#hurts and crimes could only be committed by family

[the-music-maniac]

You know what confuses me about Crisis Core.

So, we learn when Zack is dispatched with Tseng to Banora that Genesis murdered most of the townfolk, his own parents, a bunch of Shinra soldiers, and then started bombing the place with the arsenal he took. I mean, he fails because of Zack and then Shinra like. Sends an airstrike anyways to destroy evidence of company involvement, rendering that attempt moot. Then he like. Sends another summon after Zack.

In the course of the entirety of Genesis' rampage, it's implied that he killed probably a shit ton more people in cold blood and for his own ends, he turns a bunch of them into Genesis copies for crying out loud, which is quite horrific.

When Genesis is doing his rambling thing in front of the damn statue at the end of the game, Zack tells him he's here to help Genesis. And when he goes to contact the statue, Zack yells, "Don't let it take over, you're not a monster, you're one of us." Keep in mind Zack is aware of the atrocities Genesis committed of his own volition, even if he wasn't necessarily sound of mind because of the degeneration.

In contrast, during the Nibelheim incident, after Sephiroth locked himself inside the library for like a week without eating or sleeping, joined Jenova and then burned down the village, Zack finds him and demands answers. Sephiroth is clearly...not himself. His speech patterns are entirely different (creepy), he can't take his eyes off the containment unit, he ignores Zack's demands. Zack realizes Sephiroth isn't being himself, I recognize that, but it confuses me, that he didn't attempt to get through to Sephiroth harder, when he at least showed signs of doing so with Genesis and Angeal. Angeal I get, that was his mentor. Genesis though? Like even while Zack and Sephiroth were fighting, I expected at least some dialogue of Zack attempting to reason with him.

We know as players that Sephiroth goes on to do more heinous shit, but until then, his crimes are about the same as all those that Genesis committed. Genesis destroyed an entire village. Sephiroth destroyed an entire village. Genesis destroyed more than a village, so I'd argue the shit (outside of Shinra's orders of course) he did was worse.

Was it because Zack was too angry at the time? Nibelheim was still burning, Tifa was hurt, while the atrocities Genesis committed were distanced - Zack didn't see a majority of them. Maybe the whole "take over the planet" thing? Was it because Sephiroth was attacking him, and so Zack had to concentrate on surviving? Why was Genesis given grace, when Sephiroth wasn't? Yes, I understand Cloud and Tifa watched their parents get murdered in cold blood, so they're understandably furious, but what of all those families Genesis had destroyed? Even while Zack was at Shinra, he still intended to get Genesis back alive.

The entire theme of the game had been posing a question - are the SOLDIERS monsters. Zack had been adamant that they aren't at the beginning, while the three that were affected, Angeal, Sephiroth and Genesis hadn't been sure. Sephiroth was the only one who hadn't received any sort of contradiction to his own beliefs. Angeal did. Genesis did. And Zack fully WITNESSED the breakdown Sephiroth had in the reactor. I can't be certain if he witnessed the awful shit that Genesis had said to Seph, I know he was knocked down - but was he unconscious? Even if he didn't hear it all, he had to have heard the "no such luck, you are a monster." because Genesis said it BEFORE Zack was knocked over. Did he not see the pattern? I don't understand how it could be possible that he didn't see it.

And I get that Zack himself was starting to lose conviction on the idea that SOLDIERS aren't monsters, but if you knew what Angeal and Genesis had been feeling - their bitterness over being turned into monsters coinciding with Sephiroth's own breakdown and questioning of his humanity - then why did Zack let Sephiroth go through that mental breakdown on his own? Yeah, so he told him to leave him be - Zack thought Angeal had killed his own mother in cold blood and yet he still went after him. Zack said Sephiroth was like a man possessed, so he KNEW this was unusual behaviour too. Also, isn't it weird to just be stuck somewhere for seven days with no further orders? Did Zack try to get through to him repeatedly and fail? The game didn't show that to be the case, Sephiroth was alone the entire time he was reading in that library.

Or did he assume that the Silver General could've handled it on his own, once again holding Sephiroth to a different standard than everyone else?

I don't know, I just find it hypocritical. I know the Final Fantasy games are a series that only really shows you glimpses of the main villain, in an attempt to get a player to question what it means to be a hero - they did it well, the entire thing reaps of hypocrisy.

Shinra does what it wants, sends airstrikes to cover up their tracks, maintains the image it wants to via control of the news, holds a monopoly on everything, destroys a different lands for resources, and while Zack begins to question what he's doing because of Angeal and Genesis, the questioning has nothing to do with Shinra as an entity, only the soldiers within. Why didn't he question Shinra, for inflicting this onto Angeal, Genesis and Sephiroth? Why didn't he question that apparently Shinra has fucking cloning technology that can be used on the SOLDIERS? He picks up Angeal's blade while he was talking to Cloud, and is reminded of his SOLDIER honour. What honour? How did Angeal and Zack go for so long in Shinra while being "good people" without being disillusioned sooner by everything else they were doing? I understand the general population being fooled, but Angeal was one of the freaking firsts. They didn't question anything until Angeal and Genesis began to degrade? They weren't quite like Sephiroth, I'm assuming they weren't physically unable to leave if they wanted to be discharged. None of them were raised in a place where this was all they've ever known. None of them were raised to be disillusioned with death, to believe any empathy and compassion was weakness. Unlike Sephiroth, they had options.

And Sephiroth STILL had the mind to not only be compassionate with his own soldiers, but to want to defect. Because that was the only way he could've ever left Shinra.

I'm more convinced now then ever that Sephiroth was done dirty.

[aceofthegreenajah]

Thinking about Mountains of Mourning got me rereading it again for the millionth time. Every time I think, 'surely by now it has no hold of me? I know every turn it takes, can damn near recite parts of it.' And here I am, sobbing.

The story itself is beautiful, the language is gorgeous, but there is also something in the setting that speaks to me personally.

Our family farm is in a community smaller than silvy vale, and has been in the family for at least a couple of centuries. It's in the least populated and most backwater part of the country. And my country itself is small and insignificant, sparsely populated, mostly wilderness. In the eyes of some we may be backwater forest folk, tough as our land and just as stuck in our ways.

And I am a very tied-to-the-earth person. I am at home barefoot in the forest, fishing in the lakes, foraging in the swamps, working with animals, chopping wood. These forests are my forests, this land is my land. I was born on it and if I have to be buried, I want to be buried in it. I've never wanted to leave for better pastures. I've wished I could hold my home and my people up.

So though I cry for the beauty of the language and the message, and the grief of the plot, I also cry for the happy ending that Silvy Vale receives.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Okay so like stick with me but young Derek, alive hale fam au.

So like the Hale family finds out that Derek has a crush on Sheriff Stilinski’s delinquent son, and has mixed reactions. Talia is torn between amusement, worry and wanting to dislike stiles. Papa hale is very protective but thinks it funny that him and his son have the same tastes.

Peter is ecstatic, Stiles once beat him in chess when running from the cops. (stiles was running and sat down in the park around people for cover, turns out he interrupted a chess tournament. Peter challenged him to a game if stiles lost, Peter would turn him over to the police. If he won, stiles could use him as an alibi)

The rest of his siblings don’t really have an opinion other than using Derek’s crush to make fun of him EXPECT for Laura. Laura is in a one sided rivalry with stiles.

As the sheriff right hand deputy she was tasked with keeping an eye out for stiles and she constantly loses him. Which shouldn’t be possible because she’s a werewolf. She can never connect him to a crime he’s committed and can never prove anything. Can’t go to a judge a say “oh he left a scent trail which I followed because I’m a werewolf.”

Derek brings him home to dinner after they start dating. Unfortunately, the day that Derek brings him over, is also the day that Laura had to run around town taking reports of his crimes. She is fuming. Stiles looks her dead in her twitching eye and asked her how her day went.

The only crime she can connect him to is when he commit aggravated assault against a few of Derek’s teammates went to far with hazing. (Derek refused to fight back as not to hurt them) she lets him off.

[twilightkitkat]

I know people normally brand Wade as The Funny One, but can we talk about how they'd be as a comedic duo? While flirting? While fighting?

People oftentimes tend to stereotype Logan as The Straight Man, the guy who keeps a serious face no matter what. And while sometimes that can be true, if you look at his characterization in the movies and comics, that isn't always the case. I think that because his humor is more subtle and down-to-earth than Wade's they tend to overlook it entirely.

Wade's humor is more obnoxious and in-your-face. He uses a cheerful, dramatic tone to cue you in that he's trying to be funny. He makes pop culture references and rambles on and makes constant, non-stop commentary. He's meant to be entertaining and funny because it's his brand to be insane and nonchalant even in the face of danger.

Logan, on the other hand, has this very blunt, sarcastic humor. The type that requires you to think a second to get it. He'd make little quips and jabs, but either with a straight face or barely there grin, so it's harder to tell he's joking. His tone of voice is more deep and gruff, which we don't typically associate with being humorous, but he does tease enemies and joke and throw their lines back in his face and goad them.

These two together would drive everyone up the wall.

Everyone (the X-men, the enemies, Wade's friends) assumed that their interactions would be Wade making crude, obnoxious jokes and Logan telling him to shut up or acting annoyed but... that doesn't happen? Instead, Logan quietly laughs at Wade's antics or, even more shockingly, joins in.

Logan gets Wade's humor—relishes in it, even. He would find Wade funny when he makes stupid jokes at all the wrong times because he does it too but nobody pays attention because it flies over their head or he's too intimidating for them to really register his words.

(The only reason Logan was more serious in the movie was that he was a grieving, broken man who thought he was responsible for the deaths of his family. He felt completely alone. And yet, even then, he played along to some extent with Wade's jokes and acted baffled rather than genuinely annoyed unless it was a super inappropriate moment. And you could tell he found Wade funny and liked him talking by the end of the movie.)

These two would be sitting across the table and Wade would make some stupid joke and Logan would add onto it, straight-faced.

Wade would gasp and clutch his chest dramatically at someone taking the Ketchup from him before he was done and whine, "How could you!? The betrayal! I thought I could trust you, this is a crime of the highest degree! I should have you canceled on Twitter for the atrocities you just committed."

And Logan would shake his head, stoicly, and reply, "It isn't cool to steal, man. It feels good in the moment but you hurt other people."

And everyone would sit there like what the fuck? Did Logan just... play along with Wade?

(Logan was biting his cheek to not grin at their confused faces and Wade was practically cackling to himself.)

It'd be even funnier when they're fighting villains together.

"Watch out, babygirl! Daddy's going to save you!" Deadpool would scream, as he lunges in to stab the enemy as they have Logan pinned to the ground.

"Well, 'Daddy' needs to do a better fucking job at it," Logan would grunt as he threw the guy off himself.

Logan would be snarky, because that's his personality and sense of humor, but he'd play along. He'd commit to the bit so hard that the enemies would stop attacking for a second just to look at each other like, "Are you seeing this???"

"Wolvie, what did I tell you about your greasy tits? If you wanted to be a prostitute you could at least tell me so we could start an Onlyfans and monetize it," Wade would say after Logan's shirt got shredded in a fight.

"I'm not giving you a fucking cent of my Onlyfans money," Logan would grunt as he continues fighting.

"That's unfair! I'd be the best photographer out there, you need to pay me my fair share! This is a worker's rights violation!"

"Yeah, well, I'm the pornstar. I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting, you aren't entitled to shit."

And everyone would be like???? Did The Wolverine have an Onlyfans? Since when? And where could they find it—

It'd be funny to see them tear down the self-esteem of a villain together as they fought them.

"You look like Simon Cowell got dipped in a vat of acid and then grew out a mullet and got it cut by a 5-year-old on America's Got Talent just because their mom died of cancer," Wade would laugh and point at their appearance.

"That's being generous. At least Simon Cowell was attractive. More like a fucking muppet," Logan would add on.

And then they'd fight over whose interpretation was correct while the villain just stood there and took out a mirror to look at themselves because?? They didn't think it was that bad?? (It was.)

It'd actually give them the edge in fights because they'd baffle the villains so much. They'd either make them pissed off at not being taken seriously and therefore more sloppy, or just make them insanely self-conscious. Win-win.

Eventually, word on the street got around that Wolverine and Deadpool were a brutal duo. Verbally. There'd be villains telling stories about how they were disrespected and maybe an emotional support club "Fought Deadpool and Wolverine and survived on the outside but died on the inside."

They'd be a peak comedy duo that would become notorious for their chemistry (both in their fighting style and commentary).

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

28 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 5

...

Soap stares at his name where it's inked across your skin. You should be his enemy. He's sitting across from you, your interrogator in this dimly lit weapons closet. You refuse to look at him. But his gaze bores into you anyway, intense on your eyes, your lips, the cuts and bruises on your face. He wants you. But he can only have you once you've given him the information Captain Price needs.

"Tell me where Alejandro is," he says. "That's all you need to do."

A muscle in your jaw twitches when he mentions Graves' name, but you bite your tongue. You won't let him shake your resolve like he did in Las Almas. You should've killed him on sight.

"What Graves is doing to Alejandro--you know it's wrong." Soap’s gaze is steady. You're so close. He wants you so badly it hurts. "He's not a good man.”

"You have no idea what kind of man he is," you say.

