#i put this in my drafts a few months ago… i wish i could remember what had me so incensed

[spelllingandthemysteryschool]

BORING! BANAL! PREDICTABLE! CLICHÉ! AND WORST OF ALL… PROFOUNDLY UNCHIC!

[ariascoven]

⟡ LOST BUNNY PT.2

PAIRING : salem!agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : female reader. petnames (bunny, dear, darling). soft agatha. mentions of homophobia.

WORD COUNT : 4.3k

A/N : sorry for not posting for i-don't-know-how-long, i hate everything i write these days lmao this has been sitting on my drafts for ages until i decided to let it out of the cave. i mostly have the energy to make bots as they're waayyyy shorter than fics so i end up making a bunch, sorry

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE | C.AI BOT

The sound of birds happily chirping filled your ears the moment you stepped outside of your small, humble little home while carrying your picnic basket. Your mother had asked you to go fetch some apples for the pie she planned on making. Somehow, she managed to get all the ingredients needed beforehand, but forgot the damned apples — for an apple pie. At least you knew where your forgetful nature came from.

As you wandered through the woods in silence, you couldn't help but remember your first and last encounter with Agatha Harkness. A hidden, secret part of you buried deep within your being hoped, perhaps even wished that you would bump into the witch again, but your dreams never became reality. During every mind clearing stroll you took at night, your eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the surroundings and trying to find the brunette with a smug grin on her face, her pretty face illuminated by the moonlight and stars above. If anyone saw you in that state, they would assume you were afraid of what lurked in the dark, when in reality you were looking for Salem’s most feared witch.

It was ridiculous, to say the least. Months had passed ever since the unexpected meeting occured, it was now summer and the snow you had stepped on in the company of the young witch had melted completely ages ago. But the feeling of her hands on your waist seemed to have burned onto your skin, making it impossible to forget the warmth of her touch. You could still feel her, hear her... hell, you could still smell her. You often tried to convince yourself that she had put a spell on you that day, and that you were not absolutely smitten. But you knew the truth, no matter how much you didn't want to admit it — you were utterly fucked. You had met her once and had a brief conversation that was infuriating, to say the least, and that was enough to make you fall. Well, she also gave you a coat.

It might be important to note that your plan to make up an excuse about the piece of clothing to tell your mother failed completely. You weren't able to come up with anything before you reached the worn out door of your house, where you were met with the familiar sight of an upset old lady that noticed her daughter was missing from the warmth of her bed hours ago and decided to wait for the rebellious creature and demand an explanation. You had no friends, so you couldn't say it was a gift from one. For obvious reasons, you couldn't say you had bought it yourself as your mother knew that in your condition, buying a great coat like the one you had on was nothing but an impossible, silly dream.

So you had no choice but tell her the truth you wished to keep hidden, all of it. You spent almost a whole hour sitting on a chair, your head downcast shamefully as your mother scolded you, her voice laced with nothing but pure disappointment and annoyance. “She's a witch, for God's sake! She killed her own mother and the rest of her coven! Why would you even look her way? And even more accept this so-called gift?” However, she allowed you to keep the coat, knowing it was warmer and better quality than your entire wardrobe combined. Filled with guilt and shame, you gave your dear old mother a kiss on the forehead and assured her you would keep your distance if you ever stumbled upon the witch again. What a lie.

Crouched down picking a few berries you had found, you hummed a random tune you had never heard before. The berries were not what your mother had asked of you, but you shrugged it off, allowed to easily fetch the apples afterwards. The basket was big enough to fit all without a problem, and extra fruit was never a problem — you were sure your mother would be excited to make something out of the berries, anyway. You let out a satisfied hum at the amount you had picked, ascending from the crouching position. When you turned around, a yelp escaped your lips the moment you saw her. “Agatha!” Your eyes were comically wide as you exclaimed, face growing warmer at the realization you weren't even able to try and hide your excitement.

“Hello, bunny. You seem pleased to see me.” God, the way you missed her voice was nothing but pathetic. You let out a huff and rolled your eyes in a failed attempt to seem unbothered, but unfortunately, you were not an actress. A smirk appeared on the brunette’s face when she took notice of the subtle pink dusting your cheeks. “Ah, there is no need to respond. Not with that adorable blush saying everything.” When you looked up at her, your bottom lip was curled up ever so slightly, forming an adorable pout that made Agatha feel unwanted things — the flutter in her stomach being one of them, for example.

