impossible to unlock the chains quickly. Azriel grabbed the key, unshackling her, the talons and wings disappearing.

“We have to go!” She shouted. Azriel caught her, launching skyward, right as an arrow shot toward them, and straight into Azriel’s back. He fought through it, he had to get her to safety. Another arrow flew through the air, narrowly missing Felina. The attempt on his mate triggering a knee-jerk reaction in Azriel who turned to send a blast of power at the bastard shooting the arrows.

He was struck in the side as another arrow met him. Azriel shot another blast of power in the direction that it came from.

Azriel could feel power rumbling under Felina’s surface. “We don’t have time! You’re hurt.”

Azriel bit back a cry at the pain radiating through his body, the blood not slowing as it should. He began feeling faint, fevered. He struggled through it, needing to make it as far away as he could but his vision began to blur as his body weakened. Felina was crying out something but he couldn’t hear her. All there was was pain and the cool press of her body against his. Gods, she was so cold.

“We need to land, Azriel! You can’t make it further.” She commended. He felt the sting of her palm on his face. “Wake up! Land!”

The slap along with her frantic voice roused Azriel enough to land them, very roughly. He crashed down on top of her.

“Felina….” He rasped.

“Shh.” She hushed him. “Save your breath. I’m okay.” Reassuring him through staggered breaths. “We need to get you to help.”

Azriel placed a hand on hers. “Too far. There’s nothing.”

“There’s got to be something!” She choked out.

Commotion erupted from the trees as a group of males from the village drew toward them. Their torches lighting the night and their bows drawn and ready.

Azriel used the little remaining might he had to push himself up. Felina throwing herself on top of him, her hands coated in his blood.

“I’m sorry for this, Azriel.” She spoke and ripped the poisoned arrow out of him, stabbing it right into her bicep. “Fuck!” She cursed. Suddenly the talons and wings were back. Her scent shifted into something so fucking familiar that it made Azriel’s heart ache, and screams echoed as she shot bursts of power at them. The range was short and the damage limited but it slowed them.

A commotion distracted the group of males as flares of red shot from the brush. A large winged male approaching from the night.

“Cass.” Felina whispered in awe.

Azriel’s vision went dark again, his conscious only picking up on words as the males screaming became less and less with each blast of power from Cassian and Felina.

A light caress came over Azriel’s mind, stroking it into submission, his pain easing. This was it. He wasn’t going to make it out of here.

And at that moment the caress broke free, Felina releasing a piercing scream. He tried moving, tried to console his mate, but the arrow that had just lodged in his heart was too much.

Azriel fought to see her one last time, her darkened eyes now shining like the night itself.

“Mate.” He whispered.

“I know, Azriel. I know.” She sobbed. Caressing his face with those delicate, chilly hands.

All Azriel remembered was the darkness embracing him once again. The pain easing as he heard Cassian’s voice.

“How?” Cassian’s booming voice cracked.

“Later, Cassian. He needs help.” Her voice was so pitiful. Broken.

Azriel’s breathing grew so shallow, that sweet darkness lulling him, even his shadows were silent. All he saw in his mind was her but she was fading. Her touch no longer registering to his senses.

He tried fighting it but there was no use as Azriel took his final breath.

“He’s dead, Cassian.”

——————

Two hours ago

Cassian

Cassian had never flown so fast in his life.

Oh gods, his brother was dead. The female, she refused to leave his side until he left to get Rhys.

His mind roared at him that he should have brought her with him. But why? Who was she?

Who was she to Azriel?

All he could remember as the tears flowed freely was that his brother was dead. That he heard the call for help from the village, that the Shadowsinger had gone mad, only to find a group of men on the attack and his brother incapacitated.

He had to get to Rhys quickly and let him know about Azriel, about the female.

——————

Present

Rhysand

Rhys winnowed to the vicinity of where Cassian had been in the memories when he’d held his mind. He flew until he found the bodies of several men. This was the clearing Cassian had been in and in the center of the clearing was caked blood.

Caked blood and no Azriel. No female.

But the blood, there was so much. He couldn’t have survived.

Right?

——————

Two hours ago

Azriel

The darkness on Azriel’s mind eased only slightly. The crippling pain too much to bear.

He opened his eyes to his version of heaven, to his mate’s face. The arrow removed from her arm.

He was in so much pain only managing to rasp out, “Can’t leave you.”

“You have to make a choice now.” She cupped his hand. “There was no other way.” She spoke to herself more than him. “There’s no way Cassian could have made it back in time.”

She was trying to convince herself. His decision was already made.

She shook her head, bracing herself for his response. “You have only a few moments left.”

The black fog cleared from his mind, every ounce of pain returning, but his eyes opened.

“Look at me, Azriel.”

He blinked and where her canines had been were sharp fangs. “I can save you but I can’t guarantee this existence is worth it. I am still figuring it out for myself.”

To his credit, Azriel didn’t balk. A chance to be with his mate… his Felina. He groaned as he turned his head, exposing his neck to her.

“Azriel, if I do this. You are bound to me. I know I’m your mate but you don’t know me. What if I’m… too much? Can you bare that?”

He tried to speak. She would never be too much. He only kept his neck exposed, a warning rattle escaping his chest.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, as she pressed her fangs into his neck.

Blinding light erupted through him along with the worst pain he’d felt in centuries. Tears fell from those otherworldly eyes of night onto his neck.

He fought through the pain, biting back screams. He would be strong for her.

As she drank, she caressed his hair. A slight whimper and the scent of arousal escaping her. She tensed as she recognized the scent. And he could feel a hint of shame from her end of the bond.

Azriel had only heard legends of vampyr’s. Stories told in the camps to scare children who were prone to wandering off and now here she was feeling shame for her own body’s response to having him at the most intimate level.

As she drank, little gulps escaping her, he felt his strength returning. He raised a hand and grabbed her breast, massaging it as she lapped at his blood. A silent communication that whatever she was feeling did not frighten him, was not unwelcome.

Her body relaxed only slightly but he could sense her relief.

The pain began subsiding and Azriel’s strength had already returned in full, in excess, even.

Her drinking slowed and she fought against the urge to keep drinking, the greedy need for blood raging through her.

Azriel raised his hand from her breast to her face, stroking his thumb across her cheek. She leaned into it, grounding herself.

Suddenly she pulled herself off, gasping. Her chest heaving. Pain filled her eyes as she stared up at him. But he felt… incredible. Euphoric.

And there his mate was, reeking of sweet arousal. Chest heaving. Trickles of blood dripping from her mouth.

“You have to go now, Azriel. Get what you need and come back to me.”

He could hardly think. His need to be inside of her overwhelming every sense.

“Azriel. Listen!” She spoke firmly. “You have a couple of hours at most. Go home, get any healing tonics or sedatives that you may have, clothes, and blankets and come right back here.”

“I don’t-“ he started.

“You will. Can you still winnow?”

Azriel nodded. Had he winnowed in front of her before?

“Go. Now. Before Cassian gets home and bombards you with questions.”

Azriel didn’t want to leave, growing irate at the thought of it.

“I know it’s hard for you to leave. It’s a culmination of our newly tethered bond and likely the mating bond, Azriel.”

He stayed in place.

Finally she approached him. Staring straight past his eyes and into the depths of his soul as the urge to obey her taking overtook him. “Go now.”

Without another word, he left, winnowing directly to the River House, collecting a bag, and leaving Rhys with far too many questions. He prayed to the mother that he wouldn’t track him.

——————

One week later

Azriel

She’d begged him not to take her but she was declining far too quickly. They’d spent the past seven days in a daze. He had quickly gone from euphoric to delirious once returning from the River House.

And just as he’d made a life altering choice to be eternally bonded to her when she’d turned him, Felina made the choice to accept the mating bond by allowing him to feed off of her.

The combination of blood lust and the mating frenzy sent him into a spiral. They barely talked in the past few days, they’d have eternity to do that. He spent more time inside of her than out but she… she refused to feed off of him, citing that it was too risky with his newly turned state. When he wasn’t rutting into her, he was hunting for game but the blood wasn’t enough for her. He cursed himself for taking so much of her blood in his frenzied state.

She repeatedly asked that he not take her to his family but they would understand. It was the only option at this point. Her scent began shifting into that strange familiar aroma again, the darkness of her eyes swirling with flecks of blue. That “other” aspect to her diminishing slightly.

As she fought her consciousness, she barely managed to whisper “There’s more.” before going unconscious.

He’d waited so long to find his mate.

She’d saved him.

He didn’t want to go against her wishes but her condition was deteriorating rapidly. Her fever raising, her once-cool skin now burning as whimpers escaped her lips.

He did the only thing he could and prayed to the Mother that Felina would forgive him.

He flew her home.

They landed on the River House lawn in the middle of the night. Rhys appeared with a crack of thunder to confront the threat that breached his wards. Feyre, Elain, Cassian, and Nesta rushing out behind him, their eyes wide with shock.

Rhys shuddered, falling to his knees before his brother. “Azriel. Thank the mother you’re home.” He sobbed.

Felina let out a pitiful moan. Sweat beading on her brow. Her cool skin now radiating waves of heat. She slowly, weakly opened her weary eyes, the swirling black now bleeding into a blend of ultraviolet blue.

Rhys approached the female in his arms, Azriel tightening his grip on her. Time stood still as Rhys gently touched her face, carefully turning her head toward him. His face of relief crumpling into something earth shattering, the mountains quaking as he fell to his knees.

Azriel started, “This is Felina, my m-“

Rhys interrupted shaking his head as let out pained, joyous laughter. “No, Az.” He choked out. “Not Felina.”

Fighting to regain composure, Rhys clarified. “That’s Y/N.”

Azriel gasped as those now violet-blue eyes peered up into his, his jaw dropping as he carefully went to his knees with her in his arms.

That scent. Those eyes of night. Azriel’s mate was-

Rhys gave a disbelieving smile his voice again breaking at the sight before him.

“My sister.”

——————————————

A/N: Thank you for reading! For now, this is a one-shot. I have left openings in the story with the potential for it to become a series or at least part two with an explanation but have not yet decided.

This fic is loosely inspired by an old-western song called “El Paso” that I listened to growing up with my grandmother. The song is where I chose my pen name of “Felina” from. You may also recognize “Wicked Felina” as the title of the final episode of the show “Breaking Bad”

ACOTAR general tag list: @lilah-asteria

[winniefrezcomics]

THE FAIRY DALE POST

(Credit to @zennyzach / @perisprinkles for this certified banger)

Hi what’s up hello, decided to do this separately from the previous question so it would be easier for those who want to avoid it to do so dndbdhdhdjdjbh

to all the Dale fans out there, I’m sorry to admit that I am not among you- as much as I appriciate what an accurate depiction of an emotionally abusive parent he is, I am NOT manifesting a redemption arc for his ugly ass, and hope that Dev gets to stand up to him in a BIG way in the shows future 🥰

Anyway: Is Dale Still a shoddy father in the Fairly normal Parents AU?-

YES. He’s WORSE, actually!! ☠️

Trust me when I say the read-more is necessary here- PLEASE read the content warnings before deciding to proceed- covering fairy Dale and Fairy Devs relationship requires me breaking away from the wholesomeness of the rest of the AU to cover some darker topics-

CONTENT WARNINGS: dalepreg, mild NSFW text, unwanted pregnancy, references to pregnancy termination, emotional abuse, parental neglect, manipulation, unhealthy parental relationships, Dale Dimmadome in general

Okay, with that out of the way-

One important thing to note about my swap au is that, in the time period the ask blog takes place, ALL the faires are adults! Which I point out only to explain why, at this point in the story, Dev has ALREADY had his gigantic falling out with his father (that’s, tbh, pretty similar to the one I like to think HUMAN Dev eventually has in my personal hc timeline for him) SO YEAH, Dev and his father are currently NOT on speaking terms, and he really dislikes talking about him (Perry has never so much as learned Dale’s NAME. He’s that secretive about it after storming out and getting cut off, but I’m getting ahead of myself snsbdbdbd)

SO, TO START AT THE BEGINNING- Something I have yet to discuss in the ask blog bc we aren’t far enough in the plot yet for Dev to openly speak about magic (yes, plot ☠️) is the fact that Poof’s role as the “first fairy baby in a thousand years” actually belongs to FOUR faries in the swap AU- Dev, Hazel, Winn and Jasmyn!

(Aaand maybe some other kids from ANW too, it’s not carved in stone yet how many characters this includes 🤷)

The reason that so many fariy babies were born at ONCE- (inciting PURE CHAOS in fairyworld, I’m sure) is due to an anti-magical comet passing over fairyworld (which I have not yet worked out the name and specifics of, yall will have to give me til Hazel arrives to get THERE sbdbxjshdjdjjdd 😂)

BASICALLY the anti-comet, unbeknownst to anyone, weakened and warped the magic spell in place that prevented fairy babies from being possible-

-go ahead and assume this middle part for yourself lmao-

Once the pregnancies start making themselves know. FOR THE MOST PART fairy couples are ECSTATIC to learn that they’re expecting- and because the comet violated nothing in Da Rules, they were ALL allowed to keep thier miracle babies (don’t ask abt Antony wheeze, I’m still thinking abt it tbh 😂)

So all of fairyworld is abuzz with excitement about all the expecting miracle parents… with the exception of one. Dale ‘Day-breaker’ Dimmadome, owner of the corporation that runs most of fairyworld, and the LAST FAIRY ALIVE that should have been entrusted with caring for a child, has also found himself expecting (don’t ask me how it happened lmfao, let’s just say “partied too hard in fairly Las Vegas” and leave it at that ☠️☠️☠️)

Needless to say, Dale was NOT on board with the idea of being pregnant, giving birth, OR raising a baby, so he has the AU pairs research every possible solution to the ‘problem’ right away, and keeps his pregnancy a secret for as long as possible.

However, all of that changed when the future visions started. They were mild, at first- just strangely frequent moments of Deja vu in Dales day to day life running his company, and strangely accurate dreams every now and then. BUUT as Dev continued to develop and grow, the visions got clearer and clearer, until Dale finally got fed up and went to see a fairy fortune teller, who informed him that his unborn baby must be the source of the prophetic dreams, and they would only get more powerful with time. Even in his fetal state, other clairvoyants Dale went to see could tell- DEV was going to be a VERY powerful one.

Okay so here’s where the “eugh” REALLY starts for me- (if it hasn’t started for u already screams)

Once Dale realized how USEFUL the future visions were, he decided to halt his research, and carry the baby to term, so that he could continue to have the visions, as he considered them an advantage while expanding his corporation.

Much to Dales dismay however, the SECOND the baby is BORN, Dale loses the clairvoyance ENTIRELY, buuuut now that Dale knows he has something to GAIN from doing so, he decides he DOES want to raise this child, so that it can be of use to him in the future (tho by “raise” I of course mean “make the AU pairs raise ☠️☠️)

I don’t have a drawing of them yet, but fun fact, fairy Dev was raised by two au pairs (the AU’s pixie equivalent) that are based on his drones from ANW- their ‘names’ are technically just strings of numbers, but Dev nicknamed his two servants/gaurdians/weird robotic gay dads “silver” and “Gold” 🥈🥇

I’ll infodump on them too if anyone asks abt em, but this is the Dale post wheeze, back to the horrors-

Dev grows up barley knowing his father, but slowly gets more and more demanding of his fathers attention with time, desperately wanting to form a relationship with him. Eventually, Dale relents, allowing Dev to spend much of his time by his father’s side, almost like a teeny tiny advisor or smthn? Baby Dev couldn’t be happier, but Unfortunately, it’s Dale, so ofc he had ulterior motives. basically as SOON as Dev was able to talk, Dale began to constantly ask if he had had any new visions, even getting dev private magic/ fortune telling/ clairvoyance lessons, to try and hone his child’s skills as much as possible as quickly as possible.

At first Dev thinks nothing of how hyper-focused Dale is on his future-seeing powers, and is just happy to be included and close to his dad for once. He’s more than happy to have visions for him, recounting them with excitement, and delighting in the praise whenever his insight was considered “legitimately helpful”

However, as time went on, and Dev gained the context of meeting the OTHER fairy kids and thier families, he couldn’t help but slowly start to question his fathers “parenting methods” - if you could even call them that ☠️☠️

(Hazel Wishingwell heard a rumor about a secret fairy child being spotted on a balcony of the Dimmadome building, so she, Winn and Jasmyn went to investigate! WIP of a comic I’ll finish eventually. maybe. probably.

poor dev lived a very Elsa-esque, isolated life before he made three gremlin friends who started routinely “kidnapping” him from his damn repunzel tower to have fun and hang out 🥺💕)

This ever-growing sense of unease continues to eat at kid Divination, and part of him starts to wonder if his dad really DOES only care about his powers like his friends say he does…

they are all. horrified. To learn how little attention and affection Devs father gives him. ESPECIALLY because the three of them have incredibly loving parents that have been calling them “miracles” and “gifts” thier whole lives, while Dale has basically done nothing but COMPLAIN to dev about how HARD it was to carry him for all those months, especially when he wants Dev to stop questioning him. ☠️

So one day, as an experiment, Dev LIES about his future vision. Since Dev realized there was no way for anyone else to witness and vouch for the accuracy of his vision-retelling, he decides to advise his father AGAINST the deal he was prodding Dev to see a prediction for, despite his vision clearly telling him that the partnership would be extremely profitable. Dev does this for a few reasons, but it’s a decision owed in no small part to the fact that, the more successful partnerships his dad is involved with at any given time, the less time he has to spend with his son (not that his “spending time with” involves much outside of Dev telling his dad his visions and Dale ignoring any non-biussness conversation his literal child tries to start with him 🙃)

This works for a while, with dev estatic to be getting to spend more time with his dad, even IF his mood is consistently terrible from having to back out of so many potential partnerships that he thought for SURE would work and be profitable, but it didn’t occur to him that his son may be LYING until one day, a partnership HE turned down BLOWS UP after pairing with a DIFFERENT company. When confronted, Dev immediately breaks down and comes clean, trying to defend himself by claiming he “just wanted to spend more time with him”.

Dale is BEYOND un-moved by the sentiment, and swiftly bans dev from his office and advisor council, seeing very little of him for most of devs teen years (tho of course they pass by and interact now and then, Dale goes out of his way to steer clear of Dev is his “emotionally volatile state” or whatever)

Once Dev is a young adult however, Dale makes him an offer for how Dev can once again be useful to thier family business: since dev has been continuing to hone his magical abilities even in his fathers absence, by 17/18 he’s quite the skilled clairvoyant, so Dale offers to instate him as an offical employee of the Dimmadome corporation, and have him offer fortune telling services for a Hefty price.

Dev agrees, and it’s fine at first, but dev quickly realizes he HATES his job, and in addition, seeing into the future MULTIPLE TIMES A DAY was really starting to take a toll on both devs mental AND physical health (he started to struggle with migraines -hence the glasses- and near-constant dissociation episodes, to the point where dev often found himself disoriented and unsure if what he was seeing was real or a vision, if that makes sense?)

Dev eventually has enough, and works up the nerve to, at first politely, tell his father that he needs to quit his job. It takes dale and dev quite a bit of back and forth before Dale realizes the EXTENT to which dev is intending to quit (cold turkey) emotions rise steadily, until the attempted professional resignation has dissolved into a SHOUTING MATCH between a father and son

After dev SCREAMS every single thing he’s been holding back for YEARS into his fathers face, he storms off, and hasn’t been back since. Dev also indirectly trashed his office, because Devs magic reacts on its own when extreme emotions are at play (he gets the flaming hair thing from his dad tho dbdbdbendnd)

Current day dev actually isn’t SURE where he and his father stand, but he assumed it wasn’t good after all his credit cards stopped working, forcing him to take a job as a godparent to earn a living himself (Hazel was MORE than happy to drag him to godparenting school tho lmaoo)

SO YEAH THATS PRETTY MUCH IT

I miiiight make it canon that Dev and his dad reconcile and reconnect after Dev saves fairywolrd, but that’s getting into spoiler territory wheeze

TYSM for the question! Apologizes if this made anyone uncomfortable to read, but thanks for getting all the way down to the bottom of this ungoldly long ramble too lmaooo 🥺❤️

[happiest-hotch]

The Valentine's Day Make Up

Summary: Aaron knows he's fucked up when he says something mean to you, by the time Valentine's Day comes, he's just hoping you'll forgive him.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (angst then fluff)

Word Count: 2.1k

Content Warning: some sexual references

There are a lot of qualities that are honorable about Aaron Hotchner. They’re probably what initially attracted you to him. From how noble he is to how dedicated he is to his job, you admire it all.

Things have been different ever since you found out how much you like the darker sides of him. From the first night it happened at a random motel in north Florida to the frequent late-night meetings in one of your apartments or hotel rooms, you've become accustomed to seeing and exploring a more intimate but not loving side of him.

Because nothing is loving about the way he fucks you against doors, walls, desks, and into mattresses. The after is what confuses you. He's hot -literally as well as figuratively- and then he's cold to you, totally freezing you out. That's another new side of Aaron that you don't like. He can be kind of a dick.

But maybe it's all your fault for letting yourself slip too far in love with him. That's what you come back to every time he leaves you.

It's so hard to be around him at work and under or on top of him in your free time that it had to slip at some point.

"You know you don't have to go." You say, watching Aaron walk around your bedroom, his dress shirt on his shoulder as he jumps into his pants.

He looks at you with that stern Unit Chief look like it's back to business. "That's sort of the deal." He reminds you.

There was no deal. Not an official one. The lawyer in him knows it was a dumb thing to do, and the human in him wishes he would have laid some ground rules to avoid that longing look in your eyes.