"I know exactly the kind of man he is," he growls. "I saw what he did to the people in Las Almas. He called them dirty cops and had them executed when they said they didn't know anything. Innocent people. In front of their families. Their children." Soap's hands curl into fists on the table between you. "He's not the kind of man who deserves your loyalty."

Your cuffs clink as your arms flex against the chair. "You wouldn't understand."

"You're right. I wouldn't." Soap's knuckles pop, his voice low and dark. All his life he's waited for you. Now Graves--fucking Graves, who betrayed Soap and his team and tried to murder them all--is somehow the one keeping you from him. "I don't understand what you see in that bastard."

You say nothing, eyes trained on the far wall.

Soap's shoulders tighten. "You're just a tool to him."

"I’m a soldier. I choose to follow orders. So do you.”

"You're following his orders. You think that makes you a soldier, being a weapon? No. Makes you a damn dog."

You say nothing.

Soap grips the table until it creaks. "You think he cares about you.”

"It doesn't matter if he does or not."

"It does so bloody matter. You’re no’ some pawn he can just throw away." God damn you. He wants to grab you with both hands and shake you. To hell with this interrogation--he's got half a mind to lock you down somewhere padded until you get it through your skull that you're not worthless. He scowls at you. "You're better than this. You have to be."

Cold irritation seeps through your mask. "Am I?" Soulmate or not, he doesn’t know you.

At the look on your face, Soap's scowl deepens. He's going to kill that bastard, and he's going to do it slowly. "What about Graves is more important to you than the innocent lives he took? Does that mean nothing to you?”

"Orders are orders."

Soap's voice drops to a dangerous pitch. "Look me in the eye and say that.”

You don’t. You tell yourself it’s because he has no power over you. He can’t tell you what to do.

Soap crosses his arms. "'S what I thought. You're bluffing."

"I'm not."

"Bullshit. Graves is nothing but Shepherd's lapdog. Gettin’ paid to commit goddamn war crimes.”

"Shut your mouth," you snap. "You have no idea what happened--"

You stumble on the next syllable and go silent, realizing suddenly that you're looking him in the eye.

Johnny's a man of impulse, and it takes all the self-control he has to keep himself in place the moment you lock eyes. The pull he feels to you right now is overwhelming. You're in reach. He leans forward. Those brilliant blue eyes of his see all the way down into your soul. They’re just the same as you remember--eerily vivid, pupils blown, with his jaw set hard.

"What happened to what, darlin'?"

You shift, skin prickling. You want to cross your arms over yourself and clap your hand over the soulmark on your neck. "You don't know what happened in Al Mazrah."

"You were ambushed."

You nod, remembering that night of the mission. You've seen your squadmates die before. It's a hazard of the job, part of being a mercenary. But that night--seeing so many Shadows gunned down before they could so much as draw their weapons--it still haunts you.

"Shepard didn't know. It wasn't like we-- it was supposed to be a simple transport mission."

"It was a black bag op."

"That's what Shadows do. We take missions people don't like. Someone has to step in where you military dogs won't."

"Where was Shepherd when it went tits up, hm?" Soap's lip curls. "No air support on an illegal op. He left you to be killed. And now he needs someone to blame. It's not gonna be him taking that bullet. It's gonna be you."

"Captain Graves can handle it."

Soap lets out a rough sigh. Your insistence on Graves is rubbing him raw. You could have died on that op two months ago. And then what? He'd have never met you, only found your name later in stone on some memorial somewhere. The thought makes his chest go cold and his blood run hot. It could still happen. If he can't tear you away from this bloody mercenary work, you'll never be his. Christ. He can't let that happen. He won't. You're not going back to the Shadow Company. He'll tear Graves into pieces before he lets that happen.

He fixates on your soulmark again. Why can't he focus on getting the information Price needs? All he can think about right now is the scab on your lip, the way your pupils dilate when you look at him. Your body wants his even as you're spitting venom. The fire in you matches his own, and he wants more.

"Graves isn't here," Soap tells you. "And I'm not takin’ chances. You’re not going back to Shepherd, and you’re sure as hell not going back to Graves. You're mine."

You pull on your cuffs, hating the way the possessive note in his voice makes your stomach flip. "You don't get to decide that."

"Neither do you.”

"Isn't a matter of choice. It's a matter of what you’re gonnae do about it."

You swallow and watch his gaze track down your throat. He's close. When did he lean in? Why aren't you pulling back?

No, you tell yourself, you’re not scared. You’re in control. You lean a millimeter closer. "You can't keep me here."

His eyes brighten, gaze so intense it warms your skin. "Careful, darlin'. You don't want to throw down that gauntlet."

"And you expect me to tell you whatever you want to know? Fuck my career, fuck my squadmates?"

"If you weren't so damn dense, I'd--" He mutters another string of curses in that thick Scottish accent, standing from his chair and pacing the tight room. "You don't understand what I'm offerin’. You don't need them. You have me an' mine."

He circles around to your side of the interrogation table and kneels next to you, his expression an open plea for you to listen. You stare down at him with your heart suddenly in your throat. You can't backpedal. You can't look away.

He searches your face. Even roughed up, even pissing him off, you're beautiful. Damn it, he's going to do something stupid if he doesn't control himself.

He keeps his voice low and even. "You were expendable to them. You're expendable to Graves. You're no' expendable to me." He reaches up to you, and you go still. His hand is hot on your skin. His grip is surely strong enough to break bone. But only his thumb drags along your lip. His eyes follow the motion. "Your loyalty should be for people who care about you. I'm on your side, ya wee shite. Just tell me how to get to Alejandro and I'll get you out of here. I'll make sure you're safe. That's all I need to know."

You stare down at him. Your heart beats in your ears, and his pulse hammers with yours. You can feel it through his thumb against the sensitive skin on your lower lip.

Johnny wants you so badly you almost give in. He thinks he's telling the truth--that he'll protect you. But he doesn't know any better. You're not who he wants you to be. You're not soft. You're not good. Why does he act like he can see something redeemable in you?

Being his soulmate doesn't guarantee you a goddamn thing. Promises don't afford you any more protection than you've already given yourself. You know that very well. People aren't reliable. Soulmarks don’t fix everything. They’re just ink.

Whatever he sees when he looks up at you makes something cold and sharp settle in his chest. His throat constricts. He's pushing, he knows he is, and it's the wrong move with you. He's never been this desperate for anyone.

"Darlin'. Don't do that. Don't shut me out." His voice wavers just like his resolve. He'd protect you to his last. You refuse to see that, and he can't make you.

You look away, pulling away from his hand. "I don't trust you."

Johnny's stomach drops, and he digs his fingers into the metal chair to stop himself from digging them into you.

You want him. He can see it in the set of your shoulders, how tight you hold yourself when he's close to you. You want him despite yourself, and you still refuse. It doesn't matter how rational a decision it should be to accept his help. There's something else happening in your head that's keeping your walls up, and he's starting to realize it's not just Graves. It can't be.

He watches you for a long moment. He doesn't want you to hurt, but he's not stupid enough to believe you'll soften up and come around with time. You're a soldier.

Finally, Soap stands. If you don’t tell him what he needs to know, you’ll remain a hostage, and won’t be able to have you. He won’t accept that.

"Fine," he says, pushing his way out the door. "We’ll do this the hard way."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5] / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside. 

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings. 

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with. 

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.” 

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?” 

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?” 

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.” 

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe. 

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks. 

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it. 

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut. 

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness. 

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget. 

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” 

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”) 

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call. 

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze. 

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone. 

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—” 

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—” 

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote. 

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline. 

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine. 

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence. 

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered. 

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all. 

It didn’t work. 

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter. 

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face. 

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. ���What’s bothering you?” 

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise. 

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there. 

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm. 

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it. 

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them. 

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on. 

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough. 

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides. 

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you. 

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over. 

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover. 

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all. 

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you. 

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly. 

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips. 

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs. 

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile. 

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what. 

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel. 

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache. 

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.” 

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.” 

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew. 

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that. 

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.  

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time. 

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer. 

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years. 

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage. 

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately. 

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease. 

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing. 

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next. 

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage. 

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up. 

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again. 

Then, one night, you noticed something. 

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it. 

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water. 

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight. 

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what. 

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted. 

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther. 

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy. 

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him. 

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t. 

You woke up tired. 

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.” 

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.   

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to. 

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before. 

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up. 

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you. 

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake. 

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him. 

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.” 

You leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before. 

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now. 

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.  

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats. 

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors. 

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something. 

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it. 

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were. 

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs. 

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do. 

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was. 

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.” 

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving. 

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs. 

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again. 

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.” 

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache. 

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind. 

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here. 

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples. 

You were tired. Of this, of everything. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?” 

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?” 

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.  

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat. 

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.” 

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?” 

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?” 

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?” 

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh? 

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.  

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner. 

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales. 

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.  

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words. 

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove. 

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.” 

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else. 

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket. 

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line. 

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.” 

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet. 

This was not him. It couldn’t be. 

Why would you ever imagine him like this? 

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.” 

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you. 

It was vacant, not a soul in sight. 

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach. 

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine. 

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DP×DC prompt. Pre-Dead on main. Soulmate Au.

Do clones have soulmates? And evil (depressed) future versions of yourself? Only phamily is allowed to know.

~~~~

Jason wasn’t particularly thrilled to have a soulmate. Of course, it was a rare phenomenon many wanted. But the presence of the tattoo did not guarantee a meeting with the fate promised man. The tattoo was more a clue than a commitment, according to Jason. Meeting a street rat like him would be a good way to form a brotherhood, but that doesn’t mean he could trust a stranger completely just because fate says so.

After he became Robin, owning a soulmate became undesirable. Jason once again made sure that it was best that they never meet. It would be safer for his human. Or rather, so Jason thought, until his inscription suddenly darkened and disappeared. Died. His solmate died, and there was nothing he could do. He knew it could happen, but somehow it hurt anyway. One person has only one soulmate for life. And he wasted his chance by not even trying to find his one.

He didn’t even have time to meet someone for whom fate has chosen this line:

Hoc est vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.

(It is to live twice, when you can enjoy recalling your former life)

And Now it didn’t matter. Would they be lovers, best friends, family? What kind of person was the one whom the universe associated with this quote?Jason is not meant to know.

~~~~~~

Todd was suffering from nightmares. No, to be more specific, he was experiencing a completely different life in a dream. A few days earlier, he had hallucinations in which his surroundings seemed to change the appearance of different eras for a few seconds. Strange glitch. Jason blamed the sleep deprivation that Red Robin must have given him through bite. But Robin didn’t know who the hell Red Robin was.

The search for a biological mother, death and resurrection. His work as a crime lord. His madness and envy to the red robin. It was so strange. Life in Gotham never allowed him to be a naive child like the idiots of Metropolis but those dream memories made him grow up to fast again. In an attempt to wash away this nightmare and this blood, Jason stands under a cold shower at five o'clock in the morning. And then he notices that his mark has changed. It looks like a tree crown now.

On top of the old grey line a neon-green quotes lit up in latin, but now Jason can read them without a dictionary:

1)Death pursues the man even as he flees from it.

2) Hail, Emperor, those who are about to die salute you.

3) There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

When B tries to pat him on the shoulder after the patrol, Robin dodges. Too much has happened, or rather, too much should happen. These dreams are too real to be the result of fear toxin damage or something else. The feeling of betrayal and fear that comes when he just thinks about the damn clown is too intense. And now he's too weak to fight him. He doesn't have his gang or a more mature body, or even the confidence in Batman that allowed Robin to fly without a doubt.

~~~~~

~You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart~

If you were loved by a man when he was alive, then the love of a ghost will be for you either a blessing or a curse. And if the spirit is not at rest because of his hatred for man, then there is no special sense to put up with the dead. They can hardly change their attitude. They don’t think critically. Maddie and Jack expound this theory on career day for Danny’s classmates. And they don’t understand why their boy looks at the presentation with horror.

Danny was fond of the quote on his wrist. It gave him hope many times even in the darkest of times.

~Fortis est ut mors dilectio / Love is strong as death~

Danny never listened to his parents' theories before. But what if they’re right? What if the ghosts of nature are just good liars and his ghost half convinced his human half that he’s still capable of emotion? Were these just residual memories of affection about family and friends that forced him to stay in Amity Park? Was it just his ghost obsession that told him a man behind his mark was important?

For the first time, when Jazz summons all the Phantoms to a weekly meeting, Danny does not seek excuses, but brings the matter up for a discussion.

Truly, it's no surprise to him that Dan’s tattoo is invariable. But it’s a bit of a surprise that Dani shares special human with them. Well, as ghosts, they have zero chance of actually spending their "lives" with the person behind words, so there’s no reason to be jealous of each other.

A lot of soulmates live their lives without each other, and it's not a tragedy. Or so Danny and Dani thought. Until Dan sarcastically notes during a family therapy session in Jazz’s room that their soulmate will not live to be fifteen either.

Their feelings or their absence will wait. Their soul mate is now in real danger, and this is far more important than the existential crisis of a few pieces of ectoplasm. This is the main problem. Jazz doesn’t agree, but honestly, the older sister has always been a bore. Danny panics and Dani also bursts into tears when Dan just shrugs his shoulders.

Danny: So you know who is our soulmate is, right? Dan: Of course I do. And I know the grave won’t hold him forever. Dani: So how is he..going to die? Dan: Murdered. By the Joker. I studied the case. Asked Vlad to still it for me. That was the beginning of the end, I think. So many broken bones and so much blood, and then the explosion. Not the best way to die. The only thing I regret is that I didn't stop playing the hero and kill that damn clown before it happened. It would solve so many problems. And why didn't I throw a temper tantrum a couple of days earlier instead of trying to get rid of my emotions first?

Danny: True. That shit didn't work anyway. Dan: Shut up. Dani: I was hoping that our soulmate would be happy even without us. Does this really have to happen? Isn't there anything we can do? Dan: Ask your time freak. But in my experience, anything connected to Phantom just doesn’t get a happy ending.

