#day 22 is battle so i think this counts?

[zarniablue]

Tiny Pixel Recesses on itch.io

This little MDZS/Untamed fan game is free to play online in any web browser, no downloads required!

Fight enemies in old school turn-based RPG combat to level up and earn new skills, or talk to characters for quests & minigames.

Recent Updates:

• New battle location & enemies in the Burial Mounds

• New enemy mechanics and updated talisman effects

• Two new minigames, one of which has chickens

Check the development log for all the latest news.

Play here!

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[bon2bonn]

Media Menace

22!F1 grid X female!driver!reader

Words count : 1.5k

* just Some of the fans favourite moments of Y/N being the media menace she is ✨.

It was as a normal interview with Seb standing in the media pin , being asked about the drivers and the line up so far , he listened carefully before he answered " well , I think we have a solid lineup so far, each have their own unique driving style and that makes it more interesting to see and to compete with on track , they surly matured from where they started and........" What the fans didn't expect was when the camera zoomed in on the back of the pin , where some of the drivers were seen carrying a wiggling Charles trying to escape their hold as they marched on , being led by Y/N , who was chanting " to the pit ! , to the pit! " hand raised with a water bottle in it , her media officer could be seen standing at the back facepalming as she watched her driver walking away unfazed by the cameras following them .

••

*Crack-heads leader 🪄.

They paused as they came across Fernando , who was being interviewed close by and asked her something while pointing at Charles, she answered back and he nods at her , raising his own water bottle in a cheer , letting them go on their way with Charles seemingly pleading to be let down but no one dared to help him as the rest of the grid and media officers watched in amusement as they disappeared out of frame , the camera zoomed out and turned back to Seb as he finished his answer , blissfully unaware of the chaos behind him .

•••••••••••••••••••

* The road to Silverstone fistfight! , choose your fighter ! MV#33 Vs LH#44 🥊💪🏻.

She sat between Max and Lewis, bored out of her mind and fed up with their pity low-key shit talk by both drivers along with her team's principal and the media exaggerating the rivalry between them three , ignoring the reporters trying to bait her with their twisted questions as yet again she got stuck in the crossfire.

One reporter asked "what's your input on the ongoing feud ? " she let out a sigh at the repeated question for the millionth time this weekend alone , answering with a shrug " I don't know mate , I just work here " . Another one asked " what do you think of this ongoing rivalry, and do you think it'll last and how today's results will effect tomorrow's race ? " She answered nonchalantly " I sure hope it wouldn't affect tomorrow's race for I'm starting between them " giving them both a pointed look as if warning them , both looked away trying to maintain a stoic face listening as she went on answering , ignoring her officer who kept waving their hands at her from the back to cut it out " and as for if it'll last I honestly think today's quali could've been a fist fight, you know , end it there and move on with their day but no one is ballsy enough to arrange it , so here we are " leaving the reporters with a hanging jaws and taken back looks along with the driver's media officers as she leaned back into her chair waiting patiently for the next question .

•••••••••••••••••••••

* "Bitch! , I'm out!" .

Being seated in another post-race conference with Seb and Lewis after scoring P2 after a breathtaking battle against Seb, both Seb and her were beyond exhausted from pushing eachother to the limit but they enjoyed how they kept eachother at the tip of their toes , same as the fans who were at the edge of their seats anticipating who'd cross the finish line first between these two , and the final lap was proof of it , but she made sure to secure herself the position by one tenth of a second ahead of Sebastian who made sure to congratulate her first , everyone was pleased with the race results, well, everyone but the reporters who kept slipping backhanded remarks starting from the post-race interview up untill the actual press conference where they kept asking whether she considered another career or if she ever consider an early retirement , she got bored as another one asked why she still held on to the F1 career instead on Turning to other fields os sports , she gave him a fed up look " I just wake up everyday and decide that I want to make my life harder , why choose something else easier while I can make myself miserable here with you lot asking me the same question in hopes I'd give a different answers?" That got them to shut down for a while before another one asked the same , again.

Before either Seb or Lewis could shut them for their way or choice of questions she took the mic with no hesitation addressing the reporter who asked her for the third time when she'll take the retirement decision " look , and listen carefully cause I'm going to say it once , and I won't be repeating myself . when I Y/N L/N finally decide to retire from F1 my statement would be " Bitch, I'm out " nothing more , and definitely nothing less , so untill I myself say I am retiring I won't entertain this question anymore, and I advise you along with everyone else to do the exact same thing . next question please ! " Leaning back with a leg crossed over her knee as she waited for the next question . And It'd be save to say no one dared to poke at her with such assumptions after that answer , and earning herself the Bear nickname.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

* Toto's karma .

She rolled her head back distractedly looking up at the sky as she had to sit again through one of the team's interviews with her and Lewis both stuck with Toto as he went on and on about the teams competing against Red Bull and their chances this season and his opinion on drivers etc ...., she looked at the side , waving at some of the fans who walked by and shouted for her attention, sending them hearts and making faces before she was brought back by the host asking them three " speaking of the Red Bulls and the on going rivalry , who can you say is your favourite driver " Toto answered before any of his driver's could do, in a dismissing tone " in Red Bull? , I can't say there's anyone one I can name " . she however smirked as she shared a side look with her teammate before she answered ignoring Toto's pointed look giving him a wide tight lipped syndical smile " Oh! , but I know one I could name , you might be very familiar with him after all " the host eagerly look at her waiting for her answer " my favourite Red Bull bull driver is Toto Christian Wolff " Lewis tried to hold back his laugh as she kept smiling smugly at the said man , who looked away at the mention of his name with his eyes clenched in a grimace , wondering what have he ever done in his past life to get her as a karma/driver . The host stuttered before changing the topic , asking the drivers about their upcoming summer breaks and holidays .

••••••••••••••••••••••

* lando's downfall (literally) .

She stood in the media pit doing an interview with one of her favourite reporters , answering swiftly as the reporter gave her questions she actually enjoyed for once , not the diet and ignorant questions as if she barely knew anything about the sport , let alone drive . Her interview was going well , too well if she could say , because not long after she was halfway through answering her question , a gremlin decided to poke her for the fun of it. Having finished his interview already he turned to her to fill the time before his next interview , and boy would he regret it .

She kept swating his hands away and smacking him in attempt to finish her interview in peace , but no , he didn't pay her any mind untill he was called away . She glared at his smug face as he successfully annoyed her for the day , then she looked at the reporter with a wide sweet smile as she said " he'll regret it , trust me " nodding along as the reporter laughed nervously at her not knowing how to react , but that turned into shock as the driver excused herself for a moment.

she went around the pit sneaking up behind the McLaren driver, giving a thumps up to the reporter who looked at the camera with wide eyes before back at her , only to witness as she swept her foot in a kick aimed at the back of lando's knees, causing him to gasp as his feet gave up on him and he fell face first on the ground mid interview . She dusted her hands in accomplishment as she made her way back to the interview , asking as she smiled innocently " so , where were we?"

[shadamyheadcanons]

Who would be the first to confess? Or the first to realize their feelings?

I’m of two minds on this. In my experience, the more common concept is “Shadow falls first, Amy falls harder.” This Twitter thread sums up the trope very well:

[Image ID: a screenshot of a tweet by user absolutesilly on April 17th, 2023 that reads, “it’s important to me that the ��A fell first, B fell harder” trope ISN’T about B loving A more. it’s about A spending a long time just getting used to having this (seemingly) hopeless pining going on in the background 24/7, while B is just. hit by a truck with it all of a sudden.

fell first: been suppressing their emotions for so long that it’s like white noise to them. always there but mostly manageable. a bruise that only hurts when you press on it

fell harder: if We Don’t Get Married Tomorrow I’m Gonna Start Biting People” /.End ID]

And I don’t think I even have to clarify which one’s which. Shadow’s love is quiet and intense. He’s loyal and devoted. His affection is usually of the slow-burn variety. He hasn’t had any canonical crushes so far, but you can see it in his familial/platonic love for those he cares about. It’s natural to assume romance would be the same way.

And falling hard and fast is what Amy does. Need I mention Sonic? And her desire for marriage?

“Shadow has a crush on Amy for months/years until he suddenly sweeps her off her feet” is common for a reason. I’ve written plenty of it myself, including multiple WIPs. It was how I saw these two for a very long time, and there’s no denying that it’s compelling and in-character. If I were writing a shadamy-esque relationship in a movie, I’d write them that way.

HOWEVER...

I don’t think game canon is following that trajectory.

Under the cut: lots of ranting and images/hints, both old and new. You’ll recognize a lot of this if you’ve read my meta analysis posts, particularly why I ship them, how they’d resolve their arguments, and my feelings on TMOSTH. There’s a tl;dr and relevant headcanon at the end.

In my opinion, “Amy falls for Shadow later” doesn’t quite jive with canon because I think there’s ample evidence to suggest she already has a crush on him. It’s not as strong or obvious as the one she has on Sonic yet, but it’s there, just a little. To make a long story short:

She doesn’t look at someone like this...

[Shadow the Hedgehog 2005]

unless she has a crush on them:

[Sonic CD]

She doesn’t go out of her way to seek someone out this fervently...

[Sonic Battle]

...unless she has a crush on them:

[Sonic X]

She doesn’t insist on bringing someone along like this...

[The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog]

unless she has a crush on them:

Wallpaper posted on Sonic Channel 2/22/21. Art by Yuji Uekawa

One fun aspect of all of this is that the social media team seems to agree with me and keeps noticeably leaning into it. The Twitter Takeovers obviously aren’t canon and I’m not putting those in the “evidence” pile, but it’s cute how they keep having Amy act flustered about her feelings regarding him, and it’s definitely not something I’m imagining this time. It’s most obvious at 18:14 here:

The gushing, the stuttering...it’s obvious what they’re implying. Cindy Robinson’s very convincing at sounding smitten with him, which isn’t surprising considering her feelings on shadamy:

The question before that one in the Takeover arguably counts, too, and the social media team was primarily in charge of The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, after all. This is consistent for them. There are plenty of other bits and pieces from them and the not-so-subtle marketing team these days, but I’d be ranting like a conspiracist and hunting down links all day if I got started on those.

^ Me at 2am.

I bring this up not just because it’s fun, but also to prove I’m not the only one who sees it. It’s definitely there, and it always makes me wonder what would’ve happened if she’d met Shadow first instead of Sonic. Would her little crush on Shadow have become the primary one if he’d entered her life first? Would we see this kind of thing all the time if Shadow were the protagonist?

[IDW issue 59]

Yes

We’ll never know, I guess! 🙃

Regardless, she met Sonic first, so her attention is...divided. She’s usually in-tune with her emotions, so even though her outlook on love is tinted somewhat by hero worship, I do think she’d figure out she had feelings for Shadow if her crush on Sonic were sidelined. As she got to know him better, she’d find even more things to love about him, and before long, she’d be hooked.

For Shadow’s part, it’s pretty clear to anyone who’s paying attention that he has a soft spot for her of some kind. In my experience, even non-shadamy fans will usually agree with this if asked. And why wouldn’t they?

1. He let her hug him and see him cry in SA2, then saved the world because she asked him to. There’s a reason fans hate it whenever Amy’s elevator speech at the end of SA2 is put in someone else’s mouth. It’s just not believable that he’d save the world for anyone else--not Sonic, not Chris Thorndyke--because the gentleness isn’t there for anyone but her. That had to be built and proven.

2. She inspired yet another heel-turn of his in the conspicuously-named “Miracle of Love” route in ShTH where “bad boy” Shadow ditches Black Doom to help her, resulting in a hero classification.

I think we undersell how big of a deal this is. For those who aren’t too familiar with Shadow the Hedgehog (2005), that story route starts out with Shadow ignoring Sonic and...*checks notes*...defeating fifty G.U.N. soldiers? The mission says “defeat,” not “kill.” But Black Doom says “finish off those soldiers,” “destroy them all,” “exterminate,” and “annihilate.” In a game where you’re explicitly encouraged to use firearms. On human soldiers. So this Shadow quite possibly has a significant body count by the end of the level, and then he immediately snubs Rouge to destroy Earth’s digital highway system. There’s a reason he can’t get a hero ending past that point if he doesn’t help Amy. Just like in SA2, she’s the only one left who can turn him into a hero. She speedruns his redemption with one jaunt through a haunted castle. This is the sequence:

[Source]

The way he trails off at, “I didn’t have any reason to help her, but since I was looking for the doctor anyway, I figured...” stands out, like he’d forgotten how good of a person he can be.

This brief Twitter thread summarizes the events in a much funnier way than I can:

3. The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog is the most recent and blatant example. Goes to a party. Dresses up in a silly outfit. Embarrasses himself to get her a thoughtful gift. Agrees to go to a concert for a band he can’t stand just to make her happy. I don’t think I even need to explain this one, but if you want to see me do so anyway, here’s that link again.

4. In Team Sonic Racing, he’s sweet to her when they’re on the same team...

...and he’s borderline flirtatious when they’re on opposing teams. ;)

His lines are delivered in a snarky, teasing way, especially when he calls her cute, and she’s matching that competitive banter.

[Source: this Twitter thread by MeliCross22:

Absolutely worth a read, and it includes links to the lines so you can actually hear them.]

The question is whether his soft spot is romantic in nature, and as biased as I am...I don’t buy it. In the first two, she’s just reminding him of who he is by calling to mind his memories of Maria, and “Miracle of Love” isn’t meant in a romantic way. Likewise, in TMOSTH, it’s extremely sweet of him and he wouldn’t do that for anyone else, but it’s still not inherently romantic. TSR is less cut-and-dried. It could be flirtation, but it could also just be the race stoking their competitive spirits. It’s also just a side game, and while it’s still canon, I don’t know if Sega would put that kind of dynamic between them in the main series. It could be a case of the TSR writers being secret shadamy fans who are tossing us crumbs, but it could also just be them mixing it up so there isn’t yet another instance of Amy saying variations of “Sorry, but I’m in it to win it!” every time she hits someone with an item. Trust me, it gets old.

Canonically, I don’t see Shadow as being romantically interested in anyone to a significant extent at the moment, Amy included. He’s been too focused on his past, his identity crisis, the alien invasion, etc. I don’t think there’ll really be room for romance in his life until he fully makes peace with his trauma. This moment at the end of his game...

...just doesn’t do that. Shadow Dark Beginnings has made it abundantly clear that he hasn’t moved on.

And this is where Amy comes in, because I think she’s the ideal person for the job.

Sega seems to pivot back and forth between “Shadow has no friends” and “Shadow has two friends, but he even keeps them at a distance sometimes.” Without people in his life who are willing to reach out, he withdraws, and it’s really not good for him. A lot of fans feel he’s hesitant to bond with others because no one else is immortal and he knows how painful loss is. It’s not explicitly stated, but it’s consistent with his behavior. Isolating himself is easy. It’s safe. It’s something he can control.

But it’s not sustainable.

He needs love. He needs it so much. It’s his very purpose, in the most literal sense. Maria said it best in episode 2 of Dark Beginnings:

“You have a big heart! It may be difficult for you to express it, but I know that deep down you really do care. About me. About everyone! What you do is what defines you. I know you’re having a hard time finding answers, but I’m certain you will one day. Then, you’ll find even more people you can trust.”

^ This is what I mean when I say Maria would love Amy. Amy’s the only other character who feels love as deeply as Shadow does, the only one who could fully understand, and she just so happens to be a clingy girl who’ll reach out to anyone, even people who think they want to be left alone. It’s baffling that Sega basically hasn’t let them interact for two decades because she absolutely would insist on befriending him.

Shadow hides, but Amy chases. She loves a challenge and doesn’t shy away if she feels she belongs with someone, even if that person runs. If she decided Sonic wasn’t right for her, I think it’s only natural that she’d pursue Shadow given her obvious fondness for him. The only difference is that when someone chases Shadow, he doesn’t run. He clings. He clung to Maria, he clung to Team Dark, and he’d cling to her, too, and I don’t think he’d stand a chance against her charm from there. He’s a romantic in his own way, and that soft spot of his would turn rose-tinted in a heartbeat. If there’s anyone who could convince him that love is worth it, it’d be her; I highly doubt she’d regret her past love of Sonic, and if he thought about it, I don’t think he’d regret his attachment to Maria, either. Amy told him the people of Earth deserved a chance to be happy. Now he lives on Earth with her. Couldn’t she convince him that he deserves that chance, too?

And if he hesitated and tried to ignore his feelings for Amy, I could see Rouge stepping in to kick him in the right direction. It wouldn’t be the first time she talked some sense into him for the sake of his own happiness:

[IDW issue 36]

tl;dr: Amy already likes Shadow. If she spent more time with him, those feelings would grow, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d be pursuing him in earnest. With her talent for breaking down barriers and his existing soft spot for her, it wouldn’t be a very long chase.

This headcanon is the one that I think portrays it best. I don’t think I’ll ever fully stop writing Shadow Falls First, Amy Falls Harder because it’s so damn compelling, but I love this interpretation, too, and it lines up too well with canon to ignore.

[billybob598]

More Than You Know (Leah Williamson x Reader)

All right! So this is a F1 reader x Leah fic requested by anon. Again any feedback good or bad is welcomed! I'm sorry if there's lots of f1 talk and some don't get it. I have another f1 fic coming up but other than that nothing else so, if people want to start sending me requests, please do! I'll get more into that later. Anyways, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.1K (That's what Docs said anyways)

Set at Abu Dhabi GP, end of 2023

Thursday

“Hello everyone, and welcome to the final press conference of the 2023 Formula 1 season.” You fix your shirt as you settle into the seat. Max Verstappen, your teammate, on your left with Charles Leclerc beside him.

“Question for Y/N and Max, heading into the final race of the season the title battle is close between the two of you. What kind of mindset do you have for one of the most important races in your career?”

“To win,” Max says simply. All the reporters let out a laugh as you crack a smile.

“Y/N?” The guy who asked the question prompts you.

“Uh, well, I mean for sure to win is the goal but, trying to just stay calm and do what I’ve done for the last twenty-two races,” you explain. After a few more minutes of questions, they let you go. Walking through the paddock and into the Red Bull garage you can’t help but let your mind spiral. This was your first championship battle, this was Max’s third. You were only 22 years old, if you won on Sunday you’d be the youngest-ever F1 champion and the first-ever female champion. You knew you had to be a little lucky on race day, considering you sat five points behind Max. 

Entering your driver room you’re met with your girlfriend, Leah Williamson.

“Hey babe, what are you doing now?” She asks you, watching as you pace back and forth across the room.

“Track walk, I think.” 

“Okay, well I’m going to meet up with Alex in a couple of minutes so, I’ll see you later, yeah?” She presses a small kiss on your forehead. 

“Okay, yeah, see you later,” 

Friday

You loved racing around Yas Marina Circuit, it had just the right amount of technical corners and overtaking opportunities. You loved the lights and going underneath the hotel. Probably the worst part of it though, was the heat. Sitting in your car you feel like you’re going to die from the heat. Sweat just keeps pouring from every pore on your body, making your race suit damp. At the end of Free Practice 2 you were the fastest overall. This gives you a little bit of confidence, your race pace also seemed to be pretty strong so these were all good signs. Leah watches as you take your crash helmet and balaclava off, trying your best to fix your sweaty hair. You looked hot, and Leah was living for it.

“You’re drooling,” Alex, who happened to be right beside her, said. Leah shakes out of her trance enough to give Alex a light slap on the shoulder. 

“Whatever mate, if you had a girlfriend as hot as mine you’d be drooling as well.”

A couple of hours later, after all the media was done and the sponsor dinner was finished, you and Leah finally were able to settle into bed. Leah’s arm draped over you and her head nuzzled into your neck. She was just about to doze off when you spoke very quietly into the darkness,

“Would you be mad at me if I didn’t win?” Of course, Leah knew you were nervous, who in their right mind wouldn’t be? But, for you to think that she would be angry with you if you finished second? That was terrible.

“Of course not, love, I’d be sad for you, sure, but mad? Never.” This seems to calm you down a bit, and soon enough you both are sleeping soundly.

Saturday

“Good luck kiss?”  Your favourite blonde questions. It was a tradition in your relationship, whenever either of you were participating in a sporting event you had to make sure you kissed just before it started. 

“Of course,”  you say with a smile, not that she can see it. Your helmet already on with your visor up so she can see your eyes. Leah kisses where she imagines your lips are, you can’t help the dopey smile that comes across your face, the squint of your eyes making it obvious what you’re doing.

Leah watches on as your car pulls out of the garage and onto the track. After making it through both Q1 and Q2 easily now comes the biggest test, the top 10 shootout. Your banker lap for Q3 is solid, only six-hundredths of Max’s time and you know you can improve. As you cross the line to start your second flying lap you feel the adrenaline rush through your veins. Every turn of the steering wheel, every push of the pedals, and every G against your body feels just right. Heading into the final sector you know you’re going faster than your first lap. Crossing the line, your entire body relaxes as you hear your engineer over the radio,

“Okay mate, that’s P1 so far, P1 so far, but Max is yet to cross the line.” You wait anxiously for Max to finish his lap. Leah feels her heart sink as she sees Max’s name move above yours on the timing screen. 

