#disgustingly violent thoughts <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[erifefism]

"hey grace what age did you start self-ha-"

14. 14 years old.

tw: Gore/sh

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hello! ✨

So… hear me out: Nico with a monster reader.

Like imagine he is sent out to defeat him but turns out he’s good and super like chill and relaxed.

Like imagine he goes in and suddenly he is sat down drinking tea and chatting about the weather.

Lol.

So nico sneak him in the camp covered in mist and when asked goes like *cue it’s a smoothie meme* “just found him… nothing weird here”

And if ppl discover the reader is a monster he like defends him like totally?

Like I imagine he’d love a reader that’s like maybe half snake? Idk. ‘Cause I think he finds snakes cute.

Maybe not a harpy or fury (is it called like that? I’m not sure)

Leo could totally pull the same stuff too. Maybe Percy too.

Jason totally not.

What do you think?

You can just answer to this as thoughts in need of an opinion and not a request if u want to/feel uncomfy writing this kind of reader.

Ps: loved the Dionysus one. Love love love it!

Kisses and enjoy that smoothie!

Love this idea, it was so fun to write and off I went a little overboard it's like 3.1k words so production is delayed but whatevs. It was a bit harder to write a totally general reader because of the monster thing but I think it worked. And if figured out that I tend to write character x readers from the perspective of the character requested too.

<3

Chocolate cream and iced honeycomb---Nico di Angelo x Monster Reader

»»————-　★　———

“RACHGAA!”

“AHGHGHAAAA!” Nico snarled back at the sandy green snake.

It reared back a fraction, unblinking eyes narrowed at him as its thin tongue flickered in and out. Nico just stuck his tongue back out at the Ceraste, a horned viper. It would have been an easy fight, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ceraste grew to be about as big as an alligator. 

It bowed to him, but that wasn’t a good thing. Two sets of horns, sharp and spiked, glimmered in the afternoon sunshine as Nico stood his ground, Stygian iron sword ready. “I have other monsters to kill, could we make this quick?”

Mortals around them just whispered behind their hands and kept walking, ignoring the battle to the death in the middle of the street. They probably just saw Nico walking an especially spiky and greek dog.                                                                                                                                       He imagined the Ceraste as a poodle for a moment, and then stepped to the side and swung his sword quickly, blocking the violent jab in his direction. 

“You’re supposed to be cute,” Nico hissed at it, stomping down hard on its tail and prodding at the light scales flecked with brown. Blood dripped almost instantly. Its scales were as tough as a normal snakes was, and he took advantage of that. Next time it circled, and shot out with lightning speed, shadows creating an arc through the warm summer air as Nico lashed out. 

There was the sound of tearing skin, and a disgustingly drawn out squelch, that ended with a thud.

Nico kept his eyes squeezed shut until he could wipe the blood off his face, and then stared down at the decapitated ancient reptile. Blood and guts squished into the road, which he had to stomp on a few times before they melted into gold and ran down the drains in the rubbish filled gutters.  

“Uhh,” Nico muttered, flapping his hand about until the sticky dark blood wasn’t on him anymore. “I need a drink.”

He glanced around the bustling New York street, spotting a hippie cafe that wouldn’t have anything stronger than a matcha tea, and a starbucks. A Mcdonalds not in sight, and at least another hour of tracking the final monster ahead of him, Nico opened the door to the busy starbucks. 

As he stood in line behind someone with their hair in a dark bun, and two teenage girls wearing strawberry dresses, he unfolded the piece of paper with instructions for his mission. His target was supposed to be around this district, but Chiron wasn’t sure where exactly. Nico was sent to do the dirty work, because apparently nobody else wanted to see the light drain from something's eyes when they could be finding more demigods or retrieving lost items. 

Monsters had been attacking demigods before they were in danger. Last week an eight year old Iris boy had showed up to camp with half a leg left, and the attacks had only grown in numbers. 

Apart from being around this place, the only thing in common with the spike of violence, was the scales and thin tongues. A few Hydra's, Echidna the she-dragon had made another appearance, and of course, the multitudes of Ceraste.

Nico had just killed four of them, but there were more to come and more demigods in danger unless he found the source. Chiron had his theories, of course, but far-fetched was the idea that one of the snake footed giants had risen from the earth again. Glycon was an option of course, but Nico doubted it was him. 

The queue had disappeared, standing around on the other side of the cafe as they waited for their orders, save one person, who was ordering an ‘iced honeycomb caramel latte’. The boy brushed his hair over his shoulder and turned to look out the window, then back to where he was paying for his latte. 

Nico followed his gaze, watching with dread as the previously dead snake was hissing by the window. Hissing right next to him as well. 

Nico turned slowly, hand on the hilt of his dark sword, but he was only met with the face of a small green python watching him curiously, big eyes shining underneath the bright lights of the cafe. He smiled back at it, immensely confused.

Then the little snake was pulled away and wrapped up into a writhing green ponytail of scales and little puppy-like reptilian faces, flickering tongues and toothless mouths. 

“Is your boyfriend gonna order, or…”

Nico blinked out of his snake induced trance and whipped around to where the girl behind the counter was blinking tiredly at him. 

The boy next to Nico stuffed change into his pockets and shook his head. The head the snakes were attached to, that was. The boy's eyes were covered by circular black glasses. He smiled. “Oh, I don’t know the emo.”

“I…” Nico started, eyes wide as he took what, or rather who, he was seeing. A gorgon. A real life teenage medusa [and a cute one at that], was standing in the middle of a starbucks, snakes tied back with yet another of the small pythons. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat, turning back to the cashier. “I’ll have one of the chocolate cream… frappuccinos, please.”

“Coming right up,” the cashier muttered, typing into their ipad and then motioning for him to move to the other side of the counter. Where the monster was. 

The monster that Nico was starting to suspect he’d have to kill. 

»»————-　★　————-««

“There you go. Have a great day.”

“Thanks,” Nico muttered back just as enthusiastically, and took his drink. He was still holding the hilt of his sword, heart pounding as loud as his footsteps as he stomped away. Was he supposed to find the lair of this teenage boy? Was he immortal? Was there any point killing him if he’d just pop up again? What was Nico going to do? 

He didn’t have a drachma on him to call camp and ask Chiron what he should do, and to be honest, he wouldn’t have listened to whatever instruction he was given anyway. 

The straw was pulled from his mouth as he was yanked sideways. 

Something scratchy brushed his arm, and his middle was grabbed tightly. The breath left his lungs and the world blurred for a moment. Then he gasped, drink flying out of his hand, and landed in a booth on the red leather with a yelp. “What the-”

“Hello, pretty boy.”

Nico stared for a moment, heart racing. The boy [monster. He was a monster, not a person. There was a difference. Maybe] sat on the other side of the booth with a grin, latte in hand. His nails were painted green. 

Nico noticed this as he gestured to the side, where the Ceraste he had just killed sat coiled up next to the table like a dog waiting for its owner. The sharp horns on its head looked a lot less threatening now that there was a pink scrunchie around one of them. “This is Keith, say hi, Keith.”

“RACHGAA!”

“What-”

“Ssso like, I'm just getting this straight, if you’re gonna kill me, just say that now.” The boy said, leaning forward with his hands pressed together and an easy smirk. “Because I havent been killed yet and I'm not going to Tartarusss anytime soon.”

He glanced towards Keith with a serious expression. “You sssaw what happened to Jeremy.”

Kieth’s tongue flickered in and out once. He seemed to take it as an agreement. Nico’s hand left his hilt as he spoke, even though he had no control of the situation and there was a tensed up snake by his feet. “What would you do if I was going to kill you?”

“Keep you asss an ornament in my Auntie Em’s garden.” He said, and Nico felt his legs swinging under the table. He put his chin on the palm of his hand. “You’re very pretty.”

Nico wasn’t sure which part of the conversation he should be worried about at this point. He didn’t really want to become a statue, but his stomach was filled with a pit of snakes and he was more worried that this gorgon could see the blush on his face through his black tinted glasses. He ended up blinking, a bit stunned.

“That was a joke, holy Hadesss you’re a wet mop of a person, aren’t you.”

“You’re the one with the mop head.” Nico snapped back with a sharp glare. That might not have been the right thing to say though, judging by the way one of the pythons sitting on the boy's shoulder wilted a little, ducking its soft looking head. 

It got a pat on the head. “Don’t listen to him noodle, he didn’t mean it.”

Nico looked at the little green snake. Somehow it looked like it was smiling at him, but that could’ve just been the shape of its mouth. “...Sorry Noodle.”

“Noodle saysss thank you.” 

Nico looked down at the floor, where his drink was now a brown puddle surrounded by broken shards of plastic. He glanced back up, squinting at the wriggling pythons that were no longer in a pony [snake?] tail. “Can you actually, you know…”

“Noodle says that Becky said Loch Nessss likes your earringsss, but they think you could do something with your hair.” 

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Nico scoffed, wrinkling his nose. Did his hair look bad? “It looks fine.”

“Don’t asssk me, ask Loch Ness,” he got in reply, then another smirk. Nico’s stomach rolled again, but it didn’t feel necessarily bad. What on Olympus was that supposed to mean? “And I reckon your hair’s pretty as isss.”  

A moment passed, and Nico got the feeling he was being assessed. The boy opposite him sniffed once, and Nico wondered if he smelled like snake guts. That couldn’t be a very good look. “You’re a big three, aren’t you… Wait, no, let me guessss… Poseidon.”

Nico raised an eyebrow.

“That was a joke, if you couldn’t tell.”

“I figured.” He muttered, watching in slight disgust as Keith started to lick the chocolate cream frappuccino off the grimy tiles. “And you?”

“Daughter of Aphrodite.”

“That was a-”

“Joke. You’re catching on, pretty boy.” He grinned, and Nico noticed with a gulp that two of his teeth were sharpened and pearly white. Fangs. He shrugged, chin on his hands. “I honestly have no idea though, I dunno how I’m here. Maybe I sprouted out of her head like that flying horse did.”

“Why are you sending monsters to kill-”

“I wasss just tryna divert the attention, okay? That corpse wasssn’t my fault-” He started, waving his hand in the air to prove his point. ONe of the snakes, maybe noodle, twisted around a few times, tongue flickering out. Nico swore another one with a scar down its scaly spine rolled its soft brown eyes. 

“What corpse?”

“No corpssse. I dunno what you’re on about, no one died.” He said quickly, taking a long loud sip of his drink, ice clinking. After a moment he sighed and looked down at the chipped nail polish on his hands. “Some demigod dude, ugh there's ssso many of you, gods must be like rabbits or something. Anyways, one of them found me and I diverted the attention, so I’d get another few weeksss.”

“Another few weeks of…?”

“Life. I mean, I can hide easily, but I already spent a month in San Fransisssco being chased by pitchforksss and metal dogs, and I didn't get Ssstarbucks for like, years, otherwise sssomeone would just pop out with a spear and stabby stabby no more Gabby.”

The scarred snake drooped sadly a little, slinking back into the writhing mass. Nico shook his head quickly. “Camp Half-Blood’s not like that. And I can use the mist.”

“What, you just gonna follow me around New York waving your handsss about for the rest of your life?” He chuckled, swirling his plastic cup around a few times and taking another sip.

“No, you can come back with me.”

Nico wasn’t even sure when he’d come up with the plan, but there was something about his smirk and his nail polish and his stupid jokes and the puppy-like python faces swirling around him that made Nico wince when he imagined him sleeping on the streets fighting off Romans. 

“Why should I do that?”

“I…” Nico faltered. What reason did he really have? “I dunno.”

He bounced up, snakes swinging. Keith looked up from the puddle on the ground and shook its tail excitedly, like it knew what was happening already. Maybe this teenage gorgon really could mind control the ancient reptiles. 

 “Sssweet, let’s go!”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Ssso you’re like, completely sure I won’t be decapitated on sight?”

Nico paused, turning away from the gap in the shrubbery at the base of Half-Blood hill. He’d been watching as demigods slowly trickled into the dining pavilion, cabins regrouping for dinner and burning meals. He couldn’t promise this [really cute] boy that he’d be safe here, but Nico could promise that he’d protect him from any especially violent and biased Ares kids. 

“If anyone tries to hurt you I won’t let their siblings visit them in the underworld.”

Nico had to look away again, red faced as he did that thing again, leaning forwards with his hand under his chin and his lips quirked up. “How romantic.”

“I- uh…” Nico choked, and then turned back to the now empty strip of green and strawberry plants, finally letting out a tense breath. “If we go now, I can hide you in my cabin until I guilt trip Chiron into letting me keep you.”

“And Keith.”

“And Keith,” he sighed. One more check to see if the coast was clear, and he slunk out of the bushes, pebbles crunching underneath his boots. He grabbed his new Starbucks [he’d been bought a new one as an apology for nearly being killed by Keith] and waved frantically behind him. “Hurry up, we gotta move.”

There was a scuffling, and then the slick sound of scales moving as the Ceraste followed them past the big house and down to the campfire. The flames were a humming orange, burning brightly in the dusk. It was summer, the mood was always high as campers came from school back to their families and friends.                                                                                 

“Okay, so like, where are you friendsss? Do you have friendsss?”

“Do you?” Nico shot back with a glare, keeping an eye on the open door of the Hermes cabin, but there was no movement inside, except for the pegasus that was chewing on someone's pillow. 

“Yup! Noodle and Becky and Loch Nessss and Keith and Gabby and Fruit-”

“Yes…” Nico whispered back, rolling his eyes, but when he turned a little, Loch Ness [how could he already tell them apart?] was flicking its little black tongue at him, gummy mouth wide. “I have friends.” 

“Great, isss that them?”

“...What.”

Nico whipped around, stepping in front of the boy he was currently smuggling with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Keith rattled its tail and hissed, neck arched. Nico wasn’t sure who was approaching them, the figures covered by the shadow of the Iris cabin. He kept his voice low, “the mist, we have to cover you.”

“Can you use the missst?” He whispered back loudly, over the nervous hissing around him. 

“Of course I can use the mist,” Nico said. Then he realized something and gritted his teeth, face red. “But, just on me, unless I’m… you know…”

“Nope. I don’t know.” He said simply, and Nico turned away, grabbing his hand very quickly and closing his eyes for a moment, eyebrows pinched in concentration. Nico tried to focus on the magic he was weaving through the air and not the weirdly smooth skin of the hand he was holding, and if his own was sweaty or not. 

When he opened them, the boy beside him was blinking with foggy looking dark green eyes that matched the snakes now covered by a dark hood. The only thing still him was that stupid smirk.  “Did it work?” 

“Yeah,” Nico’s voice wavered, and his grip tightened. “Okay, now act normal, they're coming over.”

“I’m not normal?”

“Nico, don’t be rude!” Hazel told him off, a gentle smile on her face anyway. Her hands were in the pockets of a large purple jumper, arm threaded through Franks. He waved nervously at Nico, like he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t about to kill him via skeletons. Hazel turned to the currently covered by mist boy. “Sorry about h-”

She squinted as a door slammed near the big three cabins. Nico’s hand was definitely too tight as his sister stared down the boy next to him. She licked her lips, “why is he covered by the mist, Nico?”

He had almost forgotten she was chosen by Hecate, goddess of the mist. Almost, but not quiet. He ducked his head. “Er, so you don’t… kill him?”

“I prefer to stay out of Tartarusss actually, I heard it smellsss pretty bad down there-”

“You can’t even imagine.”

Nico froze. Oh, could this get any worse? He sighed and turned to Percy, hoping his fingernails weren’t leaving indents in the smooth skin he was clutching. His other hand was cold from the icy drink he was holding. 

Percy grinned obliviously, “who got there?”

“...Starbucks.”

“Ha ha,” Hazel muttered, raising an eyebrow. Nico nodded, pretending he was laughing too, and then sped past them, dragging along the hidden gorgon to the Hades cabin, who waved happily as they left the group.

Frank shuffled, “isn’t there a two demigods not allowed alone in a cabin rule?”

Nico groaned internally. Why did he have to word the [snitchy] question in such a way? He knew what he was going to see before he even turned to the shortly disguised boy next to him. He sighed and nodded, letting go of his hand and taking a long sip of his drink as he watched the chaos go down.

“Good thing I’m not a demigod!” 

Hazel’s expression didn’t shift, she’d seen right through the magic at the very start. She’d seen the coils of scales and the circular black glasses, the strangely smooth skin somewhere between human and snake. She might’ve even seen the tiny fangs. Frank stepped back behind his girlfriend a little, his eyes wide. 

Percy visibly paled, and then gulped. “Oh.”

“No hard feelingsss man. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Nico watched his gorgon for a moment and then smiled a little. He turned back to the gravel path leading to his cabin. “You ready? There’s a lot of skulls, just warning you.”

“Wait til you ssssee my place."

»»————-　★　————-««

[dustydaddyyy]

no strings attached | joel miller x fem!reader

pairing: joel miller x fem! reader

summary: you can't deny there's always been something between you and joel miller. The question is, is either of you going to do something about it?

warnings: swearing, unspecified age gap (reader is her late 20s and joel is canon age) canon-typical descriptions of violence, some good old fashioned pining, fluff, mentions of grief/death, implications of sex/smut, no actual smut, joel is disgustingly gentlemanly, no use of y/n

a/n:…………I know this isn't the next chapter of flashpoint guys, I know. But this has been in my drafts forever and I had some inspiration to finish off the final part. and now here it is, so please enjoy!! don't forget to let me know what you thought through reblog/likes/comments/asks, I love to hear all of your thoughts aka pls interact with my work or my motivation to write shrivels and dies inside

You had never been a fan of cold, which was funny, considering it was cold in Jackson almost all year round. Even the summers were mild, but you still found yourself aching for them every time the winter came around, nights getting longer and the days getting shorter. 

You're standing on the main square in Jackson, hands clasped around a steaming mug of something as you look up at the building in front of you, but more specifically, the men standing on the makeshift scaffolding, working on the building. In your other hand you're gripping a large thermos, almost too large for your single grip, but you manage to keep it between your fingers.

They'd been working on the outer façade of the building for the past two weeks, after part of it had collapsed after a particularly rough storm.

There's a presence to your left as your eyes sweep over the scaffolding, and you turn your head to look at Maria as she lets loose a sharp whistle.

"Come have some coffee," she shouts at those working, and you chuckle slightly to yourself as they start to come down.

"Like dogs," you say jokingly, taking a sip of your mug, "Man, I need to learn how to whistle like that,"

"Don't say that to their face," Maria warns you jokingly, "There's much too much ego to go around in that group to take that with any kind of grace,"

You let out another chuckle, shaking your head with a laugh as you look away from her and towards the people walking in your direction. It was a relatively small group, maybe 5 or 6 men, and as they approach, you recognize Eugene's smile.

"Finally came out of your cave, eh?" he asks jokingly, and you narrow your eyes at him as you lift the coffee thermos.

"I'm happy to take this home with me," you inform him, and he laughs, before he extends an arm and pulls you sideways against him, almost spilling your drink.

You'd been in Jackson for 3 years now, having arrived at their large wooden gates early one morning in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, severely hypothermic, dehydrated and covered in injuries. You'd been barely conscious, almost collapsing onto the snow but managing long enough to explain your situation to the guard on patrol, who had been Eugene. You'd come from California, more specifically Santa Barbara, where the Rattlers, a group of militaristic slavers, had pillaged your settlement. You'd barely escaped with your life, and it had been a damn near miracle that you'd managed the two-week trek on foot with nothing but a handgun and a limited supply of bullets. Your only advantage had been that you'd had to walk across large parts of Nevada, the state in which you'd grown up and spent the first 9 years of your life before the world went to shit.

Hence the disdain for cold weather.   

"She's cute when she gets all frowny, isn't she?" Eugene jokes again, and you roll your eyes, albeit jokingly.

"Let's see how cute I am when I shove my boot up your ass," you half-threaten, and Eugene lets out a booming laugh as the rest of the men arrive where you'd been standing, and he looks down at you. 

"Cute and violent. . . " he muses, before turning to the group with a raised eyebrow, "Any takers?"

"I'm not cattle," you say with a scoff, shrugging him off of you with a sideways shove, before straightening out, "Now you better drink this coffee before I spit in it, Eugene,"

"I hear ya," he says with a chuckle, taking the thermos from you as you move your gaze towards the group of men talking.

You know most of them pretty well, and you watch as they huddle, taking cups from Maria. Only the two at the back are standing a little away from the group, talking to each other animatedly under their breath.

The Miller brothers had been an interesting addition to Jackson.

Tommy had been here when you'd gotten there, but only a few months himself, and it had been nice to talk to someone who hadn't been living in the settlement for years, already. You'd been fast friends, Tommy's open personality and kind heart matching with your own personality well. You'd watched him fall in love with Maria, even been the one standing by his side as a witness when they'd gotten married. Tommy was easy; and open book, you could almost always tell what was going in his head.

Joel, however. . . Joel had been an entirely different story. You'd only been in Jackson 2 years when he'd first arrived. It had been strange, watching as Tommy had reconnected, albeit not smoothly, with someone he'd only ever told you about. You'd heard stories of Joel, though not many, and so when he came to Jackson, you found yourself slightly disappointed by him. He'd been the most regular man you'd ever laid eyes on, not some superhuman killing machine, and together with Ellie, they'd felt like two feral cats waiting to be rehomed.

Then they'd gone again, only coming back a few weeks later, and you'd known something wasn't right. Ellie had been muted, almost a ghost of the person she'd been when she'd first arrived, and Joel had been. . . you hadn't quite managed to put your finger on it at first, but after a few weeks observing him, some things had started to make sense. He'd had a wound, on his left side, which had been stitched horribly and gotten infected, and hadn't been healing right. You'd never been much of a healer, but when you'd first arrived in Jackson the sick bay is where you'd originally been assigned, to work under one of the few doctors in Jackson, and so you'd been in charge of dressing the wound and making sure it healed, despite Joel's vociferous protests.