~~~~~~They say that time's supposed to heal ya, but I ain't done much healing~~~~~~

Jazz is not surprised when after breakfast with her siblings she's asked to leave so they can talk to themselves alone. Dan: Well, shoot. What else do you want to know? Danny: Like you didn’t figure it out. All right. When you asked Vlad to separate your human half from ghost half, whether you really wanted to get rid of human emotions or.. Dan: Or did I try to kill myself? You are me. You must know the answer. Nobody's left. Could you live with the shame of not being able to save them? Dani: Um, that vile monster who made all this happen with out soulmate, it was still exist in your timeline? Dan: Yes. And Batman too. Even after Jason's death he didn’t get rid of the damn clown.

Danny: You were supposed to be there for him. Dan: I know. Dani: Did you at least avenge him? Dan: I tried. But his paranoid furry dad, with his backup plans for backup plans, was always getting in my way. Dani: Batman? Our soulmate is Robin? Danny: Come on, you terrorized the entire Amity Park, don’t tell me you’re scared of a man in a bat suit. You couldn't get rid of one person under bat's nose? Seriously? We're such a disgrace, man. Dan: Oh please, don’t be ridiculous. Danny: So why not? Dan: Because Batman is his father, like I said. You know how I work. Even if I had only come for Joker, there would be no guarantee that I wouldn't end up getting into a fight with this vigilante as well. Even if the bastard deserved a good beating, it would still be awkward if our soulmate returned to the world of the living and it turned out that this was not what he wanted, right? Danny: How thOughTfuL.

Dan:...I think I told you to shut up.

Danny: Yeah, yeah. So, what’s the plan? Dan: You do realize that if I go to Gotham, I won’t spare Joker or anyone who will try to hurt our bird? Danny: Well, if Сlockwork has a problem with it he should say it to my face. I’m not asking you to hold back. Not this time. Joker is not just a random guy or a ghost who can be talked out of his ideas. Better nip the problem in the bud. Dani: Yeah. We are ghost, so it's our nature to protect what belongs to us. And we are selfish because we are humans. We can’t hide it, well, from ourself, right? Danny: Um, right, but we think you should stay. It's too dangerous. Dani: But he's my soulmate too! Even if he doesn't get to know either of us, I also want to do something to help him. Someone has to serve as a distraction or be ready to help. I'm coming too. It's not up for discussion.

Dan: Just let her. She's just as stubborn as we are. We'll spend more time on pointless arguments than on the mission itself.

Danny: I hate it when you're right.