“For fuck’s sake, fuck this shit, honestly,” you say over the radio.

“It’s okay Y/N, points come tomorrow,” your engineer replies.

“You’re right, you’re right, let’s get them tomorrow.”

Leah gives you a hug when she finally sees you after all the media and post-qualifying traditions.

“You did great love, don’t be too hard on yourself,” she says sweetly. You sigh, knowing she is right.

“Mhm, I’m not that happy but I’ll get over it. I think right now all I wanna do is go back to the hotel and cuddle with you,” you mutter with a little pout. Leah finds this adorable. So, when you guys do get back to the hotel she cuddles with you until you fall asleep, only hours before one of the most important races of your life.

Sunday

When you wake up you feel the nerves settle inside of you. Leah tried her best to get you to eat something before your race. Abu Dhabi was a night race so, you still had the whole day ahead of you. After going through the pre-race meetings with your engineers you feel pretty confident in the strategy for today. As you walk around the grid with the music in your headphones blasting you see your girlfriend walking towards you. Slipping one side of your ear so you can hear, you give her a questioning look. She never usually comes onto the grid before races, why would she now? 

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” Leah says kindly, “I know you’re nervous, but don’t be, you’re gonna smash it out there.” Your heart melts at her consideration.

“Thanks Lee, I’ll do you proud I swear,” you say, looking at her with what can only be described as heart-eyes. 

“You already have, more than you know,” she smiles at you, giving one last kiss on your lips before heading back to the garage.

A couple of minutes later, you’re sitting inside your car mentally preparing yourself for the race. The entire formation lap your mind is blank, trying your best to not overthink. As you park in your grid slot as close to a billion people watch with their breaths held.

“And it’s lights out and away we go for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix!” Crofty exclaims into his microphone.

You get a good start drawing alongside Max heading into the first corner, but he pushes you wide. As the pair of you continue to the first of two long straights, you follow closely behind him gaining a slipstream. When you enter the braking zone you decide to go for a dive bomb, getting your elbows out a little to barge past your teammate and take the lead. 

“She can’t fucking do that, mate. She pushed me off the track,” Max voices to GP.

“If Max has a problem with that, then he can cry in a crib, that was clean.”

As the race gets past halfway done, both you and Max had made pit stops, while also exchanging the lead of the race multiple times. Leah had about chewed her entire nail off watching. She was nervous as hell, she could feel something bad about to happen, she just knew it in her gut. 

You once again closed up to the rear end of Max with DRS. As you got close enough to pass you slightly jerked out to the left before cutting back to the right, effectively dummying him. You were on the outside heading into the sweeping left-hander of Turn 9, you tried your best to give him space, but he completely misses the apex and rams into your front wheel/side of your car. Your neck whips to the side as you try to keep control of your car. 

“What the fuck was that?! What a fucking idiot, I gave him shitloads of space! Is there any damage on the car?” You are pretty much yelling into the radio. The anger you’re feeling showing through your choice of words.

“So, major front wing damage we are going to have to box. Box, box.” Swearing under your breath you pull into the pit lane for new tyres and a new front wing. Stopping on your marks you sit there for what feels like forever before finally getting the green light and getting back on track. Leah knows you are fuming but she also knows that you’re very good at turning that anger into motivation. She readies herself for a wild end to the race.

“Okay, so the gap to Max is 30 seconds.”

“Just leave me alone, I know what to do,” you say sternly.

For the next 24 laps, you put in of the most impressive comebacks in F1 history. Closing the gap a little bit each lap. You fully catch up to him on the final lap of the race. The entire world sits on the edge of their seat as you stick right up to Max’s gearbox for the majority of the lap. Entering the final sector, you find the gap to stick your nose down. Making an unorthodox move down the inside into Turn 12. When it becomes clear that you stuck the move your side of the garage goes crazy. Leah screams, thinking it is too good to be true. As you head around the final corner, the Red Bull mechanics hang off the side of the fence cheering and yelling as you cross the finish line. 

“She’s redefined motorsport as we know it, and as she crosses the line Y/N Y/L/N is CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!” Crofty shouts. 

“AAAHHHH OH MY GODDDD! YESSS GUYS COME ON! I’M GONNA FUCKING CRY!” You scream over the radio. 

“YOU” VE DONE IT MATE! YOU’VE DONE IT! GOOD LORD!” Your engineer screams back at you. You start to cry as you go around for your celebration lap. When you park in front of the number 1 sign you take a minute inside of your car to collect your thoughts. Finally, you get out and stand on top of the car, raising your arms in celebration. You jump down and start sprinting to your team. After receiving multiple hugs and slaps on the back, mixed with a varying range of screams and yells, you decide to look for your girlfriend. Looking around you spot your favourite person on Earth and make a beeline for her. She pulls you into a bone-crunching hug, tears streaming down her face. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you, more than you know,” she says tearfully. You give her an award-winning smile before moving to take your helmet and balaclava off. You surprise Leah when you connect your lips in front of God knows how many cameras. 

“I’m a World Champion Lee, a World Champion.”

“I know Y/N, I know,” she giggles at how excited you look. After completing the post-race interview you make your way to the podium.

“And your Abu Dhabi Grand Prix winner and 2023 World Champion, Y/N Y/L/N!” 

The crowd and paddock below you roar as you make your way onto the podium, pumping your fists with joy. Stepping onto the top step of the podium, a sense of relief washes over you, everything you’d worked for this entire season, your entire life basically, had finally paid off. You take your cap off when your national anthem plays and begin to scan through the crowd until you meet blue ones. You give her a grin and blow her a kiss. She returns it. When you are finally handed your first-place trophy you raise it high with a little yell. After the rest of the podium is handed their trophies, you get to your favourite part, the champagne. Spraying it in every possible place, you can’t stop the stupid-looking smile from taking over your facial features. When the celebrations seem to die down a little you look over at Leah, mouthing,

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she mouths back.

“More than you know.”

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 11

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 8.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn A/N: LADIES N GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! there are multiple POV changes in this, I'm training yall for the arena and Mockingjay. FYI: I was so disheartened bc this felt like the worst past I've written for this story :(((

Past (xii) - Finnick

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT FOUR

Finnick is sitting at his desk, probably looking as worn out and exhausted as he feels. It’s early morning, and he hasn’t slept for two days. He’s been writing for hours, trying to find the right words to say. The sun had just set when he poured himself into the seat, and now—he glances to his left—the first tendrils of sunlight are peaking up.

The room is quiet, except for Finnick's labored breathing. His hands are shaking, a side effect of the stress that's been building inside him like a pressure cooker. Snow's visit has left him reeling, unable to process the implications of the deal he's been forced to make. He knows he must write you a letter, but the thought fills him with despondency. Something that normally fills him with insurmountable excitement and anticipation fills him with devastation. It feels like, like… There’s nothing he can compare it to. Not everything feels like something else and Finnick knows this kind of grief is very rarely experienced. 

What is he supposed to do? He hasn’t opened the last letter you sent, knowing it will be the last one that won’t carry the weight of mourning. He knows that you'll write to him again, that you won’t take this lying down. You’ll write and write, and he...will do nothing.

It sits in front of him, innocuous and unassuming. Something devastating folded in a green envelope and wrapped in your scent like a well-dressed bomb. Does his fear outweigh his longing for you?

He picks it up, holding it gingerly in his hands.

No, he realizes, it doesn’t.

He’s careful to tear the seal on the flap and your perfume wafts up like a surprise. He takes a deep breath, savoring the scent, trying to steel himself for what comes next.

Dear Finn,

I feel like I’ve missed you longer than I’ve had the chance to know you. It's been three months now, but maybe by the time this letter gets to you, we'll both be on our way to the Capitol. I'm working on being more optimistic, but that uphill battle is becoming steeper the longer I'm away from you. 

I keep thinking about when I first met you. When I looked into your eyes, I didn't see fireworks exploding or any of that other shit they depict in those gaudy Capitol romance novels. I looked into your eyes and saw you, something far more breathtaking than fireworks. And what a sight you were.

Three years back, you said something I never agreed with, that it was hard to love you. At the moment, I didn’t get to say what I really wanted to because I was eighteen and the thought of being so emotionally vulnerable made my teeth itch. 

I wanted to say that you aren't hard to love. I wanted to say loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done. And that's why it was so difficult. I could never let myself love you—let myself have you because how could I possibly deserve to? But that’s the kicker. It’s not hard to love you, Finn, it’s impossible not to.

Something happened recently that made me realize that I’m not the most forthcoming person when it comes to my feelings. But, Finn, know that my love for you is never in doubt. How I feel about you may be complex, but it’s not complicated. I love you desperately, humanly, simply. Without even trying, you peel me back to my core, but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul. 

I miss you, more than I was prepared to—and I was prepared to miss you considerably.

We may not be next to each other, but we’re under the same sky, and each glowing point on that backdrop of black is a star—a sun at the center of someone’s solar system. 

In some other universe, on a different Earth, there’s a girl in love with a boy whose freckles run like constellations. On another, there’s a girl who’s in love with how her boy’s eyes squint when he smiles.

That's the one constant. There are billions of stars, billions of universes, and I love you in every one of them. 

Tears are blurring his vision before he can read how you close the letter and he has to sit back as the full weight of what he’s about to do hits him all at once. Your words are like a balm to his soul, but they burn him just as much as they soothe him. A reminder of what he’s losing just as much as a reminder of what he’s fighting for. There was never a need to put a label on what you two had, what you were to each other because it would never be replicated. It had always just been ‘yours’. Now, with a flick of his pen, it’ll be nothing.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe there’s a way I can explain why I’m doing this, some kind of code or something. Maybe I can still meet with her, just in secret. But Snow… It always comes back to Snow. 

Snow reads these letters, and surely he'll be more vigilant of Finnick to make sure he keeps his side of the deal. Besides, if you knew the real reason he’s doing this—that it’s against his will, that he wouldn’t even think to do this in his worst nightmare—you’ll latch on, consequences be damned. 

He’s doing this for you. He has to remind himself that it’s your life on the line here, not just his heart.

Still. 

He's careful when folding the letter back, only bending it along the preexisting lines. He sets it beside himself. 

He picks up a piece of paper from the stack in front of him tucked against the wall, twirling his pen along his fingers. His leg bounces, nails tapping on the desk. 

He writes something down and comes to a stuttering halt. It isn't good enough. He crumbles it up, throws it in the trash, and picks up a new one. 

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's stuck in a loop, unable to find the right words. The pressure is building, and he can feel himself starting to crack. He needs to get this done, needs to find a way to say goodbye.

Write, crumble, trash, repeat. 

He's lost track of time, doesn't know how long he's been sitting here. The words are eluding him, and he's starting to feel like he's lost his grip on reality.

Finally, he puts pen to paper and the words flow out of him like a dam breaking. He writes about his love for you, about how much he misses you, about how impossible it is to imagine a future without you. He writes about his fear and his grief, about the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He writes you goodbye. 

When he's done, he holds your letter carefully, tucking it back into its envelope. He knows what he has to do, knows that there's no turning back now. 

With trembling hands, he picks up the tan envelope and slides his letter inside. He seals it with a kiss, feeling the weight of his decision like a physical burden. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, and places the letter on the stack in front of him. It's done. The words are written, the decision made. 

He sits back in his chair, feeling numb and hollow. He doesn't know what comes next, but he knows that he'll face it head-on. For you.

Past (xii) - You 

[21 & 22] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

Finnick's reply came faster than you expected it to. 

You plop down in your office chair, giddy as you rub at your sore cheeks. You've been smiling like an idiot since you picked up the letter from the Mayor's office. You tear into the envelope and pause. 

The words are kind of smudged, dried drops of something smearing the ink. Luckily, you can still read it. 

My heart, 

My moon and stars. 

I must have rewritten these words at least a dozen times by now. You should see the pile of crumpled paper next to me. You'd call it wasteful, but I'm sure you'd be secretly charmed by how nervous you make me after all these years. 

There's no way to dance around it, and I know how much you hate when people mince their words.

It pains me to think it, let alone write it.

This will be my last letter to you. 

I know you have a hundred and one questions bouncing around that beautiful brain of yours, you'll want to know why. And the answer is, there is no why. I've decided that it's best, for both of us, to stop. Stop the letters, stop the meetings. 

It ends here. 

I don't want you to hate me. But if that makes it easier for you to stay away from me, then despise me. More than the Peacekeepers, more than the Capitol, more than Snow. Take that loathing and hold onto it like you used to hold me. 

But, selfishly, I want you to know what I'll be holding onto. 

Those little moments outside of time where you and I were the center of each other's universe, two stars orbiting each other. The balcony of my room, the floor of yours. 

I want you to know this because I don't want you to doubt that I love you. 

Because I do. I love you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough. I could say it until my tongue falls off and I'd find a way to sign it to you. 

I could live a thousand lifetimes, be a thousand different people, and I will never love someone like I love you. 

I think of your smile and I fall in love again. I think of your touch and I fall in love again. I won't leave you without you knowing this. I'd sooner stop breathing. 

There are plenty of things I should be thanking you for, but if I tried to make a list, I'd run out of paper. 

I felt...free with you. As free as anyone can be in our situation. I've never felt so close to another person before—I never let myself. 

I thought it would pass eventually, like a sand castle when it's high tide. Noticeable, beautiful, but temporary.

But I can tell you now, that was such bullshit. Since that first dance, there was never a moment I wasn’t in love with you. I loved you before I knew I was capable of it, before I knew I had it in me, and you had my heart before I even knew it was there. I saw the thorns of your past and held my hands out, ready to bleed if it meant I could touch you.

And that scared me. The very thing that gave me strength was my biggest weakness. That’s a hard pill to swallow at sixteen and it’s just as daunting at twenty-two. 

Years ago, you asked me if I could wish for anything, what would it be? I still wish I was a different person, someone you could be proud of. And I wish that person got to grow old with you. 

God, you don't know how badly I want to grow old with you.  

I have no doubt that there's a planet out there under a different sun where we end up together. Hand in hand with the two kids we always talked about. A little girl that'll have me wrapped around her finger because she'll look just like you. And a little boy that'll drive you up the wall because he's a little too much like me. That universe is where my heart lives.  

We'll find it someday, just you and me. Until then, they'll find our love written in the stars. In every constellation.  

-Yours until words lose meaning,  

Finnick O.  

You reread the letter.

Then reread it again. You keep rereading it until the words refuse to sit still, letters blurring together. 

It ends here? What’s he talking about? He can't possibly mean the two of you. He can't. 

But he’s ending it. He ended it.

Why would he—?

He said there’s no reason, but…but there has to be. 

You try to think of anything you did—anything you said that could have led to this but you're coming up blank. 

This doesn't make any sense. It doesn't line up with the Finnick you know. 

The letter says that he loves you, and you thought you knew he loved you, but it’s pretty hard to believe that when he’s leaving you.

He promised he'd stay with you, he promised, and Finnick doesn't break his promises. Not with you. No. Not after everything you've been through together. You only have each other. 

The paper falls from your trembling hands to the desk. 

No. You only have Finnick. But, Finnick—he doesn't want you anymore, right? So, where does that leave you? What else do you have? 

A grandfather clock ticks in the background, though it sounds muted to your ears. 

You look down at the paper and find wet spots, and ink more smeared than before. Your cheeks are wet. Are you crying?

Stupid. You grit your teeth, fury mixing with despair. Stupid tears. Stupid Finnick. You wipe at your cheeks roughly, angry at yourself for being weak enough to cry over him. There are a million and one reasons this could have happened and they all begin and end with you. You have no one to blame but yourself.

You know what it feels like for your body to break. You know what it is to be drained down to your skin, nerves, muscles, and bones. You've come eerily close to knowing what it's like to have your mind broken. 

But this is new. This is what it feels like to have your heart broken. It's sudden, and it rips you apart on its way in. Not an arrow, but a knife. Cold and serated. It's quicker than you thought it'd be, but it hurts just the same. 

You’re so cold. You don't think you've ever been this cold before. Not even when you were nine and you got such bad hyperthermia that you couldn’t work for the rest of the winter. He always ran hot, you think distantly. And all his warmth has left you. 

You hold on to yourself because no one else will. You would have preferred your body breaking. At least that heals. 

“I can’t,” you weep, stuttering over betrayal and loss, “I can’t do this alone.”

You press your forehead into the desk, your body shaking with the sobs you’re holding back. It hurts so bad. Pain sits rooted in your chest, sharp and rigid like a peach pit. Your heart doesn’t beat, it throbs. Throbs like a festering wound, irritated and infected. 

You pull at your shirt and dig your nails into your chest. If you press hard enough through the skin and fascia and muscles, you could pull out the problem.

But that’s impossible. There’s nothing there. It’s the absence that hurts, that gaping Finnick-shaped hole. 

Did you get ahead of yourself? Thinking anything could last with someone who shines as bright as him? Maybe…maybe if you were a little more like him, if you shined just as bright. 

You snort, anger flaring briefly. 

You’re not a star, you’re not even the moon. How can the sun love the same darkness it chases away?

He described the ocean to you once. Vast and endless, like it could go on forever. And he told you about all the people who get lost at sea. Now you’re one of them. 

You have capsized, water rushing up past your neck and into your mouth and nose, just as salty as your tears. Your lungs burn from the lack of air, you can’t breathe and no one will come for you because you're as good as dead.

Here you sit in your study in your home that isn’t really yours, far away from any ocean, but you're drowning anyway. 

You drown and you drown and you drown and you do it alone.

Present (X) - Finnick 

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

It’s a last resort, a unanimous choice between them all. A wordless decision that the victors made to appeal to the Capitol citizens. Though they’re all using different means, it’s all for the same result. That’s what Finnick has to remind himself when he’s called on stage after Beetee. 

The crowd screams at his entrance and he locks his hands behind his back. He smiles, nodding to his adoring fans as he stands beside Caesar.

“Finnick, I understand you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody.” The crowd hoots and hollers at the dramatics of it all and the idea of one of them being the special someone close to his heart. He chuckles and looks down. The Capitols being painfully predictable is finally paying off. All according to plan. “Can we hear it?”

He could spew some generic flowery shit that could apply to literally anyone he’s come in contact with, but…

He looks at the camera. Fourteen victors will perform before you, so you should still be in your dressing room. Are you watching? Watching him?

"My love, my star. My heart is yours. And…and if I had to pick a place to die, it would be in the warmth of your arms. Your smile, the last thing I see and your lips, the last thing I taste. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you.”

Caesar pouts at the audience as they coo at his love letter and he wishes they never heard it. He wishes he could have said it to you directly. Those words, they’re yours and they should have been for your ears only. And, yet, here he is, relaying his heart to you through a screen.

Look how far we’ve fallen, Star. 

“Oh, my. That’s very touching, Finnick. Isn’t it? I’m sure whoever it is, is listening and feeling truly loved.” 

“I hope you’re right, Caesar.”

They allowed Mags to opt out of her interview on account of her not being able to speak. How kind, he scoffs. He settles on the raised platform beside her and he briefly squeezes her hand. 

You okay? He mouths and she nods, smiling. 

One by one, each victor comes with their own approach to sway the masses. Oh, he knows there's no way they'll be canceling the games. Finnick is more likely to drain the ocean with a teaspoon before Snow even considers stopping this cruelty. But it’s worth a shot, he supposes. It can’t possibly make going into the arena any worse.

Besides Johanna's impassioned speech, nothing the other victors do stands out to him. Then, you're called out.  

He sinks his teeth into his lip as the audience applauds at your entrance.

From what he can recall, your outfit is a remix of the dress you wore in your first interview as if it has aged and matured with you. It’s gained a long train and the hip-high thigh slits that your stylist is known for.

You blow kisses to the crowd and they, understandably, go wild. You turn to Caesar with a smile and the overhead lights shine on you, painting your skin in soft lighting like a blanket. He takes a breath. And another, until he notices he’s breathing in sync with you.

He blinks when the crowd breaks into raucous laughter and realizes he’s missed something.

"Oh, we all know just how shy you are." Caesar smiles, holding his laugh behind clenched teeth in that way of his that reminds Finnick of an overachieving beaver. The crowd laughs with him and your cheeks must hurt from holding that coy smile. "Now, the last time we talked, you said you were composing a new piece." Caesar pulls a violin out from…somewhere behind him and presents it to you like a gift. Finnick doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he didn’t think you’d use the violin as your strategy. Mostly because of how much you hate it. Or maybe you don’t anymore. Perhaps you’ve grown to love it and he’s none the wiser. “Can you play it for us now?" The crowd clamors in ooohs and ahhhs at the idea. It's always been a privilege to hear you play. Finnick watches your face closely.

It wasn't your favorite thing to do, but you took to it like a fish to water. Usually, Snow would have you play at the more "personal" get-togethers. But every once in a while, you would compose a song for Finnick . And when it was just the two of you, you'd share it with him. He'd sit in front of you in awe as you played. He doesn't have a musical bone in his body, but he can hum every piece from memory. 

“You’re kinda putting me on the spot here, but, sure. I would love to play it for you all.” You laugh. You place the instrument under your chin and position your fingers and bow.