You've had enough. You can't go on being near him with all the beating around the bush. He likes being straightforward, so your thinking is he's going to like you for the same quality.

"How am I supposed to believe there's some strict no-feelings deal in place?" You ask. Something subconscious in you makes you wrap your arm over your chest to protect yourself. "We cuddle and then you just leave. That's confusing."

"Because I'm telling you there's a deal." He replies. "I didn't sign up for you to fall in love with me." He strictly tells you. It's the professional talk that makes your heart sink in your chest, him acting like you're discussing the BAU's budget. "Pathetically."

He doesn't just drop your heart with that. He breaks your heart with one apt yet gut-wrenching adverb. "I can't help what I feel." Your voice breaks, tears clouding your vision before they start falling. "I'm sorry."

Like a machine, he doesn't give you a second look. "Bye, Y/n. I think we're finished here."

You should have known that he'd fuck you and leave, that he wasn't any different from other guys. In fact, maybe he was worse. No one ever cared about you- or pretended to care about you- like Aaron did.

You cry all that night over a guy who apparently was never yours. You know you're allowed one night of sorrow, but your plan for the BAU on Monday is to ignore him. If Aaron can toss you out like trash, you're going to double down on his apathy.

A part of you feels bad for creating such a hostile work environment, filled with unresolved tension between you and your boss, but Aaron broke your heart, and you're just reacting.

For months, you either drop your reports off when he's not in his office or walk in and out without saying a word. He doesn't question it. He barely even looks at you, and although you think it's disgust, it's because he cannot look at you without seeing how much he destroyed you that night.

You don't smile or laugh anymore, you seem unenthusiastic about your work, and he knows he caused it. Your desire was what he fed off, but it's gone. He took it from you.

New cases always give you something new to think about, getting your brain off Aaron Hotchner and your heartbreak for a few minutes.

After your case is finished, you're more than ready to go home. Aaron goes straight to his office, and you're glad for it. There was too much love about this case for you to stomach seeing him.

Morgan knocks on his door as his pen signs off the reports he filled in on the jet. It's a habit now, finishing as quickly as possible, from when you were sleeping together because you both struggled to wait much longer than the car ride home, let alone Aaron's dozens of pages of diligent writing and ticking. Back then, being done sooner either meant having sex sooner or not having to deal with cleaning up a mess in his office on the occasions he was taking too long.

"Come in." He calls, looking up. "Hey."

"Hey," Morgan replies, stepping further into the room but leaving the door open. It's usually a sign a conversation isn't going to be heavy, which is really what Aaron needs. "I thought I was the one supposed to be burning the midnight oil."

Aaron explains why he's taking on some of Strauss's work, trusting Morgan like he did with her big secret. "I'm actually looking forward to having her back."

"Right," Morgan says understandingly. "It's not the greatest way to spend Valentine's Day, now, is it?"

The connection clicks in Aaron's brain in a flash as a look of realization comes across his features, and his pen gets dropped on the pad of paper. How could he have forgotten? It's not a day he has marked in his calendar anymore, underlined in bold, so he's not the husband who forgot to get flowers for his wife for the third year in a row.

"I forgot, too," Morgan admits. "Some of the singles were gonna go find a bar and grab a drink, if you want to come along." He offers.

It's genuine, but they both know Morgan's hinting at something else, a situation everyone on the team has been speculating about for a long time. None of them really know where your relationship stands. While the longtime debate started over whether things are romantic, sexual, friendly, or professional, it's since changed topics to the shift in tension between you and what that could mean.

Aaron realizes he's the one that has to answer to the team or Morgan, who will relay it to the team. If he takes them up on the offers and goes out for drinks, he's clearly stating he's single. If he doesn't... well, the guesses will keep the rumor mill running.

Whether Morgan notices his boss's hesitation or wants to push for more information, he continues. "Unless there's someplace else you could be."

Aaron says nothing, but his brain works at a hundred miles an hour. He's thinking about you like he always is, wondering what he should do, if he should make an attempt to spend the romantic holiday together.

Thankfully, Morgan knows he needs one last push. "She's not here, Hotch. And she knew we were going out." He informs Aaron before adding his own opinion. "If that's not her telling you something, I don't know what is."

He can't lose you.

Not again.

The decisive force has him packing up his things while he gives Morgan his answer. "I think I'll pass on drinks, but thank you."

Morgan's eyebrows raise a little. He bet there still being feelings there which was why he volunteered to invite Aaron in the first place once you turned down the offer.

"Uh, what about the paperwork?" He asks, frowning at the odd actions of his boss.

"When Strauss comes back next week, I don't want her to be bored," Aaron says- jokes.

He jokes and he's smiling, and Morgan's a little unsure of what you've done to this man- his stern boss- but it's something beautiful, remarkable even.

"Have a good night, Hotch." Morgan farewells him, turning back around to leave with a smirk.

"You, too, Morgan," Aaron replies, but he's too wrapped up in getting out of the BAU to notice Morgan looking back at him.

Once he's roughly thrown his stuff together, he races to the elevator as fast as he can without attracting attention. He pretends to not notice Dave watching him.

He hasn't been nervous like this in a while, his hands shaking and heart racing. It's what made him so afraid of getting attached to you in the first place. If it's the same type of nervousness he felt joining the theatre department to talk to Haley Brooks, what stops you from ending up like her.

Since then, he forgot how much he liked having a crush, how his stomach flutters with child-like butterflies when he looks at you, and the world makes a little more sense having someone to love.

He goes to the only florist he knows is open late, paying with shaking hands and getting a judgemental look from the cashier since he clearly looks like he forgot to get someone a Valentine's Day gift until the eleventh hour.

Nerves vibrate off him when he knocks on his door, and he scrambles to work out an opening line.

Aaron doesn’t cross your mind when someone knocks on your door. You don’t hope for him anymore. It’s a waste of time that never fails to break your heart.

"Agent Hotchner." You greet him, wrapping your arm over your chest as you look him upside down. Everything in you is screaming for you to not read into him being here.

He had guessed you would still be icing him out. "Hi." He says. He feels really stupid for being there now. "It's Valentine's Day."

"February 14th, I know." You tell him sternly. "And for future reference, I have a calendar on my phone."

"Can I talk to you?" He asks. "As in not here."

You sigh, moving aside and letting him into your apartment despite the panic alarms going off. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry." He starts. Pointlessly. You really don't need to hear a worthless apology. "I shouldn't have said any of what I said."

"Well, I would call that pathetic, but I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings." You tell him, obviously referencing a specific comment of his.

He looks at his shoes like he's figuring out what to say, how to fix this, and quickly because he can feel the way you're slipping away from him. "There's nothing pathetic about how you love. That was me being a dick. I love the way you love, Y/n."

"I never said I love you." You hold firm. "That's your ego talking. If you're here to get back to where we were and just forget what happened, I will." You know how pathetic it sounds, but you'd break yourself a hundred times to get to be with him. "There just can't be kissing, cuddling, or anything romantic."

He shakes his head, stepping closer to you. "No, that's what I want." He says, surprising, confusing, and annoying you all at once. "Y/n, I want to be with you. I want to take you out on dates, kiss you whenever I like, and..." He steps closer, holding out his flowers as a peace offering... "Bring you flowers on Valentine's Day because getting to be loved- or liked, sorry- by you is the best feeling in the world."

You can tell he means it when you look deeply into his eyes. "You know I'm not fully forgiving you." You warn, earning a nod from Aaron as he tries to hide the excited smile on his face. "But there's no one I'd rather be with."

Aaron smiles. The most gorgeous, rare thing you've seen. "Will you be my valentine? And my girlfriend?"

"I've wanted you to ask that forever." You admit, taking one of his hands in yours while you hold your flowers in the other. His other hand travels to your cheek, thumb tracing over your skin. "I didn't think you would. Ask, I mean."

"I'm going to ask every year." He vows.

Before you spent too much time looking at him, his eyes dart down to your lips, and he leans in slowly to kiss you. It's different than your other lust-driven, hungry kisses. This one is full of tenderness and devotion, and you smile internally knowing you've been promised many more.

[velvetwyrme]

Hello! Loved your fanfic recommends part 3 ;)

i know you’re probably busy and tired from putting that list together (and such a large quantity oh my god :o) but do you ahve ANTI- harems? I think you included some in you list but i missed it or something.. if your not to busy can you pls recommend some?

-anon💜🪐

Hello again! Glad you liked em!!! I AM busy but I also need a break so... List Time it is!

There are definitely some anti-harem fics in my previous lists, but here's those plus a few more! My notes are less detailed because I'm Tired lol.

You all know the drill by now; Finished/Oneshot, Ongoing/Unfinished, Discontinued/Hiatus...

No ship tags because oftentimes its Complicated, and/or I don't remember the specifics jskfhkjd,,, it's been a while since I've read some of these.

Also, I'm not including warnings for this one because anti-harems are often prone to being on the darker side and/or containing NSFW content or discussions of, so I'll let y'all use your best judgement here.

Make sure to read the tags and most importantly enjoy yourself!

=========================

There are a couple I know I've added to my third list (The Understudy (F) and The Eye of a Judge (O)) which are both by the same author and as mentioned in my previous notes, The Understudy is THE anti-harem fic; the one that started it all! So those are both obvious additions to me.

Other than that there's also...

There's Still Magic - Finished

I like this one! Follows the structure of a typical anti-harem, and it does it well!!! Just read and enjoy the drama :]

One Step At A Time - Ongoing/Unfinished

This is one of those anti-harems where the reader just kinda... ends up with their own harem in the end ajkdhfjkshdf but still! I enjoyed the drama in this one, also I love Marianna 🥺 She's cool...

do you live with abusive skeletons? stick to the original timeline and fuck their dad! - Finished

Gaster/Reader anti harem. You pull a power move and fuck their dad!!! There's also a revised version, but I haven't read that one yet sdjhskdf but it's there if you want to read it too!!

A Skull-pture of true happiness - Ongoing/Unfinished

Anti-harem except the reader has met Edge before and accidentally left him with a Surprise ;))... (it's a baby. They knocked him up jkhfjkd) This one has soo much drama...

This Life is Mine - Indefinite Hiatus

What if you had the typical anti-harem experience then a reset happens... except you remember all that happened, and are determined to not repeat your mistakes.

artist’s depiction - Ongoing/Unfinished

Similar concept as previous, except the reader DIED. I really enjoy Reset/Save-adjacent shenanigans, and both of these fics are very fun because of that!

Consequences - Ongoing/Unfinished

The reader ALSO fucking dies in this one, but this time they come back as a ghost along with Classic Pap :] The GF in this is... she's fascinating, is what I'll say. I've recc'ed this and the next fic before (in my second rec list!) but I'm adding both here for ease of access LMAO.

Resisting the Current - Ongoing/Unfinished

RTC lives in the back of my head permanently!!! It's an anti-harem except the GF is ALSO into you (and is also your ex!!!!). I love Quinn sooooooo much <33

We're Not Gonna Take It - Oneshot

As the title implies, the reader decides they aren't going to take the anti-harem treatment, and gets the fuck outta dodge. They bump into another set of skeletons though :]

Bound to love - Ongoing/Unfinished

This is actually an AU based on the author's other fic (the first in the series) but that one isn't an anti-harem and this one is lol.

I find the concept really interesting- the reader has met Coffee in previous timelines, where Coffee appears to them and them alone, only for the world to be reset every time. It's neat and dramatic in a way typical to anti-harems.

Also, the author also has another anti-harem fic, with a focus on Swapfell Sans ^-^!!

=========================

Much much shorter list lolol. I'm sure there are others that I've read, but these are the ones I have on hand atm ;P!!

FIC REC MASTERLIST

[yukidragon]

For those of you in the Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack fandom who are concerned by the recent rumblings going on, I gently request that you try to remain calm and not jump to conclusions.

This is a situation that is unpleasant and has multiple sides to it, but we do not need to go up in arms. We're an overall kind and compassionate community. I know that it's natural to want to defend someone who is having a hard time, but there is no enemy here to fight. No one wants a war in this fandom or for anyone to be attacked.

Please remember that, at the end of the day, there are real people on the other side of the screen, with feelings that can be hurt and boundaries that can be crossed. Let's do our best to be kind and respectful.

I'll try to summarize what I know of the situation to the best of my ability. Please forgive the gaps, as there are a number of things that I still don't know about. This will be placed behind the cut, as the topics of non-consent in fiction and personal boundaries will be discussed.

Also, I must emphasize to those unaware - I am not officially affiliated with SnaccPop Studios. I am just a big supporter of their work and acquainted with many people involved with the team and the community. Do not take my words as an official statement from anyone on the development team. I am just a fan hoping to clear up the confusion that has made many in the fandom express concern about this incident.

An artist in the Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack fandom has recently shut down their tumblr page and deleted their twitter presence. Before they left, they sent heartfelt private messages to members of the fandom as an unspoken sort of farewell. This, understandably, has disheartened a number of people to see this artist go, myself included.

The artist in question had stated in the past that they were harassed for the content that they created. Their art often involved darker themes, particularly non-consent.

This fact, coupled with their abrupt departure, has led many to the impression that this artist received further harassment to the point that they decided to close down their social medias and leave the fandom entirely.

This possibility in turn led to concern and upset, which were expressed in some posts on twitter. Without full context or information, these posts in turn have apparently led others in the fandom to feel alarmed that something bad was actively happening to members of the community.

I do not know the reason why this artist left so abruptly. They did not give a reason publicly. We do not know if harassment was the cause or some other reason entirely. Their parting messages were ones of kindness and gratitude to individuals in the fandom. I have interacted with this artist in the past, and they showed themselves to be a very friendly and kind individual in all of our interactions.

I do not know the details about the harassment that the artist faced. I have not seen instances of it for myself. That isn't to say that it didn't exist. Accusations like this should not be taken lightly, and the situation must be treated with care to avoid victim blaming. It is vital to have all the facts before coming to any conclusions.

I do know that the artist was criticized for not properly tagging content warnings on their artwork at times. This was something they strived to correct when it was pointed out to them.

Content warnings are not something to take lightly. They are a vital tool to help people to make an informed choice about the content they could potentially access, so that they might avoid subject matter that they find distasteful or distressing.

When tags are absent or are misused, it is important to point this out to the poster in a calm and respectful manner. It's then important for the poster to be gracious and edit their post to add the proper warnings and safeguards so that people can make an informed decision about whether or not they wish to engage with that sort of content.

Asking something be tagged properly and put behind some sort of warning isn't a form of criticism or harassment. This is a matter of informed consent, which is vital, especially in NSFW spaces. This is a matter of respect and kindness.

We do not know if this is the harassment that the artist said they were experiencing. Let's be kind and not make assumptions that this criticism and the harassment are one and the same. Until the artist makes a statement on the subject for themselves, or screenshots surface on the subject, we simply don't know what they had to deal with. It is also not our place to pry if the artist does not wish to go into detail about it.

Aside from the content warning issue is the subject matter itself. There were many in the fandom made uncomfortable seeing the character of Sunny Day Jack in particular depicted as someone who violates consent.

Consent is a big part of the game. The original creator of Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack has repeatedly gone out of their way to state that non-consent is not intended to be part of this game's story. This is stated plainly in the official content warnings for the game as well.

Jack was designed to be incapable of doing anything to the player without their consent. As stated on the official tumblr, Jack will never hurt the player, and he genuinely cares about the player.

The game's script is being modified to make this point clearer, as one route in the demo led to many misinterpreting that the main character wasn't consenting to have sex with Jack. There is even going to be a softcore mode and other accessibility features for the comfort of the players. SnaccPop Studios has also hired sensitivity consultants to try and avoid any misunderstandings in the future.

There are many of us in the fandom who are not comfortable with non-consent, myself included. There are also those who are comfortable with it depicted in fiction who are not comfortable with Sunny Day Jack specifically being involved with non-consenting sexual content. Then there are those who don't mind or even enjoy non-consent in fiction in general.

These are all valid feelings. No one is wrong for the way they feel on the topic. We're all adults in this community, capable of choosing to consent to engage in whatever topic that we enjoy. Consensual non-consent, including in the form of art and literature, is like any other kink, even it isn't for everyone.

We should be allowed to opt out of experiences we don't wish to engage with. This is why giving warnings is so important, so we can decide as an individual if we are comfortable engaging in this form of consensual non-consent.

There is no official statement from SnaccPop Studios about the creation of fan work that depicts darker subject matter than what is contained in the game. I'm unaware of any statement that requests fans not create anything involving non-consent in their fan works. As such, I strongly urge people in the fandom not to jump to any assumptions on that topic. Let's let the team speak for themselves on how they feel about fans creating this sort of content.

We don't have a statement from the artist why they chose to deactivate their social media pages and remove their content. We should not make assumptions on the cause or go on the offense against a potential threat that might not even exist. If the artist wants to make their reasons publicly known, I'm sure they will say so if and when they choose to do so. Until then, we should respect their privacy and simply wish them well.

As for the harassment the artist faced before this, we should avoid making assumptions there as well. Without knowing the extent of it or who was involved, it's not something we should be meddling with. Doing so might cause more unintentional harm than good.

To summarize:

It is important to tag your art/writing/etc. appropriately when there is content that might be cause the viewer distress.

It is important to not make assumptions about someone's motivations or opinions on a topic.

It's important not to harass real people over fictional characters.

A person's boundaries and consent are important and should be respected.

We need to try to remain calm when we see something alarming pop up on our feeds and not rush to immediate emotional reactions.

It's important to take the time to get the facts and properly digest them before coming to your own conclusions about what to do with that information.

I hope this post helps clears up some of the confusion floating around. I'm sorry that I'm unable to give the full story of what is going on, but, ultimately, it is not my story to tell. I can only tell you what I have observed and request that we all try to treat each other with kindness and respect.

Thank you for listening to me ramble. Be good to each other and take care of yourselves. Your feelings matter.

[agro-carnist]

Now that I'm slightly less in the spotlight, I'd like to talk about what has been going on and give my side. I'm sure you've all seen what has been said about me, but in case you haven't, this will include a discussion about zoophilia, zoosadism, pedophilia, and taboo kink/fetish.

I've taken several days to write this because I needed to clear my head so I could write something concise. I did not want to immediately write something too quickly that I couldn't think through.

I don't expect anyone to completely understand me or totally agree with my opinions, but I am writing this with full sincerity. I'd just like a little bit of faith when you read this. My positions are based on the science that I read, and I try to be someone that sticks to the side of evidence, not one of pure feelings or assumptions or what we think is common sense, even when it is difficult to understand or seems counterintuitive. I've always preached this principle on here, so I hope you all feel the same way. I ask that you read this with that in mind. Even if you don't reach the same conclusion as me, consider what I say and what I give with good faith.

All linked sources with restricted access can be read by copy/pasting the url or title into sci-hub

First, that twitter account is mine. The art contained on the twitter account is mine. Yes it is graphic. No I am not a zoophile, zoosadist, or pedophile. I understand this kind of art is disgusting and/or disturbing to many people. That is why I kept it on an account specifically for this kind of extreme art. It is why I don't advertise it. I am not secretive about my kinks/fetishes - I enjoy things like gore, noncon, and animal characters - but I know when and where these kinds of things are appropriate. Some of my art is not meant for a general audience. I won't advertise it to anyone and everyone to see because it can be upsetting to most people. That's also why I give plenty of content warnings and include the twitter censor that blurs the image and you have to click 'show' on to see. And that's why I believe posting screenshots of this material with my username, showing everyone exactly where to go to find this content, is irresponsible. I know the people that posted it think they're doing a service, but this is how children find content they shouldn't see. Callouts are how people find things they otherwise would never see. I, personally, don't think calling people out this way helps kids. I think it does more harm than good. My twitter was public but is now private because I don't want curious minors to look me up and look at what is on the account.

I understand that it can be hard to know why someone would enjoy erotic art of violence between animal characters without being a zoophile/zoosadist. But there are many reasons people enjoy taboo erotica without desiring it in the real world. About half of people experience paraphilic sexual fantasies, and the fantasies alone are not indicative of pathology. Deviant sexual fantasies are, in fact, "within the normal realm of human experience." There is little evidence that fantasy alone means someone wants to or will commit a sexual offense. Forced sex fantasies are extremely common. Violent sexual fantasies are not abnormal. Sex therapists and educators acknowledge that fantasies are not necessarily repressed desires. Sexual fantasy is not sexual desire. It's ok for our sexual interests to not reflect our moral code. Often taboo sexual fantasies are a way to explore how we feel about things, like repulsion. Humans are curious animals. We have morbid curiosities. Fantasies can be a way to experience something that would be immoral to act upon.

Why I am into taboo kink is hard to explain, and a lot of it I don't understand myself - human minds are very complex - but I can try to explain some of it. I enjoy exploring the darker parts of humanity. We're still animals and that means we still hold onto aspects that don't align with our morals. We have morbid curiosities. When we pass by a car crash, we want to see it, or when someone tells us something disturbing is spreading on the internet, we take interest in what it could be. Art is a way to fulfill that curiosity without any victims. Another thing is that it can be fun or therapeutic to imagine yourself in situations of bodily harm. That's probably confusing, but I like to explore what my body looks like on the inside, or what it would feel like to experience certain physical traumas, without the threat of dying. Fear and arousal are closely intertwined. The animal characters I draw are also very far removed from real world animals. They are sapient and behave very human. To me the only difference between them and an anthro furry character is the number of legs they walk on and the lack of clothes.

