#finished this post just in time for class to finish

[sharieb]

I’ve had this idea in my head where Non-MC goes to a university while the LIs are doing their normal jobs. There’s this playboy guy who keeps trying to hook up with us and doesn’t believe us about having a boyfriend. We try to deal with it on our own, but the LIs find out about it. How do they deal with the issue?

Taken: A Lesson in Boundaries

Setup: As a university student, you do your best to juggle between classes, study sessions, and overpriced coffee with your boyfriend's support. However, the campus playboy decided to not leave you alone. You tried to handle the situation, but in the end, the boys found out and decided to step in. Pairing: LADs x Non-MC! reader

Genre: Hurt/ Comfort (slight)

Xavier hears about it first, but not because you meant to tell him. It slips out during one of your late-night video calls.

You’re curled up on your bed, laptop balanced on your knees, venting about your day, eyes half-shut from exhaustion.

At first, Xavier just listens. His usual gentle smile fades until there’s only silence on the other end of the screen.

Inside his mind, gears start spinning fast.

Xavier doesn’t get angry often, but his protective instincts have always been sharp-edged.

Someone thought they could harass you and get away with it? Not under his watch.

He won’t confront the guy directly, no, Xavier plays smarter than that. He knows exactly how to dismantle a life digitally without leaving a trace, thanks to a certain “florist”. "His name," he asks, voice soft. Almost gentle. Almost.

You hesitate. You tell him anyway.

The next morning, that guy suddenly can’t access half his social media accounts. His private messages to other girls mysteriously leak to campus forums.

Screenshots flood group chats: every manipulative text, every skeevy pick-up line, every screenshot he'd begged to keep private.

Somehow, every embarrassing post he’s ever made ends up top of the search algorithm.

Nobody knows how it happened. Nobody can trace it. But Xavier definitely knows.

When you ask about it, Xavier just smiles through the screen, his eyes soft but unreadable, his voice smooth and low. "Told you I’d protect you,"

He murmurs, eyes shining faintly in the screen light. "Sleep well, yeah?"

You did, for the first time in weeks.

Later, Xavier upgrades all your devices without asking. New phone? Done. Laptop? Upgraded.

He installs a personalised firewall with encrypted protection layers that no one but him can access. "I named it after you,"

He says, teasing softly over video call, eyes glinting. "It’s the strongest lock I’ve made yet."

Your new student ID mysteriously gets flagged as "VIP" in campus systems.

Suddenly, you get access to the best seats in lectures, priority tech support, and an upgraded security app on your campus account, all courtesy of Xavier's quiet backend adjustments.

When you protest, he just hums, soft and smug. "This way, love, you won’t have to waste your time on idiots."

Zayne hears about it from someone else. He wasn’t even trying to get involved.

He happened to be on campus for a medical seminar, lecturing about crisis care and emergency triage, when one of your classmates mentioned it offhand. "Hey, sir, isn’t that your girlfriend that guy keeps bothering?"

Zayne doesn’t react outwardly. But inside, his mind goes cold, calculating.

There’s a quiet fury in him, one he rarely shows, but it exists for moments like this.

People who don’t understand boundaries are a danger, medically, ethically, and personally.

He thanks the student for the information and finishes his seminar without missing a beat.

But the next day, he shows up on campus again, this time under the guise of giving a guest lecture on emergency trauma care.

Midway through the talk, he pauses. His sharp, calculating eyes scan the room until they land directly on the guy. "Unwanted advances,"

 Zayne says calmly, adjusting his glasses with clinical precision, "It’s a form of harassment. If you persist in bothering someone who has clearly rejected you, you might find yourself in my clinic for reasons you won’t like."

The room falls silent. Some students shift in their seats. Zayne smiles then. But his eyes don’t, which makes the room even more unsettling.

After that, the playboy leaves you alone. Completely. He even starts avoiding the lecture halls you attend.

Later, Zayne texts you a simple message:

[Medical ethics, enforced :)]

Some time later, Zayne starts by giving you a discreet medical alert card to carry around campus.  

It isn’t tied to any official organisation, but it’s custom-made with his personal contact encrypted into the chip.

Since he’s the Chief Surgeon at Asko Hospital and their top researcher, his direct line can bypass most emergency channels. "Emergency contact? Me, obviously,"

He says, tucking it into your bag himself.

He also makes you attend a private self-defence workshop in his clinic after hours.

He walks you through every move slowly, correcting your posture with gentle hands and a small smile. "I hope you never need it."

He says quietly, hands brushing yours, "But if you do? Use it without hesitation."

Rafayel doesn’t hear about it from you directly.

He catches wind of it through his network, art students talk, and Rafayel listens when it matters.

When you confirm it over coffee, his expression doesn’t change much. He doesn’t get angry. Not visibly.

Inside, though, Rafayel feels something tighten in his chest.

You’re supposed to be safe when he’s not around. You’re supposed to enjoy your life, not be harassed by some fool who can’t take a hint.  

So, he thinks of the sharpest blade he has: his art

Instead of confronting the guy physically, Rafayel plans an exhibit.

He extends an invitation to you. One of his gallery openings is coming up, and he insists you attend.

What you don’t know is that he makes sure the guy gets an invitation, too. The theme of the night? "Unmasking Predators."

The gallery is a haunting blend of shadowed sculptures and visceral paintings.

Each piece is inspired by manipulation, coercion, and blurred consent boundaries.

The playboy shows up, looking smug, sipping champagne like he belongs there.

That smugness fades quickly. Halfway through the exhibit, he realises some of the most uncomfortable pieces feel too familiar.

Phrases he’s used before are carved into the installations. Sketches look too close to home. His own words reflected back at him, magnified and monstrous.

He leaves early, face pale.

Rafayel catches your eye after, brushing a kiss against your temple, his lips soft but his words sharper. "Art is for education, my love. Consider him schooled."

A Few days after, Rafayel sends you custom jewellery inspired by his new art series: rings, necklaces, even a bracelet.

All of them are stylish, delicate, and secretly embedded with discreet safety tech.

"Tap the stone twice if someone bothers you," he whispers, looping a silver chain around your neck. "It’ll send me your location."

The pieces become a fashion statement on campus, sparking admiration and curiosity. But only you and Rafayel know their real purpose.

He even jokes about it: "Wear my love, my angel. Literally."

You don’t tell Sylus. Someone else does. Maybe the twins. Maybe one of his informants who keeps an eye on you because, well, you belong to Sylus, whether you realise it or not.

When he hears about it, Sylus’s first instinct isn’t anger. It’s control.

Control the situation, control the threat, control the outcome.

A week later, the guy stops bothering you. Actually, he disappears from campus entirely for a while.

Rumours spread like wildfire.

Some say he was picked up for questioning by very serious people who don’t wear uniforms but definitely carry weapons.

His house gets quietly searched. His phone is confiscated for "data recovery purposes." His parents pull him out of school for a “mental health break.”

When he finally returns, he won’t even look in your direction. He crosses the street to avoid you. He even changes his schedule.

Later, during one of Sylus’s rare downtime moments, he drapes an arm over your shoulders, tugging you close. "Next time,"

He murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, voice like silk over steel, "Tell me sooner. It’s more efficient that way."

His gaze lingers, heavy with something unspoken.

You know better than to ask what he did.

Later after the ordeal subsided, Sylus quietly ensures you have a permanent shadow on campus.

You don’t see them, but you start noticing how the same barista is always on shift when you grab coffee. The same janitor happens to mop near your lecture halls. The same delivery guy waves at you from across the quad. "Consider them... friends of mine,"

Sylus says when you mention it, his smirk lazy and dangerous.

He also gifts you a sleek black card that looks like a hotel key. It isn’t.

It’s a panic card. Tap it against your phone, and someone from Onchinus will be there in less than three minutes. "No questions asked,"

Sylus murmurs, brushing your hair back.  "Use it if you need it."

Caleb notices something's off before you say a word. Your text replies get shorter. You stop hanging around campus late. You skip your usual weekly video call.

When you finally admit what’s going on, his entire demeanor shifts. His warm, teasing tone drops into something colder. His playful smile vanishes.

Inside, though, Caleb's mind is already running scenarios. He thinks of every time he failed to protect someone he loved.

He won’t let history repeat itself. "Give me his name," he says, eyes narrowing.

His voice is low, steady. Dangerous.

You hesitate, but he promises he won’t hurt him.

Technically, he keeps that promise.

A few days later, the guy receives a formal notice from Skyhaven Security. Turns out, he was unknowingly part of a campus-wide security audit.

His digital footprint? Flagged. His online activities? Monitored. His behaviour? Filed under "ethics violation review."

An ethics workshop is scheduled. Attendance mandatory. His academic advisor is copied in the report.

When you ask Caleb about it, he just grins, all calm and easy again, eyes soft but calculating. "What? I said I wouldn’t hurt him. But I never said I’d let him get away with it."

Then he pulls you into a hug, his arms warm around you, as if to remind you where you belong.

The following day, Caleb makes you memorize a set of codes and phrases. At first, you think he’s being paranoid. "Humour me," he says, soft but firm. "It’s protocol."

One phrase sends an alert to his personal device. Another one flags Skyhaven security. A third? It shuts down the nearest campus drone network and reroutes surveillance to focus on you.

He also programs your smartwatch to track your vitals in real time. If your heart rate spikes unusually, it pings him. "Not that I don’t trust you to handle yourself,"

He says with a small grin, playing with your hair,  "But now I won’t miss a thing."

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 10

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4, Bonus Scene 5, Bonus Scene 6, Bonus Scene 7, Bonus Scene 8, Bonus Scene 9

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 1366

Synopsis: Just some tooth-rotting fluff for the early days of your relationship

Warnings: FLUFF JUST FUCKING FLUFF FLUFF ALL DAY ALL NIGHT AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!!!

Early relationship, February in Junior year

You smiled at your phone as you took a picture of the squirrel that sat only a few feet from you. You contemplated sending it to the group chat but then changed your mind. You didn’t want to bother your new girlfriends with stupid random pictures. You’d only been together two months; you didn’t want to annoy them already.

Cait called your name as she approached your spot sitting on a stone wall on the quad. “That squirrel’s so close to you,” she said softly, slowing her walk, trying not to scare the animal.

“I know,” you whispered, “I took a photo.” You pouted a little as the squirrel ran off.

“Show me?” Cait asked, stroking your shoulder.

You pulled up the photo, turning your phone so she could see.

She smiled down at it. “Send it to the chat, Vi would love to see it.”

“Really?” you puzzled, even as you did so.

“Shall we get a treat before class?” She held her hand out to you.

Smiling at it, you took her hand in yours, walking together across the quad. You tried to ignore the people looking at you, obviously confused about why Class President Caitlyn Kiramman was holding hands with some random loser girl.

Cait opened the campus coffee shop’s door for you, letting you step inside first. When you did, you waited in line, quietly chatting as you moved forward.

“What are you going to get, sweetheart?” she asked softly in your ear.

You couldn’t suppress your shiver. “Uh, just a cappuccino.”

“You don’t want a snack?”

You hummed. “Not really.”

“Have you eaten since breakfast?”

You paused. “No…”

“What snack are you getting?” she asked pointedly.

“Um…The ham and cheese croissants look good?”

She nodded in approval.

When you got to the front of the counter, she ordered for the two of you. A cappuccino and croissant for you; a hazelnut latte and lemon muffin for her. When it was time to pay, you rummaged through your bag, looking for your purse, when you heard the beep of the card machine. Looking up, confused, you saw Cait putting away her card.

“Cait?”

She smiled at you. “I've got this, baby.”

“But I can do it, you don't need to pay for my things,” you assured her. You knew her family were filthy rich, but you didn't want her to think you were using her for it.

She shook her head. “I want to spoil you, sweetheart. Will you let me do that?” she asked softly, coaxingly. Knowing you couldn't say no.

You acquiesced, smiling gratefully as you picked up your drink and croissant. “Thank you, Cait.”

Later that night, you and Cait were waiting for Vi to get home from the gym after her classes. Cait was adding your streaming account to hers, you sitting next to her trying not to smile too goofily as she did so.

When Vi came in, hair still damp from the post-gym shower, she put her bags down and gratefully flopped down next to you, pulling you close.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, kissing the top of your head.

You cuddled in closer. “Hey.”

Sometimes you still couldn’t believe it was real.

“That squirrel was so cute,” she smiled. “It was so close to you!”

“It was closer last week.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “Last week? Did you get a photo?”

“Yeah!” You pulled out your phone, opening your photo gallery and scrolling back to find the photo.

Vi frowned a little. “What are all those other pics?”

You hummed. “They’re just random photos I took. And some memes I found funny.”

Cait looked over her shoulder, having finished adding your profile to their account. “You save memes to your phone but don’t send them to anyone?”

“I’ve not got anyone to send them to,” you stated absentmindedly, trying to find the other pic of the squirrel. “Apart from Powder.”

Vi put her finger under your chin, pulling your head up to look at her. She looked a bit upset. “Us. You send them to us.”

“But I don’t want to bo-”

“Darling, if you are about to say the word ‘bother’, we’re going to have a problem,” Cait threatened lightly.

Vi tapped your phone with her finger. “Send us those pics. Now. All those pics and memes that you didn’t want to send because you didn’t want to bother us.”

“And in the future, darling, you send them to us straightaway. You’re not bothering, or annoying, or disturbing us by messaging us things you like.”

“I’m not?” you asked quietly.

Sometimes they forgot you’d never been in a relationship before. Remembering that made them soften.

“Baby,” Vi said, more softly, “Couples are supposed to message each other with stupid stuff. It’s one of the perks of having a girlfriend: you send each other random shit just because you want to be in contact that person.”