You hadn't taken it personally, ignoring his cold exterior and treating him the same way you had everyone else, until finally, he began to accept your help, and your tentative friendship. Still, you hadn't managed to put your finger on what had happened to Joel and Ellie, and every time you talked to him, it felt as though he was holding back, keeping something from you, from everyone.

It wasn't until you'd brought a pair of Joel's pants, which you'd found stuffed into a bag under his bed, to the laundry, and you'd cleaned the spatters of blood running up the side of Joel's pant leg that you'd figured it out. Well, about half of it, anyway.

You'd been discreet, washing the blood off the clothes quietly and without attracting attention, before bringing them with you one day when you had to change his dressing, and dumping them out in front of him.

"Explain," you'd said, your voice calm and your gaze open, raising an eyebrow.

He'd been angry with you at first, eyes widening in shock at the idea that you'd been snooping around in his house, but you had paid him no heed and sat patiently in the chair until his anger subsided and he was ready to talk. 

You hadn't judged him as he'd spoken, and when Joel had told you everything, all the way from Ellie's immunity down to what had gone down in Salt Lake City, you'd sat in silence for a second, processing, before you'd nodded and moved onto treating his wound.

You hadn't talked about it past that, but Joel's attitude towards you had changed that day; he'd been expecting you to yell and scream at him, to be horrified at what he'd done and the fact that he'd probably doomed all of humanity to hell in one split-second decision, but you hadn't.

"I understand," you'd told him, as you cleaned his wound, "We all do horrible things in the name of love,"

In that moment, in the face of his horrible confession, you were calm, collected and accepting, and it was the first time Joel had felt comfortable around someone in Jackson that hadn't been Ellie or Tommy.

What Joel doesn't know, is that the minute you came home, you had hurled the contents of your stomach into your sink.

You didn't know what you'd been expecting, but it hadn't been that.

Maybe it had been a combination of the cold-blooded violence you knew he'd committed, and the idea of a cure so close within the world's grasp, but it had been such a deeply visceral reaction you were shocked you had managed to keep your face so impassive for the time it took for you to finish treating him.

Then again, you did understand. Joel Miller was not the only one who had committed atrocities for the people he loved; god knows your own hands were far from clean in that regard.

"Hey. . . you still with us?" comes a voice through your thoughts, and you shake yourself out of your mind, eyes moving up to look straight into Joel's.

It had been almost a year since his first admission, and since then, despite your initial reaction, you had found yourself getting closer to Joel. You didn't talk about it, and nothing had ever happened between the two of you, but it didn't take a genius to know something was there. Not acting on it had been a conscious choice from your side, and Joel had just never initiated anything either, which you supposed was in character for him.

"Yeah," you say, blinking a few times as you clear your throat and give him a weak smile, "Just zoned out a little,"

"You look tired," he offers, his eyebrows knitting into a slight frown, "You sleeping okay?"

"Gee, thanks," you let out in a scoff, and he gives you a look as you cover your exhaustion with a chuckle, "I'm sleeping fine, but it's good to know I apparently don't look that way,"

Joel lets out a breath through his nose at your tone, rolling his eyes slightly at your joke. "You ain't funny," 

The truth? Joel was right, you hadn't been sleeping.

You'd always suffered from night terrors as a child, sometimes waking up in all hours of the night screaming and crying and inconsolable for long period of time until your parents would wake you up and snap you out of it. You'd grown out of them, though, or so you thought.

They'd started up again a few months ago, ranging anywhere from waking up in the middle of the night in your bed with tears running down your face, to bouts of stomach-churning sleep paralysis that would leave you so shaken you wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night. 

"Miller!" comes Eugene's voice from your left, "You want some coffee, or do you get your kicks out of chatting up younger women?"

"He's doing it a right sight better than you ever did," you fire back, almost immediately, "So you really shouldn't be saying shit,"

The men around Eugene burst into raucous laughter, and you watch as the corners of Joel's mouth turn up into the hint of a smile as his gaze moves down to his feet for a second, before he clears his throat and looks back up at you.

"Nice," he comments, and you give him a smirk, raising a confident eyebrow and bowing your head.

"Why thank you," you say jokingly, your chest blooming with the compliment, and he shakes his head slightly with a chuckle, before stepping away from you for a second to get some coffee. You watch him go, eyes following him as he pours himself a mug, eyes running over the expanse of his large hands–

You hadn't even noticed Maria coming to stand next to you until she'd cleared her throat, forcing you to look away from Joel hastily and to her. She's giving you a look, raising a single eyebrow as her eyes move between you and him.

"Not a word," you tell her, and purses her lips with a smile, shaking her head.

"Wasn't going to say anything," she muses, and you roll your eyes, before taking a deep breath.

"I think I'm gonna go,"

"Already?" comes Tommy's voice as he steps towards the both of you with a steaming cup in his hand, "You just got here,"

"I did what I came to do," you tell him, before raising a brow, "I ain't got all day,"

Maria's nose crinkles. "Ain't?" she repeats, before raising her eyebrows at you, "Some of that Texan charm rubbing off on you, kiddo?"

"I resent that nickname," you inform her, actively avoiding answering her question, your underlying tone humorous, "As if we aren't only a decade apart,"

"Hmm," Maria hums sarcastically into her cup, "That's a generous definition of decade,"

"You not sleeping well, kiddo? You look tired," Tommy asks, brow creased in concern as he looks at you, and you let out a groan, hands coming up slightly in exasperation.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, just as Joel steps back towards your group, his ears picking up the tail end of your sentence, "What is it with you Millers? You really tell it like it is, don't you?"

"You look radiant," Maria supplies, and you give her a false, sweet smile.

"Oh, thank you," you half-mutter, before shaking your head with a smile, "But I'm wrecked. . . I worked the double shift for Seth last night and again tomorrow night, so I need to just take a day and sleep,"

"That's fair enough," Tommy says with a grimace, before he gives your shoulder a pet, "Sweet dreams,"

"Thanks," you breathe through a laugh, before you look at Joel with a small smile, "I'll see you later,"

He gives you one of those rare smiles of his own, and it makes his features only more handsome, "See you later,"

Your gaze tears away from him to nod at Maria, who gives you a strangely knowing smile which you ignore, turning on your heel and trudging back through the snow.

Joel had never meant to be standing on your doorstep later that day. Yet, here he was, fingers twitching nervously at his side as he knocks on your door.

He's not even sure you're awake, but it's evening now, the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon and darkening the sky, so he guesses you might be. He's holding a plastic bag of groceries; it's nothing much, just some fruit and vegetables and some sausages he'd managed to trade for yesterday because Ellie loved them so much. But Ellie hadn't been in when Joel had got home that afternoon, leaving a note that she was spending the evening with a friend, but would be home for the night. He'd sat in his living room for a few hours, reading and trying to occupy himself, before deciding he didn't want to eat alone, and packing a few things from the fridge into a bag.

And now, here he was.

At your door.  

After almost an entire minute of silence, Joel thinks to himself that you're probably still passed out somewhere, and just as he's about to turn and leave, the door flies inward.

The first thing Joel notices is your eyes. They're wet, as if you'd been crying, but somehow still filled with a groggy sleep at the same time. Your chest is moving quickly as your eyes focus on him standing on your doorstep, and some of the concern in your features melts.

"Joel," you let out his name, and your voice small, and tired, before you clear your throat, "Hi,"

"Are you okay?" he asks almost immediately, frowning slightly at your appearance, and he sounds alarmed, "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she reassures him, shaking your head slightly, "I was just having a nightmare. . . I'm kind of glad your loud ass knocking woke me,"

You say that last part with a weak chuckle, voice lightening slightly as you try for a smile, "What can I do for you?"

Shit, Joel thinks to himself, and he finds himself rooted to the spot.

"I uh–" he clears his throat, "Ellie isn't in tonight, and, well. . . no one's seen you all day, so I assumed you didn't have any dinner plans,"

"You're not wrong. . . if I have my way it's going to be some stale crackers and cheese," you comment with a grimace. 

"Not very nutritious," Joel hums, and you chuckle, nodding, "I'm no chef but I can definitely do better than crackers and cheese," 

Another beat of silence passes, before your eyes go slightly wide and you open the door further. "Sorry, sorry. . . forgot this was the part where I invite you in, I'm still half-asleep. . . come on in, please,"

Joel doesn't need to be asked twice, following you through over threshold of your front door as you disappear down the hall and into the kitchen, back of your hand coming up to wipe your eyes.

Joel isn't often in your house; it isn't entirely your own, and he'd heard from Tommy when he'd first gotten here that houses in Jackson were often shared to maximize space. He'd met your housemate, Bonnie, only a handful of times, including most of that handful when he'd fixed the wobbly bannister of your staircase a few months ago.

The house looks different since the last time he's been, and he can't help but notice new paintings hanging on your wall. They're strange, a haphazard mix of colored strokes with no particular pattern or purpose, but they're nice nevertheless. 

"Where'd you get those?"

"You want the honest answer?" you ask, as you step out of the kitchen and watch him looking, and Joel frowns jokingly as he looks at you, waiting for you to go on, "Bonnie and I got high last month and painted them,"

Joel's eyebrows fly up his forehead. "You what?"

Your smile becomes bashful as you purse your lips, Joel's inquisitive look making you squirm slightly.

"Yeah. . . " you say, clearing your throat with another bashful smile, before you try to shrug it off, "Eugene has–. . . anyways, it doesn't matter,"

You disappear back into the kitchen, and Joel looks back at the paintings, considering the new bit of context you'd supplied him with.

"You want a drink?" you half-holler, and you hear Joel's footsteps enter the kitchen as you reach into one of the cabinets, "I have tea or. . . gin, honestly. I know you're more of a whiskey man, but Bonnie makes it in the basement, and it isn't even half-bad,"

"You make gin in your basement?" Joel asks, and again you hear the same surprise in his voice as earlier, "Do you also run an undercover gambling ring, or. . . ?"

"Oh yeah," you respond, playing along as you step onto your tip toes reach into the back of the cupboard for two clean glasses, "We also occasionally organize cock fights, they're a big hit," 

Joel chuckles, setting the groceries down on your kitchen table, before he notices you struggling.

"Jesus Bonnie," you mutter to yourself, "Why do you always have to put the glasses in the back?"

"Here," Joel says, and he doesn't even think as he steps towards you, arm extending over yours to reach the glasses you're aiming for, the front of his chest brushing up against your shoulder as he grabs them, "I got it,"

The sound of his gravelly voice so close in your ear, and the feeling of his breath on the nape of your neck, makes you fight an urge to shiver, deciding instead to take a deep breath as you swivel around, facing him just as his arm comes down, two glasses clamped between his fingers.

"Thanks," you say with a soft smile as you look up at him, and Joel nods, eyes looking down and resting on yours for a second. You're standing almost face to face, the front of his flannel ghosting your own shirt. Then, he clears his throat, stepping backwards and away from you.

"I'll try some of that gin," he tells you, and your smile widens knowingly.

"I promise you won't go blind," you tell him with a laugh, and then you're on the move around your kitchen again, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out what looks like an old milk bottle filled with clear liquid, "Bonnie's good at it, believe it or not,"

"How do you even start brewing gin?" Joel asks as he sets the glasses down, and you chuckle slightly.

"We went on patrol once, in Grand Teton?" you explain, "She'd been making vodka by then already, but she saw a juniper bush and almost shit herself with excitement. . . it took us an hour to strip the damn thing clean of berries,"

"She a big drinker?" he asks as you unstopper the bottle, before pouring some of the stuff into both glasses, and you shake your head.

"Not more than me," you tell him, "But it keeps her busy, gives her something to do that isn't just patrol, y'know?"

Joel nods silently, before you hold the glass out to him. He takes it from you, ignoring his fingers brushing over yours and the way it makes his heart skip in his chest. You're not done with your drink, reaching into the fridge to grab another bottle, which looks like juice. It's a rich, dark pink color, and the little sticker on the side has a hastily scribbled 'Cherry' in your cursive handwriting.  

"Takes the edge off," you say with a sigh as you watch him read the label, and Joel nods, before he takes a sip of his gin.

It's quite pleasant, much smoother than the bootleg Whiskey he used to drink in the QZ, but as it travels down his gullet, it brings with it a burn Joel knows is going to make him regret drinking it, later.

"You weren't wrong," he notes, clearing his throat after having swallowed it down, "That's actually quite pleasant,"

"Right?" you ask, before you take a sip of your own drink. A sip is generous, and before Joel knows it, you've downed the entirety of your glass, frowning for a second as the liquid burns down your throat.

You can tell he wants to open his mouth and say something, but you're grateful he doesn't, instead putting his glass down with a breath and grabbing the bag of groceries.

"Sit," he instructs you, motioning towards the chair at the dining table that's in the middle of the kitchen, and you don't protest, only moving to pour yourself another drink.

It's silent for a moment as he unpacks the vegetables, but after a second, Joel speaks up as he runs the carrots under the tap.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Joel asks, "That the reason you haven't been sleeping? Nightmares?" 

Your response isn't immediate, and it's only when Joel looks back at you and sees your expression that he realizes this may be a sensitive topic. You give an uneasy smile, before shaking your head.

"Yeah," you manage to bring out, pursing your lips, "They're nothing too serious, I just wake up and then I can't sleep anymore, don't know why," 

You do know why. You know that sometimes the dreams are so intense, so scary, that you don't dare close your eyes again, at least not by yourself. Sometimes, you'd go downstairs, and crawl into bed with Bonnie. She'd been there, once, waking you from the middle of a dream while you'd been screaming the house down, and she'd not hesitated in taking you downstairs with her to sleep in her bed after you'd confessed to being scared out of your wits of being left alone.

Joel hums, nodding as he turns back towards what he'd been cooking, and you can't tell whether or not he's bought your lie.

"Ellie not home tonight then?" you ask after a second, and Joel nods, clearing his throat as chops some vegetables on one of your two cutting boards.

"She'll be home later," he informs you, "But she's out now, yeah,"

You give an agreeing hum, and for a second there's another silence that weighs heavy in the room.

"Joel," you let out, your voice a half groan, and he hums in question, peering over his shoulder, "The silence is killing me,"

Joel can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips as he goes back to dinner, shaking his head with a joking air. "Forgot you couldn't handle that,"

"I really can't," you agree, taking another sip, and Joel chuckles again. You watch the expanse of his shoulders and his back under the denim shirt as they move with his laughter, finding your fingers itching to just reach out and run your hand over the smooth lines of his muscles.

"You're in the wrong company for that then, darlin',"

The nickname jars you out of your thoughts, but it does absolutely nothing to quell the desire that had reared its head in your chest just seconds ago.

"I digress," you declare, trying to distract yourself from staring at him too much, "You're a good conversationalist when you want to be, Miller,"

"I'm so flattered you think so," Joel retorts sarcastically, and you smile into your drink, letting out something that sounds halfway between a giggle and a chuckle.

The sound bounces off the walls of the kitchen, and it makes Joel smile, aware that he's turned away from you and you can't see his reaction to your laugh.

"How was your day?" you ask after a second, your voice exaggerated.

"It was good," Joel says simply, aware that it's making you want to tear your hair out, "Fixin' the barn,"

"That was six words, Joel," you say, voice jokingly incredulous, "This is seriously like pulling teeth,"

Joel chuckles again, shrugging his shoulder, before he turns to look at you, grabbing his glass as he leans against the counter.

"Sounds like you got a decent challenge ahead of you then," he tells you, raising a teasing eyebrow as he takes a sip of his gin, corner of his mouth pulled into what can best be described as a troublemaker smile.

You love this side of Joel. Underneath all the rugged, surly exterior, he has something else to him; a witty remark, a teasing smile, a flirty comment. . .he has more depth to him than you'd ever expected at first glance, and something that spells trouble, something that drives you absolutely crazy.

"Never one to shirk from an honest challenge," you say, raising your own eyebrows, before you clear your throat.

Another silence fills the room as you look at each other, waiting for the other to say something.

"Okay," you say in a breath, rolling your eyes, "I guess it's up to me. . .but you actually have to answer some of my questions, okay? You can't just give me a wall of silence," you tell Joel, and he raises a joking eyebrow.

"Wall of silence?" he asks, and you give him a look.

"You know exactly what I mean," you tell him, pressing your lips together in thought, before you give a victorious expression, ". . . in fact, every time you pass on a question you have to drink," Joel chuckles, shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest, still leaning against the counter.  "I can do that," "Okay. . .what is-. . .," you trail off as your eyes sweep across the kitchen as you think of what to ask Joel, "-your favorite color?' "My favorite color?" Joel repeats, and he gives you a mocking impressed face, "Those keen conversational skills really helping you along aren't they?' "Joel," you warningly, and he sighs, arms uncrossing. "It's green," he tells you, "My favorite color is green. . .what's your favorite color?" "I'm asking the questions!" you say with a small laugh, and Joel gives you a furrowed brow, corners of his mouth pulling into a smile. "Come on, you really think I'm going to let you interrogate me without at least getting to return the favor?" he asks you, eyes boring into yours You press your lips together as you let out a joking scoff through your nose. "Fine, you can ask me questions, too–"

"And If I have to drink when I pass–" he muses, to which you roll your eyes again.

"–so will I," you assure him, before grimacing, "Though with my tolerance, I might not make it to dinner,"

Joel snorts, eyebrows raising slightly in agreement as he turns back to the counter. "You didn't answer my question,"

"My favorite color is yellow," you inform him, and you watch as the back of his head nods.

"That makes sense," you hear him say, as your fingers tap nervously on the table, thinking of what to ask.

"Dream job?" you ask, before adding, "And you can't say contractor,"

Joel is silent for a second. "Farmer,"

You don't say anything, despite your eyebrows raising in surprise, and Joel peers over his shoulder when you stay quiet.

"Favorite season?" he asks, and you smile, giving him a pained look.

"Summer," you say in a groan, and he laughs, shaking his head as he continues chopping, "Which sucks because Jackson mostly has winter,"

"The summers here can be nice," Joel notes, and you let out a breath.

"Sure," you agree, "They can be nice. . . nothing compared to the ones we used to get in Nevada, though,"

"I bet," he notes, and you let out another wistful breath.

"Do you need help?" you ask him, and he shakes his head.

"Think I can manage some dinner,"

"But it'll be faster if I help," you protest, "Come on, I can chop some vegetables, or something,"

"Alright," Joel eventually agrees, and you get to your feet, making your way over to stand next to him, before holding out your hand.

"Put me in chef," you tell him half seriously, but the corners of your mouth are pulled up into that smile.

You're standing close to him, but not so close that you're crowding him. Your smell nevertheless tickles Joel's nostrils in a pleasant way.

Joel's own mouth twitches in mild amusement as he hands you the knife, handle down, and slides the cutting board over. "You chop these, then. . . I'll get started on the onions,"

"Good thing, too," you say with a nod, before getting to work as Joel moves away from you, "Onions make me cry like a baby. . . cutting board is in the third drawer under the stove,"

Joel chuckles as he rummages around for another cutting board and a knife, grabbing an onion from the bag.

"Okay," you hum, nothing but the sound of chopping filling the kitchen, "Any hobbies?"

"I thought you were helping," Joel comments pointedly, and you snort.

"You're not getting away from me that easy," you tell him, "I can help and interrogate, at the same time,"

"That so?" Joel hums as he chops the onions, eyes moving to you for a second and meeting your gaze.

"Yes," you tell him, nodding as a mischievous smile overtakes our features, "I'm a very good multitasker. . . now. . . hobbies,"

Almost the entire bottle and an entire dinner later, you and Joel are sitting on opposite sides of the dinner table, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink. You'd just stood up to reach into the cupboard for another bottle of something to replace the almost empty one on the table, reaching up into the cupboard. The shirt you're wearing rides up as you do, and Joel finds his eyes drawn to the exposed skin of your waist.

"I got one," you declare as you pause from reaching in the cupboard "Any tattoos?"

Joel actually laughs, head tilting back for a minute before he returns with his eyebrows raised but his smile intact. "An old man like me?"

"I'm sure you were young once," you counter with a laugh, and he shakes his head with another chuckle.

"Very funny," he tells you as you pull a bottle of wine from the cupboard, "Where'd that come from?"

"Emergencies," you tell him with a cheeky smile, before pursing your lips, "Or nice dinners,"

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Joel tells you, before downing the sip of gin that was still in his glass, and you hum as you come to sit back down.

"It was," you tell him, and when Joel looks at you, you give him an expectant look, "You never answered my question,"

"I have one," Joel says with a sigh, "But I got it when I was drunk, with Tommy. . . it's a stupid one,"

You let out a laugh as you open the bottle of wine. "No way! Where is it?"

"That's two questions," Joel reminds you, and you snort sarcastically, raising a single eyebrow.

"Didn't know we were actually keeping count, Miller," you retort, and Joel just smiles as he shakes his head, before he clears his throat as he sits up a little straighter.

"It's on my thigh," he tells you eventually, and a grin spreads over your face as you shake your head, before pouring him some wine.

"Classic," you say in a laugh, "I bet it was popular,"

"It was," Joel says in a humorous tone, nodding as he watches you pour yourself a drink, "What about you?"

Your eyes look up at him as your put the bottle down, tongue kissing your teeth.

"I do," you say, deliberately not elaborating, and Joel's eyebrows raise a little.

"I shared, darlin', now it's your turn," he tells you, and you laugh a little, teeth chewing into your lip as you look away, maybe a little bashfully.

When you look back at him, you speak. "I have four,"

Joel's eyes go a little wide as he looks at you in surprise. "Four? How come I haven't noticed four tattoos?"