Dani: Now, should we tell Jazz about our weekend or? Danny: Good question.

~~~~~~ Jazz: Where are you guys going? Danny: To commit murder. Nothing brings families together faster, you know? Want to come with us? Jazz: Haha, very funny. Take me a burger on the way home. Dani: Okay. Dan: Oh, she's gonna kill us.

[dorykinny]

I could never hate Stanley Pines, i don’t care how many crimes he’s committed or the couple times he acted like a dick.

He was a kid who was never really good at anything, he was told he was a lost cause and would never achieve anything, then he got kicked out of his home because of a simple mistake (that didnt end up mattering because Ford still went to uni and got 50000 PhD’s and got rich), he had to live out of his car for 10 years and is legally not allowed to enter half of america, he went to jail and got into trouble with anybody who could ever hurt him, he had to chew his way out of the trunk of a car, he was never good at making products, he never achieved anything by being a travelling salesman.

Then he thinks his brother wants to see him again, he visits him, his brother immediately tells him to get the fuck away from him, ofcourse Stan gets mad and ford ends up going theough the portal, then Stanley, FAKES HIS OWN DEATH! HE HAS TO WITNESS ONLY 2 PEOPLE SHOWING UP TO HIS FUNERAL!!! AND HE TAKES UP THE MYSTERY SHACK AND LIVES IN A SMALL BACKWATER TOWN WITH DANGEROUS MONSTERS FOR 30 YEARS TO GET HIS BROTHER THAT HATES HIM BACK FROM WHATEVER DIMENSION HE WENT TO! HE SPENT 30 YEARS BUILDING A PORTAL HE HAD NO IDEA HOW TO BUILD, HE COULD HAVE FAKED HIS DEATH AND TOOK FORD’S FORTUNE AND DONE WHAT HE WANTED BUT INSTEAD HE STAYED BEHIND POSSIBLY WASTING HIS LIFE TO GET HIS BROTHER BACK!!!

And what does he get? He gets a punch in the face, he gets his family turning on him, he gets his brother trying to tear his niece and nephew apart, he gets the fear of almost getting kicked out by a family member once again, he gets the apocalypse, he gets a forced apology, he gets his mind erased, HE THINKS HES NEVER DONE ANYTHING WORTHWHILE IN HIS LIFE BECAUSE HE SACRAFICED HIS ENTIRE LIFE FOR PEOPLE WHO HATE HIM

Sailing the world was the least Ford could do for him, STANLEY PINES THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU

Ever think about how stan’s a stingy hoarder because he had to live with nothing for so long? You ever think about how Ford was given everything he ever wanted on a silver platter while Stanley had to lick necessities off of knives? You ever think about how Ford took his whole life for granted and complained to his brother; the man who had nothing? You ever think about how much stan loves his family when their natural instinct is to hate him? You ever think about the fact that the only reason his famiky reaches out to him is because they think he’s ford? I do, i do think about these things

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the same tv

words: 1.8k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, parent death, funerals, robbery, redemption/forgiveness, addiction, drinking (wine, not like hard drinking), tickling, cockwarming, they call themselves kids at one point but at no point are reader or rafe under 18, like itll make sense once you read it in context

the first thing you do when you enter your house is kick off your shoes. the next is to stop holding back your tears as they stream down your face. you can't even sob anymore, just silent, steady tears.

you sigh as you look around the entryway. there's been some changes since you moved away, despite only being out of your parents house for a little over a year. they replaced the grand portrait that was of your mom's parents with one of you, now taking the place of honor.

you look away before you get to the rest of the family photos. you've seen enough at the funeral. you walk further in to the house, bare feet against the shiny wood floor.

you pause when you hear something further in. you haven't forgotten how the old house seemed to speak, groaning and settling during strong winds or when too many people were crammed between it's walls.

this sound seems different, but you're also occasionally sniffling, your ears are shot from blasting music in an attempt to distract yourself, so you shrug it off and walk further into the living room.

the sound suddenly makes sense as you see someone stood in your living room, arms holding up your parents flat screen television, awkwardly trying to carry it.

you aren't even mad. you honestly don't care about the tv. or the fact that someone is trying to rob you.

you let out a bitter laugh before you sink to the floor. “of fucking course this happens.” you are glad you still have your purse slung from your shoulder as you pull your wallet out, quite aggressively throwing it at the robber who has now frozen.

“what?” he questions, lowering the tv to the ground and pushing his hood of his head, a dumb move for someone currently committing a crime.

“this has been the worst week of my life and now you're robbing me. just my fucking luck…” you let out a broken sob. “just take whatever you want and leave.”

the only things that matter to you still in the house aren't actually worth anything anyways. the photos of your parents, your dad's cologne that's half empty, the oak tree that your childhood dog is buried next to.

“i thought the people who lived here died.”

you pick your head up, a look of fury overtaking your face.

“they did. they're my fucking parents! and now they're gone and you're fucking robbing me! get the fuck out!” you stand up, pushing at the robbers chest.

he looks familiar, like you should know who he is but can't place him.

“im-shit. im sorry.” he says, allowing you to shove him away and out the door. 

“im really fucking sorry!” he yells again before you slam the door shut.

-- years later --

you park your car in the driveway instead of pulling it all the way into the garage like you know you should, but you need to know if you're correct about the man sitting on your front step.

“you're the kid that tried to rob me.” you say as you walk the sidewalk to the porch.

“yes.” he says, looking ashamed and a whole lot more grown up. “i was an addict and i owed a debt. my dad had just kicked me out of the house and i was on my own for the first time. it was stupid of me, but when i heard the people living here died, i thought it'd be a victimless crime.”

he sighs deeply, like even just thinking back to that time physically hurts. “i didn't even think that someone could have inherited the house. im so, so sorry.” 

he swallows thickly. “my mom died when i was young. my dad- my dad just died recently. he faked his death and i got him back, but he's actually gone this time. you know what you said about the worst week in your life?”

you think back those years. it's mostly a blur, especially the days surrounding your parents car crash and funeral, but you do remember breaking down in front of the robber. you nod gently, waiting to hear the end of his speal.

“i know what you mean now. and im sorry i hurt you. im sorry about your parents dying.” he pulls something out of his pocket, extending his hand.

you look into his open palm, realizing it's a ornate gold necklace.

“no.” you shake your head. “you keep it. you don't need to bribe me to forgive you.”

“i want you to have it.” he says. “it's… it's not a lot, but it's something. something to help make up for what ive done.”

you reach forward, carefully taking the necklace out of his outstretched hand, carefully not to accidentally bump his skin. 

“thank you.” you say, admiring the way the sun gleams off the metal. 

“im rafe, by the way. rafe cameron.”

“y/n.” you respond, undoing the clasp of the necklace.

“here, let me.” he takes it out of your hands, moving quicker than you can think as he steps around you. your hair is already up in a bun, so rafe is able to reach around and easily place the chain around your neck.

“thank you.” the weight of the necklace feels comfortable against your skin, like it's the last finishing touch you need. you are wearing your mother's earrings, your father's bracelet, and now you have the other piece of what made that time in your life so miserable, your robbers necklace.

“i… i guess ill be going now.” rafe says.

you turn and watch him walk away. you recognize so much of your former self in him, the clear grieving he's going through.

“are you sober now?” you call out before he reaches the end of your driveway.

“sober enough.” he shouts back. rafe doubts he'll ever truly be clean, but he can at least manage now, doesn't need the drugs like he used to.

“then come back for dinner tomorrow. we can talk.”

you can see the smile stretch over his features. “ill be there.”

-- three months later --

“shit.” rafe says, head snapping over to you. “this is the same tv.”

you giggle and nod, surprised it took him so long to realize. “i never really watch tv on the actual tv, so no need to replace it.” you shrug, the gold necklace still draped over your neck. you haven't taken it off except to shower and sleep.

“god, thats crazy.” rafe looks over to you. “imagine if we just talked back then.” 

you shake your head. “you just think you want that because we get along now. we were both in bad places.”

“you don't think we would have been hooking up back then?” rafe asks, raising an eyebrow at you, watching the way your thighs press together at the mere mention of hooking up, already feeling the urge to sleep with rafe even after having sex only a couple of hours ago.

“we were two scared kids. if we were hooking up we definitely shouldn't have been.” you giggle, reaching your wine glass out for rafe to refill, which he is glad to pour a more than healthy amount in.

“and now?” rafe looks down at his lap.

“and now we are two slighty less scared slightly older kids.” you giggle again, taking a deep sip before leaning across the couch cushion to press a kiss to rafes cheek, the movie you had put on long forgotten.

“rafe.” you wait until he looks you in the eye. “im here for you.”

“god, what have i done to deserve you?” rafe wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you on top of him as he flops back onto the couch. 

you let out a laugh before it's cut off with his lips. he kisses you heavily, hand against the back of your head, not allowing you to pull away, not that you want to.

you let himself get lost in your kiss. you wish you had someone to support you in the time you needed most, and you're determined to be that person for rafe now.

rafe easily dominates your mouth even though he's underneath you as you quickly work your shorts off, wiggling against him until your bottom half is nude.

you press against rafes crotch, still covered by his sweatpants. you feel his cock straining against the fabric as you rub your pussy against it, wetting the gray material.

“baby, please.” rafe groans. he would pull his cock out himself, but his hands are preoccupied holding you close to him as if his life depends on it.

“oh, now you don't like teasing?” you smile.

“alright, i deserve this.” rafe also manages a chuckle despite his straining erection. “but please. need to feel your pussy ‘round me.”

“alright.” you roll your eyes dramatically. you'll have to get revenge on rafe at a different time for edging you the other night.

you push his pants down his thighs until you're able to reach into his underwear and pull out his cock. you give him a few quick strokes before lining up your entrance and sinking down.

rafe let's out a moan, barely pulling his face away from yours. “you're so wet.”

“it's almost like i like you or something.” you roll your eyes.

rafe laughs before kissing you again, hand moving up to your hair, tangling his fingers between the strands.

you sit on his cock for a moment, adjusting, before beginning to move, up then down, up then down, subtle movements of your hips, not needing anything fast, wanting drawn out, wanting it to last.

the movie is long over by the time rafe finally cums, a hand finally moving down to rub your clit to make sure you get off at the same time as his.

by the time you're both satisfied, you're sweaty and exhausted. you don't even bother to pull off his cock as you rest your head against his chest.

“thank you.” rafe says softly, rubbing his hand over your back. you don't need to ask what for. you know. for being there. you'll always be there.

you look up at him, a small smile on your face. “how are we gonna tell people we met?”

things are quickly getting serious, and while he hasn't breached the subject with you yet, neither of you have been hiding how quickly you're falling.

“what, you think it's a problem that we met when i was robbing you?” rafe says, making you giggle, only intensified by his hand pressing into your side, fingers tickling you as you howl with laughter.

rafe flips you over onto your back so you're underneath him, keeping his cock pushed inside of you.

“maybe we should just tell people we met on tinder.” rafe shrugs.

you roll your eyes. “somehow that's more embarrassing.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[g1rlken]

┏ Like real people do 3. ┐

Aemond x daemon’sdaughter!wife reader

⋆˚࿔ reader part 1 & part 2 here ˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

summary: Heavy melancholy of jahaerys’ funeral and a difficult aftermath of the tragic affair brings out feelings and confession (mainly hurt comfort)

word count: 3.1k+

warnings: Jaehaerys’ funeral, b&c aftermath, small folk chants

As the news progressed further down to dragonstone, an unwavering tension settled within the walls of the black council. Upon finding out the works of Daemon under her own, Rhaenyra’s name, she grew relentlessly furious. The lack of remorse and understanding gravity of the situation by the king consort was something that unnerved the queen even more so. The funeral for the boy was being prepared for as she had to stand hand on hand, heavy of heart and guilty of crimes she did not commit whilst daemon being unbothered as ever. Even after all that had occurred he regretted little of his miscalculation and more of his daughter still out of his reach. “It is only right I want my daughter back! By whatever means I have left to myself I cant keep on sitting in stupid council meetings, talking action stations whilst the hightowers have my daughter!”

Rhaenyra sighed looking away for a second, the conversation they were having was as it reaching lengths and she had to hold herself back from pointing out just how late daemon had this epiphany of concern for his daughter. Personally, Rhaenyra never had anything against y/n but it was Daemon’s disdain and locked up dislike for his own daughter which made her estranged and isolated from the family and bond she could have had even before he decided to marry her off “It is not that I do not hold any regard for y/n, I do. More than you ever did yourself.” She did not point when she tried to change Daemon’s mind when he decided to marry y/n off to Aemond before everything happened. She knew he regretted that as it is, “you can’t just act about as you wish now. You taint my name and my authority-”

“Wanting my daughter back is not a whim. She is in a disturbing place, married to that one eyed cunt do you think they are treating her with mercy?” Daemon interrupted her. He felt increasingly unsure and guilty of the life he subjected his own daughter to. Surely, he could never be gentler nor acceptive of his daughter, an extension to the hatred he held for her mother and the loss of his own personal freedom. Yet, the horror that had transcended broke down all his walls he held against y/n.

“You put her in that position!” Rhaenyra exclaimed out of frustration. “Despite everyone’s better judgement you were so eager to be rid of her and now you use her name to justify your self servings!”

“I’m not using my firstborn name to justify anything I simply want her back!” Daemon’s voice roared through the room as he found it difficult to get the truth of his conscience across to his wife. He couldn’t get it across to himself either but he felt urges more than he did reasons.

“I want her back too.” Rahaenyra declared, in truth she couldn’t be a ruler if she would surpass kindness to those of her own kin. The innocents within her kin. As far as she could tell y/n was one of the most misfortunate innocents she’d known. The timid sweet motherless child living at the hands of a vengeful father. “Do you think I don’t consider the horror she must be facing. Aemond, made it difficult for me to find the remains of my son I cannot even stomach the thought of pain he must inflict upon y/n.” She said in a weary tone, “All because…had my father or you, given second thoughts to the godawful marriage union of them she would’ve—”

“We can’t afford to indulge in what ifs when this is the time for action!” Daemon interrupted her as the guilt crept in more and more at her words. She was right of course, he did not miss y/n he felt responsible. “I will not be as though my hands are tied when they’re not. I will do everything in my power to get my daughter back.” This was perhaps the first time in all his life that he referred to y/n as his daughter. With the fatherly claim she had yearned for all her life…he was able to give it to her now, just now when she wasn’t around to revive it.

-

The funeral procession for the green heir, across the coast of dragonstone was an excruciating affair. The princess sat next to her mother in law the dowager queen as Helaena sat on the other side of the carriage next to her mother. Alicent, in the middle holding both of their hands as the royal women proceeded for the funeral.

Chants of public support ran through the streets of King’s landing yet none of it seemed to matter, as though it could do something. As though it could bring the boy back. The queen grew more and more restless and alicent tended to her, y/n tried too but every sight she laid her eyes on was more horrific than the other. A disgusting addition to the visions already recapping inside her head. The intruder, the blood, the disheveled room, the blood, the council meeting, the blood, Aemond’s quiet distress, the blood, just so much blood. She couldn’t be rid of the sights, ringing in her ears came over and over.

It was sickening. Everything was so sickening she felt physically weak. The politics of this procession in itself felt a heavy degradation of grief. And it was. Grieving women out on display for the public to see the works of the pretender queen. Without even being present across the coast y/n could surely tell just who was capable of such barbarism. Having faced it first hand herself she knew it was daemon behind this plan through and through and yet he wasn’t held accountable. The small folk called out for them as the carriage moved forward, perhaps their empathy was guaranteed for something but y/n couldn’t digest it.

Their chants, “Princess y/n! We grieve with you!”

“…the daughter that never was…”

“forsaken by kin and crown…Princess y/n we grieve for you!”

“A motherless child left in the pretender’s wake”

“Our rouge prince’s firstborn wronged by the black queen! The gods weep for your tragedy!”