And you play.

It's not showy like the pieces you usually play for the public. Not grand or performative, but soft and soulful. Melancholy. It feels nostalgic almost, like something you would write for him. 

The haunting melody carries throughout the silent room, and it is as if everyone is breathing with the lilting notes. Everyone but Finnick, who can't seem to catch his breath. 

He looks down, squeezing his eyes shut, nose scrunching as he fights back tears. Because as much as you may hate the instrument, you play it as if it's an extension of your body. And you've always been better at showing how you feel than saying it. 

It sounds like a goodbye. 

You come to a stop and Finnick's lungs stop constricting with your movements.

When you finish, it’s quiet before Caesar clears his throat and gives you a small smile that almost looks genuine.

“That was marvelous, my dear. Truly moving—wasn’t that moving?” He asks the audience, and Finnick will be surprised if there’s a dry eye in the crowd. Even their applause sounds sad. 

“Thank you, Caesar.” You nod at the praise. “You taught me so much—all of you. If I had known this would be the last time I got to play for you—” You trail off into a sob and the crowd coos. The words may be fake, but he isn’t too sure about the tears. He wonders if you think you won’t make it out of the arena alive—not that he would let that happen. If he could just talk to you, and have an actual conversation, he could know what you’re thinking.

Caesar pats your lower back and Finnick’s eyes narrow. “And you played beautifully.”

You hand the violin back with a watery smile and, fake or not, Finnick hates to see you cry. 

You’re met with a standing ovation as you climb to your place on the platform. With the way the victors are positioned, he stands directly behind you. Or, well, strictly speaking, he’s more diagonal than directly behind you. Still, how lucky is he? He could, theoretically, lean forward and catch a whiff of your perfume—

He gathers himself, straightening up and lacing his fingers behind his back. He squeezes the space between his thumb and forefinger.

Katniss spins and her wedding dress transforms in a flurry of fire before their eyes. 

“Again with the fire.” He mutters under his breath.

The crowd is in awe as she spreads her wings, but he isn’t so easily cowed. Though, he might not be the target audience. Finnick’s never been particularly fond of birds, even if they are mockingjays.

"You know Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if it weren't…if—" Peeta stops himself, glancing around nervously.

"If it weren't for what? What?"

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Now, that catches his attention. Gasps echo throughout the room at Peeta’s revelation. Finnick’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline with how high they raise. Caesar tries to do damage control, but the situation is quickly escalating. 

“Call off the games!”

“This is cruel!”

He purses his lips around a growing smile, but he can’t hide it for long when the crowd starts shouting. That’s…certainly one way to get the audience riled up. He catches the slight smirk on Peeta’s face as he watches the commotion he caused and Finnick’s a little jealous. 

Chaos unfurls in a way he never thought the Capitols were capable of. They’ve always been so docile; sheep shepherded into any direction Snow lead them. But it makes sense. The romance act was meant to fool the Capitol and fool them, it has. He hides the vindictive glee he feels at the riot breaking out in the name of the victors, but only barely. He would kill to see Snow's face right now. 

How does it feel, he wonders, to see your people rebel in support of the savages you tried to paint us out to be?

He looks over, brows furrowed, as Mags takes his hand with a proud smile and he glances down in time to see you take Chaff’s hand. He pauses for a moment before taking the hand the woman from Five offers him. In sync, the victors all raise their hands in a show of solidarity. 

“Stop the games!”

“Call them off!”

Finnick grins big at the mayhem unfolding before him and they keep shouting long after the lights cut out.

Present (X) - You & Finnick

[23 & 24] - THE CAPITOL

“Star!”

It didn't take long for the tributes to be escorted off the platforms and as he chases after you, Finnick realizes that he vastly underestimated just how many people stood between you and him. He isn't sure if he's too far away for you to hear or if you’re actively ignoring him.

”Star!” Finnick pushes through the crowd of victors and stage crew to get closer. Chaff glances at him and now he knows for sure that you’re ignoring him.

“Stubborn.” He mutters as some of his fellow victors let him pass, glancing at him before continuing their conversations. But, as he’s said before, he’s just as stubborn as you. He racks his brain for something that’ll catch your attention before he loses what might be his last chance with you. “The message was for you! ”

You pause at the entrance of the elevator at Finnick's shout. You're so close to getting away, so close. Your escape is a hair's breadth and a footstep away, but you remember how you felt sitting in your dressing room watching Finnick's interview. Was there a pang of jealousy over the possibility of the message being for someone else? Honestly, it couldn't even be categorized as jealousy. 

You look over your shoulder and his lungs stop constricting. He’s got you. Now, for the hardest part: keeping you.

There are dozens of eyes on him, people milling around as if they aren’t honed in on whatever this is. He can’t blame them for being curious, he’s a little confused himself. He went into this with no plan, not that he would have been able to stick to one with how you’re looking at him.

“What?” As he approaches, the lingering crowd fully parts for him. You regard the gathering audience warily. 

“What I said, the message—it was for you.” He repeats. 

He can’t afford to be coy, that hasn't worked the last dozen times he's attempted a conversation with you and it definitely won't work now. He knows if he doesn’t catch you now, there won’t be any more chances.

Peeta dropped a baby bomb, and, somehow, this is the most dramatic thing to happen tonight. His eyes are locked intently on you, either unaware of all the attention he’s captured or just uncaring.

You look over to Chaff for help but he just smirks at your growing embarrassment. You watch in disbelief as he walks away using the excuse of finding Seeder to escape. 

“Finnick, this isn’t the time.” You glance between him and the floor, tracing the threading in his boots instead of the desperation in his eyes. 

"Can you please just,” he shifts his weight on his feet, "can you look at me, Star? Please, look at me." He lifts his hand like he aims to reach you, but hesitates. 

This situation is developing into something far more intimate than your current company should allow. More intimate than you should allow. You can always walk away, turn your back to him, and get on one of the idle elevators—let it end here, once and for all. The only thing stopping you would be the completely unfounded guilt and regret. 

You don't owe him anything, let alone your time. 

And, yet. Yet, yet, yet.

Maybe you can get some sort of closure and set clear boundaries before you go into the arena and—that reasoning sounds weak even to you.

Both of you could die tomorrow and truthfully, you don't want to walk away from him; you've never wanted to.

Besides, it's not like he can hurt you any worse than he already has. 

Finnick jolts when he feels your hand wrap around his wrist, a sensation he should be accustomed to but has grown foreign. 

You pull him away from eavesdropping ears, but not from nosey eyes. With how front and center Finnick has made this, you feel like a spectacle, but when haven't you?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You question him in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what this is or what you think this is, but it is not the place for it. What if this gets back to Snow—”

“I don’t care.”

“—There’s already so much…what?”

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and for once, he’s not lying. “I don’t care if they hear us, or—or if this gets back to Snow.”

Your jaw shifts as you narrow your eyes up at him and there’s that anger he’s been expecting.

“Please, Star. Just���just let me speak.” He begs. Your face goes blank, a mask slotting into place like a lock with a key that Finnick has long since lost the right to. He blocks out the chatter around him. 

“Not here.” He thinks he’s being rejected for a moment until you grab his wrist and drag him behind you. The elevators are filling in droves and you just so happen to pick the one housing some of the last people he wants to witness this. 

Haymitch takes one look at your faces and the grip you have on his wrist and raises his hands in defense. 

Haymitch turns to Katniss and Peeta. “Nuh-uh, believe me. You do not wanna be locked in here with them.” He shakes his head and steps out without a backwardsqasz glance and you contemplate going with him. “I’ll meet you guys up there.”

Johanna steps on in his place, elevator doors closing behind her. She looks between the four of you and whistles. Finnick sighs.

“There’s the happy couple.” You glance at Peeta and Katniss because she certainly isn’t talking about the two of you. “You caused quite the stir out there. Why didn’t you tell us you were expecting? We could have thrown you a baby shower.” You sigh through your nose. You don’t even have it in you to intervene in this conversation.

“What the hell is a baby shower—”

“We didn’t know how everyone would take it.” Peeta cuts Katniss off. “We’re already the newest victors. The baby might’ve painted an even bigger target on our backs.” He says without stuttering once.

“That’s a fantastic answer, Peeta.” Johanna crows sarcastically. “Did Haymitch prep you on that one or did you come up with it on your own?”

“No. No, it’s all me.” He assures with a downward smile. It certainly is all him. He’s the mastermind behind all of this, right? Ironically enough, Finnick doubts Katniss had any real part in making this ‘baby scandal’.

Finnick opens his mouth to make a quip but thinks better of it. You’re already aggravated at his presence and he honestly doesn’t want to remind you that he’s here. His only consolation is that you’re still holding his wrist, all five pads of your fingers are searing points on his skin.

Peeta gives you an imploring look, eyebrows raised as if to ask if you’re alright and you nod and—when did that happen?

It’s quiet, with no other sound than the nearly inaudible woosh of the elevator going between floors. No one makes an effort to break the steadily growing awkward silence. Finnick does, however, make the mistake of making eye contact with Johanna. She mouths you’re dead at him over your head and, yeah, that definitely fills him with much-needed confidence. 

Present (X) - Finnick

[21 & 22] -  THE CAPITOL; TRAINING CENTER; ELEVENTH FLOOR

“Alright. You wanted to speak.” Your dress flutters around your legs as you settle into a big green chair. That same giant green chair you sat in three years prior. You’ve both grown considerably since then. Just in two completely different directions. What a juxtaposition. “Speak.” 

He stays where he’s standing a couple of feet away. He probably should have figured out what to do on the elevator ride, but, again, he’s without a plan. “Did you hear my message? When I was up there with Caesar? I know you were still getting ready—did you hear it?”

“I might’ve.” You shrug and cross your arms, still so stubborn. “Great strategy by the way. I’m sure you’ll reel in plenty of sponsors.”

“God, Star, it wasn’t for them. It wasn’t even for the fucking movement.” You raise a brow at his words but give no further outward reaction. He moves to stand before you, each step more unsure than the last. Your glare is scorching, but there’s been enough space between the two of you to house the sun. “Do you remember when you said my poetry was a gift? And—and that I shouldn’t waste it on them? You said you would never be tired of anything I do. Do you remember that night? What I said?” He implores. It was a special night full of promises and you gave him more than he deserved.

You look him over with a critical eye long enough that he’s sure you’re not going to answer. Especially when you turn to stare off to the side before sighing out of your nose.

“My heart, who am I to deprive you of what's yours by right? The air in my lungs, I breathe for you. The blood in my veins pumps for you. A leaf can’t stop itself from falling and neither could I. Everything I do, I do for you.” It only takes him half a second to recognize the lines and he’s stunned, transported back to that garden under the stars. “I remember all of them… I remember everything you’ve made for me.” You give him fleeting peripheral glances and avoid his gaze like you’re ashamed of that. 

He nods, frantic and eager. He’s making headway. He honestly didn’t think you’d let him get this far. Your eyes widen when he drops down onto his knees before you smooth your face into a blank mask. “They’re all yours. And they’ll keep being yours even if you still hate me when I leave this room. Everything I’ve written since I met you has been for you.’’ He confesses, hands moving to grip the arms of your chair, but is it really a confession? The Capitols love his poetry because they adore the idea of Finnick Odair being devoted to them, longing for them and, for that, you’ve always been his muse. 

You stare down at him, giving no indication that anything he’s said has swayed you. He grits his teeth through the sting of rejection and sighs, arms falling to his sides.

“I can’t tell you how sorry—”

“Why now?” You cut him off. “It’s been two years. You don’t owe me anything, Finnick, so if this a guilt thing—”

“I–It’s not. I mean, it is, but it’s not…it’s not why I’m here.” He sits back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair. “We could die tomorrow. And I don’t want you going into that arena thinking that I don’t love you or…or that I wanted to leave you.”

You squint at him, face twisting into a sour scowl.

“You said,” you drawl, slow and drawn out like you’re explaining something fundamental to a child, “you thought it was best if we ended it.”

He shakes his head. “I lied. I had to and I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you and I know saying sorry won’t be enough, but please know sending that letter was the last thing I wanted to do. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What? What are you talking about? You said—”

He holds his hands up, stopping your completely warranted stream of questions.

“I know. I know what I said and I never would have said it if Snow hadn’t shown up at my house—”

“Snow showed up at your house?” Your arms unfold and you lean forward so suddenly that he almost flinches back. “When?” 

“Uh, a few weeks before I sent the letter. He’s the only reason I even sent it.” He scoffs, remembering the state he was left in after Snow offered the ultimatum. He doesn’t need to try to remember the words written in the letter he sent you because he’s never forgotten. They’re tattooed on the back of his eyelids, seared into his memory every time he blinks.

“What did he want? What did he say to make you…” He watches you try to articulate your confusion. What led to this? What could have possibly been worth giving you up? 

“Snow, he was convinced that our relationship would somehow lead to—to civil unrest. His solution was to get rid of one of us, get rid of you. I couldn’t let that happen. He never explicitly said it, but you know how he is, how he speaks …I was scared. I was. I didn’t—” His voice cracks and you stare down at him with stunned, wide eyes. He wants to shuffle closer. He wants to sway into you and take some kind of comfort. But he doesn’t. “I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t just tell you because you would have tried to find some kind of loophole and we couldn’t afford to make him more hostile than he already was.”

You look to your left out of the wall-length windows and smirk, completely throwing Finnick off. 

"Star?"

You stand. He watches as you pace the length of the room before turning on your heel and walking onto the balcony. He can do nothing more than follow you. 

“He came to my house too, you know. Around the same time, I think. He wanted to remind me about how privileged I am.” You snort and that sick feeling is developing in his stomach, organs twisting to make room for the settling dread. He isn’t sure what he thought you’d do in light of the revelation, what he expected you to say, but it’s not this. “Went on and on about how thankful I should be that he was allowing us to be in a relationship and…and that as long as I kept myself in line, I could keep you.” You sigh, propping your elbows on the railing and placing your face in your hands.

He doesn’t know what to do. Speechless doesn’t even cover it. His anger is there, and he doesn’t see that ever leaving him...but he’s been angry for so long and tired for even longer.

“We played right into his hand, Finnick. He gained something from this, bastard that he is.” You scoff. You turn and sit with your back against the glass railing. "That's all that matters to him."

Finnick stews on it and many things are starting to make sense. In the months leading up to the event, the two of you started seeing each other less and less—long stretches of time where all he had was your perfume and words to keep him company. And considering Snow was the only way either of you were allowed to come to the Capitol… Of course. It all seems so fucking obvious now.

"I should have known better. Snow was never gonna kill you, he's too fucking—dammit.” He stops and shakes his head. So much lost time, so much pain. All unnecessary in the end.

“Come sit down, Finn.”

Finn. 

He hasn't been called that in a long time. He takes a second to stare unseeingly at the stars before sliding down beside you.

It's quiet. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if there's anything he should say, and he's sure you feel the same. But he does know if it was up to you, you'd both sit in silence for the foreseeable future and he has two years' worth of confessions to make. 

“The mo—” he stops, overwhelmed by how much he wants to say, but nothing feels good enough, “I loved you the moment you laughed at my stupid joke the first time we danced together and I have loved you ever since. Even when I wasn’t there to show you, even when I—I left you. I’ve loved you the entire way, Star. There are billions of suns out there, billions of universes, and I love you in every one.”

Your head whips up.

“I remember everything you’ve made for me too.” Your mouth twists, brows furrowing as you stare at him and he can’t express how good it feels to be seen.

"I don’t hate you.” You shrug a shoulder, smiling small and quick. “You said ‘even if you still hate me’, I don’t hate you.”

“...You don’t?” 

“I tried to. For a while, I thought I did." He shouldn’t be surprised by that. He shouldn’t be hurt by something he explicitly told you to do in his letter. Finnick shouldn’t be a lot of things that he is. “But I just…couldn’t." You grimace "I didn’t even want to, after a while. I was just tired.”

His head thumps against the railing. He closes his eyes. There's a question on his tongue, an answer he shouldn't need but wants regardless. 

“Is that why you stopped sending letters?” When he opens his eyes again, he’s relieved that you’re still facing him.

Your face twists like you’ve tasted something sour, something rotten. “I just…I was fine waiting for you, Finnick. It was hard, but it didn’t hurt. Not too bad, at least. I would’ve waited a thousand years because it would have been worth it to hold you for a second. And I could get through that because I knew you were waiting for me too. But, I realized you were never coming. And, eventually, I realized…you weren’t waiting either." You whisper, wrapping your arms around your legs as you pull your knees up. He stiffens, freezing in place as he tries to slow his heartbeat. 

He drops his head, brows furrowed as he tries, and fails, to stop tears from forming. It's just, it's cruel. The one thing he promised himself he'd never do—leave you, hurt you—he had to do for you. 

He wipes his face, pressing the base of his palms into his eyes. 

"Star, I…I would never…It killed me to write that letter, you have to know that, right? Right ?" He implores, voice rough while his breath hitches repeatedly. His throat feels tight and swollen as he stutters over the words in his chest. The words you have to hear, the words he needs you to hear. You stare forward, refusing to look at him anymore and he turns to face you full-on, refusing to look at anything but you. "How can I let you know that? What can I do—to prove—that I'm sorry?"

He thought you both had changed too much to be fluent in what you two used to have. He thought it was a different language, but here, up close, he can see that it’s not so much a new language as it is a cipher. You just had to let him get close enough to understand again. He always thought you had such an open face, it was a wonder to him how you could lie so eloquently when you could never lie to him. But it wasn’t until he was shut out that he realized you were letting him read you, subconsciously or otherwise. He reads you now, eyes tracing your face eagerly—hungrily, and finds…remorse?

"I know you’re sorry. I know. And logically, knowing the truth should make it easier to get over it.” Your mouth opens and closes, hesitating. “But you left me." He nods hard enough to hurt his neck. "I did." And he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry. He doesn't think there's enough air on the planet for him to tell you just how sorry he is. "You left me, Finnick. I know it isn’t rational to feel this way knowing you didn’t want to, but…” You lick your lips, resting your cheek on your knee. When you look up at him, actually look at him and not somewhere over his shoulder, the glossy state of your eyes has him digging his nails into his hands to ground himself. "It’s just—it’s a real challenge to separate you from that hurt." I’d take that hurt from you if I could, he thinks. I’d grit my teeth through the pain and wear it proudly if it meant you’d have a moment of relief. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry, Star." Because, really, what else is there to say? There’s no way to describe everything he’s sorry for.

"...I'm sorry too." You say and he wants to tell you there’s nothing to apologize to him about, but you lock your pinky with his and it’s enough to make his throat tighten, and all he can manage is a wistful sigh at the feeling of coming home.

Far below you, the sound of the city is dampened by the distance but no less heard. He goes to speak but spots a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye. It’s your ankle. Or specifically, what’s on your ankle.

“You wore it?” He asks, touching the fraternal twin of his own bracelet. He appraises what he thought was lost reverently. Tracing the grooves of the shells, the divets in the charms, the rough twine of the rope—it all feels like a live wire under his fingers.

“I never took it off.” You slip your heel off, loosening the straps of the bracelet and wiggling it down your foot. “I just thought it might be a little sad to parade it around when you didn’t want me.”

“There will never be a moment on this Earth of me not wanting you, not while I still have air in my lungs. Not even after.” 

“And how’ll you manage that?” You ask, your eyes crinkling in that old mirth you used to wear around him like a beauty mark.

“For you? I’ll find a way.” He promises.

You hum, appraising the jewelry briefly before passing it to him. He smiles when you lift your hand, silently prompting him. He places the bracelet on you, tightening it on your wrist. It feels like muscle memory when he lifts your hand to place a kiss on the center shell.

The corner of your mouth twitches up and you nod. “Okay.”

He leans in, placing a hand on the base of your neck and pulling you towards him and he’s still in awe that you actually let him. He holds the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his slender waist. 

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, it wouldn’t be fair.” He murmurs into the crown of your hair. “But after we do this, I want the chance to make it up to you." If you'll let him, he'll spend the rest of his life mending what he tore apart.

“I think…I’d like that.” You speak into his chest and he feels your voice more than he hears it. “It was for you too.”

“What was?”

“The song I played onstage. I wrote it after it all happened. I couldn’t touch the violin without thinking of you, Finn. You were the only person I ever wanted to play for.” You whisper and it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Finnick’s taken by the sudden need to look in your eyes more than anything, to see and know you and be seen and known in return. He pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Star.” He begs you beseechingly, and there’s no hesitation when you look up at him. He grins. It feels like it’s been years. “There you are.”

You smile. It's small and heavier than he remembers, but it's there and he is as whole as he will ever be.

A/N: IMAGINE POURING YOUR HEART OUT AND EXPRESSING HEARTFELT INTIMACY TO THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE JUST TO GET DUMPED yeesh. fun fact: "...but if you only dug a little deeper you’d find your picture framed and hanging along the walls of my soul." I actually texted this to my beta reader about Finn from Adventure Time after seeing an edit bc I love him so much, but then I converted it into Finnick love. also, Finnick's letter was one of the first things I wrote for this story months ago. That balcony talk was inspired by Hozier's Unknown/Nth WE IN THE ARENA NEXT CHAPPY

[twig-tea]

People I Want to Get to Know Better

tagged by @incandescentflower, thanks MJ!