"It's not that many," you defend, before shrugging nonchalantly, "Besides, they're not in places I usually show a lot of people,"

"Like exclusive access?" Joel jokes, and you give a full laugh, head tipping back slightly as your shoulders shake.

"Exactly like exclusive access," you return in between laughs, and for a second, it's just the two of you, sitting in your kitchen, laughing.

It feels almost normal, like you're just two adults, having dinner; no Jackson, no cordyceps, no apocalypse.

You take another sip of wine, eye calculating as you think about your next question.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" you ask him finally, putting down your glass.  

Joel thinks about this one, leaning back in his chair, legs parting slightly in such a way that makes you fight the desire in your belly, pressing your legs together slightly as your heartbeat skips slightly. You fight an urge to blush at your own thoughts, chastising yourself for sitting here drooling over a man that's nearly twice your age.

"Yes," he says eventually, nodding, and your mouth parts slightly in disbelief, mouth curling into a teasing smile.

"You believe in love at first sight? You? Ice King Joel Miller believes in love at first sight?"

"Ice king?" Joel asks, raising an eyebrow, "You're giving me a bad rap, darlin',"

"You did that all by yourself," you note, half under your breath, taking a sip of your drink, and he frowns slightly.

"What do you mean?" he asks you, his interest peaked, and something bashful crosses your face.

"Nothing," you say in a nonchalant voice as you pour yourself more wine, the bottle already emptying way faster than you intended it to, and Joel raises an eyebrow as he sits back in his chair again. It's taking a lot of willpower for you not to stare at the way his legs spread or his arms cross, making the biceps under his t-shirt bulge.  

"I'm going to try that again," he tells you, and his voice is almost chastising as his eyes pierce yours, "And this time you aren't going to lie to me,"

"Or what?" you ask him, shaking your head with a small smirk, drinking again. You don't know why you challenge him, but you feel some enjoyment at the way Joel's eyebrows fly up his forehead in surprise and he kisses his teeth in mild annoyance as you let out a sarcastic chuckle into your glass, "You going to put me over your knee, grandpa?"

"Who says I won't?" Joel retorts swiftly, and he raises a single eyebrow as his eyes bore into yours.

It makes your heart skip, and something about his level, raspy tone sets something alight in your lower belly, which you try desperately to ignore. Joel enjoys the way your eyes flash with surprise and something he thinks he recognizes as lust, but it's gone so fast he can't say it with any certainty.

You're silent as you press your lips together, before you eventually let out a breath. "It's nothing major. . . just a bit of a reputation you have going,"

"As what?" Joel asks, frown deepening, but eyes still alight with curiosity as he scrutinizes your face.

"Emotionally unavailable, I guess?" you supply, and you try your hardest to keep your tone as neutral as possible, despite the knots of unease in your stomach.

Saying it about Joel was one thing; saying it to Joel? Awkward as fuck.    

Joel seems to think about that, staying silent as you fight an urge to wring your hands.

"Listen, it's nothing too bad," you tell him, giving him a tense smile, "I mean, it could be worse. . ."

"Worse?" Joel asks you, almost jokingly, and you grimace.

"Eugene's blacklisted for being selfish," you offer, "That's pretty bad,"

"Blacklisted?" Joel lets out in a splutter, putting down his glass with a thunk, "By who?"

You shrug. "Women talk, Joel. . . this is a small community, word gets around,"

Joel seems to consider this, before he reaches over the table and grabs the bottle from where it had been standing in front you.

"And," he says, pouring himself another glass, "Is he?"

"Is who?" you ask, frowning quizzically, and Joel looks up at you as he takes a sip front the glass.

"Eugene," he tells you patiently, eyes curious, "He really selfish?"

"How am I supposed to know that?" you ask him, before you narrow your eyes at him, "You asking me if I've slept with Eugene, Joel?"

Joel stays still for a second, shrugging. "Just wonderin' whether you have any proof to back up these claims,"

"I have plenty of proof," you retort, giving him a look, "He went on a few dates with Jeannie last year and she told me he barely even touched her when they–"

You stop yourself, clamping your mouth shut and pressing your lips together, before you shake your head. "We're getting off topic,"

"Off topic?" Joel asks humorously, "I'd say we just got on topic,"

"I'm not talking any more about this," you tell him, but the corners of your mouth pulling up into a smile betray you.  

"You can't just bring it up and leave me guessing," Joel replies, and you let out a frustrated breath, "Now I sort of want to know how selfish Eugene is,"

"Didn't have you pegged for a gossip, Miller," you tell him, raising your eyebrows, and he shrugs.  

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, darlin',"

"Hence the game we were playing,"

"Mmh," Joel hums non-commitally, "Still waiting on that answer,"  

"Listen, all I know is that when Bonnie slept with him a few months ago, he didn't reciprocate much. . . apparently it lasted all of 5 minutes and not one was spent on her,"

Joel grimaces, nodding in agreement. "That sounds pretty bad,"

"I told you," you say victoriously, and he chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

"You sound entirely too pleased about it," he comments, and you snort.

"I'm not surprised, is what I am," you inform him, taking a sip of your wine, "Eugene is. . . well, Eugene,"

"You seem pretty close," Joel notes, and you don't know if you hear something else in his voice other than curiosity. You raise a single eyebrow.

"You asking something?" you ask him. 

"I'm not asking nothin'," Joel denies, putting his hands up, and you shake your head, corners of your mouth twitching into a smile. Then, you let out a small breath.

"When I first got to Jackson, Eugene's the one that let me in. . . I was a mess. . . hypothermic, covered in blood, barely alive, and for all he knew I could've been part of some elaborate raiding scheme, or infected. He had every reason not to let me in, but he did. . . he's the reason I'm alive," you explain to Joel, before clearing your throat, "Maria was furious with him, which I guess I understand. . . she has her own people to protect. . . but he never let up. He didn't even know me, and he stood up for me when they were still considering throwing me back out,"

"I didn't know that," Joel comments, and you let out a small chuckle.

"You know the old bank building?" you ask, and he nods.

"Maria said it worked as a jail but they'd never used it,"

"Oh, they used it alright," you say with a curt smile, "They hadn't learned to train those nifty dogs yet when I got to Jackson, and I was covered in so many cuts and scrapes they couldn't figure out whether or not I'd been bitten. . . didn't matter what I said. I was in there for two whole weeks while they waited it out, and Eugene came to see me every single day. . . Tommy, too, but it took him a few days before he started showing up. . . he'd only been there a few months himself, and I guess he wasn't keen to step on anybody's toes, which I understood,"

"Jesus," Joel mutters, and you can see the flash of unease in his eyes at the thought of you locked up in one of the makeshift cells of the bank, "Not the warmest welcome,"

"I can't blame them," you remark, raising your shoulders in a half-shrug, "It's a miracle this place has survived as long as it has. . . I would also have been apprehensive,"

"But, to answer your earlier question–" you say, clearing your throat as you sit up straight.

Because we both know what you were really asking.

"–Eugene tried to kiss on me once, and I laughed at him, so safe to say we are friends," 

Joel makes another grimace, trying to hide the pleased expression on his face as best he can, but you can still see it in his eyes. "Nothing like laughter to crush a man's ego,"

"Some egos need crushing," you tell him with a single raised eyebrow, before taking a sip of your drink.

"That's true enough," he agrees, before a silence falls over the two of you. After a second, you let out a breath, looking at the pile of dishes in your sink.

"I better do those before Bonnie comes home," you tell him, getting to your feet, "She has a thing about dishes in the sink,"

Joel gives a rare, knowing smile. "I'll help ya out,"

"Thanks," you say with a small smile as you reach the sink, turning the tap on as Joel comes to stand next to you, "Grab that towel? You're on drying duty,"

"Yes, ma'am," he jokes, grabbing one of the towels hanging off the handle of the cabinet.

"Ok, your turn to ask questions, now," you inform him as you start cleaning off some of the plates, "I'm out of ideas,"

"Alright," he says with a nod, before pausing to think, "You never told me what your tattoos were,"

"Now what did we say about exclusive access?" you retort, turning your head to raise a playful eyebrow at him, and he turns to look at you, corners of his mouth twitching slightly. You're practically standing shoulder to shoulder like this, his arm and leg brushing against yours from time to time, sending shockwaves up your spine.

"You tellin' me I gotta find a way to figure it out for myself?" he asks you, and his tone is lower than it was before as he looks at you, his eyes dancing with humor in the light of the kitchen as you give an innocent shrug, sucking some air between your teeth in a teasing sound, lips pulled into an almost-smile.

"Can't just go around telling everyone, now can I? Kinda defeats the whole 'exclusive' point," you muse, and he lets out something that sounds like a chuckle as he raises his eyebrows, nodding slightly as his tongue runs alongside the inside of his cheek.

Joel is so close to you now, you can smell the gin and wine on his breath. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to, his gaze saying enough for the both of you as it briefly moves from your eyes to the other features on your face, lingering on your lips a second longer. You feel something which you think are his fingertips, ghost the side of your hand, which is resting on the edge of the sink, and you swallow as you look up at him.

"What?" you ask him, quietly, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugs slightly. 

"I didn't say anything,"

"You're looking at me," you say pointedly, and Joel's mouth curls into a gentle, but teasing smile.

"Is it illegal to look at a beautiful woman?"

You swallow, hard, your chest thumping underneath your shirt.

"Are you calling me beautiful?" you ask him, and to your surprise, he nods.

"Yes," he says simply, confidently, his breath fanning over your lips, "Is that a problem?"

You're silent for a second, eyes looking into his as he watches your reaction. "No,"

The smile on Joel's mouth widens slightly as he leans closer to you, lips getting closer to your.

"Good," he whispers, before he moves to kiss you.

Except he doesn't.

Joel doesn't kiss you because at the last minute, heart beating furiously against your ribcage, you turn your head slightly to the side. His lips barely brush over the corner of your mouth before Joel freezes, which makes you cringe.

Stupid.

Joel pulls away from you slightly to look at you, and despite the amount of drinks you've had, your heart is beating a million miles per hour as you and Joel stare at each other, embarrassment dawning in his eyes as he pulls away from you more, closing his mouth and swallowing.

It's at that exact moment that you hear the front door swing open.

"Hello? You home, hot-stuff?"

Your eyes widen slightly as Bonnie's voice travels through the house, her nickname for you making your cheeks burn. Joel fully steps away from you now, putting quite a bit of distance between the two of you as he steps away from the sink and the counter, putting the towel down on the counter.

"Joel–" you start as you move away from the counter, but Bonnie's voice interrupts whatever you were going to say.

"I was working in the fucking school all day, and then we had movie night," she continues as her voice gets closer and you try and catch Joel's eye, but he isn't looking at you, "I know everyone loves the kid, but I swear little Johnny Raster is such a little cun– Oh, hello,"

Bonnie is a tall and broad-shouldered woman, and even though she looks relatively imposing to those who don't know her, she happens to be one of the friendliest people in Jackson. That's not to say she takes shit; quite the opposite, really, she has an even lower tolerance for it than you do, and you wouldn't recommend pissing her off.  She's standing in the doorway, dark hair pulled into a ponytail behind her head, green eyes observing the scene carefully. "Didn't know we were expecting company,"

"I was just on my way out, actually," Joel says, clearing his throat as he gives a slight, curt smile, "Ellie will have gotten home by now,"

"Yeah, I thought I saw the light at your place," Bonnie tells him, and Joel nods, still not looking your way.

"Right, that's my cue, then," he says, clearing his throat again, demeanour beyond awkward, before he looks up at you very briefly, "Thanks for the drinks. . . good night,"

"Good night, Joel," you say, your voice soft, and you try to disguise the undertone of pity.

You want to explain yourself desperately, but something about the look on Joel's face makes you think that wouldn't go down very well right now, anyway.

He grunts out a 'Bye' to Bonnie as he practically flees out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing down the hall before you hear the distinct noise of the front door opening and closing.

"What's with him?" Bonnie asks, one eyebrow creasing down quizzically crunching her face as steps into the kitchen, "He seems even surlier than usual," 

"Don't know," you say airily, and she directs her scrutinous gaze at you as she picks up the bottle of wine, sniffing it.

"That's a pile of bullshit," she tells you disbelievingly, "What happened?"

You're silent for a minute, before letting out a sigh. "He tried to kiss me,"

"And you didn't want him to. . .?" Bonnie suggests, her tone confused as her sentence hangs in the air, before she frowns slightly, "He's hot,"

"I sort of dodged him," you tell her, grimacing.

"Ouch," Bonnie groans out, sucking some air between her teeth, "Well, that explains it,"

"Yeah," you agree, chewing on your lip, "It was really stupid,"

"I mean you're allowed to say no," Bonnie reassures you, "But did you want to say no?"

"I don't know," you tell her honestly, chewing on your lip as your stomach swirls with conflicting feelings, and she hums.

"Well, you better figure it out fast, hot-stuff," she tells you, putting the glasses in the sink, "Because if we can't call Joel when the banister in the hall acts up again, I'm going to need to learn to be a contractor real quick,"

You don't see Joel at all the next day; not in the town, not at the small market in the square you know he usually goes to on Saturday mornings. You think you spot him working on the scaffolding with the same group as yesterday, but you don't go and investigate, partly out of your own embarrassment, and partly out of respect for the fact that he's probably avoiding you for a reason.

Instead you spend the day cleaning the house, and helping Bonnie with her projects, and before you know it the sky is darkening again and you're on your way to the Tipsy Bison for your shift. You don't mind bartending, and there was no doubt you were a right sight better at it then you were at healing.

The bar is relatively empty when you arrive at 6pm, and doesn't start to fill up until around half past seven, when people typically finish up dinner and the patrons start trickling in. To make matters even more crowded, it's Saturday, and given the Tipsy Bison is the only bar in Jackson, Saturdays are usually the busiest nights of the week. Not that you weren't used to it; when you'd started a year and a half ago, Seth, who ran the place, hadn't hesitated to put you on Saturdays almost immediately, because, to quote "Who doesn't like to be served beer by a pretty girl on their night off?"

The people didn't really bother you, and to be honest, you'd gotten used to it pretty quickly, becoming a near expert in warding off any unwanted attention in a graceful way.

"Can I get a whiskey?" comes a familiar voice from behind the bar just as you're filling up a beer, and you look to meet Tommy's kind eyes, your face breaking into a smile.

"Whiskey?" you ask, frowning jokingly as you set the beer down for another patron, "That isn't your usual order,"

Tommy's eyes flash with something that looks like unease, and it takes a second for your eyes to move from Tommy over the bar, eventually falling on the one person you know likes himself a whiskey. Joel is sitting at one of the tables with the rest of the guys, observing your interaction, but when your eyes move towards him, he pretends to busy himself talking to Eugene. Your stomach sinks.

"Ah," you let out, your tone awkward as you look back at Tommy, your smile having dropped from genuine to half-disappointed as your eyes flash with something akin to sadness, "That's because it's not for you,"  

Tommy clears his throat. "Look, I told him to just–"

You raise your hand to interrupt him, giving him a small smile as you shake your head. "It's okay, Tommy. . . you don't have to explain anything to me,"

"Right," he says, clearing his throat with an awkward smile as you pour the drink.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask him pointedly, and he nods, swallowing.

"Just a beer for me, thanks,"

It takes a second for you to make the drinks, and you strike up a conversation with him as you do. "You guys finished fixing the building yet?"

"Almost," Tommy says with a nod, "Though we missed your usual coffee delivery today,"

"Sorry," you grimace slightly, eyes flicking over to Joel for a second before they fall back on Tommy, "I, uh–. . . didn't want to make anybody uncomfortable, y'know?"

You're almost positive Tommy knows what went down between you and Joel last night; either his brother told him, or he guessed it when Joel sent him over here to order him a drink, but you can see it in the way his expression morphs into one of awkward understanding.

"Well, I can't speak for everyone, but you could never make me uncomfortable, kiddo," Tommy informs you, and the smile you give him is genuine.

"I appreciate that," you tell him, laughing slightly as you put down the two drinks, "here you are,"

Tommy nods as he picks up the drinks, before he seems to hesitate.

"For what it's worth, I told him he should talk to you about it, at least,"

"Well, you can lead a horse to water. . . " you say with a tight-lipped smile, and Tommy nods with a snort.

"Too fucking right you are," he notes, which makes you chuckle.

"Have a nice night, Tommy,"

"You too, kiddo. . . anybody gives you trouble we'll be right over there,"

"Thanks," you say with a small chuckle.

The rest of the evening goes by relatively smoothly, save for a few over-zealous customers near the end of your shift that you manage to handle, but not before you notice from the corner of your eye how Joel straightens in his seat, eyes boring into the side of your face as he gages the situation.

You weren't surprised; ever since that incident with Sean Mixon a few months back, when you'd first started doing closing shifts on busy nights, Joel had stayed close by. It hadn't been anything too serious, but you'd ended up on Joel and Ellie's porch after closing time on the verge of tears to ask if he'd had any antiseptic for a grizzly looking cut on your arm. You'd gotten it after Sean had flown into a drunken rage and hurled a glass at your head when you'd asked him to leave, and one of the ricocheting shards had caught your skin. It hadn't necessarily been the worst of cuts, but you'd been pretty shaken up nevertheless, and given Bonnie had been away on a night patrol at the time, you'd ended up sleeping on their couch. 

After that, Joel had been there every time you worked a closing shift, come rain or shine, always staying all the way until the end. Even though he'd generally leave along with the last customer, you could always see Joel's living room light on and the curtains open as you walked home, sat in a chair reading or playing guitar but always keeping an eye on your porch as you got home.

This evening was no different, and it felt admittedly comforting to know Joel wasn't so angry with you he wasn't here as usual.

You'd spent the last 10 minutes doing most of your cleanup so you could corner Joel on your way out. You'd had pretty much the entire night to think and watch him, which had culminated into you talking yourself into what would probably be a relatively awkward confrontation about what had happened yesterday.

You wait and watch as Joel leaves, not looking in your direction, before you grab your coat off the chair and flick the light off, hurrying out of the door after him.

"Joel!" you call, watching as he stops in his tracks and turns back towards you, "Wait a second,"

You turn back to the door, locking it hastily, almost afraid he'll have taken off by the time you turn back, but he hasn't. He's standing still, half-facing you, hands stuffed into his jean pockets and shoulder hunched against the cold as you give him an awkward smile, jogging to catch up with him.

"Look, about earlier. . . " you start as you level with him, and Joel has to admit to himself he's surprised by the fact you get right to it. He had at least been expecting an attempt at some uneasy small talk.

"It's okay," Joel assures you quickly, hands still in his pockets, "I promise I can handle getting rejected. . . I was just a little caught off guard, yesterday, I thought–. . . well, it doesn't matter,"

"It's not that I'm not interested," you offer, almost timidly, and Joel feels a jolt in his chest at your words, despite himself, eyes moving from the ground to meet yours, "I just–. . . I want us to be on the same page,"

Joel raises his eyebrows slightly, his look urging you to continue.

You wring your hands slightly, letting out a breath that curls into the cold night air as your turns and start walking home, Joel falling into step with you. "Look, I'm not really a dater. . .um–. . . I lost someone I loved a few years ago and it was the most pain I think I've ever felt in my life,"

Joel is silent as you walk, hands in his pockets as he listens to you speak, patient, open.

He can see the grief in your eyes, but also a peace, one he'd longed to find for so many years and had only partially regained when he'd met Ellie. Sarah was a part of him he would always miss; the pain had only gotten less frequent, but it was never gone entirely, lingering within him like a smouldering flame.

"I'm just not eager to feel that again," you explain, giving him a watery smile, "So I just don't really get, er, involved. . . with, people. . . that's why I kind of dodged you, yesterday,"

Joel watches as your brow frowns slightly as you seem to cringe at your own words, taking another nervous breath as your fingers hang by your side, tapping your leg uneasily.

"At all?" Joel asks after a second, and your eyes shoot up from where they'd been on your feet to meet his.

His gaze is earnest, and you can tell he's genuinely curious, too. There's something else there, too, which you can't identify but gives you the nagging feeling you might've read Joel Miller wrong, after all.

"I mean, not at all," you bring out, frowning slightly as the corner of your mouth pull up into a slight smile, "I might be emotionally unavailable, but I'm not a nun,"

Joel lets out a small laugh, steps slowing as they come to a stop, and you look at him with a smile, stopping to face him. It's not very close to him, but Joel's steps carry him a little closer to you, closing the gap further until you're standing face to face. 

"Good to know you're still open to enjoying the finer things in life," he jokes, and now it's your turn to laugh, shaking your head as Joel watches the smile on your features.

"Yes, I am," you say with a remaining chuckle, clearing your throat slightly as you look up at him.

"So–" he speaks after a second, swallowing as his eyes draw you in, voice slightly deeper than it had been a second ago, "If I were to kiss you, say, right now–"

His gaze moves for a split second from your eyes down to your lips, "You wouldn't object?"

"Joel. . ." you say his name in half-warning, but you can already feel the pads of his finger ghosting the fabric of your coat, and you swallow, "We can't get involved. . . this can't become a mess,"

Joel hums slightly, and you feel his hand move, pressing his palm over the curve of your waist as his eyes look for yours, "Heard you the first time, darlin'. . . I can be casual. . . that's what you're saying, ain't it?"

You look up at him, into his eyes, and Joel can tell you're fighting with yourself.

You are. Parts of you are protesting that this is a slippery slope, that this is dangerous, and then the other parts of you are drawn to him; his presence, his smell, his eyes. . .god, those eyes. He has an almost irresistible look in his eyes, coupled with the beginnings of that troublemaker smile he has that's oh so rare – but oh so attractive.

It's like a moth to a flame, and when you feel Joel's hand move under the hem of your coat, thumb pressing a gentle circle on your lower waist over the fabric of your t-shirt, you can barely stop yourself from throwing yourself at him right then and there. You draw in a sharp breath, and feel the corners of your mouth pull up into a coquettish smile as you give in to him.