“Don’t you miss us during the day?” Cait asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, yeah…”

“This way you can miss us a little less, and feel more connected to us when we’re apart.”

“Does that make sense, sweetheart?” Vi gently kissed the top of your head.

You nodded.

“Good. Now send us everything, baby. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Baby?” Vi asked from her spot on the bar stool. You and Cait were making dinner at the counter, Vi’s night off.

“Yeah?” you replied, chopping carrots.

“How many siblings did you say you had?”

You paused, moving the chopped carrots into a pan. “Uh, I didn't? I don't have any.”

Vi tapped away on her phone. “So, just you and your parents?”

“Just me and mum. Dad left when I was two; it's been just the two of us since. She had the occasional boyfriend, but it's mostly just been us. It's why we're so close.”

Vi nodded. “Noted. Do you have a favourite vacation spot?”

You looked back at her. “Why are you asking these random questions?”

She looked a bit defensive. “I’m allowed to ask my girlfriend things. I just want to know more about you. Okay?” she said, with some fake testiness.

You just chuckled back. “Alright, okay.”

“Good. Now did you have any pets growing up?”

Cait kissed the top of your head from behind as you sat with Vi on the sofa. “We’re going to the spa this weekend, do you want to come with us?”

You tilted your head back, looking up at her smiling down at you. “Are you sure? You two don't want to go by yourselves? I don’t want to intrude.”

“Don't be dumb, baby,” Vi chided absently as she scrolled on her phone.

“No, we’d love you to come!”

“How much is it?” you asked awkwardly.

Cait gave you an unimpressed look. “Darling, you’re not paying.”

“But-!” you started to protest but Vi clamped her hand over your mouth.

Cait smiled down at you again. “You can get whatever you want, sweetheart. Vi just gets a deep tissue massage and spends some time in the pool and sauna.”

“But Miss Kiramman over here,” Vi teased, “gets just about every service they offer.”

“Facials, mani-pedis, my waxes, massages...But you can have whatever you'd like, darling. Or you can just relax in the pool and sauna with Vi, it's up to you,” she bent down, kissing your forehead. “What do you say?”

Vi's hand still on your mouth, you nodded, mumbling a thank you.

Vi put her phone down. “You know, having my hand here,” she tenderly squeezed your cheeks, “has turned me on more than it should.”

Cait smirked. “Well, how do you propose we deal with that for you?”

Keeping her hand over your mouth, Vi moved off the couch and knelt in front of you. “Well, Cupcake, if you give me my hand back,” they smoothly swapped hands, Cait's soft skin keeping you quiet, “I have both of mine, to use our girl like she deserves.”

An hour later, you were thoroughly unravelled on the sofa, Vi's chest and stomach soaked with your squirt after she fucked three fingers into you, Cait's hands over your mouth as you screamed for them.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup, @all-things-lilac, @m0ss-gremlin, @winter-19, @kamy-thee-egg

[lonely-ey3s]

Ride or Die | Chapter Eight

pairing: rodeo/cowboy!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary : There is a very long road to recovery for you, but the first step is waking up. As days stretch on in the ICU, Joel, Everly, and Wes stay close — holding onto hope, sharing quiet stories, and doing what they can to help you wake up.

chapter warnings: to avoid spoilers, i'm not going to post very specific warnings for this chapter, but here are the basics: angst, fluff, trauma, violence, and switching POVs.

word count: 7.7k

a/n: as a reminder, chapters will be every other sunday-- alternating with heartlines !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

Sophomore Year, Late Fall

The screen door slammed behind you as you stepped into the kitchen, backpack still slung over your shoulder, cheeks flushed from the chilly evening air. The smell of grease and smoke clung to your clothes — you’d been out at the Miller’s ranch helping Joel finish up your science project, and Mrs. Miller had insisted you stay for dinner after you two finished up given how late it was.

You were still smiling faintly from the warmth of their table when your father’s voice cut through the house like a whip.

“It's about damn time! Where the hell have you been?”

Your footsteps halted, and you tightened your grip on your backpack. Your blood froze at how harsh his tone was. 

He sat in his recliner, feet propped up, the TV low in the background. An empty beer can rested on the table next to him, his plate still empty from the night before — figures, he hadn’t done anything since getting home hours ago. 

You blinked, then stepped into the living room, trying to keep your voice as soft as possible to avoid a fight. “I told you this morning. I had a project to wrap up for science class with Joel...” 

“You were supposed to be home by six. It’s close to nine,” he snapped, sitting forward. “There’s no dinner. The kitchen ain’t cleaned. Wes said he needs help with his homework. Everly ain’t home either. What? You both think you can just run around and leave me to fend for myself?”

You’d had enough of his antics, his selfishness, and laziness. You were just a few years shy of graduating, and the second you got that diploma, you’d be out of here.

Since your mom’s passing — for the last several years — you and Everly have been pretty much forced to step up into parental and caretaker roles. You were tired of playing everything but being a daughter, everything but being a kid. 

You had enough. 

“I don’t know what to say — I’m not your maid, Dad,” you said, slightly regretting the sharpness in your voice.

His jaw tensed. “Don’t you dare start. You little—”

You took a breath, steadying yourself before cutting him off. “You’re a grown man. You’re supposed to be the head of the house. The dad. You could’ve made your own dinner.”

Your dad stood up slowly, like the act cost him something. His face darkened. “I bust my ass all day and this is what I come home to? Disrespect? You wanna try that again?”

You squared your shoulders, heart pounding, but standing your ground. “Like I said, I was working on a school project. That’s why I was out late. Plus, Joel’s mom fed me, so there is no need for me to cook. I know Wes already came down and made himself something to eat — like you could have done for yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh, just because she fed you, it’s all ok?”

You stayed quiet, biting your tongue.

He continued, “You know what? I don’t want you seein’ that boy anymore. Not after school. Not on weekends. You hear me? You're done.”

You frowned and your brow furrowed. “Dad... we go to school together. That’s impossible and not fair, I—”

“I don’t care,” he barked. “You see him outside of that school, you can pack your shit and sleep on the damn street. I won’t have you bein' around a Miller under my roof.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Why do you hate them so much? They’ve only ever been kind to us! My God, Dad, even Santi brought soup and flowers when Mom died! Joel is kind and has always treated me so—”

“Enough!” he growled. “I won’t argue with you about this any longer. You're done. Now go to the kitchen and make me something to eat. I’m fuckin’ starvin'...”

You stared at him, stunned by the audacity.

“Make it yourself.” You said with anger laced within the words.

His eyes flared.

“I’ve got homework to do,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I already lost half the time I needed cooking and cleaning yesterday. You’re not the only one in this house who’s tired and got shit to do.”

“You little shit! You don’t get to—”

But you’d already turned, storming up the stairs two at a time, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you, muttering to yourself as you threw your backpack off your shoulder, “God, I wish it was you instead of Mom…”

The words burned coming out — cruel, sharp, and whispered into the quiet like a secret you couldn’t take back. But you meant them — at least in that moment, you did.

Joel's POV

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

Joel stepped out like a storm, but dressed in nothing but calm. His boots were solid on the tile, shoulders squared, eyes fixed ahead. A nurse behind the desk nodded cautiously in his direction but said nothing.

It didn’t take him more than a couple of steps to spot him, sitting near the far wall, stiff in one of the cheap vinyl chairs, a coffee cup half-drunk beside him. His foot bounced — nerves or guilt or both — and the second he spotted Joel walking toward him, he straightened up like he’d been expecting it.

Joel stopped in front of him and spoke low, even, “Get up.”

Judd’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

Joel jerked his chin toward the doors. “We’re not doin’ this in here.”

Judd stood, brushing off his jeans. “Look, I’ve got every right to be here. She’s my daughter.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “Yeah, I know. And she’s upstairs fightin’ for her life because of somethin’ you helped execute.” 

Judd didn’t move, trying to childishly plant his feet to get his way. 

Joel narrowed his eyes, “Judd, these families deserve some peace and quiet while they wait to hear God knows what about their loved ones. Have some decency. Let’s go. Outside. Now.”

That shut him up.

Joel turned and walked toward the exit. Judd followed closely behind. 

The air outside was cool, overcast. Concrete planters lined the small area that had a bench and an ashtray near it — just outside the emergency bay. Joel moved past them, then turned and faced Judd, crossing his arms over his chest.

For a second, neither spoke.

Then Judd crossed his arms and said tightly, “So? You gonna tell me what really happened to Riley?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Judd said, voice dropping, stepping forward. “I heard he was found in a motel room lookin’ like he got dragged through hell. People are sayin’ cartel activity? Gambling ties? That sounds… a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

Joel didn’t flinch. His voice stayed calm — a little too calm. “Sounds like whatever he was knee deep in — finally caught up to him.” He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

Judd stared at him, eyes looking him up and down, a look of disgust showing through. “I know you had something to do with it. You Miller’s are always up to somethin’...”

Joel didn’t blink. “And if I did?” He stepped closer, eyes dark. “You gonna run to the cops, Judd? You wanna explain to ‘em how you brought him here? How you knew he wasn’t right in the head? How you let him get close to her again?”

Judd swallowed, his posture faltering just a touch.

Joel kept going. “You knew she didn’t want to see him. She told you that… hell, she practically begged for you to cut him off. In texts. In calls. In every way possible way she could. And you still went behind her back.”

“God damn it! I didn’t know he was gonna hurt her,” Judd snapped, voice cracking slightly as he rambled, “He told me he’d make her listen. That’s all he said—he texted—he said, ‘I’ll make her listen one way or another.’ but I never thought he’d put his hands on her! I just thought—”

Joel froze then, slowly, took one step forward, cutting him off. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Judd’s eyes widened as he realized the slip. “He just meant talkin’—I thought he meant talkin’, I swear I didn’t—”

Joel let out a sharp laugh — not amused, but incredulous. “Jesus Christ.”

Judd’s voice grew desperate, knowing how this all sounded. “I didn’t know what he was gonna do—”

“But you didn’t ask, did you?!” Joel growled. “You didn’t ask because deep down you knew what he meant, and you didn’t want the responsibility coming back on you. You just wanted her gone, back to him and away from me. You wanted it fixed to your likin’...”

“I was just trying to fix my family,” Judd said, but it was weak now.

Joel stepped in again, voice lowering to a deadly hush. “You don’t get to fix nothin’. You’re not a father with what you did. A father protects. They don’t barter their daughter off to the very man who broke ‘em.”

Judd's jaw clenched. “I made a mistake, Joel.”

Joel’s head tilted slowly — a dark, humorless laugh scraping out of his throat.

“No,” he said, voice thick with venom. “No, a mistake is leavin’ the stove on. A mistake is forgettin’ to pick someone up from the airport.”

He stepped closer, eyes blazing, chest rising with barely-contained fury.

“What you did? That wasn’t a mistake. What you did was a choice,” Joel hissed. “You chose to ignore her. Chose to doubt her. Chose to believe him over the woman you were supposed to protect. And for what? Because it was easier? Because you couldn’t handle facin’ the truth that she was movin’ on with someone you loathe?”

Judd looked away, jaw working — but Joel wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You knew he was sick. You knew he was dangerous. But you let him in, Judd. You opened the god damn fuckin’ door. And now she’s upstairs, breathin’ through a tube, bruises around her goddamn throat — and you’re standin’ here talkin’ about mistakes?”

His voice cracked then, just enough to make Judd flinch. “She begged you. She trusted you. And you fed her to a monster.”

Joel’s breath was ragged now, his hands clenched at his sides.

“You didn’t just fail her,” he said, voice quieter — but lethal. “You betrayed her. You broke somethin’ in her that might never fully come back.”

He took one last step forward, eyes boring into Judd’s like fire catching oil.

“And you don’t get to call that a mistake.”

The silence that followed burned like acid.

Joel looked away for just a moment, eyes flicking upward toward the ICU floor. Then he looked back at Judd, fire and steel in his stare.

“You don’t go near her. You don’t ask to see her. You don’t call. You don’t send flowers. And until she decides if you’re worth letting back in, you vanish. Because right now?” His voice turned razor-sharp. “You’re not worth a damn thing to her.”

Judd looked down at the pavement, listening to Joel’s conditions. 

Joel took one last step forward, close enough for only him to hear. “And if I ever hear you try to twist this into somethin’ that paints you as the victim… I swear—” He let the sentence hang — unfinished, but understood.

Joel didn’t wait for a response and had already turned to leave when Judd, still bitter, called after him,  “Y’know… none of this would’ve happened if she’d just talked to him that day you took her away…”

Joel stopped cold. He didn’t turn. Didn’t move. He just let those words hang in the air like a lit fuse.

“If she had just heard him out,” Judd added, tone tightening. “Maybe this wouldn’t’ve gone so far…”

Joel turned, slowly. The look on his face could have leveled mountains.

He walked back, slow and sure, and when he was just a breath away from Judd, his voice dropped into a low, lethal drawl.

“You wanna say that again?”

Judd blinked. “I’m just sayin’— he wouldn’t have gotten so worked up if she’d been more—"

Joel’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of Judd’s shirt and shoving him hard against the stone pillar behind him — not enough to bruise, but enough to knock the breath from his chest.

“Say it,” Joel hissed, face close now. “Say it — that what happened to her is her fault. Go on…” He taunted.

Judd flinched, and his hands came up defensively.

Joel’s eyes burned, voice trembling with barely held rage. “She walked into her daddy’s house that day. A place that should’ve felt safe. And instead, she was grabbed. Cornered. Hurt. Choked. And now she’s got a tube in her throat, and a surgeon tellin’ me she may never talk again, that she might never remember anything — and you’re standin’ here tellin’ me she asked for it… is that what you’re sayin’, Judd?”

Judd opened his mouth, but no words came.

