#i mean i always have cold feet and hands but now its even worse

[newtness532]

we have officially entered permanently frozen hands and feet season

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[millieisawriter]

La redención de un tonto

javier escuella x reader

summary: the fall of the van der linde gang was the thing that doomed what had been between you and javier. you loved each other, you truly did, but after he chose dutch's side, and you stood by arthur, you knew this is the end. however, a few years later the fate had led you right back to javier.

wc: 2.7k

all pics taken from pinterest

!!!rdr2 spoilers!! rdr1 spoilers too i guess?

♡this was requested!♡

a/n: okay so i have never played rdr1 nor have i watched any gameplays, but i conciously spoiled it to myself after having finished rdr2, so i know what happens in rdr1, but forgive me if i have missed some details from the game

You never had the intention of heading to Mexico. Well, back when you and Javier were a thing, he always talked about how he was someday going to take you there. But due to what happened to the gang, it never happened, so you buried the memories six feet deep.

Long story short, Javier sided with Dutch and his ideas that got crazier each day, one worse than the other. On one hand you understood his loyalty, but you looked at the problem more objectively. Dutch's brilliant ideas were dangerous, leading the gang into a dead end, from where there was no saving.

"Loyalty is the only thing that can save us." Javier would often remind you.

By then, the gang had moved somewhere near Annesburg. The damn cave you had cleared of its previous tenants was making the camp feel cold, unfamiliar, even scary. Or maybe it wasn't the cave's fault. So much had changed the past few months since that failed job in Blackwater.

"Look, I love Dutch like a father, he practically raised me," you had replied, "but right now he's leading us all into a grave!"

"So what, you're going to side with Arthur? With John? Turn your back on everything we've built?"

"I can't be with you if you support ideas of a man who doesn't give a shit about none of us anymore!"

In that moment, you had been ready to leave. If only Javier wanted to, you two would have left the gang, keep your head low for some time, and eventually leave a happy ever after.

But that never happened. Javier had been blinded by his loyalty to Dutch, and you saw it even without Arthur pointing it out. Because Dutch saved Javier's life a few years before, Javier was now willing to give it up for plans that were doomed from the start.

After you had left, you had no idea what happened to any of the others. You've heard a whisper here and there in saloons, talking of the great fall of the Van Der Linde gang, some people that died, but never any details.

"I guess this is where we part ways." You had stated the last time you ever saw Javier. It were as if you needed to say it for yourself, because it still didn't feel real.

Old you never thought a breakup with Javier would ever have to happen. But then, the old Javier wouldn't put Dutch over the love of his life. Maybe it just wasn't what you were to him, after all.

He knew you still loved him, even if you hated you were on separate edges of the war within your gang. "You don't mean that."

Did he say that because he still loved you too? Or was he just so full of himself? In that moment it hit you, the memory of how John had called Javier a cynic that tried so hard to be a romantic. Maybe the fall of the gang caused Javier's true colors to show.

"I do." Tears appeared in your eyes when you thought about how you'd often imagine saying these words to Javier, but in slightly different circumstances.

For a moment, you thought he might argue, that he would try to convince you one last time. But instead, he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. There was sorrow, and regret. And the sign of an internal struggle within him.

"Then go," his final words pierced your heart, "just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart."

Like a prophecy, everything did fall apart. The next few years were so difficult for you. You couldn't get a job, you had practically nothing left. You left the gang, but you never left the life of crime. It was the only way of living you knew.

The price on your head grew, at some point you stopped keeping track of how much it was. You had no way to redeem yourself, but there wasn't a thing you'd regret. You did what you had to in the order to survive. Regret wouldn't feed you, and it sure as hell wouldn't protect you from the men who wanted your head.

The next job was supposed to be simple. You were going to deliver a shipment of rifles to a small band of people like yourself near the border. But nothing ever went according to plan and you were ambushed. You ran, and all you knew was that now you were in Mexico, the place you were supposed to someday visit with the man you once had loved.

Coming back to America would be too risky, maybe fate just wanted for you to end up in Mexico, so after weeks of travel you thought you finally found a safer place to rest. The building looked like an abandoned house, falling apart, but it was better than the lack of any roof over your head.

You woke up one night to a group of unfamiliar male voices talking to each other outside. In Spanish, so you didn't even understand a single word. Before you could silently flee, the door opened, and you had been found by a group of Mexican bounty hunters.

Maybe it was the dehydration, the hunger, the lack of good sleep, but you could swear one man looked way too familiar.

"Javier..?" You asked quietly, to shocked to be scared by the three other men pointing their guns at you.

"¿La conoces?" One of the men asked, as Javier's shocked expression didn't go unnoticed.

["Do you know her?"]

Javier quickly recomposed himself, as if slipping into a role. "Es mía." It was a gamble, but Javier had always been good at those.

["She's mine."]

"¿De qué carajos estás hablando, Escuella?"

["What the fuck are you talking about?"]

"Vale más viva. Y no pienso compartir la recompensa. Váyanse ahora o ninguno de ustedes se va a ir caminando."

["She's worth more alive. And I'm not going to share the reward. Leave now, or none of you will walk away walking."]

The other bounty hunters passed knowing looks among each other. "Bien," one of them nudged Javier, you reckoned it was a playful gesture, "es tu problema."

["Fine, she's your problem."]

The other men left, and you were confused. How the hell were you having a reunion with Javier in such circumstances? As if out of habit, your reached for your gun, resting your hand on the holster at your hip.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, standing up.

"I could ask you the same thing, querida." He raised his hands to show you he doesn't mean bad. "I'm not going to hurt you." He's always had an accent when he spoke in English, which you had always adored. Now, the accent was even more prominent.

You pointed the gun at him, unlocking it. "Yeah, just hand me over so I can swing." You snapped. "That's the great Javier Escuella! Bounty hunting, of all things! That's ridiculous!"

"At least it's honest work. Continuing the way you chose... did you think the law will never catch up to you?"

"That's rich coming from you."

Javier's jaw muscles twitched, betraying the calmness was just a mask he put on. He lowered his hands slowly, but didn't reach for his weapon. "You don't know what I've been through. I lost everything."

"Just as I did! I've lost the gang, the life we had... you..." you paused before you seethed at him, "don't you dare act like you're the only one who's suffered. Nothing justifies selling people out for a few... whatever currency you have here."

Javier's gaze softened, you could swear you saw his lips twitch into a smirk momentarily. "I didn't sell you out, did I?"

Suddenly, the words 'then go, just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart,' rang in your mind again. Truth be told, those words were said in anger, and right now... Javier was far from angry.

He hadn't seen you in years, but he still loved you. Maybe even more than before. After the gang fell appart, he quickly came to the conclusion you were the love of his life. There was no one better before, nor after. Meeting you again was felt like life giving him another chance.

"Why don't you sell me out, then?" You asked, lowering your weapon.

Javier smirked, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious to you. "Because I don't want you to swing, querida." He took a few steps closer, carefully as if approaching a wild animal.

"You don't get to suddenly act as if you care." Your voice was aggressive, but it sounded forced, almost cracking. "Let me go, and tell your... friends that I ran away."

"I couldn't let you go for all these years. You think I haven't thought about you every day since we parted? You think I don't regret the choices I made?"

You knew Javier has always had a way with words. In the charming way, not in the brash way Sean used to. Javier's words were like quiet, seductive whispers whenever he wanted or needed them to be. And maybe right now he just needed to sweet-talk you into giving in.

"Regret doesn't mean shit," you tried to snap at him, "you chose Dutch over me. We could leave the gang, leave a good life—"

Javier interrupted you, "Dutch knew how to get inside our heads."

"Just help me get out of here."

Javier took a deep breath, glancing outside the broken window momentarily. He could see the other bounty hunters leaving, the road's dust raising at their horses' hooves. They were far enough.

"Fine." Javier said finally, his voice disappointed.

The man grabbed your wirst, sternly but without hurting you. Now that he had you again, he was supposed to let you go. That wasn't what he wanted.

After he led you outside, you felt his grip loosen up to eventually let go of your wrist completely. Contrary to what it should make you feel, you were... disappointed? As if at some point you thought he would fight harder to win you back.

Then you realized. Javier didn't want to part ways again, but neither did you. And just when you thought there was no more hope, the man spoke up.

"You don't know this place," he said, "you're hungry, exhausted, don't know the language. Let me help you."

Your stomach had been empty for a long time, your legs ached, and the pounding in your head was getting unbearable. There were more reasons not to trust Javier, than to trust him, but you needed help. Maybe you could just sneak away after he helps you.

"And what do you get out of this?" You asked.

"I get to make up for my mistakes." He replied. "I'll show you I'm not the same man that let you go. Maybe I'll even get to keep you safe this time."

"I don't need saving. I can survive on my own."

"Not here, querida. This isn't the United States. How are you going to survive if you don't know how to even buy a damn apple in Spanish?"

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. "Don't need talking to steal."

"And make your bounty grow?" He sighed. "Admit it, you need help. Let me to that, please."

You replied after a moment of silence, "Fine. But don't think it makes up for what you did."

Javier nodded, smiling faintly. He led you to his horse, offering his hand to help you mount. Hesitantly, you took it. You pride didn't want to, but you were too exhaused.

Before climbing up himself, Javier reached for his sombrero and handed it to you. "Here."

It wasn't much, but it was better than leaving your face fully exposed, so you accepted it. You hoped wearing a man's hat didn't mean the same thing in Mexico as it did in the United States, but you tried to push that thought away regardless.

Then, you pulled the bandana from around your neck up over your face, completing the makeshift disguise. It was better than nothing, but what you really needed, were new clothes. Maybe something that wouldn't scream wanted criminal.

Some time later, a time that felt like enternity to you, Javier's horse came to a stop at a saloon. It looked as if it was about to collapse, but apparently the interior was full of life.

"Don't worry," Javier reassued you, dismounting, "most of them got a bounty on their heads. No one will care."

You reluctantly followed Javier inside. The saloon was dimly lit, and no one even seemed to care when you two walked inside. Despite the location being rather safe, Javier paid for a room, and that was where you ate your meal.

The meal wasn't fancy, but it tasted like heaven after weeks of surviving on whatever you could find. Either the saloon's cook was wasting his talent working in a place like this, or the fact that you hadn't had a proper meal in so long made it seem that way.

Javier leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. "Good?" He asked.

You nodded, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah."

Javier watched you for a moment longer before looking away. For all the tension between you, there was something in his gaze that you recognized well. Inside the man he was now, was still the man you once loved.

He was different. Older, worn by life and everything that had happened the past few years, but so were you. Thinking about what to say next, you moved from the tiny table to the bed.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, making Javier's eyes shift back to you.

"Because..." he hesitated, "I never stopped thinking about you, about what happened. I didn't even know if you were alive. I was a fool, querida. I thought loyalty was everything, that Dutch had all the answers. Turns out he didn't, and it cost me the only thing that ever really mattered."