"Well then," you say, and your voice is almost a whisper, your breath fanning Joel's lips, "You going to kiss me then, Miller? Or are you going to wait around for the grass to grow?"

He chuckles, and it's low in his chest as you feel his hand flatten against your waist, pulling you flush against him so your lips are mere inches from his, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. "You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?"

"Trust me, it's good for other things, too," you suggest, your voice half teasing, and Joel chuckles again, his nose bumping up against yours as his eyes dive deep into yours, rich and intoxicating and darkening slightly at your words.

"Well, in that case. . . "

Joel doesn't finish he sentence before he leans in, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

It's everything you imagined kissing Joel would be like, and as your lips move, reciprocating, you feel his other hand come up, fingers ghosting the side of your neck before you feel the pads of his fingers on your jaw line. When you press further against him, his hand moves to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing the hair at the base of your skull, under your ear, pulling you closer to him as you melt against his chest.

Finally, after a second, you pull away from each other to catch your breath, but as you do, you trap Joel's bottom lip between your teeth gently, tugging on it slightly as you pull away from him. You feel his hands tighten around your waist, and it makes the corners of your mouth twitch upwards in a smirk as you open your eyes to look back him. He's looking down at you, pupils blown wide and a half-conflicted look in his eyes.

"What?" you ask him, voice almost a whisper, and he shrugs.

"I'm trying to decide if it's too crass to ask to take you home tonight," Joel says, almost carefully, and your smile grows slightly as you chuckle, before you lean in and kiss him again.

This one is longer, more inviting, and your hand moves Joel's from your waist down to the curve of your ass. Joel lets something akin to a groan against your mouth as his fingers dig into your ass, and you pull away from him with another teasing smile.

"I'd be a little disappointed if you didn't take me home, Miller," you muse, and now Joel's mouth curls into a genuine smile as you feel his hand take yours.

"What are we still standing around talking for, then, darlin'? Let's go home,"   

[m00nsbaby]

Violent things.

Steven Grant + Marc Spector + Jake Lockley x F! reader. Part I. (Out of 3.)

Tags & warnings. Lots of talks about death, violence, abuse. Inspired by Moon Knight's 5 episode x Corpse Bride. (+ this one is for my delulu girls since the reader is a bit delulu lol.)

Word count. 6.2k

Summary.

"Oh man!" What an interesting accent. "Wow, these meds are really amazing," he whispered as he tried to catch his breath. Hah, he did that too. "I thought I was dead." He hadn't even looked at you properly; he was just suddenly relieved to be in the presence of someone else. "Oh, no," you cleared your throat. "You are dead."

Each person had a different 'other side.'

Except you. Or well, technically, you had it, but it had been a long time since you'd been in it. In fact, apart from the bright colors, you couldn't remember much of it.

You'd been in excessively bright representations of what people imagine as 'heaven,' parties with mead, and you'd even tried candies that would have turned your tongue green if you'd eaten them in life.

Although, of course, that's how the most common ones looked; there were stranger ones too. People seeing themselves in their tiny cat-filled apartment or wandering the halls of their old school. Either way, it was fine because it was only temporary while they reached their destination.

Everyone except you.

And a few others who had the misfortune of lacking emotional intelligence even in death.

Literally.

It's okay, though. Over the years, you got used to this 'life' and the idea that you would never see him again, although getting used to it didn't mean you stopped missing him.

Stopped thinking about him.

Stopped wanting him back.

Anyway, work kept you busy because, yes, even in death, you couldn't escape the damn bureaucracy. You didn't have a real name for your boss because she also looked different to each person; to you, her face was very similar to that of an old friend, even though you couldn't specify which one.

She took pity on you somehow. She explained your situation, although it took you a lot of energy and time to understand it. She did everything possible to keep you from becoming one of those lost souls who simply roamed around here. She also pulled you back onto the path when you began to stray.

"There are 3."

You frowned.

"What do you mean, there are 3?"

"There are 3." she shrugged as you walked through the corridors of the psychiatric void. This was a new scenario, and your clothes were different too. Something more modern, you didn't recognize it as something from your time.

Yes, a few years weren't that long, but fashion moved disgustingly fast in the world of the living.

"Do you think you can handle them?" Should you mention to the boss that she looks like a chatty hippo, or is that the kind of thing you keep quiet to maintain good working relations?

You bit your lip and then nodded.

"Good luck." Her mocking smile was never a good sign.

Before you could object, she had disappeared. You took a deep breath; those were funny expressions that had stuck with you even now that you didn't have to breathe for real.

Your shoes echoed in the empty halls as you headed for what you assumed was the main entrance.

The door opened by itself.

Or rather, it opened before you even extended your hand.

"Whoa." You muttered, your eyes widening at the guy in front of you.

A rebellious curl fell over his forehead, and his huge brown eyes were even wider in surprise. He was dressed appropriately for the situation; it looked like a uniform for a psychiatric ward patient, and although it was loose-fitting, you would swear you could see his muscles from miles away.

And he, on the other hand, practically screamed in your face.

"Shit!" He jumped in place, bringing a hand to his chest as he laughed in disbelief.

Oh yeah, there was a bloodstain right on his chest. Nothing to worry about, not anymore at least; once you died, you technically couldn't die twice.

Although finding a functional washing machine in any of the many 'beyonds' was trickier than it seemed. If this Marc Spector guy was in the same situation as you, it was quite likely that he would spend the rest of eternity with that stain on his clothes.

Unless the boss offered him a job.

It would be wonderful to have him here forever.

Were you overthinking? Probably.

"Oh man!" What an interesting accent. "Wow, these meds are really amazing," he whispered as he tried to catch his breath.

Hah, he did that too.

"I thought I was dead." He hadn't even looked at you properly; he was just suddenly relieved to be in the presence of someone else.

"Oh, no," you cleared your throat. "You are dead."

Your voice sent shivers down his spine, and when he finally bothered to look at you more closely, you could see a touch of fear in his expression.

You were used to it by now, so why did it hurt this time?

"You're joking."

"Maybe if there was someone else to see me lying to you, it would be more fun, don't you think?" You tried to joke, but the poor guy seemed on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

That was a good sign; maybe you could keep him after all.

Marc pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as he tried to regain his composure.

"Do you expect me to believe this is the afterlife?"

"No, not the afterlife, an afterlife. This one is yours, well, for now, this is the path."

He fell silent, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if his body still needed oxygen.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But he never said anything, so you caught his attention by clearing your throat.

"Welcome, dear… traveler," you murmured as you clumsily searched for your notes in your pockets.

Ah, there they are.

"I will be in charge of…" You continued reading. "Guiding you on your way to…" How could you call this? Heaven? Valhalla? Mictlan? "What comes next."

Marc looked at you as if you were crazy, and you had no choice but to continue.

"It's a place that's difficult for the human mind to comprehend, so for you, it's something more…" You looked around with a furrowed brow. "Familiar."

He scoffed, his tone full of irony.

"I really am crazy," he muttered in a whisper.

"Together, we will traverse the 10 steps that will lead you to eternal rest." Your arm moved awkwardly up and down. What a stupid choreography your boss had given you. "Although," you stepped out of character. "Sometimes they are doors, and it seems that will be the case this time."

"Who are you?" He asked out of nowhere, and you swallowed hard.

"Your guide."

"Are you some kind of… Goddess? Are you God?"

You laughed, partly embarrassed, partly genuinely amused.

"I'm just your guide."

Marc had to settle for your answer.

"Are you ready?"

"Can one be ready for something like this?"

You shook your head but gave him a resigned smile. You felt sorry for him, as well as for all those who passed through your hands, but at least you did your part by taking them to what you would never know.

You offered him your hand, and hesitantly, he took it.

The contact with his skin made you swear that your heart was beating again.

You took a slow step through the corridors of the psychiatric ward with him behind you, his fingers gradually clinging to you. This was the first time in a long time that Marc allowed himself to be afraid, even when his thoughts were divided between his desire to cling to life and, on the other hand, that 'finally' feeling that had been intoxicating him for the past 10 years, ever since Roro left.

A few minutes of walking, and you knew by pure intuition which was the first door.

Unfinished business.

The first scene was… Something.

No one likes to witness the way they died, but much less what happens afterward. Have you ever heard that the last sense you lose is your hearing? Marc could clearly hear Layla scream his name just after the gunshot.

Or at least, his body managed to register the sound because he didn't remember it, but you could clearly see the scene at this moment.

"You left something unfinished." Your voice was as gentle as you could make it as you surrounded his body on the ground.

A strange feeling overcame you as you watched the curly-haired girl kneel beside him.

Holding him, begging him to come back.

Not sadness or pity, as it usually happened; you felt… uncomfortable? Annoyed?

Marc released your hand to get closer, appreciating the scene up close, and you knew how much he wished to touch Layla when his hand moved in her direction, trying to get her attention.

"Layla?" He whispered, his voice broken, his attention focused solely on her. He didn't even look at his body, which was slowly giving in. He didn't realize how she cradled him between her cheeks and kissed his lips one last time just now.

Your stomach churned; fortunately, you had already forgotten when was the last time you had ingested something.

"Baby?" He asked louder, and you knew it was time to intervene.

"She can't hear you," you whispered from behind, only able to observe Marc's back. The way his body contracted and suffered from small spasms due to crying.

Isn't it curious how all those things become muscle memory? Your breathing shouldn't be a problem when you weren't in your physical body, yet these things still happened.

"What were you doing here?" Your gaze wandered through the darkness inside the pyramid, your steps careful as you approached the open tomb of God knows who. A disgusted expression appeared on your lips at the sight of the mummified corpse.

Everything was better when you pretended that maybe you didn't really look like this.

Marc gave an ironic laugh, still crying, but you decided to give him space.

"I was trying to save the world."

You scoffed. 'Well, to each their own,' you thought as your fingers traced the edge of the tomb.

Hopefully, they buried you in something nice and expensive too.

"This might hold you here; we still don't know what will happen next because it's very recent."

"No." He interrupted, still kneeling in front of himself.

It turns out that the last thing his body registered was the way Layla grabbed his chest, taking something that rested on it afterward. The girl stood up, still with a broken heart but doing her best not to collapse.

You recognized that expression quite well.

"She'll take care of it."

Everything around him became blurry, apparently, that was the point at which he stopped fighting.

Marc slowly got to his feet, his eyes red, and he sniffed repeatedly. If you had the chance, maybe you'd tell him that he didn't need to do that, nothing would come out of his nose.

He looked good, though, even after getting shot, he still seemed attractive.

The good thing is that you still had 9 different opportunities to make him stay with you, but there was still one question. What did the boss mean when she said there were 3? An administrative error or something like that?

"She'll figure it out," he sounded sure as he pressed his nose bridge and took deep breaths. "She'll fix it."

"Then this is closed." You shrugged. Over time, you learned which dead ones to trust and which not to. Maybe Marc wasn't so wrong.

Nine opportunities.

"Congratulations." You offered him your hand, and he took it again.

That had to mean something, right?

You didn't pay much attention to the way he looked back, as if that would give him one last look at Layla. She had been gone for a while now. In fact, in the world of the living, this had probably happened hours ago.

The good thing (for him) is that apparently, she hadn't died yet.

Well, for you too, so you wouldn't find her wandering around. Romances that not even death could separate were the worst.

No more was said as you guided him through the passageways of the old pyramids as if you were an expert archaeologist, or perhaps an amateur with a lot of free time. One step forward from both of you, and everything around him looked different.

Vengeance.

"I have to tell you now." The cold streets of New York made you feel alive, especially in the short skirt you were wearing. The breeze cooled your legs and tousled your hair.

This seemed more common, even in the seedy side of the city. Apparently, Marc had been a normal person occasionally in his life, not someone who went on pyramid expeditions for fun.

"You won't be able to get revenge on anyone by being here." You walked ahead, trying to find the next door. It wasn't worth wasting time on this. "Sometimes divine justice serves in your favor and takes care of them, but it's not worth staying for a trivial matter."

And you knew it well.

When Marc's silence seemed suspicious, you looked back.

His clothes had also changed; he was wearing a leather jacket and a rather peculiar cap. It was gray, and it fit him ridiculously well.

He looked at you with wide eyes, his hand still holding yours.

"Cariño?" That accent was new. Did Marc like to play someone else occasionally at night? It wouldn't surprise you from someone like him.

Weird, like you.

Different, perhaps.

"What am I doing here?"

"Oh no, are you one of those?" You confronted him, one hand still holding his, and the other going straight to his face. You opened one of his eyes wider with your fingers, and he stayed still.

Had he drunk too much the night before or something? Jake didn't experience these things, never.

He didn't lose track of time; he didn't dissociate or lose control of his body; he didn't forget, and he didn't sleep.

This didn't make sense, at least not for him.

"You are dead, Marc," your words made his stomach churn. "I'm guiding you, we're only on the second level." Vapor came out of your mouth as if it were freezing, and your body still had that natural warmth that one emits when they are alive.

He furrowed his brow, looking at you as if he were seeing a ghost.

Well, that's what he was doing, but when you're dead, you don't have the right to see other dead people like this.

"I'm not… I'm not Marc."

Oh.

The boss's words made a bit more sense now. So, were they really brothers? Twins perhaps? Or whatever they were called when they were three.

The poor guy seemed about to have a crisis, very similar to Marc when you first found him.

"Jake Lockley." Your mind clicked, as it always did when you had these encounters with the souls you guided. A hazard of the job, there were things you knew and things you didn't.

He nodded slowly.

"Listen, sweetheart." He slowly released your hand, and the gesture didn't please you. I mean, if you couldn't keep Marc, maybe it could be one of the other two.

"I don't know what kind of joke you're playing," he walked past you while searching in his pocket for what seemed to be keys. "You're beautiful, and maybe we had a pretty fun night, but it's likely that what we have won't work, especially when you're calling me by another name and trying to play those little mind games with me, which, by the way, don't affect me in the least…"

Jake bumped into someone as he moved away from you clumsily.

"Sorry," he muttered, still confused. The other person ignored him, but when he looked back, his eyes widened in surprise. "¿Qué mierda?" You heard him mumble as he stumbled, sitting on the pavement.

Turns out Jake had bumped into himself.

And you suppressed the 'I told you so' smile.

"See?" You watched him pass you as well, and after a few seconds, you decided to approach him, extending your hand.

He looked at it in silence before taking it and getting to his feet.

"You're not playing, right?"

"Nope," you let go of his hand as you inspected his face. He looked so similar to Marc, yet so different at the same time.

"Are we dead?"

"I'm a little deader than you, but yes."

He bit his lower lip, and you saw him take off his cap and run a hand through his disheveled curls, more out of desperation than aesthetics.

He took a deep breath several times, more than you could count, and looked back. You saw the other Jake moving away in the crowd, and without saying anything, you turned to follow him without losing track.

Jake had to snap out of his crisis to follow you.

And him.

"Is that it? Are you not going to give me an explanation?" He hurriedly walked, doing his best not to bump into anyone until he realized that no one seemed to be affected by his shoves, not even moving them.

"We can't lose sight of you."

"This has to be a bad dream."

Maybe you liked Marc more than him.

"It's not a dream, Jake." You let out a deep sigh as you continued walking behind him. "You died, Marc did too, and…"

"Steven?"

"Right."

You finally turned to look at him when Jake from his memory stopped in front of a car.

It was a nice car.

"I still don't know what happened to you and Steven, but Marc got shot right…" You touched the center of his chest, and he didn't show how your touch made him shiver. "Here."

He wasn't sure if it was worth explaining to you right now that if Marc died, he would drag them both down with him.

"And who are you?"

"Your guide." You gave up; you would have to go through this again.

"Are you a product of my imagination?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Why do you look like one of my one-night stands?"

"I look like this all the time, actually," you looked down; this outfit was terribly uncomfortable. "Except for the criminally short skirt."

The sound of the door made you look forward. Apparently, the other Jake got into the car when you were distracted.

You opened the rear door of the car and looked at the confused guy in front of you.

"Get in."

And he obeyed; you got in afterward.

They were silent for most of the way, neither of you knew exactly where you were going because Jake had vague memories of this particular memory, if that made sense.

He had traveled this same road so many times for the same purpose that this could be any day of his life.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Your voice broke the silence, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"I was interrogating some guys in Cairo."

Ah, well, it seemed that he was just as strange as Marc.

"I see."

Jake somehow saw himself as the most stable of the three; he had learned to deal with the blows of life that he was forced to take to protect Marc and Steven from them.

But nothing had prepared him for the idea of failing them.

For failing them so horribly.

If he kept thinking, he'd go crazy. Even more.

You didn't know how long you had been here; everything seemed more tedious when Jake decided he didn't want to chat with you, or anyone, for that matter.

You assumed it was shock or something similar, and as for what this scenario meant, you understood why revenge wouldn't retain him.

Because Jake got rid of everyone who got in his way. To him or to Marc.

Both of you watched him drive, dispose of bodies, clean his clothes, and repeat as many times as necessary.

Well, he observed with a disgusted expression, and he took the liberty of covering your eyes with his hand. Well, it wasn't anything you hadn't seen before; apparently, the innocent face always gave the wrong impression.

The night ended with him crawling heavily to his apartment, tired, regretful, and often injured.

You looked at him beside you. Why did he seem so distraught by his own actions?

"So, can we cross revenge off your list?" You tried to joke when the expression on his face weighed on your chest. He didn't hear you; he kept looking at the path he had taken to the apartment.

If this was a divine way to make him regret his actions in life, it was quite functional, to be honest.

"And now?" His eyes fixed on you.

And you looked back at him.

"Do you still have the keys?" You pointed to the car.

He searched his pockets, and the keys jingled. Without saying anything, he opened the front passenger door for you to get in.

The gesture made you bite your lower lip to avoid smiling.

He got in afterward.

"Where are we going?" He started the car, and the roar of the engine added an extra note to the pain he was carrying at the moment.

He wasn't going to drive his car ever again?

Driving was the only thing that brought him peace, and the car was the only thing that belonged to him and only him. In fact, the vehicle was in his name, as was his driver's license. They were the only legal documents with Jake's name on them, even if it had cost him a fortune to bribe those in charge to get them without having to present any other proof that there was nothing suspicious behind them.

They were the only proof that Jake was real.

"I don't know, you'll feel it when we get there," you murmured without bothering to roll up the window; you just let the breeze hit you as the car started moving.

He didn't believe you, but apparently you weren't lying, his instinct was guiding him through the empty and dark streets of New York.

His home.

After a few minutes, Jake took a moment to look at you while you seemed completely absorbed in the detailed memories of Jake, who seemed to have even memorized the signs that adorned the streets he was driving through.

"What are you?" The question sounded a bit more offensive than he would have liked.

"Your guide."

"Are you sure you're not some kind of fantasy of mine?"

Was he flirting with you or insulting you? Either way, you smiled.

"None of that," you cleared your throat and finally looked at him. "I'm at the point where you are right now, and I'm staying here."

Should he inquire further, or were manners no longer as necessary when you were dead?

"For how long?"

"Huh?"

"You seem to know a lot about this; how long have you been like this?"

The way you shrugged was enough of an answer for him.

You had to close your eyes for a few seconds when you realized the effect the question had on you. You usually didn't talk about yourself, especially not with the people you guided. They were always more concerned about themselves, and with good reason; the boss knew well what had happened to you, but having someone directly ask about the situation left a disgusting taste in your mouth.

"My dear."

"Huh?" You looked at him immediately, furrowing your brow.

"What?"

"Did you say something?"

"I didn't say anything." The most similar you came to a normal conversation began when Jake released the wheel for a few seconds, raising both hands to declare himself innocent of whatever you were accusing him of.

"I heard you."

"I didn't say anything, I swear on my… death, I guess." He ran a hand through his chest, furrowing his brow.

Even with a bad feeling, you smiled.

And he did too.

Things were more fun when you collected as many jokes as you could about being dead.

"Alright." Your head returned to its position against the seat, and your gaze returned to the outside.

Jake looked at you for a few extra seconds; he knew that smile well.

"I think I can get us out of here," he thought, hoping that Marc and Steven could hear him.

Strong emotions or feelings.

The movement of the car eventually stopped, and you could no longer feel the leather under your fingers; you recognized the grass immediately.

Your eyes were forced open when a couple of children ran past you, laughing and pushing each other. You were beginning to feel tired, even though you were less than halfway there.

You sighed, your body feeling heavy as you stood up.

A couple was enjoying a homemade BBQ, even though the clouds seemed threatening to ruin it.

"Jake? Marc?" You looked around.

Ah, there he was.

Near the children's mother, looking closely at her with a radiant smile. It wasn't difficult to guess that he was Steven; his messy hair and tired eyes didn't resemble the features of Marc or Jake. Well, they did, but not really. Does that make sense?

Finally, one of the three didn't look at you in fear or confusion.

"Oh Gods, hiya!" His accent made you smile, and you waved back in greeting, approaching him as he was only a few steps away.

"You must be Steven."

"And you must be my guide." As if it were a friendly arrangement, he extended his hand, and you shook it gently, enjoying the contact. "Jake explained to me."

Was there a gap between door and door that you didn't witness for them to have a chance to talk? Well, you'd ask later.

"You seem calm."

"I'm totally freaking out on the inside."

You laughed again and nodded. You liked Steven, you liked him more than the other two.

"What level is this?"

"Third." Your attention shifted to the couple next to you, the woman's huge brown eyes told you in seconds that she was the mother of the three.

That was something they had in common, those lost-puppy eyes.

"Strong emotions or feelings." You took a step closer to her, your eyes scanning her face for more familiarities among the triplets and her.

The little wrinkles at the edges of their eyes when they smiled also seemed to come from her. And the curls definitely came from their father.

"Well, I love my mom." He seemed just as distracted by the scene as you were.