gods…such plight laid bare for the people to see and this is how they perceive it. The wounds on her face, her father’s doing…all of it is ‘the pretender’s’ fault. All of their supposed well wishes or slogans twisted her stomach. She wanted to scream, tell them whose hands held the blood over the boy, over the cuts on her.

"From Lady Royce’s loss to Rhaenyra’s disdain—Princess y/n suffers"

That one felt like being stabbed in the ears, she felt her ears rang so loud, somewhat thankfully she didn’t hear further than that for a while. Lady Royce. A name she wouldn’t want to hear in this setting, a name she did not hear in so long and this, this felt like a cruel joke. She felt her mother’s loss all her life. But she suffered more due to Daemon’s disdain. Even now, away from him, a whole another life yet she was subjected to misery after misery by that man and everyone still saw him highly. The narrative couldn’t be surpassed in any way, she felt like a cornered animal in her father’s playground. She felt closer to the gods in the heaviest of her griefs but she couldn’t be sure if they did weep for her tragedy, looking up to the bland sky she hoped they at least witnessed.

The day was the foulest she had perhaps ever lived, the funeral parade worsened Helaena’s state even more so. Alicent and Y/n tried to help her through it, this whole ordeal was such an unnecessary test for Helaena.

After the funeral, even the darkest days seem to have a nightfall resulting a darker night. Y/n had fallen victim to a heavy fever. A result to the circumstances of a day which felt as long as a year. Her wounds were properly tended to and closed once she returned from the funeral but the fever simply elevated. Her mental turmoil truly did not help her situation, not meaning to worsen her situation but she couldn’t stop her thoughts. The smallfolk’s chants, the visions…everytime she closed her eyes she couldn’t help but open them teary once again. The maesters worked on her the entire evening until her fever stopped elevating but did not lower even. Whimpering and tossing on the bed, her limbs were hot enough to be on fire yet she felt cold of the north. The maids changed the cloth on her forehead over and over, she refrained from eating anything. A very difficult sight for Aemond. He had been present in the room the entire time, he did not leave her sight ever since she returned. Wanting to pick a bone with his mother and grand sire, that his wife’s condition was a result of their need to leave her wounds bare for the funeral. Yet Aemond remained at her side, muttering sweet nothings and offering her reassurances. “Are you still cold?” He would ask her softly as he adjusted another layer over her sleeping form.

In response she meekly shook her head, too weak to muster words. Wincing as she shifted inside the bed. She truly didn’t feel the pain from the fever that had taken ahold of her given the mental suffering held a stronger grip. “You aren’t going to leave are you?” She asked him, worried, so worried that he would leave and somebody would come in and take her away. A harm was her way…she couldn’t shake off the paranoia. Aemond even got their chambers changed so the sights of the walls she was violated in wouldn’t remind her of the same things. But it was of little help.

“No my love, I am right here.” He told her as he caressed her forehead through the warm cloth on her head, the maids took their leave in a bit and Aemond tried to coax his wife to sleep. “I won’t leave your side.”

“Aemond” she whimpered in a half conscious state, “I don’t want to go…”

Her worries made his heart sink to his stomach. Given the fever ridden state that she was in, his words would barely be reasoned with her. “You are not going anywhere, you are right here.” He tried to help her with same words in different ways, trying to assure her she was safe. “You are with me, you are safe.” Holding her hand, caressing her until she fell to slumber after a while.

Criston, visited him later that very night as Aemond was situated next to y/n restless and sorry for her state. Since she was deep into slumber he decided to have his usual meeting with Cole in the adjoining room, not that far from her. The council within the council went over the regret, remorse the plannings of upcoming action stations. Plotting ahead of others, however a heavy dread hung in the silent air of the room as Aemond stared at the board in front of him. Glancing back at the other room to make sure y/n was alright. “How is the Princess?” Cole asked.

Shaking his head, Aemond looked to the side into the fireplace. His eyes holding the same fire, “If grand sire didn’t insist on leaving her wounds open she wouldn’t be in this state.” He scoffed.

“Sorrow does not have words, grief simply grows disorderly.” Cole tried to counsel Aemond’s frustration.

“The maesters worked on her all evening. She refuses to eat, cannot situate in our previous chambers and she is growing restlessly frightened as if she is being hunted for sport.” Aemond briefed Cole about her state, “Can sorrow speak louder than this?”

The kingsguard did not have any response for Aemond’s ever so justified anger over the whole situation, “it is comfort to know she at least finds whatever consolation within you.”

Aemond did not exactly believe that despite their spark, but he couldn’t surpass their arguments either. However now it just felt like she had no other option but him to rely on, perhaps? Before he could dwell more on that thought he heard a stumble from the room. Immediately he rose to his feet to inspect what the noise was and y/n was out of her bed, rummaging through the shelf of books. “You are in no state to be out of bed” he said as he reached her in a few strides.

Yet she was focused on finding something through the bookshelf, ignoring Aemond’s concern. He caressed her forehead with the back and forth of his palm resulting the fever being steady and not elevated. He dismissed Cole with his regard of calling the maester. “Y/n, you have to get back to bed” he said as he gently tried to hold her up by her bicep.

“No!” She protested freeing herself out of his grasp, “I promised Jaehaerys I would read to him after dinner, I completely forgot.” Y/n informed him ever so casually as she continued rummaging through the bookshelf for the story book “I just can’t seem to find the book.”

Aemond’s heart broke at her state, her mind but be hazy from the tea of varying herbs in her system to help her through the fever yet, this was so much more painful. “Y/n…” he proceeded softly as he managed to pull her away from the bookshelf. “My love you have a really bad fever.” He would be dammed if he reasoned with her about their nephew this very moment.

“Aemond, I am fine. I must find that book-“ she was relentless to her cause. The few hours of fever sleep she had must have made her believe that the past few happenings were a bad nightmare. “I have to…I-“ reality seeped in and it felt like the walls all around her were breaking down. As if the world was crumbling to dust, “Aemond…I-i promised him.” Tears welled up her eyes as the realisation hit her but the denial was such an easier life to lead. “I promised I…I-i would read to him and I never—“ she couldn’t seem to finish her sentence as she broke down into tears.

No words were present to console her so Aemond enlaced her into his arms. Holding her against his chest tightly as he rubbed her back, “shh…” he said resting her chin on top of her head as her sobs filled the room.

The weight of the world crumbled on her shoulders, weakening her legs along with her spirit she fell to her knees as Aemond slowly held her down to the floor and situated her onto his lap. “Just breathe.”

“Jaehaerys-“ she wept into her hands, “He wanted me to read it to him-yesterday at that moment but I dismissed it for later-I—he made me promise him I’d read it to him…” she trailed off as she cried, her entire body trembling in Aemond’s arms. Her remorse was inconsolable.

“Loss of the boy cannot be compensated…in any way” Aemond said as he removed her hands from her face to look at her properly. Holding her face by her chin for her to meet his gaze, “his suffering is done. His spirit shall live on within us…with you. The love that you hold for him.”

Aemond’s words were not meant to console her because she couldn’t be. He wished for her to find some strength, help her mettle. “My thoughts are too loud” she confessed still crying, “all the blood, all his blood…Aemond he is so small, so young” she cried into his arms this time. Unable to breathe and meet his gaze simultaneously. “Every time I close my eyes I—I can’t see anything else and I hear the same words-the small folk over and over again.” She cried. “It is all too loud…”

He couldn’t tell apart if she was trembling out of her fever or her meltdown however he did not want to risk her well being any more. Aemond carried her up into his arm, his hand snaking through her waist and legs across his other arm. He carried her to the small distance of bed in bridal style instead of making her walk it. He nestled her back within the covers and remained close to her, wrapping his arms around her again. “What of the small folk?” He asked her.

“The funeral today, they kept on saying-daughter that never was…rogue prince’s first born-forsaken.” she said in between sobs, inconsolable sobs as he rubbed her back, easing her. “They said my mother’s name, my mother, I haven’t heard her name in so long” her voice came out broken as she cried and briefed him together. “They believe it is but Rhaenyra’s fault, it’s him. This is his doing, the blood—it’s all in his hand yet they all believe-“ she choked out her words. Her crying made it impossible to continue coherent words and thoughts, both.

Aemond’s eye widened in horror, he did not think the perception scenario at all. This is perhaps exactly what Otto wanted but its effect on his wife was un-fathomable. “Y/n.”

He told her a bit firmly and pulled away a bit to face her properly. “I want you to trust me, trust that I will not let Daemon get away. He will pay not just for this but all his missteps and wrongdoings to you all your life.” He told her, holding her face in his hands. “You have my word. He will pay.”

“Why must my life by subjected to misery and then vengeance for that misery?” She asked, extremely exhausted of this whole ordeal. All she wanted was to be rid of that man, be done with all the pain her father brought with him. “When shall this be done…when will I escape him?”

“You have.” He told her, his voice carrying no hint of hesitation even with his following words. “Because I love you. And for me to love you I haven’t had to know him, all his wrongdoings, because you are not what he has subjected your life to. You are what you have overcome, you are your strength and your wit and your resilience all of which you did not inherit from him.” He explained to her in a gentle manner as he fixed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, “I love the lady that you have raised yourself to be. You are far away from him, you don’t have to worry or live behind him for I love you. I love you most thoroughly for all that you are, wholly, I am in love with you.”

-

HIIII please comment what you think I’ll post more regular updates from now on !!!

- 🏷️

@love-is-a-dagger @daddzawa @1109002 @void21 @annedub @teapartydreams @batmans-love @ih8books @oopsdownloadedrumblragain-blog @aemondwhoresworld @unsweetenedpeatea @immyowndefender @aleemendoza2425-blog @vane282-blog @atargaryenlover @targaryenswhxre @sabii5 @vibescanner @darylandbethfanforever9 @whiteoakoak @barnes70stark @radiantdanvers @starryhiraeth @lechat-rouge @esposadomd @lynnbells @rosey1981 @coutureisart @misspinkonmars @vieenr0se @duck-duck-goose2 @sansaints

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - even after months apart

You stood in front of the hero commission, a heavy heart in your head, but a blank look on your face as you stare at them.

“So you want me to infiltrate a gang of villains, and gather as much information as you need?”

One of the men nods, clasping his hands together.

“Yes, with your quirk, your heightened sense you are the perfect candidate for the job, we need to know everything regardless of how small it may seem.”

You nod again, looking down at the engagement ring on your finger before looking back up at the ground who had gathered in front of you.

You didn’t exactly have a choice in this, these people controlled your whole career, and if you didn’t thousands of people could be hurt.

“What about my family…? Friends…?”

Someone else sighs and she speaks up.

“They’ll be told that you went missing on a mission, which means we’re going to need your ring, and your phone.”

You hand over your phone, and hesitate to hand over your ring, and they were patient while waiting.

After what felt like forever, you slowly slide it front your hand, pressing a kiss to it, whispering a quick sorry before handing it over to start your uncover mission.

It was going to be long, dreadful, and it would take a while to earn the villains trust before you could start gaining valuable information that’ll help the other heroes when the time comes.

Every night you would sit on your bed in the room they had eventually given you, just staring up at up at the ceiling, thinking about the man you loved.

The man you left behind so you could do this.

The same thoughts always rushing around your mind.

Would he be okay?

Would he be safe?

Is he still looking for you?

Has he moved on?

Will he hate you if this all ends?

Would he still love you?

Would he forgive you?

You sigh, burying your face into the capture scarf of his that you had managed to take from the apartment months ago before you left for this mission.

He didn’t use this one anymore, it was ripped and had some holes, but it still smelt like him, reminded you off him and brought you comfort.

With another sigh, you sit up and cross your legs as you close your eyes, focusing on your hearing while you activated your quirk.

You listened to everything going on around the villains base, moving from sound to sound to find anything that could be of use to the hero commission.

Sometimes you would linger on a conversation to just listen to what villains spoke about when they weren’t committing crimes before you moved on after a few minutes.

Everything of interest you heard you would pick up a book and underline certain words.

More months slipped by, and you dropped the book off in a post office with an address written on it, before going back to the villains base.

They only send you out on small run missions, dropping things off at the post office, each time you changed the address to the hero commissions office.

On the way back you grabbed a new book, and carried on walking down the street with your hood up.

“Stop walking now.” A cold voice demanded.

Your whole body tensed up, and you stopped, recognising the voice.

He was standing in an alleyway just behind you.

“So this is what you’ve been doing? Hiding?” He snapped.

“Shouta please….” You whispered.

“You just disappear without a trace, leave your engagement ring with the hero commission without saying a single word. Is that really how much how relationship was worth to you?” He asked lowly.

You sigh a little bit, keeping your gaze turned towards the ground.

“No….”

“Then what the hell was it?!” He snapped quietly.

You let out a heavy sigh again.

“I think about you every night…” you whisper.

Aizawa carefully looks at you, you wouldn’t even turn to look at him.

“I just… I pray that after all this ends I still have a place inside your heart…. When you see what I’ve become I just… I want to know if you’ll love me for who I am…”

You take a small breath.

“I’ll be back some day… I just hope when that day comes you won’t hate me…”

With that, you slipped into the crowds before he could even think about saying something else to you.

That was all you saw off him, and even then you couldn’t bring yourself to look in his eyes, you felt so ashamed for hurting him the way you had, breaking his trust, leaving him alone.

The mission went on for a few more months before everything was in place for the heroes to move in, and you were immediately taken back to the hero commission and here you spent hours in and out of meetings.

When they were all finished, you stepped outside of the building into the morning sun and took a small breath, looking around.

Your phone was dead, and had been for months, you weren’t sure about going back to the shared apartment, you didn’t even know if Aizawa would even still be there, so you headed to a hotel instead and booked a room for the week.

Getting a shower, you went back out to buy some clean clothes and a charger and went back to the hotel room for sleep and to charge your phone.

What woke you up a knocking on your hotel room door, and with a grumble you got up and walked over to answer it.

“Room service…?” You asked half asleep.

“Guess again.” A gruff voice spoke.

You stared at Aizawa half asleep, and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m too tired to argue with you right now…”

You walked back over to the bed and laid down, resting your head in your arms as you laid on your stomach.

Aizawa closed the door and walked over, standing at the end of the bed.

He just stared at you with narrowed eyes, and his gaze slowly moved to a few scars on your arms.

He knew you, he knew your body, and he knew that before you just up and left you never had those scars.

He slowly walked over, sitting on the edge of bed, carefully leaning over slightly, getting a better look at them.

“What the hell happened while you were away…?” He whispered.

You just grumbled, still exhausted and rolled on your side with your back to him, your shirt rose up, and he could see a few smaller scars on your lower back and he looked to the bottom of your shirt, slowly reaching out.

Within an instant you grabbed his wrist, now sitting up and looking at him with a warning look.

“Shouta don’t….”

“(Y/N) what the hell happened…? What have you been doing all these months…?”

You took a deep breath, loosening your grip on his wrist but not fully letting go as you looked away.

“I can’t tell you… I’m sorry…”

He nodded, he had a feeling it was something to do with the mission he was sent on with a lot of other heroes to a group of villains base, but he wouldn’t push you to talk about it.

Aizawa sighed gently

He glanced to his scarf that you had taken which was sat on a chair in the corner of the room, then back to you.

“I’m sorry for everything…. For leaving you the way I did… if I could go back and change it I would…”

“I think I understand… but I just… I wish you would have reached out (Y/N) to tell me you were okay… that you were alive…”

You looked away, and he slowly pulled his hand back until his palm was pressed against yours, and he slowly laced his fingers with yours.

You still couldn’t meet his gaze, and his face softened.

“Hey… hey look at me…”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and he brought the back of your hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles.

“Whatever happened then.. you’re safe… now come home?”

“You… want me to come back…?”