You didn't know what to reply. Of course, years of anger wouldn't disappear after a bunch of nice words. But it definitely cracked the surface of your shell. Part of you wanted to push him away, to protect yourself. But another part wanted to believe him, the part that saw in him your former lover.

When you didn't answer, Javier continued talking, making a bold move by sitting down on the bed. Right next to you. What it made you feel was so familiar yet so distant, you had to shift in spot, attempting to make the distance between the two of you a bit bigger. It barely worked.

Javier leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He wasn't looking at you when he spoke. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness," he couldn't look at you when he said this, "but I need you to know I never stopped loving you."

His words were an arrow that pierced right through your heart. As painful as it was, his feelings for you never faded. Even back when he made that choice to stand by Dutch. Especially then.

You took a breath to reply, but you couldn't come up with any words. So it just sounded as if you let out a sigh. That didn't make Javier feel any better.

He turned to look at you. "I'd take it all back if I could. I'd leave it all behind for you, right here, right now. Just say the word."

It was the way he said it that finally broke your shell completely. The way his voice was vulnerable. It proved to you that he wasn't trying to manipulate you.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand. He didn't know what to do, but he surely didn't want you to let go.

"You're an idiot." You said, but your voice was soft, without malice. "But so am I for what I still feel for you."

Judgning by how he's been acting, you thought he'll catch a hint this is the moment where he kisses you. It seemed as if he was too stunned to react immediately, so you took the matters in your own hands and leaned in.

It started hesitantly. He kissed you back, but the both of you were carefully walking along the thin thread of any trust that there was left. It took Javier a moment, but his hands eventually pulled you closer. He used to think he had lost you forever, so when he finally found you again... he didn't want to let go.

[bridgetoesoteria]

💌💟Realistically...What would they write in a love letter to you?

Surpriseee bish! Here is my double post as puh-romised. Its spring break, I aced my midterm, I had a nice lil chit chat with my crush where I high key let on to having feelings . *ahem* Now I wanna smoke and pull cards with my internet besties <3

So, I don't like those mushy-gushy readings that tell you the most ideal outcome, not the most realistic outcome. I am hoping to channel an authentic "letter," from the person you are here for.

Options are left to right. I hope it resonates 🥰

Pile 1

4-card spread: Page of Swords, Girl w/ Violin, Strength, The Sun. BOTD: 3 of Swords

I just want to see you happy. I hope you know that. I miss the feeling of you holding me. I think about all the times, I got to hold your hands in mine. I think you are amazing and angelic. If I ever seem difficult, or like I am pushing you away, its just because I don't want to hurt you even worse. You're the whole package. You can shine with or without me.

If there is still bad blood, I will make it right. At least that's what I think about doing. All the time. Can I step up? Can I really have my happy ending; The car, the house, the family, building a life together. I need to get over my cold feet, because the only person I see is you.

P.S.

I love your eyes. I love how much hope I feel when I look into them. I love your hair, especially the length/thickness. I love how balanced you are, and how you can consider different points of view. It has taught me to be more compassionate. It has taught me to care about someone other than myself. You show me that I can get over my demons. We could be a power couple.

(If you have a "butt chin," your person loves this too lol)

Pile 2

4-card spread: 8 of Swords, 9 of Swords(R), 9 of Wands, The Star. BOTD: The Emperor

This person is definitely very attracted to you, but we are here for a love letter, mkay? Not a sext.

I don't know why you are acting like you don't want me anymore. You better not be giving away my ____ to anyone else. I want to be with you. I consider us to be a couple, no matter what happens. If you question where my head is at, my loyalty is with you. I don't want to see you with anyone else. I hate thinking about you being out there, living like you're single. I think about us having kids, animals, a family life. (If you already have kids they want to keep the family together).

I am working on my temptations. I know I need to be more responsible and I am willing to do that. I want to try having self-control. If that means cutting other people off, or waiting until you are comfortable being physical, I will do that. I respect your boundaries. You have every right to have them. I know you are just trying to love yourself. You should always stand your ground...even with me.

P.S.

You have a beautiful heart. You are so nurturing. You keep everything flowing. You completely fulfill me. You are more than enough. You definitely know what you are doing. I wouldn't have taken you for a "lady in the streets, freak in the sheets" type.

Right now, you probably are focusing on yourself. I hope you find the happiness that you are looking for. After pouring into everyone else so much, I hope you will start pouring into you now. I hope you will be receptive to all the good things you deserve.

Pile 3

4-card spread: Ace of Pentacles, 6 of Swords, Page of Cups, The Empress. BOTD: Justice

I can't figure you out. And its...amazing! It keeps everything so fresh. Maybe you don't feel like you are being mysterious but you are. I want to know what goes on "behind-the scene." I don't mean that in a pervy way. I mean, I want to know who you are, where you come from, what is currently going on in your life. I want to make the cut. Do you ever think about what your favorite diamond cut is? 💎

(Where ever your connection is, move up a step. This is not a literal proposal for everyone)

I want us to be on track. If I have to apologize, I will do that. I want to finally start something new. I want to make you feel like the king/queen that you are. I want us to be happy together. Especially if we are expecting 🤰

P.S.

Can I just brag on you really quick? I love your face shape. I love when we lock eyes. I love how you style your hair, even if I have never said so aloud. Even if I tease you about it sometimes. Its cute and so you. Everyone says we (would) go well together, and I have to agree. We could be our town's MGK and Megan Fox 🤣🤣

On a more serious point, you make me want to do better. Internally, I always feel challenged by you. I have my old beliefs, and then there's you. You make me want to throw out all the BS I believe about myself and start valuing myself more. I see how magical life can be, because I see how many miracles happen when we are together. I know I can do better.

Pile 4 4-card spread: 8 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor, 8 of Swords. BOTD: Ace of Swords.

(Your person could actually be the type to spill their feelings over texts or in the notes section of their phone)

I think about saying this all the time. I build up the courage to start typing, but I can never hit send. I just feel this lump in my throat. I'm a man! (or they are just someone who suppresses their emotions). I shouldn't have all these feelings. I feel overwhelmed by my attraction, my thoughts, my unexpressed feelings.

That's kind of what I grew up with. It was normal. People call it "traditional." I always thought (one of their parents, but I am really getting mom) could do better. Why are you still with them? I don't want that to be you. I don't want that to be our story. You always carry yourself well. I'm proud to be with you. I know you're a catch. I know you are the full package. I can't let you go. Please reconsider. I want to be with you.

P.S.

I hope you're getting rest. Don't lose sleep over me. Which is hypocritical, because I stay up thinking about you. Don't be scared...but I may have watched you sleep. I like how peaceful you look. I feel like I have privacy to fully process my emotions. I look at your face and I think about all the possibilities. It makes me nervous. If I have made a proposal of some kind, maybe to reconcile, I hope you sleep on it before you make a decision.

Pile 5 4-card spread: King of Cups, 4 of Swords, 9 of Wands, The Sun. BOTD: 8 of Swords

I think a lot of you are asking about a feminine energy, but flip the roles if needed. You could be the feminine energy being described, so maybe they want you to know you are "seen". It just started raining, so that makes me feel like this person is definitely more on the feminine side, or in touch with their emotions. You could both be young, or they're younger, or someone has a baby face.

I think about you all the time. Even when I am sad. I don't know if you know how much I struggle. My mental health isn't always in the best place. But you take my mind off of everything. I love when you look deep in thought. I come up with all these random ideas about what you could be thinking of. If you are away getting better, overcoming an ED, I hope you are being strong. I look forward to seeing you again.

You make me so happy. I miss being playful and messing with you. I could see us having babies. I think I would be a great mom/dad. But I know that's daydreaming and wishful thinking. I don't always understand your moods or what you want from me. Could you make it clear without it becoming an argument. I don't want to make you upset.

P.S.

You are soo pretty. I think your haircut really compliments your face. I love your side profile too. You are so smart. You know so much about the world around you or you are always willing to learn. I am impressed by your writing and/or creativity. I love everything about you. If I were an artist, I would make a portrait of you. You would be my muse. I just want you to know how special you are. You are 1 of 1 forreal. I am so grateful to have ever met you. You bring so much joy to my life.

Whew. GD! That was a lot lol. This took me two days. I am going to relax and enjoy the start of Spring Break. Whoop whoop 🙌

And don't laugh at me...but I just discovered archives so I might stop updating my masterlist, since you can find all my readings there too.

Lastly, I am also doing personals if you have not heard! Take a gander.

~ K

[hinatiny]

trivial things ੈ✩‧₊˚ kuroo tetsuro

kuroo is there with you through thick and thin, for everything between the worst of your days to painting your nails.

w.c: 0.8k

kuroo likes to help you.

the silence you share with him in the space of your bedroom is of the comfortable type—soothing, anchoring your mind to a plane of reality, not in the need of breaking.

your carpet doesn’t do much to soften your seats on the floor, and you’re sure both your and his spine will feel like a disaster within an hour or so. you don’t care about that really yet though.

you can’t care about it, you’re too busy focusing on not moving, to the point where you’re almost forgetting to breathe. you’ve curled a leg up, hugging it to your chest to keep it stable as kuroo, too, is busy focusing; his hands aren’t shaking, but his slight lack of inexperience with nail polish is visible as he tries to paint your toenails.

your feet are cold. just a bit wrinkly as well, the results of washing them after telling him there’s no way you’ll let him do your nails before that. he’d argued back, saying he’ll wash his hands later anyway, but you didn’t falter. thus you sit here with feet, cold, but not freezing at all; throughout the current process, his warm hands brush against your skin every now and then, and it’s oddly calming.

you glance away for a moment, at your own hands that he’d been taking care of just lately. the nails are red, alarmingly red. it’s a shade you didn’t even know you owned, let alone used, and you’re sure you’ll wipe it off before the next time you go out. for now, you’ll let it remain there, although it’s not the color you had initially planned on. “but red was our uniform color in high school!” was what had convinced you, along with a childish pout.

“woops, sorry.” you look back down. out of all the mistakes and accidental strokes kuroo has done so far, this fresh one is the worst. your toe looks like it’s screaming for help, and it somehow makes you feel like laughing. “i’ll fix that later.”

“i’ll forgive you if you let me do your nails later.”

he chuckles, “sure. what color are you planning?”

“black, i think it’ll look good on you,” you say after humming for a moment but he doesn’t seem as pleased with the suggestion, grimacing. “what?”

“that’s daichi’s team’s color.” “fukurodani?” “worse, karasuno. next color.”

you silently scoff, “per that logic, we should be dying your hair too.”

this brings out another chuckle from kuroo, “yeah? what color are we dying my hair then?”