You didn't mention that love, at this point, wasn't one of the emotions that could retain you.

The situation wasn't new to you; there was almost always a familiar memory here. You didn't count friends separately because time had shown you that friends were the family you chose; the lines blended easily in those cases.

Maybe this was the reason why you would stay with one of them, and with just 5 minutes exchanged, Steven seemed like a good choice.

The children ran by your side again, and Steven's attention was completely stolen by them. You tilted your head to the side with tenderness and a slight curiosity.

"They're not ready yet; you can go play for a while, understood?" The taller boy nodded, stopping right in front of his brother, who ended up crashing into him.

Both laughed.

"Is it you?" You pointed to the younger one.

Steven seemed as distant from the situation as you. He shook his head slowly before looking at you as if he wanted an explanation. It took him a few seconds to be able to murmur.

"I don't… I don't remember."

"Marc?" The woman called, causing an amusing scene between the two children, Steven, and you since everyone turned to look at her expectantly. "Take care of Roro, please."

Roro?

"Do you have another brother?" Your voice came out so low that not even poor Steven could hear it.

It was a silent agreement in the way you followed him while he continued to follow the children with his mind in a tangle of thoughts. Was this what Marc had been hiding so eagerly?

You could swear a shiver ran through you from head to toe when your eyes settled on the cave the two children were heading towards, and the thunderclap sealed the deal on the bad omens.

You had witnessed these scenes before. When someone was about to die, it always felt like this. Being sensitive to death was one of the quirks that came with the job.

"Steven?"

He didn't even look at you.

"Lads?"

No answer, obviously.

"It's… It's dangerous, they shouldn't…" He seemed to have lost his breath. "They are going to..."

And you nodded slowly.

"I know."

The small steps were only a few meters away from you as the rain intensified. Both you and Steven were getting wet.

"Let me…" He was never able to form a complete sentence. "I know I can…"

You knew he couldn't, but you still followed him into the cave.

You walked in darkness for a very short time, with "I want my mommy" echoing in your ears over and over again.

The cave seemed to end in the living room of what you guessed was their house. Both of you arrived dripping wet, Steven with red eyes after what he had just witnessed.

You were still wondering what role he played in all of this.

Had Marc's emotional burden somehow reached him? After all, he was also their brother, or at least it seemed like it.

You stopped abruptly when both encountered Steven's mother, hands on her hips, her cheeks red with anger. Steven jerked when she yelled the words, "This is all your fault."

Everything was happening too fast, even for you, who had learned the art of controlling the emotions of the moment. It was usually the boss who handled these kinds of situations.

You were never strong enough.

You moved past the scene, your hand learned to Steven's wrist as you directed him upstairs. He couldn't stop looking as he moved awkwardly, stumbling over his own feet.

"It's this way," you whispered, leading him into the room.

You sighed calmly when finally the silence enveloped you. Inside, one of the children was playing alone. The scene tugged at your heartstrings a little more, but hey, at least there was no one screaming.

"I must be remembering wrong," he whispered as a last hope while he sat on the floor, defeated. He took a seat in front of the child. "It must be Marc's doing."

You pursed your lips, deciding not to say anything as you watched his hands tremble. This kind of thing wasn't in the manual.

"Maybe so," you gave him false hope before knocks on the door diverted both of your attention.

"Open the damn door, Marc!"

Another shiver, as horrible as the first one.

"It's not my mom, it's not my mom," the child whispered, covering his hands. Steven and you could do nothing but watch.

"Open this door!" More loud pounding.

More knocks, more panic, more fear.

Until the voice of the kid made you look again.

"Bloody hell! Look at the state of this place." His little eyes focused on a bunch of Legos in front of him. They weren't even scattered. "Better sort it out before mum sees it." His accent was the same as… Steven's.

"Marc! Open this door right now!"

Witnessing that was enough to clear your doubts; you weren't foolish. After your death, no one could really receit you. Your brain easily connected the dots, and apparently, Steven's did too; he had more clues than you did up to that point.

They weren't brothers.

Marc, Steven, and Jake shared the same body.

"When danger is near," Steven narrowed his eyes as he read from the poster on the wall above the child, "Steven Grant has no fear."

He took a deep breath through his mouth with heaviness.

"He made me up." That was the next thing he said, and you couldn't help but watch the child as he organized his Legos.

The door burst open with a shove, and that was your next cue; it was time to get out of there.

"Steven?"

Wendy, whom you had been referring to as 'the mother,' entered the room, her eyes red, and an aroma of alcohol that even you could sense.

"You are going to learn…" She took Marc's belt, the one that hung next to his toys. It was a horrible parallel, and you could swear your chest hurt. "to listen."

Her steps were slow as she coiled the belt in her hand.

"Steven?" You whispered, pushing him in the chest. He stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the scene.

"I wanna see what she did." He mumbled with difficulty.

You gave him another push with all your might.

"Steven, we have to go."

"Let me see what she did." That was the last thing he said before you slammed the door shut, muffling the poor child's cries of pain inside the room.

"I don't hate her." It was the only thing he could say after what seemed like hours. The sun seemed to have set.

You nodded slowly, your head resting against the door just like his.

"I know."

"She was sad."

You had to swallow the urge to tell him that it didn't justify what she did, but you chose to nod and offer him some peace.

"She was."

There were a few more seconds of silence before you murmured, "We have to go."

He nodded and was the first to stand up, intending to offer you his hand, just as you had done with Jake a while ago. You took his hand and stood up, but you didn't let go of his hand.

You descended the stairs slowly; the house suddenly seemed filled with people. Apparently, this wasn't over yet, and you started to seriously think that Steven wouldn't get out of here. How much more could his heart take?

Everything seemed blurry, although of course, you didn't know that the reason behind it was that Marc had never entered the house that day; the memory was clouded by a window in between.

"What happened here?" He whispered behind you.

"Your mom, Steven."

Her photo was on one of the tables, behind two long candles.

"Don't talk nonsense." He took a few steps forward to see what you were seeing. "My mom and I already sorted this out; it must have been something that ha- happened." They were all wearing black clothes around him. "in the past." He completed in a whisper.

You looked at him again, his eyes filled with tears as he shook his head.

"No, no, this can't…" He swallowed hard, making your own throat ache in response. "Marc would have told me."

You doubted it, but it wasn't the time to remind him that Marc seemed to be hiding many things from him.

"No, this can't be happening." He mumbled, again losing his ability to string sentences together.

Breaking your heart once again. The front door of the house opened in front of both of you, and you understood that it was time to move on.

Without saying anything, you tapped his shoulder, getting his attention. You pointed to Marc outside the house, just a few meters away, drinking from his flask with teary eyes.

"Marc?" He whispered to himself as he moved awkwardly and quickly towards him, leaving the house with you behind.

You decided to give him space; his memory allowed you to stroll through a couple of nearby gardens, and you waited on the grass while Steven processed the moment when Marc finally broke down.

Kneeling on the pavement, his body tense until the English accent of the other became noticeable in the way he spoke to himself.

The place was getting darker, and after a few hours, you sat on the sidewalk, watching the scene from afar. Steven had the opportunity to digest the situation as much as he could, and although for any normal person this would have been the end, you knew this wasn't the point for Steven.

He was understanding, strong within his sensitivity, and he knew how to deal with things that Marc couldn't.

You finally understood the feeling he was facing and what he was releasing.

Grief.

The grief of losing his mother as a child, and the grief of losing her again as an adult. His brother, his father.

The grief of losing himself while trying to understand that he wasn't 'the original' but Marc.

Meanwhile, as the crying finally subsided, Steven was talking to himself. Or so it seemed, because no one else (meaning you) could hear the voices of Jake and Marc arguing with him. "I know how to get us out of here." "Jake, we're not going to harm her." They didn't have to say more for Steven to understand that they were referring to you. "I'm just saying it might be an easy job." "Are you suggesting we kill someone who's already dead? You've truly outdone yourself." "At least I'm looking for a solution, unlike you, Mr. 'resigned.'" "We can't leave Layla alone," Steven whispered, his gaze fixed on you in the distance. "See? Steven's on my side." Marc rolled his eyes. "And what do you want to do?" "I'm just saying… if there's a way out of here, she's the one who knows it."

Meanwhile, when the imaginary crickets began to resonate through Marc's blurry memory, Steven returned to you.

"Hey?" You looked at him, who knows how long you had had your eyes closed. "Can we continue?"

You nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Let's move on."

Mk's tag list :)@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm @shousha133

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

(3) WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW ─── rowan laslow ☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “They wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.” — ‘These Violent Delights’, Micah Nemerever.

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

summary. a certain someone approaches you and rowan. (1) (2) (3)

warnings. swearing, mention of sex + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

word count. 3k

iii. 

You completely - and I mean totally, wholly, entirely - underestimated Enid Sinclair’s gossiping capabilities.

The both you had expected her to tell a few people, maybe, just get it out there that, “wow, Rowan and [Name], are, like, totally boning, oh, and he’s a vampire now.”

The whole nonchalant gossiping thing. You’ve seen it happen — aw, Bianca’s dating Xavier, oh, wait, they're over; Davina and Sinclair’s older brother were caught after curfew, that’s nice; one of the fangs knocked out a normie on Outreach Day, go them! 

You didn’t know how out of proportion things could get. You were no expert on gossiping - that was Yoko’s thing. 

Maybe it was because she was younger than you. These days, being older than two centuries felt like you were a fucking senior citizen. 

By next morning, several Fangs had knocked on your door asking about you and Rowan. By pure ‘coincidence’, Rowan would walk by the door, or maybe he’d call you back to ‘bed’, and the inquisitive Fangs in question would gasp, quickly say goodbye, and leave.

In actuality, you and Rowan had practiced this after the first fellow Vampire had come by and asked. By some terrible stroke of luck, Weem’s had permitted Rowan to move out of his dorm with Xavier Thorpe and move into your empty one, as your whole reason for turning him had been to stay together forever.

Ugh. Curse Weems and her disgustingly romantic heart. 

When the two of you arrived in your first period (you in Latin, Rowan in Fencing), you had been bombarded with either questions or whispers (you with questions, Rowan surrounded by whispers, which didn’t really bother him. It was like a regular day of being an outcast freak, except now, instead of laughing behind his back, everyone shied away from his gaze.) 

You reconvened at lunch, hiding in your dorm to take a break from everyone’s unabashed staring. Even on your way to Karnstein Hall, people popped up left and right, scrambling from their place across the room to see you two up close — holding hands, of course, as you had to keep up appearances.

“So,” you said, putting down your dorm keys on your bedside table, “How was your morning?”

“Ugh,” Rowan groaned, flopping down onto his bed across from yours — which was still bare, as he’d moved in just the night before — “don’t even ask. I was okay with the whispers, but by third period Seance I had people coming up to me and asking for details.”

You shrugged off your Nevermore zip-up, throwing it onto your bed. “God, I saw Davina eyeing me from across the greenhouse - I thought I was gonna get sirened into spilling secr—“

A sharp knock rapted at your cherry-wood door, interrupting your ranting. The both of you paused, far too tired to deal with any more questions. 

“[Name], Rowan, I know you’re in there.” A familiar voice said, before knocking once more. Immediately, your expression grew alarmed.

It was Wednesday Addams knocking on your door. 

You inched closer to the door, hand hesitantly grasping around the brass knob. From behind you, Rowan looked like he’d rather die again than open the door.

He had told you about his mother’s painting and her psychic abilities - the reason why he had attempted to kill her - and how he still couldn’t trust her. Despite how Rowan knew that psychic powers weren’t the most reliable, and could even make one go crazy - like his mothers had - he still held the utmost trust in her.

Nonetheless, Rowan obliged when you mouthed to him: “Weems is on her case. Any wrong move and she’ll be done for.”

Twisting the knob slowly, you cracked the door open a few inches. “Hi, Wednesday.” You pasted on a bright smile, all teeth and, on purpose, entirely, noticeably, fake.

“I need to talk to Rowan.” She said shortly, black eyes boring into your own. They were completely devoid of emotion, blank and lifeless. If you ever saw her laying on the floor with the same expression, you’d think she was dead. 

“I’m afraid we’re,” You grinned larger, trying to flush some color into your cheeks, “having some quality couple time.”

She furrowed her brows. You lifted a hand onto her shoulder, “You get it, righ—“

Suddenly, Wednesday’s head flew back, and her body stiffened. Her back was arched, arms flailed at her side. Wednesday looked completely out of it, eyes rolling to the back of her head, breathing scattered like she was heaving.

“Wednesday?” You whispered, hands curling around her thin arms. “Wednesday!” You repeated, shaking her rapidly when she didn’t come out of her stupor. 

She looked like she was about to convulse, but instead her body held still for a moment, until it grew limp and fell into your arms. 

You gaped. Then, you looked down the hall, left and right, feeling your nerves practically burn on fire at the thought that someone had seen. 

Thankfully, nobody was loitering in your wing of Karnstein Hall, but you knew Yoko was going to grab her herbology kit soon for her next class. 

Decisively, you dragged Wednesday’s sagging body into your room. Then, you gently placed her body in the middle of the room, and locked your dorm door. 

“What happened? What the the fuck did you do?!” Rowan said, springing up from his bed. His panic was evident as the pitch of his voice climbed higher and higher, nervously hopping over Wednesday’s body and standing next to you. 

“Why the hell is that your first thought?! I didn’t do anything!” You said defensively, throwing your arms up in the air. 

“Then how come she’s - passed out like that. Is she passed out? Did you kill her or—“ Rowan’s voice was quickly growing staccato, and he was running out of breath. 

“I didn’t kill her! What are you even saying?! We were just talking—“

“If you were just talking then why is she on the floor, in the middle of our goddamn room?!” Rowan shouted, heaving. 

You were sure Rowan was about to pass out, when Wednesday suddenly lifted her upper body off the floor. It looked like when elder vampires sprung from their coffins, unlike the younger generation of vampires that shed the need for coffins and got their energy from social interaction. Changing times, you guessed.

Wednesday turned to the both of you, almost mechanically, and you both froze on the spot. Her gaze pierced the two of you. It was calculating, all knowing; like she knew secrets you did not.

She drew in a thin breath between the teeth that, suddenly, looked as sharp as knives. “That night - in the forest. You died.” Wednesday looked at Rowan, her eyes tracing the bite scar on his neck. 

“But it wasn't the monster that killed you,” Wednesday continued. Her eyes drifted, latching onto you next. “It was [Name]. They followed the scent of blood, found you… and turned you.”

Wednesday’s dull, lifeless eyes grew a miniscule sheen. “Am I correct?” She said, pushing herself up from the wood floors and dusting her black pants off. 

You looked at Rowan. He looked at you. You both continued like that for several moments, all the while Wednesday stood watching and waiting. She seemed to have no qualms at all about waiting, like an idle game character. 

Never mind Wednesday Addams’s mannerisms — how in god’s fucking name did she know that? In utmost detail, nonetheless, even down to how Rowan’s attack made itself known to you. 

“How - did you...“ Rowan broke the silence, fumbling over his words. His hands animatedly expressed his shock. 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Who told you this? Who saw this, and who else knows?”

If there was even the slightest chance that this information leaked… the two of you would be done for. The possibility of a homicidal monster being known to parents would effectively close the school - and for how long, you did not know. 

(Although Nevermore had never been home, it was single-handedly the only place you and Rowan had ever known so comfortably. 

For centuries, you wandered throughout Europe - through Romania and back again, in France, Italy, Denmark, Istanbul when it had still been Constantinople; every country in the North-Eastern hemisphere you traversed, unable to sit still, unable to get comfortable, unable to feel okay, until you crossed into the Americas, into Nevermore. It was not home, but at least it promised something similar. 

After Rowan’s mother’s death - no, even before she had passed, his house wasn’t home. His mother’s psychic abilities had ailed her - not physically, which had killed her - but in the head. Rowan’s mother had not been herself for at least a decade before she passed, and when she did die, it was saying goodbye to a stranger, loving a figure who did not love you back, nonetheless raise you. 

His father, even moreso, was estranged. Rowan’s father had cherished his mother more than anything in the entire world; more than the family business, more than their heaps of wealth, more than Rowan himself. 

When she died, in that large, empty, home, the warm part of his father died with her. 

Despite the way he was treated at school, he preferred Nevermore over his house, because at least he was treated with contempt. In the Laslow family estate, Rowan was not treated with anything at all. In that empty house, Rowan felt like a ghost. No one spoke to each other, no one spoke to him, and his father drowned himself in his work. 

Nevermore was for the fleeing. You and Rowan fit those conditions entirely. It welcomed the fearful, the alone, the outcast. It attempted to make something of a home out of you all, and even if it didn’t fill the gap in you and Rowan, it, at the very least, filled some of it. 

So closing the school could not happen.)

“Nobody told me this. I did not see this matter in the way you think. And no-one else knows, excluding you two, and now me.” 

“You lie,” You said. There was no other way she’d get a hold of such intimate details. 

If possible, Wednesday looked slightly offended at the connotation. “I have not lied for the entirety of this conversation.” 

And lie again. You sucked air in through your teeth, taking short and rapid breaths. What right did she have, knocking on your door and passing out, barging into your business, all knowing and spilling your every secret? 

What did she want? 

Something dawned on you, your eyes widening with each passing second. Passing out? All knowing—

Wednesday looked you both in the eye. Her gaze was as transparent as glass, and it looked as though she was prepared to lay all her cards on the table. 

“I suppose, as I’ve found out your secret, I must tell you mine. A quid pro quo, of sorts.” 

“You did not see it in the way we think,” You thought to yourself, piecing together Wednesday’s vaguely knit puzzle of words. 

Wednesday’s hands clasped together. “I get visions. Of the past, or the future.” 

You and Rowan looked at one another once more. That would explain many things, but you both still regarded the Addams’ daughter with a certain distrust. You did so for reasons you could not quite understand, but perhaps it was her eeriness that held such a discomforting air that made you both need more convincing. 

She turned to Rowan, “On Harvest Day, I saw you die. No more, no less. Before you did so, I did not see you try to kill me. Until now, I did not see [Name] save you.”

Rowan’s eyes thinned. “What else have you seen?” He said, distrustingly. 

Wednesday looked similarly distrusting, which was not surprising, as Rowan had tried to kill her. Nonetheless, she answered. “I witnessed a Jericho civilian’s death by cervical fracture before he died.” 

“These visions… you cannot control them?” You said, interrupting Rowan and Wednesday’s impromptu death-staring contest. 

Wednesday blinked. “Touch seems to be a common factor. But no.”

“Are they all knowing? Fixed?” Rowan scrutinized, an unashamed attempt at sleuthing. 

Wednesday, in her limited ability to show much emotion, seemed pensive. “To claim my visions are omniscient would be superbia. However, their accuracy has not yet failed me.”

You bit the skin on your nails. You could feel a drumming in your head, and you could imagine that was what a thrumming heart was like. 

Everything you asked, Wednesday seemed to answer - or perhaps, counter - completely. She left no room for suspicion, completely devoid of holes in her story. 

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay - fine. Yes, I turned Rowan. I - smelt his blood from the festival, followed the trail, and decided the only way I could save him was to turn him.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, acknowledging. “Smart decision on your part. In terms of eye-witness testimonies to the monster, all victims dead meant no accounts.” Wednesday’s gaze then turned to Rowan, whose previously impugning attitude disappeared. 

“I - didn’t see much.” Rowan began, in a meek voice. “As much as you saw, Wednesday. Maybe even less.”

“It does not particularly have to be what the creature looked like. Anything at all that you may remember,” she said, placing her hands in front of her expectantly.

He grimaced. “It… reminded me of a werewolf.” Rowan started, before quickly shaking his head. “But it wasn’t one. No, it was… violent; out of control.” Rowan bit his lip, thin, pointed fangs nipping at the skin so hard he nearly drew blood. “I remember it staring me down - with those huge, crazed eyes. But it - It looked like it… knew what it was doing. Like they - it, was attacking me intentionally.”

Silence filled the room, and it felt like a cold draft blew in, despite zero openings. The environment grew tense, and you looked at Rowan. If possible, he looked paler than before, a certain despair settling into the lines of his soft face. 

A heavy guilt weighed on your shoulders. Of course he wouldn’t want to talk about the monster that almost killed him. In what world would one happily talk about their near-murderer? 

Breaking the silence, Wednesday hummed. “Intelligence, rather than animalistic instinct. Interesting.” 

“I - think it’s best if you go now, Wednesday.” You said, looking at Rowan’s blank stare. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he looked elsewhere. Far away from the now, melting in his memories. 

Wednesday blinked, and looked as if she wanted to say much more, but settled with a curt nod, and exited your dorm room. Before she left, she said, “Try not to let this conversation of ours leave the room. I have reason to believe the monster may very well kill all who know about it.”

After Wednesday left, it was just the two of you in the room. The awkward silence suffocated you both, like a noose constricting around your neck. Any words you wished to say died on your lips, their ghosts coming out as mere sighs. 

“I’m sorry.” You said finally, turning away from Rowan, who now lay still on his bed. He looked akin to a corpse in a casket during an open funeral viewing. 

“What for?” Rowan droned dully, eyes trained on the popcorn ceiling above you. You knew he wasn’t really listening, and he wasn’t really answering. His mind was so far between from his body, his subconscious answering for him. 

“We didn’t have to tell her. We didn’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to force you.”

Rowan didn’t answer, at least not for a long moment. Your simultaneous breathing was all that could be heard; in and out, in and out.

Finally, Rowan let out a breath of air that was tattered, ragged and tired. He sounded worn out; aching. “We had to tell her. She already knew.” He tried to catch his fleeting breath, “And you didn’t force me. I chose to tell her what I saw. What tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” You said, turning to face him. Rowan’s body had turned to face the wall, on his side with his legs pulled up to his chest. “for everything.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rowan whispered, almost inaudibly. 