Because I draw this kind of content, many people are claiming that I am faking having ZOCD and my intrusive thoughts, or that my intrusive thoughts have turned into wanted thoughts. They say that if I really was distressed by these thoughts, I wouldn't engage with them through art. But my intrusive thoughts are about real people and animals. I do not have intrusive thoughts about characters. I watch movies and read books with murder, kidnapping, torture, disease, and freak accidents and enjoy these pieces of media. This does not negate the fact that I have intrusive thoughts about these things or the distress I feel regarding them. Someone getting hurt in a movie does not distress me. My intrusive thoughts include ideas of me or a loved one getting hurt, or me suddenly hurting someone. Intrusive thoughts target your fears and your morals. They make you question who you are as a person. That's why thoughts of real world violence are so distressing and depictions of violence in media are (usually) not. I fear losing someone I love, I fear losing a part of my mind or body, I fear losing control of my humanity and hurting someone, I fear loss of inhibition that makes me do things I wouldn't otherwise do. I don't fear hurting a character or a character doing a bad thing to another character. When I'm obsessing and becoming paranoid it's not over things that happen in fictional worlds. My therapist doesn't have to reassure me that I'll be ok if something bad happens in that fictional world. She does have to reassure me that the world isn't out to get me and that I don't have to act on a thought. Others with OCD might find media that resembles the content of their intrusive thoughts triggering, and that's normal, but not everyone will react the same. Not everyone copes with their mental illnesses the same way or has the same triggers. Most violent depictions just don't garner that same reaction from me because I don't have any moral qualms with fake people or animals getting hurt since they aren't real victims. It doesn't attack my moral beliefs that way. It may be upsetting to see, but doesn't make me fear for my or others' safety.

I love horror movies and haunted houses. I love the adrenaline and fear I experience during them. But I still metaphorically shit my pants at the thought of an actual serial killer stalking me and jumping out of a hiding spot. The difference is that the former exists in a safe space that I can leave and where I know it's a script. How I feel about a scenario in fiction does not dictate how I feel about it happening in the real world. To tell me that I don't actually have the disorder that I've been diagnosed with is extremely upsetting. So is to tell me I'm hiding secret bloodthirsty desires behind a mental illness or that I'm making OCD look bad by not having a moral conundrum about fake people or animals being hurt. I especially don't appreciate people that don't have OCD preaching about what "real" intrusive thoughts are or what I should or should not be doing while having OCD. The things that have been said to or about me have been undeniably ableist. And the distress that has caused me has just been brushed aside because I don't adhere to what people think I as a person with OCD "should" act like. I feel like I'm not being granted agency over my own experiences.

I am even being compared to some of the worst people like Kero the wolf or HypnotistSappho. I hope you believe me when I say that is truly disgusting and offensive. These were the kinds of people that belonged to groups for sharing material of real animals being tortured for sexual pleasure, or tried to start an organization to promote bestiality, or openly promoted zoophilia and pedophilia as normal sexual orientations, or actively abused children and animals. I have not done anything like that. My artistic expression is nothing like their real world, extensive and widespread levels of abuse. I am so offended that I'd spend years spreading animal welfare advocacy, including explicitly anti-bestiality rhetoric, only to be lumped in with monsters, like my art erases all the work I've done. How someone could believe I actually desire to torture animals baffles me. How someone could think all this work was just master manipulation to con everyone so I could secretly abuse leaves my head spinning.

I also haven't ever claimed that my nsfw art is a coping mechanism for my OCD/intrusive thoughts. This is an assumption people have made. Occasionally elements of my intrusive thoughts will make their way into my art as a way to confront them head on on my own terms, but almost always are not a factor in my nsfw art. Art based on my intrusive thoughts as catharsis I don't share publicly.

Yes, I enjoy hurting fictional characters. They exist in a world with no consequences. Nobody actually gets hurt. Anything can happen to them and nothing about the world changes. I have no desire to hurt an animal, because that impacts the real world. I have never looked at an animal and felt excitement at the idea of hurting it. I have never felt attraction to an animal. I have never felt the urge to make sexual contact with an animal. I have never experienced attraction to a child, either.

I am also being accused of being a pedophile. This is because I made a tweet saying I enjoy explicitly abusive relationships between adult and minor characters, but don't enjoy minor/adult ships depicted as cute or wholesome. People interpret this as me having a malicious desire to abuse a child. But here's the thing: you don't know why someone enjoys a certain dynamic. Many people that like to see abusive relationships depicted in stories or erotica are survivors of abuse themselves. Many people use kink as a coping mechanism, and the stigma of their kink play often hinders them from trauma recovery. Like I said before, kink and fantasy are not morality guidebooks. This also assumes every character drawn in ship art or erotica is an object of attraction to those that create or consume it. But even porn can serve a purpose other than arousal. Personally I just like these dynamics because they offer a compelling story and/or character interactions that can explore trauma and its effects and can feel therapeutic to work through.

Art does not exist in a vacuum. I don't argue it does. Art is influenced by its creator. But you can't look at the content of someone's kink or fantasy to judge the quality of someone's character. This is the position of professionals that study and counsel people. Whether or not someone commits a sexual offense is more influenced by that person's personality traits, moral positions, pre-existing positive beliefs about offending, environment, and negative emotional states. And, look, fiction does indeed effect reality, but there is little evidence that porn encourages someone to offend or results in more violent offenses. Availability of porn may even be associated with lower levels of sexual aggression. This professional report goes into great detail on sexual offending and concludes that there is no reason "scientific or otherwise" for criminalization of any type of virtual porn because it does not lead to offending, and may even provide a substitute for people that may otherwise offend. Even if you find that content reprehensible. Offensive art has its place and deserves to exist. That is the position I have come to based on the scientific evidence.

And I want to make another thing clear: I am not a proshipper. Disliking the position of one group does not make me a member of a different group. I have no desire to put myself in a category, I just have my own opinions. I also have plenty of issues with the proship community. I just now look at fiction and kink with more nuance than I used to. I don't participate in fearmongering based on knee-jerk reactions to media anymore.

Going forward I'm going to do my best to be more responsible with my nsfw accounts. Any interactions I've made with minors are honest mistakes. I genuinely don't want to expose minors to my nsfw or interact with them. I don't go out seeking minors to talk to. But I know interacting with minors through an nsfw account is serious, so I'm going to do better to police myself and always check that no one I'm interacting with is underage.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Sadly I expect many people won't read this, they'll just continue to repeat "zoophile" and "pedophile." But I really appreciate you if you took the time to read. I know many people really do want to be good and believe they are protecting people by engaging in callouts against people for their fictional interests. I think most people have their hearts in the right place but are misguided by the current culture. And I don't mind if you disagree with me, but I always want people to take their positions with the most information. I want there to be honest discussions about these topics, not naming and shaming people.

I might make updates to this post if I think of things I forgot to address. Like I said, it's been many days of my head buzzing and this post is also very long. I welcome any good faith questions or concerns. People that come just to attack in bad faith will just be blocked. I won't humor that. Please meet me with the same honesty I came with. I want to continue to do good.

-Agro

[asherlockstudy]

I had some thoughts about the things you discussed in your amazing, as always, analysis of the first Wonderhole episode. Firstly about the interpretation of "We like closing one eye, because it immerses us in something that's not really happening". I think it refers to both of the things you've said, i.e., when we close one eye we see something different from when both eyes are open, and it might refer to the entirety of the episode, or even their whole intention with the Wonderhole series. So if you look at it with both eyes open and take it at face value, it's a creative surrealist comedy skit with clever, unexpected and often profound plot twists, but if you close one eye and immerse yourself to the experience, it's something else as well. And that something else I think it's your One Story hypothesis, their other life with each other that we don't really see, except in these moments.

A second thought was about the part of the video where they discovered the peanut butter, and they are dancing on beach, oblivious to the passing plane, and missing their chance of a rescue. This scene happens to the beat of "sharing peanut butter because we are peanut butter lovers", and at first it seems like the comical tragedy of two simpletons being so excited about a jar of peanut butter that they missed their ticket out of there. But then if you see it under the lens of the island segment being their post coming out lives, it could mean that once they discovered the peanut butter (as in, how to be intimate with each other), they are so happy that they don't really care about any chances of returning to their previous lives, or even being 'uncancelled' (if that's indeed what caused the isolation after the coming out). And if that was their intention with that scene, I think it was really cute and speaks volumes about their steadfast devotion to each other.

The final thought was about the sex bush. I think part of it was that they like playing with the audiences' expectations (or apprehensions, depending on the viewer) about their personal relationship. The lyric "lovers as in we are loving peanut butter, not that we are making love with one another" gave me a flashback to their song in the 'We spent a day in 1984' video that went "I won't tell you I love 'cause that might make it weird", because both lyrics have that disclaimer element, like an insurance policy or plausible deniability, so that if a viewer sees it one way, great, but if another viewer sees it a different way, great again, they are both right and valid. Schrodinger's gays :D Another part of it goes to some darker places. And fair warning that it might not be a pleasant read, so stop here, if you like.

It has to do with an inkling I have about them actually being still extremely repressed, and all this is just a way for them to express what they want from each other, without actually having to go all the way there (with all the problems that would follow as well about identity crisis, infidelity, home wrecking, public cancelling, and so on). They grew up repressed about sexuality and intimacy. There was a lot of shame and built up about it, as well as a ritualistic aspect (like their dorm schedule). The way they talk about sex to this day sounds sometimes juvenile, like how teenagers talk about it. I can easily imagine the concept of being gay, let alone gay sex, being difficult for them to come to grips with. And sometimes they give me the impression of people who come up with weird rituals around the thing they are tiptoeing, so that they can justify it to themselves. What if they haven't gone there, like we think, and they are making content that allows them to go there, like in a simulation. They can experiment before the real deal. Because a sex bush, like you said, is indeed like a circle jerk thing, which in turn, is a way of being intimate with someone without actually being intimate. It would be very much like them to try an find a loop-hole so that they could both have their cake and eat it, i.e. being faithful straight family men, but tasting the forbidden fruit, so to speak, as well. I said it was dark, and I wouldn't bet on this scenario if I had to guess what's really going on, but sometimes the things they say or do, make me think there might still be some disfunctional thinking about male physical intimacy.

Anyway, sorry about the massive ask, and if you made it to the end thanks again for your wonderful analysis! :)

First of all, thank you so much for your beautiful words! I am glad you enjoyed the first Wonderhole analysis :)))

RE: The eye immersion

There are truly so many different ways to interpret this comment but whichever is the case, the conclusion is the same: the perception of one image is different when you observe it with one versus both eyes open. I have to say, I found it very funny that in the end they gently imply they want to cut out our cataracts though (clear our blurred vision) XD

RE: The plane passing by

grfuehfiehargh I wanted to write this but I wrote so much I forgot about it! It's exactly that, at this point they are so invested to this new state of life with each other, they do not care to go back to their previous lives or back to "safety".

RE: Sex bush and the lyric

That's an interesting take, totally compatible with the One Story. The lyric is indeed a flashback to the 1984 video and instead of it being something we need to interpret in a certain way, maybe it is just a commentary on their insurance policy / plausible deniability, like you said and like it was the case with the 1984 video. I think this really works.

RE: The dark thought

I don't shy away from unpleasant thoughts and I agree a lot with your theory. They do still look and act repressed and in my opinion they still look like they are coming to terms with queer people, what it means to be gay, no matter how cool they act, how many queer employees they have and how many Pride t-shirts they sell. I consider this human, childhood and puberty teachings are the hardest to get rid of and you almost never get 100% rid of them. A tiny voice will always remain in the back of your mind. It's how the human brain works. It is evident in how much Rhett still tries to find answers in religion, it seems like he tries to find ways to reconcile his old beliefs with who he is, despite in the meantime professing himself as "definitely not a Christian". I dare say he spends too much time examining new, alternative doctrine interpetations compared to the average atheist / irreligious person. And I think this is totally okay by the way. He has every right to try to find the answers he seeks for. But like I said in the meantime they are not entirely mentally free. Look how much the concept of hell creeps in their conversations, even as a joke. There is a box inside their mind where they have squeezed all their guilt and the concern and the inhibitions and that box bursts from time to time, if not frequently. However, I don't think this means they haven't acted on anything yet because of these negative emotions. Both in the scripted content and in certain interactions it is evident that this is a point of state long gone. Whatever physical intimacy they were meant to reach, it has already happened. This somehow makes me the heretic of Rhinkdom but by using the same reasoning I used for example in the Wonderhole analysis to draw conclusions, I land on the same conclusion again and again. Whatever was to happen has happened long ago. This does not mean the repression and the fear cannot be explained - in fact this is how they are explained even better, because when things are done and cannot be undone, this is how they double down on the guilt and the fear of disastrous repercussions and the constant anxiety of "but what if we are wrong"?

Besides, it is also not realistic. We see parallels and metaphors for the first chaotic intercourse in the Puzzle, shot in mid to late 2015. And Rhett is the guy you can absolutely not rile up in 2014-2015 and expect that by 2024 he is still "examining" the idea and channeling it through his art, with the flag at hand for 10 years now. It's just not how the vast majority of men, heck, humans function, let alone Rhett who has established himself as a very sexual person and it is indeed the case. Like imagine all those deep, private conversations about their feelings and their repressed guilty desires that are apparently happening ever since they left the faith. Are we to believe that Rhett could have ever managed to make it through them unscathed? Even Link would not be able to do this!

[whiskeynwriting]

The way you write ghost is so genuine and realistic, he actually seems like a real person that i can clearly imagine in real life, i love ghost x bones!!

Would you ever write heartbreaking whump/angst for them? Literally bring me to tears, i’m ready for it

Love @sanfransolomitatm (that’s me) 🤍

Challenge accepted.

Also, thank you so much for the compliments, oh my goodness. The fact that he feels like a genuine person is so flattering to me, and I'm so glad he can be portrayed that way 🥹 I am also beyond thrilled to know that you love Ghost x Bones 🥰🥰🥰

Love Is a Sin (Part Two)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC "Bones"

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Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Lord… there’s a lot. Mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy tests, loss/death, injury/gore, battle, use of weaponry, angst, mentions of past abuse, mentions/discussions of funeral details, PTSD and therapy, brain injury, major grief. 

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A/N: Here’s part two! As promised, it’s much darker. My goal here was to pull emotions out of you guys, let me know how I did (;

Read part one here 🥰

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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“Alright,” Price booms, stomping into the room. “Let’s circle up. We’ve got plans to discuss.”

Already, he hates this. The entire atmosphere has shifted from light and lazy to dark and perilous. Simon can feel his heart rate increasing, his breaths deep and dragging. The mere thought of you in the field makes him want to jump up and wrap you in his arms, drag you away and hide you somewhere safe. What he hates even more than the possibility of that happening is the fact that he allowed it, he’s allowed this to happen. It wasn’t exactly his call to make, but he would’ve made it, and he didn't. 

He’s made his bed, and this time, he’s got to lay in it. 

So, without much choice, he watches his men regroup in front of him, with his partner sitting up to join in. Price tosses out the maps, Gaz whips out the compass, and Johnny’s already pulling out snacks. Tugging down his mask, Simon releases a harsh sigh, nothing that really draws anyone’s attention, though. He’s pretty much always cranky, and with you here, that trait has grown tenfold. 

When Simon reaches for your hand on the couch, your eyes widen. What the hell is he doing? But before you can react, and before anyone else has a chance to see, Johnny tosses a protein bar at the lieutenant. 

“Johnny, what the fuck?”

“Don’t be dumb.” Johnny scolds outwardly, scowling at his closest friend. 

Price can feel something lingering in the air, an awkward silence, a secret. But he pushes it away. Glancing between his teammates, he clasps his hands together. 

“Alright, let’s get to it, then.”

Here we go.

“No man’s land.” Price’s raspy voice begins, finger pressing into the map. “Are we ready for that?”

Easily, the boys respond. Gaz’s simple yes, Johnny’s hell yes, and Ghost’s ‘course we are. And with a contented smirk, Price then turns in your direction.

“Are you?”

You can’t deny the feeling of anxiety surrounding this entire mission. Every time the plans are detailed and discussed, a sort of nervous bile rises in your throat. But you’re here for a reason, and you can’t let the rest of them down. You won’t.

“Yes.” 

“Good lass. Gaz, what’ve you got?”

Kyle had performed aerial surveillance before the mission began on foot, scouting the area for more details.What he discovered wasn’t easy to stomach, but was to be expected.

“Casualties by the dozens all throughout. The cadavers are mostly soldiers, troops that had gone in before us. Some had been taken hostage, maybe two or three, but the rest didn’t survive.”

“Bones,”

Instantly, your head shoots up, looking into the blue eyes of your captain. “You stay focused on us, alright? The five of us, that means yourself, too. There’s no bother in saving any of those dead men; am I clear?” 

Swallowing, you nod. Though his words are harsh, he means well, and he’s right. Any body on that field is just that, a body, an unfortunate result of war. You have to focus on who’s alive, and keeping them alive. 

“Yes, sir.”

More than ever before, Simon wants to hold you. The muscles in his hand twitch slightly, wanting to curl his palm around your thigh in a comforting squeeze. He knows this won’t be easy for you. While you’ve seen battle before, you’ve never gone into the field as a medic. Years ago, you focused on killing. It’s a whole different ball game when you switch gears to saving.

“The reason they all died,” Kyle continues, “Is because they didn’t have you.”

Looking his way, you find a reassuring grin. Returning his encouraging words is your simple nod, a small sense of pride shifting in your features. Your team believes in you. 

“When we get across to the building, and that is a when,” The captain clarifies, “Bones will find coverage. She will not be infiltrating with us. In hiding, she’ll wait for our radio. Once we’ve confirmed our kill count, we’ll leave the building… completely empty of souls.”

And when he adds that last little tidbit, the boys around you hum, a certain excitement flowing through their veins. But Simon’s adrenaline rush is also coupled with anxiety. Outside alone? He questions, it’ll be far too easy for them to reach her. But your captain is confident you’ll be able to hold your own, and Ghost needs to try his hand in having faith in that. 

*

*

*

“You need to be careful with her.”

“And you need to watch yourself!” Ghost scoffs in return, inching away from his friend. “I can’t take a piss in private?”

Johnny shrugs, “Needed to piss, too.”

With a heavy groan, Simon rolls his eyes, redirecting himself to the task at hand, literally.

“What do you mean, anyways?”

“You’ve gone soft.”

“For her.” He mumbles, and Johnny’s brows raise.

“Holy shite.”

“Shut it, Johnny. There’s nothing wrong with it.” It’s not just Soap he’s trying to convince. 

“But there’s something wrong with you.” The sergeant snaps back. “You’re never like this on missions.”

Now, he doesn’t respond. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what to say; Johnny’s right. He’s too far in his own head to focus on anything else, the details of this mission fleeting tidbits in his brain.

“You need to get your head on straight before you get yourself hurt.”

Again, he’s right. Acting like this is dangerous. You’re an incredible distraction for him, you have been since day one. But this isn’t something he can fight. Last night was… something else. It was different, dare he even say special. It was the most intimate moment you’ve shared. There’s no denying it, Simon feels tied to you. 

“Simon,” He then says, truly drawing Ghost’s attention. “I’m happy for you, I really am. I’ve never seen you take such a liking to a person… aside from me.” With that, he nudges his shoulder, grinning.

“Get on with it, Johnny.” But beneath the mask, he’s smiling, too.

“I think you’d be an idiot to lose this, her.” He states, accent just as strong as his candid nature. “And anywhere else, it’d be a great thing. But not here, not now.”

At this, Simon turns his head toward his friend, eyeing him beneath the forest’s dimness. It’s grown dark out, the trees hiding the cabin well enough to be comfortable for another night. And he knows once he goes back inside, he’ll cozy up next to you.

“She’s a teammate out here.” Johnny says, ending his ramble. “Nothing more.” And with that, Johnny’s zipping himself up to head back inside.

That last statement rings throughout Simon’s head, barreling through any sentimental thought. He’s close with his teammates, would do almost anything for them. But for you, he’s wondering what he wouldn’t do. Johnny’s words were true, but it doesn’t really help his situation. He can’t shove down his feelings for you. Sure, he can restrain himself from being outwardly affectionate. But keeping you safe? That was a priority for him. 

Back inside, everyone’s picked a spot in the living room. A few blankets had been dragged out from the bedroom, one for each of you to lay on. And with your Mylar thermal blankets, you were more than warm enough for the night. Simon can see you huddled up beneath the shiny material in the far corner of the living area, right beside the couch. Your back is up against the wall and Simon can already see that you’ve laid a blanket out for him right next to you. 

Sometimes, your relationship feels like a school-age crush. Saving a seat for each other at the lunch table, pulling out chairs for the other, giving and trading snacks, all nonverbal gestures that are just… sweet, considerate. Evidence of an unspoken connection. 

“Thanks, love.” Simon mumbles, grunting as he lays down on the tattered fabric.

“No problem.” You’re laying on your side, already smiling at him.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Settling on his left side, he faces you with his back toward the group. 

“Why? Are you blushing?” Teasingly, you grin, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling. And you’d give anything to see it. 

“Shut up.” The roll of his eyes is such a tell-tale sign for him; he could never be annoyed with you, not truly. 

Turning slightly, Simon settles on his back. Within the cabin’s darkness, you scooch a little closer, nuzzling into his side. His bulking body hides you, too, his insides burning bright with affection when your lips press against his covered bicep, wet from the snowfall during his earlier outdoor excursion. But you don’t mind. You’re not as close as you were last night, or the night previous in your little tent, but this will do. You’ll take what you can, because you always sleep so soundly next to him. 

Simon can tell you’re sleeping well, your snores are evidence of that. And in the darkness of night, he almost feels comfortable again. There isn’t a single worry in his mind regarding the lads, he’d even grown the confidence to wiggle his arm beneath your head, pulling you into him. However, there were many worries brewing in his head about you. More than ever before, he feels a need to preserve this, to keep your relationship intact. He loathes the fact that this happened here, your expression of love for him. If anything, he wishes it’d happened back at base, somewhere truly safe and private. 