“yellow.” “like kenma-yellow?” ��no, it’s called kenma-yellow for a reason.” “are you saying i can’t pull off that color?” “kuroo, i hate to break this to you but you’d probably look like a chicken in that color.”

at any other time, he’d jokingly act offended. however, he can’t bring himself to do so when the image draws a hearty laugh from you as well, the sound only making him smile as he briefly glances up at you.

the laugh is soon muffled below that returning, comfortable silence again. it stays like that for a while, and you wouldn’t mind if it stayed like that the entire night either.

the only issue is the one sob you suddenly let out, one you’d been holding back after already having sobbed more than a just a few times only a short while ago. this time, kuroo sighs.

“i know i told you to cry it all out earlier,” he says without diverting his eyes from the work in progress. “but if your roommate comes in and sees you like this, she’s probably going to think i forced you into doing your nails.”

to his relief, between two more sobs you let out, cracks a small giggle out. “i’ll try to stop. sorry, i didn’t mean to cry again.”

kuroo doesn’t answer immediately. he spends another few moments on the very last nail left to paint, before eventually letting out a deep breath. he puts the brush back into the small bottle of polish, screws its cap shut and puts it aside.

his hand, as warm as it’s always been, finds the top of your head. your hair gathers in messes between his fingers as he ruffles it, but it’s gently done, so gently that you can’t complain like you otherwise would. for a few moments, it makes you forget that you have a whole world of stress and pressure spinning around you.

so you let it happen, finding solace in being able to let your walls down at last. you feel your eyes burn in threatening tears, but as he speaks, his reassurance tilts you closer towards a calm, “it’s okay. everything’s going to be alright.”

kuroo likes to help you, even if it’s through the most trivial ways — like visiting your home at two in the morning and painting your nails. he truly likes to help you and would probably do anything, as long as it meant hearing that laugh again, the one you let out when he soon adds,

“by the way, you weren’t serious about dying my hair, right?”

[goldennymphh]

“I love you.” “Do you?”

Mother Miranda x F! Reader

Both characters are over 18.

I may make a second part to this.

Words : 1k

depictions of mental and physical abuse. These two are NOT good for each other. I am not romanticizing this relationship. Please understand that.

Grief of a child loss will be depicted.

If you go through something similar with anything in the story. Please do not wait and seek help. It’s better to speak up, than to not.

National Domestic Violence Hotline :

800 - 799 -7233

They used to love each other, before all of it happened. Before the disease slowly crept into the blonde woman’s heart. Now every day was like eggshells. It was even worse than when they had to hide their relationship. You had been with her since the beginning, since before even Eva. You were that child’s godmother, and the perfect secret lover of Miranda.

Then Eva’s death came with the plague. You had not been infected but Miranda had, not with the sickness but with another disease. Her heart growing cold and thinking of some of the worst things. You tried to calm her from her brash ways of grief. You tried to hold her and whisper sweet words but she’d fight against you most times. Thrashing in your arms as she cried and cursed this world for taking her sweet Eva. Until then she’d finally calm down and rest against you. She was a mess.

Until one day, Miranda took a walk. You were out with your respective family when she did so. And by the time you got back to her home that she shared with her husband. He had informed you that she was out walking alongside the river. With that your body seemed to back up before turning on your hill and running. As fast as you could for the grieved woman. When you found her, she was curled up in some black goo. Your hands moving to uncover the woman from its grasp. It seemed to want to fight against you and engulf her whole but you refused. Eventually Miraanda was managed to pull out. You had barely taken a time to look up and see the thing right in front of you.

With the medical experience from your family lineage. You seemed to make sure she was.. okay. And before long she awoke. But she was spouting all this nonsense on how it would save them. How it could bring Eva back. None of it made sense and you tried to calm her down to speak normally but she was pulling herself to her feet much to your dismay. But she soon pulled you along.

After that day, many things changed in such a short time. Miranda’s husband seemingly went missing. He was a sweet guy but a bit dense. Miranda seemed tense and even more upset after his disappearance. You’d often find her muttering things on how ‘it didn’t work’ and she’d ‘have to try with another.’

Then with that led a new religion. As you watched from the sidelines, your lover collected a cult like religion. To the black god, it always struck you weird for a village who was always so into Christianity even to the point of kicking people out. Now they followed something that seemed heretical.

Any worried you’d bring up, Miranda would always quiet you with either over speaking you or more physically means. It felt odd but never able to tell her no, you let it. But beyond that, she was attentive when she could be. The relationship you two held was still a focus of hers. Most nights as you laid together, you’d find her feeling your stomach. As if mapping it out.

The soft question of, ‘what are you doing.’ Would be brushed off into the dead of night. Her hand moving back up to hold yours. This brought up a chain reaction of many other odd situations.

She didn’t care for you to be around other people unless she deemed them ‘safe.’ Which was rarely anything. One time you had spoke to a local botanist about some help with flowers, and when she saw you it was clear she was upset. She was quick to trying to make you explain it to her once you two got behind the comfort of the home you now shared. Yet no matter how many times you’d say nothing came out of it, she refused.

She’d slowly pull you away from your family, and before long they also started to come up missing. With the exception of those who had young kids. But your mother and father were said to have walked into the forest and never returned. Many gossiped about this but just claimed that maybe the wolves got their dinner that night.

She’d sit there and comfort your cries once you had learned of your families demise a few years later. She comfort you and run her fingers through you hair as if she had not done any wrong. As if she did not know of the bodies in her basement. Yet you did not need to know of that. After all you were one of the more important things of life.

But as time passed on, things just got worse. Being secluded in such a way as she kept you to herself. Possessive and cold is how you could once describe the woman you used to love. Yet it was hard to leave her, she was still Miranda. The woman who used to sneak around everyone's back with you when you two were younger. Knowing if you two got found out, things would be bad for each other. Yet now here you were, laid in the home that once used to be so warm. Your body resting against the bed as she walked in, clearly upset. Unsure if you should move and help her get unready from the day, or if she would snap at you.

Hesitating for a moment before you pulled the cover off. Body slipping out of bed to make your way over to her to help with those weird robes she always wore. But as you went to offer your help, your hands were suddenly grasped tightly as your eyes looked up into her cold gaze. She then shoved you off of her, your body stumbling back a bit hitting the corner of a nearby dresser. She turned away with a scoff, ignoring the way you winced at the pain in your side - a bruise most likely growing on your skin. Why should she care anyways? Useless.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Close To You

07/06/2024

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 532

Warnings: rpf, yearning

Summary: He is not with you, and still everything reminds you of him.

A/N: Sorry in advance for the heartache.

Picture by Enric Moreu via unsplash

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

I will take the train tonight, get out of the city. Where everything reminds me of you. 

I pass through the lamp light at the street corner where you kissed me until we were both dizzy. We had to take a taxi home because walking would have been impossible. We would have starved from the hunger we felt for each other before we had even had the chance to reach the doorstep.

Passing by your favourite pub. Through the window I watch as people are having the craic of their lives. I can see you among them, your laughter lighting up the gloomy room. I cannot help but laugh along. Then I blink, and you are gone. Instead I stare into a pair of longing eyes, reflecting in the dusty glass. 

A couple is walking by, hand in hand, and suddenly I feel your fingers drifting between my own. They are so warm, so soft, squeezing mine affectionately. My sign to get closer to you. To lean my head against your shoulder and just enjoy being alive. In this moment. With you.

I cannot wait for you to get back so I can have you both, the city and you. The happy memories back to making me feel happy without the tinge of wistfulness. Because even now, with the city rushing by outside the window, its lights soon fading, everything reminds me of you.

There is a young man sitting close by. In his hand the silvery shine of a pocket knife to carve the word ‘love’ into the seat in front of him. I think of my heart and the way it carries your name. I smile and it drums a little faster in its cage. 

Meanwhile the chugging sound of the train is undisturbed. A woman passes by and I can smell coffee. Black, I presume, just the way you would love it, despite the late hour. 

I let my head sink against the cold of the window. The next stop is being announced and I gaze outside. In the distance I catch a glimpse of the round brick tower. And just like Joyce described, “There is not past, no future; everything flows in eternal present.” You read this to me once, but his words never held more meaning than now, here, on this train, without you.

The train pulls out of the station again. I do not count the stops, mine will come soon enough. I count the days instead. The days left until you will be with me again. But before I can finish, the train has stopped again and I get off.

The noise of civilisation long faded, I walk along an empty path. Silence surrounds me, broken only by the scrunch of dirt and gravel underneath my feet. And soon even that fades too. I sit down in the soft grass. It is still warm from the sunlight that has left hours ago.

Being here, without you, is worse than in the city, or on the train. A lot worse. I knew it would. And still, given the choice what it is that will make me feel close to you, I will always choose the stars. 

***

taglist:

@rosecentury

@fightmespideyboy

@lowkeysimpinloki

[lovesodakid]

sworn to secrecy 3

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

1 2 4 5 6

summary: chris and y/n have known each other, pretty much their whole lives. y/n has always had a crush on chris. chris always viewed y/n as ‘nate’s little sister’ until one day, he realized, she wasn’t so little anymore…which nate sees..in which. he does not approve of whatsoever. (“brothers best friend trope”)

warnings: heavy mentions of toxic household (pretty detailed). shouldn’t be anything else

____________________________________________

“Y/N! get your ass down here now!” i hear my dad yelling from downstairs.

i quickly run out of my bedroom, to downstairs. once i reach the bottom of the staircase, i see my mom, dad, and nate all in the kitchen.

as soon as he hears me, my dads eyes land on me the second my foot touches the kitchen floor.

“well well now,” he begins. “y/n…why don’t you tell your whore of a mother-what a slut she is.” he speaks loudly, body swaying back and forth.

my eyes widen as i look over to nate, who also shares the same look as me, but his eyes are directed to my dad, who’s holding my mom by her hair as her knees are planted on the floor.

“a-what?” i ask, tears threatening to form on my waterline.

“she’s too young to know what that means!” my mom’s voice breaks in sobs.

my dads eyes quickly shoot to mine.“well..y/n. it means your mother here, decided to have an affair with her boss.” he speaks, almost condescendingly as he slurs his words.

“i-“

i shoot up out of bed, sweating bullets as i pick my phone up to check the time: 4:32am. i set my phone down, letting out a hard breath as i rub my hands over my face. the memory i thought had been blocked out by my brain, resurfacing. i was 9 when it happened. that was the worse i had ever seen my dad, and he was of course, drunk that night. thankfully, it hasn’t been that bad sense. but he still has his moments. like tonight persay.

once i realize how excruciatingly dry my throat is, i push nick’s comforter off of me, taking a glance at his peaceful state. his lips slightly parted, letting out soft-quiet snores here and there. i smile softly, glad that one of us is having a good night sleep.

i place my feet on the flooring of his bedroom, making my way out of his room. causing the floor to squeak a couple times. once i turn my head back, making sure i didn’t wake nick up, i make my way to the bathroom.

after splashing my face with cold water a couple of times, i grab a towel and dry it while taking a couple deep breaths in and out. i stare at myself in the mirror for a second, before walking out of the bathroom, heading downstairs.

-

the second i reach the kitchen, i immediately make a b-line for the fridge, grabbing a cold water from the fridge, downing it.