Joel shook his head in repulsion, letting go of his shirt like the act of touching him disgusted him.

“You’re not just a coward. You’re a goddamn disgrace.”

He backed up a step, gaze never leaving Judd’s.

Then, softer now — but cutting even deeper — he said, “Dawn would be ashamed of you.”

Judd’s face changed immediately, and Joel knew that hit like a bullet.

He didn’t let up. “She loved your daughter with every fiber of herself. Called her ‘little sunshine’, right? Said she had the biggest heart she’d ever seen...” His voice cracked faintly, remembering your mom, the little moments he knew you held dear. “And if she were here right now… she wouldn’t stand beside you. She’d look at you with disgust in her eyes and disappointment in her heart.” 

Judd’s eyes were glassy now, jaw tight.

But Joel wasn’t done, “You blame her death for your bitterness, for making you cold? You say that she made you better?” His voice dropped again, low and bitter. “The only thing is, you lost that better version of yourself a long time ago. Years before her death. She’s not the reason for you being a bad person – you’re the only one to blame for that.”

A long, hollow pause stretched between them.

Then Joel stepped back fully, straightened his shoulders, and gave one final shake of his head.

“Don’t ever come back here, Judd. We’re done.” His tone was flat. Cold. Final.

Then he turned and walked away.

Joel’s hands were still shaking as he stormed across the lot, the echo of Judd’s weak protests ringing in his ears. He needed space. He needed to breathe or he was going to explode.

He pulled out his phone and called the first person he knew would know what to do with what he had just found out.

He didn’t even wait for Everly to answer fully before his voice burst out.

“He knew, Ev. He fuckin’ knew.”

“Joel?” she answered quickly, concerned, then it melted into confusion. “Wait— what? Who knew?”

“He knew what Riley was going to do. Said he texted him, ‘one way or another’... Judd knew. And he didn’t stop it. Didn’t warn anybody.”

Everly went quiet on the other end.

“I lost it,” Joel admitted as he started pacing, hand on his hip. “I— fuck… I grabbed him. Shoved him.” 

He sighed, frustrated with himself, “I shouldn’t have done that. Sheriff warned me not to do anythin’... fuck—” 

He continued, rambling, “He didn’t fight back — just stood there lookin’ terrified and pathetic…”

“Shit.” she sighed, “Are you okay?” Everly asked, voice tight. “Where are you now?”

“About to walk back inside,” he muttered, combing his hand through his hair. “I need to tell the Sheriff. If Judd deletes anything off his phone, any messages, any call logs… it’ll be gone forever.”

“You’re right,” Everly agreed immediately. “And it should come from you. If he said those words to you, Joel, that’s first-hand. The sheriff needs to hear that from you.”

“I can call him if you need, Joel,” Wes offered, his voice faintly in the background, but Joel cut in.

“No,” he said, jaw locked. “I’ll do it. You’re right, Ev, he told me. I’ll handle it.”

Everly sighed softly again. “Okay. Keep us posted?”

“Yeah. I’ll let y’all know what he says.”

He hung up and drew in shaky breath, then dialed the sheriff’s personal line. It rang twice before a gruff, familiar voice picked up.

“Markham speakin’...”

“Sheriff? Hey, it’s Joel. Joel Miller…” Joel said. “Sorry to call so early, but uh, I just spoke to Judd. He came by the hospital… and he said somethin’ that you need to hear.”

He cleared his throat and seemed to zone in. Joel could hear the squeak of his chair before he continued, “Go on, I’m all ears.”

Joel started pacing again, eyes fixed on the sidewalk as he walked the path beside the hospital. “He said Riley told him — before the attack — that he was gonna ‘get her to come back one way or another.’ Those were his exact words. He said Riley texted him that.”

The sheriff was silent for a beat. Then: “He told you that?”

“Yeah, he was tryna justify everythin’ and—.”

He cut him off, “Did you record it?”

Joel stopped pacing and sighed, “No—but he said it. And he wasn’t lyin’. Not about that. You gotta believe me...”

Another pause, he heard some keyboard clicks on the other end, like Markham was documenting the conversation. 

“Joel, you need to be honest with me, did you touch him?” the sheriff asked, voice leveled but firm.

Joel held his breath for a moment, thinking for a split second to lie, but then exhaled hard. “Yeah… yeah I—” he swallowed and sighed. “I grabbed him by the shirt. Pushed him against a wall. But I didn’t punch him or anythin’ like that."

He muttered under his breath, "Even though I wanted to after all the bullshit he said...”

The sheriff sighed through the line. “Joel… I get it. Believe me, I do. But you can’t lose your temper. It could compromise things later — especially if this goes to court.”

“I know,” Joel muttered.

“I know. That’s why I’m tellin’ you now." He combed his fingers through his hair somewhat anxiously.

"Look, I wasn’t expectin’ him to admit anythin’. I think he let it slip, and I lost it for a sec. I just — I just want to protect her…” He looked down, feeling such a great weight on him. 

“I know. I understand,” the sheriff said sympathetically. 

There was another short pause, then Markham said, “I’m assumin’ you saw on the news we found Riley…”

Joel stood a little straighter, even though the sheriff couldn’t see him, “Yeah, heard they are thinkin’ cartel… somethin’ about gamblin’?” Joel tried to stay calm, voice tight with effort.

The sheriff grunted. “That’s what the official statement says. Keeps the real story outta headlines for now.”

Joel kept walking slowly, probing him, glancing up at the ICU windows above him. “Oh? So what’s the real story?”

The line crackled with a pause. Then the sheriff exhaled.

“We do think that somethin’ happened in that motel room. Was it the cartel? Possibly, but we can’t be sure. I just... somethin’ just seems off. But what we did find there helps your girl's case.” 

Joel's mind started to race, ‘Something seems off? What seems off? What did they find that we missed? Tommy said there would be no doubt, nothin' to tie us there…’

Despite his rising blood pressure, Joel kept walking, trying to keep himself calm, steady. “How do you mean? I mean, it helps that he was caught, right?”

Markham cleared his throat before he said, “Well, we pulled Riley’s burner. Forensics got into it this morning.”

Joel stopped mid-step, heart lurching. “…Burner?”

“We found it when we found him. Took us a few hours, but we got through it.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Wait— I didn’t know he had one…”

Another pause.

“You didn’t?” the sheriff asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

“No… I mean, we knew he would call and text from an odd number, but just assumed he used a friend’s phone…” Joel said slowly as his mind flashed back to the motel, trying to remember seeing the burner.

‘There was a duffel, the envelope with the IOU’s, the leftover coke on the dresser, money, the leftover pizza on the table, vodka bottle on the nightstand…. But no burner?’ 

Joel clenched his jaw with the sudden realization, ‘Tommy, you son of a bitch.’

His attention drew back to the sheriff. “What’d you find on it?” he asked, voice quieter now.

The sheriff’s tone shifted — heavier, tighter. “We’ve got multiple texts between him and Judd. Coordinated times, language about keeping things quiet, and one that’s the nail in the coffin — from Riley to Judd, a day before the incident. It reads just like you said: ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get her to come around. One way or another.’, then Judd likin’ the message.”

Joel closed his eyes for a long moment, one hand braced on the concrete wall near the sidewalk as he got the closure he dreaded to hear but needed to confirm.

“You sure?” he asked, voice rough. “It’s that exact phrasin’?”

“Word for word, the exact one he admitted to you today…” he assured. “That, plus the call logs and a few more coded messages, it’s enough for the DA to press charges. They’re talkin’ about chargin’ with maybe conspiracy, depending on how hard we push. They’re reviewing it all now.”

Joel bowed his head down, and his stomach sank.

“Jesus Christ…” he whispered. “He really did it… he really helped him.”

“He did,” the sheriff said grimly. “And now we’ve got proof and a confession.”

Joel was quiet for a long beat, absorbing it — the weight of everything you’d gone through, the damage Judd had allowed, the lies, the manipulation.

“I wanna be there when he’s charged… for her…” Joel spoke softly when he mentioned you.

“I figured you’d say that,” the sheriff replied. “But… you’ve gotta stay clean. No more pushin’, no more cornerin’ anyone. You’ve done enough, Miller.”

Joel gave a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. Sure feels like it.” He sarcastically said.

“Hey,” the sheriff said, voice softening just slightly. “She’s still here, right? Still fightin’?”

Joel swallowed and nodded, though the sheriff couldn’t see it. “Yeah. She’s hangin’ on. She’s movin’ fingers today. The doctor said maybe she’ll wake up soon.”

“Good. That’s what matters now, right? Focusin’ on her?”

Joel nodded again, looking up at your window. “Yeah… yeah, it is.”

“I’ll call you when the DA confirms. Just stay close. Thank you for callin’.”

“I will. Thank you for all your hard work, for ensuring she gets her justice.”

They hung up, and Joel stood there for a long time, staring up at the sky like it might offer answers and possibly some comfort. 

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he clenched them into fists.

His chest then began to rise and fall in short, jagged breaths. His fingers ached from clenching them so tightly. His heart — God, his heart — it didn’t know if it wanted to beat out of his chest or collapse in on itself. He turned toward the wall and braced his hands against the concrete.

The weight of it all — all the helplessness, the rage, the guilt, the bone-deep grief — it was consuming him. He buckled at his knees and collapsed to the ground with a muffled, hoarse yell that echoed off the earth around him.

“FUCK!”

His fists pounded the grass beside him once, twice.

The tears came hard down his cheeks. Hot. Angry. Unrelenting.

He bent forward, resting his forehead on his arm, sobbing into the crook of his elbow like a man completely undone. Like someone who’d run out of energy, strength, hope — out of it all.

It wasn’t just that Riley had hurt you. It wasn’t just that your father had let it happen. 

Joel had seen the signs. Had felt the wrongness that day when you left the property. He’d offered to go with you — and when you casually said everything would be ok, he let you go, even though it felt wrong. 

“I’ll be faster on my own,” you’d said. “Ev said they’re gone, remember?”

He should’ve known. He should’ve trusted that voice in his gut.

And now, you almost died. Alone. Afraid.

You’d fought for your life with fear in your throat — all while he’d been sitting on his horse in the middle of a fucking field, thinking everything was fine.

That truth, bare and raw, hit him harder than everything else had in the last 48 hours.

Because it wasn’t just about failing to keep you safe. It was knowing how close he came to losing you. 

He gasped for air, dragging his hands over his face, wiping his tears, his snot, the evidence of his unraveling — but it didn’t stop the ache that was carving itself into his bones.

He felt like he could vanish into that corner of grass and gravel and brick. Disappear into the guilt. Into the rage. Into the sheer fucking grief of it all. 

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, as it started to suffocate him.

He didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to move — but the soft vibration wouldn’t stop. So he finally pulled it out with shaking hands.

Mamá (8:43 am) Tu papá y yo estamos pensando en ti. (Your dad and I are thinking of you.) Mamá (8:44 am) Dale un beso a Y/N de nuestra parte. Estamos rezando. (Give Y/N a kiss from us. We're praying.)

Joel’s breath hitched, and his thumb hovered above the screen — not replying, just staring — and that’s when he saw it behind the notifications — his lock screen. 

You. 

Laughing on Moonshine, wind in your hair, leaning into him as he kissed your cheek from behind — one he’d taken just a few days ago, the day before the accident.

You looked so alive, so happy, so bright.  

That image hit him like a life preserver tossed into the middle of a drowning sea.

Joel stared at it through his now blurry vision, thumb gently brushing over the curve of your smile. 

The scream still lingered in his throat. The pain hadn’t gone anywhere. But this… this was what he had to hold onto. This was what was still waiting upstairs.

He sniffed, wiped his face again, and pulled himself up — one hand on the wall, then his knees, until he stood. Straightened his shirt. Brushed the dirt off his jeans. 

Then he turned toward the sliding glass doors of the hospital and headed back. Back to you — back to what mattered.

The days after moved slow — like honey through a sieve. Time didn’t so much pass as it curled around itself in the sterile quiet of the ICU. But in those quiet hours, something else bloomed: love. Steady, constant, and all-consuming.

Word had spread fast through town.

First, it was the family. Friends. Familiar faces from town who’d once taught you how to ride, who had watched you and your siblings grow up, who’d handed you lemonade on long July afternoons after barrel races and bonfires. They trickled in with flowers, homemade meals for the group, handwritten notes. 

They weren’t loud, not demanding — just present. Quiet presences in a room where silence had once consumed.

One of your old teachers came with a single yellow daisy in hand and kissed your temple before whispering against your skin, “You always were the strongest girl I knew. You keep fightin’...”

A few girls from high school — the ones who you shared locker rooms and summer nights with — stood at the foot of your bed for a few minutes, holding hands, their eyes glassy. They left a blanket stitched with your name and a horseshoe patch sewn into the corner.

Even your barrel racing coach stopped by. He’d sat in the corner of the room, hands folded like in prayer, and told Everly and Joel softly, “That girl’s grit wrapped in grace. She’ll come back swingin’, don’t you worry.”

But the moment that meant the most to Joel was when his parents came by.

They didn’t rush in with pity. They arrived with nothing but warmth. They came with hands that had raised boys, hearts that had weathered loss, and held love for generations. Joel’s mom carried a large thermos of caldo and a basket of tamales — she insisted everyone eat something real after days of eating hospital food and as she said, “comida de gente blanca” (white people food).

His dad brought fresh vegetables from their garden and two jars of homemade peach preserves for Wes and Everly's small family.

That night, the 7 of them shared dinner in the tiny hospital room — Joel, Everly, Bubba, Andy, Wes, and Joel’s folks — filling it with love and warmth. 

Someone had brought in an extra chair or two from the nurses station. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Your machines beeped in rhythm like a third heartbeat in the room.