Last song: @lurkingshan sent me the acoustic Jimin single ('Who') and then I looked up the Ace of Base song Beautiful Life because it reminded me so much of it lol

Favorite Color: Teal

[ID: gif of the overhead shot of the teal ocean in The Eclipse]

Currently Watching: Besties this is so upsetting. This is what I'm actively keeping up with. This is everything in a week, including the 4 that start within the next 7 days:

4 Minutes [starting this week]

Ayaka is in love with Hiroko

Bad Guy

Battle of the Writers [starting this week]

Be Your Star

Century of Love

Hoshikuzu Telepath [I just found out about this one but it is also currently airing!]

I Hear the Sunspot

I Saw You In My Dream [just started today]

Knock Knock Boys

Love Enemy [starting this week]

Love Sea the Series

Mr Mitsuya's Planned Feeding [starting this week]

My Marvellous Dream is You [finishing this week--i lied it finishes Aug 7]

The Rebound

The Secret of Us

Sky Valley

Sunset Vibes

Takara's Treasure

The Trainee

Twilight out of Focus

Under the Oak Tree [finishing this week]

All but 5 of them are 45-60 minute episodes (and 4 of those 5 are 25 mins), and 3 of them air twice a week. That's 22 shows from 7 different countries, including 3 GLs. And that's after I moved 3 to binges (MLMU, Meet You at the Blossom, and This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans) because I couldn't keep up and wasn't enjoying those week-to-week. It's TOO MUCH.

Last movie: I think it was BL Metamorphosis, due to @my-rose-tinted-glasses' rec and fansubbed by @furritsubs (thank you!).

Currently Reading: I'm still on book 3 of MoDu (Silent Reading), because I have had no time to read! I love this series I just haven't been prioritizing it. Also reading the Twilight out of Focus manga alongside the anime as it airs.

Sweet, Spicy, or Savory?: Savoury all day every day.

Relationship: I am married to the sea.

Current Obsession: Hmm. Does QL as a whole count? lol

Last googled: "Sailor moon makoto and haruka" to make sure i was getting their names right on this gifset I was queuing.

Currently working on: My watchlist (sobs) and clearing out my drafts by filling up my queue so that i feel less bad about being stalled on the 5 meta posts I owe people.

tagging @waitmyturtles @wanderlust-in-my-soul @stuffnonsenseandotherthings and @pigglepiephi because those were the first names I thought of that I'm also curious about your watchlists!

[iravaid]

9, 10, 22 for Biker 🤲🥰

BIKER.

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

Back pre-apocalypse, Biker was a professional racer and, as a result, counted as an endurance athlete, and went through the physical training to show for that. So they know how to manage their physique and build up endurancee + strength without exploding forever, and can pull off some pretty impressive feats of strength, agility, and endurance when primed for it. BUT. They really struggle to take care of themself due to recent wounds sustained from being tortured with boiling water. It's given them an aversion to water touching their body (usually warm/hot water, but on bad days it's All water), and unfortunately this includes cleaning themself, and their wounds. This will have knock on effects, if not from infection (perhaps their fear of dying from sepsis will override this fresh trauma long enough to stop the burns from festering), then from poorly-healed scar tissue that pulls at their thighs to a point of restricting mobility. They're also beginning to descend into a long battle with alcoholism and that's not going to do wonders to *gestures vaguely at the stress ball that is their body* that.

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

oh god.

They're in the blender and taking care of themself means chasing fleeting pleasures long enough to not be in pain anymore - be it through substance abuse, sex, or dangerous stunts for the adrenaline rush. They're probably going to start picking fights with people, as a way to redirect shame and aggression surrounding them being taken captive, and as a way to reestablish their own 'place' within the group, and reaffirm their strength to others. (can't wait to see what becomes of this miserable thang!!)

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

Their immediate instinct is FLIGHT. but being cornered so so so often has lead to that godforsaken flee instinct to be condensed and expressed into FIGHT, because Biker wants to live, above all else.

they're both <3 they leave bite marks no matter what🙏 i think people call that bisexuality

[totally-not-your-babe]

Quiet Nights

A/N: Sooooo @elainecreations made and interesting TikTok video and I just couldn't go about my day without writing something for it. (Also I needed some distraction of the TBB finale because I'm still a bit unwell and in denial, I still think it's not over yet for our copy paste boys.) It didn't really turned out as I first wanted it to turn out, but it just ran away with itself so it got way longer than I was planning it to be.

Warning(s): a little angst, Kaminoans being... Kaminoans, Mamma Ti being the absolute best

Word count: 1559

Tipoca City, Kamino, 22 BBY - 162 days after the Battle of Geonosis

The rain was pouring down relentlessly, more and more raindrops knocking incessantly on the spotlessly clear glass, as if they would never stop. The long, seemingly never-ending corridor was only just barely lit at night, but it was still disturbingly white and sterile. Not an environment in which one child, or millions, should have grown up. For all its flaws and strict rules, even the Jedi temple exuded a kind of warmth and security that helped the young Padavans feel like children at times, if only a little, in the midst of all the training and practice. This was not possible on Kamino. These poor boys are just have been born - or rather torn from their capsules by the not-so-gentle hands of the Kaminoans - and the first thing they see is an uncomfortable whiteness that never changes, never brings comfort, never offers gentleness or peace.

It was in the midst of these and similar thoughts that Shaak-Ti walked through the bright, yet depressingly white corridors. Everything was so similar. It had been weeks since the Jedi Council had assigned her the task of overseeing the training of young clones in Tipoca City, but even with the Force's help she sometimes struggled to navigate the snow-white walls and almost disturbingly clear glass.

"Wrecker, don't do it, you know it won't end well." came a low but forceful whisper from behind one of the doors. It was the voice of a child, albeit not a small child, but certainly not an adult. So she was in the cadets' barracks.

"But she took her. One of the long-necks took her away and won't bring her back." The complaining voice replied. Was he crying? Shaak-Ti stopped for a moment and reached out with the force. From the owner of the last voice, came feelings so sad that even the Jedi Master's eyes welled with tears.

"We'll get her back Wrecker, don't worry! Try to sleep!" came a third voice. Shaak-Ti could tell that it was a third little cadet and not the first to speak, she just knew.

"Can't without Lula." Sniffed the cadet who went by the name Wrecker. "What… what if the long-necks hurt her?"

"You mean ruined or thrown out?" asked a fourth voice.

"Tech!" the third thundered loudly.

"Thrown out?" yelled Wrecker. Shaak-Ti was hit by another wave of emotions, fear, bitterness, sadness, all crowned with anger. She heard the clatter of footsteps, then the door opened and she saw the owner of the voices. Three of them were trying to hold down their fourth companion, who was at least a head taller than they were. Shaak-Ti thought that if he had seen one cadet he had seen them all, for they were all clones, but these boys were different. One of them had grey tufts of hair standing out in all directions in the wind rose - must have been in his bed minutes before - one of them had curly locks - the one with glasses - a lighter colour than the other clones, the third, slightly shorter than the others, had long locks of hair flying back and forth as he tried to hold his brother down.

"Wrecker don't do it! Go back to bed!"

"Hunter!" the one with the goggles nudged the Long-Haired One when he saw the Jedi Master. All four of them seemed to freeze. The Jedi was sure they hadn't even taken a breath for a few seconds, then in a split second the three of them exchanged quick glances and the next moment the grey-haired one and the one with glasses pulled their larger companion back into the barracks.

"Sorry General, it won't happen again." said the boy, whom Shaak-Ti identified as Hunter, saluting. He was about to turn back to follow his brothers, but the Jedi Master gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "General?"

"Who is Lula." Ti doubted it was some kind of pet, the Kaminoans strictly forbid anything like that.

"Lula is Wrecker's tooka doll, he got it from 99 because he couldn't sleep. Today one of the long… doctors came in and when they saw her they took her away. They said we clones don't need anything like that." Shaak-Ti didn't answer, just nodded slowly and let the young boy go - he looked 16 or 17, so he was only eight at best. Before the door slid into place, the Jedi heard the three of them trying to calm their brother, who was sniffling heartbreakingly.

They can't even have toys - she thought sadly.

She stood outside the boys' room for a few more moments, then kept walking, now listening intently. The next two rooms were dead silent, almost nothing coming out, and Shaak-Ti had to concentrate hard if she wanted to hear the young cadets breathing. From the third barrack, however, she heard whispering again.

"If they come in to do a check up and see the lights on, we'll be in big trouble…"

"But…" began another, more timid voice, even less audible than his companion.

"No but CT-5509. You can get decommisioned for that!"

"But I'm scared." whimpered the other and Shaak-Ti could feel her heart breaking for him. Decommisioned for being scared in the dark? The Kaminoans truly had no heart at all?

"I know vod'ika, but I'm here, and I won't let anything bad happen to you." Vod'ika. Little brother. No matter what the Kaminoans said, they weren't just soldiers, they weren't just clones, they were human beings. They were brothers. They felt and cared for each other, there was no training or fear form punishment that could kill it out of them.

Loud humming filled the quiet corridors of the cadet barracks. With any other tune it would have been bloodcurdlingly terrifying, but that one tune was like warmth, tenderness, and care all in one. She didn’t even realise she started it; she just did. A tune that’s she thought was long lost in her memories, a tune she heard for the last time before being taken from her world to become a jedi all those years ago. A tune, a song her mother sang to her. She didn’t remember the lines of it, but – for her own surprise – she could still hum it. And so, she did. The little boys in the barracks went quiet, and after a couple of minutes she could feel that even the scared boy was asleep. She continued her walk and never stopped humming. When the song ended, she started again.

She walked the barracks corridor back and forth three times and only returned to her office, when she made sure that all the little cadets were sleeping peacefully. And from then on she did it every single night when she was on Kamino. Sometimes she met some of the long-neck scientist while she was doing it, and they looked at her for a while. Their looks weren’t disapproving, but she felt it coming of off them like the raindrops on the glasses of Kamino. But she didn’t care. She could give some comfort to those little boys before they’ve met the horrors of the training rooms and the war. That’s all that mattered. And she could do some more.

After that night the Jedi Council gave out an order to the Kaminoans to suspend decommissions at all and every cases.

Tipoca City, Kamino, 22 BBY - 163 days after the Battle of Geonosis

Four young boys walked back to their barracks, shouting, and laughing, to get their well-deserved sleep. They were sweaty and dirty, there were even a little blood on all four of them, but they were happy – they completed their mission in the training room, it was hard, and they were sure they would be sore the next day, but they did it. All four of them were happy… Well almost. One of them, even though he had a faint smile on his lips, wasn’t as happy and loud about their success as his brothers.

“Hey Wrecker!” he heard Crosshair’s call out to him and from knowing his vod’ika as well as he did he could hear out a smile in his voice.

“Hm?” he didn’t look up, he just stood at the door still deep in his thoughts.

“Looks like someone escaped the long-necks to get back to you.”

“What?” he looked up at his youngest brother, but he just smiled at him. He than looked at Tech and Hunter, the latest just nodded towards his cot with a wide smile on his face. He turned to his cot and the next moment he felt like something warm exploded in his chest. “Lula!” he darted toward his cot, jumping on it, hugging his tooka doll as close to his chest as he could, but he was still incredibly gentle with it. “Lula.” he repeated a bit quieter still hugging the stuffed toy. "You are back." he whispered as his three brothers sat at the edge of his cot too.

In a shadowy corner of the corridor, a certain togruta Jedi master watched the scene with a faint smile on her face, and then walked away unseen, with barely audible footsteps. Then, after the lights had been turned off, the familiar tune could be heard again.

A/N: I wrote the half of it in Hungarian first and translated it to English after, because for some reason I felt more confident writing this in my language at first and after turning it to English. Don't ask why I have my questionable moments from time to time. Also when it comes to writing sometimes I'm still more confident in Hungarian. Anyway that's why it took longer to post than I wanted it to. But I hope y'all enjoyed it a little.

[tunnelofdusk]

mdzs fic: wangxian, dark lan zhan, stalking, professor x student

wc: 1978

O how he loves you, darling boy. O how, like always, he invents the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night.

—

An air conditioner sputters incoherently as Wei Ying hunches over his laptop and pecks at the faded keyboard. Besides his laptop, a cracked smartphone lights up with a phone call set to speaker mode.

"Is that your air conditioner?" Jiang Yanli says worriedly.

"Yeah," Wei Ying says, "but it's fine. It does that all the time."

"Oh, A-Ying, I really think you should move back home."

Wei Ying laughs. "Jie, I think Yu-ayi has had enough of me! She even gave me a housewarming gift." It's true; an exorbitant metal contraption of a coffee maker takes up most of his kitchen counterspace. It's the nicest gift Yu-ayi has ever gotten him, considering the fact that she usually opts to just gift him money on special occasions. It's hush money, he had always joked even as his siblings would frown.

"Still, we live so close to your college; I don't see why you had to move out," Jiang Yanli frets. Her voice is sweet and Wei Ying smiles down at his laptop.

"It's part of the college experience!"

"Oh, A-Ying, you don't even have a roommate! I just don't think it's very safe for a young boy like you to be alone."

Wei Ying mouths "young boy" to himself and lets out a huff of laughter. "I'm 19, not 12. And jiejie, you're only 22!"

"Hmmm, I thought A-Ying was only 3…"

"A-Ying is only 3 when he wants jiejie's soup!"

Jiang Yanli giggles. "Even if my A-Ying is 3, 19, or 80, he can always have my soup."

Speaking of soup, Wei Ying flicks a glance at his steadily humming refrigerator where frozen containers on Yanli's soup reside. He's not ashamed to admit that that soup has been his primary source of sustenance as he battles past an ever-growing brigade of deadlines, exams, and presentations. He reassures Yanli when he confesses to as much. She continues to fret over him as he finishes off a paper until she finally concludes with an ominous warning that she's going to wrangle a family friend into checking up on him.

"He's a professor of psychology at your college too," she explains.

Apparently Jiang-shushu had connected with him, a professor named Lan Zhan, at a charity gala. And apparently while Wei Ying has been gone out of the house, this Lan Zhan had been visiting the house often enough with Jiang-shushu to even have Yu-ayi charmed by him. Even Jiang Cheng reluctantly admits that he's okay enough when Wei Ying had texted him with a series of question marks ("?????? Who is Lan Zhan????? 囧 Am I being replaced?????").

After collecting all of that data, Wei Ying had immediately formed a mental image of this Lan Zhan: a man as old as Jiang-shushu but with inexplicably white hair and wireframe glasses on a round, wrinkled face. Maybe he had a little scholarly paunch from a life spent inside among books and artificial lights.

When this storied Lan Zhan finally comes to check up on Wei Ying, it is on the day that Wei Ying's air conditioner gives off its last sputter. No amount of "percussive maintenance" had helped repair it and the temperature in Wei Ying's apartment had steadily begun to rise, matching the muggy atmosphere outside. And so on that day, Wei Ying has long since stripped down to a pair of loose shorts. Sprawled across the floor like a salted fish, Wei Ying stares up at the mildewed ceiling of his apartment with a rare quiet of his mind. He counts the cracks in the ceiling like stars in the sky—endless.

Once, Jiang-shushu had tried to rope the whole family into yoga, meditation, and mindfulness, but Wei Ying had ended up falling asleep during the guided meditation. Jiang Cheng had, worryingly enough, looked like he had lost his soul, as if he had come out on the other side of some internal battle all the worse for it. Jiang Yanli had done her best to meditate. And Yu-ayi had somehow ended up angrier as if she had meditated into a pure state of rage.

A crisp double knock on wood resounds through the apartment and knocks Wei Ying out of his musings. With a grumble, Wei Ying shakes off his lethargy to open the door. The bolt chain clinks merrily as his hands fumble. Finally, he swings the door open and pauses in his own doorway, staring at the man before him. The man, who must be Lan Zhan, has sharp features (with only wrinkles near his golden eyes; he must be an eye smiler!) and broad shoulders with a lightly muscled body outlined in a suit. It's so hot that Wei Ying could cook an egg on his floor, and yet this Lan Zhan looks cool and unruffled in his three-piece suit.

"Jiejie didn't say she was sending a handsome laoshi my way," Wei Ying blurts out.

"Nevertheless, your sister sent me to check up on you," Lan Zhan says blandly. The deepness of his voice sends a thrill through Wei Ying; it must be envy.

Wei Ying laughs, short and quivering. He steps back from the doorway and beckons Lan Zhan inside with a fluttering hand. Lan Zhan's eyes flicker down to that hand and a little scoff escapes him. Wei Ying eyes him in return with some indignance. So stiff!

Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan unbuttons his blazer and settles into Wei Ying's battered sofa (it came with the apartment!). It's a bit ruder than Wei Ying would have expected from a person who consorts with the Jiangs' ilk. Yet, Lan Zhan somehow transforms the sofa into something regal—something worthy of a man like Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan's posture is stiff and the commanding spread of his thighs makes Wei Ying swallow dryly. He looks away.

"Well," he croaks out, "you checked up on me. I'm still alive, haha…"

Lan Zhan stares directly into Wei Ying's eyes, mouth tugging downward as if to say, "You live like this?"

"Where is your shirt?" is all Lan Zhan says. His gaze is heavy, lingering on Wei Ying's torso and transmitting a chill down his spine.

"It's too hot for a shirt," Wei Ying says.

"Indecent," Lan Zhan intones.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes and he watches the way Lan Zhan's fists slightly crumple his suit pants.

"I will tell your sister that you are clearly better off at home," Lan Zhan says stiffly.

Dramatically, Wei Ying drops to his knees in front of Lan Zhan's spread legs. "C'mon, laoshi, there's no need to be so extreme! I'll even put a shirt on if it makes you more comfortable!" he exclaims. He had already endured Jiang Yanli's glossy eyes when he said he would be moving out with no plans of coming back. ("A-Ying wants to be independent," he had concluded babyishly as Jiang Yanli unwillingly snorted an inelegant laugh.)

A darkness eclipses the gold of Lan Zhan's eyes and Wei Ying leans back as Lan Zhan leans down ever so slightly.

"Pathetic," Lan Zhan intones.

囧 囧 囧 囧 囧 flashes in Wei Ying's mind. "Family friend"—well, Wei Ying supposes that he had never truly been considered part of the family, at least not in Yu-ayi's eyes or in society's eyes…

"Lan-laoshi, aren't you being too harsh?" Wei Ying wheedles. "Jiejie just wanted you to check in on me, not bully this poor undergrad! Aren't you a professor too! Hmph, is this how you treat your students?"

"None of my students would behave like this."

"So cruel to A-Ying!"

"…A-Ying?"

Wei Ying laughs awkwardly. Jiang Cheng would never let him live this down if he ever found out…

"A-Ying?"

"You—you can just ignore that, haha…It's just how me and jiejie joke…"

"I am not your jiejie."

And Wei Ying looks up, suddenly confronted with the bulge in front of him. Jiang Cheng always did say that his playfulness would likely be the end of him..

"Haha…right, you're definitely not my jiejie, Lan-laoshi," Wei Ying says as he scrambles to rise from the floor. The apartment has somehow got even more hotter; the summer heat coaxes a flush to rise from his bare torso and to crawl up his neck.

Abruptly, Lan Zhan stands up and Wei Ying loses his hard-won high ground. The scent of sandalwood engulfs Wei Ying and he cannot help his hitching breath as Lan Zhan draws close.

"Your hospitality and home leave much to be desired," Lan Zhan says archly.

And then he just leaves—shouldering past Wei Ying and swinging open the door with an enviable grace that leaves Wei Ying dry-mouthed. Wei Ying stands shirtless and still in the middle of his living room before he scrambles for his phone, digging into his deep pockets.

He texts Jiang Yanli the following messages in quick succession:

囧 jiejie, ignore whatever lan-laoshi says!!!

he is a liar!!!

he is mean!!! 囧

a-ying is innocent!!!

a-ying was unjustly abused!!! slandered!!! 囧

😭😭😭

After a few harrowing minutes, Jiang Yanli texts back:

???

All he said was that he would look after you.

What's wrong?

"Did he just insult me for no reason then?!" Wei Ying mutters to himself. He sends off a final message:

nvm, a-ying is ok :) <3

-

A week after Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan, Wei Ying's professor for Introduction to Abnormal Psychology abruptly withdraws from the university for a family emergency. Wei Ying had never thought that he would have to see Lan-laoshi outside the confines of his apartment since typically, Lan-laoshi only teaches grad classes. And yet—

"Sit down, A-Ying," Lan Zhan says as Wei Ying gapes at the crisply suited figure behind the podium. Although Lan Zhan's features remain static, there is something about the curve of his eyes that reminds Wei Ying of a falcon before a dive. Lan-laoshi must really like teaching…

"You know him?" Nie Huaisang whispers as paper flutters with opening notebooks around the hall.

"Family friend," Wei Ying says as he scrawls the date across notebook paper, already tearing at the perforated line.

—

“Will you tell your brother? Your sister?” Lan Zhan says in a low voice, eyes intent.