Aizawa rolled his eyes, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

“Yes, the bed is empty without you and I can’t find anything, come home.”

This made you laugh a little bit, and you grabbed what you had to go back to the apartment with him.

The moment you were through the door Aizawa placed his hands on the sides of your face, gently leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds and he dug through his pockets before finally pulling out your engagement ring, putting it back on your ring finger before kissing it.

“Mine…” he mumbled.

He rested his chin on your head, still holding your hands in his, and you closed your eyes in content.

This was all you wanted, to be back here with him, to be back with your future husband knowing you were safe and loved

[longlivechips]

A drabble on what if Arthur repealed the magic ban while Merlin wasn't there. I like the idea of Arthur thinking Merlin will be mad, he said magic has no place in Camelot afterall. And Merlin being like shit I'm gonna have to start telling the truth.

A fic where Merlin goes to visit his mother for a few weeks. It's Yule and he misses her.

While he is gone a child comes to trial. Hardly 12 and clearly terrified. She had been caught using magic.

She swears she didn't mean to, that it just started happening one day and she was so scared of what was happening to her.

The law says she is to burn.

But Arthur just can't seem to make the call. He can only think of the girl Morgana used to be when he looks at her.

He speaks to Gaius and Geoffrey about what Camelot was like before the ban. How people square magic. He learns, for the first time, more than his father had ever let him.

He's thinking of......well not reversing the magic ban. But this girl can't be evil surely.

He wishes Merlin were here, his advice is often quite sound. But Arthur is unsure if Merlin, who has been so outspoken against magic in the past, would agree with such loose laws.

But it comes down to this. Arthur cannot in good conscience kill that girl. And he can not have her as an exception. So he changes the law.

Merlin hasn't spent this long in Ealdor since before he left. He finds it quite lonely without Will to cause trouble with.

But he finds he is not ostracized like he was when he was a boy. In fact, more often than not he has to dodge mothers pushing their daughters onto him as prospects.

He is in his mother's house trying bundles of herbs to be dried and taken back to Camelot when his mother rushes in.

She stairs at him for a moment. Eyes wide, something clearly about to spill off her toung.

"Mother?" Merlin says moving closer, " What's wrong what happened? Has goodie meridan gone into labor?"

"Merlin. My boy. We just received news from Camelot. Gaius sent a letter. I....." Her face is flush. She doesn't look scared but Merlins heart drops anyway

"Arthur...." Merlin starts

"He's fine, he's fine" Hunith walks towards her son, cupping his face in her hands.

She laughs. Full belly and full of joy, her hands on his face strong, they almost hurt.

"He repealed the magic ban Merlin. Oh my boy by royal decree"

Merlins knees nearly give out.

"Surely you aren't serious....." Merlin gasps. "Do you have the letter?"

She hands it over and he reads frantically.

My good Hunith.

I write you instead of Merlin for reasons that will become obvious.

I also just request more of that dried lavender you sent last time, it does not smell the same from the north.

How is your neighbor Gregory fairing with his leg? My tonic recipe helped I hope, I would like to hear how it went.

There is news from Camelot. You might have heard, it will make fast news I'm sure.

A girl was brought to court for magic. Hardly 12 summers, she swears she did not train for magic, that it came naturally and she has no control.

Arthur was hesitant to burn her, despite the law, and tasked me with examining her.

I explained my findings, you know my friend how truly common it is to have magic as the girl does. Arthur listened well, and I sent the king off with what recommendations I could.

There are few books left on the subject but he spoke to Geoffrey. I assume he found some enlightened reading.

The next day, his verdict was as follows.

"The law of the land, as set by my Father King Uther, is that magic has no place in Camelot. I quite agree. Magic is dangerous, it has raveged my family.

But I can't help but think these laws might create more enemies. I cannot kill a girl for a crime she did not willingly commit. But I cannot banish her and create an enemy."

The council spoke on formal matters and specifics but Hunith, it is looking well. I feel hope I haven't had in decades.

Arthur has repealed the magic ban, in part. There are specifics to be worked out, and it is unclear if it would apply to Merlin. It certainly wouldn't apply to myself.

I will write again when I have more details.

I wish I could see the boy's face when he hears the news. Give him my love

Gaius

Merlin reads it. Than again. The third time he skims it he is tearing up. Looking desperately for any sign that Gaius tells a lie.

When he finds none, and there is no answer but that Gaius's words are true.

Merlin weeps. He falls to his knees and weeps.

Hunith cradles his head, spilling some tears of her own.

"oh my boy" she says. "What news. I knew Arthur would be a good king." She presses a kiss to her son's head.

Merlin cries, and wonders why he feels more scared than ever.

[theamberfist]

I'm a Grandpa! | Dad Alastor Headcannons

Familial! Alastor is Reader's Adopted Dad from life

Description: When you, Alastor's adopted child, end up in hell, he's surprised to find that you took in a kid of your own sometime after his death, making him a (not so enthusiastic) grandpa.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of murder, death, violence) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's adopted child) (Reader is an adult) (Reader has an adopted son in this)

Words: 1,249

♡ Alastor died before you did. You had been a young adult at the time, but you were still left pretty much on your own in the world after that

♡ Being the adopted kid of a now-known serial killer tended to be very isolating, so you moved to a new place and took on a new name and identity in order to avoid the negative effects of what your dad had done

♡ Being his child, Alastor had always loved you very much and you really looked up to him. While you'd never been a killer or committed any serious crimes, you liked to believe he'd had good reason for what he'd done, and so you'd continued looking up to him despite it all after his murders came to light

♡ Which is why, when one of the kids you were in charge of looking after at the daycare you worked at turned out to be in a bad home situation, you stepped up

♡ Alastor had adopted you at a very young age from a similar situation and you cared deeply about this child so you ended up taking them in yourself and becoming a parent that day

♡ Your kid was an absolute terror. Alastor had always said you reminded him so much of his mom with your sweet and calm nature, so you supposed it was only natural for your own son to remind you so much of his grandpa with his dramatic antics and slightly violent tendencies

♡ Luckily, you were very good at having the kid's behavior under control and he always listened to you. It was everyone else that needed to worry when he was around

♡ You always hoped that, wherever your dad had ended up after his death, he would have been proud of you for following in his footsteps like this and that he would have loved his grandson if he could have met him

♡ So when you and your son both died in a horrific accident and ended up in hell, one of the first things you did was go looking for your dad so the whole family could be together

♡ Alastor found you long before you would have found him and he happily reunited with you, his child, after so long

♡ Appeared out of nowhere, hugged you, began talking about how much he'd missed you and how good it was to see you again, only to then notice the little boy standing behind you and growling like a feral cat

♡ Assuming the kid had been planning to attack you, Alastor started using his powers to get rid of your son, who immediately fought back like the little animal he was, but you put a stop to it all before anyone could get hurt, shouting for both of them to cut it out

♡ They both froze and you took a deep breath before picking up your son and turning back to your dad, explaining that you'd adopted a child while alive and introducing them as grandfather and grandson

♡ Neither of them were happy about that reveal but since you seemed so excited about the family reunion, they both hid their disdain behind fake smiles

♡ "I see..." Alastor said as he wiped his hand on his suit after shaking your son's hand, "then I suppose it is a pleasure to meet you...Child."

♡ Your son barred his teeth at your dad and that became the start of a deep dislike between them

♡ After that, the three of you all moved into a home together within hell. Alastor had insisted on you living with him again, especially now that you 'had a charge of your own to support' and claimed he simply wanted the chance to spend more time with his child and new grandchild

♡ Yeah, right

♡ Alastor and your son are both very good at acting like they get along while in your presence, but the second your back is turned, they're at one another's throats

♡ He would never actually harm your kid because he knows you would kill him if he did. However, that doesn't mean he won't 'defend himself' if your son attacks him so he takes it upon himself to provoke the child as much as possible and is quite good at it

♡ Several times, you've left Alastor in charge of watching your son while you went out, only to come home to the house nearly on fire. When you find them, they act like they just got carried away baking some treats but it's not hard to tell that that's a lie

♡ You routinely remind them both of how much you want them to get along and they both always claim that they do but it's a complete lie

♡ For how much Alastor loves and adores you, his own kid, he finds that he probably hates your son just as much

♡ You mentioned it to Rosie once when the three of you came to visit her in Cannibal Town and she said it's probably because the two of them are just too similar. Your son, in many ways, is like a younger version of Alastor and that's probably what gets on his nerves so much. That, and the fact that he feels his grandchild takes up way too much of your time and attention

♡ It's not until the two of them gain a common enemy that they finally find a way to be civil

♡ You had never dated much in life, either because of your slightly overbearing father or, later, your slightly overbearing son. Maybe you were never interested in it anyway

♡ But now that you're in hell, you end up finding someone you like enough to make your partner (whether romantic, queerplatonic, or anything else) and then that person starts taking your time away from both of them

♡ Common Enemy: Unlocked

♡ Now Alastor and your son find that they both hate your partner and want them gone so they reluctantly begin working together to subtly get rid of/scare them off

♡ Whenever your partner is over, they'll split up so that one of them makes an excuse to spend time with you while the other goes to your partner. One makes sure to keep you distracted while the other promptly terrorizes your partner in ways no one will believe them if they tell

♡ This goes on for a while, and eventually, between their shared chaotic natures, it works and your partner breaks things off with you

♡ And guess who's there to support you as you mourn the loss of the relationship? Your two favorite men who definitely didn’t plan this at all

♡ Cue them both in a group hug with you but behind your back they exchange glances with one another and Alastor nods approvingly

♡ Even though he still doesn’t really like your kid and feels like he has to compete with him for your time, the kid’s earned his approval today

♡ And who knows? Maybe if your son cares almost as much (he could never beat your dad as far as how much he loves you) as him, maybe there will be more times in the future in which the two of them work together to ‘protect’ you

♡ Either way, your son is safe from the anger of his grandpa, at least for now, and vice versa

……….

One shot based on this

[snootlestheangel]

What if Soap had a cousin that's really close to his age: maybe the difference in age is as much as months apart, rather than years.

They were two peas in a pod, partners in crime growing up. They're cousins through Soap's mother's side of the family, so he doesn't have the MacTavish name, which sometimes Soap thinks is a good thing.

His cousin didn't join the military when Soap did, (partly due to the fact Soap cheated the system but that's neither here nor there) and a couple years went by before he decided to follow in Soap's footsteps and join. He's plenty smart and plenty capable, maybe not nearly as like Soap, but he's good enough that he progresses through pretty quick.

He's made Sergeant before either of them know it, and Soap is fucking proud. They're still close, and the shared experience of military life has definitely helped keep them that way in their adult lives. His cousin was the only one Soap confessed to about his feelings for Ghost. Granted it was more along the lines of a warning: "don't fall in love with your lieutenant, it'll only hurt."

Of course, that conversation happened a while ago, long enough ago that Soap and Ghost have indeed done something about their feelings for each other, but Soap and his cousin aren't ones to gossip about that sort of thing.

All his cousin knows is that Soap may or may not have something going on with his lieutenant, and quite frankly that's all he wants to know.

But here's the thing: his cousin doesn't know Soap is called Soap, and he doesn't know what taskforce he's a part of. He knows that Soap does some top shit, and he's not one to pry. Certainly not when he's got his own problems to worry about.

But he has heard of The Ghost. Everyone in the UK military has, for fucks sake. You can't be a soldier in that military without hearing about The Ghost and his almost supernatural abilities. You can't avoid hearing the higher ups mutter under their breaths "thank God he's on our side". It's considered one of the greatest honors a soldier can receive to work alongside The Ghost.

And that's how he ended up here. Standing in front of his new team, the two sergeants, his captain and lieutenant, suddenly feeling very murderous.

There are 2 options as to why he wants to commit murder:

1. Prior to coming to the Taskforce, he had a bit of leave and spent a few days with his cousin, John MacTavish. He asks him how things with "that lieutenant" are going, to which John says with a cheeky grin "Aye they're going". He then laughs a bit before adding "guess you could say he's my boo".

Of course his cousin is very confused: "boo?"

"Ya know, like a ghost"

"Like a ghost? GHOST?! YOU'RE FUCKING THE GHOST?!?!"

Its quickly revealed the taskforce his cousin has been assigned to is actually Soap's, to which the cousin refuses to believe Soap isn't just trying to mess with him. So he says "I'm kicking your ass if you're right"

2. There's never a chance for the two of them to talk about those sorts of things prior to his cousin joining the team. But he still knows that there's something going on between Soap and the lieutenant, so he's quickly putting together the pieces and getting very angry

Either way, the introductions end with his cousin politely asking if they would excuse him for just a minute. Price, albeit very confused, agrees. He doesn't expect the new sergeant to toss his duffle bag at Soap's face only for them to start wrestling, Soap cackling like a madman the entire time as the other shouts "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" And Gaz is the only one to say out loud what they're all thinking

"Holy shit, there's two of them."

[breadbrobin]

skipping stones

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

summary: it’s been a rough day for you, and clarisse doesn’t know how to help, as much as she wants to try

warnings: none really, just fluff and a little sad slander oops, oh and maybe slightly ooc clarisse as always

word count: 783

(hiiii it’s been a minute. i wrote this after skipping stones at a river for like an hour while my friend sat around next to me and i wanted someone to support me in my skipping endeavours so here we are)

————————————————

clarisse could always find you skipping stones.

you weren’t good at it. hell, you were even bad at it. but that never stopped you.

you’d told her once that it kept you closer to your family, since you hadn’t been able to get back to them since coming to camp two years ago, and you missed them more than words could describe.

she wasn’t even sure how it happened; how you became her best friend at camp, and she became yours, despite your differences.

where she was hard, you were soft. where she was cruel, you were kind. and where she was cold, you were as warm as any fire she’d ever known. warmer, even.

she didn’t even know when those feelings had shifted—from indifference to care, from friendship to love—but it didn’t really matter. what did matter was she could always find you skipping stones. and that’s exactly where you were.

she sat next to you on the shore, staring out at the long island sound ahead of her. you were looking down at the rocks, no doubt searching for your next ones to skip. your knees were bent and pulled to your chest with your arm under your thighs to lean forward. she couldn’t help but smile. if anyone saw she’d be made fun of, but with you, she didn’t care too much. she picked up a flat stone by her foot and nudged you.

you looked up at her with a smile, taking the stone and preparing to skip it. “thanks.” this one skipped maybe three times. she wasn’t really paying attention. her eyes were on your face, mapping your features, the light freckles, the crease between your eyebrows as you searched for another stone. she was watching your hands as you weighed two up before choosing one. she was staring at your lips, seeing them pout, press together, curl into a slight smile as the stone skipped.

“what’s wrong?” she asked.

“do you wanna try?” you extended a flat stone to her, about half the size of her palm. she was tempted to take it and put it in her pocket.

but she shook her head. “i’ve never had enough patience to learn to skip stones. you know that.”

“i do,” you nodded, your lips pressed together again. gods, what she wouldn’t give for those lips to be pressed against hers. “worth a shot.”

you skipped it, pouting as it crashed through a small wave and disappeared into the sea.

“what’s wrong?” clarisse asked again. “you can’t avoid the question forever, n/n.”

“yes, i can,” you said, skipping another rock.

“no. i won’t let you. what is it? did someone mess with you? i’ll kill them—“

you cut her off by laughing. “no, clarisse! no one messed with me, and please don’t commit any crimes in my name.”