Joel’s dad, a wiry man with sun-worn skin and thoughtful eyes, leaned back in his seat and told stories about your mom to the group. About growing up in the same circles. About the way she’d laugh at his jokes and how she once beat him in a watermelon seed-spitting contest when they were teens. Everly smiled so big her eyes disappeared. Wes laughed — a real laugh — the first since the accident. 

And Joel?

Joel just kept his eyes on you. His hand wrapped gently around your wrist, thumb brushing back and forth like he was etching you a path back home.

He didn’t leave your side those few days — not if he could help it.

He’d been right there — either curled up in the chair beside your bed, his hand always resting on yours, or slipping into the narrow space beside you when the pain in his chest got too loud to ignore. He never stayed long in the bed, as he didn’t want to disturb your healing body. But the nurses let him lie there as long as he needed. No one ever said a word. Because the truth was — even unconscious, your body responded to him.

Your heart rate steadied when his voice filled the room. Your muscles relaxed when his hand was in yours. There were nights you’d flinch, twist beneath the surface of sedation — and the moment Joel whispered your name, or brushed his knuckles across your cheek, the storm passed.

He read to you in moments where it was just you and him. Pages from one of your favorite books, letters, and cards from the loved ones who visited — anything to motivate you to fight.

Once — late one night — Everly had walked in with fresh clothes for him and found him humming an old Patsy Cline song under his breath, swaying just slightly in the chair with your hand pressed over his heart.

“You’re keeping her here,” she’d whispered, not wanting to break the spell.

He hadn’t responded. Just looked down at you and whispered, “That’s the plan.”

The hospital became something of a haven, strange as it was. Nurses who came and went stopped calling you ‘the Whitaker girl in the ICU’ and started calling you Joel’s girl. One nurse even brought a lavender-scented lotion she used on your hands each morning. Another braided your hair gently one night, just to keep it from tangling.

They all rooted for you. Everyone was rooting for you.

Later that night

Joel sat at the edge of your bed, one hand still cradling yours, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. The low hum of the machines around you had become a steady rhythm — not comforting, but familiar. It was past midnight. The kind of late where silence felt heavier.

Your monitor beeped softly. Your chest rose and fell with the ventilator. You hadn’t moved again since earlier that morning, despite a few more cognitive tests being run later that day.

He exhaled slowly, leaned forward, and pressed his forehead to the back of your hand. He didn’t know if you could hear him sometimes — but he talked to you anyway.

“Doctor said you’re gettin’ better,” he murmured. “Said we might see your eyes soon. Said you’re still fightin’…”

He ran his thumb softly along your knuckles, grounding himself.

“I hope you’re not dreamin’ of all this… you deserve better dreams than these damn hospital walls.”

He paused, then glanced toward the window. Outside, the moon was low, half-shuttered by clouds. He looked back down at you — at the bruises starting to fade along your throat, the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“I know they all whisper… say I should go home,” he said quietly. “But I can’t. I won’t. Not until you’re awake.”

He exhaled, leaned forward, resting his forehead against the back of your hand.

“I can’t risk not bein’ here when you open your eyes.”

After a while, he shifted.

He stood, slow and quiet, and carefully climbed into the narrow bed beside you — the same way he had a dozen times before. Like muscle memory. Like coming home.

You didn’t move. But he felt you knew he was there.

His hand found yours again under the blanket. He brought it to his chest, rested it just over his heart and closed his eyes.

“Your guitar teacher stopped by this morning,” he murmured. “Can’t believe she remembered me. Brought you one of those laminated chord sheets — said she figured if anyone could get your hands movin’ again, it’d be muscle memory.”

He gave a short, quiet chuckle to himself.

“She told me… you always used to hum to yourself between lessons. Said you never even noticed you were doin’ it. Just… strummin’, singin’ real low.” He paused, voice quieter. 

“You remember the other night? When you found my guitar?” he whispered, his lips near your temple. “Couldn’t have been more than a week ago, when I was out chasin’ Moonshine and you were waitin’ inside in the windowsill?”

A faint smile ghosted his lips at the memory.

He swallowed and leaned back to look at you, his eyes tracing your face. A lock of hair had fallen near your temple, and he brushed it aside carefully, fingertips ghosting over your skin.

“You were sittin’ there pickin’ the strings like you never left ‘em. I heard you singin’. Real soft. Just for yourself.” He swallowed, blinking hard. “I didn’t wanna interrupt… so I just stood there and listened.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You were singin’ that Novo Amor song I like. ‘Anchor’?”

He let out a small, sad chuckle, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so beautiful.”

A breath escaped him — unsteady, soft. Then he began to hum. Low and barely there, like a lullaby only meant for you. After a few bars, the words slipped from his throat — hushed, broken, real.

“Took the breath from my open mouth Never known how it broke me down…”

Joel’s voice cracked, but he kept going.

“…In the mood for a cut and move Made an oath when I walked away Said I wasn’t coming back…”

He swallowed, holding your hand tighter now.

“…You’re my anchor Won’t you stay?”

The final line hung in the quiet, vibrating through the space like a thread pulled taut between your body and his heart.

Then he shifted, leaned in a little closer, lightly touching his nose to your temple, inhaling the faintest hint of your green apple shampoo that had somehow lasted this long. One of the few things that still tied him to something more than wires and bruises and quiet prayers in the dark.

Then Joel shifted again, adjusting the pillow behind you both, and nestled into your side with his chin tucked near your shoulder, breath warm against your skin.

After a moment, he said quietly, “You remember last week? When we were lookin’ for that damn calf, the one that always disappears?” His voice had a smile in it now, tender and aching. “You were so fed up, mutterin’ about leavin’ her for the coyotes. And then when she came outta the bushes, you were so ready to chase her again…”

He chuckled softly.

“Then I tackled you. Right there under that big oak tree. Then you started cussin’ at me…”

His thumb rubbed gently along your hand again, chuckling at the memory.

“You were pissed for a second. Tryin’ to push me off. But then you started laughin’. That little giggle that’s always been my favorite sound.” 

He smiled and kissed your shoulder gently before continuing, “You were lookin’ up at me like I’d hung the moon… and I knew. I just… I knew I’d never want another day in this life without you.”

He paused, breath suddenly trembling at just how everything had suddenly changed — just like that.

“You tried to get up. Said we needed to go. But I pulled you back down. Told you, "She’s fine. Ain’t goin’ anywhere we can’t find her. But you… you’re right here. And I’m beggin’ you — stay. Let me pour every bit of love I’ve got into you."

His breath shook on that last part. 

“I meant it, baby. I meant it more than anything I’ve ever said in my life. That moment — you in my arms, sunlight spillin’ through the leaves… kissin’ me like you were? God — if I close my eyes, I swear I can still feel it.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself drift back — to your warmth beneath his hands, the soft pull of your fingers in his hair, the echo of your smile against his mouth.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and spoke softly, “So if you’re somewhere in there, rememberin’ anything… I hope it’s that.”

Another quiet pause.

“I hope it’s me under that tree with you. Holdin’ you close and tellin’ you how much I love you. Because I do. More than air. More than myself.”

He tightened his grip gently around your hand and leaned in to kiss your temple.

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin. “And I’m not goin’ anywhere. So whenever you’re ready… I’ll be right here.”

He didn’t move for a long time — just held your hand in both of his, listening to the quiet music of your breath, your heartbeat, holding onto the hope that hadn’t left him yet as he drifted off to sleep.

Reader’s POV - Somewhere in Between

Things started to be come clearer. The pull became stronger — more intense. 

When you finally stood on Joel’s porch again, hollow and weightless, you couldn’t tell if you’d wandered into heaven… or something much crueler.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside.

Not eerily so — more like a breath held just beneath the surface. The kind of silence that hummed with memories, waiting to be found. 

You knew this place. Your feet carried you across the worn hardwood as if they remembered more than your mind seemed to.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, golden and warm. The scent of cedar and something faintly smoky lingered in the air. Familiar. Comforting. The floor creaked beneath you in a way that didn’t startle — it welcomed.

You walked slowly, fingers brushing along the edge of the console table by the door, pausing at the dent in the wall near the coat rack.

A memory stirred. Laughter. Joel chasing you in after spraying him with the hose after morning chores — you ducking inside, kicking off your boots, his arms catching you around the waist before you could run.

You blinked, and the laughter echoed faintly down the hall. But when you turned, no one was there. Just sunlight pooling on the floor.

You moved forward through the kitchen — the space where Joel always leaned against the counter in the mornings, nursing his coffee, hair a mess, voice still thick with sleep. 

You saw him there now, just for a moment. Smiling at someone across the kitchen island. Smiling at… you.

You watched the memory unfold from across the room.

You were standing in his T-shirt, barefoot, making pancakes. He snuck up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled your neck. You giggled — soft and happy. 

You whispered, “Joel…” and tried to reach for him, but your hand passed through air, and it all disappeared.

You weren’t there. Not really.

You turned, heart thudding with something you didn’t quite understand, and stepped into the living room.

The fireplace sat cold now, but you could see it blazing. A flicker of another memory started — you curled up on the couch beneath the big blanket, head on his chest. He played with your hair, his voice low as he read aloud from a book you’d picked out.

Your chest ached as you watched, but you moved on.

The hallway stretched before you, familiar and narrow, filled with framed photographs. You paused, scanning each one. Some with Joel’s parents. Some with Moonshine and him at Nationals. A photo or two of Tommy and him growing up. And then — there it was. 

A photo booth strip. Two strips taped together — your goofy poses and soft kisses. His smile. Your laughter. 

You could hear the laughter echo around you, lightly feel his lips on yours — it wrapped you in a warmth you couldn’t put into words.

Your fingers grazed the edge of the frame. “I remember this,” you whispered.

You heard his voice down the hallway, encouraging, tender, and soft, pulling you towards it, 

“Come back to me…”

“Joel?” Your heart started to beat faster as you went after the voice, walking to the end of the hallway as it opened into a back room — one you’d only just started calling your own.

The door was open. Light streamed in across a worn guitar case leaned against the wall. You could smell something familiar, something that you knew. There was pull that tugged at your chest, one that felt grounding. 

You stepped inside, and your breath caught.

You were there.

Not you now, but the you from before — it was only a couple days before the accident. Sitting on the edge of the window sill, head bowed over a guitar, fingers finding their way across the strings. You were humming, gently strumming the chords of a song you hadn’t touched in years.

Your lips moved.

“Made an oath when I walked away…  Said I wasn’t coming back…”

Your voice was soft — not quite sure, but still melodic, holding onto something sacred as you continued.

Just behind you, you felt Joel walk in from the back door, sweat dampening the collar of his T-shirt. He paused when he saw you. A look passed over his face — quiet, reverent awe.

You wanted to reach out and touch him, to pull yourself into his arms but you didn’t want to make him go away like the last time, so you looked back at yourself — immersing yourself back into the memory.

You didn’t look up right away. Just kept playing. The chords were slightly off, but you didn’t seem to care.

He watched you for a long moment before stepping closer.

“Didn’t know you still played,” he said, voice warm.

You looked up, sheepish. “I uhm, found your guitar… thought I’d see if I remembered anything.”

“You do,” he said gently. “You sound better than you think.”

You smiled. It reached your eyes. And then you started singing again — this time more clearly.

“Like a river flows… Surely to the sea… Darling, so it goes… Some things, you know, are meant to be”

His grin deepened as he leaned against the doorframe. “Elvis?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up. It’s the only thing I know like muscle memory.”

He chuckled, then walked over, settling beside you. His hand found your knee.

“Sing it again,” he said, voice low. “I wanna hear.”

You blushed, but obliged — playing through the chorus again. He started humming with you. Then, softly, barely audible:

“Wise men say… Only fools rush in… But I can't help falling in love with you”

Your laughter broke through again — unfiltered, radiant as he leaned in slowly to kiss you.

And just like that, the memory faded. Like dust in sunlight.

Your breath caught in your throat. “No, no— wait! Come back—” you whispered and stepped forward, reaching out for it — but it was gone.

The house shifted again — that hush returning. That pull again. And then you heard it.

“Come back to me…” Another whisper. 

Your eyes swept the hall for him — but there was nothing. Just the shadows lengthening with the changing light.

“Joel?” You softly called out, walking to the other end of the hall, towards the living room, heart beginning to pound.

Another whisper but this time it turned you around, back towards the end of the hall you’d just come from, “Querida?”

“Joel?” You called out a little louder. “I can hear you! Where are you?” tears started to well in your eyes from frustration. 

Nothing called back for a moment, leaving you in the silence. 

You began whispering to yourself, “Please come back… please, please—”

You closed your eyes if not to will it back, then to hold into it. 

But then you heard your name, but it wasn’t from him, it was from someone else familiar and it was from behind the door at the end of the hall. You ran to it in what felt like slow motion before reaching for it, hand trembling on the knob.

You hesitated. Something about it felt final.

Then a voice broke through — soft and aching, like it had been trying to reach you for days.

“Querida… Can you hear me?”

Joel.

Your breath caught, and your heart thundered almost like it was excited.