Guiding him away from such anxious contemplation is your soft, sleepy moan, and the movement of your hand. Lifting your palm, it slides up and over his side, resting on his chest. But you don’t stop there. Sleepy digits move around the neckline of his shirt, searching for something. And then he realizes - his dog tags. Once found, you cling to them, body curling into his side even more than before. Jesus, do you pull every ounce of sweetness from him. The simple motion makes him sigh, eyes closing as he revels in this. He hopes he never loses this. 

It was an action you’d done a few times before, something that’s almost become routine. Every other night, it seems, you like to play with them. Awake or asleep, you find some sense of comfort with the small, metal plates. They represent him, his existence, the man that he is. 

*

*

*

For some reason, you thought this would be… louder, scarier, more intense than it is. Although, it’s just the approach, just the simple shuffle of feet through the woods. Maybe you expected the enemy to be ready, to pounce on you once you were a foot outside the cabin. But it seems Price was successful with his planning. You’re going to surprise them.

With weapons up and at the ready, you move slowly, steadily, scanning the area as you approach. The air is still, a small chill moving through the woods. It holds you captive, steals your breath and haunts your bones. Something is coming.

Each of you are spaced a bit from the other, a few yards in between each of your teammate’s movements. With your rifles up and aimed, you wonder, what are you aiming for? Any man? A possible vehicle? Movement throughout the slightly rocky terrain? Jesus, it’s been years since you’d been at this. But you’re ready, you can feel it. 

Raising a fist, Price signals your halt. Each of your steps still, your breaths held while your hearts pound. What does he see?

As soon as you all stop, Ghost is looking to his right, assessing you. Your gun’s safety is off, you’re holding it properly, and your stance is right on. The sight makes him proud.

That’s my girl.

Through the comms, Soap’s voice comes through. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Five men, weapons in hand and flanking right.”

“Approaching?” Ghost’s gruff voice inquires, eyes narrowing.

“Not yet; they’re flanking to opposite sides of the building, crouching. They’re ready for us, lads.”

So much for the element of surprise.

“We’re crouching. Continue approach, and watch yer heads.”

“Sir.” Johnny responds, his voice firm. 

In unison, your group moves forward, scopes searching for this small group of men. Movement to the left of the building calls for your attention, and you wonder…

“Are we shooting?” Whispering into the comms, you keep your eye on a rustling bit of brush, the top of a man’s head clearly visible.

“Not yet. Stay out of their line of fire.” Price returns, stern with his command. 

Irritation courses through you, as you now have a clear visual of the enemy’s head. Still, you return with gritted teeth, “Aye.” 

“Boys, line up.” He then decides, “Left to right, we’re each taking a man. Bones, keep eyes on your current target, and wait for my go ahead.”

“Yes, sir.” 

With Ghost on your left, Price is directly to your right, and then Gaz and Soap. Each man walks on until they find their target within the group, sounding off into the comms once this first step is done. 

“We drop ‘em together, swift and silent.” 

“Aye.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then, your turn. “On your signal, Price.” He can tell you’re getting agitated, and it humors him. 

Looking off to his left, Price can see you through the brush with his own eyes. Returning his gaze, you witness his amused smirk, an expression that aggravates you further. He’s such a father figure, holding you back before you make a wrong move, guiding you toward the correct path.

“Shoot.”

Just as he predicted, your targets drop in unison. A single bullet zips through each man’s head, penetrating their skulls and knocking them dead. On your own target, a spurt of blood shoots from his skin as he drops, the firm thud of his body heard even from your position. 

“Advance.”

Shuffling your feet, you roll your shoulders, breaths steady as you walk toward the building. The surrounding cover of forest you’d been using is starting to wear thin; when you’re on unmarked land, there’ll be close to nothing keeping you from getting hit. 

“Halt.” The word isn’t rushed or frantic, but demanding as all hell.. 

No man’s land is only a few yards away from where you stand, the bodies of dead men scattering the dusty earth. From the angle you’re at, you’re unable to see their wounds directly. But that’s just fine, the sight would only distract you. 

“Landmines.”

“Where?” Immediately, Ghost is speaking, having to actively stop his feet from moving closer to you.

“Surrounding the perimeter.” Price clarifies, heavy breaths coming through the radio’s static. “Retrieve your GPR’s.”

While the Ground Penetrating Radars in your packs aren’t exactly ideal, they’re still useful. Though smaller than the usual model, they can detect the electrical current of the explosive. However, it can also confuse any type of metal with a mine, too. Being that many, if not all of these bodies have dog tags around their necks, this could be difficult. 

As you continue on, you hear the occasional notification, the small sound from one of your teammate’s readings. And at first, it’s terrifying. Every time you hear a machine go off, you expect an explosion. But these aren’t rookies you’re dealing with; they have decades of expert experience. You thought that’d make this a piece of cake.

Propelled through the air, your body is flung into a pit. The shrill ring in your ears prevents you from accurately hearing the shouts of your team, eyes blinking widely as you regain your bearings. What… happened? Who set one off?

Before you can hear the words of your comrades, the quick zip of lead rushes through the air. The ringing in your head only heightens now, your first instinct being to duck. Shoving yourself further into the pit, your bruised body rolls down the multiple mounds of dirt, finally landing at the bottom. 

Cocking your gun, you almost can’t seem to get air in fast enough. You’re already bleeding from the side of your head, nothing extreme but it will definitely have to be looked at. For now, though, you need to come back down. Looking to your left, you’re relieved to see that you aren’t alone. That is, until you identify them. 

William Anderson

John Davis

Henry Miller

You don’t know any of them.

Eyes scanning the surrounding figures, they widen, breaths now coming all too quick. It’s like you’re seeing zombies; some eyes are open, black and bloodied and staring into your soul. Others are closed, having embraced the sweet release of death. Limbs have been blown off, flesh rotting as it mixes with the dirt. Legs and arms are twisted, distorted in otherworldly ways. Torn pieces of their uniforms, dog tags that have yet to be collected. Hair muddled and out of code, jaws open and broken. 

But the medic in you comes to. Regardless of the injury on your head, and the fresh bruises on your limbs, you move. Whipping out a pair of latex gloves, you scramble toward the dead men. Reaching for their necks, your fingers curl around the circular metals to grab and tear them from their chains. Blood smears across your covered fingers, flesh moving as you dig through clothes to find some of the identification. Hurriedly, you stash them away, using the inner compartment of your jacket. They deserve to be remembered. 

“Bones!”

“Copy.” Your voice is rushed, panting on the other end as you collect what remains of the lives now lying dead.

“Get to Gaz.”

“Location?”

“East of the building, along the treeline.”

Shit. Right now, you’re on the opposite end. Regardless, your response is, “Copy.”

Now that you’ve given yourself a moment, you can fully hear the surrounding commotion. You can also hear the way Ghost has been frantically calling your name through your personal comms. 

“Bones? Bones?! Fucking Christ, please.”

“Ghost, I’m here.”

And that scares you more than anything. You’ve never heard him so distressed.

“Where are you?”

As soon as you were out of sight, Simon was an absolute fucking mess. It took everything in him not to leap after you into that trench, doing his best to remind himself that you've done this before. You’re good at your job and you can take care of yourself but he needs to take care of you.

The field has never felt so chaotic before. And he usually loves this, the thrill is just too addicting. But right now, he can’t get his head on straight, not until he hears your voice.

“In a pit.” Replying quietly, you gain the courage to glance over the edge. From here, you can see the far east side of the building. That’s where you need to be. 

“Still?!” Simon replies, ducking behind a boulder before reaching over and taking a few shots. “You need to move!” 

“Heading for the building’s east side.”

Simon was still in the forest when the landmine went off, far enough away to not get hit with the explosion or any of its remnants. But he saw how hard you took the hit, and immediately wished it was him. 

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,  ba - Ghost. I’m fine.” Your correction makes him chuckle, even within this bedlam. 

“Ghost!” Soap screams his way, “Ya cannae just stand there!” 

Dumbly, Ghost blinks at him.

“Move!”

Taking his own advice, and that of his closest friend, Ghost switches his position. Johnny watches as he pushes forward, following his eyeline only to find you on the end of it. And concern fills the pit of his stomach. Clearly, Ghost isn’t advancing toward the building; he’s watching your six perfectly. 

Another group of enemies leak from the building, evidenced by the collective thud of their feet. But peeking out over the edge again might as well be your demise, as you’re immediately targeted by two men. 

Eyes widening, you duck back down, head running rampant with ideas. You can’t stay here, you don’t have any chance of survival in this pit. They have the advantage, higher ground. And you need to at least be level with them. 

Reaching for your gun, you’re suddenly hit with the realization that your rifle is gone. Head whipping in every direction, you’re unable to find it in your frantic search. It must’ve flung from your body when you were hit. Onto option number two, your pistol. But retrieving it from the holster does nothing for you; a large piece of shrapnel has blown right through it.

“Motherfucker.”

Frustration doesn’t come close to what you’re feeling, but you need to push that aside and find new cover. Scrambling up the side of the ditch, you aim for the forest, which is unfortunately even further away from Gaz. But as soon as you’re up, you’re turning, the two men now only yards away. Ducking away from two shots, you feel yourself stumble backwards a bit. Sweat drips down into the wound on your head, down your neck and chest. Reaching back, your hand finds a tree to rest on briefly, readying yourself for this fight. But then, seemingly out of thin air, one of them drops. 

“I’ve got your six.” You knew he did.

Your fixed blade has now become your best friend, quickly gravitating to your hand. They, on the other hand, choose to handle this with fists. The man isn’t much larger than you, allowing you to keep your footing as he swings. Your feet plant firmly in the earth, one further behind to keep your balance. A quick slice across his face surprises him, giving you the opportunity for a stab to the upper chest. The blade sinks into his skin, tearing through muscle to reach his most vital organ. Among all the adrenaline in your veins, you bare your teeth, raising your fists to break his jaw with your hand. Kicking him in the groin knocks him to his knees, allowing you to shift your stance. Standing behind his crumpled form, you grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up and back. Tugging the knife from his chest, you slide it smoothly across his neck, spilling a warm redness down his front before inevitably tossing him to the dirt.

“Damn.” 

Turning, you rush into the forest, doing your best to evade the current chaos. Ducking through the brush, you make your way back to the start point, searching for Gaz. He must be wounded, and in turn, hiding.

“Bones,” Crackling through your comm link is his voice, a big ragged. “Three yards ahead.”

Once you’ve followed his instructions, you find him lying behind a fallen tree. He’s used a good amount of brush to cover himself, which he pushes away once you’re close enough. 

“Can you just patch it up?”

In the moment, you almost breathe out your inner words, oh shit. But you don’t want to frighten him. The sight is gruesome, though, genuinely gorey. His left leg is mangled, three pieces of shrapnel in his stomach and two in his chest. Truthfully, you’ve never seen such torn, wet flesh on a living man. It’s hanging off the bone, tendons visible as they cling to what muscle they can. The shrapnel in his midsection oozes blood but not too much, and probably won’t fully spill until the metal is removed. However, you still retrieve your quickest blood clotting agent for the wounds. Gaz hisses through his teeth at the burn of it, the sensation sizzling through his body. Lastly, applying a good coat of saline to his lower leg will aid in reducing infection, as well as wrapping it entirely.

“Can you move?”

“Not anymore.” His voice is low, strained.

“Where is Price? Did he get hit?”

Nodding, Gaz applies a bit of pressure to his biggest wound. “Nah, he moved on.”

“He didn’t have any injuries?”

“He was too far ahead of the blast.

“Jesus.” No wonder Kyle is so badly mangled, he’s the only one that got hit.  

Glancing around, you begin to witness the small creep of fog covering the area. The nighttime air turns thick, and thunder rolls gently overhead. And you can’t see anyone else, the rest of your team is fighting. 

“We need to move you.”

“I have enough cover here. You couldn’t even find me.”

“Gaz,”

“Please just go,” Head lying back on the moss, he sighs. “Finish the mission, bring me home when you’re done.”

With a defeated and aggravated sigh, you concede. “Are you still armed?”

“To the teeth.” He confirms, now realizing your lack of weaponry. “Where’s your rifle?”

“Blown off when your dumbass decided to step on a landmine.” And the snarky remark makes him smile. “And my pistol was hit by some shrapnel.”

“Take mine.”

“Don’t be dumb.”

“I have my pistol, you haven't got shit.”

“Kyle.”

“You need it. Go.”

“Bones, cover me at the forest’s east edge.”

“Copy.” Giving Gaz one last judgmental glare, you snatch his rifle, heading off toward your captain.

Crouching low, you begin to crawl when you hear heavy fire again. Price is taking shots from behind a fallen tree’s trunk, watching you inch over to his side.

“How’s Gaz?”

“Alive.” Shrugging, you try to calm your breaths. Looking into John’s blue eyes does well in accomplishing that. “What’s the plan?”

Lifting a shoulder, he speaks into the comms while holding your gaze. “Ghost and Soap take the right. Bones and I will flank the left.”

“We’ve lost our GPR’s.” Soap’s Scottish accent shines through the static. 

“Bloody fuckin’ -  how?”

“Dropped mine during Gaz’s hit.”

“And Ghost?”

“Lost it in a fight.”

Price scoffs, shaking his head with a whisper of, “Children.” 

“Sir?”

“Just get it done. Use your knowledge, your experience, and tread lightly.”

When Price finishes his sentence, you feel an internal pull to your right. Turning your head, you’re met with a pair of strikingly dark eyes. Yards away, beneath the cover of shrubs, Simon’s stare penetrates your heart. 

“Are you hurt?” He whispers into your ear, stare holding firm.

All you do is shake your head, and he nods. “Good.”

“Let’s move.” Price then commands, moving toward the building’s right.

Creeping backwards, you swallow. You don’t want to lose sight of him, but you have a job to do. As you turn, you witness Ghost stand, his form towering over the dark green foliage. By the way he moves, you can tell he’s about to follow Johnny. But he stops to take one more look at you, before he grunts.

Sharply, the left side of his body jerks backward, feet staggering a bit. Eyes widening, you lean forward, watching the bullet go right through Ghost’s upper chest. The gasp that leaves your lungs is too loud for your liking, but before you can do much more than that, Ghost is pulling out another gun. With a loud grunt, he aims and fires, dropping a man not too far from you. And with rage now lighting up his insides, he steps forward, reholstering his pistol so he can grab his rifle again. Marching on, you watch as he shoots down five more men, clearing a path straight for the building. With genuine amazement, you watch him, peering over the edge of the fallen log to see every man now narrow their sights to him. But he’s a freight train of a man, listening to the men’s shouts and their weapons, ducking behind anything he can before reappearing with vengeance. Ultimately, though, it’s a dumb move. It’s left him out in the open. 

Going against Price’s orders, you set your rifle atop the fallen wood, watching his back. Aiming for the roof, you eliminate the targets up top while Ghost focuses on those surrounding him. And then Soap is appearing, stepping out from the treeline with his pistol out and ready. The way he stomps forward, the way his biceps bulge when he pulls the trigger, the look in his eye while he protects his teammate… it’s inspiring. 

“Did I tell you to stay here?!” Yanking you backward by the straps of your vest, Price hauls you off with him.

Like a bumbling baby, you stumble backward, finding your footing just as Price lets you go. Together, you advance toward the building’s right side. You can already see an area for coverage, a large cluster of rocks off the side of a steep hill. It’ll give you enough space to hide while waiting for the boys to get inside. 

For some reason, Simon expected you to stay back when he started mowing down a path through these men. He knows Price gave you an order, but in the back of his head, he thought you’d see that he had this handled. There wasn’t anything more you needed to do, he could do this for you. And that’s exactly why you stayed back for a moment, for as long as you could before Price pulled you back into battle, distracting Simon once again.

Head snapping to his right, he witnesses your eager lurch from the forest. You and the captain are ready for this attention, though, weapons drawn as you appear on the field. And it all seems to be going to plan now. Gaz is safe and handled for the moment, Ghost has an injury and so do you, but ultimately, you’re moving; you’re advancing, you’re winning.

Small trickles begin to drip from the sky, the product of the thunder you’d heard not so long ago. And for some reason, the moment freezes. You look up, witnessing the rain as it now freely falls; a moment of peace before your life’s most damaging event. 

Another explosion.

Ever the father figure, Price’s fingers once again curl around your vest. He’s tossing you around like a ragdoll today, and right now, it’s because you lunged forward into combat. Flopping to the ground with a huff, your breaths escape your lungs, the wind completely knocked from your chest. And still, you crawl forward, hyperventilating while your eyes search. 

At this point, even John is a little frazzled, neither one of you speaking until you hear the shouts of your sergeant. 

“Bones!” He’s screaming, voice full of emotion because, well… he never thought this would happen. “Get to Ghost! Get to Ghost!”

And now, your stomach drops into your fucking ass. They didn’t hit a landmine, Simon did.

This time, Price can’t do anything to stop you. You’re scrambling forward, eyes darting around the field until Johnny whispers breathily into the comms, “In that ditch.”

A few yards ahead, Johnny steps in front of you, guarding your body from the men approaching. Price does the same, knowing it’s just the two of them now. 

Dirt mixes to mud and smears across your hands, thick clumps sticking to the edges of your jacket. The wetness soaks through your knees to the entirety of your pants, the gentle drip now turning into a torrential downpour. Above your head, lightning strikes, thunder shaking the ground so fiercely that you end up slipping over the edge of the ditch. Falling headfirst into the crater, you land beside Simon’s motionless body. 

“Si -” With heaving breaths, you crawl over to him. Swallowing, you lay a hand on his chest. “Simon.”

This is different than before, different than when you dealt with Gaz. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you could almost throw up from nerves. So far, you’ve done well at putting your emotions aside during situations like this, but not now. Not when it’s the man you love.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it just doesn’t make sense. Not with your team’s experience and expertise, their strength and comradery; how did you find yourselves here? Each member was chosen for a specific reason, the best Price could get. Is that true? Have you really done your best? 

Lifting his head slightly, Simon looks in your direction. And what you see is haunting. One eye swollen, the other filling with red. His left arm is distorted, both legs twisted in ways that aren’t human. There’s barely anything left of his right thigh, but that’s not where the biggest injury is. Looking up, you see that it’s on his head.

“Simon.” Shuffling forward, your eyes widen, hands immediately reaching for his head. 

Crimson warmth soaks the side of his mask, a small indent visible. He has definite brain damage, and your heart sinks at that fact. What will he be like after this?

“Let me help.” You’re whispering to yourself, mainly, because you assumed he’d let you. But he protests. 

“No,” His voice is still low and gruff, trying to continue being the brave man he knows he can be. 

“I have gauze, and blood clotting agents.” Turning you shuffle through your pack, retrieving a fresh pair of latex gloves. 

Immediately, you’re dousing him in a cool saline solution, watching his body writhe softly from it. But before wrapping any of his wounds, you focus on his head first. Leaning forward, your hands swipe across the hard skull covering his face, sloppily wiping away the blood and dirt. But your actions become frantic, fingers sliding over your lover’s face in an attempt to see him again, to look into his eyes despite this misfortune. Simon listens to your gasps and pants, emotional huffs spilling from your lips. In your panicked state, the gloves break. And in any other setting, you'd care about this cross-contamination. But you don’t even hesitate. The mud sticks to your fingers, Simon’s blood caking beneath your nails as you continue to clean him. Seeing him laid out like this, body free of any movement, any sort of intention, it’s pulling at your soul. It’s not him, he’s leaving you. 

“I need to see.”

He just ignores you, right hand reaching down toward his belt. It’s the only limb that hasn’t been mutilated, and he uses it to detach his mags. Moving as best he can, he hands them to you, round after round of bullets without a single word leaving his lips. And what really breaks you, what finally does you in, is the sound of him gurgling quietly on his own liquid insides. It’s now that every emotion breaks free, every single feeling you’d been bottling up and pushing aside, each one obliterates the firm dam of your determination and pride. 

“Here.” He grunts, “Ammo.”

“Stop.” It’s all you can say because if you speak any more, you’re sure you’ll just embarrass yourself. 

“Bones.” He states firmly, the eye not swollen shut staring up at you with… something. He’s thinking. 

“Stop, Simon.”

“Please.” He pleads with you quietly, watching the first tear roll down your face.

“Simon… let me see, let me help.” Reaching forward again, you watch the rise and fall of his chest, you watch as it slows. He was right, the lungs give everything away. 

Squirming, his head turns to the side. “Simon, please. I need to - I need to take off your mask.”

The pain he’s experiencing is at a level he’s not felt in quite some time. His insides burn, feeling stiff around the shrapnel penetrating his muscle. And the injury to his head is making him feel fuzzy. Every time he looks up at you, you are surrounded by a black fog. His vision is leaving him, but he still sees you. 

A burst of memory overcomes him when he turns back in your direction, forcing breath after painful breath into his lungs. Replacing you is the vision of his mother, beautiful brown curls and dark brown eyes, the very eyes she’d given to him. The child in him wants to reach out, only to see her pull away. In her stead is now his father, fist slamming into him. Her neglect, her absence, while his father abused him like this, it’s all he can really remember. Trauma is funny like that, deciding which memories to banish and which ones to keep. It’s similar to the way he remembers school, the bullying, the loneliness that always seemed to chase his very being. Life was never something to be enjoyed, just motions to move through. 

But then he met you, and you made life exciting. Exciting in a way that wasn’t dangerous, exciting in a way that made him feel at home, at peace. Your love, your memories, are what’s most important to him now. The first time you met, the first intimate moment you shared. Smoking together, sleeping together, caring for and protecting each other. Simon can remember a specific moment now, one of his favorites. 