“yours is the only name i’d ever commit crimes in,” she said firmly. you believed her. “now, tell me what’s wrong.”

you sighed and looked out at the grey horizon. it wasn’t a beautiful day, but it was warm for early spring and it hadn’t rained yet. “my dad called camp. he wants me to come home.”

“i thought your dad didn’t know where you were.”

“so did i.”

it was silent.

“so, what? he sent you away? that’s bullshit!”

“yeah,” you didn’t drag your eyes from the horizon. your knuckles were tight around a stone in your grip. “it is.”

her red-hot anger died in her throat as she saw your face and the blatant hurt on it. she wasn’t good at comforting people. she was actually really bad. it was easy to comfort clarisse: just let her yell about it and punch things until she feels better. but you… she’d seen you upset before, but never defeated. you looked defeated.

she was stumped.

“do you… do you need, like, a hug?” she offered awkwardly.

a snort escaped your lips. “a hug?”

“yeah! i mean… what do you need? how can i help you?” she asked, trying to save face.

you paused, turning your gaze to look at her face. “a hug would be nice, yeah.”

she scooted closer and wrapped her arms around you. she was worried it’d be awkward, that you’d both be tense and uncomfortable and it would be terrible, but you settled into her arms like you were made to be there. and god you were warm. it was like hugging someone who’d just gotten out of the drier.

“and if this doesn’t help we can throw rocks in the sea and yell about how angry we are,” she suggested after a moment. “that always helps me.”

she took your laughter as a good sign.

[missshirophantom]

From the author : hello everyone! A few days later, but I'm done with this part. It took me a while... And I wrote twice as much as I originally planned. But since the part itself was thought out in terms of what was going to happen, I did not dare to divide it into two parts. This work was written based on my yandere Seb post. Have a nice read.

English is not my native language, I apologize for the mistakes.

Warnings : g/n reader, description of violence, description of injury, hint of harassment (but that's in the past), mention of strangulation, possessive behavior, paranoia, kidnapping.

Number of words : 6 593

There you are

So much has happened in the last months of your life that you're almost sure you're in some kind of B-movie of whatever genre.

Being accused of a violent crime that you didn't commit, disappointing your family and loved ones, being sent to prison, and then strange people coming promising release for a "small favor." All you have to do is get a certain crystal for them, avoiding unknown threats and return back with an undamaged object.

It sounds pretty easy and the reward is pretty tempting, right?

Even though you knew that your family was disappointed in you and rejected you right in the courtroom, you still wanted to return to them. To prove to them that this crime was committed not by you, but by someone else. Although it did not occur to you that there is no evidence of your innocence anymore, and your family has been inspired with blatant lies about you. So much so that it is impossible to convince them, despite all the warm relations in the past.

But you are young. Naive and just enrolled in a prestigious college, how do you know how bad and terrible things can be in the world? Only from those romanticized series.

But now... This is your reality. Your life, which you absolutely did not want. You would be glad to forget this beginning horror, but you can't. Every time you opened your eyes and saw the wall of your cell, reality crashed down on you like cold water in the middle of a dream.

So... Yes, you had good reasons to accept a strange offer from the same strange people.

All in order to get back to the family. Or at least to your usual, normal life.

You exhaled softly and shifted a little on the hard, spring-loaded mattress before closing your eyes and taking a little nap before going on a mission with the other prisoners.

* * *

You are very sorry that you agreed to this.

Your thoughts were spinning wildly in your head as you struggled to breathe, cowering in the closet and holding the doors tightly so that the creature could not open them and pull you out.

You squeezed your eyes shut when the ugly and distorted face of the fish continued to scream at you when it sees you through the small cracks in the door.

Time seemed to freeze under this terrible scream in your ears, and your hands began to hurt when you used all your strength to hold the doors in place. But after a while, that scream died down, as did the attack on the closet where you hid on pure instincts.

You didn't immediately understand when it was finally over, and even if you did, you would have sat there for some time, trembling all over and gasping for air. Tears of fear threatened to spill from your eyes, but you held them back, biting your lip and suppressing a quiet sob.

You weren't exactly sure which room you were in, which door you went through, hell, even how much time had passed when you got out of that damn submarine. About the threats, you thought that these were ordinary security systems in the face of the same turrets... Although they were controlled by some kind of reasonable AI.

But damn it, these people weren't talking about real monsters!

At first, some people are statues pretending to be walls and sneaking after a person to eat them later. Then there are a bunch of strange creatures making loud noises, breaking the lamps in the room, which are rushing like crazy. And one of them is actually trying to get you out of the locker. Or a creature with tentacles that hides in the closet itself, waiting for an inattentive prisoner.

Although the worst monsters you met were: a creature behind a fake door, a giant fish with a bunch of eyes and a creature trying to get you out of the closet.

If it weren't for the "kind" prisoners you met along the way and not trying to kill you, steal your collected research and food, or do something much worse, then you wouldn't know anything about these monsters at all.

However, you still had to give away some of the precious food, even if it was granola bars. And the collected research, although you didn't fully understand why they were needed. But the information was more valuable than the food and the data that can be found before you die unknowingly.

The statue people were Wall Drawers and would sneak up on the man from behind to then eat him. All I had to do was turn around and listen often.

And the bunch of creatures that fly like mad across the room were Angler, Blitz. There were also three, but you did not encounter them. The creature that's trying to get you out of the locker is Pandemonium. Good People is that monster from the fake door. Eyefestation is that giant fish with a bunch of eyes.

One of the prisoners who was in a small group kindly told you about them and how to deal with them. It was quite useful, even if you mourned a little for the loss of food and some research, even if they were useless.

However, it was a pity about the latter after you learned from the words of other prisoners that you were not here for the first time (which is surprising for you) and that somewhere here there is a small store where you can buy a first-aid kit with batteries and other things, and the payment is just for these studies.

You didn't even have to sacrifice anything, because there was a newcomer among those prisoners and they told him about a certain intelligent being who runs this store and calls himself Sebastian. Of course, you didn't really understand anything, but you took note of this useful information.

Although you are still worried about the further words of the prisoners about how scary and rude this seller is. The saboteur, as they also call him. There was also a rumor that he was the one who organized the pogrom on this huge base under water.

Although you thought more that this was just a typical way of bullying the elders over the younger ones, exaggerating or inventing what is not there. Although... Considering the whole situation, perhaps the prisoners were not exaggerating.

After that, quite a lot of events happened, so you forgot about a certain store and a mysterious seller in time.

Especially when you have just experienced the 5th meeting with Pandemonium.

After that, you still wonder how you miraculously survived. Especially when Pandemonium was quite persistent, chasing you through every room.

You carefully opened the closet door, finally getting out of it when you started to feel a little claustrophobic. Your legs could barely hold you up, so you just sat on the floor, catching your breath and trying to somehow regain your strength.

You couldn't help but look around for a threat every couple of minutes and hold your breath, listening. It was pretty quiet, which should have been relaxing somehow, but it's completely wrong. It feels like there will be an even stronger storm after such a strong lull.

You are not exactly sure that there will be something much scarier than Pandemonium and a fish with a bunch of eyes.

I have no other way out. You exhaled softly, took off your helmet for a short time to quickly eat a small granola bar that you found next to the gnawed body of one of the prisoners when you avoided meeting with Wall Drawers the day before. You refused to admit the idea that you might end up in this prisoner's place if you weren't vigilant enough.

A skeleton in a uniform and diving equipment lying in the middle of the room.

You barely swallowed a piece of a hard and dry bar, ignoring the nausea caused by hunger and the horror of memories, and struggled to stand on trembling legs. You held on to the locker, feeling a little dizzy, and after standing there for a while, you started walking again. Even if it's not as fast as at the beginning, but with the maximum vigilance that you have, despite the lack of at least some sleep over these days (and maybe weeks... Your sense of time is blunted, and the clock is almost not there), hunger and a generally exhausted state.

You looked through every desk and staff lockers in search of data and useful items, by type of flashlight and flash. Maybe you will be lucky and there will be something to eat, except for granola bars, which are not so healthy. Or a bottle of water that didn't have time to spoil.

However, you have been very unlucky lately. Either because other prisoners who took everything managed to walk here before you, or there is simply nothing here... Or here it is in a slightly different case. Who knows.

In any case, it upset you, especially when your condition worsened every day, that at any moment you simply would not be able to walk. Or worse, but you preferred not to think about it.

You were almost absently examining tables, cabinets and shelves, passing through each door, trying to save energy for running.

It must have all played a role that you almost missed another couple of steps behind you. If it weren't for your instincts flaring up, you wouldn't have noticed Wall Drawers literally a meter away from you. You instantly turned around, looking at the creature with barely concealed alarm and hurriedly walking backwards, groping for the door to the next room.

However, the day could have been even worse, because you got on a fake door, too focused on Wall Drawers to hear breathing outside the door.

In the next second, a scream was heard and you fell to the floor, clutching your injured hand, while Good People mistakenly grabbed Wall Drawers instead of you. Although before that, I managed to cripple your leading hand. Not much, but being in the current situation, it causes great inconvenience.

You didn't fully realize what happened in just a second, but Wall Drawers must have managed to grab your hand and take a bite before you jumped back and Good People managed to accidentally grab them instead of you.

What a stroke of luck.

You couldn't hold back a quiet sob and whimper, clutching the wound on your arm. You saw a dark red, almost viscous liquid flowing out between your fingers, staining your uniform and dripping onto the floor. Pursing your lips and holding your breath, you carefully removed your palm and restrained yourself from crying out how terrible the wound was.

You hastily returned the gaze, trying not to look at the wound a second time and rummaged in your bag, trying to find at least something that will help you to bandage the wound for the first time.

There was nothing useful, because you couldn't find a first-aid kit the whole way, so you had to tear off the rest of the sleeve and bandage the wound. It turned out to be a very clumsy bandage made with one hand. In theory, you should have made another small bandage over your head so that the arm would remain motionless and not get in the way too much, but there just wasn't enough fabric for that.

You barely ignored the terrible pain in your arm, which seemed to pierce to the very bones (which is not entirely far from the truth), and barely got up from the floor, trying to come up with a plan of action.

You definitely really need a first aid kit. And to have a needle and thread in it, because the wound looked like something that needed to be sewn up. And even if you didn't go to the doctor and didn't touch on such medical topics in any way, but something had to be done. Even if you end up relying on the movie. What can't be done, but there is no other choice.

Hissing softly through your teeth, you continued walking, holding your hand and trying to be more attentive when you were injured and bleeding. You weren't exactly sure, but you had an idea that the smell of blood might attract someone from these many creatures. You prayed very much that if you were noticed, you would have had a first-aid kit by that time. I don't care about a safe place, the main thing is to take care of the wound, through which some infection can get.

After about a few doors behind, you suddenly heard a voice from which you yourself stopped for no reason. You hurriedly looked around, pressing your back against the nearest closet, thinking that either this was a hallucination, or a group of prisoners whom you needed to avoid more than anything, because not all of them are kind. Especially when you are injured and clearly in a pretty deplorable state.

There was a short silence in which you listened intently, then the voice sounded again. You may not have been able to make out the words completely, but judging by the tone of the threat, there was no threat.

Involuntarily, I flashed memories of those prisoners who talked among themselves about the store here, where you could buy from simple batteries for a flashlight to a first-aid kit. This involuntarily filled your heart with a little hope, although your instincts literally screamed over and over again that it was better not to go anywhere, because danger was possible.

But you didn't pay much attention to it, especially when everything hurt and the blood continued to flow. You needed this first-aid kit, if you have to go through danger for it, then it was worth it. At least you won't die so soon because of this.

Despite the fact that due to blood loss, you barely understood the words, but walked towards the voice, which led you to a small vent. Frowning weakly, you sat on your knees and tried to figure out how to crawl through it carefully so as to disturb your hand as little as possible. After sitting there for a few seconds, you were startled when the lamps blinked several times, which foreshadowed the appearance of one of the fish creatures flying across the room. This caused your sluggish body to move and you hurriedly crawled into the ventilation. The voice trailed off, which scared you a little, but you're sure you heard it here.

You were breathing heavily when you crawled through the vent and stopped briefly when you got out of it.

— Welcome! Welcome, newcomer, — the voice sounded literally above you. It was a little unexpected for you, which made you start and raise your head.

It was... The creature is humanoid. More precisely, you somehow don't want to name another being, especially when he spoke. Despite what he was about... More than 10 meters? It is quite difficult to determine when his long sea snake tail curled up a little in this almost small room, which made it seem smaller than it was.

His skin (or is it already scales?) She was light blue, had short black hair that was tousled. The facial features were sharp, with fins instead of ears... A fish mouth? Although, considering that he has an anglerfish esque, a third arm and a third eye, this is a much less strange sight, especially in a place like this.

The man was wearing a dark brown jacket, a white shirt with a frill. Your gaze involuntarily caught on the holster with a shotgun on his belt and a small bag. You also noticed that there was some kind of strange bulky device on his back, but don't know what it is. Your gaze turns away again and gets stuck on the medicine cabinet in one of the many bags on his long tail.

Ah.

This must be the same store with a certain saboteur.

You flinched when the other intentionally coughed loudly into your hand, and then you were embarrassed by his words:

— Have you enjoyed the view enough?

— Uh, excuse me... Hello, — you squirm a little, involuntarily squeezing your injured hand harder, remembering politeness.

Although what kind of simple politeness is worth talking about in a place like this? But you're a good person.

— Well... Ahem, welcome to my store. You may have already heard about me, but don't believe these stupid rumors, my friend. You can call me Sebastian. You can buy items here for the research that you managed to collect before coming here. They are useless to you, but they will be much more useful to me, — the salesman says matter—of-factly and even a little sarcastically, putting two hands together, clearly not caring that you were literally dying of blood loss in front of his eyes.

Strangely, you don't feel anything from this realization. Indifference is somehow better than those who take advantage of such a position in the terrible sense of the word. You shuddered a little from the memories and gathering your thoughts in a bunch, you asked:

— How much do you have a first aid kit for?..

— 200 studies, — the other immediately replied, somehow cunningly twisting the edges of his mouth.

You look down, groping for your bag and open it to get the right amount. In your opinion, the price was not very high, but within reasonable limits. It's better than buying a first aid kit from other prisoners for their heavenly prices. After transferring the required amount of research into Sebastian's clawed hand, you waited a little while for him to nod, count, and silently take the first-aid kit from his bag.

You carefully opened it, checking the contents and relax a little, seeing what you needed. After closing the first-aid kit and putting away her bag, you nod to the other, muttering softly "thank you" and go back to the ventilation.

— If it makes you feel better, there is a small office space nearby where you can close. The lock is intact there, so you'll know right away.