You turned the knob and a blinding light spilled out as you stepped forward—

Previous Chapter — Next Chapter

no pressure taglist: @thebeautytoyourbeat, @sarahhxx03, @blahkateisdone, @sunnytuliptime, @pedroscurls, @docharleythegeekqueen @pedritosgirl2000 @fancyyoouu @greendudenumber7, @queenofdisaster12 @axshadows @mystickittytaco @yxtkiwiyxt @alltheirdamn @punkshort @stylesispunk @iheartoldermem @mermaidgirl30 @mountainsandmayhem @brittmb115 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927 @spacelatinos4life @pedge-page @pedropascalfab @readingiskeepingmegoing @sincerelywithheartt @youusunshineyoutemptress @lilasskicker-23 @melsuns00hine @wencontre @pedrofan @suzysface @orcasoul @misstokyo7love @bitchyfestnight @galotti7 @locaparapedrito @harrysrosetatto @bluenightmarepost @mukeovernetflix @pascal-mynightlyobsession @maryfanson @pasc4lfuzz @fancypeacepersona @crlsummer @iloev-heris @picketniffler @christinamadsen @persiar9 @harriedandharassed @copperhalfcent @decadent-hag1 @blog-luvdance @demonsasss @carpediem1219 @mallingcalling-blog @possiblyafangirl @indiegirlunited @kakiki3 @secretlettersfromyourlove @pedrofan @secretlettersfromyourlove @sesdeuxyeux @insertclevernamehereplease @brinapedroswife @kellyxo1

[idontmindifuforgetme]

since turning 27 i notice i have made some small but pretty impactful lifestyle changes that felt completely authentic and ripe, almost like i’ve been graduating into a truer version of myself. such as: deactivating my instagram & twitter – amazing for my mental health btw – actually finishing the books i start, and going to group workout classes with my childhood best friend (: that’s been the most surprising new habit! i struggled for a long while to find a way of moving my body that made me feel good&strong, not weak&in pain, but she’s gotten going to sculpt, pilates, and cycling classes, and i’ve found that i really like how i feel after we workout & catch up & get smoothies. it’s great to have a buddy to motivate me but it’s mostly just nice to spend time with her. im even going to classes on my own! because there’s so much i want to feel strong for – and that’s the other thing – tho it may burn in the moment, something higher&wiser in me knows im preparing for the days i’ll enjoy a hike in the woods or exploring a new city. i guess as ive entered my late twenties, i’ve witnessed an intrinsic motivation to take small steps towards my goals. so even if a workout is hard, or i get fomo when a new friend asks to connect on social media, getting older has only made me better at listening to my body’s signals

wait this is so so comforting!!!! I would actually love to hear more about what habits people have taken into their late 20s/30s/beyond that bc this is such a cozy genre of posts like I love hearing about how people found themselves better and are doing better things for their mental and physical health

[majorvagabond]

Oh! I finished this btw

I've already posted this on my tiktok but eh, I get to actually yap about it here

The format of the designs and texts are rather screwed up because this has all been done in my phone, during class most times i was just copy and pasting and editing this LMAO. Most of the illustrations are sourced from the internet (pinterest),

I did try so hard to copy the first pages of the official one but I could not find something similar to this

This is the part where I realized I forgot the text above.... Oh my god..

The Character page descriptions are just names of the band members who played them (i saw like one person ask this so yeah...)

Almost all of the lyrics are copy and pasted from the website, excluding sleeping beauty because the Jonny and Nastya banter is different from the lyrics and the song?? Yeah..

I literally just used some acrylic paint, a marker, a pen and a heavy hyperfixation for the cover

I think I did a decent job for someone who decided to impulsively buy supplies one day. It was easier than I expected tbh,

[hyperfixationthingss]

E a r l y M o r n i n g C h a o s

Chenford Week - Day 1

Prompts: Weather and fight/argument Synopsis: Lucy wakes to an unexpected storm in Los Angeles, forcing her and Tim into an early shift. As they prepare, Tim’s overprotective instincts clash with Lucy’s determination to join him on patrol through the dangerous weather. Tags/Warnings: Lucy Chen/Tim Bradford, fluff, small fight, kisses, they're already dating Word Count: 1053 Notes: This is actually the first fic I have ever written. Lately, I have been obsessing over The Rookie all over again, and this Chenford Week is a great moment to start writing. Day one is late (meant to be posted on the 11th), but better late than never.

That day was not going to go as expected. The weather forecast had predicted a heatwave the day before, and everyone had prepared for it. Lucy knew what to expect after enduring a heatwave and the chaos it unleashed on the streets—it was typical for Los Angeles. But she woke to dark skies and the sound of wind battering the windows. She turned to look at Tim, his bare back facing her, still fast asleep. Lucy wasn’t sure what time he’d gotten home. His hours at Metro varied daily, and she could only help by making his coffee extra strong. She’d helped him get that job, even if he had not known that at that time, but he enjoyed it, even if it was tough on him and their relationship. They barely spent time together now, except at work.

She slipped out of bed as quietly as she could and headed to the kitchen, where she found Tamara, still in pajamas, preparing breakfast. “Hey, you’re not going to school?” Lucy asked, puzzled, knowing Tamara rarely skipped classes. “We got an email half an hour ago. Classes are canceled due to the storm.” Tamara shrugged and continued making one of her favorite ClipTalk recipes: scrambled eggs and Pop Tarts. Three plates sat in front of her, a sign that she knew Tim was home and was cooking for him, too. Lucy thought it was a sweet gesture, but giggled at the memory of Tim waking up to that breakfast before. The first time Tamara had made it, he’d shot Lucy a pleading look, silently begging her to take his food away and spare him. Lucy had laughed and eaten her breakfast; she didn’t want to seem ungrateful for Tamara’s effort. Plus, it had been worth it to watch Tim struggle to finish his plate with a forced smile to avoid hurting Tamara’s feelings. He cared about her probably just as much as Lucy did, even if he did not say it out loud. That same day, Tim had made Lucy promise to tell Tamara never to make it again—a promise Lucy might have conveniently forgotten. Oops.

Her focus shifted from the food to the window when a loud crash—probably a branch slamming against it—snapped her back to the storm mention. It wasn’t good news, and it meant they’d need to head to work early. Who knew what chaos this weather would bring? “You’re not staying here. Get dressed, the station’s safer if this gets worse,” Lucy told Tamara. Before Tamara could protest that she’d be fine at home, Lucy cut her off. “I’m not taking no for an answer. This building isn’t safe in a storm. Get dressed. I’ll wake Tim.”

Tamara rolled her eyes, turned off the stove, and abandoned the food as she headed to her room. Before she entered, she glanced back, yelling with a grin, “Wake up, Tim! Your favorite breakfast is ready!” She laughed, clearly aware Tim hadn’t enjoyed it last time. Little menace. Lucy couldn’t help but laugh before heading to the bedroom, where she found Tim hiding his face under a pillow. “Not the Pop Tarts again,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the fabric, but Lucy knew exactly what he meant.

A moment later, she climbed onto the bed, straddling Tim and resting her face against his chest briefly. She needed the closeness. His arms wrapped around her waist instantly, pulling her as close as possible. “You’re in luck. We might not have time for breakfast. There’s a storm coming, and it looks bad,” she said, lifting the pillow from his face. His brows furrowed as he registered the howling wind outside. “I take it back. I’d take Pop Tarts over a storm any day,” he sighed, pulling her in for a brief kiss, shorter than he’d have liked. “We need to get dressed. Last night I was following a lead, and storm or no storm, I need to make an arrest.”

He started to get up, forcing Lucy to slide off him. “Take me with you. I’ll be your partner today,” Lucy said, excited to learn who they were arresting. She moved quickly around the room, gathering her clothes while Tim did the same. She loved being part of special operations, even if it wasn’t as a detective. She was determined to use her skills without losing hope about her future..

That is, until Tim said, “No. I’m taking someone from Metro. You shouldn’t patrol today.” Lucy froze, caught off guard. She knew Tim was overprotective of her. He worried too much, and it had sparked arguments before when she mentioned jobs he deemed risky. Still, she wanted him to trust her and believe she could handle herself. “If the weather’s as bad as they say, people will need help. I’m patrolling today, with or without you.” Her tone was firm. She knew her job was to help people, and she’d do it no matter what.

“Do you know how many people get lost in a storm? Have you ever worked through one? No, you haven’t. I have. This isn’t the time to test yourself,” Tim said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to make his point. He just wanted Lucy to be safe.

“When will it be the time, then? Take me with you, and I’ll be safe,” she countered, frustration rising. It was too early for this argument—any time would be too early for it. 

“Lucy, it’s dangerous.”

“It’s as dangerous for you as it is for me—” She saw him open his mouth to argue and cut him off. “And don’t try to convince me otherwise. You’re the one who’s been shot before.” She turned her back, dressing quickly as she ignored Tim’s loud sighs.

After a long silence, Tim finally relented. “Fine. But if I say stay in the shop, you stay there.”

Lucy, finishing her tight hair bun, looked at Tim with a wide smile and stepped closer to kiss his cheek. “I’m not staying in any shop, and you can’t take it back now.”

It was going to be a long day, Tim thought. “Let’s get you through your first storm. Come on, Boot.” Lucy rolled her eyes at the old nickname but let it slide since she’d won their little argument. Lucy 1, Tim 0—at least for now.

Tag list: @loganwritesprobably @fanaticsnail @decaffeinatedscreaming

If you'd like to get tagged in any other The Rookie fic, let me know

[sebstanaddict]

You Were Never Small

Bucky Barnes x You One Shot

Summary : When your confidence takes a hit and your couch turns into a crash site, Bucky Barnes shows up - armed with a threadbare henley, emotional precision, and the kind of slow-dance therapy that should be prescribed. Turns out, feeling small doesn’t stand a chance against a man who remembers every reason you never were.

Warning : none just pure fluff

Word count : 982 words

Read more soft Bucky / Sebastian scenes in Scenes for The Soul (A series of soft, fluff scenes between you and Bucky / Sebastian to help you get through the day)

Read more of my stories here.

---

You barely manage to get the key in the lock before your fingers slip. Twice.

When the door finally swings open, the weight of the day walks in with you - heavy, bitter, and sitting right between your shoulder blades. You drop your bag by the door like it personally offended you and kick your shoes off without ceremony. They bounce into the wall, but you don’t care.

Bucky looks up from the kitchen, spatula in hand, wearing that threadbare henley that should be illegal. He takes one look at you - and freezes.

“Hey,” he says, voice cautious, soft. “What happened?”

You try to wave him off, muttering, “Nothing, just a long day.”

But he sees right through you. Of course he does. He was a sniper. He reads the silence as easily as a scream.

You make it to the couch and collapse like you’ve just come back from war.

He follows, sits beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps in, but not touching yet.

You stare blankly ahead. “One of the guys at work said I don’t take initiative. That I fade into the background. That I’m not leadership material. In front of my manager.”

Bucky’s brow furrows. “They said that? To your face?”

You nod. “I laughed it off in the moment. Tried to act cool. But I don’t know… it got in. I keep replaying it. I feel… small. Like I’ve been faking being capable and now everyone’s starting to notice.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “You want me to go scare him a little? Just a mild intimidation. No broken bones. Maybe one.”

You almost smile. Almost.

“I’m serious,” he says, gently tilting your chin so you’ll look at him. “Do they know what you’ve done? What you’ve overcome? The crap you’ve put up with to get where you are? They have no idea, doll.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. I just feel like a loser. Like I’m running and running, and everyone else is already at the finish line, sipping protein shakes and posting about it.”

Bucky sighs and sits back, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“The part where I remind you that you’re awesome and they’re blind.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky - ”

“Nope. You don’t get to stop me. Let’s start with the time you got promoted twice in a year. And the time your boss trusted you to onboard the entire new team, alone, because you’re the only one who actually knows how anything works.”

You exhale. “That’s - ”

“Shhh,” he hushes, holding up a finger. “I’m not done. You also took night classes while working full-time. You advocated for a better mental health policy at your office. And you once comforted a crying intern in the bathroom stall with nothing but your voice and a stick of gum. I’m sorry, if that’s not leadership, I don’t know what is.”

Your throat tightens.

“And also,” he adds with a tilt of his head, “You still somehow make time to text your mom, remember your friends’ birthdays, and keep me alive - even when I forget how to properly use the toaster.”

You huff out a small laugh, brushing at the sting in your eyes. “You’re being too nice.”

“I’m being accurate.” He leans forward, brushing a thumb gently across your cheek. “You’re not small. You’re not background noise. You’re the kind of person people remember long after you leave the room. And if someone’s too dense to see that? That’s not your failure - it’s their limitation.”

You swallow, trying not to cry because if you start, you’re not sure you’ll stop.

He reaches for the remote, clicking on the speaker. A soft oldies track starts playing - something from the '40s with a slow swing beat, warm and dreamy.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“C’mere,” he says, standing and offering his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Bucky…”

“Humor me. For old times’ sake. And because I love you.”

You hesitate. Then you take his hand.

He pulls you close, one hand on your waist, the other holding yours like you’re made of glass and gold. You move slowly, swaying in the soft light of your apartment. No steps to follow, no fancy turns. Just two people finding rhythm in each other.

The weight in your chest lightens, just a little. Enough to let some air back in.

You close your eyes and breathe him in - warmth, safety, a hint of aftershave and the chocolate he probably stole from the kitchen. He hums along with the music, cheek resting against your temple, swaying with that impossible calm he always seems to find for the both of you.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low and warm in your ear, “if they saw you dance like this, they’d rethink everything.”

You blink up at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiles. “Confident steps. Excellent posture. Mysterious allure. A+ execution of the gentle sway.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed. “Gentle sway?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. The gentle sway is criminally underrated. It says, I am elegance. I am power. I can run a department and also make lasagna from scratch.”

You snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re mine,” he says, giving you one last spin - just a little one, more of a guided shuffle - before pulling you back into his arms.

You rest your head on his chest again, grinning quietly to yourself.

Maybe the world felt sharp today. Maybe people were careless with their words.

But in Bucky’s arms - in the middle of your small living room, to a song older than either of you - the edges feel softer.

And for the first time all day, you remember who you are.

Not small. Not background.

Just… deeply loved.

Exactly as you are.

[evieskies]

WIP | 07/13

A Poly!OT8 SKZ x Fem! Reader Written Series.