You inched closer, until you were at the edge of his bed. You kneeled beside him, and in the softest voice you could muster: “I’m sorry for turning you. This - being what I am - isn’t anything good at all. It - isn’t what you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m - it wasn’t my choice to make; I — I turned you into something you’re not. Something terrible.”

Rowan rolled over, meeting you face to face. His light brown eyes glistened with small, shining tears, brows furrowed. “You - saved me. I’m not human anymore but I’m — I’m still alive.” His eyes coursed over your melancholic face, “That’s more than anyone else could do.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a broken toy. The guilt of turning a human into something they should never be, twisted your thoughts in all the wrong ways. You felt sick, icky for playing God with someone’s life, for playing God with Rowan’s fundamental being. “I should’ve never—“

“If you never turned me, I’d be dead, alright?” Rowan said gruffly, pushing himself upright from the mattress. He wiped furiously at his wet eyes, “It doesn’t matter if I was human, or not. I would’ve been dead. Gone. Okay? Stop -“ He pressed his shaking hands together, “stop saying you’re sorry.” 

Your lips opened and parted, your throat deathly dry. Words you couldn’t muster clawed at your esophagus, rendering you silent. 

Turning Rowan had been, what you felt, like the greatest sin in your entire, long, lifespan. You thought - that deep down, Rowan hated you for it.

“I’m sorry.” You looked him in the eye, weak on the floor. You could only ever imagine repenting for turning him. It was a taboo act - one you knew saved him, for certain, but had ruined him. 

You had been born ruined; born without the ability to be saved. There was no reason to condemn Rowan like so; to take away the humanity you so desperately wanted. 

Rowan’s eyes crinkled, a sad smile tightening on his lips. He knew he couldn’t change your mind, no matter how much he wanted to. “Don’t be.” 

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

fragile, but not like a flower.

Summary: Sometimes you need to be cut up to be made whole again.

Pairing: harddom!Simon Walker x sub!afab!Reader

Word Count: - 2.6k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Overstimulation Meltdown (Not Sexual), Consensual Cutting (Very Much Sexual Tho), Fingerfucking, Humiliation, Pet Names, Honorifics (Sir/ Daddy / Princess), Aftercare <3

A/N: To my defence, this was written on fever medication 🥲

Tagging: @ohlookapan @queer-crusader @somethingblu3 @blueberrypancakesworld

She's not acid nor alkaline

Caught between black and white

Not quite either day or night

She's perfectly misaligned

I'm caught up in her design

And how it connects to mine

I see in a different light

The objects of my desire

- Alkaline By Sleep Token

A sniffled cry clawed its way from your lungs and out of your throat, accompanying the porcelain shatter of a cup that had slipped from your fingers as you’d meant to pour yourself some tea. The harsh sound of it splintering into a multitude of sharply edged shards caused your inner pot of already bubbling and rumbling overstimulation to boil over eventually, for you to switch from painfully numb indifference that had lasted throughout the past days to a nearly toddler-like tantrum in which you needed to hold on to yourself as hard as you possibly could to not just throw and smash every damn cup from the cabinet in unbridled frustration.

“Oh, fuck you, stupid fucking cup!” You whined out with a gush of uncomfortably burning tears prickling at your waterline, choking back the urge to stomp down onto the broken cup, your mind fully reeling in the thrashes of finding something to drown out the overstimulation fit that left you feeling disgustingly helpless in its wake.

Instead of hammering your bare foot down at the splintered porcelain, you took a shaky step back from the scene of the almost-nearly-crime, jaws clenching roughly and teeth grinding, causing unhealthily crunching sounds to echo through your skull. Away from the immediate source of possible pain to disrupt those raging feelings of constant incompetence and enraging clumsiness, your thoughts immediately pinpointed at the option to slap your knuckles against the very edge of the wooden counter or your head against the door to the kitchen until the hurt drowned out the powerlessness over your own vile emotional whims that tortured you just like they did right now. Perhaps you should just tear and rip at your hair until the burn emitting from your scalp slapped some sense back into you.

“You alright?” The pushing need to just scream nagged at your ribcage as you whirled around to look at Simon with wide eyes, his face peeking out behind the doorway leading to an open living room.

You knew that he just wanted to be nice because he cared for you, he really did, however, every single ounce of negativity shifted his way and you drilled your fingers into your palms with such vigor that the shape of your nails would leave thin dents in your skin. You’d never subject Simon to your stupid outbursts, never never not ever would hurt him the way you longed to hurt yourself right now, yet, the thought of simply pouncing him to scratch the infuriatingly gentle smile from his face flitted through your mind for a brief moment.

“Hmhm..”, His soft yet curious gaze wandered from your harshly clenched fists to the broken cup right behind you, putting two and two together before you even finished uttering, “No, ‘s just…”

The unfinished groan was accompanied by your shoulders slumping down, the violent apex of your fit being effectively surpassed as quickly as the storm had enraptured you.

“Come’ere. I know. I’ll clean that up, yeah?” Simon’s brows raised into an understanding arch as he motioned to you that it was going to be okay with a nod of his head.

Tears were gushing from your lash line and over the soft round of your cheeks before you even reached his opened arms, seeking shelter in a tight hug that felt like him gently squeezing everything back to where it belonged like straightening a crooked shelf.

“Oh, hey, babe.”, Simon cooed into your hairline whilst his hand found the back of your head, tenderly stroking down to the nape of your neck, “It’s not just about the cup, hm?.”

You shook your head in his tender embrace, wiping your tears with the fuzzy fabric of his fir green cotton shirt and muffling your sobs alike.

“Everything’s jus’ pissing me off so much.” The words rumbled through your chest and with them, a new wash of wetness spilled from your eyes, the deafening exhaustion of the sudden emotional outburst catching up to you swiftly.

“Everything? What’s everything, love? Tell me.” Starting from your hairline down, Simon led his fingers to wander along your spine, grazing past your shoulder blade with fingertips not just stroking but lightly pressing you further against him and you didn’t hesitate to take that invitation.

“ ‘M just so fucking stupid all of the time.”, The self-deprecation came pouring out without any warning, making you flinch from your own words, “Can’t even pour a cup of tea.”

Instead of resting his hand on your lower back, Simon let it wander further down quickly, fingers grasping at the round of your ass harshly as an imminent reminder that he didn't approve.

“Don't you dare talk like that about yourself.”, His tone rendered stern immediately, admonishing even, “You're very competent and a stupid mug won't change that, babe.”

Simon's sudden clasp at your behind caused you to whine out a wayward yelp, the sudden pang of pain rendering through you; helping.

“Again.” You uttered as the pain hadn't even begun to fade.

“Excuse me? Oh.” Simon picked up on it quickly, palming at your ass again, this time squeezing even harder, causing you to claw at his shirt and groan into the fabric.

The hurt emitting from his ministrations cut right through your clouded mind and changed the anger and frustration into humble atonement because you knew just fine that Simon wasn't fond of you talking about yourself this way, to say the least.

The tears stopped almost instantly as the sting of his hand working the muscle and flesh of your behind came as a saving grace, an addictive distraction to your over-triggered and used-up patience.

“Oh, so needy for some proper discomfort, hm? Poor thing.” His sharp taunt shot right between your legs, having you throb just because of carefully aimed words, “Need me to take care of that, yeah?”

Biting down on your bottom lip, you nodded, relief and bubbling excitement flushing the last remnants of your amplified self-hatred out of your thoughts.

“Alright, then be a darling and pick one thing, only one, from the kitchen and come back to me, got that?” You nodded again but that wasn't enough for Simon.

“Use your words.” He demanded harshly, underlining his point with his entire palm smacking your ass, making you jump against him, feeling that it was not just you getting worked up over this already.

“Understood, sir.” You uttered before sensing his hold on you easing up to let you go and pick your favored tool of torture.

The realization of just how hot your face was had already knocked the air from your lungs as you stepped back, turning back to the kitchen whilst Simon simply slumped down on the sofa, leisurely spreading his arms along the headrest. With a thrashing heartbeat and blood rushing down between your legs, your eyes hastily roamed over the counter; a wooden spoon? Too blunt. A bamboo chopstick perhaps? Not violent enough for your current cravings. Your gaze came back to the splintered porcelain and you lit up in unbridled masochistic excitement.

From behind, Simon watched you crouch down in front of the shards and splinters, his head slightly cocked to the side whilst you decided on the piece worthy enough to be brought back to him. Holding back a groan of his own, Simon ignored the throbbing need gradually straining against his jeans because this exquisitely escalating scenario required him to be fully there and not on some sex-crazed ego trip over your body and his release; there'd be more than enough to catch up to that later.

Having his eyes on you and following every single one of your moves had Simon pondering about what riled him up more: the fact that you had each other wrapped around your fingers or the way his freak matched yours so utterly perfectly.

For a swift moment, his eyes fluttered shut as he recalled one particular night where he'd spit on your tongue, had you swallow it and you’d thanked him with glazed-over eyes all because you had a rough day at work.

You just took so willingly and it left him so fully satisfied because your inner whore for pain and humiliation finally was a worthy counterpart to his nearly limitless sadistic creativity. Simon took a great deal of pride in being allowed to be the one providing all that for you in a safe and judgment-free space because you did the same for him. Without your consent and you offering your body to him like that, none of it would take place.

“This one, sir.” Simon’s eyes opened up again to find himself looking at a triangular-shaped piece of gray and red striped porcelain; he remembered to cup, picturing the whole piece in his mind.

“You sure?” A quick point of no-return safety question for the sake of both of you.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded vigorously and the wicked glint in your eyes painted a wide grin onto his face as he tapped at his thigh.

“C’mon then, get yourself out of those PJ shorts and sit with me for a while.” Simon inhaled deeply, taking the sharp piece of material from your grasp so you could just shimmy out of your frilly shorts without the danger of scratching yourself, which was reserved for only him to do.

You eagerly followed his demand and let the delicate satin fabric pool at your ankles before stepping out of the little pile of cloth and sitting yourself down in your superior's lap.

“There, there.” He hummed contently, one hand pulling you flush to his front whilst he nuzzled his lips into the crook of your neck, greedily mouthing at the sensitive skin.

Simon got you squirming in his lap without even so much as putting the sharp edge of porcelain to your skin and he unmistakably reveled in how needy you were for his attention, his touch, and guidance.

“Close your eyes, love.”, The deep timbre to his gradually more raspy tone caused a wash of goosebumps to roll over your body, nipples momentarily pebbling against your oversized sleeping shirt, “Feel that?”

With the entire width of his palm, Simon pressed the splinter against your thigh, squeezing the outlines of its shape into your skin, effectively coaxing a whine to fall from your bottom lip.

“I’m sure that that’s going to hurt so bad but that’s what you want, ain’t it? You’re such a deviant little glutton for punishment.” The combination of cool porcelain pushing against your leg and his words lulling you in, sparking a familiar, warm pang of shame and embarrassment to creep into your cheeks, had your stomach twitching and flipping.

“Uh-huh.” You mumbled anew, your head nodding along without you even really being aware of it.

“Hm, such a mess already, pathetic.”, Simon groaned into the curve of your neck, his free hand shamelessly groping at your cunt to keep you from toppling over, “Look at you braindead little dummy.”

“Ouw, mhmmm..” The weak exclamation of your discomfort upon Simon’s fingers taking hold of your crotch was met with a sly laugh.

“Oh, no, doesn’t that feel nice, yeah?”, He hummed against your throat before leading his index and middle finger to push between your labia, spearheading into you, “Haven’t even started, poor baby.”

You felt your walls clench down around his fingers, couldn’t help it to happen.

“Dumb little slut.”, Simon lifted his hand from your thigh, angling the very tip of the splinter against your skin, “Let’s see how you handle that, hm?”

Way before your body caught up to the sliver of cold followed by a distinct sting of pain as skin got torn, you mewled out in plain fear. One perfectly horizontal cut, from outside to inside of your thigh. Not threateningly deep but enough to tear through the first layers of skin, enough to draw blood.

“Good girls don’t hurt themselves, they wait for Daddy to do that, no?” Simon set the edge a little higher, not waiting for you to adjust to his ministrations before adding the next incision.

“What a fucking whore you are!” Simon couldn’t keep the filth spilling from his own mouth as he sensed you clenching down around his fingers again with each former and every next violation to your leg.

“Enjoying this so much, princess?” The gruff stubble of his dirty-blonde beard scratched against the crook of your neck.

“Hurts.. s’much, ouw, please, sir.” You muttered with quivering lips, brain unable to grasp if you already had enough or just kept wantonly stuttering for more.

“Oh, I know, love, but you asked for this, remember?” Yet another cut demolished your skin, little droplets of blood pooling out and sliding along the curve of your thigh.

Such a pretty sight, skin torn open and rivulets of red pearling down to both sides.

“Good little girl.”, Sir hummed, fingers drilling further into you, feeling how wet you were, how desperate, “Taking it so well.”

Again, tears burned at the corners of your eyes, this time from a very different flavor of overstimulation.

“Aw, are you going to cry now? Because you're getting what you asked for? Spoiled brat, really.” Simon tossed the bloodstained piece of gray and red onto the wooden panels below just to push his tumble across the swollen incisions, generously smearing the blood all over your thigh.

“Please…” You heard yourself rambling, mind entirely drunk with adrenaline and dopamine alike.

“Please what? C'mon, speak up, slut.” He demanded but you couldn't, not even if you put everything you had left to it, instead, your body simply let go, contractions spasming around his fingers, orgasmic convulsions rippling through every nerve ending.

Everything within was tethering on the edge between crumbling down or ascending, no in-between, only either or and Simon knew all too well. To keep you from tumbling, he took the hand from your thigh and wrapped it around your waist, softly pulling you closer.

“Issok, honey. I got you. It's over, you did so well, babe.”, The cascade of sweetness started trickling from his lips to pull your reeling mind back, “ I'm so proud of you. ‘M gonna spoil you rotten, I promise.”

“It hurts.” Was the only thing that managed to roll over your tongue, brain dominated by clashing sensations of pleasure, pain and awfully plain confusion about what to lean into.

“I know, love, I know, but we'll take care of that, yeah. Clean you all up and put disinfectant on it. Can you push through that for me?” In a gentle motion, Simon pulled his fingers out of you, now taking both arms to gingerly hold you close in a calming embrace.

“I dunno.”, You huffed, lungs gasping for air as if they suddenly remembered that oxygen came as rather vital, “It'll burn.”

“Yeah, it will, but I know you can be brave about that, no? We still gotta clean up after playing, hm.” Simon was right and you very well knew it, however, you still dreaded it and that made you laugh out.

“That's so stupid.” You shuffled in his lap, hands finding his thighs to hold on to, “I let you cut me with a broken cup but disinfectant, that's where I draw the line?”

It made Simon cackle just the same.

“Everybody has their hard limits, no?”

[scary-white]

I'm writing an essay about subtle LGBTQIA+ tropes in King's work and I was wondering if you had a favorite quote from the book that shows Sue's fascination with Carrie? If not, no worries!

I've got a few to choose from, though some of them are context dependent.

1. "The realization suddenly brought everything up close, made it real, and compassion for Carrie broke through the dullness of her shock." (Pg. 287)

Found in the context of Carrie and Sue sharing a psychic link. Sue finds that the thought of herself comes to her as neither words nor pictures—she just is. Removed from labels, names, and status, this is perhaps the first time Sue can identify herself for who she actually is, and, well, the quote says the rest.

2. "In the aftermath she felt low and melancholy, and her thoughts turned to Carrie in this light." (Pg. 55)

This entire scene is interesting to comb through with a queen lense, and I highly suggest you do. Here, Tommy and Sue have just finished having sex and Sue is unsatisfied. The preceding lines are:

"Tonight was only the second time she had begun to feel something like pleasure, and then it was over. Tommy had held out for as long as he could, but then it was just... over. It seemed like an awful lot of rubbing for a little warmth."

I highly doubt King intended it this way, but wow. Having your character lament over how little she enjoyed sex with her boyfriend only to immediately think about another woman is... Something.

Again, I really think this entire scene is worth examining. Sue thinks about what she's become and what she's on track to become, and she is so dreadfully dissatisfied. She feels that she's only with her boyfriend because they're a nice looking couple, and it's expected of them. She fears conformity, and she fears the path it's leading her down: A path of house-wifery, and child rearing. All of her fears, everything she doesn't want? Its all heteronormative.

Then, after going down the list of all her deep, dark fears, she arrives at this:

"Carrie, it was that god damn Carrie. This was her fault. Perhaps before today she heard the distant, circling foot-falls around their lighted place, but tonight, hearing her own sordid, crummy story, she saw the actual silhouettes of all these things, and yellow eyes that glowed like flashlights in the dark." (Pg. 57)

Another woman made you violently aware of your own impending, disgustingly hetero-normative doom? That's kind of gay.

3. "She was not even aware that she was following Carrie's progress toward The Cavalier, no more than she was aware of the process of respiration unless she thought about it." (Pg. 279)

I don't really have anything intellectual to add here, but I'd like to point out that in my annotated copy I wrote in the margins, "following Carrie is as natural as breathing? THATS GAY."

4: "A. (Sue) Oh, you stupid man! Have you listened to anything that's been said here? Everybody knew it was Carrie! Anyone could have found her if they had put their minds to it.

Q. But not just anyone found her. You did." (Pg. 284)

Sure. Anyone could have found her if they set their mind to it, but she's the only one who cared to. In a way, she's been following after Carrie for the entire novel.

5. "They shared the awful totality of perfect knowledge." (Pg. 287)

This is after they've formed a psychic link. Carrie reveals to Sue her every horrible trauma. Sue discovers first hand how it feels to be Carrie White. Later, Carrie is witness to Sue's inner most thoughts and memories. They're bonded on the deepest level. In a way, they are one in the same— even sharing one death.

Hope this helps! ❤️

[verdemoun]

If it hasn’t been mentioned before how did Sadie die in the canon timeline before getting timewarped and how was Jake found? I think they are super interesting considering how they weren’t even married for 3 years yet before the events of the first mission (they were married in September and the game starts in May) Also another random question but did any of the gang bond over the different instruments they played (ex Sadie-Harmonica, Pearson-Accordion, or Javier-Guitar) and speaking of Javier did he ever learn electric guitar? [Sorry if my bombarding you with questions is annoying or overwhelming I’m just very hyper fixated on Rdr2 and love this au <3 /lh/pos]

pls never apologise i love asks my inbox is officially empty again rip so to all pls feel free to send any more questions about timewarp or my general rdr2 addled brain.

Sadie makes me so sad esp in the epilogue she literally makes the comment i wanna die like she is such an incredible character but she is so defeated by losing her husband, and then finding the gang only to lose them as well. After Micah's death she didn't even have revenge to live for. Also being at John and Abigail's wedding? As beautiful as the day was and as happy as she was for them, being reminded of her own wedding, everything she lost, how much she loved her husband. I think that the passive suicidality/recklessness she was putting into bounty hunting would've caught up with her really quickly and she was shot and killed by some unknown outlaw she was trying to bring in no later than 1908.

Jake bless was very much not someone anyone thought to look for fortunately with living with Sadie in such an isolated area he's a proper survivalist and just lived camping on public land doing odd jobs like farm work where he could to earn some cash for basic necessities and was just rolling with it. He's very laid back go with the flow type guy who was not nearly as panicked about waking up in modern era as he should have been.

It's completely stupid how they ran into Jake Adler. The gang were in public talking too loud about 1899 and he casually walked up to them like oh hi were you guys also magically teleported 100 years into the future after dying??

Kieran was terrified of Jake and expected some sort of retribution for being an O'Driscoll like literally shuffling to hide behind other members of the gang terrified but they actually ended up being besties because Jake knows loads about gardening and homesteading and they got to bond over 'fuck Colm O'Driscoll' and just being gentle souls they vibe so well.

Gets a new cabin away from everything and starts rebuilding his homesteading life so everything is perfect for when Sadie comes back.

It's so obvious how Jake and Sadie's dynamic worked the second they met Jake Adler. He is the sweetest, most disgustingly soft man to ever exist. He has bi wife energy. If he had survived instead of Sadie, he would not have made it in the gang. He gets emotional over the idea of using pesticides to keep bugs off his tomatoes. He is malewife extraordinaire and cries at least once a week about missing his wife who he is nauseatingly in love with.

He went with them to get Sadie obviously and the gang were a little nervous how he would respond to bounty hunter more ghost than people living weapon that is the Sadie Adler they knew? Plus this is post Micah's death so they heard ALL about that as well. Sadie Adler is terrifying. How could such a delicate marshmallow man handle it?

It is immediately very obvious that that's just Sadie's personality. It is exaggerated but very much just how she's always been she could say the most threatening violent comment with the coldest scowl and Jake's just there like wow that's my wife isn't she amazing <3 <3 <3

He is not at all surprised she became a bounty hunter and murderer she was always capable of it he just asked her nicely not to kill people so she didn't but she was always that one thing away from becoming the woman we know and love. Also how quickly Sadie goes from cold scowl to smiling affectionately kissing her husband like he is her squishy soft rock.

Also Sadie is very much bisexual being in a relationship with a man does not erase that Jake has always known and is very supportive every night he gives thanks to the women who fumbled Sadie Adler so he could marry her. Gender roles are not welcome in their relationship hell gender as a concept doesn't belong in their relationship they both wear skirts on hot days and Jake wears lipstick more often than Sadie does. Sadie pegs.

She met him at the stables he was working at, picked him up like a stray cat and said we're married now. She proposed to him and he cried. Finding someone who complimented her in every way was a once in a million and she never moved on from that. He enjoys the domestic chores she loathes, never questions or raises an eyebrow at her wearing pants or wielding a gun. Both of them happy to move into the middle of no where because neither one of them wanted their dynamic being scrutinized like they are happy being in their own world regardless of era.