Wei Ying shakes his head in a sharp, jerking movement. His hands are unsteady and his fingers desperately grip the balcony railing.

“They have enough to worry about,” Wei Ying eventually says. His eyes skim the view below them—trees reaching into the air, poking through the fog. High up in the mountains, the air is different. It is crisp. He takes a deep breath in and then a deep breath out, banishing his anxiety.

His hands are still unsteady.

“Will you at least report it?” Lan Zhan says.

The warmth of Lan Zhan’s concern heats Wei Ying up. He thinks, I’m not alone. (He never is but he won’t realize this until the end.)

Wei Ying shakes his head again.

“You know the police never do anything about stalkers,” he says bitterly. He thinks about Xiao Xingchen—a short-lived reconnection of Wei Ying and his uncle. Song Lan still looks for Xiao Xingchen, and grief still deadens his face until he can only smile at his daughter.

“Mn.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says quietly. His breath mists white in the chill air. “For letting me stay with you…”

Lan Zhan’s mouth curves thinly. “Between you and me, there is no need for 'thank you',” he says. His voice is low and even, and Wei Ying leans into his steadiness.

It is frightening to be the victim of a stalker.

Wei Ying is lucky to have such a good friend.

[immortal-until-proven-dead]

Ok, so if the marks on Ed’s wall are in fact him counting the days since Stead left him, I did out the math and counted 74 days (the pic is kinda blurry and Ed isn’t neat about his time tracking so don’t quote me on that.)

Our flag S1 took place in September-October of 1717, witch puts S2 in the December range. Mind you Ed and Stead both die historically in 1718, on November 22 and December 10th respectively. Judging how s2 probably won’t take place over an entire year (and if their deaths are portrayed when and how they were in history) I think we’ll be safe this season from any death (fake or otherwise.) I do like the idea of their deaths being brought to the screen at some point (SEASON 3 PERHAPS?!?!) because the story’s are interesting and so cinematic and also really sad. I love my hurt/angst why else do you think I watch this show.

Anyway Edward Teach died in battle, literally fighting to his last breath. It is said that he:

“stood his ground, and fought with great fury, till he received five and twenty wounds, and five of them by shot.”

Mans was literally shot multiple times and continued to fight before he actually died. What a guy.

Stead however, was hung for General accounts of piracy. The thing that gets me is he was HOLDING A BOQUET OF FLOWERS WHILE HE WAS HANGED.

(Photo of the execution in question. Don’t ask me why he’s bald)

it’s so in character for him I can’t.

Obviously I don’t want them to actually die. They should both fake their deaths and live out the rest of their lives together happily. I just think it would be cool to include if we ever get a season 3 (looking at you HBO, pay your fucking writers)

Anyway that’s the brain dump hope you enjoyed.

[rhaenella]

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 23

Part 22 | Masterlist

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks. 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: at the end.

Song: Darkness In Your Heart – Cowbell

By the time you entered your sisters’ building, Zoe had already let you know via text that your mother wasn’t currently with them. That had been a massive relief. But, she’d said, there was something they needed to show you. She hadn’t specified what that something was, so your nerves were still working overtime, your stomach churning painfully.

What could that woman have done now?

And why, after all these years, was she still able to draw such a reaction from you? Get under your skin like that?

The answer was brutally simple: all the pain and sadness, the abandonment caused by her absence, and her behaviour that had led to your father leaving without a forwarding address—it was all still bottled up inside of you. How she’d hurt your family and had ruined your childhood. There were so many feelings and thoughts that you had pushed far, far away, never wanting (or ready) to deal with them. But ever since the house fire, something inside you had changed. 

The time of ignoring your mother’s antics had come to an end. She couldn’t get away with what she’d done. Not only to your sisters. But also to you. 

In your mind, she was to blame for most of your hardship, if not all of it. For the person you had become; cold and ruthless. Sure, there was a heart in there somewhere, you weren’t totally cut off from any type of feeling. Not entirely. But that only made your very being that much more confusing to you. 

The nature vs. nurture question wasn’t a theoretical concept to you. No, you lived that question and battle every day. What was wrong, and what was right? Had you been born this way, or had you become this way? Rhys had once confided in you that he didn’t think the answer to that question could ever be straightforward. That he deeply felt that—contrary to what American serial killer H.H. Holmes may have thought—people are not born with the devil in them. 

But did that come from a place of pure conviction? Or was it just another way to justify his own nature? 

You would have to try and find the answers to those questions another time, because first, there was something else you needed to know: were your sisters okay? There was no need to knock when you rushed to their front door, it was already open, with Sadie standing in the opening looking as pale as a wraith.

“Oh, Kittykat,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around her.

She buried her face in your shoulder, sniffing. “Thank you for coming…”

“Of course, baby, I got here as fast as I could.”

You followed her inside, where your other sister was in a similar state. Zoe hugged you tight, whispering a stream of apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

Running a soothing hand down her back, you frowned. “What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“No, but Rhys is all over Twitter with that new murder, and we knew you were with him this morning and we didn’t wanna bother you,” she trailed off.

You stepped away from her, alarmed. “What murder?”

She frowned as if the answer was obvious. “Tom Lockwood?”

Instant relief washed over you. For a moment, images of Rhys stabbing Jonathan to death and getting caught red-handed had flashed before your eyes. But thank god she was only referring to that other prick.

“He’s disappeared, Zoe. He might still be alive.”

She huffed. “Yeah, right. With all the murders happening lately, I doubt it.”

Inwardly, you smiled. She was way too clever for her own good. 

“Hey,” you grabbed her shoulders, levelling with her. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s horrible, whatever has happened to him. But like Rhys said, the police are investigating and will get to the bottom of it.”

“But what if this is another murder?” Sadie chimed in, worried.

“Then they will catch whoever’s responsible.”

They didn’t look convinced. And you couldn’t blame them. Even if you hadn’t been there to watch Lockwood take his last, dying breath—or been responsible to scatter his remains in a secluded grave—you wouldn’t have been persuaded by the current narrative either. Too many prominent people had died in the last couple of weeks, mostly thanks to you and Rhys. The idea of the famous CEO just popping up one day, alive and well, was a lot less plausible than murder.

Zoe shook her head, still sceptical. “How can you be so confident?”

Because, dear sister, I’m a con. That’s what I do.

You weren’t confident that the police would figure out who was actually responsible. No, you and Rhys had done a perfect job of covering it up. There was no way they could trace it back to you. However, it was precisely that confidence you used to enhance your lie. The best lies come from a place of truth, and masking the real intent behind your feelings by using them to convince people of something else, was a skill you’d gotten very good at.

Even if your sisters weren’t naive enough to fall for it like other people would, you still hoped it would reassure them a little. They were safe, as long as you were here to protect them. Your mind slid back to the real problem at hand. Your mother. The one unpredictable, dangerous variable you couldn’t control.

“I just know it. Now, enough about Lockwood. He isn’t important right now. Mum was here, you need to tell me what happened.”

“No,” Sadie bit her cheek. “She wasn’t literally here here.”

“But on the phone you said that she’s back,” you raised a brow, confused. “What is it you needed to show me then?”

Zoe took a breath. “Well, her proof of life. So to speak… and uhm, how shall we put it?” 

She looked to Sadie who merely shrugged. “An olive branch?”

Your questioning eyes darted from one sister to the other. “An olive branch?”

“Yeah, an olive branch,” Zoe nodded. “That’s the best way to describe it, I guess.”

“What the hell does that–”

Before you could finish the question, Sadie had retrieved a folded envelope from her back pocket, which she handed to you with a slight tremor in her hand. It had all three of your names written on it, sloppy and askew. Your frown deepened as you felt the envelope. Going by the low quality paper, it could definitely be from your mother. 

“A letter?”

They both nodded. 

Un-fucking-believable… Your mother had sent you a bloody letter? Saying what? Oh, I’m sorry for almost burning you alive, I hope you forgive me, Love, mum. What a joke.

“You already read it, I presume?” Another nod. Sighing, you turned the envelope a few more times. “And this was delivered here?” You could scarcely believe it.

Zoe shook her head this time. “No, it was delivered to Darcy College. They sent it over to us.”

You froze at that new piece of information, your blood running cold. You’ve got to be kidding me… Looking up slowly, your sisters flinched at the seething look crossing your face.

“They did what?!” you fumed, making both of them flinch again. “I left specific instructions that if she were to contact the school in any way or form, they had to let me know first! Jesus christ, what a bunch of bloody useless imbeciles…”

Zoe and Sadie shared a look at the sudden outburst, but didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to look at you twice to see you were under a lot of stress. And in those circumstances, it was usually best not to argue. Perhaps one of them should let Rhys in on that secret.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” you glanced down at the envelope. “What bullshit has she written then? What twisted web of lies has she conjured up this time to justify her actions?”

Zoe swallowed thickly, her voice quiet as she spoke. “Read for yourself…”

You bristled, angrily fishing out the two-page letter, the cursive handwriting all too familiar. Oh dear, here we go.

My dearest daughters,

I know I haven’t always been the best mum, but I’ve been working hard on myself. To be a better mum for you. After the incident, I thought two of my precious children had died. It was my fault. I couldn’t live with what I had done, so I ran. I almost died myself that night. But I was found by a retired officer who was kind enough to take me in. I barely remember what happened or what he looks like, but he was the one who told me to seek help. He said he knew of a very good place that had once helped his son. I’m not gonna lie to you, sweet daughters, I was hesitant at first. The first step in recovery is to acknowledge your own mistakes and wrongdoings. I’ve learned that now. And that night, I took my very first step. The kind man called someone he knew at the facility and then drove me there. It was the last I saw of him. After I finish this letter, I plan to write to him too. Donald, my primary caretaker, said he knows the man’s address and will post the letter for me once I finish writing. 

But first this letter to you. You’re my priority. Maybe you won’t believe me, but you have always been my priority. Y/N, since the day you were born, you stole my heart and my love. You were my bright little bundle of joy, always smiling and happy. Until you were not. Another acknowledgement: that was my fault too. 

But back to the present. Cause I’m trying to look to the future nowadays. Moving forward. Once I got here, I checked myself into St. Raphael’s Clinic in Northampton. They help people like me here. To get better. To make amends with myself and the people in my life. I know I have a long road ahead of me before I can say that I’ve truly bettered myself. Because I know my actions have caused a lot of pain and suffering. I know that. I’ve been a terrible mother to you. And I will have to live with that knowledge until the end of my days. But that’s why I want to make things better now. For you girls. So that maybe you can find it within yourselves to forgive me, and we can be a real family once again.

The moment they told me you had survived and that you are okay, my dearest Zoe and Sadie, I felt a strength arise in me that I had never felt before. I know I can do this. I’m certain of it. Frankly, I’ve never been more sure about anything else in my life.

There’s so much I wish to talk to you about. I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to do so. Because I think I’m finally ready. To see you and to explain more about what has been going on, and how my treatment is progressing. That’s why I would like to invite you to come visit me at the clinic. You can meet Donald. I’ve been talking his ears off about you girls, he’ll be happy to finally put faces to the names. But it’s nothing compared to the joy it would bring me to see you again. Hold you in my arms again. And properly apologise for all that I have done.

So, please come see your mother soon. I love you.

Mum

(P.S. I’ve written the address on the back)

Tense silence filled the flat as you finished reading your mother’s messy letter. You stared blankly at the pages in your hands, your thoughts racing. What the hell had you just read? It seemed she survived the accident, and was now residing at some… addiction clinic in Northampton? Reading between the jumble of nonsensical sentences, you were sure it was also supposed to contain some kind of wayward apology. You didn’t know whether that should make you laugh or cry. 

In your eyes, this was nothing more than the ramblings of a delusional woman, definitely not someone who was getting better. Because if she was really getting better, she wouldn’t have had the fucking nerve to even send this in the first place. How fucking dare she? You shook your head in disbelief as you blinked up at your sisters. Sadie was chewing on the end of her nail whilst Zoe nervously twisted her clammy hands, both anxiously awaiting your reaction. If possible, their worried looks made you even more angry. 

“This is pathetic.”

Sadie winced. “Which part?”

“How about all of it?” you sneered. “She’s doing what she’s always done. Making up excuses for the shitty person she is.”

“Maybe she really thought we were dead…”

“So fucking what?” you spat, not even realising you were crumbling the letter in your hands. “That isn’t a bloody excuse to leave you alone after a potentially fatal accident, in an upside-down car, in the middle of a busy intersection no less. Not to mention, the house she had set on fire before leaving you to fucking burn alive in there.”

“She came back, though,” Sadie mumbled, shrugging her shoulders weakly.

“Are you kidding? Kittykat, she’s obviously just pretending to be the sweet ‘I’m going to better myself’ innocent, little lady. Probably to get out of that clinic as fast as she can to shoot up and start drinking again. Or to get us to pay for her bloody treatment. Or both.”

“Or she really wants to start getting better…”

Zoe flinched when your blazing eyes landed on her. “Et tu, Zo?! Really?” 

She shrugged as well, looking so meek, it startled you a little. She was usually much more fiery. Like you. But, you supposed, your mother had a funny way of toying with all of your heads. 

Sweet-talking her way back into your lives was second nature to her. Not that it would ever work on you. Not anymore. You were the unlucky one who had the most experience dealing with years of false promises and confessions of love. Each and every time, she failed to deliver. Hurting you again. Hurting you even more than before. There was a good reason your dad had left when he could. The fucking coward... Making life that much harder for you as you practically had to raise your little sisters all by yourself. Whilst also picking up the slack after your mother, who just kept on partying, not caring about anyone but herself.

Your sisters knew that. They weren’t stupid, they had lived through that as well. And even with their younger age, they wouldn’t quickly forget about it. But maybe, just maybe, because you had always tried to shield them from your mother’s antics as much as you could, their (naive) hope of this being a real pivotal moment in mum’s life, was a bit more tenacious than yours. 

You took a calming breath. It wasn’t their fault that they longed for a normal mother. A normal family. But, as hard as it would be for them to hear it, they would never have one. 

“Come here,” you sighed, your voice softer than before. Zoe and Sadie wrapped their arms around you, and you stayed like that for a while, hugging them tightly in the middle of the living room. When you pulled back, Sadie’s cheeks were wet, and you cupped her delicate face to wipe the tears away. 

Another breath, and you clasped their hands in yours. Breaking their hearts was the last thing you wanted to do, but you needed to make them understand that your mother wasn’t going to change. Not now. Not ever. No matter how ‘bright’ the future might seem.

“Listen to me,” you implored, squeezing their hands. “I know you want to believe her. I want to believe her too. But it’s a promise she’s made a thousand times over. And never, not once, has she lived up to it. I don’t want you guys to build up your hopes, only to find it crushed again later when she inevitably fucks up… Because she will. That’s who she is. It’s who she’s always been, and always will.” 

More tears fell from Sadie’s eyes, Zoe’s welling up as well, and your heart broke at the sight. 

“Hey–hey, shhh,” you pulled them into another hug, swallowing your own tears at seeing them like this. “I know it hurts, but she’s not worth your tears. She’s not worth them. Okay? And she’s certainly not worth our time.”

Sadie sniffed into your shoulder. “So you don’t think we should go see her?”

You managed to stop yourself from barking a loud No! They needed comfort more than anything else. Swallowing again, you shook your head. “No, baby, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not ever? Because what if the accident was a wake-up call for her? Maybe—and I know it’s unlikely—but maybe if she does get better and stays sober… we can go see her,” she tried, even though she sounded a lot less hopeful than before. But still oh so young.

They pulled back, both wiping at their faces. “I agree, Y/N,” Zoe spoke for the first time since you snapped at her, her wet eyes holding yours. “If she manages to stay on the right path, what harm can it do to see her and hear her out?”

It could break you, that’s what.

But right now, their innocent, hopeful eyes were breaking you.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “It would be a mistake, quite frankly.”

Zoe huffed, resoluteness creeping into her eyes. “Then let it be a mistake—let it be our mistake to make. I don’t know about you,” she briefly looked to Sadie. “But I don’t think I could live with myself if I never gave it one last try.”

“Me neither,” Sadie said, unwavering, her face also turning dead serious. 

You held their steadfast gazes, another tense silence stretching between you. Evidently, stubbornness was genetic… Even in their pain and disarray of conflicted emotions, they wanted to see this through. And they weren’t going to change their minds. Quickly realising you wouldn’t be able to persuade them otherwise, at least not right now, you sighed reluctantly. 

“Fine,” you said, clipped. Their faces lit up, but you were quick to tamper their excitement. “But I will contact the facility first, okay? Check in with the doctors about her prognosis. And if everything is indeed the way mum claims it to be, only then, can we have a serious discussion about seeing her. Together. Yeah?”

They shared another look, their mouths curving into pleased smiles before they nodded their heads in agreement. “We can work with that.”

“Good… But in the meantime, I need you both to promise me you won’t seek her out. Do not contact her in any way. She doesn’t know your address, and I’d very much like to keep it that way. Rhys went through a lot of trouble to make sure she wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Let’s not let him down.”

“We promise,” Zoe and Sadie said at the same time. Then Sadie added: “Thank you, sis. Thank you…” And they gave you another long hug, radiating a mixture of great relief and gratitude.

“I’m so sorry it has to be this way, I truly am. I just want to make sure you’re safe and that she cannot hurt you anymore. You’ve been through enough.”

“We know,” Zoe mumbled, squeezing you tighter. “We’re not mad at you. Honestly, we understand. But you also gotta understand that this is something we feel we need to do.”

“Yeah,” Sadie nodded as she leaned back. “Even if she’s an absolute nutter, she’s still our mother. Besides, weren’t you the one who taught us that everyone deserves a second chance?”

That was true. More or less. But this wouldn’t be a second chance for your mother, it would be her million-and-second. Still, you knew there was no point arguing with them. Therefore you didn’t. Just like there was no way in hell you would ever actually allow a reunion between your sisters and that toxic witch. But they didn’t need to know about that, so you nodded, forcing a smile onto your face.

“You’re right,” you offered, glancing between the two of them. “And you’ve both grown into such smart, independent, young women. I’m so proud of you, of course I will respect the choices you make.”

Respect them, yes. But in dire situations such as these, you would make sure they wouldn’t be able to see them through. You just had to play along long enough until there would be nothing but a grave left to visit. Because this letter had sealed your mother’s fate. She had to go. Before she could do any more irreparable damage to your already torn-up family.

Luckily, your ‘promise’ was enough for your sisters right now, and they both smiled appreciatively. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Zoe whispered softly. “Thank you for always being here for us. I love you.”

Sadie lifted a finger, instantly correcting her. “Nuh-uh, we love you.”

“Right right, I’m sorry. We love you,” Zoe chuckled.

Even as your mind clouded over with dark thoughts, their declarations managed to ground you. “I love you too,” you smiled, distantly hoping that they would still feel this way after you’d killed the woman that had birthed you. And that they would eventually come round to see it your way. Because your reasonings were blatantly simple after all. Protecting your sisters had the highest priority, higher than their immediate happiness and wishes.

Speaking of priorities… Jonathan. Lockwood. Atkinson. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to the usual three suspects (apart from your mother) who succeeded in keeping you occupied nearly 24/7. You realised your better half was probably eagerly awaiting an update on the mum situation and, even with everything going on here, you were quite antsy for an update on Jonathan as well. 

You mumbled a quick apology as you fished out your phone. “Sorry, I just remembered, Rhys asked me to let him know if everything was alright. So, uhm, I’m just gonna–”

Their faces immediately turned knowing at the mention of London’s favourite politician. “You do that, sis,” Sadie giggled, stepping back to give you some space. “You know, it speaks volumes how much he cares about us.”

Zoe snorted, adding: “Yeah, I’m sure lover-boy is dying to do anything for her affection.”

“Oh, definitely! Remember how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Y/N whilst he was showing us our new flat?”

“Mhm, I remember,” Zoe smirked. “What about you, sis?”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t even bother to retort, typing a new message to Rhys instead. Inwardly, you were glad their moods had lightened a little, and that they were back to their usual, annoying selves.

<<< They’re okay

His reply was instant.

>>> Thank god. Are you?

<<< I’m fine

<<< Jonathan?

>>> Still alive. Your mother?

<<< Still alive…

<<< But not for long

You imagined him chuckling ever so slightly at your text.

>>> She’s still there?

<<< No, she never was, she sent a ridiculous letter

<<< I’ll show it to you later

>>> I see. Do you want me to come pick you up?

It was a simple question, yet the answer proved not so straightforward. Yeah, you wanted him to. But leaving your sisters alone after this whole ordeal? There was no way you could. During your inner debate, Zoe had, as silent as a cat, managed to sneak up on you, and was now squinting at the screen, trying to read your texts. You whirled around, locking the device just in time before she could see too much. 

“Oi!”

“Are you gonna go see him?”

“Don’t be so damn nosy.”

“Are you?” she prompted with a smile, not in the least bit deterred.

You hesitated for a second. “No. I’m staying here with you.”

Compassion flashed across her features. “It’s okay, sis. You can go if you want to. And we both know you do,” Zoe added with a wink. “There’s nothing we can do about mum now, anyway.”