Author’s Note: So this “preview” is just a rough draft of a random scene I had an idea for. To be honest, I have been writing a lot of these lately. All different for fics that may or may not see the light of day (maybe I’ll start posting random wip Wednesdays and ask for opinions lol). But, by posting this, I wanted to know if I should take this somewhere eventually. Again, this is a rough draft. A very rough one. So if it doesn’t make sense… yeah🧍🏽‍♀️I don’t really have a plan for it yet but, I definitely have some other scene ideas that have been floating around in my head. So maybe with some options I can decide if I should start this in the future. And if I do, I’ll probably start it after I finish my current open projects (Infrunami, Kiss Me, and Love Language).

Anyways, after you read please take a moment to comment or drop a like if you think I should move forward with this. Also if you see any mistakes ignored them. Didn’t proof read but if I do continue with this I’ll go through fix it😔

— Word Count: 2.3K+

“So, I kind of have a question for you.” 

Your eyes peeled away from your Microbiology textbook and to the freckled man sitting across from you. 

“And I might kind of have an answer for you,” you said, playfully. 

Felix let out a huff of a laugh, hands running through his freshly re-dyed blond hair. You immediately noticed that his “laugh” didn’t reach his eyes and that his shoulder were visibly tensed. You sat up straightener, eyebrows furrowing together. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, tone serious. 

Felix shook his head at that, reaching over and grabbing his bubble tea. He took a sip of it before focusing back on you. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “It’s just the question I have might be uhhh weird.” 

“Seeing as you’re asking me in the middle of a busy ass cafe I don’t think it’s gonna be that weird,” you mused, still worried. 

“We came here to study,” Felix said. “But I can’t focus with how busy it is right now.” 

“So you decided to ask a weird question?” You asked. 

“I just want your opinion on something.” 

“Ask away.” 

Felix sucked in a deep breath, eyes locking with yours. “What do you think about poly relationships?” 

You blink a few times, confusion taking over. Tilting your head at him you ask, “Poly relationships?” 

He nodded. “Are you against them or do you think they’re weird?” 

“No. I’m not against them nor do think they’re weird. If everyone is happy in the relationship and it works for them, I really don’t see the problem.” 

“You seem sure in your answer,” Felix said obviously a little surprised. “Most people aren’t.” 

“I had a senior last year that was in a poly relationship,” you said with a shrug. “So, I’m not exactly new to it.” 

“Wait, really?” 

You nodded. “It was actually my first kind of… interaction-- if that’s the right way to put it— with one.” You smiled a little. “I knew he was in a relationship but I had no idea it was with multiple people. But one day I saw him kissing one guy and then the next day I saw him kissing another. So I was like oh my god! He’s cheating?! He didn’t seem like the cheating type you know? He was so sweet and such a gentleman. It actually threw me off. But then one of the other seniors in the class explained that he was a poly relationship. Before that I had honestly never given that type of relationship much thought. It wasn’t that I was against them or anything obviously, its just I’ve never actually witnessed one before that.” 

“Were you close to this senior?” Felix asked. 

“Not really?” You said. “We got paired up for a project randomly in the middle of the semester so it wasn’t like we didn’t talk. But he wasn’t one to share a lot about his personal life. He was really introverted but really, really cute. And like I said a gentleman. Even though he didn’t share much about himself he was always really sweet to me.” 

“You had a crush on him, didn’t you?” Felix teased. 

You pouted. “Maybe a tiny one. Again he was cute and sweet but he was taken so I would never go for him.” 

“Even though he was in a poly relationship?” 

“Yes? One he was in a relationship with two men so, I genuinely don’t know if he would even swing my way too. And again, he was taken. He may have multiple partners but I understand not all of those relationships are just… open?”

Felix hummed in understanding. “But if it was,” he said almost unsure, “do you think you could picture yourself in that type of relationship.” 

You sat back in your chair thinking. “I don’t know? That’s definitely something I haven’t given thought to before. But if I was being honest, probably not. I mean, I have had crushes on multiple people at once. But actually being in love with multiple people and dating them all at once might be too much for me. It just seems like…” You trailed off, trying to find the right wording. 

“A lot of work?” Felix asked almost knowingly. 

You winced a little but nodded none of the less. “Again, I’m not against them. At all. I’m definitely a love who you want, however you want type of person. But I think for me, I can barely take care of and keep up with myself. So, the thought of trying to do that with one other person alone is daunting. Multiple people? I don’t think I could.” 

“Did your senior never talk to you about how his relationship worked at least?” 

“Nope. I don’t even think he knew that I knew. I never mentioned it because I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He really did not share his personal life so I thought that if I brought it up, he would pull away. Especially because I know relationships like that a really looked down on.” 

Felix nodded at that. “I can confirm a relationship like that is a lot of work,” he said. 

“Huh?” You asked, confused. 

“I’m in a poly relationship.” 

“HUH?!” 

Multiple people in the cafe whipped their heads around to stare at you after your loud outburst. You sunk into your seat more, glaring at a cackling Felix. 

“I didn’t even know you were in any type of relationship to begin with, Lix,” you said, honestly shocked— and maybe a little heartbroken. “But now you’re telling me you have multiple partners?” 

“Seven to be exact,” Felix said with a soft smile. “I have seven boyfriends. We all live together too.” 

That had your eyes almost bugging out of your head. “S-s-seven?” 

Felix nodded. “Yep.” 

“How do you…” 

“How do I manage it?” Felix asked knowingly. 

You nodded.

“Trust me it was difficult at first  to find the a balance but over the years we’ve gotten better” he said. “A lot actually. We’re all very in tune with one another. And yes, it can be a lot of work but I wouldn’t trade it for the world honestly.” 

“There’s no jealousy or like… I don’t know, fights about things?” 

“Jealousy between us? No. They all are kind of possessive though.” Felix laughed at that. “And yeah, we have arguments. Not many but I think in any type of relationship you will eventually, you know?. But we’re all very open with one another. We sit down and talk things out. We all take care of one another and our feelings.” 

“Did you start dating all at once or?” You asked even more curious now. 

Felix laughed again. “Oh god no,” he said. “It was gradual? It took a good two— almost three— years for us all to actually get together.” 

You smiled softly at Felix. Even though the shock — and admittedly heartbreak— of the man you have the biggest crush on was actually already taken was still ebbing at your heart, you couldn’t help but feel happy for him. Because he looked happy. His eyes were glowing and he had this smile while talking about them that showed his love already. 

“So it isn’t a date whoever you want type of relationship?” You asked. But then panicked. “Not to sound rude—“ 

Felix smiled at you. “It’s not rude don’t worry,” he said. “I know a relationship like mine can be confusing but I don’t mind explaining it. We’re in a closed relationship. Well, in a way? It was definitely a trial and error thing for a good while. But we’ve never shied away from sharing our crushes with one another.  But it’s strictly if you date one, you date all. All eight of us have to agree too. We’ve had two people be added before but they…” He trailed off for a moment almost seemingly pained. He took a deep breath before continuing. “They didn’t work out. So, over the last few years it really has just been the eight of us. None of us have proposed bringing anyone else in.” 

His eyes settled back on you, his gaze soft. “I am one of the more open side about sharing our relationship than some of the others,” he said. “But even then, it’s not often because we do get a lot of criticism. It’s not like it’s necessarily a secret or anything. A lot of people know about it actually. But, you’re my friend. And I really like you. So, I wanted to share this with you because I would love for you to meet them Y/N.” 

You shifted a little. “Meet them?” You asked. 

“One of my boyfriend’s childhood friends, Lia, is having a birthday party soon,” Felix said, scrounging through his bag. “A lot of people from the university are going to be there though so it’s not like you wouldn’t know anyone.” He handed you a pretty pink envelope. “I asked if I could bring a ‘plus one’ since all of my boyfriends already have their own invites. She agreed and gave me another one for you.” 

You took the invite carefully from his hands. “Wait,” you said. “Lia? As in Choi Jisu?” 

Felix nodded. “You’ve heard of her?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “I went to high school with her girlfriend.” 

“You went to high school with Yuna?!” Felix exclaimed. 

You laughed a little. “We graduated the same year? We weren’t close cause I was only there our senior year. We did share literature classes our  first and second year of university though. She mentioned Lia a couple times when we did talk. Plus, Haewon is friends with her too.” 

“You need a bigger friend group Y/N,” Felix said. 

“I have plenty of friends thank you,” you said with a pout.

“Your friend group consists of Sunoo, Sangwon, and Seunghan,” Felix said deadpan. “And why all S names?” 

“Don’t shit on my boys,” you said. “I’m friends with Jaehyun too so, it’s not all S.”

“You need more female friends.” 

“I have female friends.” 

“You barely hang out with Haewon, Y/N. I think you and Yuna would be great friends honestly.” 

You pouted more. 

“Come to the party,” Felix said. “Meet my boyfriends and maybe make friends with Yuna at least.”  

“I don’t know,” you said. “It’s not like I don’t want to meet your boyfriends, Lix. I do. I really do. But I’m not the most comfortable in going to a party without one of my friends you know.” 

“You’re not comfortable going somewhere without Sunoo,” Felix said with a knowing look.

You winced a little at that. Okay, maybe you were a little too dependent and attached to your best friend. 

“Can I think about it?” You asked. 

“Of course you can,” Felix said. “And if you don’t want to go to the party then, I understand. Maybe we can figure out somewhere else for you to meet them all where you’d be comfortable.” 

— — — 

“So you’re telling me,” Sunoo began, “that the guy you’ve had a massive crush on for months, is in already in a relationship and he never told you?” 

You stopped your pacing and turned to look at your best friend who was currently sitting on the edge your bed. Sangwon was stretched out on it behind him, comfortably lounging into your pillows. 

“That’s not even all of it,” you said. 

“There’s no way it can get worse,” Sangwon said, voice obviously heavy with exhaustion. 

“He’s in a relationship with seven other men.” 

Now that had Sangwon sitting up. He and Sunoo both stared at you, wide eyed. 

“What?” Sangwon asked, now sounding very much awake. 

“What the fuck is your luck?” Sunoo asked. “First it was the senior you never talk about anymore and now Lee Felix? Both of your crushes, two years in a row are in poly relationships?” 

“With all men,” Sangwon added. 

You groaned, walking over to your bed and plopping down next to Sunoo.

“I was thinking about confessing to Felix,” you mumbled, resting your head against Sunoo’s shoulder. 

“You were?” Sangwon asked, obviously a little surprised. 

“After the project,” you said. “I don’t know. There were times I thought that maybe he was attracted to me or maybe that he actually liked me a little bit. But now I know he’s a taken man and I was being delusional. My luck really is shit.” 

“I thought you were all ‘my crushes are just crushes I am not ready for a relationship’?” Sunoo asked. 

“But it’s Lee Felix,” you sighed. 

“Okay yeah,” Sunoo agreed. “Understandable.” 

“He wants me to meet them.” 

“His boyfriends?” Sangwon asked. 

You nodded slowly, cheek still pressed against Sunoo’s shoulder. “At Lia’s birthday party. He gave me an invite.” 

“Yuna’s girlfriend?” Sunoo asked. 

You hummed. 

“I don’t see the problem with that?” Sangwon said. “He obviously considers you to be a close friend if he wants you to actually meet them all.” 

“But she doesn’t want to be just friends with him Won,” Sunoo corrected. 

You shook your head at that. “I want to keep our friendship. He’s an amazing person. I’ll get over my crush eventually.”

“You really need more female friends,” Sangwon said with a sigh.

“You sound just like Lix,” you replied with a pout. 

“Do you not want to meet his boyfriends?” Sunoo asked. 

“I do,” you said. “It’s just…” 

“You don’t like going to parties,” Sangwon finished. 

You nodded. “Lix said I would probably know people there. And I mean I know Yuna. We’re just not close. Plus Haewon is most likely gonna be there. But... I don’t know. It’s weird if you guys aren’t there.” 

“We need invites to get in?” Sunoo asked. 

“That’s what it seems like yeah,” you said. 

“I’ll ask Yuna then,” Sangwon said. “Maybe I can get ones for Seunghan and Jaehyun too.” 

“I love you Wonnie.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

[lavboat01]

~SOLDIER~

Severus Snape x War Veteran! Reader

previous part: part 1!

II

School had started for some days now and the Golden Trio was beginning to get used to the new lessons schedule. Every morning, the small group went back to their previous routine: pumpkin juice and a full breakfast to prepare for the day ahead.

The students could see the Dementors gliding near the school grounds, but no one dared to comment on it already, perhaps out of fear... or perhaps out of a desperate need to deny the same situation they were living in.

On Monday, they found themselves facing Remus J. Lupin for the first time since what had happened on the train. Lupin introduced himself to the class. His voice was calm, warm... understanding, even.

He started talking a bit about himself, then he began explaining what they'll learn in his lessons this year and asked a few questions to get to know his students better and to make them feel more at ease in his presence.

He really seemed like a kind and reliable man, just like he had shown himself to be when he helped the three Gryffindors.

They had their first Potion class the day after. Lessons with professor Snape were never easy for the Trio, or better say for the whole Gryffindor house, since the grumpy man was known to favour students from his own house, being the Head of the Slytherin, and to find any way to take points from the others. Yet his temper seemed even worse than the last year. He looked more tense, more sceptical, scanning the classroom like a hawk in search of something out of place.

Surely Ron's wasn't making it easier for his friends by forgetting the book on their first lesson. It obviously costed Gryffindor 5 points.

That being said the rest of the period went as fluid as it could have, and, fortunately, no cauldrons exploded that day.

Wednesday things seemed to start peacefully. No Howler came with the morning post and Seamus managed to make one of his "spells" work without destroying anything.

"Are you two excited for today's lessons?" Hermione asked curiously as she was reading the Daily Prophet.