She stepped closer to you until the tips of your boots were touching hers, hand reaching up to rub her thumb across your bottom lip in a gentle caress. Almost instinctively and definitely against your will, your mouth fell open at the touch. You wished you could pull away and keep your distance from her, there was nothing you wished more. But something about the young woman pulled you in like a moth to a flame — a dangerously enchanting flame that made you crave more of its touch, no matter how much it threatened to burn and swallow you whole.

“How did you find me?” Your question came out as a breathless sound and you cursed yourself mentally at the poor attempt to hide the undeniable shakiness in your voice. Your knuckles hurt from the way you were gripping the basket as you tried to mask how much you were trembling — and you weren't entirely sure why. Maybe from excitement. Maybe from anxiety. Maybe from a mix of both. You noticed the way Agatha’s gaze seemed to search for yours more and more insistently the longer you avoided eye contact. She opened her mouth to respond with what you expected to be another snarky remark of hers, but she faltered, mouth quickly closing.

However, she didn't take much time to compose herself, that wicked and familiar grin returning to her lips and sending shivers down your spine. Considering how surprisingly hot the weather was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. And exactly the way you remembered them to be. You lost count of how many times you had harshly rubbed your sponge against the places she had touched on your body during your long baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared and you were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

Considering how hot it was during the summer, Agatha’s fingers remained surprisingly cold as she tilted your chin up — freezing, even. Exactly the way you remembered. You lost count of how many times you harshly rubbed your sponge on the places she had touched on your body during your baths, trying everything and anything you possibly could to make the memories disappear from your mind. But you kept thinking back at it whenever the chance appeared. Before bed, waking up, while taking strolls around the town but mostly, in the woods you had your first meeting at. You were ashamed to admit, even to yourself, how much you wanted her.

“What? You think I found you because I wanted to?” She replied, the mocking evident in the tone of her voice and her raised eyebrow. With the proximity between your faces, you could almost taste the sarcasm that dripped from her lips. “It was simply a funny coincidence, my dear.” Your eyes scanned her face for any signs of honesty and widened the moment she leaned closer, her nose touching yours. The only thing you were able to do was hold your breath and anticipate her next move.

There was no way she was going to kiss you, right? Although the answer was pretty much clear, you couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that flashed through your eyes when all she did was chuckle low in her throat and pull away, taking a few steps backwards to put some sort of distance between your bodies. It was funny, the way you wanted that distance so badly at first but now it brought a frown so big to your face that missing it wasn't even a possibility.

Your eyes followed her gaze as she glanced down and towards the basket your hands were clutching. Or rather, the fingers that were a deep shade of red, knuckles turning white from the sheer force you put into holding the small object out of nervousness without even realizing it. You hadn't even realized the way you could barely feel your hands due to the gesture. You let out a loud groan full of frustration, deciding it was a better idea to hang it onto your arm instead of gripping it. Agatha’s curious (or rather, nosy) eyes focused on the content inside of the basket. “Berries…” She muttered quietly, and you weren't sure if she meant for you to hear it.

“Yes, berries.” You repeated as you eyed her curiously, her gaze never faltering from the fruits. It should be illegal to say Agatha Harkness looked adorable, but she did. Her unusual demeanor and sparkling eyes made you tilt your head aside as if the simple gesture would help you solve the current mystery — why would an evil witch become so seemingly excited over some stupid berries? You clicked your tongue in thought before grabbing a few and putting your hand out. “Do you…?” You don't finish the sentence, instead looking at your palm then back at Agatha as you trailed off. There was a pause. Then, she nodded, snatching the fruits from your hands and shoving them down her mouth. Your eyes widened at her enthusiasm, but the surprise soon turned into amusement and you let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

Agatha’s gaze moved back up towards you, and it was difficult to take her seriously with the way her eyebrows were furrowed and lips were stained red from the berries — like a child who is still learning how to eat properly. “What are you laughing at?” She almost growled. It was clear to see that the witch was trying to seem menacing and scary, as she always did. But unfortunately for her, it seems looking evil when your eyes are shining with happiness while your mouth is full is incredibly hard. You waved a dismissive hand and shook your head once more as your giggles died down, a sigh falling from your lips. She looked at you with suspicion, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Your face scrunched up slightly. “What?” She questioned, sounding rather annoyed.

“You just don't know how to not make a mess, huh?” You nagged with the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on your lips as you grabbed the checkered fabric your mother had given you to cover the fruit basket and that was long forgotten. You handed it to her — handed as in shoved it into her hand and gestured towards her mouth with a wave of your hand. “Clean that up, you are looking more like a toddler rather than a feared witch.” The sight of Agatha Harkness herself frowning pathetically was the most amusing thing you had ever seen in your life. You pushed away the thoughts of how cute she looked as you watched her clean her lips and cheeks grumpily. When she tried to give the piece of fabric back to you, you pushed it back against her chest. “Keep it. As a treat.” You joked, continuing your mission to find apples for your mother’s pie.