“It’s kinda funny,” He’d quirked a brow at you beneath the covering, listening to you continue. “I know you better than your own government documents.”

He’d laughed at this, because you were right. 

“Don’t get cocky about it, now.” Simon chastised lightly, eyes crinkling ever so slightly with a hidden smile. 

“I wish there was more, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“You do so much, so many important things. There should be more record of you, more details about your life, babe. You’re an impressive man, people should know about that.”

And while your words made his pride swell a little larger, he only sighed. “That’s part of the job, sweets. Anonymity.” 

Smiling, you leaned forward, slinking your arms around his neck. “Maybe, but not to me.” Kissing the tip of his nose, you whispered, “You’ll always be important to me.”

Simon never planned on being remembered. There was no one he was willing to give that burden to. But, selfishly, he wants to be remembered by you. 

“Baby,” When your voice cracks, Simon blinks, those dark eyes watching the flow of your silent tears. “Please let me.”

And he thinks, how is she going to remember me like this? A man without a face? And so, he decides to give this to you. There’s nothing left to lose. He knows you’re taking it off to help him, but he’s allowing it for different reasons; call it a parting gift. 

When he doesn’t respond this time, your fingers find the edge of his mask. With a great amount of hesitancy, they curl beneath the dampened fabric, lifting it slowly. One by one, each feature is revealed. His chin and jawline, his lips, all traits you’ve seen and openly admired many times before. But then there’s his nose, something you’ve never seen in its entirety. There’s a deep scar running right across the bridge of it, cutting down into his cheek. And as you continue on, you can barely handle the violent thump of your heart’s beat. 

Finally, the fabric falls from his head, revealing to you his identity, Simon’s true self. 

Surprisingly, you smile. His hair is blonde, straight and not too long. Absentmindedly, you lift a hand, fingers stroking carefully through the messy strands. A laugh leaves you, some sort of twisted happiness found in this moment. And then your eyes lower, finding his steadfast gaze. Languidly, he blinks, blonde lashes fanning over his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” He admits, coughing. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, seeing me.”

“You’re so perfect.” Leaning further in, your hands cup his face. He doesn’t even mind the tears that drip down onto his skin. “Simon.”

“Just know that I do…” Trailing off, Simon shakes his head, releasing an emotional breath. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Releasing any sense of restraint, you express, “I love you more than anything.” 

You’re choosing not to look at his head because you know it's bad, you know it. And there’s nothing you can do for him with what you have. He needs more than saline and wraps for this. 

“So,” Grunting, he again lifts his right hand. “Think you’ll be needing this.”

With a harsh yank, he rips one of the circular metals from the chain around his neck. And your heart sinks, pulse thumping in your ears. As best he can, he reaches across his body, holding it out for you.

“Give it to Price.”

“That’s not how this is going to end.”

“And then,” Continuing about his task, Simon sets the silver coin on your lap. “You can keep the other.” 

“Simon.”

“It’s not much but, if you want to remember me…”

“Simon Riley.” You want him to stop talking like this, you’d do anything to stop this. 

Barely, he nods, a single shift of his head as he tells you gruffly, “Yours.” 

His eyes stay open until the life seemingly leaves, stare going blank mere seconds after that promise. Without thinking, your fingers curl around the identification sitting in your lap, your other hand still holding his handsome face. But it then leaves, nails digging into the mask lying beside him as your head drops, hanging loosely over your chest. A guttural sob is then released, your insides tearing you open and leaving you emotionally defenseless. Sucking in a thick gulp of air, you know what you need to do. Preserving Simon’s dignity and anonymity, you slide the mask over him again, hiding his face from the enemy. And from you, once again. 

*

*

*

Simon,

I still wear your dog tags tag, I never take it off. It stays beneath my shirt when I sleep, when I go to work. It’s cold, like your mask. I still don’t know where that is, Price won’t tell me. But I stole your cologne, they didn’t get that. I think that would make you laugh. You used to make me laugh. 

I don’t know what to do now, or where to go. I just think of you. 

Strangely, it helps. You know he’ll never write back, but that’s not really the point. This is about you, and it does help… sometimes. Although, Simon never believed in an afterlife, you’re not writing to anyone. This was just something a therapist on base suggested, an exercise to help with your grief. Words you’ve begged life itself to say to him, to be able to speak to him again. 

At times, you’re angry. With yourself and with him. You were a distraction, Johnny knew it, Price probably knew it. You did this to him. And at the same time, your extended mourning is his doing, too. He didn’t give you anything, not a burial site to visit, no ashes to keep. Nothing that allows you to visit him, or at least visit his memory. Simon always wanted to be cremated, have his ashes scattered who knows where. Nowhere important, somewhere to forget. He didn’t get the chance to change these plans after meeting you, though, and he’d regret that. 

The funeral was small, smaller than it should have been considering he died in battle and with honors. There was no way of avoiding a celebration, though, no matter how much he’d protested to it in life. But if there was one thing Simon definitely wanted, it was to be as far away from Manchester as possible; he never wanted to go back there. And with each of you carrying his casket on your shoulders, you made sure of that. He was honored on the training field back at base, body tucked away in a coffin before being cremated. The ceremonial move of the reversed arms was performed, your heads bowed in respect. It was only the four of you with him, the closest thing to family he’d ever really known. The Union Flag covered the finished pine, and you thought, how many more layers of fabric would keep you from seeing him?

Taking your newest letter, you get to your designated Jeep and drive. Every time, you go back to your secret little spot, the place where you’d connected so many times. You even sit in the backseat, the one behind the driver’s side. That’s where you always sat with him.

The stare you give this hand-written note might as well burn holes into it, the edge of your cigarette threatening to do so if your eyes don’t. Packs of nicotine laced joints have found their way to you quite often since Simon’s death, more and more every day. It tastes like him, his lips.

Sometimes, late at night, the boys still hear you cry. You try to do most of it in the shower, drowning out your tears with the louder noise. Throughout the day, you’ll keep it inside, and they’ve all noticed. You’re blank, rendered nearly emotionless as you move through the motions of each day. 

But what’s more important during the night, is him. If you drink enough, you can see him - you swear it. His eyes staring down at you, blinking, body laying beside you on the bed. He holds you. He’ll kiss the back of your neck, tell you I do, I love you. His palm presses to your own, fingers intertwining before he pulls it to him, covered lips moving to the back of your hand. Everything is a memory, but you refuse this. Simon loves you, he comes back just to tell you. You’ll always be thankful you told Simon that you love him.

Johnny takes a sudden special interest in you. For weeks, he hesitates to approach your door when he hears you cry. But he finally caves when he passes by the washrooms one night, a night where the boys have gone for a drink and the base is all but empty. 

Initially, he thought you were hurt. With how hard you were sobbing, breaths tight and airy, he was sure you were injured. Bursting through the doors, he found you on the ground of one of the shower stalls. 

“Lass, wha - ” 

But there was nothing, no blood, no broken glass or anything that could have brought you harm. And then, he sees it, the pile of your personal belongings. Your shower bag and towel are sitting on the closest bench, with a few items scattered on the floor. And Johnny doesn’t know much about pregnancy, but he knows a test when he sees one.

“Bones…”

“He’s fucking gone,” Your voice is hoarse from your wailing, form crumpled and laying on the wet tile while water sprays over you. “Why couldn’t he have left me something? Anything?!”

It’s negative.

In a last attempt to save something, to preserve any part of him, you’d taken the test. Several, actually. But it’s futile; there’s truly nothing left of him. 

How could you feel so fucking empty? So lost? What was the meaning of life now? What was the meaning before you met him? There was nothing before him. 

Johnny picked you up off the floor that night, leaning in to first turn off the shower before bending at the knees to wrap you in your towel. You let him carry you; with the break in your heart you didn’t really have much strength left in you. So, you leaned on him, walking with his steps as he guided you back to your room. And he dried you, dressed you, and then he held you. 

Nothing was discussed, you didn’t speak about it, him. He just sat there on your bed with you, arms wrapped tight around your body, heaving chests pressed against each other as Soap’s eyes spilled over with tears, too. He let you bury your face into his neck, fingers pulling at the edges of his mohawk. It overtakes you, the grief. The all consuming power of it floods your body, greedy in its conquest as it watches you crumble in defeat. 

Johnny made this promise weeks ago, not exactly sure when but he knows it’ll hold true. He’s made a silent vow to Simon; he’ll take care of you. 

For a while, you refuse to let Johnny sleep in your room. He had nowhere to rest but your bed and that extra space was for Simon. But then he offered to sleep on the floor one night, admitting quietly that it wasn’t just for you. It was for him, too. So, you let him keep you company, opening up and giving in to your collective misery. 

Johnny watched the way you curled up with your pillows, watched your face scrunch as you twisted and turned, trying to find some form of sleep. It only came when your hand found your chest, clutching Simon’s last bit of identification. 

Your sergeant found comfort in reading, in literature and even poetry. Some written by war veterans and forever-changed soldiers. One poem in particular spoke to him, and he wanted to give it to you. And for some reason, it offered you incredible solace; it so deeply reminds you of Simon. 

If I should die, think only this of me:

      That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

      In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

      Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

      Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

      A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

            Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

      And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

            In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

Waking up is difficult, but getting out of bed is actually pretty easy. It’s only because you've been running on auto-pilot, relying on your routines to keep you moving. Johnny said it’s good for you, consistency, and he’s right. He’s really helped keep you together these past few months. At times, Simon helps, but there’s only so much he can do. 

The nightmares come and go, and so do the terrors. You’ll wake up in a cold sweat, hyperventilating with tears running down your face and neck. But more often than not, it’s pure psychological torture. The nightmares occur far more often, and you know what? The meaning behind them is true. Some awful creature sitting on your chest, pressing down onto your body so you’re unable to breathe properly, staring at your face as its intentions wriggles inside your head, creating hellscapes you never otherwise could have imagined. That’s exactly what it feels like, it’s exactly what you go through.

Psychologists define it as post-traumatic stress, and you’ve come to accept that. At first, you’d tell them every detail, every new event. The occurrence of you taking a pregnancy test, that’s a new predicament, a new attempt at preserving him. Maybe one day, it’ll be positive. Nevertheless, you don’t tell them as much anymore. It’s all the same, anyway. 

There have been some changes recently, mainly toward the medical rooms. Courtesy of Captain Price, you’ve been given a private office. The room you’d been in originally, the one that overlooked the training yard, is now solely used for training-related events. Sprains and torn muscles, extra ice packs and wraps, water bottles and energy packs. Quick things for the boys to grab. 

Where do the injured men and women go?

Now, you have a full infirmary. One hall with several beds and then four private rooms for those with longer stays, too. That’s where you’re headed today, room number three, specifically. 

Tying your hair back and washing your face gives you the appearance of alertness, something you desperately need. Quite often, you find yourself lacking sleep. It also helps to not have sticky, tear-stained cheeks. You’re not sure when that will subside, but you’re not expecting it to happen anytime soon. Overwhelming emotions find you even when in his company. 

After breakfast and an entire bottle of water, you make your way to the hospital wing, readying yourself for the day’s work. It shouldn’t be too difficult, though; things are looking up. But before leaving the mess hall, you grab an extra orange. Simon always loved those. 

It’s quiet here, something you really love. It gives everyone the opportunity to focus on rest. Which is exactly why you open the door so quietly, peaking in to make sure you didn’t wake him. But he’s already up.

“Bones,”

“Hi, baby.”

The fruit in your hand is quickly made known, Simon’s reflexes ever-present. His right hand catches it with ease, setting it down on his lap so he can lift his mask.

“I can help, you know.”

“Uh-uh,” Already, he’s lifting it to his mouth and biting into the skin with his teeth. Using this method, he peels it.

“Savage.”

“Inventive.” He corrects, “That’s what you mean.”

It’s early still, and you’re the only one making rounds to him. You’ve given the remaining tasks in the hospital wing to your employees - you’re here for him. And so, you swing your chair over to his bedside, sitting and leaning forward to rest your arms and head beside him.

The hospital bedding has been shifted upward, allowing him to sit up as he eats. He’s shirtless, in nothing but boxers and his mask, with two dog tags on his chest.

“How are you?”

“Hungry as hell.” 

“They didn’t feed you?!” Sitting up, you immediately become appalled and enraged. 

“Sit down, soldier.” Simon laughs, shaking his head. “They fed me.”

“And you’re still hungry?” With a smirk, you raise a brow at him as he just shrugs. A sigh then leaves your shaking head. “Growing boy.”

“Yeah, thanks to all this.” He’s still grumpy about it, how could he not be? “Have to regrow an entire damn body.”

He’s being dramatic, but… not really.

Quietly, you admire him, allowing your love to eat in silence. You’re both used to it, the peaceful calm surrounding your interactions. It was something you always agreed on; why have meaningless conversation when you can just enjoy each other’s presence? 

His arm is wrapped, and both legs. The best surgeons the military could find enabled him to keep all four limbs, a true godsend. He hasn’t been able to move them much, though, as he’s only just started physical therapy. Easy movements for now, just wiggling fingers and toes. There’s also the task of his cognitive therapy, mainly exercises for focus and short-term memory. It’s been difficult, to say the least, but you’ve been with him through it, been to every appointment and therapy session. 

“You’re quiet.” He notes, still snacking. 

Timidly, you nod, not searching for his gaze. And at this he sighs, notes of sympathy in his breath. He knows what’s bothering you.

“More dreams?” Simon asks quietly, staring down at the woman he loves. 

Simply, you nod, tears welling in your eyes all over again. 

Simon’s recovery has been difficult, and for everyone involved. It took quite a few weeks of convincing both Price and your doctors that you were fit to care for him. Your mental state was just… shattered. And you’re still picking up the pieces. 

“Baby,” The way he says it makes your heart jolt with emotion, with an incredible sense of longing. It’s spoken so softly, so sweetly, that deep voice rumbling kindly. And just like always, it’s successful in requesting your attention. “What happened?”

Wiping his hand on the bedsheets (he knows they’ll be changed anyway), he reaches for you. Just like before, in the painful memory of your dreams, his fingers intertwine with yours, palm pressing to your own while dragging it up to his lips. And then he presses them to the back of your hand, eyes focusing on you.

“Talk to me.”

“You died,” Finally giving in, you speak. You’ve done this many times, and it’s never easy. But Simon insists that talking about these dreams will help. “Again.”

“Hm.” He nods, humming thoughtfully, giving you room to speak.

“Your funeral, ya know, the basics.” Rolling your eyes, you groan. These nightmares are everything you despise, everything you fear. “Johnny was there, too. I smoked a lot, just to remind myself of you. Wore your dog tag, held it at night. And that’s when you’d visit me; I had visions of you, Si. Laying in my bed, holding me, telling me you love me.”

“I do.”

“I know you do.” Lifting your head, your genuine smile is displayed to him. “I, um… I took a pregnancy test in this one.”

“That’s new.” 

“I know. It was negative though, and it was so heartbreaking. I just… wanted to preserve any part of you.”

The way your voice wavers forces his muscles to tighten, discomfort wreaking havoc on his body. Seeing you like this fucking breaks him. That mission should’ve never even happened, but at least it was successful in the end.

“I’m here, though, love. I’m still here.”

He knows not sleeping next to each other has been one of the biggest issues for you. Feeling his weight, it was a comforting thing that easily lulled you to sleep. And his absence often brought on these terrifying dreams. 

“I know, baby.” Nodding, you sniffle, doing your best to not release your silent weeps. He’s right, he’s here. Everything is alright, you’re both healing and you’re together. That’s all that matters now. 

Contemplating his next decision, Simon grunts, sitting up straighter on his bed. Releasing your hand, he then reaches for your chin. Your lips bloom into a smile as he tilts your head up toward him, his lips, jawline, and chin visible to you. And Christ, how you wish you could see more. You can vaguely remember his face, the features he showed you before what he was sure was certain death. But it’s traumatic to recall it, and he’s refused to show himself  to you ever since. The injury to his brain has made him… insecure, in a way. He hasn’t even kissed you since all of it.

“Have a surprise for ya.” He then reveals, smacking his lips while swallowing the last bit of fruit available to him.

“Really?” Doubt laces your tone. What could he have possibly done for you in this condition? 

“C’mup here.” Simon grins, pulling you in. Standing, you shift your position, now sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“What is it?” Giggling, you eye him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” 

Clearing his throat, Simon looks down, taking his hand away as he grabs the edges of his mask. You assume he’s going to pull it back down, now that he’s finished eating his morning snack. But you’re wrong, eyes widening as he does the exact opposite of that. 

Jaw dropping entirely, you stare in awe as he removes the soft skull, slowly sliding the black fabric from his head. It brushes through his hair, eyelids lowered as he refuses to meet your gaze for the briefest second. He knows he looks different than before, hair still trying to grow back in the spot of his injury. There’s a new cut that runs down his face, too, the upper left side of his temple. But he should know you don’t care about any of that, he’s hoping you don’t, anyway. 

And when he looks back up into your eyes, he can see a profound sense of love. Love and adoration, determination, true friendship and connection. 

“Miss me?” The cheeky bastard, lips pulled into a grin with his blonde hair disheveled and looking cute as all hell. But more importantly, his hair is clean, so much cleaner than the first time you’d seen him, no longer stained red and pink.

“You fucker,” Shaking your head, you lean in, holding his face and pressing your forehead to his. 

Simon audibly winces when his arms move, small grunts of frustration spilling from him. His right arm easily wraps around your body, firmly pulling you in. But his left barely budges, and it’s so embarrassing to him. But his struggles pause when you shift, lips pressing to his and melting away every single unpleasant sensation. It’s a distraction, you’re a fucking distraction. But it’s a good thing this time. 

“You know I did.”

The moment is broken when a knock sounds at the door, and you can’t hop off his bed fast enough. Moments later, Price walks in, a stack of documents in his hand. 

“Captain.” You greet, standing straight for him and trying not to look suspicious. 

Unmoving on the bed, Ghost just nods. “Price.”

“Good,” John steps forward, “You’re both here. Give these a look for me.”

Watching him drop the papers onto your desk, you frown. “What are those?”

“HR documents,” He begins, staring at the stack before turning his attention to both of you. “For workplace relationships.”

Your face couldn’t feel hotter.

He then points a finger at the pair of you, stating firmly, “Sign ‘em.” Before turning to leave. 

Well, there’s no hiding it now.

[shortstrawberry]

Breaking MY silence, my final thoughts

After this post, I'm moving on to my regular operations, that is writing and memeing.

Alright, first of all, I thank everyone who came to my support. Thank you, it means a lot to me. I feel a lot better now and feel ready to write my fic ideas. Thank you for giving me a safe space.

I also appreciate @isas-bathbombs for her sporting act. We both are now cool 🤝. You should honestly be asking for more pay as PR manager.

I also thank the devs for their personal support and intervention. Your great care and enthusiasm for this fandom is what makes it thrive. Thank you so much for making Resident Lover and giving all of us this space to be free crackheads.

Next, I want to give a timeline from my perspective and clear things up. Don't worry, this isn't a accusatory or blaming post by any means. I have not unfollowed or blocked anyone, even those who don't agree with me.

A lot of people have offered their own take on what happened which were pretty accurate. However, since I was admittedly directly involved in it, I feel I should and deserve to offer things from my perspective as well.

Let's start the bullet points

I did NOT write anything that had questionable consent. Yes, I can write things that lean on darker side, but never did I write CNC or any serious kinky stuff. Like bruh, I'm very new to this fandom. Let me get to the kinky part at least! Also, if I do write any (like I recently did for one of my asks) I will make sure to put trigger warnings (which is what I exactly did).

Here's what I ACTUALLY did: write a post asking why Miranda was so scared of Donna. The discussion it started was frankly quite amazing. The characterisations and character renaissance it created was amazing. However, some people didn't like the darker characterisation that happened in it. Or the "excessive" simping that followed by Donna stans. I've put excessive part in quotes for obvious reasons. Excessive is subjective and depends from individual to individual.

I went to sleep feeling satisfied and happy to see all the Donna love. Come morning, I see posts that were quite passive aggressively attempting to be call outs and police people.

I have never stood up for policing creative content. I've been part of several fandoms. I'm a part of Resident evil Village fandom. It's about evil woman doing evil things. So to see people cribbing about THESE characters being dark who have obvious darker undertones was flabbergasting to watch.

So while I didn't have a major part in creating majority of the darker stuff that happened, I did do one thing. I stood up and told people to take a chill pill. Like daddy chill, we are part of fandom that has cult stuff. And so the drama happened.

I don't regret what I did. I've always stood for freedom in creativity, and I will continue to do so. I saw my fellow Donna and Miranda stans getting indirectly attacked, and I had to speak out. I'm glad I did. Policing is the death of any fandom, and I hope this drama teaches us to let people be and not police people. Have a healthy discussion and tease people? Absolutely! But make personal attacks? Hell no.

I hope this clears up any miscommunication or misconceptions about me. I do not hate anyone, or any characters for that matter. Yes, Donna is my favourite, but I'll happily write for any Resident Lover character. I love the game, never doubt that.

Thank you for reading to the end. Feel free to follow me to be updated with whatever stuff I come up with. I never want anyone to think my blog is a unsafe space. I understand how important mental health is. I have a degree in it. Whatever you say, would be heard with patience. Unconditional positive regard bestie.

Signing off

Shortstrawberry

[obsessivecarer]

❝ You are my Sunshine… My only Sunshine… ❞

⤷ Kiran Grey & Noir’s introduction.

𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬 ▶ 𝗩𝗛𝗦

⚠︎ BYF/DNI

⟢ This is an Alter Account, used to interact with My Bug. I am a System Caregiver, my main role and priority is to keep Little Ones/Regressors safe from harm. I, personally, am not interested in babysitting or taking in anymore Little Ones—as My Bug is suitable for me and nobody else. So, that being said, if you are against Systems, DID, OSDD, etc. then I highly suggest not interacting with this account.

⟢ This account will include discussions, depictions, posts about the Yandere Aesthetic and Possessive/Obsessive feelings. Things concerning my personal struggle with OLD (Obsessive Love Disorder), vents and rambles about my struggles within the headspace and more. Please heed this as a warning moving forward on my account—I am not posting anything relating to Gore, Manipulation, Abuse, NSFW content, etc. and refuse to interact with anyone who posts these things.

⟢ This account is fully SFW, and is an account made to express how I feel as a Caregiver/Dad. I will often refer to myself as Dad, Mister Grey, Dada Grey, etc. when in this headspace. My content will be a mixture of neutral Caregiving content for those who wish to share/can relate and a mixture of my own Caregiving style as a possessive Dad.

⟢ Noir will NOT feature on the account, merely tends to co-front with me. He is the split part of me that holds the unhealthy obsession and often does not feel comfortable interacting with anyone outside of our system. Since he is a part of me, however, he will sometimes be mentioned on the account.

⟢ Though I am a caregiver and have a little one of my own, I am a non-community poster of Age/Pet Regression content. That means my account, like I’ve stated, is completely SFW—but not geared towards a specific style of Regression posts.

⟢ This account will include Horror/Dark Themes—as this is closer to my aesthetic. My Bug has a bit of a brighter disposition, and is an angel in every way—so, though I will be mainly a darker account, I will include brighter posts. Again, all posts will be SFW and completely void of themes of Gore, Harm, Abuse, Manipulation, etc. — Consider me a soft-hearted, loving demonic presence who is just here to post about My Boy.

ⓘ The System and I

↓

I am Kiran Grey, Caregiver and Emotion Holder to The Quiet Meadow System. Bodily, we are 22 and I age with the body. I was created early in the Host’s life as they grappled with their Gender Identity and began to experience their first relationship. I will not go too much further as Noir was then split from myself during an incredibly traumatic point within the first relationship we had experienced. Personally, I identify as Greygender—but I usually use Masculine pronouns/adjectives/titles (i.e. handsome, manly, Dad, Mister, etc.) as well as Neo and Xeno pronouns.

We do use Simply Plural, but as I am often not very good with technology and rarely have time to sit down like this to create proper introductions—we mainly choose to introduce ourselves as we Front or during necessary moments of context. Many of my headmates do not wish to Front, and there are some of us who we refer to as “Frequent Fronters” or FFs—those who wish to Front often or happen to Front frequently due to necessity. I, personally, am triggered out by My Bug—being a very positive trigger for me. We all have our fair share of positive and negative triggers, but we are not comfortable sharing so publicly.

We also have a fair amount of Caregivers of our system who are open to babysitting or interested in finding a little one (or two) of their own, as I have found My Bug. That does not mean we will be accepting random messages asking for some of us to care for you—however, many of us are happy and open to getting to know you and making friends! System accounts here and on other platforms will always be shared for everyone to see.

Our Host is a Tattoo Artist, Business Owner and Artist who is happily married to a person we all refer to as Mister Bear, or Bear. Thus, we primarily will not be seeking out any romantic or sexual partners (this is completely changed at the discretion of the Host.) We also struggle with a few Disabilities, Chronic Illness, a few Mental Health issues and more that tend to consume a lot of our “spoons” (term known by our fellow Chronic Illness friends—mainly meaning how much we can spare mentally, physically, emotionally, etc. for certain tasks.) which tends to make it incredibly hard to keep up with a lot of things necessary to live. We make constant attempts to remain transparent and honest in order to avoid miscommunication or conflict—but in case our efforts have proved unsatisfactory, please be reminded of this! Many of us are happy to talk through things when necessary, and will always attempt to be kind—as we all wish to be treated with kindness.

Kiran Grey (Proud Papa to my Pup <3)

𝟬𝟭:𝟯𝟱

𝗦𝗘𝗣 . 𝟬�� 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟱

[anthropologyruinseverything]

🚨Mature Content ahead, minors DNI, plz stop reading and move along!🚨

Jey Uso x Mixed female (alternating 1st person pov)

Here we go! I’m so nervous lol - but I am working hard towards my goal of completing several novels I have started. One is about a pirate queen saving her granddaughter, another about a grim reaper who enlists the help of a psychic to find a dangerous spirit that escaped.

Reading fanfiction has always been fun for me, I love reading, writing the wwe so this has been a really fun exercise to get some practice and take a break from the harder/darker plots lines I am writing. This fic here is absolutely a fluffy, smutty and unedited piece that I wrote for fun but I welcome any and all feedback yall have. I figure why not combine something fun with growth?

***A note: this is strictly a fun work of fiction and exercise to help me grow as a writer! I feel very strongly about leaving people to their privacy so and this is very AU/fiction heavy based on a television character, not the actual person. I know he has kids and even has one of them with him sometimes but it just makes me uncomfortable to include anyone actually under the age of 18 and not a character in their own right in the fic. For this reason I just made up a name and age for the kiddo. Thanks for understanding! (Oh, also, I assume most of yall reading this know what Jey looks like so I don’t need to spend a lot of time describing him)

Summary: It’s April (timeline is not perfect forgive me) of 2020 and eighteen year old Aurora “Rori” Begay is the new nanny for Jey Uso. Feelings ‘inappropriate’ for their relationship as employer and client begin to bloom in both of them but they keep it to themselves. When her mom’s abusive boyfriend attacks her one night, Jey comes to her rescue and everything changes.

Idk where this is headed but all I can tell you is there will be smut and an HEA. Mentions of physical abuse and attempted SA but not discussed in great detail. Please take care of yourself, I will include a little warning before something that might be triggering if you wanna skip it.

This is part 1 (first 2 chapters)

Word count: 2.4k

Chapter 1:

Aurora POV

“My Rori’s here!” Jason lunged from his father’s arms into mine as soon as I made it through the door of the unassuming but well kept blue house.

“Hey little dude!” I gladly received the three year old, doing my best to avoid touching Josh too much in doing so. Every time we so much as brushed hands it caused a rolling wave of butterflies and warmth. Not unpleasant but also not an appropriate thing to feel for someone who was technically my boss. And the last thing I needed in my life right now was to lose my job, especially over a stupid crush.

Due to the pandemic ramping up Josh was home from his job that normally demanded a lot of travel. Even though he wasn’t traveling he still had commitments and a job that required several hours of training daily in the gym on top of meetings and zoom calls. He’d explained the plan his company had until they could safely begin touring again, a plan that would see them staying here in Florida for several months to a year.

Long enough for me to save up enough to get out of my own place, even if my mother was demanding a high rent. I was glad I’d fibbed about just how much Josh was paying me weekly or she would have demanded even more.

“Swim! Swim! Wanna go swimming!” I juggled the excited toddler in my arms trying not to drop my day bag.

Coming to the rescue Josh grabbed the green backpack and smiled at me in a way that turned my insides to mush. “We gotta eat first little man.”

“Are you free today?” I hoped I didn’t sound as excited as I felt. At first I’d found it odd he still wanted me there even when he wasn’t going to be busy for the day but quickly started to look forward to spending time with both of them.

“Yeah, my meetings were cancelled. I was thinking I’d join y’all for swimming lessons and whatever else you got planned. If that’s cool with you.”

As if I was going to say no.

I looked at Jason with a grin. “Whaddya think? Want Daddy to hang out with us today?”

“Hang out with daddy AND Rori! Swim!”

“What about you?” It was hard not to read too much into his expression or the way his voice seemed to drop a little. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh, of course. He’s trying to be considerate of my feelings as a person and I’m drooling at the way his voice changes when he is speaking to another adult. I swallowed my embarrassment and put on a big grin. “Not at all, it’ll be great to hangout! Now how about some breakfast?”

There wasn’t much Jason loved more than swimming but one thing was for certain.

“PANCAKES!”

—-

Jey POV

It did things to me when she called me “Daddy”, even if it was in this context.

Maybe I could get Joe or Braun to hit me in the head next time we’re wrestling.

Really, really hard.

Well, maybe not Braun, I didn’t want to die after all.

I needed some sense knocked back into me around this girl though. I can’t keep my eyes off her and thought about her way too often. She’s only eighteen and I should not be feeling this way about my sons *nanny.* Watching her as she moved around the kitchen, letting little man help her with making breakfast it brought an excited sense of peace.

My eyes dutifully followed the sway of her curvy bottom as she sidestepped small feet with a laugh. I wanted to wind my hands into that waist length brunette hair while I devoured her pouty lips.

Wanted to see her pretty green eyes tear up with those lips wrapped around my dick.

I wanted a lot of things from Miss Aurora Begay.

Isolating was hard, I hadn’t had a chance to go out or hookup with a chick since New Year’s Eve. Maybe that was my problem. She was close, pretty and had a great laugh.

But the truth was I hadn’t wanted someone so bad in a long time. Jason’s mom had burned me pretty hard when she decided she didn’t want to be invested in his life, or mine.

You travel too much she’d said. Come to find out “you travel too much” really meant I’d rather be fucking other dudes in another country.

More power to her. We’d started out casual but when she fell pregnant I’d stepped up and even offered to marry her and let myself get invested. Not the best way to start but I was willing to give it a shot for him.

“How many?”

“Huh?”

Rori pulled me out of my thoughts with a light tough to my shoulder and a giggle. She smiled down at me. “I asked you how many pancakes would you like? I’m using the protein mix.”

Of course she’d ferreted out the healthiest pancakes for someone with my training regime. She was always doing thoughtful shit like that and I loved it. Loved that she would modify things for me, make me a plate or keep one warm for me in the oven when something ran longer than planned.

It was hard not to let all that spill.

She raised her eyebrows. “Josh?”

*I’m so fucked.*

“Uh, make it four.”

Thirty minutes later and I’m waiting for them the come downstairs. Jason appeared at the top of the steps first in his matching swimming trunks and shirt all decked out with tiger sharks. His favorite animal at the moment. He proudly held up his shark goggles. “Look daddy, I’m a shark!”

In a weird way I was grateful for the lockdown. I’d never been able to spend so much time with him and it made me happier than I’d ever been. “I see little man! Where’s Rori?”

“Coming, sorry!”

Chapter 2 -

Aurora POV

Josh stood at the bottom of the steps in nothing but black swimming trunks. My mouth went dry and heart pounded as I tried not to stare at him while Jason and I made our way downstairs hand in hand. It was tough though, his dark bronze skin and spiraling tattoos were mesmerizing.

He’d given me a cursory glance before looking away and even though I’m not terribly vain, it stung my pride a little. I should be ashamed that I picked the cheap and simple but pretty blue mesh halter and boy short set because I thought be would like it. As if he’d ever look at me the same way I do him.

Tucking the sadness away I padded out to the pool with Jason who was already fighting with his arm floats before he’d made it to the water. “Here let me help-“

The words were cut off by splash of water, my own shriek of surprise and Jason’s shriek of laughter. Josh had blown by us to canon ball into the water before surfacing with a challenging smirk.

It would be hard to ignore the heat pooling between my legs.

Well, until little man threw his arms up and demanded to be thrown in for a big splash that is. Happy to oblige and to cool off I scooped him up and we jumped in. What I’d planned as a swimming lesson turned into lots of laughing and splashing with Jason getting brave enough to paddle back and forth between us a few times.

After a while he was tired and become more preoccupied with making his pool toy shark eat his other action figures. Josh drifted over to where I stood in the shallow water while Jason played nearby on the step. “Hey.”

“Hey?”

“What happened here?” Gently he brought his fingers to a healing bruise on my arm. Anxiety twisted my stomach painfully. I had to come up with something, my mother had trained me to lie about this sort of thing.

“Oh, uh, I just, I just dropped something when I was reaching for a can on a shelf at home. Clumsy, just brought my arm up so it wouldn’t like hit me on the face or anything. Nothing, no worries.” I realized I was rambling when his brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes.

Fuck. He didn’t need to know mom’s latest boyfriend was a real dick, even for her.

“A can huh?”

The truth was I hadn’t moved fast enough to get out of his way a couple days ago and so he grabbed me by the arm, hard enough to leave those prints, shook me and slung me across the room. Not the first time one of the men she’d brought home had done something similar but no one had ever really paid attention and my mom had threatened me with much worse if I ever told.

“Yeah, just a stupid accident.” I tried to smile reassuringly but could tell it wasn’t working. Josh opened his mouth but fortunately for me, little man chose then to pounce, throwing himself at us with abandon only a happy toddler could achieve.

“Make splashes Rori!”

“You sure did! How about we get dried off and go watch a movie?” I was grateful for the distraction. Hopefully he would let it go.

————

Jey POV

Late that night I laid in bed scrolling through photos from the last few weeks, looking for clues and wracking my brain for an explanation. Aurora had never lied to me before and I should have her drug tested if she thought I bought that story about the can. I know what a bruise from someone gripping you too tightly looks like. Why was she being so evasive about it?

*Does she have a boyfriend? Some little shit who thinks he’s tough?*

An intense anger erupted in my chest at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her. In any way. Thinking about her kissing someone else, *fucking* someone else, made me physically sick.

I resolved to get the the bottom of it. Why weren’t her parents doing anything about it? Did they notice?

Wait. Does she live with them?

It dawned on me that I know next to nothing about her or her living situation. Most of our conversations revolve around Jason or the chores or how my day had been or what I wanted for dinner. I knew she was a college student and we’d chatted about a few times about things like music or movies or my job but never had she mentioned her family or friends or relationships at all, except one girl named Jamie. And all I knew about her was that they’d seen a movie together recently.

I’d snapped a few pictures today. Only one of just her but that was the one I settled on looking at. She stood mid thigh in the pool, her golden skin wet and the red of her messy bun stood out in the sunlight. The swimsuit wasn’t too revealing but I’d almost embarrassed myself. Seeing her coming down the steps it that simple but sexy outfit had me at half mast in no time, I’d had no choice but to hustle my ass into the cold pool or risk her noticing.

Looking at the picture now I had the same problem, my cock twitching to life at the thought of tasting her everywhere. Closing my eyes I dropped my phone and let myself pull my boxers down. Picturing her sweet smile I imagined she was there with me, straddling my waist, her walls clenched tightly around me.

Slowly I started stroking myself, imaginary Aurora’s movements were careful and shy and gentle, just like everything else about her. Her small hands braced against my chest, fingers digging in as her cheeks flushed with pleasure and she panted in need.

*”Daddy, please!”*

Increasing my pace I imagined taking control, clutching her hips and bracing myself with my ankles as I thrust up at a much more aggressive pace. My knees drew up and I clutched the sheet with my free hand as her cries filled my ears.

*”Harder Daddy, yes yes! I’m gonna cum!”*

I didn’t fight the groan that rose in my throat as I sped up even more. It was my fantasy and we would finish together.

“Fuck Rori, baby…” I bit my lip when I came, spilling hot ropes of cum onto my stomach as my hips bucked and twitched. For a few seconds I just lay there breathing hard.

I’d lost count of how many times I’d gotten off this exact same way now. I knew I should stop but it was becoming something of an obsession. It wouldn’t be the first time in my life I’d developed a fixation, just not quite so focused in on a particular female before.

I hoped it would pass when the lockdowns lifted and I could get some of this pent up want out but deep inside I knew that wouldn’t be the case.

No, something about those big hazel eyes and loving personality had dug itself deep inside me. I swiped at the mess I’d made with my shirt before throwing it in the hamper in the corner of the room. A twisted part of me hoped she’d notice when she did laundry and wonder if I was thinking about her but the realistic part of me would kick in and handle the mess in the morning.

Settling in to the covers I hoped she was comfortable and safe, wherever she was.

[llaberration]

Coyne's Chronicles: Shadow Over Yfiria- Chapter 32

Content Warning!

This chapter is darker, and covers some fairly troubling moments and mentalities from the characters. Some of the discussions contained within may be distressing, if you're already in a sensitive or emotional mood it might not help that.

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Coyne grunted as he heaved himself deeper into the structure, barely able to squeeze his skinny frame through some of the narrow gaps and spaces left by the haphazard construction. The only saving grace thus far was that nothing seemed to be actively using the crevices and tunnels to navigate the hive other than him. Whatever way in and out the bog creatures were utilising had to lie below the liquid level of the mire, because these tunnels were not used at all. As far as Coyne could tell from the amount of dust and crumbling stone on the walls of the spaces he was navigating, he was the first living thing to pass through here. That gave him some limited sense of safety in his search, but the increasingly loud sounds echoing through the broken stone crevices were swiftly washing that away.

What he could hear sounded... wet. Wet and slimy and strange. He tried to move as silently as he could, as the noises he was hearing most certainly were not coming from natural dripping and trickling in the cave-like environment. This sounded like large things were moving through liquid somewhere nearby. Occasionally there would be a grunting growling sound, or even a howl, vocalisations that sounded strained and uncomfortable. As though that which made them was not quite able to do so without great effort. Pausing for breath, he let a hand rest quietly over the shape of the egg, running over the incantation in his head that Fez had given him to utilise it. He could probably get away with it now and still expect it to be effective but he needed to be sure. Fez had been clear. With their one and only shot at this, they had to make certain. He had to find the centre of the hive first, no matter how much extra time it took, he had to make sure.

He continued on his way, trying to keep himself firmly focused on the task and not on what was going on in the outside world that now felt so far away. He had to prioritise his feelings right now, and in order to help his friends, his main job was to finish his current task. He felt like he had been in the tunnels for hours when he spotted a glimmer of light ahead, creeping up a crevice in the stonework. He slowed, and crept with delicate care the last few feet to the opening that was releasing a sickly green glow. He spread himself out along the floor to ensure he got the safest position as he peered through what appeared to have once been the corner of a doorframe, into the space below, seeking the source of the light.

His view was somewhat limited by the smallness of the opening, but what it revealed to him was informative enough.

He was over a massive cavern inside the hive, filled with a lake of slime up to what he assumed was ground level. The liquid was thick and green, but transparent, so he could see that it was deep, very deep. He couldn't see the bottom, it merely descended into greenish blackness as far down as the light could penetrate. He could not see the source of the light, even by straining to one side, he could not make out what was generating the green glow, the shattered frame blocking his sight. None of that was what held his attention though. What drew the eye was the many shifting, moving shapes in the slime.

They were... like dragons, in a sense. Between twenty and forty feet long, with four legs, and what seemed to be half-formed or vestigial wing bases. They weren't right though. Their bodies were misshapen, missing parts or entire sides of flesh, showing bone and organ below. Even where the limbs were present on their bodies, they were often too small or twisted to one side in a way that implied the joints weren't in the right place. It almost looked as though the liquid was digesting them, in some places he could see organ material floating all but outside their body cavities. Their bones seemed soft, misshapen, bending in odd positions. One in particular that raised its head above the surface, Coyne saw its lower jaw bending downwards with the weight of its irregular, sharp teeth. But they did not seem to be in pain. The creatures moved lazily around in the liquid, using their weak limbs to propel themselves around little by little, not going anywhere, just shifting.

Straining his angle to try and see more, Coyne realised there was a pile of bones and dusty matter spilling in through an opening in one of the walls down there. At the bottom of the heap, a barely formed shape was picking at the bones. It didn't even yet have back legs, just a spindly front set that lacked feet. It was basically just a neck, shoulders, and a skull-like, skinless head with hollow eye sockets. After watching for a long moment, Coyne realised the thing was trying to build itself out of the pile of plagued parts and bones, and it began to dawn on him why there had been relatively few infected around, at least when he calculated the population of the city, and the amount of wildlife the plague had likely consumed. It wasn't changing and sending out infected with everything that it turned. Most of them had been sent here, for their matter to be repurposed into... whatever these were.

Fake dragons.

Horrible, malformed dragons, from the mind of something vile.

Dragons had created the plague and now the plague had created dragons. That sort of logic was beyond Coyne's capability to reason. But perhaps that was what it had always been designed to do, recreate the creatures that created it, mirror them, and use them to destroy. There were not many land and air predators that could outmatch a dragon so if it did manage to make these constructs viable outside of liquid then its forces could be made unbeatable.

Clearly the infected that it sent out into the land were actually looking to just infect more things to come here for this purpose. No wonder the spread had been so slow. It had been here for a century, preparing for, and then executing this plan. They had entirely misunderstood the goal of the plague. It was still spreading to destroy... it was just coming up with a more dangerous way to do it.

Coyne withdrew from the hole, pausing to consider whether this was the right place to do it. He would prefer to have a larger opening into the space, and he had spotted many holes leading into the chamber that looked larger than the one he had found. He decided to try and locate something a little better. He didn't want to half ass this. Not having come this far. If anything had happened to his friends and he messed up what this had all been for, he'd feel a real fool for the short time they all had left to live at that point.

Heric dove into the lake from a greater height that he normally would have done. The first body of water he had seen from the spot he had taken off, as soon as they were off the bog. He had snatched up the Ancient, and Trevor had caught on quickly, turning back to his portable, human size. As the ground at the edge of the bog had started to rupture with their pursuers, he had grabbed the other mage and taken off, flying at full sprint-speed, turning and rolling in the air to throw off any possible quill shots, but their enemies hadn't had a chance to take aim, and he had flown clear of their range. Once well away, he had carried on without hesitation towards the first lake he could see outside the infected land. He dropped the humans in the shallows, and dove into the centre himself, shaking his body under the water, causing waves on the lake's surface as he twisted and writhed beneath, trying to get rid of anything infectious still on his body and scales.