You huffed. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Call it what you want,” she snickered. “No, but seriously, I actually have an evening class that’s starting in an hour, and I don’t know what time I’ll be back. Some of us are gonna get drinks later. And, to be honest, I could really use one.”

You frowned just as Sadie joined the conversation again. “Yeah, same. I was supposed to meet a few friends,” she said, checking her watch. “So, if you want to go, it’s fine. We’ll be okay.”

Your frown only deepened and Sadie smiled reassuringly, grabbing your shoulders in the same manner you had done earlier. “Truly. Honestly. Cross my heart,” she promised, shaking you slightly to get the point across.

You opened your mouth to protest again, but Zoe was quick to cut you off. “Seriously. Go to him,” she nodded, encouraging. “We won’t be on our own tonight. So why should you be?”

You groaned. Yes, she made a good point. But not even ten minutes ago, you were holding them tight, drying their tears, and now they were assuring you all was well? You had a hard time believing it. Even if you knew their friends were very supportive and would be there to keep an eye on them.

“But you’re still upset by what happened, understandingly so. I can’t just leave you–”

“Yeah, you can,” Zoe said, simple. “And you will. How many times do we need to tell you we’ll be fine. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel like absolute shite, there’s no way I can’t be…”

“Same,” Sadie cut in, then let her older sister continue.

“Like… of course we do. And you do too. But we all have people close to us that we can talk to, and help us forget about our shitty lives. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Righttt,” you bit back an amused smile. “By drinking? …Sound familiar?”

“Okay, first of all, we’re in no way as bad as our mother. Secondly, do you honestly expect me to believe you’re not gonna open a bottle of wine the second you get home?” You pursed your lips, unable to counter that (even with your expert lying capabilities), making her smile triumphantly. “That’s what I thought. Now go tell Rhys to come pick you up, or I swear to god I will knock you to the floor and send that text myself.”

One last lingering look, which your sister matched with an intensity that equalled a pre-fight staredown, and your shoulders sagged in surrender. “Jesus… Okay, fine! Bloody hell, you’re a vicious woman when you choose to be, aren’t you,” you murmured, grabbing your phone again.

Sadie barked a laugh as Zoe coyly shrugged, not even trying to hide her smug grin. “Yeah, I know.”

Shaking your head with a smile, secretly proud of their resilience, your thumbs flew over the keyboard, finally sending a reply.

<<< Yes

A few minutes later, your phone pinged again.

>>> Finishing up now. Be there in 40.

Reading the text, your smile widened involuntarily. The prospect of seeing Rhys again, and having a like-minded individual (aka another psychopath) to discuss your complicated emotions with, instantly made you feel a lot better about this chaotic mess of a situation. You locked your phone, then looked up at your sisters, who were eyeing you with obvious delight.

“I take it lover-boy is on his way?”

You snorted. “Yes. He’ll be here by the time you’re leaving.”

“Good. I’m sure Rhys will be able to ease your mind about mum,” Zoe said, wiggling her brows suggestively.

“Yeah, I’m sure he will,” you laughed, but your smile slipped a little. He certainly would, but not in the way Zoe had suggested. Rhys would help ease your mind, yes—by plotting stone-cold murder. A very different type of pleasure…

By the time Zoe was ready to go to class, and Sadie had grabbed her things to meet up with her friends, the sun had started to set. You briefly recapped today’s crazy events when the three of you made your way outside. The Comic Relief meeting seemed like ages ago, with Lockwood’s disappearance finally hitting the news, Rhys’ impromptu press conference in Whitechapel, Zoe’s text about mum, you and Rhys falling out… him going to see Jonathan, whilst you sprinted through the streets of London to save your sisters from… a bloody letter. You would almost forget that a mere 24 hours ago, you were stalking your latest victim into the Natural History Museum, to kill him. 

Privately, you let out a long and tired sigh. The short summary confirmed it: your life was absolutely bonkers.

After you’d hugged your sisters goodbye, you’d reluctantly let them go, like an overprotective mother on the first day of preschool. But not before once more making sure they were really fine. “We are, Y/N… Please, stop worrying, and enjoy your night. We’ll try the same.” And with that, they’d gone—and you were left to wait outside their flat, rubbing at your temple. 

A headache was forming. The dull, throbbing pain wrapping itself around your head the way a tightening elastic band would. But that wasn’t unexpected, considering the circumstances. Especially not since you were currently making yourself go nuts by squinting at your phone, pocketing the device, taking it out. Then, pocketing it again. And taking it out again. For a few minutes, you kept at it, only worsening the vexing pain in your head, until you had enough of your own indecisiveness, and mentally slapped yourself in the face. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you muttered, angrily tapping the screen to google your mother’s rehab facility’s number. Before you could rethink your actions for the gazillionth time, you pressed the green call button, nervously (not that you would ever admit it) tapping your feet against the concrete pavement.

There was a short dial tone, a click on the other end, then a monotone voice greeting you with unprecedented enthusiasm.

“You’ve reached St. Raphael’s Clinic emergency line, this is Paula speaking. If you are calling without experiencing an immediate, life threatening situation, I kindly urge you to call back tomorrow between the working hours of eight and five.”

The tone with which she spoke suggested that pretty much everyone calling their ‘emergencies only’ after-hours hotline, was never really in any danger at all. And that it annoyed her to no end. You bit your lip. You were about to add yourself to that list, even if in your eyes, your particular situation seemed dire enough to warrant special treatment. Probably like everyone else…

“Hi, Paula. My name’s Y/N Y/L/N, I’m calling about my mother, Valerie Campbell–”

“Is your mother in immediate danger, Miss Y/L/N?”

A wry smile tugged at your lips. Kind of…?

“I’m not exactly sure,” you faltered, tapping into the worry you genuinely felt, but using it to play the concerned daughter in hopes of persuading Paula not to hang up on you. “I believe my mother is a patient of yours.”

An exasperated sigh came from the other end of the line. “Miss, I told you, this number is for emergencies only–”

“Please, Paula, don’t hang up on me. I know this isn’t exactly an emergency, but my mother was in a really bad car accident a few weeks ago. I only found out today where she is, after she disappeared without a trace and I tried everything I could to find her, but to no avail…” you sniffed, faking a distressed sob for good measure. “Now I’m told she found her way to Northampton somehow, and is staying at your clinic. Please, please, tell me how she’s doing. I’ve been worried sick all this time.”

It was quiet for a moment. You didn’t try to fill the silence, only sobbing every now and then, as you waited for Paula to come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to help a distressed daughter in need. You imagined there wasn’t much else she could be spending her precious time on anyway. She likely sat next to that phone all evening and night, drinking litres of coffee in order to stay awake, waiting for the next person to call with a bullshit excuse like yours.

Another sigh, and Paula relented. “You said her name was Valerie Campbell?”

“Yes.”

You held your breath, listening to the harsh clacking noises of Paula hitting the computer’s keyboard as she pulled up your mother’s file. Two excruciatingly long minutes went by before she spoke again, in the same tiresome voice.

“Ah, yes. I see here your mother was indeed admitted to our clinic. She came in with a heavy set of old and new bruises, as well as some second-degree burns, for which she was treated by our medical team. The retired policeman that brought her in told us Ms. Campbell had strongly refused to go to the hospital, otherwise he would have taken her there first… Her injuries are healing nicely, so there’s no need for you to worry. She’s currently under treatment for substance abuse… primarily an alcohol and cocaine addiction.”

You frowned slightly. So far, this information backed up the claims your mother had made in her letter. No lies thus far. You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting or not.

“...I’m also seeing that you’re listed as her emergency contact. Just your name, though. Your mother couldn’t provide a phone number or an address. Can I add this number from which you’re calling to the file?”

“Uhm, yes. That’s alright,” you said, rubbing your temple again. The headache wasn’t getting any better. “H–how is she doing? Like, mentally?”

“I unfortunately don’t have access to her psychiatrist’s files, those are sealed for obvious reasons.”

“Right… Of course.”

“However,” Paula continued. “As her daughter, you are within your rights to discuss your mother’s well-being with her doctor, her psychiatrist, etcetera. You will have to make an appointment at the clinic, if you wish to do so.”

“I do,” you said quickly, perhaps a little too eager. “Uhm–does that–can I also see my mother? She asked for me to come, actually.”

“Yes, you most definitely can. Generally, you will have an appointment with her primary caretakers first, after which you can see your mother. If she’s up to it, of course.”

“Oh, good… Uhm, yes, then I would very much like to schedule an appointment, if that’s possible.”

“I just told you it was,” she replied tartly, rigid typing sounds filling your ear again. “Let’s see when we’ve a spot available…”

It turned out the facility was absolutely packed with addicts, and there weren’t nearly enough doctors available to handle the impressive workload. Meaning you were now scheduled to visit the clinic in ten days time. You pushed aside your annoyance, telling yourself that you needed the time to carefully plan this visit anyway… There wasn’t room for error here. Besides, the intel that the clinic was immensely understaffed—like most care facilities in Britain—was certainly valuable information for someone who wanted to commit matricide on their premises.

All in due time, you thought to yourself. She’s not getting away with it this time. But even as you wholeheartedly believed that this is what you were meant to do, you couldn’t stop the cold lump of dread from forming in the pit of your stomach. 

Sadie’s words rang through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “She's still our mother.” Yes… She was. But she didn’t deserve to be.

You managed to hide your actual feelings and thanked Paula for her help, then finally hung up, letting the sore woman return to her uneventful evening at St. Raphael’s Clinic.

As if on cue, a black car rounded the corner, screeching to a halt in front of you. The door immediately swung open, revealing a worried Rhys. When his blue eyes met your weary ones, his ever-soothing presence still managed to calm your racing pulse. Sparking a light in the sinful darkness of your heart. Assuring you that no matter what the future had in store for you two, everything would work out in the end. 

It simply had to…

–––– 

A/N: Now that all the cards have been revealed, it’s time to see how they will play out…

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

[extreme-dyke-syndrome]

hey there I’m so sorry if this is out of line but I’m wondering if you have any posts about your mental health experiences? thinking I have some similar conditions to what you’ve talked about and I’d really just love to see what you have to say

I'M SO SORRY I LITERALLY JUST SAW THIS!

TW: psych wards, medication, BPD stigma, medication, general factors that come along with Rough Mental Health

I've been receiving mental health diagnoses since I was 11, if you don't count an ADHD diagnosis at 5. At 11, I was diagnosed with GAD (anxiety) and MDD (depression), and two different psych ward stays at 16 led to diagnoses of BPD and Bipolar II. My life has DEFINITELY been an uphill battle against all of these things, but finally getting started on mood stabilizers definitely helped, even if they weren't the right ones right away. BPD is by FAR the hardest diagnosis I deal with, and it was NOT made easier by virtue of me being in denial after looking up symptoms on Google at 16 and finding "symptoms: you're a bad person." It took until I was 19, to come to terms with my BPD diagnosis. Since then, I've still had some really damaging episodes, but I've also made a lot of progress! I'm really proud of that, even though I still struggle with it every day. Given that I was being traumatized pretty consistently until I was 22, I couldn't tell you when the CPTSD was finally recognized, but that's also in there somewhere. I also have what I consider a more isolated trauma that caused me PTSD as of 2020, and unfortunately really still need to unpack that one.

After 4 psych ward stays, lots of therapy, a ton of reflection, finding better people/more stability, and several medication changes, I think I'm making a ton of progress compared to where I was almost a decade ago. That being said, it's a pretty constant experience of being misunderstood by strangers and doctors, not being taken seriously, and unlearning two decades of trauma, so it is NOT easy. Fighting against society while also fighting a constant war in your head kind of sucks, but I'm doing it. If you want more details or have any more specific questions, feel free to message me. This was kind of a very vague and general rundown, but I'm happy to talk more about it!

ETA: My journey with autism is its own extensive thing, but if you can't tell, I have that too!

[winchesterszvonecek]

I See Red 18+

Chapter 22 - A Smile In The Face of Death

Word Count: 10,118

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

September…

October…

November…

By the early days of December, life in the bunker felt bluer than any Twilight movie could ever dream of being. It was strange to say but ever since they’d gotten rid of Abaddon’s head, things hadn’t felt quite the same as they once did. 

Obviously that had nothing to do with it whatsoever, and if anything it was one of the only bright moments in their lives recently, but it seemed to be the only way they could think of to describe the sudden change in atmosphere. Or more specifically, the sudden, and rather drastic, change in Selina. 

From that fateful day, on which no one knew the truth as to what had really happened, it was as though she was an entirely different person. She was distant and cold. She lacked any and all emotion and worst of all… she never smiled anymore. She never laughed. She never joked around or annoyed Dean to the point of insanity, she simply just… existed. Floating through life as though she were nothing more than an empty shell drifting through a vast sea of nothingness and forced to live a life that she no longer enjoyed — a life that she no longer wanted .

It was becoming plainly obvious that each and every day was taking a toll on her mental state and at this point, even getting out of bed seemed like it was a struggle. In the past, it was never usually hard for Selina to want to wake up, let alone actually do it. Normally she’d wake up happy, starving, and ready to face the day no matter what it may bring, however lately, things couldn't be more different if they tried. 

For starters, she wasn’t happy. Far from it actually and at this point any therapist worth their salt would diagnose her as clinically — majorlydepressed. If not from the permanent frown that seemed to live on her face, then from her lack of motivation to want to do anything but hunt and sleep. 

Even the basics, such as eating and drinking seemed like a chore for her. In fact, she barely ate at all come to think of it and during those rare moments in which she did it was nothing like how she used to. You could easily tell that she no longer enjoyed it. That she was only eating for nothing more than her own survival and if anything, for Sam and Dean, that was the worst part of this entire ordeal. They could deal with the constant hunting and her sleeping all the time but to see Selina, their proud-to-be foodie sister so blatantly turn down anything that wasn’t beige and flavourless? It was worse than any torture either of them could ever have experienced. 

It was downright heartbreaking to tell the truth, and it didn’t help that she was constantly drinking either. Like for real drinking, to the point where the Men of Letters wine cellar was getting low on inventory and even the bottles that had been down there since before they were born, and were probably incredibly rare and expensive, had been drunk like they were water — something Selina had barely touched a pure drop of during this entire battle with her very own existence.

The only water she ever truly saw was that of the shower, something she had once thoroughly enjoyed doing yet now seemed like nothing else but another mindless and time-consuming chore. Selina barely did anything when she showered now, except wash herself quickly before standing there for ages and allowing the scorching hot water to flow over every inch of her skin, mixing with the tears she couldn’t help but let out as she wondered where it all went wrong. 

She didn’t whistle. She didn’t hum, and worst of all, she didn’t sing — something that, if it was even possible, was even more soul-crushing to those in the bunker than anything else was as they wouldn’t lie, they had always enjoyed hearing her sing along to the most random songs she could think of and now that it was gone? Now that it was replaced with nothing but her muffled, empty cries? It was like a blow to the chest that they weren’t sure they’d ever fully recover from. 

But most of all, when she wasn’t hunting, drinking, or at most times both, Selina just wanted to sleep. For as long as she possibly could she wanted to sleep, as when she was… it was the only time in her excruciatingly exhausting life during which she ever felt a lick of peace. 

When she was asleep, it meant that she got to dream and in her dreams she was still happy. In her dreams she was still with Crowley, living the carefree and love-filled life that she never knew she wanted until the day she fell in love with him. It was life she’d dreamed about since the moment she first kissed him yet now it had become nothing more than the life she knew she would never get. 

The life she knew would only ever exist in the sanctity of her own mind, therefore she simply couldn’t bring herself to want to wake up from it as being awake felt worse now than it had ever been before. Just knowing Crowley was still out there. That he was still in love with her — that he always would love her? It was enough to tear Selina down to the very roots of her being and she was beginning to wonder if she’d ever manage to grow again.

To be honest, she would have preferred it if Crowley had never told her he loved her. If he had kept up the facade of never loving her in the first place as at least that way she’d have more of a chance to get over him. At least then she could focus solely on hating him for using her. Instead of being as she was now — stuck in an endless loop of wishing he’d show up in her room, and hoping that she’d never have to see him again. She couldn’t bring herself to have to go through another day like that. 

Another day on which her heart never ceased aching. Another day where she was relentlessly hit by the harsh faces of reality that only seemed to remind her of what she had lost. Of what had been so cruelly taken from her, and if sleeping all day in order to stay in her dream world was what she had to do to avoid feeling herself continuously slip away, then so be it. 

It’s not like she’d miss much being awake anyway, as it appeared as though Sam, Dean and Castiel had changed too. As though they’d been affected by the depression that radiated off her like uranium as not once during the past three months had any of them ever seemed as though they were even remotely happy. Which, how could they be? How could they ever bring themselves to be happy when they knew how badly Selina was suffering? When they had to watch as the life behind her eyes slowly withered away into nothing? 

After her initial break-up, things hadn’t been so bad. They expected her to be sad. To be bordering on depressed, but now it was as though she were one minor inconvenience away from packing it all in completely so it was safe to say they were worried about her. Extremely worried about her. More worried than they’d ever been before and it was hard for them to have to see her like this. So deflated. So broken. So empty, that they were beginning to wonder if someone had stolen her soul somewhere along the way.  

Even now, as she stood outside in the first of the winter snow waiting to bust into an old barn turned vampire's nest, she seemed out of it. She seemed dazed, like she’d just eaten an entire bag of edibles and could now hear the colours that surrounded her as she paced around in circles, putting extra weight into her steps just to hear the satisfying crunch of the snow beneath her feet.

At least she still did something she enjoyed, Sam thought to himself, as he watched her carefully and began to wonder if her being here was a good idea as by the look in her eyes, it seemed as though she didn’t even know where she was, let alone what she was here to do. He’d tried to get her to stay at Jody's, to wait with Alex until Dean, Claire, Jody and he himself had taken out the nest but that had been a fruitless venture. One he should have seen coming as ever since her break-up with Crowley, Selina hadn’t listened to anyone but herself and even in the best of times, that usually wasn’t a good idea.

Selina could be unruly and unpredictable on a good day but pair that with a broken heart, the half drunk bottle of tequila that still lay in the back of the Impala and the tears she’d cried last night that were enough to fill a small paddling pool, then things could go very wrong, very quickly.

Although to be brutally honest, the chances of Selina caring about her safety and her own well-being was slim to none. She doesn't seem to care about much these days and not even two weeks ago she’d almost gotten herself hit by a car when crossing the street — without having a go at the driver for not seeing her despite it being entirely her fault for not looking both ways, so it was safe to say that a couple of vampires probably weren’t very high on her list of priorities right now. 

If she even had a list, that is, as something told Sam the only thing his sister truly cared about these past few months was sleeping. And he knew why. He knew who she dreamt of. Who occupied her mind most days and whilst he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have found out who was on the receiving end of Selina’s deep love, he wouldn’t lie, he’d happily give up his soul if it meant Crowley would come back to her because at least then he’d get to see Selina happy again. 

At least then, he’d get to see his sister again. 

Sam hadn’t told anyone this, as who could he tell other than Selina herself, but back in late September he’d actually tried to summon Crowley. To demand answers for why he did what he did, especially when deep in his gut he knew that Crowley loved Selina back. He wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t blind either, and how he’d missed it this whole time, Sam had no idea but quite frankly he didn’t care. If there was even a small chance he could have talked some sense into that moronic demon in order to help Selina then he’d happily take it. 

Unfortunately though, it appeared as though Crowley was a lot more powerful than they thought as he'd only gone and ignored the summon completely. He’d even blocked their numbers — all of their numbers, thus leaving them with absolutely no means of contacting him without summoning another demon and holding them at knife point until they brought him here. But the likelihood of Crowley caring about the life of one measly demon enough to show up seemed slim to say the least, so eventually, Sam gave up. 

Instead he simply focused his attention on the only part of all this he truly cared about — Selina. He and Dean were doing everything they could think of to try and make her happy again but so far, nothing seemed to be working. They’d given her Agent Page to use on cases, as they both knew how much she hated Agent Plant and would complain the entire time she ended up with the alias. They’d given her the opportunity to use the grenade launcher for the first time on a vampire's nest that had far too many bodies to clean up. They let her sit in the front seat, and on more than one occasion Dean had even offered to let her drive and yet she still did nothing more than shrug her shoulders or slump into the back seat and sleep until they got to wherever it was that they were going. 

Nothing seemed to bring Selina even the tiniest spark of joy anymore and eventually, Sam gave up on that as well. Instead, he focused solely on trying to keep her alive as like he’d said earlier, Selina was unruly and unpredictable at the best of times so chances are that sooner or later, this mood she was in would get her killed. 

It had nearly happened already, and not just by her recklessness when it came to crossing the street. On their last hunt, a shapeshifter in Chicago, Selina had been so out of it that she hadn’t surveyed the alley properly and it very nearly cost her her life. She’d simply been too busy trying to kill the shifter that she didn’t notice the broken pipe sticking out of the side of the dumpster, the pointed edge of which was incredibly sharp, deeply rusted, dripping with all manner of fluids and was a literal disaster waiting to happen. 