Agatha snickered and her lips curled up into an amused smirk at your comfortableness in teasing her, being ao used to people running away from her for simply being her. She stayed behind and watched as your figure continued the path, the dark shade of purple of her dress contrasting with the hint of red from the fabric you gave her, poking out of her pocket after she had folded it lazily and shoved it there. For Agatha’s immense displeasure, you were an incredibly fast walker, but she quickly caught up to you.

Her arms were behind her back and she whistled in feigned innocence, strolling just a few steps behind you. You rolled your eyes as you heard the melody, but a smile was playing on your lips. Your mother would kill you if she found out about this, about you hanging out with the woman you promised her to keep your distance from. You quickly pushed those thoughts away the moment you saw the apple trees ahead, full of life and covered in sweetness. As you stepped closer, a gasp fell from your lips at how beautifully red the fruits looked. “Ah, mother will love those!” You exclaimed happily, mostly to yourself, an arm stretching to grab the apples that were in a level where you could reach.

Harkness grabbed one of the juicy fruits as well, bringing it to her nose and inhaling the marvelous scent with an approving hum. “These look delicious. You said your mother will love them?” She raised an eyebrow with curiosity-filled eyes, leaning back against the tree nonchalantly and taking a bite out of the apple she held in her hand. You hummed and nodded in agreement, side eyeing her for just a split second as you continued to fill the basket. “Well, do you think your mother would be so kind as to spare me some apples?” She said playfully, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic manner. You scoffed.

“Well, my mother made me promise I would never talk to you again. Want to take a guess?” You didn't look at her as you spoke, but you could practically see the frown on her face with the way she let out a long, annoyed hum. “Don't take it personally, she would make me promise to stay away from any witch ever.” You tried to sugarcoat it, even though you knew she probably didn't care at all. There was a pause.

Without a word, she stared at you with suspicious interest, those icy blue orbs roaming over your figure as she studied you with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to find the final piece of a puzzle she longed to solve. “Mind telling me why you are breaking the promise you made to your dear mother, then?” The question came out quietly, as if it was a secret that no one other than you two were allowed to hear. Your movements faltered, hand freezing just as your fingers had wrapped around the last apple that was on your reaching level. You cleared your throat, finally snatching the fruit and shoving it inside the picnic basket.

“I guess,” you began, the almost whispered words leaving your lips slowly as you contemplated what you should say. “Your company doesn't bother me. Much.” You looked her way as you put emphasis on the last part, which elicited a chuckle from her. The brunette observed as you moved next to her and leaned against the tree before sliding down until you were sitting on the grass. You placed the basket on your lap and stretched out your legs with a long and loud groan.

After a moment, Agatha repeated your movement and plopped down onto the ground while holding her skirt securely. Your gaze fell upon the fabric you had given her poking out of the pocket of her dress and then moved up back to her face. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw her already staring at you, her palm supporting her chin as her elbow rested on top of her knees, which were pulled against her chest. Your mind wandered back to your first encounter, in which she had said she wasn't an ordinary girl, nor like you. But seeing her like this, so calm and quiet, she really did look like just an ordinary 18 year old girl.

A hand dived inside the basket and grabbed a few more berries before handing them to Agatha, who gratefully accepted the offer. An unexpectedly comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the witch ate calmly — this time, taking her time to savor the sweet taste. The gentle breeze made her hair sway subtly, and you thought the sight was breathtaking. Fists clenched around the fabric of your skirt as you tried to hold back from the sudden urge to just… touch her. Make sure she was real, that she really was there with you. Since you never saw the young woman after your first encounter, your mind had became a mess of thoughts as you wondered if what happened in the woods actually did happen or was just a fever dream — a fever dream that felt a bit too real.

“Why so many apples, anyway?” The sound of her voice breaking the soothing silence forced you to come back to reality and turn to face her, confusion splattered across your features. She gestured to the basket with a nod of her head, noticing the way you looked lost in thought as she handed you the last berry she had in her hand. “So many apples. Are you baking something?” She didn't miss the way you took and ate the fruit in agonizingly slow movements, as if you were doing anything to not answer the question. She didn't blame you, she was used to it — and she didn't miss the hint of regret that flashed through your eyes when you mentioned your mother earlier. People had always warned you, saying that you should be careful when giving any information to witches, no matter how unimportant it might be. But before she could open her mouth to say you didn't need to give her an answer, you finally spoke up.