"Excited?" Ron muffled back as he was eating some pumpkin pastries "Why should we be excited for today's classes? they'll be just as boring as usual... let's just hope Malfoy doesn't get in our way again, or i swear, today it's the day i'm hexing him" The redhead finished speaking, starting to drink his juice.

"You said the same thing last year," Harry commented and Hermione shook her head slightly in disbelief.

"Well I thought you'd be curious," The girl added with a small scoff, causing the two boys to look at her. "We have Herbology this afternoon... you haven't learned your schedules yet?" She said confused even if she already knew the answer.

The brunette and the Redhead exchanged a glance as if they just remembered something of great importance.

"Bloody hell..." was the only thing that came out of Ron's mouth

Herbology.

Today was finally the day they'll get to properly know their last new professor.

The unusual woman that never stopped looking at Harry during the Start-of-term Feast.

They had occasionally seen her as they walked through the corridors of the school, but they never really understood something about her during those brief encounters.

One time she sarcastically smiled at them as a greeting, her gaze slowly moving from one to the next as if memorising their faces. Her eyes lingered a bit longer on Harry. She looked at his eyes, his scar before she just turned away.

Her nose slightly twitching repeatedly as if she couldn't really control her own actions. And with that she disappeared behind a corner.

Another time, she looked like a completely different person.

She looked slightly paler, almost sickly.

Her eyes, unfocused, looked straight ahead, as if seeing something that wasn't really there, something the Trio couldn't see.

She didn't acknowledge their presence, or anyone else's, and simply walked towards the end of the corridor, drinking from a small bottle a dark fluid they couldn't recognise.

Ever since that moment she didn't seem to have come out of her chamber.

The Golden Trio arrived, strangely, in perfect time to the Greenhouse. They took their seats and waited.

A few minutes later entered the woman who had managed to confuse them so much in just two days.

Y/n Y/s was wearing a black dress under her long cloak today. It reached a bit under her knees and made her prosthetic leg completely visible for the whole class. It was strangely fascinating, Hermione thought, staring at it, since none of them had seen something like that before. It was magically attached at her knee, and inside,

fluids could be seen moving up and down, perhaps special potions to keep it functioning and feeling like a real leg.

"Do you think she can feel it if someone touches it?" Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry just responded with a look.

She smiled sardonically at the class "Welcome to Herbology. I am Professor Y/s, Whether you'll earn the right to call me Professor Y/n will be decided by your attitude towards my class. I advise you to not come up with strange Nicknames for me, unless you don't want to explore the Forbidden Forest alone for extra credits"

She smirked as she scanned the room, watching some of the quieter students stutter slightly at the threat.

"I hope you didn't expect my lessons to be a pleasant stroll through the greenhouse, to water plants and listen to songbirds.

Every class is linked to the other in a way or another. Learning every aspect of a plant can help you remember easily which one goes in a potion instead of another. You must understand what you have in your hands before throwing it in the cauldron. So I expect seriousness and commitment in this class." She ended her speech as she walked between the desks and looked around the Greenhouse.

"I've heard you have already studied the 'Mandrake' last year," she said "but unfortunately for me, and, perhaps, fortunately for you since you should already know this, we'll talk briefly about them again, since they are part of the curriculum."

She took a vase with a small Mandrake, which was still just a baby, thinking what she could teach her students that they didn't know about it.

She started tapping on it until she heard some snickering from behind her.

Draco Malfoy was grinning to his group while Pansy Parkinson was chuckling, probably about something he said.

Harry, meanwhile, was watching his professor's every move as if trying to solve a puzzle he hadn't figured out yet.

"I don't think she'll do something about them," Hermione murmured to her friend "I heard some students say they overheard Professor Mcgonagal talking about having to find a new Head for Hufflepuff because she too was a Slytherin... she would never take points from her house..."

Ron groaned silently at her word "Bloody Slytherin... always covering each other's back..."

But as they were talking, Y/n Y/s turned around, now staring at Draco, who seemed to drop his cocky act quickly after he noticed.

"Care to share the joke with the rest of the class, Malfoy?" The woman called out, but the blonde didn't say anything, trying to save his image.

"Malfoy," she continued calmly "do you know what are the consequences of hearing a Mandrake's cry?" The Y/h/c asked.

Draco looked at her, confused by the sudden question, and said "The cry of a grown Mandrake can kill who listens to it... while the one of a baby can only knocks them out..."

Y/n slowly nodded and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she smirked, still holding the pot with the baby Mandrake in it, and said "Do you want to be our cavy and see if you'll really pass out?"

The Slytherin boy went pale and silent, not daring to say a word, and Y/n nodded again "I see... I hope you learned that my class it's not a circus, there's nothing to laugh about here. Five points from Slytherin, for your lack of respect."

With that she went back explaining, without even acknowledging the shocked expressions of the three Gryffindors' faces.

__

At the and of her class, Professor Y/s sat on her chair, waiting for all her students to get out. "You survived the first lesson, good job. You have a whole year ahead now." She just told them.

The Golden Trio lingered behind, just around the corner to see if they could catch some new aspects of their teacher. That's when they saw someone they weren't expecting approach the entrance of the Greenhouse.

Severus Snape.

He stood still, looking at their new professor, Y/n, as if sorting what he wanted to say.

"What's a bat doing out of the dungeons in the middle of the day?" Y/n said sarcastically, looking at him for a moment with a small smirk on her lips.

"I wasn't expecting to see you back at Hogwarts" Severus dryly said back, not impressed by her joke as if it was the thousandth time he heard it coming from her.

"Ah... it's been a while, hasn't it, uh?... When was the last time? Your seventh year?during your graduation maybe?" she asked curiously as she compiled some paperwork.

"No" the man just said with his usual flat voice "In the middle of the war. We met at London by chance. Near Christmas."

At those words, something in mood shifted subtly. She stopped writing, her eyes were staring at nothing in particular, blinking furiously, as if trying to erase an imagine that had formed in her head, and her pointer finger started tapping anxiously on her leg.

"Ah-! Really?! On the middle of the-..." she coughed and too a bottle from her bag, the one  with the dark liquid Ron, Harry and Hermione saw the previous day.

Professor Y/s stood up then "Wow, I didn't remember that..." she walked towards the door and looked at her colleague "Now I'm sorry Severus, but I must leave, I hope will have time to talk later." and with that she disappeared.

Snape stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened, as if he came there just to confirm something. He, then, turned around and walked away without a word, his back a little more tense than when he came.

"What is the truth? A secret the dying ones carries with them"

[Søren Kierkegaard, The Diary, 1834/55]

next parts: part 3

AUTHOR's SPACE

I finished this chapter really late last night... i think it's the longest i've ever written...

I'm tired from taking care of my nieces and life in general... I'm too young for this 😭

I hope you are liking this 🤍

Have a beautiful day!! 🤍

[104cadetlauren]

Desiderium Chapter 1

Summary:

Levi Ackerman leaves behind the life he was born into, trading power for peace — but his name follows him like a shadow. After months of rejection, he finally finds work as a janitor at Stohess High School. It’s there he meets Hange Zoe, a chemistry teacher with a matching scar.

They don’t know each other. And yet, something feels… familiar.

A shared ache. A memory just out of reach.

As their lives quietly begin to intertwine, they’re forced to confront a bond neither of them can explain — and wonder if fate is offering a second chance… or playing the same story twice.

————————

Whatever our souls are made of,

his and mine are the same

-Emily Brontë

Levi Ackerman sat by the windowsill, scanning the classifieds in today’s newspaper. He highlighted anything that looked halfway decent.

He’d recently enrolled at Trost University to study Forensic Technology. A course that matched his compulsive need for order. But night school wasn’t cheap. For three months, he’d been applying anywhere that would take him, but the moment employers heard “Ackerman” or saw his resemblance to Kenny, the calls stopped coming.

He was losing hope, but he’d made his choice. Going back to the filth Kenny ran wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

The kettle’s shrill whistle snapped Levi out of his thoughts. He shut off the stove, letting the quiet reclaim the room.

He was about to pour the boiling water into the brew he prepared when his phone suddenly rang causing him to jolt and pour some boiling water on his left hand.

“Tch. Fuck it.” He muttered as he hurriedly grabbed his phone.

It was an unknown caller. Levi felt hope surge through him. This must be one of the establishments he had sent his application to.

“Hello? This is Levi Ackerman speaking.” He said trying to sound more formal than his usual stoic tone.

“Good morning! This is Keith Shadis, Principal of Stohess High School. Your application has been referred to me by a friend of yours, Erwin Smith, is this right?”

The son of a bitch really did help me after all, Levi thought.

“Yeah.”

“There’s a janitor position open. If you’re not afraid of hard work, I suggest you take it,” Keith Shadis said gruffly, his voice firm and matter-of-fact. Like he just offered him a CEO position and only an idiot would pass it up.

Levi weighed his situation before he answered.

Being a janitor would really require a lot of stamina, can he still perform well during his night classes? However, he really needed the money to stay enrolled so he has no choice but to grab the opportunity given to him by this Keith Shadis. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?

“Yea, fine by me. I’m good with cleaning anyway.”

“Come by tomorrow after school hours. Ask for Principal Shadis, someone’ll bring you to my office. Don’t keep me waiting. That’s all. See you then.”

Keith Shadis then hung up abruptly.

Levi felt relief because for the first time in three months, he finally had a chance, however, before he could celebrate further, the burning sensation on his hand registered in his brain once more causing pain to course through him. Blisters had now formed on the burnt area. Good thing he knew a thing or two about cleaning wounds and bandaging so that’s what he did.

After tending to his wounds, he went back to the kitchen to continue preparing his tea - his only solace in the chaos surrounding him.

Once he finished his tea, he washed the dishes and wiped down the countertop, clearing away the mess from earlier. Then he returned to the windowsill, scanning more job postings, just in case the name Ackerman ruin tomorrow’s chance again.

————————

“Okay, that settles it. You start on Monday.” Principal Shadis stood up and offered his hand for Levi to shake.

Hesitant but forced to conform to such pleasantries just to have a job, Levi reached for Shadis’ hand and tried to shake it firmly. He also muttered some pleasantries to Principal Shadis before leaving his office.

At least I don’t have to drop any subjects … He said to himself.

Outside the grounds of Stohess High, he tried to decide whether to buy himself dinner or just go to sleep with an empty stomach. When he reached for his wallet and found that he barely had money, he decided on the latter.

The railway crossing was filled with a throng of people striding fast, in a hurry to get home. 6:00 p.m. was the worst time to pass through because of the crowd, but he had no choice but to deal with it. As he was walking to reach the other side, a song he wasn’t too fond of started playing, so he looked down at his MP3 player to reshuffle his playlist.

When he looked up again, his eyes landed on a woman walking in the opposite direction.

For a moment, Levi’s world stopped.

His first instinct was to look away. To move, walk faster, pretend nothing had shifted. But his body didn’t listen. Something primal held him in place, like gravity had quietly rerouted its pull.

It made no sense. She was a stranger. And yet... everything in him felt like it already knew her.

The woman, sensing someone’s stare, slowly looked up from her phone and met his gaze.

Her first instinct was to rationalize it. A jolt in her chest, heightened senses...adrenaline, maybe. But her body already believed something else.

It felt like recognition. She was certain she had seen those steel-blue eyes before… but where?

The noise of the crowd seemed to dull around them. As if the world had paused—just slightly—so they could see each other clearly. It didn’t last. But it was enough to make them both wonder if they’d imagined it.

Neither of them moved until the train bell snapped the world back into motion.

As the train passed between them, they lingered on opposite platforms, as if hoping for one last glimpse. But before she could indulge the moment, the woman turned and disappeared into the crowd on the other side.

When the train finally cleared, Levi looked again, but the woman with the hazel eyes and brunette hair was gone.

“What the hell just happened? ” Levi muttered under his breath.

He didn’t know her name, but somehow, losing sight of her felt like something slipping away. His legs almost moved on their own. Idiotic . He had no reason to chase after a stranger.

His right hand drifted to the bandaged one, gripping it lightly.

Tch, he muttered, annoyed with the sudden pain that shot from his burned hand. Maybe it was just the cold. Still, he figured he should stop by a pharmacy for more bandages. He didn’t want it getting infected.

He shoved his hands into his pockets to shield it from the breeze he and kept walking, vanishing into the crowd like he’d never stopped at all.

————————

The room was bustling, filled with people and the soft sound of laughter shared between tables.

Miche and Nanaba Zacharias were animatedly talking about their time at the university when they noticed that Hange was spaced out, lost in thought. Her right hand hovered over her left, a subtle frown on her face.

“You're unusually quiet, Hange. That’s new. Is that what age does to you?”

Upon hearing her name, Hange snapped back into reality.

“Not really. It’s just…my scar won’t stop hurting. It started acting up while I was on my way here. Kinda weird, actually.”

Nanaba looked confused. “That the same scar you got during our little Christmas incident at the lab?”

Hange looked fondly at the memory. Yeah, that one! What’s weird is it hasn’t hurt in ages, but now it feels like the hydrochloric acid’s burning through my skin all over again.”

Miche scrunched his nose “Disgusting. I still remember the stench of burning skin mixed with hydrochloric acid.”

Hange laughed. She remembered how Miche couldn’t tell if his nausea was from the tequila or the smell of her burning flesh.

The Christmas shenanigans that Nanaba was talking about happened four Christmases ago.

In their senior year, Hange, Nanaba and Miche (who were just ‘friends’ back then, but Hange knew better) sneaked into the university’s lab, drunk from a party they attended at Trost. In their drunken stupidity, they decided to create the world’s most effective cleaning agent that would be able to exterminate 100% of germs instead of just 99.9%. The idea they conjured after six rounds tequila shots.