“what are you doing up?”

“oh my-!” i quickly turn my body around, shutting the fridge door as my eyes come in contact with an icy blue pair. an icy blue i could stare into for hours on end.

“you good?” chris asks.

i quickly clear my throat. “yeah-sorry. just scared me, that’s all.” i say, realizing i didn’t even see him sitting at the island counter when i came in here.

“sorry kid.” he laughs. “but why are you awake?”

“i-um..i just had a nightmare. that’s all.” i say, slowly making my way to the island counter. once i reach it, i lean my elbows on it, as he sits across from me on a stool.

“ahhh,” he hums. “wanna talk about it?” he asks cautiously.

i quickly shake my head ‘no’ as i look down at the marble design of the counter.

we both sit in silence for a minute. it’s a comfortable silence. just both of us enjoying each others company, until chris clears his throat to speak again.

“well..if you ever wanna talk, just don’t forget im here. okay?” he speaks softly as he looks up at me.

i slowly nod as i return the glance.

silence takes over us once again. except this time, it feels a little different as we’re staring into each others eyes. neither one of us daring to look away. for a second, i think his eyes may have dilated, but its dark in the kitchen and im half asleep so, who knows.

although that’s quickly broken when we hear a third voice enter the kitchen.

“hey chris-y/n?” nate says. “what are you doing?”

im quickly broken out of the hypnotization from chris’s eyes, as mine make my way to my brother.

“i..had a nightmare.” i softly speak.

“what about?” he asks as he walks more into the kitchen, now standing beside me.

“um, nothing much.” i lie. “just one enough to wake me up.”

nate’s eyebrows furrow as he seemingly tries to read my face. “well, you should go back to bed. we have school in the morning.”

i nod as i tell both him and chris goodnight.

as i walk out of the kitchen, i make my way to the stairs. i hear chris and nate mumbling about something, but i can’t make out any words.

-

as soon as i’m back in nick’s room, i climb back into his bed, laying next to him as i let the warmness of the comforter coat my body, almost lulling me back to sleep in a way.

————————————————————————

a/n: this one’s a lil more deep, which i apologize. but we’re kind of getting somewhere 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ sorry these chapters have been so short !!

[jynxpsiche]

Finally home

💌. Summary: Hobie has been occupied with different missions and he has stayed away from you for a long time…

or

…when Hobie returns home to you.

💌. Warning: female reader, slight violence, mention of a panic attack, angst and then fluff, grammar errors. English is not my first language! I don’t know many British slangs!

It had been a long time since she had seen Hobie. Almost a week without him. He had been summoned by Miguel for a fairly complicated mission but fortunately one that he and the others could surely solve. Or so Miguel said.

But they were still not back. And Hobie was still with them. They had been gone for too long and she was starting to worry seriously.

(Y/n) knew perfectly well that the boy was able to defend himself thanks to his spider senses and powers, but that did not mean that he could not be injured.

And the worst part could have been him being injured and all alone. No one there to take care of him.

When she thought about that she only worried more, her heart started to beat faster, her anxiety increasing bit by bit, her hands getting really sweaty.

Her mind was getting dizzy, like a thick fog blurring all her thoughts and worries, and that alerted the girl more. Her not being able to being in control even of herself was only making things worse. She had to remain calm, but she couldn't when the only person chasing away all her worries was who knows where doing who knows what.

A shuddering breath left her lips, now as pale as her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, her forehead beaded with cold sweat and her chest was always moving.

Her breathing was laboured, too hurried and frantic. Her hand on her chest felt her heart beat irregularly, without precise coordination with her breathing.

Too many thoughts were piling up in her mind, too clouded by panic and anxiety to really care about them. Her eyes moved in different directions from behind her eyelids, as if she was following something invisible with her gaze covered.

Then suddenly everything ceased. The incessant noise in her ears, the tearing thoughts, the movement of her eyes behind her eyelids, the sweating, the laboured breathing, the irregular heartbeat.

Everything stopped. Her eyes remained closed and her ears perceived a different noise from the one that had reigned in the house for almost a week.

It was a very faint noise, as if something was opening in the air. Something very thin and very light, almost imperceptible.

A loud thud echoed across the floor. (Y/n)’s bare feet felt it clearly. Slowly her eyelids opened and her eyes adjusted to the atmosphere of the room.

With a staggering but light step, the girl crossed the flat until she reached the living room, which was covered in immense darkness. Not even the moonbeams could penetrate that darkness.

But her eyes, once accustomed to the atmosphere, could make out a figure. Someone was in her living room.

Her breath caught in her throat and unconsciously her trembling hand covered her mouth, to avoid attracting the stranger's attention.

Where the fuck was Hobie when he was needed?

The figure remained motionless in the centre of the living room, only a faint wheeze echoed in the room. But still no movement from it, no sound.

But even as the girl remained as still and silent as possible, the figure turned around in the darkness, initially appearing disoriented but then with slow steps began to approach the girl.

A terrified look appeared on her face. Involuntarily she took a step backwards, hitting a chair and making noise.

“I-I don’t know who you are o-or what do you w-want!” She stuttered out terrified, her hands stretched out in front of her as a form of defence.

“P-please…leave me alone!” It was becoming hard for her to breath, her heart thumping so loudly that even the sound arrived in her ears. Tears formed into her eyes.

The figure, hearing the girl's tone of voice, suddenly stopped, a deep choked sound escaped its lips but it ceased immediately.

Afterwards it coughed slightly. "’s me, love...'s me." A familiar male voice mumbled out loud enough for her to recognise the voice.

Another chocked cry left her lips, tears now rolling down her pale cheeks. The male with a groan crouched near her, his knees hitting the ground and slowly he dragged his figure closer to the female’s trembling one.

Big and warm hands gently cupped her face, his thumbs tried to dry the salty tears as best as he could.

Even if it was dark, her blurry vision caught Hobie’s appearance. His suit was ruined and ripped in certain spots. Dry blood also perfectly visible.

His face showed tiredness and fatigue, however his eyes conveyed softness, love but also slight regret. The regret of leaving her there alone for too long, making her worry.

“‘M sorry love, so so sorry. Shouldn’t have left you alone for so long.” He mumbled in caring tone, comforting her and lovingly caressing her face.

“H-Hobie…” she hiccuped, tears still rolling down her face and devastation written all over her face. She really got scared and already thought the worst.

But her lover’s touch immediately calmed her down, now her body just occasionally twitching and her breath still quite heavy.

Lazily, Hobie shook his head, his eyes manifesting all the guilt he was feeling. It was his fault if she had been alone for so long.

When Miguel recruited him and the others for a mission he thought it wasn’t going to be something so complicated. On the contrary, one of those easy mission he usually assigned to them. Because for Miguel they were just alborotadores. [troublemakers.]

A weak groan left his lips when suddenly he was met with (Y/n)’s crushing embrace, wanting to show him how much she had missed him. Even if he already knew that.

Softly Hobie pecked her head, his arms now wrapping around her smaller figure. “‘M so sorry love…I had to be quicker…” he mumbled quietly, his soul still heavy with regret.

He should have finished that damned mission faster and come home to her.

“You don’ deserve to be treated like this. Darling, you deserve more, so much more.”

The hero was expressing his deepest insecurities to her. He always thought that she only was worthy of someone who could shower her with love, not worry her constantly and always be there for her.

And Hobie knew that he couldn’t always fulfill these requests, only because he had different dimensions to take care of.

But for him, his main priority would always be (Y/n).

His train of thoughts had been interrupted by a little movement coming from the girl in his arms. She was slowly shaking her head in denial.

“…no…” she murmured lowly “…I don’t deserve anyone else…’cause you’re the only one I truly want…” her big glossy eyes were looking up at him.

“I only want to be with you ‘cause you’re the only one who can shower me with infinite love, who will always be here for me when I need and who can comfort me like a pro.”

Her voice was quite raspy but still music for his ears, and those words made his heart melt completely.

He surely didn’t deserve her.

A heartily chuckle left his lips, his face now more relaxed. “Love you s’much, love.” He murmured, pecking lovingly at her lips.

She pecked him back, a small grin on her lips. “I love you more, Hobie.”

— bonus !

“Love, y’know I can tend my wounds…” Hovie hissed breathily when the cotton pad was placed on a rather big cut on his arm.

“Shut the fuck up and let me be the good and caring girlfriend I am.” (Y/n) barked back in a second, her attentive gaze never leaving the injury.

At her words, his chest trembled with a loud laugh.

“My bad. I forget you’re also ma personal nurse.” A teasing smirk was plastered on his face.

In response she simply stuck her tongue out at him.

“Then I also think I need a special treatment, right doc?”

“I’m going to hurt you more Hobie. You better shut your trap.”

The smirk widened. He leaned his face closer to her ear.

“Make me.”

[fiapartridge]

catching fire au | devils' golden girl

jack hughes x hockey!player

summary: jack and riley have a conversation during training camp and surprise! it doesn't end up with them making out on the ice...

warning(s): jack's an asshole (again!)

a/n: this one's short! but i love their little conversation there's so much tension between them. i can't wait until they're like super flirty and he's like fingering her under a table or something LMAO

taglist (send in an ask or dm me if u wanna be on the taglist for this au!): @hockeyboysarehot @lunnnix

SECT. I: TRAINING CAMP DAY TWO.

THE RINK WAS cold and empty. Only a couple of stragglers roamed around the practice facility, making sure the doors were safely secured to its hinges, the ice was resurfaced, and the pucks were in their correct placement. The red and white banners hung along the walls echoed greatness, providing a sort of unease in the pit of Riley’s stomach. She knew she was great; she deserved this, but had the doubts gotten to her head just the tiniest bit? Definitely.

Leaving her helmet on the bench, Riley skated a couple rounds on the ice, getting a feel for the area before everyone would come barreling in, making this space their own. Yesterday was overwhelming to say the least. The guys were fast—faster than any of the players in the NCAA—and they were much stronger. She was scared that Jack’s words were going to turn out being true; that Tom, who had taken a chance on Riley when everyone else had doubts, and Lindy, who was one of the only people who treated her like all of the other players during the game yesterday, were going to find out that she’s not what they wanted for this team. Or worse, they were going to ship her off to Utica and she wouldn’t even be in the NHL anymore.

She must’ve gotten lost in thought because when she turned around, she wasn’t the only person on the ice anymore. 

“Saw your pics.” Riley scoffed upon hearing his voice, Jack Hughes. Jack had that voice that made you look. His voice was distinct: mid-tone, but not childish but not exactly adult-sounding. He was dressed in black sweats and a thin gray Devils quarter zip, a stick in his hands and a puck at his feet. “Looks like you’re the Devils’ golden girl now, huh?”

With an eye roll, she glided ahead. “Jealous?”

“Of the 32nd pick in the draft?” He wrinkled his face, shrugging. “Think I’m fine where I am.”