“My mother is.” You answered simply, the sound of your voice coming out as a quiet, almost shameful confession as you leaned your head back against the tree and looked up at the leaves hanging from the branches above. “I'm a disaster.” She raised a brow at your statement, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she waited for you to give more details. You looked at her and let out a small giggle. “I'm not exaggerating — I wish I was, but I'm literally banned from the kitchen at home.” The loud laughter that escaped the witch’s lips as she threw her head back forced a smile out of you, the sound making something flutter inside you.

“You— oh, goodness! Are you serious?” She panted out between giggles and laughed even more after you nodded in confirmation, her hand moving to clutch her side as she felt the threat of a cramp forming. “I'm gonna get a side cramp!”

There was only one word to describe your state as you watched the scene unfolding in front of you, and that word was fascinated. Was it weird to be obsessed with someone's laugh? Maybe it was, maybe you were weird, after all. But you simply couldn't help it, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as the cutest sound left her lips. The so-called evil witch, Agatha Harkness, rather a monster than a woman, a girl, even, that had no feelings nor a heart, laughing so beautifully. You lost count of how many beats your heart skipped, pink lips parting in pure awe. God, you wished you could paint her at that moment, eyes scanning over her features in an attempt to memorize it. She seemed to notice your behavior, her laughter dying down as her face twisted into an intrigued expression. You felt a blush dusting your cheeks at being caught, a shy smile appearing on your face before you looked away, gaze focusing on the ground instead.

She tilted her head to the side then scooted closer to you, so close you could feel her leg resting comfortably against yours. You felt your cheeks heat up at the simple touch, and you mentally cursed yourself for being so easily affected by the woman — although a part of you knew anyone would be if they were in your shoes. Her face leaned closer to yours as she searched for your eyes, and when they met hers, she smiled. It made your heart skip several beats. It wasn't her usual smug grin or teasing smirk, no. It was a genuine and beautiful smile, and you were sure you could die happily at that moment, with the sight in front of you as the last thing you saw before the curtains closed. “You're so shy all of a sudden. Was it something I did, darling?”

Darling. God, the sweet names she called you made you crave her even more. You wondered if she only called you those things, or if she did it with everyone, ignoring the way you hated the simple thought of the second option being correct. “It's just—” you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, stopping yourself from speaking any further. More silence. Your body was set on fire when the familiar coldness of her fingers lingered against your skin as she brushed a lost strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed the way she seemed to touch you for a bit longer than considered necessary. You cleared your throat, feeling a lump forming. “Your laugh.” You said simply, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Didn't expect to like the sound of it this much.” Crap. Your eyes widened as soon as the unwanted words left your mouth against your will.

She let out an amused, soft chuckle. “Didn't expect to hear me laugh, hm?” She asked teasingly, her hand now resting on your shoulder.

Agatha looked stunned, perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up in pure surprise. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told her in ages — perhaps, even in her entire life. You couldn't believe your eyes as you took notice of the light, almost unnoticeable shade of pink that appeared on Agatha’s cheeks. The hand on your shoulder slid down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake. It settled next to your own hand that rested on top of the basket laying on your lap. Your whole body tingled when her pinky brushed against yours in a teasing touch. You finally had the courage to look up at Agatha again, butterflies forming on your stomach at the way your gazes met and the small, maybe shy smile that she sent your way. Your hand was shaking with nervousness, but that wasn't enough to stop you from linking your pinky with hers.

A small gasp escaped from Agatha’s lips at the gentle gesture, gaze darting down to your entwined fingers. The moment your head came to rest on her shoulder was the moment the witch realized that you would be the death of her — but she would never complain, laying her head against yours. You stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity, simply relishing in each other’s company and touch, the comfortable silence from earlier making an appearance once again. “To be fair with you, I didn't expect to enjoy your company as much, either.” She finally broke the silence, voice sounding so soft it was hard to believe it came from Agatha Harkness herself. Your mind was racing and heart thumping against your chest so fast you really thought you would have a heart attack for a split moment.

That's when you remembered why you had even left your house that day — apples, pie, your mother who awaited you at home. You hesitated before breaking the contact and ascending from the ground, dusting off the skirt of your dress. Agatha frowned at the lost touch and repeated the movements with a hint of annoyance. The sun was starting to set and your lips pursed into a firm line upon realization you would get a scolding when you got back home. ���It's getting late, Agatha. I should really go now. Mother would be furious if I took any longer.” The pang of sadness and disappointment at the words leaving your own lips stung like hell. Realizing Agatha wasn't going to say anything in response, just staring at you with an unreadable expression on her face, you stepped closer to her and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the soft skin of her cheek.