The gang are still in awe of how well they balance each other out. There was divine intervention in them being so perfectly made for each other let alone finding each other in canon era it's so much clearer how they seemed so lost and distraught being apart. Why Sadie was still mourning and talking about Jake in 1907 when she had lost him for longer than she'd known him at that point. Two people could not be more perfect for each other.

SECOND POINT

Sadie starts playing harmonica again now that she has her Jakey back. And Jake, who in a similar way stopped playing when he didn't have his Sadie his amore, gets another violin (this is a hc that I will die defending let him play fiddle while Sadie's on harmonica little homesteading country music losers). Charles also plays harmonica and it is very 'same hat!!' when they realize. Teach each other songs too.

Javier plays around with electric guitar but is an acoustic purist, but because Isaac plays electric guitar they have great little jam sessions together. Javier loves having someone who asks questions and wants to learn guitar like Isaac is pretty good by the time 1911 gang arrive but he is so happy to also have someone who likes guitar as much as he does and he can learn from. Rip Isaac's friends trying to keep up 'hey you up for crime this afternoon' 'no sorry i'm going to go play guitar with my stoner mexican uncle. his autistic boyfriend who is also a stoner is making soda bread!'

Uncle gets a banjo again and also a ukulele because he thinks they look goofy.

Also Sean plays jaw harp? Fun character fact. Lenny also forgets this fact and can be found walking around the house looking for whatever bug is making that weird buzzing noise and turns out Sean couldn't sleep and was just boinging along with his jaw harp.

Gang bonfire nights go wild on the jam sessions. Little southern orchestra with the banjo, two harmonicas, a fiddle, a jaw harp and guitars all going.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Heart of Steel

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Song for this chapter:

Summary: You pay Goodneighbor a visit, meeting up with Nick in the Memory Den to find out where the Institute is hiding, hoping to save your son. Meanwhile something as simple as a visit to Goodneighbor proves challenging for someone with the mindset of Elder Maxson. He made a promise but keeping it might crack deeper into what Arthur truly wanted.

Warnings: smut (18+), violence (although Finn deserves it), a lot of feel feels

Notes: sorry for the length of this chapter^^ but there'll be smut at the end as a reward ;)

Chapter 7 - Dangerous minds

You nervously paced up and down in front of the entrance of Goodneighbor, jumping at every little noise around you. Your hand instinctively reached for the pistol in the holder on your hip as someone emerged from around the corner. As the person drew nearer, you noticed that it was a tall man with dark brown hair. The sides of his head were shaved, while the hair on top was slightly longer with a few strands that fell in his face. A snug white t-shirt clung to his well trained torso, covered by a worn black leather jacket. His dirty blue jeans clung tightly to his legs and his boots were worn and covered in dirt and scratches. As he approached, you caught sight of a long scar on his right cheek and only then did you relax, removing your hand from the pistol.

"Arthur", you greeted him with a smile, "you look...different."

"Different enough that you were ready to shoot me", he grinned, "I suppose that means I've been successful."

You thought he was already good looking before but that clean shaved face took it to a whole new level. No beard to hide that wonderful sharp jawline, perfectly contouring his face, making him look more his age. You were positively surprised how many years his beard had added to his appearance. As your finger traced over his scar, he suddenly became self-conscious, realising that most of it had been hidden beneath his dark facial hair for so long. Memories of how he'd barely managed to defeat that deathclaw seven years ago violently flooded his mind, causing his hands to tremble and his vision to blur as sheer panic caused by the flashback flooded his entire body.

"Don't worry about that", you spoke softly as you kept touching his scar, "I actually think it adds to your rugged charm. Although, at some point, I would love to hear the story behind it."

You placed a tender kiss on his lips and felt the tension melt away. Arthur let out a nervous chuckle, surprised at how you were able to have such a calming effect on him. Just a simple kiss managed to wash away the painful memories of his encounter with one of the most dangerous creatures in the Wastelands.

You made your way through the creaky worn wooden door but only a few steps in, your way was blocked by a scarred bald man in road leathers. He casually lit his cigarette, his eyes scanning between Arthur and yourself, lingering as he examined your appearance.

"Welcome to Goodneighbor, Sweetie. Can't go walking around without an insurance. It would be a shame if something happened to you."

The disgustingly smug smile he gave you made you want to punch this dude straight away but you knew better than to start trouble in this place, especially with the Brotherhood's Elder by your side.

"Unless it's “keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me” insurance, I'm not interested", you shrugged nonchalantly, trying to keep a neutral expression as you heard Arthur laugh next to you.

“Careful babyface!”, he pointed at Maxson before turning his attention back to you, that greasy smile reappearing, “now don't be like that, sweetie, I think you're going to like what I have to offer.”

“Whoa, whoa, time out, Finn!”, Hancock laughed as he strolled towards you, “my favourite Vaultie makes a rare visit to town and you're hassling her and her friend here with that crap? Good to see you again”, he winked at you.

“What d'you care? She ain't one of us and he ain't either! You're soft Hancock, one day there'll be a new mayor in town”, Finn took a few steps towards the ghoul, raising his arms provocatively.

“Come on, man. This is me we're talking about. Let me tell you something.”

Hancock now stood mere inches away from Finn when he swiftly pulled out a dagger from beneath his coat and began thrusting it into Finn's body until it went limp and collapsed onto the pavement, a dark crimson pool forming around it. The ghoul wiped the knife clean on the corpse and slid it back under his coat, a genuine friendly broad smile gracing his lips now as he approached you with open arms and to hug you tightly.

“You alright, sister?”, a concerned tone in his voice as he inspected you before addressing Arthur, “don't let this little incident taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone's welcome.”

“Of the people, for the people? Oh brother...”, Maxson grumbled.

Hancock burst into laughter before playfully slapping Arthur's shoulder.

“Same as her, he he, I can tell I'm gonna like you already. Your room's ready at my humble State House, courtesy of being the mayor. Old Nick's waiting at the Memory Den. And be sure to pay a visit to The Third Rail, trouble always seems to find your little merc MacCready.”

“He's not mine, you know”, you chuckled as you watched Hancock make his way toward the State House.

You wanted to head straight to meet up with the detective but Maxson's fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you closer.

“You're...friend...is a ghoul”, he whispered with disdain.

The sudden hostility in his tone should have shocked you but upon seeing the sorrow in his eyes, you knew exactly where this was coming from. Those were words that sprouted from the seeds of military indoctrination sown in the mind of a child who ever only got to see the worst of each supposed enemy. It reminded you that war was not the only thing that never changed.

“Quite the deduction skills, Captain Obvious”, you teased him, refusing to play into his hateful statement.

“But-”, he started but you cut him off.

“You made a promise to me yesterday. Now I kindly ask of you to leave the Elder at the Prydwen and let Arthur follow me”, you said with a mocking bow, sticking out your tongue before taking his hand and leading him towards the Memory Den.

A surge of righteous outrage swelled within his chest, roaring in anger as it fought against the audacity of your response. It felt ridiculed, left alone in a dark corner with the nagging voice of doubt that had grown louder in recent times. He did make a promise yesterday and despite suspecting that this journey would challenge everything he believed in, he still chose to accompany you. He had to buck up on his ideas, at least for now, for you and his own sake.

The glowing yellow circles in the otherwise lifeless eyes, the grimy worn pallor of the artificial skin, exposing pieces of complex machinery on the places it was torn. Arthur recognised the synth for what it was immediately, his stomach only twisting further as it presented itself as detective Nick Valentine, friend of yours. It didn't take him long to connect the dots between this machine and the first discussion you had with him about the synth. This was one of the Institute's abominations and, at the very same time, the one saving your life multiple times. And now here it was waiting for you, ready to risk its own life yet again to help you find and rescue your son from the clutches of the very institution it should be loyal to. Your answer on your first day finally had a face to it, the face of a discarded machine and that of a truth he kept denying vehemently. His mind held countless reasons to hate every synth, everything created by the Institute, but his heart began to waver, secretly driving the wedge between his convictions and yours deeper, leaving him struggling to find out which version of reality would ultimately prevail.

"Don't worry, they'll both be alright ", doctor Amari assured, a smile on her face as she continued to observe you, delving deeper into Kellogg's memories, "although I have a feeling that one of them is more important to you."

Arthur's gaze never wavered from your form, afraid to even blink for fear of missing a moment where you might be in danger, beyond his reach.

“I know who you are.”

He finally dared to look away from you towards the doctor, his lips parting but the words failed him. What did he even want to tell her? That he couldn't care less if she knew? That nothing she could say would sway him from the path he had set the Brotherhood on? That even if he wished to stray from that path, he couldn't? He was trapped, his name, its legacy, hanging like a bleak prophetic shadow over him, regardless of what he truly wanted.

“But I also know”, Amari continued, “that she made the decision to bring you here and I will place my trust in her judgment. What she has done so far, the people she has helped, there is an honest heart and open-minded soul within her.”

“And what do you think happens now?”, he finally found his voice, his words escaping in a faint and uneasy whisper.

His mind failed him, trapped in the worries around you in this moment, he didn't have the energy to summon the soldier he was expected to be.

“Nothing”, Amari chuckled, her laughter filled with a mix of amusement and reassurance, “I will keep a watchful eye on you, but as long as you care for her and show respect to those residing here, you will be welcomed. We are not the Brotherhood; we don't immediately resort to violence against those who hold different beliefs, or physiology for that matter. ”

His eyes darted to the screen just in time to see the courser vanishing with Shaun.

“Teleportation”, he muttered under his breath.

“Now it all makes sense. Nobody's found the entrance to the Institute because there IS no entrance.”, Amari spoke, her fingers swiftly tapping on the buttons of her computer as she spoke into the microphone next to the screen , “let me pull you out of there.”

Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from Magnolia, slowly draining his drink as her voice and music hypnotised him further. The sultry tone dancing around the swinging rhythm lured him deeper into the depths of his own musings. It felt different hearing the music directly sang by someone pouring their soul into the song and touching others with a directness a radio could never replicate. He huffed, after this day, he was truly wondering if the singer was even human or one of those damned machines. He wouldn't know anymore and he grew too tired to think about it... To claim that this day had been exhausting would have been an understatement. It had been a long time since he'd experienced the world the way he did today. The Brotherhood had always kept him busy, even more so since he was appointed Elder, but despite being out there in the world, he never truly saw it. Yet, in spite of his fatigue, a part of him still yearned to leap from his seat and return to the Prydwen, armed with the newfound knowledge he had acquired to further his war against the Institute. He groaned instead, shifting his gaze from Magnolia to the empty glass he twirled between his fingers.

Your hands gently caressed his shoulder, your tender gesture prompting the first smile since both of you left the Memory Den. He seemed more quiet than usual, out of place, his usual cockiness stripped away and it caused a flicker of uncertainty within you. You questioned whether it was the right decision to bring him here but then again, these people became your allies, some of them friends, and if he was to be a part of you, he needed to witness and embrace everything that came with it. You nuzzled your face in the side of his neck, trailing kisses up to his ear.

"Mac's still not here and I'm getting tired, let's head back to our room", you whispered, leading him to the State House.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Maxson flung his jacket onto the armchair in the corner and collapsed onto the bed, absorbed in a mist of thoughts while he stared at the crumbling plaster of the ceiling, only lifting his head when he felt the mattress shift under a weight at its edge. He swallowed a groan as he watched as you crawled on top of him, gradually moving until you were lying upon him, placing a long tender kiss on his lips. The pressure and warmth of your body weighing down on him washed over his mind, clearing a path for his insatiable longing for you.

"Arthur", you breathed sultry, your eyes finding his.

There was a subtle shift in the depth of your stare, beneath the vast ocean of your deep affection, there lingered something more intense - a yearning that he had grown all too familiar with since you entered his life. Away from the ceaseless hum of the Prydwen's engine, with no danger of being interrupted by anyone at any time, the realisation of just how much you wanted to be close to him, to melt into him without ever leaving again, hit you with an overwhelming force. You moved slightly to the side, causing a gasp to escape his lips as he felt your hand gently stroke his clothed member. It didn't take long before his growing bulge felt almost painful against the confines of the tight jeans. Biting his lower lip, he watched as you unbutton his pants before pulling them down along with his underwear. The sudden coolness of the room against his throbbing erection caused him to inhale sharply; you had barely touched him, yet he was already teetering dangerously close to his limit.

"May I?", you asked, licking your lips as you settled between his thighs.

Arthur had no idea what you were implying but he knew he'd take whatever you offered him. He hissed as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, swallowing it slowly until all of it was buried in the wet warmth of your mouth. He'd touched himself many times in the solitude of his quarters but this felt unlike any pleasure he was ever able to give himself.

"I...I...I don't know for how long I can take this", he stuttered, "I've never been with anyone, not like this."

His confession tugged at your heartstrings. Here you were, lying in bed with the one man, whose Brotherhood almost lifted him into the realm of legends due his deeds and leadership, bare before each other in a rare moment of vulnerability of him admitting that you were the very first to grant him this kind of intimacy. It saddened you, realising that this man, whose soul revealed a profound connection and gentle nature, had never been seen in this light by anyone before. Despite the Brotherhood's reverence and adoration for him, they failed to recognise the beauty within his soul. But he'd no longer be alone for he had you now. You continued bobbing your head, twirling your tongue around the tip each time. You barely managed to do this five times before you felt his cock twitch, his warm release filling your mouth as the sound of your name mingled with long sinful moans dripping from his lips. You eagerly swallowed every drop he offered, and with one final lick, you crawled back to lie beside him, offering him a gentle smile. It took him a few deep breaths to recover before he settled on his knees, slowly starting to undress you before taking off his own t-shirt, leaving both of you completely bare before each other. His steel-blue gaze trailed over you body, brows furrowed as if he desperately tried to burn every little detail of you into his memories while his hands trailed over your soft skin. He remembered a part of that book he once stole in the Citadel, eager to try if those old words held any truth. Leaning in, he licked and sucked on your nipple while his hand ventured down between your legs, two fingers slowly dragging through your folds. His inexperienced touch and movements might have been slightly rough and uncoordinated, but they elicited the sweetest moans from you. He noticed that that every time his fingertips grazed against your clit, your legs quivered ever so slightly and your moans grew needier. You opened your eyes at the sudden lack of his touches and found him staring at his fingers, coated with your wetness. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you witnessed his fascination with something so ordinary, highlighting how his life must have been devoid of intimacy all these years.

"All for you", you whispered, earning a genuine smile from him.

"Do you truly want this?", he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

You remained silent, aware that words alone would never be enough to convey the depth of your desires in this moment. Instead, you pushed him onto his back, straddling him as you pressed your wetness against his cock, grinding against it and feeling him grow hard again.

"There is nothing I want more than being here with you, feeling you, loving you", you breathed, pausing your movements, "you're all I ever wanted."

Arthur's heart felt as if it were on the verge of shattering at your words. He had been going through life without ever experiencing such affection and tenderness. For the first time, he felt truly wanted, even loved, not just for his name, his purpose, but for his soul, his own true essence.

"I don't recognise that feeling plaguing my heart and mind but if this is truly love", a teardrop welled up in the corner of his eye, "then allow me to tell you that I love you."

You positioned his cock at your entrance, moaning his name, feeling him stretch you perfectly as his cock was sliding deep inside you. His hands clasped unto your hips, fingers digging into your supple flesh while he held you in place for a moment, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. Your walls clenched around his twitching cock and you slowly began moving, placing your hands on his chest while your gaze locked onto his. Arthur began thrusting his hips upwards, anticipating your movements. The lewd sounds of him thrusting deep inside your wetness filled the room, entangling with the heavy breaths and lustful moans. Arthur watched your head fall back in pleasure as you rode him and he couldn't care for anything anymore in this very moment. The Brotherhood, his war, held no significance at this moment, all he cared for was the closeness to you, the love which bound you together and the heavenly bliss you had brought upon him. Both of you approached the edge fast and your moans grew louder as both of you finally plunged into the abyss of purest pleasure. Panting, you tried to get off him but Arthur pulled you down on him, his arms wrapping around you, holding you in a tight hug, both of you surrendering to the irresistible lure of slumber.

Chapter 8 - why do fools fall in love?

Feel free to reblog if you enjoyed the story :)

[thenextcelestialchapter]

An Idea for Croods 3??

Even though they’re probably already working on it lol.

So I find myself thinking about that concept art for Croods 2 and the scrapped characters. I’ve thought since the beginning that I wished something could have been done with the designs. I’ve been mulling an idea about it tonight for some reason so here goes:

Croods and Croods 2 were funny as heck and if they made a third film of course the focus would still need to be on comedy. However! I feel like if the Croods 3 were to end the whole shebang, and it probably should, then it should be the most daring of the Croods movies, with the most to say and, well, just “goes there”. 

The first Croods movie actually briefly touched upon a few of these kinds of issues but I think they need to really tackle them head on in a final film. What am I talking about some of you might wonder? Abuse. Of course though none of our main players would commit such acts, so we need a new family with these problems. And I think I know just the one!

Croods is in need of a proper, hate-able villain... And I think this guy should be him.

They probably originally designed him as more the bumbling/overbearing but ultimately loving/caring and well-meaning type dad like Grug is supposed to be. However, since Grug already fills that role, I think this guy would be better suited as a villain/the dark combination of Grug’s strength and Phil’s intelligence and need for perfectionism. Like he might get along with both dads at first bc he has things in common with both, but eventually he gives off the vibes as being the kind of guy who expects what he thinks of to be as perfection/idealism, or else. His own general appearance gives off this vibe, but then you look at the art of his potential wife...

This woman... Bugs me so dang much. XD;;; Like the art itself is cute, she looks fun and fun to draw, but she looks so disgustingly perfect for a cavewoman, and she especially looks out of place as a Croods cavewoman. But I think that could be what possibly elevates this character and makes it make sense. Maybe there’s a reason she looks and acts so unnaturally “perfect”. Maybe it’s bc it’s what her husband demands of her, and her perfection reflects her fear of her imperfections ever being seen...

After all, the caveman stereotype we tend to think of is a much more violent type of man. Grug himself taps into this violence when he thinks he needs to protect his family, but I just can’t stop thinking about that “joke” Gran made about her father essentially tearing her apart from her true love and actually SELLING her to another mate. THAT’S FKIN CANON LIKE DAMN. So why not have at least one villainous caveman type character? Why not have one jerk who is willing to pull his wife by the hair and order her around who the others eventually have to square up against as a true family?

Also I feel like this girl...

And this one were probably meant to be sisters, maybe...? They look too unlike each other to be the same character I think, but I also think that’s what they should do with her. Like the first image is who she is forced to be at first by her dad, making her into a mini version of her mother who he also molds through intimidation. But the second image could be closer to what she really wants to look like/looks like by the end. Cavegirl BFFs are great but what about a whole Cavegirl Posse, dude!

Also speaking of Gran, if this third story were to focus more on issues like these, I feel like it would only be fair to go back to Gran’s issues too. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have just a lil fun with it lol...

Like I’m thinking it would be hilarious if Gran just casually mentions something horrifying happening to her in her youth like she did that one time at the dinner table, and she’s laughing it off at first, but then Hope/Dawn or Eep/Thunk or someone casually remarks to her, “Wow Gran, that actually sounds really awful! If that happened to me I’d probably be traumatized for life!”

At which point it slowly dawns on Gran how messed up it actually was. She slowly starts to sob. It gets SUPER massively uncomfortably awkward while she’s crying, all the other characters look really unsure what do to at first... Finally, one of them reaches over and gives Gran one or two quick pats on the back, and she immediately stops sobbing and exclaims in her normal voice, “ALRIGHT, I’M OVER THAT! I’M TOO OLD TO BE TRAUMATIZED! GIMME MORE FOOD!” XD

[grandprix-ao3]

first lines

tagged by @drivestraight

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3. (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have.

this is so fun. i have a love/hate relationship with first lines... like either they come to me easy (it's like this! like, boom!) or i'm thinking about it for like 17 business days. but fun story usually i start writing a fic because i start actually writing it in my head, like with an imaginary google doc and all of that, so i'll only make the actual document when i think i have an idea of what i want to write, not just what i want to happen.

anyways. i will do my ten most recent fics. under the break. this was fun to look at also i haven't given my previous first lines a whole ton of thought lately... very intriguing. some i like better than others tbh

telephone

Every time the words circle back around to Esteban, it's a different story.

like a house on fire

For the nearly three years since Charles first moved into the duplex, his upstairs neighbor has been the same mild-mannered woman.

backseat freestyle

"Do you not think it is a little bit pathetic?"

growing pains

It is easier to make friends in racing when the stakes are lower.

firebug

For the first time since Pierre and Charles started dating—years ago, so far from the present it feels like something they never knew—Charles thinks he actually wants to be mad at his boyfriend.

choking on your alibis

For two weeks of the summer before their last year of university, Charles is meant to stay with his best friend, Esteban.

carlos.jpg

Lando posts pictures of pretty buildings and fast cars.

violent ends

It's disgustingly instinctual.

pressure machine

The lights are out.

the alps

Pierre has the decency to tell Yuki before the announcement goes up.

also i'm gonna do miamis (alt!) because i'm annoying. welcome to: hell, population: me. we win these

piranha

Being teammates with Logan is a fucking lot.

show me how you show off

They're a bit tipsy, hiding in the darkened corner of a bright-lit nightclub.

shark bait

Oscar kind of knew what he was signing up for when he decided to go to school in America, but he doesn't think anything could've prepared him for the email that said his roommate's name was Logan Hunter Sargeant.

your animal side

Oscar presents late.

an itch under my skin

"There's my pretty thing."

contact-drunk

Oscar doesn't know why he even came to this party.

pretty thing

"Come on, open up."

and you know what just for fun here's the first line of my current wip :)

Williams is the only team on the grid with an all-Beta driver lineup.

oh and i tag: @hourcat @dm3rv @alblondo23 @oversteerey to do if they wish. sorry if you were double tagged <3

[catastrxblues]

hii nadinee <3

the years coming to an end sooooo i need to sneak in atleast another ask that allows you to rant sdajhsdkjah

okay soo, i saw your posst about your rants about tbosas (Im assuming you've watched it? if not ignore this x)

soo i was thinkinggggg, if you wanttt, you can rant about it under this ask bc i love reading your rants and ily

bye noww mwah <33

HI LUCY !!!! thank you so muchh for this askjdklf 😭<33

i just finished watching it and i have some THOUGHTS. but it’s midnight here soo it’s definitely not well put AT ALL T-T

first of all, i just LOVE the fact that they added the “part x : ….” like that was such a nice touch i was so surprised for some reason

CLEM. i don’t know if it’s my memory that sucks, but i think she was a bit too confident and ambitious in this? especially that part with dr. gaul. book clemmie still fabricated the truth of course, but it was more to save herself from dr gaul’s notorious wrath. but movie clemmie did it to make a better impression on her, even went as far as claiming that she wrote it all which is just?? i don’t really understand why they had to “antagonize” her that way.