At the edge of the lake, Alan was doing the same, frantically removing his mask and immersing himself in the water, he splashed about, discarding his boots altogether. Fortunately, the water seemed to dissolve the plagued mud almost immediately, leaving him looking almost as though he had never gone through the bog at all. He surfaced with a gasp, checking himself over thoroughly, and turning in place to see if he could see what the others were doing.

Trevor was sitting in the water silently, holding his knees, not visibly making an effort to clean himself. His long, curly hair was dripping water down his face, and he was staring coldly at the lake in front of him.

“Trevor!” Alan splashed over to the man, giving him a heavy shove to knock him into the water properly. “Get yourself clean! What're you thinking?!”

The druid flailed in surprise, going under the surface for a moment before coming back up, pushing at the man, “Stop that! There's no POINT!”

“No point... what do you...” Alan went still as he saw the druid stand up, reaching to the side of his robe and pulling it open to show an ugly semi-circle of tears and perforations in the man's flesh. “You...” he stared at it, trying to understand as he saw diluted blood dripping from the wound, soaking into the robe material.

“I got bit,” said Trevor, “Not scraped, not clawed, bitten.”

“We might have got to the lake in time... the water might have...”

Trevor dropped his head to the side, giving the mage a cold 'Do you think I'm an idiot?' stare. “If water could cure a bite that good, nobody would ever get infected.”

“But... you... when did?”

“It doesn't matter,” said the druid, closing his robe with a sigh. He had taken the bite in his snake form while freeing Alan, and there was no point making the mage live with that guilt. “It's too late.”

“What if Coyne hatches the egg? That might cure you if you're not turned...”

“It might. Might kill me instead,” he shook his head, overwhelmed, and still processing for himself.

Heric sloshed out of the water beside them suddenly, shaking himself, dousing them, “You both alright?”

“Trevor got bitten...” said Alan, pointing.

Heric stared at the druid for a moment, silent other than the dripping. “I'm... sorry. I have to go back. We lost Iewan... I have to search for him...”

“Can you take us somewhere first?” asked Trevor, “Somewhere high up on route, you don't have to go far... I just want to... watch for Coyne hatching the egg.”

Heric hesitated. He wanted to hurry, he'd have said no, but if Trevor had been bitten, he could hardly refuse. “Alright,” he said, awkwardly. “Fez and I were using a rocky outcropping not far from here to spy on the hive. We'll go there.” He flapped his wings, taking off and grabbing the two gently.

It was a short flight, the dragon was hurrying, his wings beating quickly as he flew rather than obliging the air currents as he usually would. After only a few minutes, he slowed, gliding down to a granite Tor on the top of a hill, and gently set the two down. “I have go go,” he said, “Will you be okay?”

“We'll manage,” said Trevor, “Go, find Iewan.” He watched as the huge blue form took off, then looked around, taking a deep breath of the clean air, enjoying how sweet it smelled after the bog. Throwing his mass of hair out of his eyes, he went to the edge of the tor, looking out at the hive, which stood as imposing as ever at the centre of the dead land. “Nice view,” he commented softly.

“Trevor... why aren't you... doing something?” Alan stood behind him, his shoulders tense and his face pinched with worry. “Shouting? Being angry? You're always angry...”

“Because shouting isn't going to help and...” he hesitated a moment, then just came out with the words on his mind. “I don't think dying will be so bad,” his tone were already a little dry, as though the druid's throat was starting to get a little sore. “Honestly. I could use the peace.”

“Stop it, you're not allowed to die. You're going to be fine. The egg is going to hatch and you're going to be cured,” snipped Alan.

“Or turned to dust. We don't know. It's okay though. At least I got to experience freedom for a little bit, find out a bit more about the world. That there's some good in it that the college hasn't snuffed out.”

“Stop. You're not going to die.”

“It's okay. I'm not upset. We did what we set out to do.” Trevor gave Alan an almost hopeful little smile. “We did that. I mean... all we did was run away but... it gave Coyne a distraction at least.”

“No. It's not okay. You're not allowed to die yet.”

“Oh it's not yet... I estimate I've got about... forty minutes left?” he gave a rough cough. “Maybe an hour or two? I wonder what it'll look like... when the egg hatches. The light,” he looked out over the landscape again, and he gently, carefully set himself down to sit on the edge of the tor.

Alan's breath hitched as he tried to reply, and he had to try a few times to construct the words. “Stop it. I can't. I don't want to hear you talk like that.”

“It's not like you're going to be alone. You have Coyne, Fez...”

“I don't want just them. I want you.”

The druid gave a dry smile, “Look at you. Always Mr Demanding. Got what he wanted as a kid. Well. You can stamp your feet all you like, this isn't something your daddy can buy you out of this time.”

Alan's face pinched in an ugly combination of frustrated tears and sheer irritation. “Stop it. Can't you stop being sarcastic for five seconds, even now?!”

Trevor gave an immense, self-satisfied smile, making his teeth look overly white against his lightly greying skin. “Not a chance. I will leave this world wearing a sneer you wait and see.”

Alan managed a glare, though it was with far more sadness than anger. “You aren't allowed to,” he repeated.

“You can forbid it all you like, but it's not in your hands. So why don't you sit down here on this nice comfortable rock with me, and wait to see what the light looks like?”

“That's what you're going to do?”

“That's what I'm going to do.”

“Just that?”

“What else would you have me do? Cry? Run about screaming? No. I'm already tired, and what will it help? I've weathered enough indignity in my life. Done a lot of trying to save my skin. I'm going to finally enjoy a little peace and quiet while I can. Now. Will you join me?”

Alan gestured wildly for a moment before his hands dropped to his sides, and he fell into a sitting position beside the druid, exhausted and all out of arguments. “If you survive this I'm going to kill you.”

Trevor gave a slightly ghoulish grin, “I don't think that's unreasonable. Make sure it's something dramatic eh?”

“Oh stop that. Can't we just have a serious conversation?”

“Depends. Do you want to talk about what's happening to me? In which case no.”

“What if I agree to talk about something else? Could we have a serious conversation about anything at all?”

Trevor gave a little bit of a snort, “If you won't leave me in peace, sure. What would you like to talk about?”

“Why don't you tell me about something I know nothing about. Why don't you tell me what it's like to be an animal?”

“Wait... really?” The druid looked puzzled. “Why?”

“So I can pretend for a little longer that this... isn't happening?”

“Will it shut you up if I agree?” there wasn't any venom in the words any more, the man seemed genuinely surprised at Alan's persistence.

“I can do that. If you promise to keep talking to me.”

“If that's what it takes,” the druid worked to sit a little more upright, and cleared his dry throat before starting to talk. “Being a rabbit, is the absolute fucking worst, and let me tell you why...”

When Coyne finally found the perfect position in a collapsing stone window frame, he was closer to the surface of the liquid, much lower down than before. He also had a somewhat better view of the area. The green glow that illuminated it was actually coming from a tunnel that lead out of the chamber. It was pulsing gently, almost organically, but even when he risked leaning out a little, he couldn't see the source. He wondered if he should continue his search, maybe find out what it was, but he felt that this was as central in the hive that he was going to get without risking getting caught. The elders had said the centre of the hive, and this was the centre. By trying to take more time, he was only causing unnecessary risk.

He moved back a few feet, to conceal himself from the creatures sloshing around in the slime below, and pressed his hands gently to his middle. “I hope you've rested long enough... I wish it could be longer but... this world is in danger and we need you.”

He drew a slow breath, taking in his surroundings for a moment or two longer, making sure he remembered the incantation exactly. It was a strange, otherworldly place. No sound from the outside world made it through to the chamber where the monsters were forming. They splashed about from time to time, letting out their moaning, gurgling cries at each other. He shifted a little in place to peep at the creatures, frowning. Their bodies looked so wrong... In attempting to create life, the plague had succeeded, but giving that life a shape was much harder for it.

He wished he knew that his friends had all managed to escape. If he knew they were safely hiding somewhere waiting, he could focus a lot more easily. But no... he had only his hope they had made it out, and his trust in Fez to protect everyone.

He drew his focus inside, closing his eyes. He had to get this right and stop tormenting himself. He ran over the words the dragon had taught him, practising the pronunciations silently with his mouth. He was unfamiliar with the language, as it was that strange, guttural tongue that the dragons spoke among each other, but Fez had used a little magic to ensure it was precisely correct in his memory. He knew it and he was ready. Drawing a breath, he calmed himself and began to speak. The words were quiet, not wishing to draw attention from the creatures below, reciting his way through a long verse of thick, awkward syllables and forcing his tongue into the difficult shapes required for each sound. When he finished, and ended by calling Ridgar's name as softly as he could, he went still, looking expectantly at himself. Had the dragon not heard him? He blinked as he remembered Fez had told him not to use the nickname for the elder, and fished about for the full, real name. “Oridingeon,” he finished instead, daring to go a little louder. He looked at himself again, a little expectant, raising an eyebrow. He gently drummed a couple of fingers on his belly, as if knocking on a door. At first there was no response, then, as he was starting to worry he had goofed the incantation, he felt a sharp little 'tap.' Initially, he thought it had come from nearby, a stone clacking off the crumbling ceiling or something like that, but when it came again, he realised it was within him. Then he spotted a soft glowing from beneath his shirt. He blinked, lifting it, shocked as he saw the bright outline of the egg, and an even brighter line of a crack down the side of it. It was happening. He huddled close around the thing, bundling his cloak around his body to hide the light until it was ready.

Heric swirled towards the edge of the bog, his good eye searching the ground for any sign of life. He didn't go over the mire itself, still well aware that he did not want a series of quill related piercings. He was troubled by leaving the mages the way he had but his allegiance to Iewan was stronger, and he needed to know what had happened to the man. How he planned to achieve that he wasn't even sure. He was dizzy, and his ears were still ringing from the impact against his head earlier, but he couldn't leave things the way they were.

As he circled, he spotted a small, black shape running across the landscape, just crossing the end of the bog and onto solid ground. It was Fez, the slender shape, even size-shifted like he was, was unmistakeable. However, the reason for his swift movement was a lot more visible.

Thumping after him in an uncoordinated, hump-backed sprint, was one of the creatures. It had clearly been chasing for a while, because most of the muck of the mire had been shaken off. It was only a few feet behind Fez, but did not seem to be gaining any ground, if anything it looked to be following rather than chasing. He growled, circling closer, waiting until he saw they were both firmly off the blanket bog before he moved, angling his wings and tucking them to dive through the sky, front legs extending as he closed in. He spread his wings at the last second to stop himself crashing and just thudded hard into Fez's pursuer instead, knocking it down with a surprised shriek.

Fez spun around to look up at him as the Sea dragon landed properly, dropping his weight onto the creature to hold it still. “Heric wait! It's not what it looks like!”

Heric, who had been preparing to bury his claws in the creature, blinked, raising his head to look at Fez questioningly.

Fez, a little taken back by the bruised, slashed face and damaged eye of his friend, stuttered a little before getting his voice back, “That's not one of them...”

“What are you talking about? LOOK at it.”

“I know, but that's not one of them. It's Iewan.”

“What?” the Sea dragon's eyes narrowed, his claws shifting on the creature's wriggling form. “Explain.”

Coyne grimaced a little at the sensation of something building, even his limited magical sense feeling overwhelmed as he felt this incredible power starting to build. It can't have been more than a few moments, but it felt like a long delay before after a little more more tapping and movement, and the egg finally imploded within him. Coyne had time to stand, draw open his cloak and close his eyes as the most incredible light he had ever seen or felt flooded him. It felt like the sun. Not burning but like lying out on a hot summer day, warm grass behind you, bright sun in front. An incredible sensation of love and healing passed through him in waves, numbing him to all other sounds and sensations. It seemed to go on for hours, and he felt no more fear, no exhaustion or discomfort. He felt whole, and as though he could hug the life out of every living thing on the land for sheer joy. Not just that alone though... he felt a tremendous power, an incredible amount of energy centred within him, as though he could fight a god right now and win.

When it faded, he did actually find himself hugging the rock, holding on for dear life. He blinked slowly back to consciousness. Around him... there was silence. The rocks, once dirty and dark looked... clean, smoother. He peeped out of his crevice, and down below, where there had been a filthy green pit of darkness and vile, suffering aberrations... there was nothing. A pool of absolutely clear water lay below him, settled in a neat bowl of clean, grey stone. A merry little trickling sound drew his eye to the roof, where a small waterfall was pouring down into the centre of the cave, lit by a beam of outside light. It was the most tranquil thing he had ever seen and for a long moment, still flooded with 'love' feelings, he just stared at it.

A moment or two later, his ears woke up, and he became aware of a high mewling sound, and a wriggling in his belly. He gasped, clutching himself, stroking and pressing, “Shhhhh,” he said, “Hush now, it's okay, you're alright, welcome back to the world,” he knew Ridgar didn't have any memories yet, but a soothing tone seemed to help, and the creature nuzzled and pushed at him, still making a high pitched wailing noise. “I know I know, you're hungry huh? I don't have anything for you yet but if you wait a little, I'll get you something,” he leaned out of the crevice, and lowered himself cautiously, looking around for signs of trouble... but the place was empty, devoid of all plague and evil. He dropped onto a stone further down towards the water, looking around. Everything felt so clean now... he needed to get outside and find out whether it had truly worked... but how to do that? He peered into the crystal clear pool of water, seeing that down at the bottom he could see a flicker of light. Perhaps it connected to the outside world? Could he swim down to get out?

He was about to dive into the water when he heard a groan. A low, hollow, pained sound that started as a heavy creaking noise, and slowly built until it was unmistakeably a vocalisation. He frowned, hearing a thudding as something enormous moved, causing dust and small stones to clatter from the roof above them. Sensing a new, unknown danger, the mimic moved swiftly, diving into the water and swimming down with broad, confident strokes. He still felt an incredible power lurking inside him, as though he had been fed the wealth of seven kingdoms in the last four minutes and it had already had time to take effect... he wondered what he could do with this.

But there was no time. As he swam quickly downwards, he heard a much louder vibration through the water, and a massive rock plunged violently past him, followed by a horde more. Something up there was doing a lot of damage to the remaining structure of the hive. What on earth had the magic not managed to cleanse? What was that strong? It had worked last time, at least according to Jintintaska it had... but that had been the retelling of a legendary story. Perhaps there had been more to it? Or worse, this time the plague had had time to grow stronger.

Ignoring the slightly concerned wriggles in his belly, Coyne pushed on faster, not keen on getting hit by a falling rock. He didn't need to breathe but the hatchling inside him did, so being pinned at the bottom of a lake would be problematic.

As he reached the bottom of the space, he saw out into the world through a wide opening, and decided he had been right. There was no sign of the mire and its creatures, what lay outside was a lake, a huge one. Neatly bowl shaped, it looked like the whole blanket bog had been scooped out of the land and replaced with a clean stone basin, filled with almost completely clear water.

He kicked off the bottom and propelled himself out into the expanse of the lake, getting out of range of the falling rocks, and swimming upwards swiftly, eager to get a view of what was going on.

The lake was deep, it took time for him to reach the surface, especially as he was aiming to move outwards from the hive at the same time, gain a little distance from whatever was causing all that noise.

He turned to look back before he surfaced, seeing the ugly shape of the hive extending up from the bed of the lake. Even the purification hadn't been able to make it palatable to look at... it was still a jagged obelisk of broken building parts. It looked a lot cleaner now, but it still stood as a monument to the city that had, at one time, been here. He surfaced with a little care for subtlety, not entirely certain that everything that had been down here was gone. There was no immediate danger above the surface, but time had passed, and evening was starting to dim the sky. From the hive was coming a persistent, now angry groaning roar, and a loud crashing was shaking debris from every side. Coyne began to swim backwards, away from the hive in careful, quiet movements, eyes fixed on the shuddering structure. Whatever was in there, it was furious, and it had been strong enough that the egg had not been enough to kill it.

Wondering what their next possible move might be if they had failed, Coyne continued to back up until he felt something brush his leg. He let out an involuntary yelp, kicking out, and turning to look in the water, but the darkening sky made it hard to be certain what he was seeing.

It was in the brief moment that he was looking down that a massive 'CRACK' sounded out across the landscape, echoing across the surface of the water and causing the mimic's head to snap upwards to look at the hive. His eyes widened as he saw the entire top half of the structure splitting, splintering apart in a hundred different directions, massive chunks of stone and broken building splashing into the water as a truly gargantuan black shape began to rise from the ruins of the broken structure.

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[duckprintspress]

Fandom Lexicon: D and E

Happy Saturday! It’s time for our next Fandom Lexicon post, our first with two letters – there aren’t that many E’s, so here we have it, D + E! All together, I expect the 28 categories for the Lexicon (26 letters, plus numbers and symbols, plus a post of “abbreviations used to refer to specific fandoms”) to be spread across 19 posts – but that includes the ones I’ve already posted.

You can check out all the parts of the lexicon posted so far here.

Spot a mistake? Know a term we missed? Let us know!

Lexicon Entries Beginning with D: (read more)

DA: Abbreviation for “different anon.” When anonymously commenting or sending an anonymous ask, DA or “different anon” will be used to differentiate that a person is not the same anonymous commenter as another anonymous commenter that has already spoken.

DA: Abbreviation for “DeviantArt,” sometimes written dA. A website where artists can host their artwork in galleries, interact with other artists, and participate in different types of challenges. Visit DeviantArt.

Danmei: Chinese media (literature and other types) featuring gay (specifically men) love. Read more about danmei.

Dashcon: A truly terrible Tumblr convention that was held in July of 2014. The feature most often referred to was a very small ball pit; instead of offering refunds for a panel that fell through, the organizers offered disappoint fans “an extra half-hour in the ball pit.” Read more about DashCon.

Dead Dove/Dead Dove: Do Not Eat: A fanwork tag used alongside other tags to indicate absolute truth in advertising; in other words: heed the tags, because they clearly articulate what is within. Most often used for works with darker themes. Name is derived from a scene in the sitcom Arrested Development in which a bag is labeled “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” and when a character opens the bag, it contains… a dead dove. And he says he’s not sure why he expected anything else. Occasionally abbreviated as DD or DDDNE. Read more about the phrase “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.”

Disaster Bi: A bisexual person who is deemed to be a “disaster” due to lack of personal awareness, inability to process feelings, struggles with self-acceptance, or well-intended but not well thought out acts of kindness, to name just a few possibilities. If the character is a mess and is also bisexual, they are a disaster bi.

Disc Horse: A facetious way to refer to discourse.

Discord: A chatting platform. Visit Discord.com.

Discourse: Ongoing/circular/repetitive discussion about an actual or perceived problem that some people feel strongly about, and others wish would simply stop. Discourse can either be within a fandom (“there’s discourse about (character name)”) or about more general meta-fandom issues (“time for the annual discourse about kink at Pride”). Read more about the term “discourse.” See also wank (pending).

DL;DR: Abbreviation for “don’t like, don’t read.” 1. A warning to potential readers to pay attention to the tags/synopsis and move along if they don’t like what they see. 2. A reminder to people getting up-in-arms about other people making content they don’t like – “if you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it.” Sometimes abbreviated without the colon. Read more about the term DL;DR.

DM: Abbreviation for “dungeon master.” In many roleplaying games such as Dungeons and Dragons, the DM is the person responsible for creating the overarching story and running the game in accordance with the chosen rule’s systems rules. Read more about DMs.

DM: Abbreviation for “direct message.” On many messaging platforms such as Discord, DMs are the in-platform way of contacting another person directly, without involving other people in a chat. Read more about DMs. See also PM (pending).

DNI: Abbreviation for “do not interact.” An acronym often used alongside a list of characteristics, interests, or other attributes that a social media user does not want to interact with the things they post. Often shared via a Carrd or pinned post. Read more about DNIs.

DNR: Abbreviation for “did not read” or “do not read.” 1. Used on reading sites like Goodreads to indicate that the person chose not to read the book in question and/or does not recommend that others should not, either. 2. A term aimed at a previous poster in a chain of comments/responses on the same, especially one who was long winded, to indicate that a subsequent reader has not read what came before. 3. When someone is opining on a book or article, DNR may be used to indicate that they haven’t read one or more of the works they are referencing.

DNW: Abbreviation for “do not want.” Something a person actively dislikes. Often used in fandom exchanges, where participants are expected to list their “do wants” and “do not wants” as part of guiding their exchange partner in what kind of work they’d most like to receive.

Donghua: Animation/cartoons from China. Read more about donghua.

DP: Abbreviation for many things; in fandom spaces it most often refers to “double penetration.” In pornographic works, DP refers to a person being penetrated in two ways. May refer to penetration in two holes, or double penetration in one, and also may refer to having two penetrating partners, or one penetrating partner using multiple appendages and/or toys.

Drabble: Traditionally a drabble is a piece of fiction that is exactly 100 words long. In more recent use it refers to fiction that is roughly one paragraph in length. Sometimes can now be used to refer to any micro-fic; anyone in fandom over a certain age will fight you if you use it that way, though. Read more about drabbles.

Dubcon : Shortened term for “dubious consent.” Used to refer to situations where it is uncertain whether a sex act is actually consensual. Can be as mild as “someone didn’t ask permission before kissing someone they’ve been dating for months” or as extreme as “well they kind of seem to want it so I went all the way…” Often modified with a word indicating the degree to which the consent is dubious, ranging from “mild dubcon” (like the kiss) through “extremely dubcon.”

DW: Abbreviation for Dreamwidth. A blogging platform build similarly to Livejournal. Visit Dreamwidth.