You turned on your heels and started walking away, fighting the urge to glance back over your shoulder, knowing that looking at her would make you turn back around. What if it took even longer to see the witch again than the first time did? What if your mother found out? Not only would you feel her anger for breaking your promise, she would be even angrier at the way you were so affectionate with another woman. You had mentioned your attraction towards women to her briefly once, but quickly learned to never do it again and pretend it was just a mistake, something your confused mind made you believe was real. But it never went away, and it never would. But you hid yourself with bitterness, being the good example of a daughter you always had been. The sound of the familiar voice snapped you away from your thoughts, body whipping around to face the young woman.

“Shall I see you again?” Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as she questioned and took a small, hesitating step forward, which did nothing to the still significant distance between the two of you. You couldn't help the bright smile that formed on your face, nodding enthusiastically in response. She smiled back, a hint of something that looked like relief playing across her features. The realization made you feel special, worthy.

“Tomorrow, same place and time?” Agatha’s heart raced at your words and she nodded slowly, trying the best she could to hide her happiness. Never in her life did she expect to be smitten by a woman she met twice. But, oh, she was. Unbeknownst to you, during your time away, Agatha also couldn't stop thinking about you. Her mind wandered back to your first encounter more times than she could count, and knowing she would see you again filled her with an unfamiliar sense of happiness. She couldn't wait to see you again, waving goodbye even as you turned your back to her.

[closetcasefabray]

i found this in my drafts, & i don’t remember when i started to write this, but ta-da! finally wrote something. this is not a cohesive whole (nor is grief so we can pretend it’s intentional).

also this phone business is awful—almost threw it when tripling the length of this (what was supposed to be) drabble 😒 forgive wonky formatting &/or typos. (laptopless life sucks)

this drabble-ficlet thing is for @snowandwolves bc our friendship is based in wrecking each other emotionally with avatrice au’s & headcanons. also some of this was inspired by sixth to the ninth hour, from which i will never recover. but this isn’t complete despair!

—

summary: beatrice returns to switzerland and tries to live her life. (canon compliant, s3, grief)

—

a thing that carries itself

—

It is when you are asking about something that you realize you yourself have survived it, and so you must carry it, or fashion it into a thing that carries itself.

(nox, anne carson)

—

beatrice knows hans could close the bar down on his own while blindfolded on a night like tonight—not much money to be made mid-week with dwindling tourists and seasonal stays—but beatrice doesn’t suggest it, and hans doesn’t offer. he’s come to recognize when beatrice needs some company, even if it’s just a couple hours and they exchange few words.

—

beatrice returned to switzerland a few days after camila found her asleep at the arc for the fourth time.

(jillian is moving it back to her lab to rebuild, camila offered with a gentle smile—one that expressed she too was hopeful, but not so much she wished to give beatrice too high of expectations.

beatrice knew, even with every scientific expert working on the arc, it would take over a year to repair the arc and source enough power within their earthly limitations for it to open even briefly. beatrice also knew it would likely require a decade of research before someone could go through the arc, let alone explore the alien realm beyond it.

as of a month ago, the arc team is still a few brilliant nuns led by a genius scientist, but when beatrice looks at them, she only sees young women—too young to be willing to die in a holy war—and a mother mourning the loss of her son for a second time.)

before she left, beatrice said goodbye through the arc—if only for the smallest chance a loving god would take pity on her and split open the barrier between realms just briefly enough for her words to reach through to ava:

see you at home. (i love you.)

—

when beatrice first arrived back to town, she became overwhelmed as she took in the remarkably unchanged neighborhoods, all the same buildings standing as they had when she and ava left in the night.

(the ache in her chest turned bitter, so much so she had to refrain from shaking the couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company in the sunshine—ava is gone. do you understand? don’t you feel it too? the absence of her?)

their old flat sat untouched as well; beatrice knew the elderly couple who owned the building weren’t eager to put much work into clearing it out to show it to young university kids who would be far too loud for their liking. (not that ava would ever be considered quiet—she had charmed them like she does everyone.) they warmly welcomed beatrice back and handed her the keys within the hour.