THE SINGING AT THE REAPING. like the beginning part. it actually gave me chills i love it so much

SEJANUS MY BELOVED. i love him so much. and that part of snow saying to him that he “will always protect him” throwing up because sejanus my love i’m so sorry

TIGRIS too oh my god. she’s just so everything. kind, compassionate, witty. and the part where they added the “you look like your father coriolanus” again, throwing up. i just i love her so much 😭

LUCY GRAYY. okay, don’t get me wrong, i LOVEE rachel and i think she was amazingg (and that scene when coryo was trying to convince her that she would be okay in the end thing after he killed mayfair and her voice cracked i can’t). AND LIKE THE FACT THAT SHE SANG ALL OF THEM LIVE STOP.

but i feel like they made lucy gray soo much more mature in here? as if everything she did was calculated and almost everything she said (before the games) had this ‘sneer’ in them. when, from what i remember, lucy gray wasn’t like that?

and that part at the end, when she told coryo she was going to get some katniss. they also made it seem like she suspected what was going on and was contemplating on doing something about it (which i get because of cinematic reason but). i don’t know, i think it erased the pure insanity of the moment a bit. how paranoid snow is for his safety that he could shed off trust that easily.

oh yeah SNOW 😭 tom blyth was greatt of course. watching this did make me realize how inner monologues can change and affect a story to the audience. because, no matter how good the actor is at face expression, you can never replace the running unfiltered thoughts that goes through a character’s mind.

like. honestly, if i had only watched the movie, maybe i would’ve violently shipped snowbaird too. cool if you do!! and i do get the whole appeal about doomed by the narratives, but i personally just never really liked or shipped them because of how disgustingly possessive snow is of her. how he had once thought that it’d be better to have her locked up in the capitol, his his his for like so many pages, etc.

i feel like the lack of snow’s inner monologue is definitely the reason why we now have so many people babygirling and justifying his actions. don’t know just something to think about i guess.

OH AND THE FACT THAT WE DONT HAVE THE “it’s not over until the mockingjay sings”??? jail that’s literally one of the best quotes from the book and it could’ve been SUCH a cinematic moment i don’t know why they cut that

that’s itt i think i don’t really want for this to go too long 😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO DO THIS LUCY I LOVE YOU hope you’re having a wonderful holiday 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

[wondereads]

Personal Review (04/24/23)

Silver in the Bone by Alexandra Bracken

Summary

Ever since being abandoned by their guardian seven years ago, Tamsin and Cabell Lark have struggled to get by as Hollowers, thieves of magical artifacts. It doesn't help that Cabell is cursed with a particularly violent spell. When Tamsin gets wind of the location of the Ring of Dispel, a ring capable of removing any curse and the item her guardian vanished looking for, she decides she'll do anything to get it. But the competition is fierce, and soon she ends up with her long-time rival and a naive sorceress on the island of Avalon itself.

Plot 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

The plot at the beginning of this book struck me as a little meandering and aimless. Tamsin is seemingly pulled in all sorts of directions—Cabell's curse, the Dispel Ring, Nash's disappearance, her own lack of the One Sight, all kinds of things are going on. However, once the characters arrive in Avalon, things get a little more streamlined. There's one major issue: the island is overrun by the Children of the Night, and priestesses of Avalon have dwindled to a truly miniscule number. Once the real conflict is revealed, I was properly pulled in.

The final 100 or so pages were very strong. There were all kinds of reveals going on, and it had me on the edge of my seat. Tamsin's own connection to the curse is incredibly interesting, and not all the questions have been answered by the end. The twist at the end was insane, and it was a little vindicating since I'd suspected one of the reveals. Also, I knew who the traitor was from the start; they almost made me doubt, but then I was right, which is always fun.

Characters 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

The main character, Tamsin, was at first a little typical. The grumpy, rude, disillusioned protagonist abounds in YA today, and I wasn't really into her at first, but she got better. I think it really helped to have Cabell there; Tamsin's care for her brother balances her prickly personality well. By around halfway through, it's clear that Tamsin is disgustingly pessimistic but by no means an asshole. By the end of the book, especially after seeing how she came to be this way (and then have it happen to her again and her choose to be better this time), I was thoroughly attached.

Cabell is a character I'm torn on. From an analytical perspective, he's quite interesting, but I kept getting annoyed with him. I feel like it's just a side effect of relating so much to Tamsin, who definitely has eldest sister syndrome. Honestly, despite him being such a major character, he wasn't around as much as the other side characters, Neve and Emrys. Neve was sweet, and I think she was good for Tamsin, although I'm hoping to get more information on her backstory. We got a little peek of it, but then it was pushed to the side in favor of the other things going on. Emrys, however, really got me. First, he seems like a great love interest for Tamsin. Second, I thought I had him figured out towards the end, but then everything went off the rails and now I definitely want to see more of him.

The other side characters were pretty good. I particularly liked the priestesses, Cait, Olwen, and Flea. I think that Cait especially was characterized very well, and despite them really only 'joining the group' towards the end, they all were great.

Writing Style 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

While I really like Alexandra Bracken, it's more for her plot and character work than writing. There's nothing wrong with it, I just don't think it stands out in the grand scheme of things. It does what it's supposed to do, and that's about it. I will mention that the pacing feels a little off in the beginning; it feels like Bracken knew where she wanted the characters to end up, but she wasn't sure how to get them there. Once they're in Avalon, everything smooths out, but before it's a little jerky.

Overall 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Initially, I was having some trouble getting through this book. I think part of it was just how busy I've been, but I do think the beginning just doesn't do it for me. However, it was necessary for the most part, and I really liked the rest of the book. Tamsin grew on me, I was invested in the romance, and the side characters are quite good. The actual plot is full of all kinds of twists and reveals, and it ended on such a good cliffhanger—it definitely makes me want to read the next book! I'd say that even though this book isn't perfect, it's a great read, especially if you're an Arthurian nerd like me.

The Author

Alexandra Bracken: 36, American, also wrote The Darkest Minds, Passenger, and Lore, and she's a Star Wars nerd

The Reviewer

My name is Wonderose; I try to post a review every week, and I do themed recommendations every once in a while. I take suggestions! Check out my about me post for more!

[paleontaxi]

🌙 s𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

tagged by: @gas-stxtion

tagging: @oddlies @burningsky

1. what does your muse smell like?

Jarod most often smells like smoke.  He's a chain smoker, and his favorite method of disposing of bodies is by burning them, so the smoke very often clings to his clothes and the interior of his taxi.  He also smells like gasoline a lot, which he will say is because he drives for a living, but it's because he splashes the bodies he burns with it, and sometimes it gets on himself.  He also, on occasion, smells faintly of bleach.

Besides all of the body disposal stuff, he doesn't really care for cologne or anything like that.  So, if you stripped him of all the chemicals and smoke, he would just smell... ordinary... like soap or like skin.

2. what do your muse’s hands feel like?

Jarod's hands are a little softer than one might expect, given how rough he looks everywhere else.  But he wears leather gloves a lot, and even before he started doing that, he wasn't doing a lot of repetitive things with his hands that would have resulted in the formation of callouses.  His hands do tend to run a little dry, though, and as such, they are not as soft as they could be, a little bit scratchy for that reason.  He doesn't really believe in moisturizer.  But only slightly rough is still softer than a lot of people expect lol

3. what does your muse usually eat in a day?

Jarod doesn't eat nearly as much as he should, and when he does, it's a lot of junk.  He has never been a master chef by any stretch of the imagination, and on the rare occasions that his depression, obsessive thoughts, and work schedule do allow him to cook for himself, he still sticks to easy and convenient things, like mac 'n' cheese and hot dogs.  Most of the time, though, he doesn't have the energy and he's on the road, so it's a lot of gas station bullshit and fast food.

4. does your muse have a good singing voice?

Ha!  Not a bit!  Jarod has utterly destroyed his throat and lungs by smoking two packs a day.  His singing his disgustingly throaty and raspy -- not to mention, off-key!  Thankfully, he doesn't like to sing along with the radio, anyway, so it's unlikely you'll ever be subjected to it unless you hold him at gunpoint.  And then, you might be tempted to turn the gun on yourself!

5. does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?

As far as tics go, he tends to rock back and forth and shake violently when he is trying to suppress his rage, which he usually fails at doing, anyway.  And bad habits, he's got plenty.  The aforementioned chain smoking, binge drinking, yelling, hitting inanimate objects when they don't work, shooting people for minor disrespect...  You know how it is.

6. what does your muse usually look like / wear?

Jarod is business casual in a button-up shirt and blue jeans.  Cotton and polyester blend jacket, usually with the sleeves pushed up, but he'll pull them down if he gets cold.  Black leather gloves.  Dark, slightly scuffed boots with a little heel on them.  A silver charm bracelet, all dinosaur skulls, on his left wrist.  He gets a little crazy with the tie, always patterned, dinosaurs, happy faces, pineapples, all of which Lola got him as birthday and Father's Day presents.  And of course, the dark fedora, so constant on him that most people have trouble recognizing him without it.

As far as personal grooming goes, he often neglects it, so his stubble has a tendency to run away from him.  He also looks like he has barely slept in the 10 years since Lola died, and that's because... well... he hasn't.  One of the first things people notice about Jarod is how desperately he seems to need a goddamn nap.

7. is your muse affectionate? how much? how so?

Not... usually.  Not unless he is very drunk or very sad, which... is usually shortly followed by him getting very drunk, haha!  ...ha...  He tends to only initiate physical contact if he's been drinking or if he knows you very well.  Outside of that, touching him tends to be a complete gamble, and whether or not you end up with a hole in your skull depends entirely on whether he is in a more charitable mood than his usual.

8. what position does your muse sleep in?

Jarod is typically a side sleeper, but honestly, he's not too fussy about what position he sleeps in.  He is just as capable of falling asleep while sitting up in an armchair or at his desk and does not even really need to be in a bed.  That is, when he can no longer force himself to keep awake, anyway.

He does tend to get a little cuddly in his sleep, either with plush toys or whoever is sharing the bed with him at the time, but shh...  Don't tell anyone about that.

9. could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Not usually, not unless he's very angry and more given to raising his voice.  Jarod is a very small man, trying so hard to scrape 5'5" and not quite making it, and he is so scrawny that other NPCs note it as one of his defining characteristics, calling him "the skinny man."  He's probably like 125 lbs soaking wet.  Because of this, he is light on his feet without really meaning to be, and he has been known to startle people with his presence while standing in the same room as them, never mind the hallway or the next room over!

You'll know when he's getting angry, though, whether you're in the next room or down the block.

[yamikawas]

hello girl i am so violent

[thelonelyme]

♡ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴍᴀʟʟᴇᴜs ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏɴɪᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ [ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs]♧

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𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞: ディズニー ツイステッドワンダーランド[Twisted Wonderland]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨/𝐢: Malleus Draconia, mc, Lilia Vanrouge.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: Malleus finally understands that Mc isn't in love with him, but it's all an illusion. [mc x Yandere Malleus Draconia]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Hey if your req still open can you do headcanons of yandere malleus dealing with DID reader ? Like reader have two personality that contrast to each other, one personality is so sweet and gentle + affectionate. Never disobey him and always play a good role of a queen but the other personality is harsh, aggresive and always curse him saying they hate him and one day they will destroy everything Malleus's have.

𝐀𝐕𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐄: FEM. READER. In this post, there is the presence of D.I.D. [Dissociative Identity Disorder], so I warn anyone who feels triggered by this theme to scroll. Yandere content, threats, physical and psychological violence, misogyny, depression, mental illness, torture, gore, mention of rape, allusions to suicide, split personality, violent personality switches.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @dearestsugar, I hope you like the work, I took a bit more than I thought, and for this I am very sorry. Stay healthy, please &lt;3. I must say that I had more than a few "problems" while writing this, I had never received such a request, so I wanted to make it as realistic as possible. I will not claim to have written a work where people with this disorder can identify without feeling "teased" or without feeling that what is written is alienating, but I hope I have at least entertained someone. Btw in here I decided to write this by Malleus's p.o.v. (kinda).

•Malleus at first would have been extremely combated between loving you unconditionally and forcing you to stop with that bratty attitude. He loved, desired and wanted for himself all the disgustingly sweet attentions you gave him, drinking from your mouth every word of sweet honey of affirmation and holding you against his breast constantly, clutching so strongly your shoulders to leave marks on your delicate flesh, fearing that at any moment you could treat him as a futile monster that had deprived you of your freedoms; and while part of himself would keep repeating that your behavior was finally the fruit of all those professed love sessions, that it is all the result of true love born in a dark castle, all you could do was scream and despair deep inside the labyrinth of your mind.

•"Shh, don’t worry, that bad person is gone. There’s me now, there's only me, and I love you so much that it hurts to see what I've done."

•The high fae wanted to firmly believe that there was only good in you, that every time you suddenly threw horrible words at him; that every time he dared even approach your beautiful figure you would start attacking him with words and actions, destroying not only yourself in the process, but also weakly breaking the bubble of false beliefs that Malleus so much loved to surround himself with. Such a painfully sudden change, almost making you look like another soul in the body of his beloved, as if someone had cursed your mind to force you to behave in that atrocious way.

•"My dear, my love, my thorn, tell me who cursed you. Tell me who even dared touch you with a spell. Tell me and I will burn him in the most fiery flames that he can ever create; tell me and I will make every single piece of his worthless and disgusting flesh melt into a pool of disdain and suffer every pain hell can have; tell me, and I’ll make him regret being born, so I can avenge you. Tell me so I can save you." "So you would make me suffer?" You would have shouted in your thoughts, not understanding what had happened, confused and terrified because he had taken you to the deepest cells of his castle, making you face the suffering and devastated faces of servants who flexibly stretching their arms, were thrown back into the narrow space. You could no longer listen to the screams of agony that had now become a persistent cacophony and somehow even louder and sharper as you walked in and trembled beside Malleus, feeling gagged inside your stomach and feeling breathless as you watched.

•You didn’t know what the hell happened. One moment you were in the cells and the other in your sumptuous room, surrounded by doctors, among whom you could distinguish an orderly red hair, making you mutter carelessly and weakly the name of Riddle.

•Malleus, on the other hand, would be even more convinced that one of those despicable slaves had done something to his beloved, deciding then that he would torture everyone, not leaving any alive. He knew that person who was now yelling at him wasn’t you. He knew that it was "the other", as you two had dubbed her in one of your meetings about this curse, which at that moment was throwing all kinds of swears and impurities. He knew that not only from the change of approach, but also from the fact that you were threatening him to let you go and stop treating you like you were grout, constantly repeating that you didn’t feel bad at all. It was almost as if you had two different souls, but he knew very well that it was not possible in any way; thus making his beliefs even more compact. You were cursed, there was no other way.

•Once you loved him, you cuddled him and gave yourself to him gently, gently putting your beautiful hands in his hair, holding him against you while you were sprinkling your love to each other, while a second later you would wiggle violently, as if you were terrified at the time. He could see and feel the confusion and fear in your voice as in your beautiful eyes before they were immediately filled again with the same pure hatred that he had now learned to ignore. That look almost reminded him of those moments when you would be woken up by him from one of your afternoon naps, but that curse had ruined everything.

•It was making his life difficult, to say the least. As the decades went by, your "curse" kept getting worse and worse, and with it even the sudden disappearances of the servants continued to grow, reaching the point where you changed waitresses every week, and didn’t even get attached to anyone. Leaving you alone to constantly contemplate every void you had.

•You couldn’t remember most of your days, and Malleus was always talking to you like you knew what was going on. Obviously you would have indulged him because of your ever-increasing confusion and distraction, not knowing that what he was constantly asking for were confirmations. Confirmations that amused Lilia to condemn the weak humans who worked in the castle.

•For the black-haired fae, the situation was extremely entertaining. Being a trusted guard of the most powerful monarch at the time and his adorable queen by his side could be compared to watching an interesting film, like those he watched in the various theaters. He found exhilarating your expressions of genuine confusion after one of your usual personality changes, both good and more.. turbulent.

•He knew exactly what your fragile human mind was going through: He knew full well that what you were unwittingly doing was a protection mechanism. Your mind had fallen so far into the abyss of depression that to preserve itself, it created two different... people. He still remembered when you refused to eat any kind of food, at one point he and Silver even had to temporarily paralyze you to eat.

•You were going to die, you know? But thanks to the seven, your body didn’t get damaged. At least not too much. Or when with extremely childish behavior you refused to interact with anyone other than yourself, or when you had completely surrendered to your husband’s care. You didn’t answer to anyone, but still let Sebek and the others touch you, something that your normal self wouldn't absolutely allow; you were still like a delicate rag doll. And Malleus, not noticing that huge problem, would continue to drag you to various fights and public events; if he hadn’t pointed it out, he would never have even noticed.

•But even that problem had been eradicated, leaving Malleus extremely worried and glued to you for the next few decades.

•But this time, it seemed to him that the situation did not put in extreme danger the happiness of his monarch and yours, although he would keep an eye more often on the part of you that continued to remain stubbornly tenacious: he knew that as a human, you really couldn’t do anything, but those constant threats of suicide and death to the young fae would keep him near you.

•And for the sake of his amusement, he would add even more fuel to the fire while continuing to confirm the fears of the young monarch that you were under the spell of an ignoble being hiding within the walls.

•And while Malleus would continue to treat you gently despite you repeatedly trying to escape, the commoners and wealthy families continued to comment on the lovely royal couple.

•Malleus knew it wasn’t you who was talking, he knew that every time you threw disparate insults at him, he didn’t have to take such behavior seriously. Soon you’d be back to normal, and for now, he should just keep treating you like you treated him.

•Deep down, a small part of you kept hoping that with all the caresses and the love with which you held and warmed up in bed every night would somehow make you "remember" who you really were.

•He would continue to send to death any servant who was suspected of being the charmer. After all, the only person he cared about the most was you, and he wouldn’t have stopped at all in front of a stupid human, let alone pulled out during the act of killing. He would do it with pleasure, knowing that it would help you and him, fill him with extremely satisfying euphoria, love to think that those people were real obstacles to your relationship. Even though they were innocent people who had found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would still consider them innocent.

•"Fuhuh, you know you have such powerful power in your hand and you can’t even use it? A man who is willing to kill, conquer kingdoms and colonize the entire Twisted Wonderland for you is not enough?"

•Your life would be a continuous inner fight: part of you wants to run away and make that monster suffer in every possible way, that wants to disobey him in every way, whether it’s about etiquette or whether it’s about refusing to look after your little heirs; while another side in stark contrast, just wants to make your husband extremely proud of you, that you notice yourself and that finally after all those hours of work can give you the due attention that should have been due to you, a part who wants nothing more than to be loving and kind to that poor soul who was almost destroyed for you, who felt guilty for every fae or human your husband killed, and who did everything for the good of his family.

•While all you did was stay caged inside yourself, not being aware of your cruel actions and your love for Malleus.

•Your life would be a constant question mark. You wouldn’t remember why you were holding a long rope in the royal garden, nor would you remember why you were gently and gently massaging the tight shoulders of the fae, enticing them to mutter faintly and then go back to sleep. You would never know how the two sides continued to sabotage each other: the "cursed" part of you would continue to devise a way to finally leave this cursed kingdom and all those who lived there, while the other "kind" would constantly ruin every escape, By subconsciously sabotaging... Yourself?

•You don't know anymore.

•Obviously, each person in the castle would witness your much more frequent personality changes, seeing for themselves the brutality with which you changed from one moment to the next: one moment being kind and courteous and the other rude and disgusted even only by the poor servants who followed every rule of that selfish lizard.

•And while your life had quickly turned into hell, Malleus, blissfully unaware, would continue to firmly believe his beliefs: by now he was certain, he had repeated it so many times that he had mistaken that little false theory as an absolute truth. He would adorn you with jewels as expensive as your entire body- even after you destroying them out of sprite; he would praise you in the most sincere manner possible as you did with him, and let you sit comfortably in his lap in the throne room while you continued to have a persistent illness.

•"Shh, shh, don’t cry my love. Everything will end, everything will end. Shh, don’t cry love."

•And after years and years of unsuccessful research by your loyal husband, that little part of you that still contained your true personality, the real you, not those two copies that were bossing your brain around, but you- would slowly disappear, forgotten and overwhelmed by the other two intruders who occupied your body.

•"What a brutal... What a sad end for such a beautiful woman, such a young and respectable woman, so intriguing as her, reduced to nothing but an empty shell occupied only by two impostors. Worse end than simple death. But as long as my king is happy, so am I."

•Losing to yourself.. poor soul.