Swiftly stealing the puck from his stick and seamlessly transferring it to her own, Riley glided around the boy, watching his expression morph into a sign of annoyance. “You know, I always wondered why only one brother showed up to Luke’s games at Michigan,” she smirked, emitting a disapproving ‘tsk’ sound as she skated up and down the ice. “But you know, it kinda makes sense now. His other brother just had too much of an ego to show up for someone he loved.” Drawing near to the boy, she leaned in, just close enough for her words to burrow beneath his skin. “I mean you…by the way,” she slyly grinned. 

Jack furrowed his brows, rooted in place as he observed the girl effortlessly skate circles around him. “You don’t know anything about me,” he retorted.

Riley shook her head. “I know you’re not exactly a physical player, unless it’s when you’re coming after, well…me,” she chuckled. “Your core and lower-body strength can be compared to any kid in juniors, and your puck protection,” she gestured to the puck at her feet, the one she swiped from Jack the moment he hit the ice, “is abysmal at best. And I don’t even want to mention your skating because…I think we all know how bad that one is.”

Infuriated, Jack skated towards Riley, his eyes ablaze with envy. "And what about you, huh? You can't play defense, your puck handling is all wrong, and it's as if you've never been on a team in your entire life. College hockey might have gone easy on you, but welcome to the big league. Not everyone is going to be as forgiving."

“I appreciate your concern—”

“Not concern,” Jack cut off.

Riley’s smirk only grew. “I’m not scared of a couple of big guys. And what are you? 5’7?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m 5’11.”

She hummed in response, angering him further. Skating closely, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Whispering, allowing the weight of the moment to linger in his mind, she said, "See ya later, Jacky."

[sun-stricken]

Some ideas for you! Take your pick!

Gray frequents the infirmary the most. In one of my ideas lately, after thinking about iced shell, maybe ice make makes the body a bit more…prone to cracking? Maybe he bruises easy and gets a lot of head wounds. It’s why he’s always in bandages longer. I like the idea of Porlyusica getting sick of him.

Team Natsu/the guild/slayers taking care of him, even when he doesn’t realise it. (Against pervs, against himself, maybe people are a bit racist (with him being not from Fiore).

Gray gets sad sometimes and dissociates.

Gray has night terrors so he has sleeping pills, but on missions he also has caffeine tablets to keep him awake so he doesn’t have terrors around them. Safe to say, they aren’t happy when they find this.

Lucy asks Gray about where he’s from, traditions etc, and the guild realises he might be homesick so they secretly try to learn things for him. (Over the years they’ve picked up swear words (Gray doesn’t realise he’s doing it and they’ve never told him))

Gray’s actually quite touch starved. His body temperature is cold so most people stay away/ don’t touch him (but don’t realise they’re doing it). The only one who can stand is Natsu because of his magic. Maybe it gets worse after becoming a slayer.

…also do you take spicy requests?

you cant just give me all these amazing concepts and tell me to pick☹️ i will do a little for all of them if it kills me

Also yes! i absolutely do take nsfw requests! feel free to ask me anything! im surprised it took so long to ask me that tbh

there is a lot here so vv

1.

* Hes the single reason why the guild infirmary is always having to restock

* Due to Grays multiple usages of iced shell some of his body did turn to ice, most sections of his bones, it looks like a normal bones but it acts like ice, which means hes more likely to break a bone

* unfortunately, its not like a normal broken bone for obvious reasons. itll splinter and have hairline cracks all over the bones before it breaks.

* It takes less time to heal than a normal break, he just has to get it wrapped and limit his usage of his magic so it can ‘heal’ (as in, ice it over again) the breaks and cracks. It takes less time to heal and also less pressure to break, win lose situation tbh

* Which is also why head wounds are especially dangerous for him, skull fractures are more common for him than anyone would like, which is to say any at all

* His external body temperature is low and causes him to bruise like a peach, getting a friendly slap on the back can cause him to bruise for weeks, especially from Erza

* bro hasnt gone a day without a bruise in like ten years

* Hes been dragged to Porlyusica so many times now that anytime she sees him (on the field, in her office, even completely out of context and hes not visibly injured) its like second nature to check him out first

* if she could go a month, or even just two weeks! without seeing him she might consider changing her views on humanity (probably not but its the thought that counts)

* Also Gray has small sections of what people think is frostbite on his hands and feet. It doesnt hurt or limit him at all but theyre there, showed up some time post devil slayer magic

* ALSO! His blood runs slower and is darker due to his low body temperature, causes him only the vaguest of problems but its a thing (this is common in most powerful ice wizards)

2.

* Gray likes to pretend hes good at taking care of himself, but hes not hes really not

* Luckily he has a lot of nosy and protective friends thatll do it for him (in their own ways)

* Natsu literally temperature exploding some guys glass at a bar when he got wayyyy too friendly and handsy with Gray

* they were kicked out but he was really proud of himself

* Rogue drawing shadows towards Gray if he needs to sleep and its too bright, or Sting creating a warm light beam when its dark out and Gray wants to embrace his inner cat and sleep in a sunbeam

* Wendy checking him over first bc she knows hes one of the people who wouldnt ask for help if he was injured

* hes had multiple people physically remove him from fights/training sessions because he was visibly pushing himself way too hard

* Part of the reason Gray learned Fioren so fast was because he was sick of people looking at him like he was stupid for not speaking ‘right’

* he mentioned this to the little slayer group they got goin on and from then on out they were like, hella hyper vigilant with anything that could make him insecure like that again

3.

* It really scared him the first couple times he did it, it still does. He hates losing time

* It started happening during his time with Ur, he cant remember a lot of it, training, blink, fighting, blink, training, blink, training, you get the idea

* It doesnt happen often, and he tried not to think of it past the point of trying to get it to stop

* Its happens often when hes highly stressed but theres no immediate physical threat, his brain doesnt understand whats going on or why its so stressed but knows he doesnt need to physically protect himself yet so it mentally protects him (if that makes sense), usually when hes alone, or when a threat is gone

* he confided in Erza about this once, and now more times than not when he ‘wakes up’ shes there talking to him

* only part he feels is good about it is that it makes him exhausted and lets him sleep easier

* He doesn’t usually dissociate often, not that he has much of a choice, if he did it wouldnt happen at all, but it was a lot worse when he was younger, his memories of early fairy tail are all blurry and he felt like he was on autopilot even when he was ‘awake’

* he hates it

4.

* After his team found out abt his vast array of pharmaceuticals they were so confused and concerned and probably borderline paranoid, because who needs that many medications for one person??

* Gray had been taking sleeping pills at a high enough dose to let him have a dreamless sleep for so long that most over the counter brands dont actually work on him

* but he kept all the old bottle that didnt work just in case he got desperate to sleep and they suddenly magically worked again

* The caffeine tablets were self explanatory after seeing all the sleeping meds, but he also (unwillingly) admitted he takes them on missions so he wouldnt wake them if he had a nightmare, and also for days when they were especially bad so he could go long enough without sleep hed just crash and sleep with no issues. Canr have a nightmare if you dont sleep

* His team was also extremely unimpressed by these explanations

* Erza and Natsu (and also Happy) strong armed him into going to Porlyusica for actual helpful solutions since he refused to go to his actual doctor

* While Lucy and Wendy disposed of the full fucking pharmacy (seriously, he coulda started a business or smth) he had in his bedroom

* For some odd reason he felt lighter and less moody when he was on actual helpful medication and was getting genuine rest

* how strange

* and if his team checks his house for another pharmacy in the making thats nobodies business but theirs

* Also Erza tried to ban Gray from caffeine while on a quest , or at least limit it, but he looked at her like she was absolutely batshit crazy to the point she got embarrassed and had to retract the ban

* But she will tie him to the bed to make him sleep on quests if she has to

5.

* The first time Lucy asked where Gray was from was before Galuna, he ended up giving her a shady answer and redirecting the question to her (reminder, before galuna, before phantom lord) which she ended up also being a bit cagey about so she let it go

* But Lucy is nosy (endearing) by nature, so she asked if he had any different holiday type traditions sometime after Galuna, and to the surprise of, well, literally everyone, he did and gave examples

* which lead down a rabbit hole of the guild fretting a bit abt how to make him comfortable (even though hed been with them for a decade) bc he mentioned he used to be really homesick the first couple years, and sometimes still is

* Most the guild still had no clue where he was from so they were really just running in circles for awhile

* Levy tried to figure it out from the time he accidentally dropped, what she assumed to be colorful curse words, random foreign language bits

* didnt really work but she tried

* so for months he was bombarded with ‘subtle’ questions about his hometown and its culture, which got shut down most the time

* Thats not to say he didnt give them anything, he gave them enough that they were incorporated into existing traditions and holidays they already celebrated

* it was a very sweet gesture that Gray absolutely did not tear up at, so shut up—

6.

* Gray is the most touch starved fool on the planet. ive always loved the idea of him liking touch a lot

* He grew up in a pretty affectionate family, his parents were always around to ruffle his hair, or hug, or hold his hand, or carry him, they were just very physically affectionate and he enjoyed it

* With it made him nauseous, guilty really, because Ur and Lyon were also physically affectionate but it wasnt them, it wasnt his family

* Also it was plain uncomfortable at times, part of learning ice magic was to almost numb himself to cold, but in the beginning numbed him to everything and it became uncomfortable to be touched because it was tingly and it hurt

* Early Fairy Tail he was completely closed off, couldnt stand being touched, didnt want to get cozy and make friends because he planned to leave anyways.

* Ice mages (Fire mages also) temperatures can fluctuate depending on how they feel, for example, if they’re experiencing negative emotions their temperature and the space around them will get colder

* and Gray used to be so angry and upset all the time, and hed just beginning to learn magic so he didnt know how to fix it yet, which caused a lot of discomfort for people.

* People didnt stay around him long because the discomfort of being too cold, and what was he gonna do about it? ask them to come back?? hell no

* So he gained a reputation and people didnt want to disrespect a volatile childs apparent boundaries so they didnt question it

* He was fine with fighting being the only real prolonged touch hed get, totally

* But Natsus got this thing about him that makes him think he can do the impossible, which includes shaking Grays world view and comfort levels

* At some point in their teens Natsu would not let go of the alleged fact that Grays didnt like being touched for some reason, so he did what he does best and pressed the issue

* it ended with Gray being a puddle in his lap while he had a crisis about everything he thought he knew about himself while Natsu celebrated his victory against him

* Its not completely public knowledge but the guild most definitely knows at least a little about how much Gray is touch starved

* he doesnt openly welcome it with open arms but if its happening and he trusts the person hes not gonna say no

* he probably gets a euphoria high from a head pat or smth

* After getting his devil slayer magic is absolutely got worse, having two powerful ice magics, one of which he was still struggling to get the hang of, in one body made it difficult to control the temperature around him, and after long enough people would start shivering if he wasnt careful

* it sucked, totally and completely sucked

* Natsu still remained unbothered and would increase his own temperature to counterbalance Grays, which helped a lot

* he still gets all up in Grays space no matter how much Gray tell him to fuck off, he knows he needs it

[paperstorm]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @birdclowns and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

Season 3 of Missing Moments is in the initial phases baybee so have a scene I wrote at 4am while insomniatic and trying to dig into Carlos's mindset at the hospital. (does that low key count as self harm lol probably)

-

Carlos tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he steps out into the still-falling snow thought the automatic sliding doors. He passes by others, concerned visitors braving the storm to visit their loved ones. The chill seeps quickly through his clothes and into his bones. Carlos has lived his entire life in Austin, he’s never felt cold like this. TK used to tell him about winters in Manhattan, about snow and sleet and the kind of cold that burrows into muscles and tightens skin and leaves a person with chattering teeth and lungs aching from inhaling ice crystals, but Carlos could only ever imagine it until now. It’s worse than TK’d described. But come to really think of it, the cold might not be the reason he’s having trouble gasping for a proper breath.