(she found a crumpled tank top of ava’s in the back of the closet and, holding it in her hands, pressed to her chest, she let herself cry for the first time in weeks, sitting on the dusty floor, counting the pieces of furniture in the room that ava once touched.)

the usually absent bar owner also returned the keys and beatrice’s managerial position before she even finished asking if they were hiring.

(what about hans?

he likes being head bartender.

there’s really no one else?

i’ve had two different managers and three different bartenders come and go since you and ava left. i can’t find a replacement half as good as either of you.

beatrice isn’t sure what expression he read on her face, but he didn’t say ava’s name again after that.)

—

throughout the next few weeks, beatrice thought returning to a place so full of memories of ava was possibly some misguided, catholic-guilt-induced self-flagellation—to wake up in their bed alone, to drink tea across from an empty chair, to walk the familiar paths to their favorite places without her—the lack ached in the hollow of beatrice’s core like penance.

maybe i’m meant to feel like this, she thought, and still thinks at times, but then she remembers ava in the gold room—the only thing holy in a temple devoted to a false prophet—telling beatrice to live her life. (gospel, she thinks.)

when ava kissed her, beatrice didn’t think of sin or hell. she thought only of the truth of ava’s lips, her body—capable of flight and phasing through stone—standing before beatrice and choosing love, a tenderness the world had never offered her. it was the opposite of sin—it was sacrament, a baptism that tasted of salt as they kissed, bathed in light.

so beatrice stays and tries each day.

(we are all just trying to be holy.)

—

in the months of staying, of trying to live her life, her friendship with hans has grown into something quieter and gentler than beatrice would have expected from the same bartender who had taught ava german curses and euphemisms. (beatrice would pretend she couldn’t hear as they whispered conspiratorially, knowing ava was familiar with more than half of the swears, but ava was still delighted by every cautiously murmured phrase hans offered her.)

it surprised beatrice at first, to find that hans actually likes her as she is—his overly organized manager-turned-friend who drinks tea out of the same mug every afternoon she comes into work and almost never drinks alcohol but will sip the occasional “virgin cuba libre” when he asks her to hang out with him after work for a shift drink. hans is even familiar enough with beatrice to occasionally tease her in german, her fluency allowing her to respond with a quick-witted retort. she smiles at his amusement, and he is thrilled by each new detail he learns of her.

beatrice is grateful to be closer to someone who doesn’t owe god his life, who remembers ava as ava—not the warrior nun or the halo-bearer.

(instead, hans remembers training ava at the bar, her focus when he taught her classic cocktail specs, and her enthusiasm that breathed life and vibrancy back into the bar job he had begun to find tedious. he remembers making ava laugh so hard her cuba libre came out of her nose, the little snort in her laugh when something amusing surprised her, the pout she’d use before asking for a favor—always far less effective on hans than beatrice. he remembers ava beaming when she mastered a new skill, her eyes finding beatrice to check if she saw—beatrice always saw and always smiled back; how could she not? beatrice was a moon in ava’s orbit, and she had no other option but to glow in her light.)

mostly beatrice is grateful that their friendship doesn’t try to fill the space and silence ava used to occupy; instead they fashion it into a kind of shared insulation for them to keep warm in the cold of grief. so when beatrice daydreams over the books at the bar and something startles her back into this realm without ava, she appreciates that hans doesn’t say anything to draw attention to the way her eyes shine with the sorrow of reality, like they did the first time hans said ava’s name months ago and all at once beatrice felt the air leave her lungs and her eyes burn. hans will stay nearby in those moments, offering an ear if she does wish to talk, but far enough she doesn’t feel obligated to explain it. sometimes it’s just the comfort of someone nearby who misses ava too.

(occasionally beatrice lets her mind project ava across the bar, watching her move from table to table, turning to beatrice and giving her a wink, hips swaying to a german pop song, sometimes accompanied by a little spin as if she wasn’t carrying a precariously balanced tray of glassware. but when the reel in beatrice’s mind starts to fade and flicker, she blinks and the shining sadness of her eyes dims into a melancholy others often mistake for stolidness—when the vision of ava smiling and making drinks beside hans blurs, it’s too ghostly for beatrice because ava is alive.

beatrice doesn’t find much comfort in god these days, but she still has faith.)

—

beatrice steps outside with hans, takes a deep breath, looks up at the unpolluted skies, and finds the constellations ava drew when they would sneak onto the roof of their flat when the nights were clear. beatrice has taken to writing the mythology of each one in her head as she walks home at night. she often considers writing some kind of scripture based less in fear and shame and more in love and forgiveness. maybe if she tells the stories enough, ava will return a new testament.