You were startled by the suddenness and involuntarily looked back at the seller, whose voice sounded... Strange. It was also mocking and indifferent, but something was wrong that made your instincts alert. But the fish-man looked quite normal, mockingly narrowing his inhuman blue eyes and grinning from the corners of his mouth.

— How much?..

— What? — you can see how he obviously feigned incomprehension tilted his head to the side, blinking slowly.

— For the information.

— Ah. Consider it free, — he almost growled the last word through razor—sharp teeth, frowning.

You look at him doubtfully for a few seconds and reopened the bag, taking out 100 studies and putting them on the nearest iron box and this time hurriedly leaving through the ventilation, muttering "thank you" out of habit. There was only stunned silence in response, but you didn't care. You didn't want to get into trouble, especially with a newfound acquaintance for a "free" thing.

Sebastian wasn't lying, and literally across the hall was the very office space that you recognized due to the whole lock, thanks to which you could close the door.

It was... It's such a relief that you could finally just close the door behind you and relax a little. As long as you don't make any noise, no one will try to break in.

Maybe after you took care of the wound, you could get some sleep.

Under the office desk in the corner and in the shade, so that in case of anything you would not be noticed.

* * *

You barely opened your eyes and did not immediately realize where you were, but then the memories reached you, from which you exhaled and squeezed your eyes shut, throwing your head back.

You successfully sewed up the wound, even though it was terribly hard and you lost consciousness several times due to the hellish pain and blood loss. But fortunately you coped in the end and hardly remembered how you bandaged your arm.

Although...

When you open your eyes and turn your head to the side, you see how your helmet was lying next to you on the floor. Even with a small crack in the glass, which definitely wasn't there. But you must have missed it when you were attacked by Good People.

You can't remember when you managed to take off your helmet before you fell asleep under the table. But you were too tired, so you didn't think much about it. Moreover, things were more important now.

With such a wound, you definitely couldn't keep moving. At least until the pain is less and signs of healing are visible. So you will definitely have to stay in this area for a few days.

Which leads to another task.

You frown weakly, carefully sitting down and pulling your bag towards you, rummaging through numerous secret pockets, pulling out all the food and water supplies to calculate how much is left and how much more is needed.

It is quite poor, without taking into account the fact that there used to be more and you gave this part to the prisoners for information about this place.

A few dry and hard granola bars, a liter bottle of water, and by some miracle a canned food with sprats was found. Which you hate. And you also don't have a can opener.

There will be no problem with water. There was a half-filled cooler in this office room, which is enough for these days and you won't die of dehydration, but here's the food... Considering your current condition, you definitely needed something better than muesli and canned sprats. Moreover, this will be enough for two days at most.

So you definitely need to go out and explore this part of the territory in search of food.

You frown a little at this thought, upset, because the risk of bumping into someone is high. And especially when there was a store nearby, the risk of meeting prisoners is higher than usual.

— Damn, what a disgusting day, — you involuntarily swear under your breath, putting things back into the hidden pockets of the bag and clumsily get up.

Which you immediately regretted, because you almost fell back to the floor, barely managing to grab an office chair.

Okay, you definitely need to just sit for one day to start at least thinking about going somewhere.

You swore under your breath, sitting down in an office chair with irritation and leaning back, staring at the ceiling.

You sat there for an unknown amount of time before falling asleep, which was not very good for your back. Although when you woke up, you felt better and could finally stand. After quickly eating a granola bar and drinking water, you put your helmet back on and carefully opened the door, listening.

It was quiet, which disturbed you, but you couldn't do anything about it and quietly left the room, closing the door behind you. Looking around and listening all the time, you came across a door, behind which there was something like a dining room and a kitchen.

This cheered you up a little and you began to inspect the room, collecting research on the machine. When you reached the kitchen and examined the drawers, you found a slightly bent can opener and another tin can. But thank God not with sprats, but with corn. Pretty good, if a little unhealthy.

In addition, you found already moldy bread and already rotten fruits on the table, the smell of which made your stomach shrink a little and you hurriedly moved away from them.

In general, you were able to find some food in the face of canned corn and some miraculously preserved sausage in the refrigerator. You considered this a victory.

You hummed softly to yourself when you put the food in your bag, deciding to eat the sausage first, which spoiled faster, and also so as not to get soaked in its smell and not run into trouble with people with excellent nose. You definitely don't intend to fight giant prisoners over sausage in your current state.

* * *

You are not sure exactly how many hours have passed since you stopped in the office room. It was a bit of a blur for you, because all you had time to do was explore the nearest rooms, come to eat and fall asleep. And you also looked into the store again to buy a Flash Beacon from Sebastian, a couple of batteries and again a first-aid kit. You spent all your accumulated research, but you didn't regret it.

After all, you still managed to get an infection.

And instead of staying and getting cured like a normal person, you decided that this was the perfect time to continue on your way. And you had your reasons. First, here, next to Sebastian's store, there is a high risk of running into a crazy prisoner or even a group. Which is very bad in your position. Secondly, there is a risk that you will not be able to cure the infection and eventually you will die. Third, you had some kind of unpleasant feeling in the back of your head that you were being watched and something in you said that you should leave as soon as possible.

It was a little sad, because the store clerk was a bit of an interesting conversationalist. When he's not trying to humiliate you at every opportunity, of course. And when this dialogue lasted at least a minute during your next two visits. One because of the strange sound of a gunshot, and the other because of shopping. But for you, it was a little breath of fresh air, after a long conversation with criminals in prison, as well as small skirmishes with them here. And monsters...

You involuntarily recalled your conversation with Sebastian when you bought a first-aid kit and other items. And it ended up being pretty... An unpleasant note.

— Ah, do you intend to go further? With such a wound? — He asked casually, bowing his head and propping it up with one of his hands, looking at you.

You shrugged a little, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, almost studying. Mentally, you reminded yourself that you were wearing a helmet, so he could not know about your appearance, which was well preserved under all the disgusting conditions. To your confusion.

— Yes... Uh, I feel much better. So I won't dare linger here, — you lied a little, grateful in secret that your face was not visible, and your voice was indifferent enough to betray the truth.

You looked up, catching the man's skeptical look before he rolled his eyes.

— Then don't you dare let Wall Drawers bite your hand off again, — he almost growled softly, strangely squeezing his hands tighter.

— What? — you blinked, thinking you misheard.

— I say, come into my store again, you idiot, — he said with a grin and louder, narrowing his eyes maliciously, — or are you deaf?

You pressed your lips together in silence, looking away from Sebastian, saying nothing.

It was at this moment that you heard a noise in the ventilation that made you freeze. The next second, a prisoner who was clearly passing by got out of the ventilation.

You pressed yourself imperceptibly against the wall, silently praying that you would not be noticed immediately and that you would have time to leave before you ran into trouble. And before anyone thought you were a coward, you had strong justifications for behaving that way, especially with other people.

You barely noticed the faint curiosity in Sebastian's gaze before he spoke in his usual sarcastic voice:

— Welcome, friend.

You heard a contemptuous snort from the prisoner before he came over to get the batteries, casually throwing the research. Before you had time to realize that you need to leave unnoticed through the ventilation, you suddenly recognized this person.

Oh shit, the universe really "loves" you, right?

— Who do I see? Is that really our rat, huh?

You flinched when you stopped near the vent.

— Are you completely deaf? You weren't taught to greet your friends, were you? — There was a little anger in the gruff voice.

You curled your lips, but remained silent, turning your head towards the other person. The tall man looked down at you with disgusting amusement.

— What do you want, Chris? — You answered with difficulty in an indifferent voice.

— Why such coldness, huh? Did you really forget your cellmate, huh? — the criminal giggled, smiling broadly and showing his crooked teeth.

— We weren't cellmates, — you corrected coldly.

The other person's face twisted at your tone, clearly not expecting this.

— What, the eggs of the industry during your stay here? Decided to show your teeth, rat?! Have you forgotten who's in charge here? — The prisoner growled through his teeth, clearly restraining himself from running into you with his fists.

You frowned a little, but it was not visible because of the helmet.

How did he even recognize you with the helmet and uniform? Maybe he saw you putting on a helmet at the beginning of the journey? Or how was it given to you along with the uniform?

Although it doesn't really have to do with when to leave. You didn't really want to piss Sebastian off because of that arrogant jerk, even if it wasn't your fault.

It is strange that now you did not feel fear of this prisoner, who spoiled your life, as you were put in prison. So much so that the prison authorities had to put you and him in different cells after his attempt to strangle you in the dining room.

Although it is strange that you two were resettled and you received a solitary cell, because other prisoners, despite all the conflicts, were not resettled... But somehow you didn't think much about it.

You probably didn't think he was particularly scary right now after encountering monsters here. Or you were just tired under the influence of a found painkiller and an increasing infection, despite the fact that the wound was intact and there were no signs of rotting.

Whatever it was, you knew for sure that you had to leave.

— If you want to start a fight, it's not right in the store, — you said indifferently.

Well, you didn't want to inconvenience Sebastian yet, even if he didn't care about what was going on in front of him. But you knew Chris, and you knew what he could do when he was angry. If he accidentally destroyed something here, you didn't know how the seller would react.

But with the condition that during the last meeting you heard a shot here...

It's better not to think about it.

— Ha! Do you still dare to tell me what to do? Have you already made friends with this monster? — the prisoner replied with a laugh, putting his hand on the handle of the Flash Beacon, — you haven't changed at all, you always take care of others. That's why they put you in jail, you stupid rat.

The unpleasant feeling in the back of your head has intensified, which is why your hair has lifted a little there. The developed sense of self-preservation during his stay in prison confirmed that something very unpleasant was about to happen.

And let nothing happen to you, thanks to the dark glass on the helmet that protects you from bright light, but here is Sebastian with his unusual anatomy...

And even if you don't know him, but as a good person, you didn't want him to be hurt and others too. Just like that, even if you didn't feel anything special about him.

You just opened your mouth to stop him, but you didn't have time because at the same second he pulled out a Flash Beacon and pulled the trigger.

In those few seconds, several things happened and a loud sound sounded.

When the lights went out, you saw that the Flash Beacon was lying on the floor, literally broken into splinters, and the prisoner was coughing, clutching at his throat.

— Don't do that again.

You flinched at the absolute fury in Sebastian's voice and raised your head. His mouth was folded as if he was growling and ready to bite at any second, and his eyes were heavily squinted, betraying the degree of rage and slight blindness due to the bright flash.

You swallowed nervously and hurriedly crawled into the ventilation, muttering quiet apologies.

After that, you spent another day locked in the office room, as you waited for your "good friend" to leave either forward or backward. And you didn't know yet how Sebastian would react if he saw or heard you. You may not have cared about it, but you didn't want a bad relationship with the seller of important items.

Stupid people who make him angry. It's going to go sideways for them.

You squirm a little in place and then get up when you put everything in a bag and hung the weapon on your belt to grab it faster. Although Flash Beacon is not really a weapon, but it can blind anyone for a few seconds.

You stood in place for a while to let the dizziness go away and finally left the room with a quiet but fast step. It was a little hard, because there were no pills in the medicine cabinet, and a slight fever had been holding for the second day. But it was bearable enough to continue on the way.

Although you had some very unpleasant feeling in your heart.

* * *

You've. Made. A. Mistake.

Not only did you start to feel much worse, barely thinking because of the rising temperature, but you also stumbled upon Chris.

And even if there was no direct meeting, because you quickly hid so that you would not be noticed, it was still dangerous.

You could hardly restrain yourself from cursing as you crawled behind the tables to get to the open but broken door, hearing curses from that prisoner and those people who were with him. You tried to ignore his words, because they were very unpleasant, especially when they referred specifically to you. More accurately... They are vulgar and in a rather unpleasant way that makes you frankly sick, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You stopped for a moment when your head started spinning again, and black dots appeared in front of your eyes for a moment.

It was at this moment that the universe decided that your situation was quite deplorable, so everything went fine.

You were able to crawl out that door and get up as quietly as possible and also quietly hurried away. As you passed through each door and room, you quickened your pace. At the same time, your breathing accelerated, and your lungs ached quite a bit. However, you tried not to pay attention to it, continuing to walk and hastily looking through tables, drawers and cabinets, almost casually stuffing what you found into a bag.

You went through the next door at number 89 and got stuck a little bit, because you had to find the key card. You did not intend to use a code cracker, believing that it would be useful in a critical situation.

You were weakly looking through tables and drawers, wondering how many more doors and rooms you have to go through before you finally get to the crystal. The optimistic part said there wasn't much left, while the realistic part said there wasn't yet. It's not enough to get the crystal, you still need to go back... In such a weak state.

You made a little face thinking about it when you got up from your knees to look through the cabinets. At the same moment, you felt the floor move away from under your feet, and a gust of wind hit your face.

You blinked dazedly, not immediately realizing with your sick brain what had happened before a damp cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth. This caused your body to twitch instantly, which is why whoever grabbed you and held you at a height had to make efforts so that you would not slip out of their grasp.

You barely heard the grumbling above your head, too panicked to understand the words.

The sweet smell of the liquid on the cloth penetrated your airways as you twitched, writhing in the hands of the invader. It didn't do much and you weren't sure what kind of liquid it was, but you weren't intending to let it have any effect on you. You gripped the invader's hand tightly, which pressed a rag to your mouth, and with the other clumsily hit the obviously large body behind you until your hand weakened and fell on the object on your belt. You immediately grabbed and pulled it out, pointing it back and pulled the trigger.

At the same moment, there was a scream and you fell to the floor. You didn't have time to look around and rushed forward, coughing and gasping for air, clutching the handle of the Flash Beacon tightly.

— You little shit!!..

The voice was very loud and full of anger, but you didn't dare stop, even when it seemed familiar to your brain.

You heard a crash behind you as you ran across the room, skirting tables and deliberately knocking over chairs to slow down the attacker, which was a bit effective, judging by the wave of curses and curses, as well as the subsequent cracking sound. Your heart was pounding wildly, which hardly made you hear anything while you were running in a panic.

When the door, the exit, literally appeared in front of you and almost instantly took out a code cracker, pressing it against the panel with a trembling hand. You were breathing hoarsely, barely holding back a startled sob due to the noise and growling from behind, while the panel was making beeping sounds.

A second later, a small squeak was heard, indicating a hacking error.

From this sound, everything inside you froze, as well as all the noise around.

As if in a fog, you raised your head uncomprehendingly, almost desperately looking at the screen with the number of the next room. But instead of numbers, you saw a sad smiley face, as if sympathizing with your situation.

The last thing you saw after that was how a big shadow covered you, a sweet smell mixed with a strong smell of tobacco penetrated your nose before you lost consciousness.