He finds a brick half-wall, a built in planter than in the summer months would be filled with flowers, and he sits onto it. It’s all he can do not to collapse onto the snowy ground. Carlos tucks his shaking hands into his own armpits, clenching every muscle in his body as his molars press together in a useless attempt to stop himself from bursting into tears. His eyes burn, his head pounds, his breath comes in uneven bursts through his nose.

It can, the doctor had said. Their chosen course of treatment can work, for someone in TK’s condition. She hadn’t meant it. Carlos may not be a medical professional like she is, he may not be the same sort of hero as her and Captain Vega and TK and Nancy, but he’s still a first responder. He still knows that dance. He knows intimately the mask of sympathy to wear and the tone of voice to adopt when the situation calls for kindly offering a grain of false hope to someone in a sand-dune of despair.

His shoulders shake. A woman with a teenaged daughter in tow crosses in front of him on their way towards the parking lot, and Carlos tucks his chin down against his chest so they won’t see the way his eyes are filled with tears.

It’s important to know when a thing is over, he’d said to Marjan, only hours ago before his world was tilted off its axis. Like the well-meaning but misleading doctor, Carlos hadn’t meant it. The mask he’s constructed out of his grief and anger and loneliness and heartbreak disintegrates right off his face and seems to crumble to dust at his feet. He wipes in annoyance and tears on his cheeks, that freeze to his skin almost as soon as they’ve spilled from his stinging eyes.

When to move on, he’d said. She saw through him.

Once upon a time, Carlos was a master of this deception. He built a home for himself constructed almost entirely in lies, in half-truths and secrets and pieces of himself given only on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t happy, but it was good enough. It was enough that his parents still invited him over for dinner. It was enough that his coworkers only speculated about his sexuality in private and to his face behaved at least cordially and professionally, even if behind his back they were sneering at him. It was enough that Michelle knew he was gay and accepted him for it, even if she was always too consumed with loss to ever really take an interest in Carlos’s wellbeing after Iris was gone. It was all enough, and then TK came along, and then it wasn’t. And Carlos’s ability to lie to himself so successfully burned up along with everything else he lost in the fire.

He never moved on, he’s still stuck right where he was the day TK walked out on him, and if he loses TK forever, Carlos can’t see a way to ever extricate himself from this spot.

He untucks his right hand, exposing his bare skin to the frigid air and reaching with trembling fingers into the pocket of his jacket for his cellphone. He’s been avoiding this very action for months, but Carlos hurts in every inch of his body as he sits here in the snow and considers a future in which TK is just a jumble of increasingly bittersweet memories and a gravestone he’ll never work up the courage to visit, he can’t avoid it anymore. He presses his thumb into Mama in his contacts and brings the phone up to his ear, choking on an inhale as his heart races while it rings.

“Carlitos,” she answers. “Hola, mi amor, are you keeping warm?”

Carlos vibrates. A miserable noise escapes from his throat and he quickly covers his mouth with his free hand, reduced to clawing back desperate sobs the very second he hears her warm, familiar voice in his ear.

“Carlos?” Andrea says sharply. “Mjio, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Carlos gasps and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he gives himself an instant headache, rocking back and forth just slightly against the flowerbed as he fights to pull himself under control – or at the very least to wrestle back enough control so that he can stop scaring her.

“Carlos!”

“It’s not me,” he manages to force out, with a cough. “It’s TK.”

Andrea inhales. “What happened?”

“He was … there was a little boy trapped under the ice.” Carlos’s voice shakes but he pushes through it. “His team was trying to rescue him, and TK went into the water. I’m at the hospital, he’s … they’re saying he might not wake up.”

“I – might not why?” Andrea asks. She sounds so upset, and it only makes Carlos feel even more like he’s about to throw up on the sidewalk underneath his boots.

“Hypothermia. They’re trying, but …” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea sighs.

“I can’t …” Carlos sniffs and shakes his head. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What hospital?”

“Austin General.”

“Stay right where you are, I will be there in 30 minutes.”

“No.” Carlos sits up a bit straighter and shakes his head. A few fractions of the anguish fall away. He wipes at the tears on his face and new ones don’t replace them. “It’s dangerous, there are people sliding into ditches all over the roads and the first responders are all slammed. Stay where you are.”

“Carlos – ”

“I mean it,” he insists, kind but firm. “This is bad enough without me having to worry about you stuck in a snowbank somewhere the paramedics can’t get to you. Okay?”

She’s quiet for a moment and Carlos thinks she’s going to continue arguing, but she doesn’t. In a heavy, displeased voice, Andrea replies, “Alright. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

“Te amo. I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.” He sniffs again and ends the call before he can catch her response. If he hears her voice for one more second Carlos thinks he might break apart into a million pieces, and he can’t do that right now. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands, scrubbing hands over his face one last time to make sure it’s dry and then heading back inside.

Tagging @theghostofashton @strandnreyes @reyestrandd @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @goodways @beautifulhigh @carlos-in-glasses @liminalmemories21 @redshirt2 @orchidscript @freneticfloetry @whatsintheboxmh @wtfuckevenknows

[newbornwhumperfly]

what water says as it plummets...

i'll be honest, fellas? 🥺💖🥺 this one is a plot point i'd built up for a long time and it sort of poured out of me all at once in this chapter 💖 it's a little rougher than i'd like due to sleepiness but i'm so happy to bring this character to my audience in this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 15: a soft reprieve - cause i'm sure you'll love her. 🥰

title insp. by the poem "interview" by jordan kapono nakamura - "i have extensive experience in studying what water says as it plummets..."

~

“Okay, honey, you can hop up on the table whenever you’re ready.”

Sarai has found that Morja, as a patient, generally prefers orders. That’s to be expected, for sure. It’s usually safer to be told what to do when you’re told what to do every day of your life and Morja has often frozen, still and quiet, when offered an option right away. So, the best way to start these appointments is to sort of sound like she’s telling him what to do. 

Every patient is different and has different needs from their doctor. In this way, every patient is the same.

Sure enough, Morja’s shoulders go down a notch from their raised tension as he hoists himself to sit on the bench. He’s been…less tense with each visit, especially recently. He even took one of the candies Sarai offered without protesting. 

But today, something is…different about Morja. Or, moreso, something is the same, some pattern that has been shifting is fixed, cold and solid, in place in Morja’s countenance.. There is a way that Morja holds himself, tight, rigid, that comes and goes, but there is something even worse that she’s observed - it was the dead, resigned bracing in his face when he first got an exam. It was as if he was locked in around the certainty of a terrible thing, his body merely a vessel which would carry whatever was to come. 

He looks like that now, his hands and the mass of scar tissue they hold not clenched loosely or folded politely, but laid palm-up in his lap, still but for the twitch of a finger, and it sends the familiar pulse of knowing down Sarai’s spine. 

Knowing isn’t the only thing that is pulsing in her body - the tidal wave is cresting earlier than usual. 

The familiar ocean of pain, her vision of it, has crept up on her, busy with setting up shop, with answering messages, with putting in another order that wasn’t refilled because prescriptions are delayed and not being a civilian is not much of a fucking advantage with medication the past two months. The whirlpool centers at her spine, radiating down the leg in a strong current, and she winces as she rubs her thigh. Okay, we’re doing things a little differently today. 

“Hey, Morja? Would it be okay if we did some of our appointment stuff on the couch today?” She thinks about leaving it at that. Remembers, with a slow, purposeful inhale, how vulnerability is a gift to others, as well as yourself. You’re not exempt from being nice to yourself, girl. “I’m having some, uh, bad pain today and I think the exam would be easier in my office, if that’s alright with you?”

At that, change ripples through Morja’s body. Under the industrially bright bulbs, his strained face falters, briefly, but what comes in place of listlessness is…a sort of determined expression. Not bracing, only…something, Sarai’s thinking wavers under the fog rolling off the water. It’s something. 

“Of- Yes, Doctor.”

The crinkle of the gown, the rustle of climbing off the table, the shuffle of feet in socks across the floor as Sarai turns herself towards her office. Luckily, her warm corner is only a few feet away and the couch beckons like a haven. It’s a shitty couch, sure, but military bases can’t be choosers and it’s new, which means its firmness holds up the parts of her body that need it. She actually sighs as she sinks down into the cushions, pats the neighboring cushion in a sit gesture. 

The careful exhale of breath beside her as Morja sits, careful and precise as he always is, tells her that the softness of cushion is a relief from the hard plastic of the table as much as the relief for her being off her feet is. She smiles at him to let him know his moves were right and lays her cane to rest against the companion side-table, stretching out her limbs to make room for the little streams of voltage pinpricking her skin from the inside. She can tell, now, just by the way he didn’t try to stand at attention, hands clasped behind his back, that she did the right thing. 

In the softening shadow of her purple-shaded lamp, Morja looks so small on the couch. For all his bulk, the muscle that has been so pounded into those broad shoulders, the wide torso hard and sturdy as a sack of potatoes, he doesn’t fill up the space much at all. Tucked into the corner, folded neatly, compact, trying not to draw attention. 

Sarai lifts the stethoscope, the warmed metal a comfort in hands that move with shaky slowness, deliberate and obvious when pressing it against Morja’s back, her murmured breathe in for me, please, now out, now in, very good a rhythm she could say in her sleep, her focus on the measure of his pulse. Listening to this man’s lungs make it impossible to not listen to other parts of his body. How the texture of scar rises to meet the shirt that covers it. How even those ridges are and how they rise with his breathing into her hand. There are so many. 

“Doctor?”

Sarai is almost startled by the sound of Morja’s voice. He is so quiet, often, in the examination room. She wonders if it is the softly-lit enclave of her office nook which prompts him to speak first or the intensity of whatever state he’s in. Sarai smoothly folds her hands in her lap, visible and also at a safe distance. 

“Yeah, Morja?” Her voice is slower, the tide catching up to her a little, dragging the lilt away a bit, and she doesn’t quite swallow back a wince at the depth her pain is dragging her voice down to. Morja doesn’t seem to get snagged on the roughness though, his body leaning forward, brow wrinkling up in an intense concentration expression and Sarai tries hard to be alert. She’s so glad there is no sterile smell or bright light to distract her. “What’s up?”