(but beatrice promised herself that once ava returns, she won’t share ava with the world—no temples, no saviors, no holy wars. beatrice wants to watch the sun set on the ocean, casting ava in golden light that doesn’t feel like a goodbye. she wants ava to press her lips to hers again but as a greeting, as a stay here with me. she wants to watch the sunrise spill across ava’s face like a promise beatrice will keep. she wants ava, and she is learning to forgive herself for this—the selfishness, not her love—beatrice’s love does not apologize.)

“are you off work tomorrow?” hans asks as they start walking the several blocks toward their respective apartments.

“yes, but if you need—”

hans shakes his head vigorously, and beatrice gives him a small half-smile.

“you should go to the library, get a couple books. if you come by, i’ll make you tea but you absolutely cannot work,” he says, pointing his finger at beatrice with an exaggerated sternness.

beatrice smiles a little wider, “i won’t.”

when they reach the cross streets where they part ways, hans wraps his arms around beatrice’s shoulders, and she wraps hers around his waist—a strange arrangement of limbs both of them had grown up unfamiliar with, something that ava taught them to appreciate—touch, closeness, a human intimacy too many would never admit they needed. so they make a point to hug each other for brief moments to carry that part of ava with them.

—

her nighttime routine unfolds as muscle memory so her mind wanders to work, hans, and always ava. she climbs into bed and imagines ava teasing her for keeping her shirt under her pillow, where she rubs the fabric between her fingers.

you always liked being close to me when we slept, ava would say.

i always liked being close to you when we were awake, beatrice would confess.

she savors the moments just before sleep, when those minutes are hers alone without obligations or the weight of the outside world—her mind in a free fall. (when beatrice was a child and her mother was kinder, she would soothe beatrice after a nightmare by telling her to think of all the exciting things tomorrow would bring.) as if directing the trajectory of her plummet, she chooses ava every time.

she closes her eyes and plays the memories against the back if her eyelids, setting her unconscious mind on a path toward a kind of imagined heaven, so maybe—just maybe—beatrice will see ava again in her dreams.

tonight she is walking into work, and ava looks up and smiles at her from behind the bar.

hey, bea.

hi. she feels something joyous swell inside her, and the glassware behind the bar starts to glimmer as she walks toward ava. i missed you.

we had breakfast together this morning, ava says with a laugh, but once beatrice is beside her, ava leans close and whispers, i miss you too, bea. everyday.

when ava pulls back slightly, beatrice sees it—the melancholy half-smile on ava’s lips, her dark, shining eyes. the shimmering light grows, and beatrice feels ava’s hands take hers and pull her closer.

i’ll see you at home soon. ava tucks a strand of bea’s hair behind her ear, and she feels herself lean into her touch.

ava—

it’s okay, bea. just wake up.

when beatrice opens her eyes, she can see the night sky outside her window, but the flickering light of her ocs necklace on her bedside table seems to light the entire room. she cradles it in her hands and decodes it on the first pass, but to be sure, she watches it flash three more times—ava is alive.

—

fin

—

thanks for reading!

some rambles/notes:

i almost never write from bea’s perspective bc she’s v smart—i’m decidedly not bea-smart (nor am i ava-smart but i am ava-eager-&-a-little-reckless, so that’s what i typically lean toward). so i think i did a rewatch & felt a little heartbroken. also p sure i drank half a bottle of wine during the rewatch so that may have been why this is [gestures vaguely] like this.

but anne carson and richard siken are my roman empires, so i named this after the opening anne carson quote from nox. and i will always think of avatrice when i remember we were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want . . . we are all just trying to be holy.

also what i didn’t include & is in my head:

- hans & bea’s talk about what happened with ava. basically “she had to leave, and i don’t know if… i don’t know when she’ll come back” & hans isn’t sure what it means but he never tells beatrice to move on bc he knows he couldn’t understand what happened. mostly he saw them together and he’s never seen beatrice smile the way she did with ava. also i said beatrice rarely drinks but she & hans have this conversation with wine involved. the drunk cry bar staff bond is real.