And a disaster it might have been had it not been for Dean’s perfect timing and impeccable aim of a silver bullet right through the shifter’s heart, who had been about to impale Selina on said broken pipe had her brothers not shown up exactly when they did after she’d run off the hunt the thing by herself.

After that, Sam had tightened his leash on Selina a lot more than he ever would have thought he’d need to, and since then, whenever they were out and about he hadn’t once let her leave his sight unless it was to go to the bathroom, and even then he kept his eyes glued to the door until she came moping back out of it. He knew it was smothering, and more than likely way too overprotective but he also knew his sister. In fact, he knew her better than anyone on this Earth and if he said she was at risk of getting herself hurt… then she was at risk of getting herself hurt. 

Sam didn’t get that feeling all the time, but he got most days. Today being an example as he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Whether it would be to Selina herself or whether it would be to someone else as a result of her mood he had no idea, however he was still worried. So worried in fact that he’d already tried to get her to stay home with Alex, as mentioned before, but unfortunately for him that had failed miserably as Selina was incredibly stubborn and refused to let him bench her so easily.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again though, and so, as Dean got Jody and Claire equipped with vials of dead man’s blood, Sam set his machete aside and headed towards Selina — who had stopped pacing and was now picking pieces of bark off a nearby tree and crumbling it between her fingers until the snow beneath her was sprinkled with brown dust. He approached her carefully, making sure to stay in her peripheral vision as he didn’t need her mistaking him for a vampire and cutting off his head in one smooth slice.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, tucking his hands into his pockets in an attempt to fight off the chill as he came to a slow stop beside Selina, who had yet to even acknowledge his presence despite having seen him. But that was nothing new these days, and so Sam simply brushed it off and carried on with what he’d come here to do, “You know, chances are once we storm this nest some of the vamps are gonna try and flee… Might be handy if we had someone stick around outside, take out any stragglers who might come running out.” 

It was a weak excuse, he knows that, but Sam didn’t know how else to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to purposely bench her so he went with it, pressing his lips together in hopes that Selina would openly volunteer to be on lookout at it was much, much safer for her to do so than to storm the building half out of her mind. 

“That’s a good idea,” Selina replied, in her newly frequent dull and monotone voice. She finished crushing the last of the bark between her fingers into dust before letting it go, watching as it sprinkled lightly onto the ground below and it was only when the last brown particle landed on the snow did she finally look up, casting an empty glance towards her brother as she added, “You should ask Jody.” 

At that, as Sam’s face dropped and he sighed, Selina went to walk off — in the direction of the barn, I might add, which is exactly why Sam lurched forward and grabbed a tight hold of her, his large hand encasing the entirety of her wrist with ease and stopping her dead in her tracks. Naturally, she tried to fight back, to force him to release her but it was pointless. Sam was too strong and Selina knew that so eventually she complied, allowing him to drag her back towards him with a deep, fed-up sigh of her own. 

“I’m asking you,” Sam said plainly, loosening his grip a little yet still keeping hold of her should she try and run off again. “You’re in no fit state to go in there, Selina.” 

“I’m fine,” Selina grumbled, shaking her arm in another failed attempt at trying to escape. She was growing tired of Sam’s constant mothering, not to mention his explicit attempts at trying to stop her from hunting and truth be told, she was starting to lose her patience. “Now let me go and stop trying to bench me.” 

“I’m not trying to bench you, Selina,” Sam said in defence, and a little angrily too as it was clear to him now that Selina had no real idea as to how reckless she had become. “I’m trying to protect you! You’re half out of your mind these days and if you’re not careful you’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“Good,” Selina snapped, having unintentionally let that slip. She’d tried so hard over the past few weeks to try and hide how exhausted she felt and how hard it was to carry on living that it had all finally gotten to be too much for her to keep in. And when she saw Sam’s face drop more than she’d ever seen before, not to mention how he instantly let go of her wrist as she harshly pulled it from him when she no doubt broke his heart, it finally hit her as to what she’d said. 

But even then, despite the anger she was feeling at herself over letting that slip, she didn’t seem to have it in her to care.

“I’m tired, Sam,” Selina confessed, and for once, she didn’t mean physically. She then raised her hand and closed her fist, rubbing it absently over her chest as she carried on, her voice trembling terribly with every other word she forced across her lips, “I’m tired of feeling like this all the time and if death is a way for me to finally escape that… Then bring it on.” 

“You don’t mean that,” Sam exhaled, shaking his head and refusing to believe that it was his sister, the great Selina Winchester who even Death himself couldn’t bring down, that he was hearing. 

“Don’t I?” Selina fired back. Barely. Her voice was nothing more than an empty whisper at this point to sound even remotely hostile. But even with that she didn’t stop talking, as now that she’d popped open the dam, the water behind couldn’t stop itself from running. “Sam, do you have any idea what I’m going through right now? Do you have any idea how much every single day of my life hurts me…?”

“You know I do,” Sam said quietly, yet sternly. “You’re the only one I confided in about Amelia… About Jess…” 

“This isn't like that,” Selina interrupted, shaking her head and choosing to ignore how her eyes were now watering. “Jess is… Jess died, Sam, and you chose to give up Amelia whereas me? I didn’t get a choice in any of this.” 

“I know you didn’t,” Sam said sympathetically, stepping forward to gently wipe away a tear that had escaped Selina’s eye and was now rolling lonesomely down her cheek. “And I’m not saying this just to hurt you, but Selina, Crowley doesn’t love you…”

At that, Selina stepped abruptly away and once again shook her head, releasing more tears that flowed smoothly down her face even despite her best efforts to keep them in.

“I know it hurts to hear, but you said so yourself…” Sam added, despite his own discrepancy with that fact. “He used you…” 

“No he didn’t,” Selina whispered, in a tone so quiet, so inaudible due to the intense heartache she was feeling that she had to repeat again, only this time louder. “None of that is true… None of it was ever true, he told me himself. Back when he brought me home after Cuthbert, he told me he loves me, and I know what you’re gonna say… That demons can’t love, but Sam I know he meant it. I know he loves me.” 

“How?” Sam asked, curiosity taking the better of him. 

“Because he said goodbye,” Selina choked out, sniffling softly as she wiped at her eyes and pretended not to notice Sam’s softened brow that only came out whenever he really pitied someone because she did not need to be pitied right now. “He said goodbye, Sam, how am I supposed to get over that? How am I supposed to move on when I know he’s out there? When I know that he loves me?” 

“I…” Sam went to say more. To try and come up with an answer that might help Selina through all this, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that could make her feel better as those words simply didn’t exist. Not to mention that she was right. He didn’t know how it felt to know that somewhere out there the love of your life — and yes, he was calling Crowley the love of Selina’s life as by the look in her eye, he could tell that he was. 

He had no idea how it could ever feel knowing that the love of your life was out there and that you couldn’t be with them — for whatever reason, not just the reason Crowley had given her. Sam had put the pieces together that he’d said goodbye in order to protect her, and whilst he appreciated that small fact, something told him that had only gone and made things worse for Selina. 

“You’re right… I don’t know,” Sam eventually said, “But what I do know… is that you can’t keep letting this stop you from living your life.” 

“I don’t have a life, Sam… Not anymore,” Selina confessed, and with that, Sam’s earlier suspicions of Crowley being Selina’s one true love, were instantly proven correct. “I lost my life the day I lost him, and I don’t know how much more I have left in me, okay, so at this point, I’d rather be dead. Because at least that way it would be easier than knowing that he’s out there and I can’t have him.” 

Just as Sam opened his mouth, to speak words he actually hadn’t quite found yet, the sound of the Impala’s trunk slamming shut drifted through the air towards them, drying Selina’s tears instantly as in that moment of weakness she’d completely forgotten about the other three sets of ears that lingered nearby. She didn’t want them to hear her. To find out the truth about her secret relationship, as now that it was over, she didn’t see any point in telling anyone else. She still hadn’t even told Dean yet. And whether or not she ever would had still to be decided as to her, it still felt far too risky for him to know — perhaps even more so now than ever before. 

At least before she’d have had the excuse of Crowley making her more happy than she’d ever been before but now? With how she’d been over the past three months. Distant. Cold. Lacking everything they once knew and loved about her, there was no doubt in her mind that Dean wouldn’t stop until he'd hunted Crowley down and killed him for breaking her heart — for sucking the life out of her, and if there’s one thing Selina knew she would never be able to come back from… it would be having her brother murder her first, and only, true love.  

“Look, if it makes you feel better,” Selina said, as she and Sam made their way back towards the others whilst pretending they hadn’t just had the worst conversation ever. “I’ll stay outside.” 

“Wait, really?” Sam replied, astounded to say the least as Selina never, ever, gave in so easily. He came to a sudden stop, glancing to his side with deeply furrowed brows as Selina briefly nodded her head, biting at the skin of her lips and he could tell she was trying incredibly hard to hold herself together. 

“You’re right,” She confessed, sighing softly as her breath trembled lightly. “I’m in no fit state to go in there and if something happened because of me. If someone got hurt… Or… Or died, because of me, I’d never be able to forgive myself… So yeah, I think it’s best that I stay out here and let those of you who aren’t falling apart at the seams, deal with the nest.” 

“Wow,” Sam exhaled, chuckling softly out of disbelief. “That, uh, that’s really big of you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Selina replied, and when she chuckled briefly, yet genuinely for the first time in over three months, Sam’s chest very nearly exploded with warmth. He never, ever, thought he’d see her smile again, let alone hear her laugh so to experience that again, regardless of how shallow or short it was, was almost like a miracle. 

As was her agreeing to stay outside, which thankfully, not only made him feel a whole lot better about the entire situation, but made the others relieved enough that it allowed them to relax slightly and make a start on clearing the nest now that they didn’t have to worry about Selina so much. They knew she was a good look-out and that, regardless of her state, she’d be able to handle the one or two vampires who might come running towards, so they were more than happy to leave her alone and head inside.

Meanwhile, as the bloodbath in the barn  began, Selina did what she’d promised and stayed by the car, leaning against the door as she stared absently off into the distance. She knew Sam was right. That this is where she belonged. On the outskirts and out of danger as she truly wasn’t, in any way shape or form, ready to take on something as big as an entire vampire's nest when chances are, she probably would end up getting herself killed and despite her earlier words, she didn’t want to die. 

Not really. All she wanted was a break from the pain she couldn’t stop feeling and in the moment, death seemed like the only way in which she would get it. But she knew there were others. That there were better, safer, less heartbreaking for her family, ways of her moving on and even though she was at her wits end she knew she had to try. No matter how much it hurt, she knew that things were truly over with Crowley and that eventually, she’d have to accept that and move on. 

After all, she hadn’t seen him since the day he said goodbye. Since the day her world came crashing down around her and even though her head told her otherwise, her heart knew that that had been it. That had been their final goodbye and all these months of her wishing. Of her praying that Crowley would show up in her room had been nothing more than delusion. Nothing more than her believing that living in denial would be easier than living in the reality that maybe, just maybe Crowley hadn’t meant it. 

But she knew he meant it. Deep down, she knew this was it and if she ever wanted to pick herself back up again she needed to come to terms with that. She needed to stop living in her dream world but in order to do that, there was one small thing she needed to do first. Only, as she stood there, staring off into the snowy distance, Selina wasn’t sure if she had the strength to actually do it. She couldn’t even bring herself to delete Crowley’s number or her text thread with him, so how in the Hell would she ever be able to bring herself to take off her necklace? 

It was all she had left of him now that he was gone, besides some pictures she kept hidden in a box under her bed. It was the only thing she had left as a reminder of the journey they’d been through together and even though to her it was nothing more than a simple ruby, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more. That there was a deeper meaning behind his reasoning for him gifting it to her but honestly, no matter what she might think lay hidden behind that meaning… None of it mattered anymore. 

Crowley had left her. He’d given her up. Refused to fight for her and if Selina ever wanted to get control of her own life back she needed to let go of him. And the first way in which she thought she could do that, was by taking off her necklace. 

Shakily, and reluctantly, Selina reached up, delving through her hair that had grown quite quickly in the past few months in order to find the clasp that lay hidden at the back of her neck. She felt around slowly, her heartbeat increasing with each link of the chain her fingers grazed over and when she found the clasp, when she felt the slight point to the fastening of the necklace she suddenly stopped. 

This would be the first time since Crowley himself had placed it around her neck that she’d have taken it off and something deep in the pit of her stomach was fighting against her being able to do so. She felt sick. As though she were undoing all the work she and Crowley had put into their relationship and for a second, she almost allowed her hands to fall from her neck in defeat. But despite all odds she pushed through, taking a deep breath and ignoring the way it shook, before finally, she undid the chain.   

Allowing it to fall from around her neck and feeling the coolness of the metal against her skin, Selina made sure to fasten it again before closing her fist tightly around the gem. She couldn’t quite describe it but it almost felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, allowing her to feel ten times lighter yet at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel incredibly naked. 

For months now, she’d worn that necklace and she wasn’t quite used to having nothing around her neck. After she and Crowley had gotten together she’d removed her other necklaces, preferring to keep his front and centre as a way to subtly broadcast her love for him. Now though, she’d have to find something else to fill the void, but for the time being… All she could really do was start to get used to no longer feeling his presence around her, as when she wore the necklace, it was almost like she carried him with her. 

Glancing down Selina slowly opened her palm, feeling as her eyes began to sting with tears as the reaslistion of what she’d just gone and done kicked in. It hurt. It really, really hurt and the only way she could think to describe it was like having her heart squeezed by a ghost — again. Only this time, it felt about a hundred times worse. 

But no matter how much that pain seemed to paralyse her, or how badly she wanted to put the necklace back on, deep down inside, she knew it was the right decision to make and hopefully, now that she was essentially free, she’d finally be able to begin the process of moving on. 

“Sam’s right,” Selina whispered to herself, lightly drawing her thumb over the no longer glistening ruby and when she blinked, a single tear dripped from her eye and landed directly atop it, allowing it to shimmer one final time. “I love you, but I can’t keep letting you stop me from living my life.” 

Obviously, she wasn’t about to throw the necklace away or anything as, regardless of current events, it meant far too much to her but she simply couldn’t keep wearing it. She couldn’t keep seeing it anytime she looked in the mirror or glanced down at her chest as it just hurt too much. It was too much of a reminder of what she had lost, therefore she couldn’t bring herself to keep it on any longer as the more she thought about it, the more she realised how suffocating it had actually been. 

Amidst Selina’s inner battle with herself, she seemed to forget about the battle that was currently going on inside the nearby barn. She didn’t remember that she was on look-out, or that there might be rogue vampires sneaking out at any given moment, and it was because of that. Because she was so deep inside her own mind, and wallowing in self-pity that she didn’t hear the light crunch of footsteps coming up behind her. She didn’t hear the creaking of metal as a lone vampire climbed on top of the Impala and it wasn’t until it dove on her, knocking her to the ground like a ton of bricks did she come to realise what was happening. 

Her body hit the ground hard, sending a shooting pain up her side that quickly became masked by the freezing cold snow that soaked into her clothes. But that wasn’t what she was worried about. And to be honest, neither was the bloodthirsty vampire as the impact from his tackle had sent her necklace flying out of her hand, landing in a small pile of snow just in front of her. She scrambled across the frost towards it, eager to pick it up and put it safely in her pocket, or back around her neck, but before she could fully reach it, her fingers brushing loosely over the gem, the vampire grabbed her legs and pulled her back towards him. 

With his fangs bared, the vampire used all his strength to flip Selina over and keep her pinned to the ground, minor curiosity flowing through his mind each time she glanced away from him and towards the necklace as surely, the fact that he was on top of her and about to drink her blood should be at the top of her list of priorities. If anything though, he only counted his blessings and as Selina continued to lazily fight against him, he leaned down, taking a deep breath and inhaling the glorious scent of the blood her hammering heart was pumping beneath her skin. 

At that moment, the exterior barn doors swung open and Claire came running, her machete swinging and her eyes glued solely to the scene in front of her. The scene which clearly showed Selina, the best hunter she knew and the one and only person she looked up to, refusing to fight back. She was well aware of what Selina was going through, but she never thought she’d ever let it stand in the way of her life. Yet here she was, caring more about a pile of snow behind her than about the vampire above her and so Claire knew she had to do something.  

However, she was too late. 

Far, far too late and when the vampire's teeth dug deep into Selina’s neck, ripping through her flesh like a piece of meat and turning the snow around her a deep shade or pink, Selina did the one thing no one ever would have expected her to do. 

She smiled. 

Despite the agonising pain shooting through her body, and the warmth of the blood dripping down her skin as she was unable to breath, Selina smiled. She smiled because in that moment. That one, horrifying moment she finally felt at peace. She finally felt what it was like to no longer live with the pain in her heart and as the world around her faded, as the vampire’s head went rolling from its body and Claire came collapsing down beside her, Selina continued to smile because in her mind… Death was the only way in which she would ever truly be free. 

As she left out her last few breaths, Selina was well aware of what was going on around her. She could feel Claire holding onto her. Hear her crying. Calling out for Sam and Dean, and when they came running, Selina heard all that too. She heard Sam’s pleading words. Dean’s prays for Castiel, but as his wings swooped instantly in. As that familiar trench coat quickly came into view, it was too late. 

Selina had given up. She’d breathed her last breath and by the time Castiel got to her, she was already gone. 

Regardless of that though, Castiel crouched down, gently prying Claire’s shaking hands from where they tightly gripped Selina’s jacket and as she got to her feet to seek comfort from Jody, he turned back around. Part of him already knew this wouldn’t work. Deep down, he knew, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and before Sam or Dean could lose their patience, Castiel raised his hand and placed two fingers gently against Selina’s forehead as he closed his eyes. 

For a moment, as he felt the life surge through his veins, Cas thought it had worked. He thought that when he opened his eyes, he’d see Selina staring back at him. But he didn't. It hadn’t worked. Nothing even remotely resurrecting happened and when he slowly forced open his eyes, he was quickly overwhelmed with the very human, and very painful, feeling of loss. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, holding back his own tears as he refused to believe that this was the end of his stubborn sister’s life. “Why aren’t you healing her?” 

“Because I can’t,” Castiel said softly, lifting himself from where he’d been crouched by Selina’s side and finding his spot instantly taken over by Sam — who seemed to be the only one who knew the reason as to why it hadn’t worked as he made no attempts to fight it. 

“What do you mean you can’t ?” Dean repeated, narrowing his eyes as he folded his arms and stepped closer. “You heal the dead. Selina is dead, so you get down there and you heal her!” 

“Dean, I can’t…” Castiel hesitated, drawing his eyes away from Dean as he tried to find the words to say what needed to be said. The words to explain the truth without risking his own life at the hands of a raging, grieving Dean Winchester. But there was no way to beat around the bush when it came to this and so Castiel was left with no other option but to rip off the bandaid and hope for the best. “I can’t bring back people who took their own lives, Dean, I’m sorry.” 

“What?” Just like that, Dean’s face dropped and for a second, Castiel actually feared for his own well-being as his jaw slowly began to tense. “She… She didn’t…”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, his tone telling Dean everything he had feared. And worse. 

“No. This wasn’t… She didn’t…” Dean couldn’t even bring himself to say it, as deep down he knew it was right. Selina had been on the edge for weeks now and he should have known it was only a matter of time before she snapped. Nevertheless, despite his own beliefs he simply refused to accept it and so he carried on, “She wouldn’t do this, alright, she wouldn’t. Now I don’t care what you have to do but you bring her back.” 

“I can’t, Dean. Whoever makes the rules, whether it be God, Death, or Heaven itself… It simply won’t allow me to bring your sister back,” Castiel said, stepping carefully towards him and hesitantly placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry ,” Dean spat, shrugging his shoulder out from below Castiel’s hand and watching as the angel moved back with what looked like a small frown painting on his face. “Be an angel.” 

“I can only be an angel when Heaven allows me to,” Castiel replied quietly. 

“Then you go to heaven, and you force them to put my sister's soul back into her body or so help me God, I will tear that place apart!” Dean demanded, all but yelling at the poor angel who, with a brief nod of his head, swiftly vanished, leaving Dean to finally sink to the ground as every ounce of anger within him began to slowly deflate. 

Castiel seemed to be gone for what felt like forever. In reality though, he’d only been gone for about fifteen minutes, which was long enough for those present at the barn to make their way back to Jody’s, with Selina’s lifeless body laying like a nightmare in the backseat and the harrowing thought that they’d have to relive it all over again when it came to telling Alex rattling around inside their minds. But thankfully, to their surprise and relief, Alex didn’t ask any questions and instead simply sank onto the couch beside Claire, holding her hand tightly as they both grieved for the woman they looked up to like a sister. 

For however long after that, the house sat in silence until finally, after a long and tiresome wait for answers, Castiel arrived home. 

“Well?” Dean demanded, barely allowing the breeze from Castiel’s wings to settle before he stood up. “What did they say?”

“Even if Heaven had agreed to send her back, I’m afraid they wouldn’t have been able to as Selina’s soul…” Castiel began hesitantly, stepping further into the room and casting his eyes briefly towards Selina’s lifeless body that lay stiff on the dining room table as he tried to force himself to tell them. “Her soul… Her soul isn’t in Heaven.” 