“...Your cane is…pretty. Why, Doctor?”

Damn. So it’s that kind of mood. Huh. 

Fuck, she’s watery, the pulsing little hammers at her temples, her knees, her back, are trying to pull her away from the conversation. But she breathes in, out, in a hum that lets him know she heard, she’s thinking. 

“Great question, Morja.” Sarai says softly, at last, making a rainwater of her voice, flowing with the pain and the rolling mists. Working with her body, not against it. The bright hues of the cane pull her focus and she lets that be her guide. She was feeling…blueish, today, and her blueberry earrings, her sea-deep dress, mirror the cobalt-on-white, delicate patterns on mimicking porcelain teacups, spiral up to the sturdy handle, its blue velvet cushion, anything but fragile as a dish. “Pretty things make me feel better. And…since my cane is me, ya know, it makes sense that it makes me feel better. I hurt a lot some days and, uh, I figure I deserve all the help I can get, so, gotta give it to myself.” 

Her gaze drifts back to Morja’s face and his eyes are deep wells that meet her own. A groove of emotion carved deep into the valleys and ridges, scar after scar, rough terrain hiding buried treasure. So dark in their brown they approach black and the color is what guides her brain again, guides her to recognize the furrow between those eyes, the shadows beneath. The spasm of pain in her chest is not from any illness, only an emotion. The weight of pretty as it fell out of his mouth is the weight of his body on this couch. A luxury Morja  (believes, so strongly believes he) can’t have. 

It only lasts a moment, less than a heartbeat, before Morja looks away and Sarai is unable to swim after it. She’s quite sure he never meant to look her in the eye. She’s quite sure that he wanted to. Morja’s mouth is no longer slack and a frown is an expression, better than nothing. 

The fog thickens around the corners of her eyes, head going all syrup again, thick sugar, bitter as burning caramel, and she breathes out, out, out through a cluster of needles up and down her neck. Fuuuuuuuck. The back of her head thumps against the wall, the darkness of her lids pressing back the dizziness. 

“Hey, Morja? I’m a little out of it- I’m okay, it’ll pass, but do you want to sit in here with me or sit in the exam room? No wrong answers, honey.” 

Her voice is a rumble in her chest and she breathes out the wince, the tremors rocking the tilt behind her lids precariously. 

“Can I…change back into my clothes?”

Oh, honey. 

Her lid cracks, as does the corner of her mouth, and though he’s blurry, she wants the sunlight of how pleased she is of him asking for a thing to break through her cloud of exhaustion. 

Fuck, her head hurts so much, but she’s proud and glad, ouch ouch ouch. 

“‘Course, Morja, gra’ me a can’y when y’get yourself on, pl’se...” 

The rustle of Morja leaving and returning is close together, time doing its foamy thing while she counts her breaths, but the press of a wrapped peppermint, round and crinkly, in her palm is so gentle. 

The couch sinks and settles into the shape of another body, doing the thing she is doing, leaning back into the firm crevices that hold you up. The soft-crunch sounds of the wrapper as she squeezes her fist around it, as Morja unwraps his own candy, as she tries to just kind of be as Morja is on the spot beside her. 

The office is dark and cool and quiet and they’re both in good company right now. 

“...It’s nice. The candy.” 

A flat whisper, halting and small and brave, fumbling across the inches in the dark. 

A flat answer fumbles back, warm and limping and still good enough to greet him.

“I'm glad, Morja. It's really nice.”

~

sincerely hoped you all enjoyed this venture into my story 🥺💖🥺 sarai baptiste is the team's medic who is stationed at base forthill and she's disabled and kind and badass as hell and deserves the world 😢💖✨😍

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @i-eat-worlds @wolfeyedwitch

@straight-to-the-pain @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight

@tears-and-lilies @whumping-every-day @whumpthisway @stoic-whumpee @liliability

@whumpster-draganies @whumpzone @suspicious-whumping-egg @lave-whump @kixngiggles

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[drpeppertummy]

truthfully my friends this isnt something im overly into or experienced in & as such i have Absolutely no idea if its any good or not. godspeed

[alien-esque parasite creature-in-stomach bordering-on-rapid-horror-preg situation, ends in hospital post-surgery bc you know id never let it explode him but the hospital isnt like a whole big thing, nobody has a good time in this but hes fine]

Val was beginning to wonder if eating at that sketchy restaurant in Hell had been a good idea.

Truthfully, he'd known it was a bad idea from the start. He hadn't liked the look of the place when his sister had brought him there, the service had been awful, the food had been worse, and he'd felt a little off ever since. That had been a few days ago, and he was back home now. It was always shockingly cold returning to the mortal world after visiting his family, but he was glad to be back in Connie's arms, even if it meant braving the chilly autumn air.

Exhausted from the busy week behind him, Val flopped down onto the bed. He was freshly showered and dressed in his pajamas, and very glad about it. Connie was taking her turn in the shower now. Sprawled out flat on his back, Val looked down at himself, and his brow furrowed. He hadn't felt quite right ever since visiting that restaurant, and he was still a little bloated. He laid his head back down on the pillow and rested his hands on his belly.

"Looks like your mom stuffed you like a turkey," Connie teased, standing in the doorway. "Does she think you're as skinny as I do?"

"Christ, does she," Val laughed.

"Maybe you oughtta visit more often, let her beef you up a little," she giggled, dropping herself onto the bed next to him.

"I don't think I could handle that," said Val. "You know everyone else in my family is like ten feet tall?" Connie laughed.

"And I bet they feed you like you are too, right?" She placed a hand on his rounded tummy and raised her eyebrows at how firm it felt. "Sheesh, you really feel stuffed."

"Tell you the truth, my sister dragged me out to some weird restaurant a couple days before I left. It was a mess, you never woulda gone in. Whatever I ate didn't sit right, I guess, my stomach's been a little funny ever since. I've spent the past few days feeling like I swallowed a bowling ball."

"Huh," said Connie, rubbing his belly. It gurgled uncomfortably under her hand. "Maybe you got, like, mild food poisoning or something."

"Maybe," he sighed. "Probably."

"Do you feel sick?"

"I don't know. Not quite. Just off. ADR, as they say at the vet. I mean, I definitely feel bloated, I can tell you that much."

"Believe me, you don't have to tell me," she chuckled, patting his belly. It didn't sound hollow, like it was filled with gas. Instead it sounded solid, like patting a rock, and it let out another sickly gurgle. Connie winced sympathetically.

Suddenly, Val sat up. Connie looked up at him, surprised. His face was difficult to read, but he seemed tense. Concerned, she sat up beside him.

"Val, what's the matter?" She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't know," he said uncertainly, holding both hands against his tummy. He looked down, brow furrowed. Was he more bloated than before? His stomach felt tighter, and…strange, somehow. Almost as if something inside him was pulsing.

"Maybe you should go to urgent care or something," said Connie. She didn't like the look on his face, and she didn't like that he was still so bloated days after eating whatever he'd eaten.

"I can't go to urgent care. I'm not even human. They wouldn't know what to make of me even if I was feeling fine."

"Yeah, but…I don't know. I'm worried," she said, squeezing his shoulder. Now that he was sitting up, his belly looked even more distended than it had when he was laying, and it was oddly top-heavy, as though whatever was making it so swollen was stuck up in his stomach. She didn't like that at all.

Val couldn't disagree with her point of view. Still, he preferred to avoid letting people find out he wasn't human if he could help it. It was a dangerous secret to reveal, and there had been plenty of times where he'd nearly paid a heavy price for it. He didn't have much time to mull it over, though, because his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a bizarre wave of pain in his stomach. He doubled over with a groan, clutching his belly.

"Val!" Connie grabbed his shoulders. Val remained frozen, trying to process what he'd just felt. It was pain, certainly, and pressure, but it almost felt like movement as well. Cautiously, he sat back upright, his breathing shallow and shaky.

"That's it, you're going to the hospital," she said, standing up. Val opened his mouth to protest when another surge of pain shot through him, and this time he definitely felt movement. He doubled over again, gaping like a fish as his belly pushed out against his hands.

Carefully, Connie pulled him to his feet, putting an arm around his waist to hold him steady, and hurried him out of the bedroom. As they walked, she felt something shift under her hand, and for a moment she froze, looking down at him.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I don't--I don't know," he choked out, desperately hugging his middle.

"Let's go," she urged, and practically dragged him out of the house.

Connie hastily put the directions into the GPS and was off like a flash before Val could even finish buckling up. His belly bulged conspicuously over the seatbelt, undeniably rounder than it had been earlier, and whatever was inside was growing restless. A moan of terror escaped him as he watched something move under the skin.

"Connie, I love you," he blurted out, his voice shaking.

"I love you too. Don't talk like you're gonne die. You're not gonna die." She reached out and grabbed his shoulder tightly before returning her hand to the wheel. Val thought she looked like she definitely thought he was going to die.

The pressure inside his stomach was unbelievable, and only seemed to be increasing as whatever was inside continued to move around and grow. It was growing fast now, and he could feel his stomach stretching and straining to contain it. He tried not to think about how far it could stretch before it burst.

"We're almost there," said Connie, trying to reassure herself just as much as him. She glanced over at him and was horrified to see his belly visibly squirming. Suddenly, his belly surged violently, and he let out a hoarse cry as the creature inside him began to thrash, pushing out hard against the walls of his stomach.

"Oh, god, please," he cried out, clutching his belly as his tightly-stretched skin was pulled tighter still. "Oh, please, god, no--"

Val woke up feeling like he'd been run through with a chainsaw. He wasn't sure where he was or what had happened, and he didn't have the strength to care. All he knew was that there was a horrible searing pain in his belly. As he regained consciousness, though, he began to recall the events of the night, and he looked down at himself. His belly was flat. Flat, and bandaged up. He let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh of relief.

The surgeon told him that he'd barely made it in time, and that they'd pulled something like a sucker-mouthed chupacabra out of his stomach, and that it was nearly the size of an infant, and that his wife had urged them to just not ask questions, and that after the procedure they were inclined to just roll with that, and that he'd have to stay in the hospital for at least a week. Val groggily accepted all of this information; the surgeon could've told him he'd grown a second head and he'd have nodded along. With his stomach intact, all he cared about now was seeing Connie.

EPILOGUE BECAUSE I CANT WRITE ENDINGS: It took one day for Val to win the hearts of all the nurses with his charm and only five for him to be released--for good behavior, he'd joked. Against all predictions, he recovered surprisingly quickly, although his tummy remained terribly sore for weeks; that was, of course, to be expected. He'd persuaded the hospital to let him ship the creature back to Hell for further evaluation. Astonishingly, they'd managed to get it out alive after sedating it right along with Val, and it had been nicknamed "Fluffy" by the frightened staff who were in charge of keeping it under observation. Fluffy, as it turned out, was a relatively common parasite found in undercooked lava cod, which was exactly what Val had eaten, although most of his fellow demons and devils were built sturdily enough that it wasn't much of a danger to them. Connie, who had been even more shaken up by the incident than her husband, received even more affection from him than usual in the following days. He felt awful for putting her through the experience--he'd expressed this, and she'd incredulously assured him that it wasn't his fault--and he made sure to bake her something special for taking care of him.