Lexicon Entries Beginning with E:

Edit: Aside from the obvious definition of “suggested changes made to a written work to improve it’s spelling, grammar, and readability,” referring to something as “an edit” has several meanings in fandom. 1. Used to indicate a post has been edited, and how. For example, “Edit: since I made the original post, I’ve learned…” 2. A video of compiled scenes from a visual media property, set to music of the creator’s choice. See also: AMV, fan edit (below, pending). 3. A video of compiled scenes from a visual media property, arranged to tell a different story than what was seen in the original.

Eeby Deeby: 1. Originally a reference to the sound Twiki the robot makes in Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. Often made into a sex joke. 2. Referenced in a meme with an elevator that says “Eeby Deeby” on the screen. 3. Hell or purgatory. Read more about the term “eeby deeby.”

ETA: Abbreviation for “edited to add.” On platforms where posts can be edited after posting, an ETA may be added and labeled as such if the original poster decides to change the post for any reason. As many platforms include both an original posting date and an “edited on” date, including an ETA is a courtesy way of helping people who see the post quickly understand how it may have been changed since it was posted. See also: edit.

Exchange: A fandom event in which the participants sign up and provide a few examples of things they like and things they don’t like (See DNW), and then are paired up with another participant to create something for that person. Ideally, every participant will get a gift from another participant, and no one will know who is making what for whom until the big reveal at the end when all works are shared out. Sometimes called a “gift exchange.” Read more about exchanges.

[maevethewerepuppy]

Puppy HRT - Part 1 Pre-Transition

A story about a trans woman named Hailey starting the HRT process - only without realizing that she signed up for the Government's new Pet and Work Animal Renewal Project, where the hormones she will be taking will not just feminize her, but also turn her into an obedient pup for her roommate Kara.

Content Warning: • Normalized Petplay • Brainwashing • Unrealistic/Unsafe Hypnosis • Mistress/Pet Relationship • Darker Themes • Dubious Consent

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I nervously sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, my leg bouncing up and down slowly. My loose black hoodie hung over my body despite the heat of the day, nearly 30’c outside. Next to me was all the signed paperwork, all done up in a nice folder. All the pre-treatment testing, the psychologist’s sealed assessment, early blood hormone level testing…

“Miss Hailey?” The voice of the nice receptionist called, snapping me out of my own thoughts and back to reality. The reality that I was finally going to be able to start taking the medication I needed to make my body feel right. “Here.” I replied, my voice way too deep and masculine sounding, but I couldn’t afford a vocal coach so online videos were all I had to work with. It didn’t help that I was tone deaf on top of it. I got up as the receptionist came around the desk, gesturing for me to follow. She had this warm smile on her face, as if I wasn’t the disgusting person I constantly saw in the mirror. I followed her back through the hallway to the doctor’s office, simply passing a small smile back at her.

Guiding me into the office, she gestured for me to sit down on the standard, uncomfortable exam table. I muttered a quiet thanks as I did so, setting my paperwork on the doctor’s desk in the room. Informed that the doctor would be there in a few minutes, I simply waited in silence.

Soon the doctor, a smart looking man with short brown hair and a pair of circle framed glasses stepped into the room. He was dressed in his lab coat and sat at the desk I has put my documents onto, glancing over them briefly before turning to me. “So, Miss… Hailey, is it?” He asks, as I give him a brief nod before he continues speaking, “Seems like we finally have everything we need to start on the medications. Thank you for being so prepared, not many clients are this organized about starting the process. Why don’t we start discussing the changes we expect to see physically and mentally, then I’ll write your prescription?”

I nod again, and he begins to talk. Speaking about what the expected timeline is and what effects and side effects we could see, but… I was not listening. My ears were ringing as I numbly nodded along to his words, my heart pounding in my head. Everything was finally happening; it was going to be real! I was going to finally start the hormone replacement treatment and become a girl, physically! I’d been waiting literally for years for this point and to get here was just liberating.

“So, I think that explains everything. Do you understand what I’ve explained to you?” He asked me, a soft smile on his face as he finished up, catching me off guard for a moment as I caught up to reality and out of my fantasies.

“Yeah, I do. I have been waiting for this for so long, Doctor. Please…” I replied, my voice breathy as I tried to keep from shouting at him to just write me the note and let me get the medication already.

“Alright then. Let’s get you started then.” He turned to his computer and started typing out the prescription for me. Soon it was printed off and in my hands as I headed down the elevator to the pharmacy. The doctor had also given me some extra sheets of paper and pamphlets, one with a happy woman on the front of it, but I was far too excited and overly eager to get the medication that I failed to notice the fact she was naked and wearing a collar. It simply remained forgotten.

I handed over my prescription and only a half-hour later I was walking out with the two different medications in hand. The names were far too long for me to worry about memorizing, but at least they had the instructions right on the bottle. I was told to take one of each after dinner each night, so it wasn’t a hard process to remember. We’d be upping them slowly over time, but to get me started and adjusted this was the right dose.

Regardless, I was extremely excited and relieved to get home and start taking them. The small apartment I shared with my roommate Kara wasn’t the best place, but for the most part she was nice enough the little we interacted, and we both paid our bills on time. She sometimes got a bit loud doing gaming streams in her room but those were during the daytime, so I put up with it.

As I got home, she was up making grilled cheese in the kitchen area just across from the front door. She turned her head to me, giving a small smile as I stepped in and hung up my keys. Moving into the small living room I dropped my paperwork on the coffee table with the mail, keeping the meds close. “How was your appointment?” She asked as she turned her attention back to the food.

“It went well… Finally got the approval process finished and I’m starting the medications today.”

“Congrats! It’s good to hear things going well for you finally with all this stuff, it’s been practically forever since you started trying to get it!”

I gave her a small nod, muttering out a thanks as I headed towards my room. It was not hard to notice her expression fall as I moved on without much conversation, but I didn’t have the energy after dealing with the doctor and public earlier. I just needed to get into the quiet isolation of my room.

Out in the living-room, Kara picked up the flyers that I’d abandoned in my haste to get away from a conversation. Picking it up and starting to read it over, an idea began to form in her head as she saw the title.

‘Puppy Hormones and You – A guide to changes and training you’ll need on Puppy Hormones!’

[wrestlersownmyheart]

“Chances Are” Ch. 9 (Book 2 In the “Chances” Series) Finn Bálor X OC

Pairing: Finn Bálor X Female OC Summary: After a traumatic childhood and a murder attempt that left her with a heart condition, Miracle Seanoa wants nothing more than to find some peace and fulfillment in her life. Working as a writer for WWE, she's shocked when Stephanie McMahon takes a gamble on her skills and assigns her to a new RAW roster member. None other than Finn Bálor—the man who'd long ago saved her life and captured her heart.

Finn Bálor left his career as a police officer behind in order to chase his true dream of becoming a professional wrestler. Working incredibly hard within NXT, he soon finds himself drafted to Monday Night RAW. He's shocked to see Miracle again, but even more shocked is he to see what a stunning woman she's become.

However, someone else has had his eye on Miracle for a long while. With his infatuation turning to a deep, dark obsession, he's not going to give up on her easily. Finn will have to resort to his past skills as a cop, to protect the woman he loves.

Because if her weakening heart doesn't kill her, her stalker just might... Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: discussions of an attack

Chapter 9

"Where. Are. They," Joe demanded, pacing back and forth in Gerald's office. His black eyes had gone even darker if that was at all possible.

"I'm sure Finn is hurrying her over here as we speak," AJ said softly, leaning nervously against a medical cabinet. "You only got off the phone with Karl a couple of minutes ago."

"I don't care," Joe shot back. "He's not bringing her fast enough," he grumbled under his breath as he paced once more.

"Just try to stay calm," Gerald said, readying an oxygen tank for when Miracle arrived. "You'll only upset her more."

"Stay calm," Joe scoffed. "My little girl was attacked!"

"She'll be okay," Luke said softly, placing his hand on Joe's shoulder.

"Yeah, she's a tough girl," Karl agreed.

At that moment, they heard a commotion in the hallway and turned to see Finn carrying a limp Miracle toward them.

"Let me t'rough!"

There was an urgency in Finn's voice that Joe nor AJ had ever heard before. Everyone else seemed to notice it too because they began parting like the Red Sea.

Instantly, Finn was in the office and laying Miracle down on the cot. He took her hand gently, not wanting to be separated from her, but immediately released it at her pained moan. Everyone in the room stared at her hand then, and took note of the broken pinky finger.

"God," Joe cried, moving closer to his daughter. "What did he do to her?"

"Can't...breathe…." Miracle cried softly in her unconscious state. "Please, help me…"

"How do we know for sure it was a he that attacked her," Gerald asked, placing an oxygen mask over Miracle's nose and mouth and adjusting the straps around her ears. "Hasn't Maryse got some beef with her?"

Finn spoke up then. "Her clothes are ripped open, lad. It was most likely a man."

"WHAT?" Joe demanded. He peeked underneath Finn's hoodie and took note of Miracle's torn clothing, then growled. "He's dead when I find him."

"Yes, he is," FInn agreed.

Joe glared at him. "This wouldn't even have happened if you hadn't-"

"Joe," AJ cut in. "This wasn't Finn's fault-"

"Yes, it was," Finn interrupted AJ. "If I hadn't hurt her then someone wouldn't have found the opportunity to attack her, because she would have been with me."

"Everyone needs to shut up so I can check her over," Gerald said, taking control of the situation. "That glass needs to stay in her arm for now. If it's nicked an artery and I pull it out, she could bleed out. Now, none of her injuries appear to be life-threatening at the moment, so I'm going to focus on her heart till the EMTs get here and can take over."

He gathered her heart meds should she wake up enough to take them.

Joe had had all he could stand. "Miracle, wake up. Please."

The woman remained unconscious save for a twitch of fear here and there. Suddenly her whole body lurched on the cot and she began struggling with an unseen force.

"Baby! Baby, calm down!" Joe took hold of her arms, careful to avoid her broken finger, and held her still.

A frightened wail passed her lips as she continued to struggle.

"Honey, it's us," AJ said softly, stepping up to her bedside now. "It's your Daddy and Uncle AJ. You're safe now."

A sob jolted her slight frame as her eyes finally opened and landed on Joe and AJ. Recognition dawned at last. "Oh, God, Daddy…" She cried and lunged forward, latching onto her father. Joe secured his arms around her and held her close. "He's coming back for me," she cried weakly, into Joe's shoulder. "He said he'd be back." She trembled in her father's embrace and sobbed again.

"Over my dead body," Joe pulled back only enough to look into his daughter's eyes. "He'll never touch you again as long as I'm here to stop it."

"I'm scared, Daddy," Miracle cried, obviously struggling to stay awake. She fought to keep her hold on Joe. "So scared."

Before he could respond, a couple of EMTs entered the office with a gurney and began preparing Miracle for a trip to the hospital. They lifted her onto the gurney and began taking her blood pressure and oxygen readings.

"Her blood pressure is elevated at 160 over 115. Her O2 levels are at 76 percent."

"Please, help her," Joe practically begged.

"We will sir. Just let us work on her."

An IV was started and various meds were administered, along with more oxygen, and soon she was being wheeled on the gurney to the ambulance in the parking area. Joe was following close behind. She lost consciousness again due to the meds she'd been given to calm her down. So the EMTs got a move on and hurriedly pushed her to the ambulance, and began loading her. Joe climbed in beside her and got his cell phone out to call Ella.

"What hospital are you taking her to," AJ called out, digging his rental keys out of his pocket.

"Mercy Hospital of Buffalo," one of the EMT's shouted back.

"Can I ride to the hospital with you, AJ," Finn turned to his friend and asked.

"You know Joe isn't gonna want to see you there, right?" AJ said.

"I don't care," Finn replied, his blue eyes flashing. "It's my fault she's hurt. I'm going to be there with her."

With a roll of his eyes, AJ motioned for Finn to follow him to his rental.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

Miracle slowly awoke in an uncomfortable hospital bed and was startled initially to feel two hands holding hers. As her eyes opened, she saw her mother sitting next to her bed grasping her uninjured hand, while Joe sat on her other side gently holding her injured one.

"Mama," Miracle whispered. "Oh, Mama…"

"Shh shh, baby girl," Ella Seanoa said softly, reaching over and brushing some long hair from Miracle's face. Her fingers lightly brushed over the bandage on her forehead and Miracle felt a twinge of soreness.

Ella's eyes were red from crying. "You're safe now sweetheart. Nothing is going to hurt you."

"He'll come for me, Mama. I'm so scared." She shook uncontrollably, her entire body shuddering.

"He's not going to touch you," Ella said, determination in her voice. "Ever."

"She's right," Joe added. "As long as you're with us, you'll be safe."

"But I can't be with you 24/7," MIracle replied softly. "I have a job-a life-Daddy. I'm not going to be babysat for the rest of my life."

"Shhh, we'll discuss it more later," Ella said, squeezing her hand. She reached up and pushed the nurse's call button to get a nurse's assistance.

"How can I help you?" Came a female voice through the room's speaker.

"Miracle is awake," Ella announced. "Could you send a doctor?"

"Consider him on his way," the nurse replied.

"Do you have any idea who did this," Joe asked Miracle. "How much do you remember?"

Miracle hesitated, not wanting to worry her parents with the fact that she apparently knew her attacker. "I just remember being in a hallway and then someone got me from behind. Smacked my head into the wall. And then I was carried into a closet…" She trailed off, not wanting to discuss any more.

"Joe, she's going to have to tell the police. Don't make her hash it out more than once," Ella reasoned.

Joe nodded, "I get it."

"Who found me," MIracle asked, grateful to whoever had saved her life.

Before Joe could answer, however, the doctor knocked and entered the room with two uniformed police officers. "Hello Miracle. How are you feeling," he asked kindly, approaching her bed.

"Sore. Frightened," MIracle replied cautiously.

"I'm sorry for what you went through," the doctor said sympathetically. "It was horrible." He paused for a moment. "Is it okay if these officers ask you a few questions after I examine you?"

She nodded, albeit begrudgingly. "Yes, it's fine."

The doctor began his examination of her to see if she had a concussion or any other dangerous injuries. Upon his studying of her, he did detect signs of a mild concussion. Thankfully everything else was minor save for her broken pinky finger which was now taped to her ring finger.

Once the doctor was done checking her over, he left for the time being and let the officers take over.

"Are you okay with us letting in a Finn Bálor and Karl Anderson during the interview? We understand that they are the two men who found you."

"Finn was one of the ones who found me?" Miracle was flabbergasted. She had no idea that Finn had searched for her-let alone found her.

The officers nodded, and motioned to the door. "Do you mind them joining us?"

"No, I don't mind," she said. Mostly because she felt she wasn't really being given a choice.

At her answer, one of the officers reached over to the door and opened it, motioning for someone to join them. In the next instant, Finn and Karl were in the room. Miracle immediately noticed a suspicious bit of shading over Finn's eye.

A black eye. Daddy?

"Now, can you tell us what happened," the remaining cop asked Miracle.

"I was walking down a hallway and was attacked from behind. They threw me into the wall and I hit my head."

"They? More than one perpetrator?"

"No, I'm sorry, it was one. A man."

"What happened then?"

Miracle looked down. "I can't remember much. I just remember hearing a cell phone go off and he told me he'd be back for me."

"You have no idea who it was, correct?"

"Correct."

"Okay, Mr. Bálor, Mr. Anderson…" The officers turned their attention to the two wrestlers. "How did you find Ms. Seanoa?"

"Sheer luck," Finn replied. "I found her ring lying on the hallway floor. Karl and I began checking all the rooms and closets. We came to a locked or jammed door and I kicked it open after hearing Miracle's voice. She was inside."

"You saw no one suspicious leaving the area?"

"No, I did not. I then checked her for injuries, and carried her to the trainer's office where she was treated till the ambulance came."

The cops turned back to Miracle then. "DId you notice anything about the perpetrator that would give him away? His voice or any distinctive features?"

Miracle shook her head, "No, he sort of disguised his voice. It was really raspy. And as I said, it was so dark I couldn't see anything."

"What did he say to you?"

Miracle looked down at her clasped hands. She didn't want to rehash what the man had said to her about Finn not being the one for her, but that he-the attacker-was the one for her. She shuddered suddenly. She also didn't want to talk about how the guy had said they'd make love "soon".

"What is it, baby," Joe interrupted her thoughts. "You can tell us."

"Nothing," Miracle said, with a slight shrug. Then winced as a pain shot through her bicep. The glass cut, she thought. It felt tight, as if it was stitched. Which it probably was. She had no idea how long she'd been out cold. "I can't remember anything of importance." She looked down again, avoiding their eyes.

Finn stared at her as if attempting to read her thoughts.

"Okay, well we have your information if we need to ask more questions," one of the officers told her. "We'll be in touch."

"Thank you," Miracle said with a nod to both of the cops.

And with that, the officers left and Miracle was left with her parents, Finn and Karl.

"Well, I'll be going now," Karl said immediately, looking uncomfortable. "You all obviously have some talking to do."

"Thank you Karl. For helping to find me," Miracle said softly. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

"Don't worry about it, Doll," Karl answered with a slight smile. "We're all just happy you're safe now." Then he turned and left the room.

"I'd like to talk to Miracle," Finn said as soon as the room's door clicked shut.

"You have a lot of nerve," Joe said, curling his fingers into fists. "What if she doesn't want to see you?"

"I'd still like to talk to her, if she'll let me," Finn replied, his eyes growing sad.

Miracle stared at him a moment. Why can I not say no to him, she wondered to herself. Even after the way he hurt me, I can't deny him. "It's okay, Daddy. I'll listen to him."

"I don't want him anywhere around you," Joe started.

"Daddy," Miracle said tiredly, "If he wasn't anywhere around me I might still be locked in that closet. And that man might have come back for me by now." She paused for a moment to take a deep breath. "I am not a little girl anymore and you're going to have to face that fact."

"Come on, Joe." Ella had to gently nudge him before he'd move and leave the room. Within a few seconds, Miracle was alone with Finn.

He slowly moved to the side of her bed and sat down in the chair Ella had vacated. "There's something you're not tellin' us, lass."

"What are you talking about?" Miracle looked at him quizzically.

"You're forgetting that I was a cop once," Finn replied. "A good one. I know how to read the body and how to look for signs of lies. Your pants should be on fire by now."

"How dare you," Miracle exclaimed.

"Why are you protectin' him," Finn went on as if she'd not spoken.

"I'm not," she insisted. "I just didn't want to go into detail of some of the things he said to me. It was hard enough to hear it but to have to repeat it…" She shuddered again. "Besides it was nothing that would help find him."

Finn stared at her.

"How did you get the black eye," Miracle asked, changing the subject. "Daddy?"

Finn's lips quirked up a bit at the corners. "Your mum has quite the right hook on 'er."

"Surprisingly, I'm not surprised." Her lips curved up in a sad ghost of a smile.

To Finn's surprise, tears burned his eyes then.

"Miracle... I... I'm so sorry, love. I'd like to explain-"

"There's nothing to explain, Finn," she whispered, looking away from him. "We have no ties. You're free to sleep with whoever you want. You never indicated—nor said—you loved me. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have believed-"

"I do lass," Finn cut her off; his words soft and almost timid. "I do love ya."

"I know you care about me and love me as a... friend, I suppose. But-"

"No." He shook his head and took her uninjured hand gently. "I fell for ya last night. It happened fast, and it-"

"You have a rather poor way of showing it."

"I was—am—scared, Miracle. I've never been in love before. I-"

"Finn? You're not in love now." She stared into his eyes as a tear spilled down her cheek. "If you were, you wouldn't have felt the need to... do what you did. Or rather, your first instinct would have been to... share it with me—and only me. Besides, don't you think I'm scared?"

Not giving the Irishman time to reply, she shakily rose from the hospital bed and winced as she stood to her feet, refusing his assistance when he reached out to steady her. "I'm... I'm going to the restroom. And... I need you to be gone when I come out, Finn. Please." She gingerly walked to the bathroom and entered, clicking the door shut behind her.

Sighing in defeat, Finn walked out of the room.

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

The next morning, Miracle was being released from the hospital. Ella and Joe were helping her get her things together to leave when there was a knock at the door.

"What do you want," Joe demanded upon opening the door and seeing it was Finn who had knocked.

"I came to return Miracle's things," Finn said sheepishly. He indicated a computer case, a purse and a shopping bag from Toys R' Us.

"Fine. Leave them on the chair and leave."

"Daddy, stop it," Miracle said, making herself known and stepping toward FInn. "Thank you, Finn."

She reached for the bags and immediately handed the Toys R' Us bag back to him. "That was for you."

"I can't accept that, love."

"Please, Finn. I can't..." She recoiled from the bag as if it would burn her. "Just take it."

"Are ya gonna erase me from your life completely, Miracle?"

Having heard enough, Joe stepped forward. "If that's what she needs to do to feel better, then yes, Finn. She will."

"Daddy, stop it." Her dark eyes flashed briefly. Softening her tone she continued, "Could you and mom give us a few minutes? We do need to talk."

Reluctantly, Joe and Ella left the room, and Miracle sat down on the edge of the bed while Finn took a seat in a chair across from her.

"I was promoted to Creative," Miracle began softly. "Stephanie told me that I'd possibly need to fill in once in a while as a correspondent if they're short handed, but that I'll be part of the Creative team."

Finn gave her a cautious smile. "That's wonderful. When do you-"

"Stephanie had told me to take two weeks off for a vacation," Miracle interrupted him, the look in her eyes somewhat vacant. Finn wasn't sure he was going to like where her somber tone was headed.

Shouldn't she sound a bit more happy about it?

"But this morning I called her and told her about what happened. I told her that I need more time."

He nodded, "Well, I hate d'at ya won't be around f'r a while, but I agree d'at ya need some time. When do you think you'll be back though?"

"I don't know that I'm coming back at all, Finn."

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