“It what?” Sam questioned, the colour practically draining from his face as he got abruptly to his feet. 

“Then where the Hell is it?” Dean asked, or rather, he demanded again as he was growing sick and tired of Heaven, its rules and the fact that his little sister was still lying dead on the kitchen table. 

“I don’t mean to be blunt but I, uh… I think you just said it,” Castiel reluctantly replied, half expecting Dean to lash out at him again. Or worse, punch him. “Hannah, the angel in charge believes that because of Selina’s involvement with the trials… Amongst other things… That her soul was simply too damaged to be allowed entry into Heaven.” 

“Cas, come on, that’s ridiculous, I mean you said it yourself, those trials purified her,” Sam said defensively, yet in the back of his mind alarms bells wouldn’t stop blaring over the obvious answer as to how Selina’s soul ended up in the pit. 

“But they also damaged her,” Castiel responded, tugging at the knot of his tie in order to try and loosen it as he couldn’t help but think that this very moment would be the moment in which Dean finally found out the truth about Selina’s secret. “Beyond that which even I was able to repair fully and with what happened after… I’m sorry, but there was just no way Selina was ever getting into Heaven.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Dean shook his head, refusing to believe any of this was even remotely true. And given his intense denial for what he washearing, it appeared as though he wasn’t hearing all of it as if he had, he’d have more than likely had questions. “She’s on the good side for crying out loud, okay, and if anyone deserves Heaven, it’s her.” 

“Dean, I think we need to start facing the facts here,” Sam said carefully, wondering whether or not he could risk dumping Selina’s secret on top of Dean when he was already in such a fragile state. 

“Facts? There are no facts here, Sam, and I can’t believe that you of all people are agreeing with this so easily,” Dean replied, making his way towards his jacket that lay draped over his chair and beginning to fumble for the pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked curiously, casting a suspicious glance towards Castiel, who began to slowly edge his way towards the eldest Winchester. 

“I’m calling Crowley,” Dean said bluntly, finally pulling out his phone and quickly unlocking it. “If there’s anyone who knows if Selina’s soul is in Hell, it’ll be him.”

“You won’t be able to call him,” Sam confessed, causing Dean to turn towards him and tilt his head a little in question. “He, uh, he’s blocked our numbers… All of our numbers.” 

“What? Why?” Dean asked, unsure whether or not that should offend him. 

“Not sure,” Sam lied, letting out a sigh as he folded his arms and leaned back against his armchair.

“Then we’ll summon him.” 

“We can’t. We haven’t got the stuff, and anyway as it turns out, now that he's the big boss downstairs, he can ignore a summon.” 

“Well then what the Hell can we do?” Dean snapped, having grown easily frustrated with Sam’s seem to be know-it-all answers. “We can’t just let Selina rot down there, we have to do something.” 

“Wait, that’s it,” Sam chuckled, straightening from his slouched position as he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “Selina. Crowley would never block her number, so we can use her phone to call him.” 

“Okay, a little weird that he’d block us and not her but if you’re sure,” Dean shrugged, a little wide eyed as things seemed to be getting lost in his mind and suddenly it was as though he were overwhelmed with unanswered questions. 

Nevertheless, Dean watched as Sam slowly approached Selina’s body, the sudden spark of joy he’d gotten over his realisation quickly coming to an end when he was reminded of what they were trying to do. When he was reminded that his twin sister was dead and more than likely already undergoing the worst possible torture as chance are Crowley would have no idea that she was even in Hell as they all knew he hated going there. 

Still, with the small possibility that they could bring her back, Sam crossed over into the dining room and shakily reached out towards Selina’s body, carefully checking the pockets of her jacket and before finally, he found her phone. He clicked it on, smiling softly at the goofy picture of Kit on her lockscreen then in one quick swipe he unlocked it, going straight to her call-log where the last call she’d made to Crowley lay at the bottom of the list.

At that moment, Sam got the feeling that regardless of whether he more than likely hadn’t blocked Selina, the likelihood of Crowley picking up a call from her was slim to none. So instead, without entering the text thread as he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop curiosity from taking the better of him and potentially scarring him, Sam sent Crowley a message. 

Sam(Selina’s Phone): Crowley, it’s Sam. Something happened. Something bad, and we need your help… Selina needs your help, so if you ever cared about her then please, come to Jody’s. 

With a click of the phone, Sam locked it and put it back in Selina’s pocket before turning to face the others, “And now we wait.” 

Turns out, they didn’t have to wait longer than a handful of seconds as just the idea of Selina needing his help was enough for Crowley to give in, appearing almost immediately in the middle of Jody’s living room. He wasn’t sure why, but the first thing his eyes saw when he got there was the girls on the couch, sitting as close to each other as humanly possible.

That made him a tad curious, as according to Selina both Claire and Alex weren’t openly affectionate with each other. Yes, they loved one another and were practically sisters but they never hugged. They never held hands or anything remotely familiar and yet here they were, their hands clasped tightly together and their heads resting atop one another’s. And that wasn’t all he saw either. The evidence of crying was plainly obvious on their faces, and so Crowley turned, casting his glance around the remainder of the room and when it landed on Sam, who’d never looked so broken in all his life, that’s when he knew. 

“What happened?” Crowley asked, doing his absolute best not to get choked up, which was a strange feeling to tell the truth. Sure, he’d teared up a few times since his dabble with human blood but he’d never felt as though he might burst into tears at a moment's notice. 

All Sam did in response was fold his arms, before nodding his head in the general direction of Selina’s body. Crowley’s brow then dipped as he slowly turned, his legs moving on their own accord, and the very second he saw what lay still on the dining room table, he felt his heart shatter into a million tiny pieces. 

However, as quickly as flicking a switch, Crowley’s intense pain was soon masked by anger. Pure, unfiltered rage as he shifted his attention towards Castiel, the only one in the room capable of bringing a human back without repercussions. He’d seen it himself. Plenty of times, he had seen the angel resurrect someone yet still, Selina remained dead on the kitchen table and if that wasn’t enough to make Crowley angry, then God knows what would. 

Crossing the room in a few short strides as the redness on his face increased, Crowley grabbed Castiel by the scruff of his coat, slamming him up against the bookshelf so hard that one of the shelves became loose and some books fell to the floor. 

“You,” Crowley gritted, increasing the firmness of his hold and ignoring the overlapping voice of the others who tried to get him to back down, “Why haven’t you brought her back?!” 

“Because I can’t,” Castiel replied, his voice a little strained when all Crowley did was push him even further into the bookshelf. 

“Bullshit, you can’t,” Crowley spat, “I’ve seen you do it before.” 

“That time was different,” Castiel explained, briefly raising one hand to signal for Dean to stand down, as he’d been slowly approaching them with his demon killing blade gripped firmly in his hand. “That time…”

“That time the person's soul was in Heaven,” Sam finished for him and just like that Crowley let go, allowing Cas to slump down the bookshelf and knock even more books to the floor. 

“What are you saying?” Crowley asked, his voice quieter than anyone in the room had ever heard as it made him sick to his stomach just thinking about his next words being the truth. “Are you saying that Selina is in Hell?” 

“According to Heaven, yeah,” Sam nodded, watching as Crowley began to shake his head and how Dean wasn’t figuring things out by the look on the demon’s face, mixed with his obvious reaction to Selina’s death, he would never know. 

“That’s not possible,” Crowley said, in clear denial as he wouldn’t lie, for a while now he had feared that this might be Selina’s fate. Yet still, he had trouble believing it. He knew the way Heaven and Hell worked and regardless of anything the two of them had done together, that would never outweigh the amount of good Selina had done throughout her life. “That’s not… No. Absolutely not. There’s no way Selina ended up there. Hell is for people who’ve sold their souls. It’s for the worst of the worst. For murders and thieves not…” 

“People who fall in love with its King?” Sam finished, and just like that, he’d dropped the ball and exposed Selina’s secret.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes as he began to wonder if he had something in his ears. “People who fall in love with its King? Don’t be ridiculous Selina isn’t…” 

Dean’s voice trailed off as his eyes drifted to Crowley, who instead of saying anything. Instead of denying anything moved slowly towards the dining room table, his expression as vacant as one might have expected yet deep behind his eyes Dean could see his pain. He could see his true heartbreak as he fought back tears, and that was all Dean needed for everything to finally click into place. 

The secrecy. Selina’s reluctance to talk about her mystery man, it all made sense now. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been ready to talk about it, like she’d said on many occasions. It’s that she’d been scared. This entire time she had been scared to tell them the truth because the truth was… that she was in love with Crowley. 

“You did this,” Dean gritted, his nostrils all but flaring as what could only be described as pure wrath flowed hot through his veins. He dropped his hands to his sides, crossing the room in a few quick strides in order to grab Crowley by the front of his coat and thrust him back against the wall. “You… You got her killed! This is your fault!” 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, rushing to his brother before he did something stupid. Something he’d come to regret if they ever did get Selina back. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s, using all his strength to pry him away from Crowley, who he was surprised hadn’t used his powers to send Dean flying back. “That’s enough. Let him go.” 

“Let him go?” Dean scoffed, using every ounce of strength to fight against Sam’s hold. “I should kill him for what he did to her.” 

“He only did it to protect her,” Sam confessed, to which Dean seemed to cease fighting and exhale deeply, pushing Sam away from him in order to turn around and face him. 

“Wait a second…” Dean chuckled emptily, shaking his head as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What was so obviously being made clear right before his very eyes. “Are you telling me you knew about this? This entire time you knew that Selina was dating a demon?” 

“I only found out after… The day Selina went to visit Cuthbert.” 

“Three months ago?! You’ve known for three months and you didn’t tell me?!” 

“It wasn’t my place to tell,” Sam defended, to which Dean simply scoffed again and turned away, running his hand over his chin. “Dean, Selina wanted to tell you but how could she? Every time you see Crowley you threaten to kill him, how could she ever risk telling you that she loves him?” 

“I deserved to know, Sam.” 

“I know,” Sam said softly, “But Selina also deserved to choose when she felt ready to tell you herself.” 

Letting out a shaky breath, Dean turned away from the room, placing his hands on his hips as he stared up at the ceiling, trying his best not to break down as it felt like he was getting hit with brick after brick. He understood why Selina hadn’t wanted to tell him but at the same time, he felt hurt that she didn’t think she could trust him. That she didn’t think that he would never, ever do anything that would result in her getting her heart broke even if it meant allowing Crowley to live. 

Even if it meant allowing her to continue dating Hell’s very own King if it’s what made her happy.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Crowley said quietly, surprising everyone, bar Alex, as they’d never once heard him apologise for anything. “If there was anything I could do to bring her back, I would.” 

“You could make a deal,” Sam said plainly, his tone showcasing exactly who would be making said deal. “Right here. Right now, we could make a deal and bring her back.” 

“Sam, don’t be stupid,” Dean exhaled, as if he didn’t have enough to worry about right now without adding getting Sam’s soul back from Crowley, to his list. “Do you want to end up spending a year trying to get your soul back like Bobby?” 

“I don’t want his soul, Dean,” Crowley said immediately and partially offended, “I just want your sister.” 

“Yeah? Well you ain’t getting her,” Dean spat harshly, before sighing deeply and turning away as he couldn’t stomach seeing Crowley look genuinely hurt as it only reminded him of what had been hidden from him for months now. 

“I’m afraid that even if you did make that deal,” Castiel began, looking directly at Sam before drifting his eyes away “it wouldn’t bring Selina back.” 

“Nonsense, I can bring anyone back,” Crowley scoffed, yet despite his own faith his heart seemed to hammer furiously in his chest. 

“Not if that person doesn’t want to come back,” Castiel replied, and he might as well have stabbed Crowley at the same time as that’s what his words felt like. 

“What are you talking about?” Crowley asked, yet he was starting to wonder if he’d be able to stomach hearing the answer as by the look on everyone’s face, it was clear that he was missing a huge part of the story. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

“Crowley…” Sam began, gaining Crowley’s attention as he slowly began to walk towards him. “Selina didn’t just get killed… She allowed herself to get killed because she could take the pain of not being with you any longer.” 

“That’s not…” Crowley exhaled, shaking his head as his eyes began to furiously water. “No… No, she would never… She’d never give up so easily.” 

“That’s what we thought too but Crowley she did… She allowed that vampire to kill her,” Sam explained, watching as Crowley’s own pain began to cloud his eyes and he could tell that he was reaching his own breaking point.

“It’s why, even if her soul was in Heaven I wouldn’t have been able to bring her back,” Castiel added, as if Crowley needed to hear that on top of everything else and the second the words reached his ears, he vanished and went straight to Hell.

Literally. Crowley went to Hell and he tore the place apart piece by piece looking for Selina. He didn’t give a damn what anyone said had happened. He couldn’t believe that Selina would kill herself and if he had to drag her soul back to her body himself just to prove it then on his life he would as he could not — he would not allow her to suffer any means of torture for a single second longer. And he didn’t just mean in Hell, but in life too as the second he brought her back, he’d be begging for her to take him back too as just like Selina, he simply couldn’t take another second of not being with her.  

Only, as Crowley finished searching every single nook and cranny of Hell for Selina’s soul he was left with the realisation that she wasn’t here. Which, don’t get him wrong, was an absolute relief in this nightmarish situation but it also begged a daunting question…

If Selina wasn’t in Heaven, and she wasn’t in Hell, then where in the afterlife was she? 

Chapter 23 ->

[shadamyheadcanons]

Who do you think is phisically stronger? Amy or Shadow? I know Shadow is very powerfull with all his Chaos Attacks but what if they have a sparing match with no powers outside the strength of their muscles? I think Amy can keep up with him, maybe even better than Sonic

(I have another ask similar to this, but I’m tackling them separately because the other one is An Undertaking.)

In a strictly physical fight, I’d give the edge to Shadow. Super speed is an absurdly broken ability. Amy’s strong as hell, but strength doesn’t matter if you can’t land a hit. Just ask Knuckles:

Sonic X episode 56 [source]

We have actually seen Shadow and Amy fight before if you count the Archie comics, and it didn’t end well for Amy.

Archie Sonic Universe issue 22, page 20 [source]

Ouch :(

In his defense, she did strike first 11 pages earlier, and he probably wasn’t in any hurry to get clobbered again. Still not his finest moment, but at least he had the decency to look regretful afterward:

And Shadow. SHADOW.

Archie Sonic Universe issue 22, page 21 [source]

That’s not how you carry your future wife, dammit! She’s not a sack of potatoes! Even Sonic’s better at this. Someone teach this boy some manners. And I guess it runs in the family, too, because Silver isn’t much better:

IDW Sonic issue 59, page 6 [source]

How did Blaze wind up upside-down?! He’s carrying Amy just fine! 

Anyway, while it’s true that Shadow used his Chaos powers in that Archie fight, I don’t even think it would’ve made a difference if he didn’t. He’s just too fast. He wasn’t even teleporting when he grabbed her hammer.

Amy’s way more of a threat these days, but she’s leveled up in power, not speed. She still needs help to get anywhere in a hurry:

IDW Sonic issue 2, page 15 [source]

So unless we’re assuming all of Shadow’s speed comes from Chaos energy, which is a stretch, she couldn’t land a hit on him. And while we’re at it, summoning a giant hammer out of thin air is probably Chaos energy, too, and she’s not getting anywhere without the hammer.

Oddly enough, I actually think she’d have a better chance if they were allowed to use Chaos powers. This post is evidence enough. In short: she counters his Chaos Spears with Storming Heart, she can stop time longer than he can, AND she needs only half the rings he does to pull it off. Rose Typhoon matches Chaos Blast, too.

Most importantly, though, she can turn invisible to render Chaos Control useless. Shadow relies heavily on teleportation to control the battlefield and take enemies off guard, as shown above, but you can’t sneak up on something you can’t find, no matter how fast you are. Anyone who’s played Sonic Heroes knows that when you turn invisible as Espio, your teammates will awkwardly freeze in place until you’re visible again because they don’t know where you are. If you try it in a team battle, your opponent will just start running around in circles, as if they’re a frightened rabbit stuck on a loop of “WHAT DO I DO, WHAT DO I DO, WHAT DO I DO--” And guess what? Shadow is no exception! Proof:

It’s literally just this:

Gaze upon your precious Ultimate Lifeform now. Useless! For shame! Are you not entertained?! And it’s not just bad AI from an old game that proves this. Shadow relies heavily on being able to see his foes. He consistently struggles against trickery. That’s how Infinite got the jump on him.

Amy can’t stay invisible as long as Espio can, but she wouldn’t have to. She’d have plenty of time to take Shadow by surprise. With modern!Amy’s obscenely high damage output, she’d demolish him before he could even think of striking back.

Amy in 2009:

Archie Sonic Universe issue 22, page 9 [source]

Amy now:

IDW issue 2, page 7 [source]

Sonic Frontiers Prologue: Convergence, page 4 [source]

IDW Sonic issue 58, pages 19-20 [source]

He’d probably think it was beautiful...if he lived.

So there you have it. Sonic and Shadow ultimately just stalemate each other, but if Amy were given access to all her OP abilities--ALL of them--and a little luck, I think she could potentially take Shadow out. It also helps that she never really uses her more broken skills. He’s never seen her invisibility, for example. If he takes the same approach he took in Archie, he wouldn’t start out fighting at full strength like he does against someone like Sonic. Say what you like about the Archie fight, but he was fairly merciful--for him, at least--toward Amy. If he tried that now, it would be over before he even knew what he was up against.

Will it ever happen in canon? Nah, but that’s what this blog is for!

[incendio22]

Masterlist

(trying my very best to make a masterlist to make one space for my fics, sorry for blocking your feed a little. i’ve never done one before so pls dont hate me)

Also, it’s not finished yet but I will keep updating this <3 

For the hope of it all 

Word count: Approx. 108k words

About: During the summer between Y/n's 5th and 6th year at Hogwarts, she cannot stop thinking about Sebastian Sallow, despite the horrible things he did last year. She knows that what happened should have been the end of their relationship, but for some reason she does not consider it to be over. Something about him just makes her feel like home. One night Y/n discovers something that could mean the end of the wizarding world that requires help of Sebastian as well as Ominis. This is a story about love, friendship, betrayal and sacrifices. 

Key words: fluff, angst, jealousy, heartbreak, friendship, young love

Chapter 1: The Letter

Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Express

Chapter 3: The First Day

Chapter 4: The Three Broomsticks

Chapter 5: The Duel

Chater 6: The Undercroft

Chapter 7: The Prophecy 

Chapter 8: Reconciliation

Chapter 9: Quidditch Try-Outs

Chapter 10: The Room of Requirement

Chapter 11: A Friend In Deed

Chapter 12: One Step Forward

Chapter 13: Snow Falling

Chapter 14: A Cold Shoulder

Chapter 15: Slytherins And Dungeons

Chapter 16: The Story of Another Sallow

Chapter 17: Midnight

Chapter 18: New Year’s Ball

Chapter 19: The Plan 

Chapter 20: Amortentia

Chapter 21: The Keepers

Chapter 22: Red Hearts, White Lies

Chapter 23: Pieces Fall Into Place

Chapter 24: The First Day of Spring

Chapter 25: A Gaunt Family Dinner

Chapter 26: The Result of Chaos

Chapter 27: Aftermath

Chapter 28: Winless Fight

Chapter 29: The House Cup 

Part 2: Year 7

Part 2 Chapter 1: Welcome Back To Hogwarts

Part 2 Chapter 2: A Familiar Face

Part 2 Chapter 3: It’s Nice To Have A Friend

Part 2 Chapter 4: Twin Flame

Part 2 Chapter 5: Desperation

Part 2 Chapter 6: Bruised

Part 2 Chapter 7: A Man And His Quill

Part 2 Chapter 8: Anonymous

Part 2 Chapter 9: A Sebastian Sallow Date

Part 2 Chapter 10: The Second Note

Part 2 Chapter 11: To The Rescue

Part 2 Chapter 12: A Safe Place

Part 2 Chapter 13: The Hospital Wing 

Part 2 Chapter 14: Heart To Heart

Part 2 Chapter 15: Starry Sky

Part 2 Chapter 16: Reunion

Part 2 Chapter 17: Jealousy, jealousy

Part 2 Chapter 18: Plans In The Making

Part 2 Chapter 19: Confessions

Part 2 Chapter 20: Good News

Part 2 Chapter 21: The Battle of The Castle

Part 2 Chapter 22: Coming Clean

Part 2 Chapter 23: A Feldcroft Getaway

Part 2 Chapter 24: A Hogwarts Christmas

Part 2 Chapter 25: Dreams About The Future

Part 2 Chapter 26: The Breaking

Part 2 Chapter 27: Fears And Dreams

Part 2 Chapter 28: The Calm Before The Storm

Part 2 Chapter 29: Happiness

Part 2 Chapter 30: The Goblin War

Part 2 Chapter 31: Remorse

Part 2 Chapter 32: Farewell, Hogwarts

Part 2 Chapter 33: Summer in Feldcroft

Epilogue and Author’s Note