Their laughter was hushed, but their drunken antics were anything but quiet, chaotic in the way only silent drunk people could be. Nanaba broke a glass pipette, Miche was spouting nonsense jokes, and Hange, barely holding it together, was in charge of preparing the chemicals. She was on the verge of hyperventilating from laughing so hard. Then Miche cracked a joke so ridiculous that Nanaba slapped Hange’s shoulder, making her hand slip. Spilling hydrochloric acid onto her left hand.

“Aw!” Hange yelped in pain as she felt the acid burning through her skin.

The panic snapped the three of them back to sobriety, and they quickly performed the chemical burn first aid they had learned during their freshman year.

That accident caused their night to end early. Nanaba kept apologizing to Hange throughout the cab ride, and Hange kept saying it was fine.

The scar had faded over the years, a pale reminder of a chaotic Christmas, but tonight it ached again.

Sharp and sudden, like the acid was fresh.

Her thoughts were once again interrupted when the Cafe’s staff, together with Miche and Nanaba started singing happy birthday.

“Make a wish, Hange!” Nanaba exclaimed excitedly.

Wish? She had nothing in mind. Nothing she truly wanted, anyway.

Then, without warning, the image of the man’s steel-blue eyes flashed in her mind. So vivid she felt lightheaded. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the wave of nausea creeping in.

“Hange? Are you okay?! Miche, call 911! She might be having a stroke.”

Miche immediately took out his phone.

“Eh? No!” Hange stopped him before things escalated.

“It’s just that something…” she hesitated. She didn’t want to say more. It would sound stupid. Or even crazy. So she forced a grin and leaned toward the cake.

She closed her eyes and made a silent wish.

I want to see something new, maybe even something that defies logic.

Then she blew out the candles.

“So what did an old lady like you wished for your birthday?”

Hange smirked. “Nothing interesting.”

—————————-

Hey, I start today. Meet you after working hours.

Erwin was just about to leave his homeroom when he received this text from his friend from a different time of his life, Levi Ackerman.

He and Levi went way back. Childhood friends who remained close through high school. Erwin had continued his studies while Levi took on the family business, which caused them to lose touch for almost six years. Levi was the one who reached out to Erwin again, looking for a job.

At first, he was surprised to hear that Levi was looking for a different job, but he didn’t press. He knew Levi well enough to understand. If he was choosing to leave Mr. Kenny, then he must have his reasons. Levi wasn’t the type to ask for anything unless it was absolutely necessary.

He always operated on his own terms.

Erwin figured that Levi’s last name probably had something to do with it. Ackermans weren’t the kind of people you messed with. One wrong move and you might end up dead. That kind of reputation tended to follow a person. Maybe that’s why Levi was having such a hard time finding a job.

Erwin understood his predicament. So when he saw Levi’s message, he knew what to do. Good thing Shadis trusted his recommendation. At least he was able to help a friend in need.

As he walked back to the faculty room, he saw one of his co-teachers, Hange Zoë, in the hallway.

”Hange! Belated happy birthday, sorry I forgot to prepare something for you.”

“No worries! So, Erwin, how’s freshman history?”

Erwin smiled. “Same old, same old. Kids are still snoring when I get to the Titan Invasion of Marley.”

“How could kids sleep through that? That’s the best part of history!” she said animatedly.

“You could act as a proxy for me next time.”

“Careful, I just might take your job!” With that, Hange laughed and walked away.

—————————

When the clock struck 5:30 pm, Erwin started packing his things. He wasn’t really the one to leave work this early, but he promised to meet with Levi today, to catch up.

After organizing his things into his briefcase, he locked the faculty room and stood by the doorway to wait for Levi.

After a few moments, Levi showed up. Already in his casual clothes.

“Hey, Ackerman. Where’s your uniform?” Erwin teased, tone light but needling, hoping to get a rise out of him.

“Tch. I’m not showing up to night class smelling like filth. Nice outfit, though. You look like someone who’s never taken a shit in his life.”

Both of them felt a quiet relief. Nothing had really changed. They were still the same, just in a different part of their lives.

“Let me introduce you to someone, I know you and her will make a good pair.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “This better be worth my time.”

“If history’s anything to go by, you’ll get along just fine with Hange Zoe.”

Levi grunted as he followed Erwin down the quiet hallway. They turned right into a dim corridor, lit by a warm glow coming from the room at the end. The lab door was already open, so Erwin didn’t bother knocking. He walked right in, and Levi trailed after him.

The room was full of science equipment and materials needed to study the basics of the different branches of science. Most of the instruments, however, were for chemistry. Ones Levi was familiar with, as they were the same tools used in their Advanced Chemistry class, one of his major subjects.

At the farthest corner stood a figure in a lab coat, adjusting the knobs of a microscope. Levi quietly observed the woman, noting how focused she looked. What could be so interesting in that specimen that she didn’t hear two people entering the room.

“Hange, I see you’re still pursuing that elusive formula for 100% bacterial protection.” Erwin

The woman, who was apparently named Hange, Levi made a mental note of that.

“Very funny, Erwin. Tell that joke to your students, it might actually keep them awake,” she said, glancing up from her microscope. “Anyway, someone’s got to finish what the disinfectant industry cowardly left at 99.9%.”

Erwin chuckled. “I’m not alone, by the way. I brought Levi with me. The prodigal friend I lost a few years back.” He gestured at the man beside him.

Hange took off her protective glasses, shrugged off her lab coat, and sprayed alcohol on her hands before walking over to them.

Levi was momentarily distracted by a preserved cat carcass in a jar when he noticed a hand outstretched toward him. He glanced at the woman’s face—and froze.

Hange saw the steel-blue eyes that haunted her dreams just the night before.

Her hand recoiled instinctively.

It was him.

Levi, equally stunned, stood like he’d seen a ghost.

Who are you? Levi thought to himself .

But then he saw Hange’s widened eyes. Like she, too, had just seen something impossible.

“Have you two met?” Erwin asked confused.

Hange was the first to recover. “I… I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve seen him before. So, uh…Levi, right? Have we met?”

Levi tried to maintain his cool, suppressing the whiplash inside him. He looked at her eyes without letting emotion slip. “And you’re Hange Zoe. Not really. I haven’t seen you before.”

Lies.

He remembered her from the train crossing. From the second he saw her, he knew he’d never forget her face. Even in a crowd, he’d find her.

There was something... he couldn’t explain.

He reached out his hand this time. “The name’s Levi Ackerman.”

Though hesitant, Hange took his hand with her right one.

The second their skin touched, a sharp burn flared across the scars on their left hands. They both winced, instinctively, but neither said a word.

Each of them tried to hide it, unsure if the other felt it too.

Time faltered for both of them.

It wasn’t just a moment. It was everything at once.

A rush of relief. A quiet ache. As if something had died and been reborn in that instant.

Their eyes met. Hers, hazel and bright even in darkness; His, like the ocean, still and deep, hiding storms beneath.

For Levi, it was sorrow without origin. A weight in his chest that didn’t belong to him, yet lived there all the same.

For Hange, it was the kind of relief that filled the space between breaths. A silent answer to a prayer she hadn’t realized she’d been whispering.

Then, without meaning to, Levi pulled his hand away too quickly. Hange flinched, trying to play it off like nothing had happened.

“So, Hange,” Erwin said, “Levi and I were planning to grab dinner before his night class. You’re welcome to come too. Right, Levi?”

Before Hange could respond, Levi was already heading for the door.

“Just remembered I’ve got an assignment to finish,” he said without turning around.

“Catch you two some other time.”

Without looking back, Levi stepped out, leaving Erwin and Hange behind in the hum of the lab’s silence.

That’s odd,” Erwin said, brows slightly drawn as he looked toward the door Levi had just exited. “He was the one who wanted to catch up.”

Hange didn’t respond right away, her gaze still fixed on the space Levi had left behind.

“Erwin… have you ever felt a deep longing for something you’ve lost?”

He glanced at her, thoughtful. “You mean desiderium ?”

“Maybe.” She tilted her head. “But what if I don’t even know what it is I’ve lost?”

Erwin had an answer, one that bent the edges of logic, something Hange normally insisted on grounding herself in. So he kept it to himself.

Hange crossed her arms, her voice dry but edged with something heavy. “I’m emotionally compromised, Erwin. Feed me.”

Erwin gave a small nod, already turning toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s get some soba before you start quoting metaphysics again.”

Hange followed with a tired huff of a laugh. “No promises.”

They left the lab together, their footsteps fading into the quiet corridor.

—————————

Levi still had one hour before his next class, but he needed to get out of that room.

He needed air. Space. Quiet. Something steady to hold onto while the ground under him shifted.

He didn’t do well with things he couldn’t explain.

And this—whatever the hell it was. Is slipping through the cracks in his logic.

He kept replaying the moment. Her hand in his. The heat. The weight. The ache that didn’t feel like it belonged to the present.

Was it just him?

Did she feel it too?

When their eyes met, something had opened in his chest.

Not pain exactly. More like the shape of it.

Like the echo of grief, but stripped of context. Emptiness with no name. It sat heavy in him, like a memory that hadn’t happened yet but still demanded to be mourned.

And that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

This was messing with his head. And he didn’t like not understanding.

One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Whatever this was.

Author’s Note:

This is an Anon request story. So, Anon, if you’re reading this, I hope I managed to deliver your vision. if not, hit me up!

This is also on AO3 for people who convenience and preference (Desiderium by Lauren Ackerman)

[astridthevalkyrie]

If it’s not too much, can u pls tell me how does it feel like to be a law student? Having a rough time picking majors for next year ;-;

Thank you!

not too much at all! obviously my word is not the end all be all but i can tell you what my experience has been so far.

law school is hard, but it also isn't. it's a crapton of reading, first off. one class could give you fifty pages of reading that need to be read by the next day. professors will post a syllabus/schedule so you can try and read ahead and you might for a while, but it's impossible to be on top of everything all the time. i've already seen breakdowns and had breakdowns, and i've been in law school for all of (checks watch) two and a half months. since classes grade pretty much only on final exams and maybe midterms, anyone like me who relied on always getting their homework done on time and participation to keep their grades up will be miserable.

you need to carve out time. a lot of time. you may think it'll take you two hours to do one reading—it'll take four hours at least. but if you give yourself that time, for reading, for studying, for practice questions, you'll stay above the surface. your social life is gonna die a little. not as terribly as i imagine med students' lives do, but you can't see your friends every week. you can't spend time with your family every week. you can't indulge in your hobbies every week.

extracurriculars are....also not the same as undergrad. there's no joining theatre club or creative writing or anime club as a way to destress after classes and turn your mind off from your studies. every club is a law society of sorts and they all do pretty much the same thing—if they're a diversity group of some kind, they'll plan things around that identity (i've seen henna+study! and destress+dragbingo! events from the south asian and gay straight alliance law societies respectively). they'll offer outlines from students who have already taken the classes you're taking. they'll give you an idea of how it feels to be an upperclassman and good advice on what to do to survive your first year (and their advice helps a lot more than teachers). mostly every club requires dues. the big clubs are any advocacy progams, like mock trial or moot court, and if you compete in those your life will get harder because you do have to put in the work to succeed in those competitions.

i have terrible adhd, executive dysfunction, procrastination problems, focusing issues, whatever you wanna call it. i'm writing this in class right now. i usually can't focus in class and have to do most of my learning outside of it. the reading IS important. what's also important is looking at outlines made by people who took the same class AND had the same teacher. doing practice problems, talking to at least one other classmate to try and understand things (study "groups" are a little overhyped, they're not as deadly necessary as everyone says they are. just have at least one person in every class that you can confer and sit down with sometimes.)

law students are pretentious! unfortunately. i'm not in a super diverse area, so i'm one of four or five south asian girls in my section of `70 people. many people talk like they are god's gift to the world. and many people don't and are completely chill. everyone is struggling, though. everyone has a weak spot and everyone seems to some extent have imposter syndrome. if you do get into law school, you gotta remember you got in. on your own merits. no one is smarter or dumber than you, just different.

classes themselves are interesting. your first year your classes are decided for you so you can take all the basic classes you need to study more advanced stuff. and things will surprise you. i thought civil procedure just by its name sounded incredibly boring. but it's not! i wouldn't pursue a career in it, but seeing cases succeed or fail based on technicalities and guidelines is fasinating to me. your legal writing class will make you do research on things you don't know about, and suddenly you're kind of an authority on them! (don't debate a lawyer, but, y'know, throw some big words around your friends and family.)

it feels so good when things click. when you've studied for two hours and suddenly you figure this shit out, it's like a whole new world just opened up for you. it's incredibly satisfying to answer questions correctly. don't worry about memorization as much as you should worry about understanding, exams can be open book and if they're not professors will know they're not and will not make them rely just on your memory.

SO. all in all. law school is tough, much tougher than undergrad, everyone around you knows it's tough, and if you think you can do hours of reading at a time, write in a way you've never written before (cite. after. every. assertion.) and isolate yourself away from everything and everyone to focus on your studies, then go for it. don't think it's for super super smart people, it's not. don't think you need to know the law or the constitution or anything to apply, you don't. if you're a fan or argument, or persuasion, or even etymology, you could do really well at law school.

feel free to ask me anything else about it!

[toastytrusty]

assorted terror doodles from the past few months.. go my scarab

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

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Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[lucraven]

HOORAY FOR SAW XI!!!! I still think these two are so Lawrence and Adam coded

[dragonpyre]

I used to love skipping school as a kid cuz I fucking hated school and the only reason I went was cuz it was the law

Then in college I went to class anyways after a car accident because I was paying $3000 for it and I wanted my goddamn money's worth

[gaydhros]

just started writing a silvergifting/angbang threesome on my lunch break at work