[tealfling]

RolanWeek

Day 6: Confession

It's time for Coren to return to her parents, Ma'na & Rackal, after the defeat of the Nether Brain. Maybe Rolan might tell her how he really feels for once. tagging her parents: @faerunsbest @barbwillbrb AO3

“I wish you could stay longer,” Lia answered, holding her hands up like she wanted to hug Coren, but pulled back. Coren instead stepped up for her, wrapping her arms around other tiefling. Even if the sorcerer winced in the process.

The final battle for the Nautiloid had only been a couple of weeks ago. Rolan, the new Master of Ramazith’s Tower had welcomed the little blue sorceress into his home while she healed from her injuries. Despite all the best healing, it had still taken Coren days to get back on her feet and her body still ached all over.

“So do I!” Coren squeezed. She looked over at Cal standing beside his sister and pulled him into their hug. “I’m going to miss you both so much!” The two siblings stood a moment in Coren’s embrace before parting. Coren added playfully, “But if I don’t go home soon my parents are going to come kick in your door. And I don’t think Rolan needs more repair work.”

The three of them looked over Coren’s shoulder to the man in question. Rolan was hunched over, chalk in hand, checking over the finishing touches of a Teleportation circle. His brow fixed sternly in concentration as he continually referenced back to the spell tome. A small, melancholic smile twisted on Coren’s face.

“Hey,” Cal added, “don’t forget after all you’ve done for us, the offer always stands. Your room’s always ready for you.”

Coren let out a soft chuckle, “Thanks, Cal.” Her room…Why did that sound so nice? She glanced back over her shoulder at Rolan with a wistful smirk.  However things can be complicated. There was definitely something between the red wizard and the blue sorcerer, but whatever it was ran hot and cold through Rolan. Maybe it was just the stress of their adventure, or maybe he needed space. And Coren did desperately miss her parents, it was time to go home. Or maybe this is where they would sadly part ways.

“Almost finished your coloring, Rolan?” Cal called over teasingly, “I think Coren’s ready!” 

“This is not coloring, you ass!” Rolan snapped. His tail flicked behind him agitated, “Any irregularities to the sigil or its runes could lead to any number of disastrous mishaps: mislocation, dismemberment– worse!” 

Lia chuckled, “Yeah, it wouldn’t be a good look for the Master of Ramazith’s Tower if he sent the Hero of Baldur's Gate home in pieces.”

“I find my figure is cut best like a fine gemstone. In one piece,” Coren chipped in. “I don’t think chunks are a good look for me.”

Rolan groaned as he stood, dusting the chalk from his hands. “Hells take me, I’ll be glad when you three are separated. Perhaps then I’ll finally have peace enough to get some work done!” He turned to face them with a scowl. Then his face softened, “But it is done. Your chariot awaits, my lady.” Rolan smiled at his own joke taking an exaggerated bow.

Both Cal and Lia snorted behind Coren. Their brother shot them a disapproving look before straightening to his full height again. Coren giggled softly. She had really grown to care for the three of them.

“I guess this is it then,” Coren started, looking down at the glyph on the floor, “goodbye.” She didn't mean to sound so glum.

Lia coughed, “Well, Cal, we should…probably go and…check on the Sundries reconstruction now.”

“Right! Yeah! The repairs.” Cal nodded. Both siblings said as they passed through the Sorcerous Sundries portale. Rolan hissed an infernal curse under his breath as they did so.

“Oh, come on,” Coren crooned. “Sure they were painfully obvious, but they could have been worse. They didn’t even tease you about it.”

Rolan scoffed, “Not yet, anyway.”

Coren hummed, “I’m going to miss them. They’re fun.”

“They’re endurable,” he chided. “I don’t know how you suffer twice as many siblings.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Coren asked with a cheeky grin, “I’m cooler than you.” 

Rolan replied with an eye roll and a groan. “You’re insufferable.”

Coren spun around playfully stepping onto the circle in the middle of the room. “I know,” she sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair and home soon enough. You won’t have to suffer me anymore.” When she turned, Rolan wore an unreadable expression. “What? I thought you said it was ready? Aren’t you ready to be rid of me, wizard?” The fake grin came easy when she teased him.

“Wait,” he said softly, reaching out and taking her hand. “You must know, surely, how much my,” Rolan swallowed, collecting himself to speak more earnestly, “feelings of affection for you have turned into utter adoration? Bounding toward devotion? That I can no longer feel bothered or burdened by your presence or actions? That you've rolled into my life like a storm, laying devastation to my previously conceived notions about myself, others, and what I desired out of this life? Your very interference in my life has changed its trajectory forever- for the better. Despite my previously- admittedly- wanting behavior, my lack of manners, and deplorable attitude, you've saved me and my family countless times. Even at the risk of your own self, with your own problems looming overhead. The blessings you've bestowed upon us are a bounty that I'll never forget. And something I can never imagine I could repay. Your talents and power are truly inspiring. My fondness of you is immeasurable. And I cannot go a single waking moment where my mind isn't plagued by your image. Where I'm not burdened by thoughts of you and your safety, or pained by the yearning for your presence. So, please,” he breathed tracing the hair back behind Coren’s ear, “allow me to reiterate my feelings for you. You're the sorceress that has bewitched my heart and soul. Would you do me the honor of ending my suffering and tell me if you feel the same? That you’ll come back to me?”

Coren stood silently stunned for a moment. The sound of her own heart thundering in her ears. “I, ugh,” she stuttered, abnormally at a loss for words. He wanted her to come back. To him. “Where in the Nine Hells did that come from Rolan!? How-What do I even follow that up with?” Coren jumped ( still unwell enough to fly) throwing her arms around him. She squeezed him tightly through the ache in her sore muscles. Rolan tentatively placed his hands on her back. “Of course I’ll come back!”

Gripping his face between her hands she butted their heads together. “You’re such a dummy, Rolan. My feelings for you have been glaringly evident to anyone with eyes. It’s just you and your big stupid brain that refused to accept they were real. But, I feel them all the same-despite your flaws.” She smiled. “I will most certainly come back for you. I thought that would have been obvious to you by now. You’re stuck with me.”

Coren sighed, pushing herself away from him reluctantly. “Seriously though, the last my parents heard from me was that I was in a battle with mindflayers who kidnapped me, so unless you want the people that raised me laying siege to your new fancy tower I suggest you trigger the spell.”

Rolan chuckled solemnly, “I suppose you're right.” The wizard stepped back off the glyph. His eyes glowed as he recited the arcane incantation.

With a faint smile, Coren watched as the purple glow of magic filled his eyes and lit the runes around her. Then her brows knit, a thought crossing her mind at the last second.

“Rolan!” Coren lifted her hand out to him, “I lo-” and she was gone.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I've been wanting to show off that Rolan confession for-ev-er! And I got tired of waiting so I ripped it out my long fic because what better time to throw it out there than RolanWeek!

[bugzheadquarter]

Dying Beacon

!!TW!! Death mentioned, Blood.

The sound of armor rubbing against each other echoed in the dimly lit halls.. With pained gasps as a figure limped through the hall. Trying to escape a violent encounter in the previous room. The figure shuffled their way through the halls clutching their chest. Their spiked tail lashing about behind them. A trail of blood staining the metal floors in a speckled pattern. Each drop varies in amount and size.

Pieces of their helmet broke off like dry clay shards. Softly hitting the ground.. Hitting the ground with soft thud noises. The light from the sharp and angered eyes was fading. Transitioning from glowing to darkly lit. “tsk… Stupid… stupid…. STUPID…” They shouted before coughing into their hand, tripping over their own feet.

Once they hit the ground, too weak to catch themselves.. They opened their eyes and suddenly.. They were laying on their back, in a beautiful green meadow. They laid there confused… Before seeing a golden butterfly flutter past their face. 

It’s golden, glowing color slowly fading as parts of its light slowly dripped and washed away from their wings. They followed the butterfly with their eyes. Before sitting up. They looked around before spotting a beautiful river below the meadow. 

Slowly getting up.. They made their way down to the stream. Their feet on the edge of the bank, kneeling down as they peered over to look into the Crystal clear water. 

Casey… Was in the reflection.. But this time.. One she recognized. She sat stunned before she reached her hand to where her horns were and… they really were gone.. She didn’t have any more scars. Her body was…. Just the way it was before she went through that hell. 

“W..What the…” She exclaimed confused as she was tracing her once scar on her face from her corruption state. If anything.. She looked like she was back at home.. She was wearing the same shirt, leather jacket, pants and even combat boots from when she was heading out home. But… that couldn’t be…She hasn’t worn this outfit in 5 months. Lost in her thoughts.. A familiar call echoed behind her. 

“Casey.” The voice cooed soothingly.. A feeling of nostalgia coursed through Casey’s body… it couldn’t be.. Could it…? She slowly stood up.. She was hesitant.. All her nightmares.. That tormenting dismembered face…but.. She had to look.. What if… it really was her. 

With a sharp breath. She slowly turned her head. Preparing to see the worse. Yet.. When she fully turned. She froze completely… The voice she had heard wasn’t a dismembered version of her mother.. It really was her….Her silver hair flowing in the soft breeze.. Wearing that beautiful white summer dress painted in pink flowers, her sandals she always wears when they used to go play at the park when she was younger. “M..Mom…” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer.. Why was she feeling cold.. Was it her anxiety? Or.. was it something else.? No.. That doesn’t matter.. What matters was… 

Tears stung her eyes as she couldn’t help it.. One minute she was skeptical that she looked like she did 5 months ago.. Now she desperately sobbed clutching and hugging her mothers legs as she broke into hysterics. 

“I..I’m so sorry..! I-I didn’t mean for this to happen…. Please.. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry for everything.. It’s my fault.. All of it.!” Her voice broke as she rambled on.. She didn’t get this chance.. She needed this.. She needed to apologize.. 

“Casey… It’s okay. It was only a flower.” Her mother hummed. Now caressing a much smaller Casey. Reliving her final moments… in a memory from when she had accidentally crushed her mother’s flowers with her soccer ball… With one last flower standing. 

─────────────────────────────────────────────

“...Casey….” Russell’s voice trembled as she stepped closer.. Looking down at the now collapsed body of Casey.. Her chest was bleeding out as she seemed unmoving.. Not only was Casey now dead… 

But the Crystal….was missing.. Followed by a familiar yet ominous snake-like trail leading away from Casey’s dying corpse.. With blood splatters following…

Tears escaping the corpses body…despite having such a cruel death….. Being killed by her ‘Only Friend’...

She was finally at peace.