- the day beatrice realizes she’s been without ava longer than she was with her—she’s marking the date in the inventory book, then she just stops as her brain does the math against her will. hans sees her hands are trembling & he just knows. he takes bea up to the office & gives her some water. he asks, “do you think your home will help or make this harder right now?” so he has beatrice over to his small, neat apartment and he makes some food for her. he asks if it’s about ava & whether or not bea wants to talk about it. she doesn’t want to talk, but she says hans can talk about her. so hans tells bea some of his memories with ava. thus some of the memories included.

anyway, sorry? i guess?

also if you haven’t—read @snowandwolves fics if you want coherent & complete(ly devastating & healing) fics:

sixth to the ninth hour is canon compliant s3 & basically ava walks through hell to get back to bea. 😭 i cried. my heart ached. but also there’s plenty of spice 😏 [ava eyebrow wiggle]. all my favorite things heh…

leave the light on (i'll find my way home) is lighthouse au. our babes are so soft and in love 🥹 i went on a trip to see puffins & lighthouses bc of this. the whole fic is incredible, but there’s this one part in the lighthouse… i think it altered my brain chemistry in the best way.

[tojisbbygworl]

Before I Let Go - Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: A grieving woman comes face to face with her thought to be deceased husband and can't find it in her to care about how wrong this was. She missed him. So much.

WARNINGS: Thoughts of Suicide, Suicide Attempt

Words: 4,994

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Angst, Emotional Smut, Desperation, Grief/Mourning, Yandere, Spying, Kidnapping, Minimal Spanish terms of endearment

author's note: hey y'all. I have another fic for you. I am so glad I finished it it's been sitting in my drafts for a minute. The yandere part of this isn't violent although there is some slight physical pain put on the reader during sex. Just a mention of choking and scratching it's not bad. It's more obsession if anything. Also, I wasn't even gonna try with the Spanish girl. The most he says is carina and hermosa and I know y'all are sick of seeing that atp. I barely even tried with the British for Hobie I'm not about to embarrass myself LMAO

I hope this makes y'all sad honestly I feel like I could have made it sadder but I'm still very happy with it. Anyway, enjoy! 🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

The buzzing sound of a phone call is all that can be heard in the apartment. It has been a week since the funeral, and Y/N O’Hara hasn’t said a single word. She doesn't even remember what her voice sounds like.

Miguel O'Hara was everything to her. He meant the entire world. She would do anything he asked, but he never asked for much. All he wanted was her love. She was the same with him. A perfect partnership. She felt like she was on top of the universe. And then it was taken away from her. In a fucking car crash, no less.

He was the smartest person she knew. He was the head geneticist at Alchemax after all. He wasn't a stupid driver. No. It was the other driver's fault. But what could she do about it? It was just a kid. A teenager that had just gotten their license, but hadn't taken official driving lessons; no one really drilled into them the severity of texting while driving. How could she really blame them? How could she press charges? Miguel always told her that she was too forgiving. Too understanding.

He was right. But...she also couldn't help but to think it wasn't fair. That her beautiful husband had to die from their actions, and all they had to deal with was an insane insurance increase and a fucked up car that their parents were bound to replace. She would give anything to trade consequences. Anything.

Almost two months since his death, she's been wandering around her apartment frequenting the most common places she and Miguel would cuddle in. She always had a shared blanket, one of his shirts, or a pillow that had his hair on it to squeeze and cry into. If she sprayed it with his cologne and shut her eyes really tight, she could almost imagine he really was there. Almost.

These objects could never replace him. She missed his warmth. She missed his chest pushing her head up and down from his breathing. It would rumble when he chuckled. His hands were so large that her entire back would heat up when he held her gently. He was so tall, 6'6 to be exact, he would completely engulf her whenever they embraced. She felt so safe in his arms. She doesn't feel safe anymore.

Nearly two months of hunching over on the floor of her apartment in pain. She wailed into the ground. Coughing and scratching whatever she could hold onto, because the pain was too much to bare. Oh, the pain. She wouldn't wish this kind of heartbreak on anyone or anything.

The apartment was large, courtesy of his checks. He could already afford it on his own, then, the both of them married just a few years ago and he didn't expect her to pay a dime, despite how much she insisted. Instead, she bought food and handled upkeep. If it got too expensive, then he would chip in. She would have to move out eventually, his remaining income and life insurance the only thing keeping her afloat. Just another thing that she can’t fathom.

It was 3 bed, 2 bath. One was their bedroom, the other was his office, she's been going in there a lot as well, and they always wondered what they would do with the last room. For so long, it was empty even before she moved in with him. He never knew what he could use it for. He had hoped that she would turn it into a hobby room, she loved to paint and she played the violin a little, but there was a beautiful terrace attached to the apartment that she opted for instead and she insisted the living room had the best acoustics so the room remained a mystery. Until last year, when he dropped a bomb on her.

It was an extremely average day for the both of them. They were both home from work, nothing interesting to report, and were deciding what to eat for dinner. She suggests something they could cook, and he agrees. As the night goes on, something seems off about Miguel. He's quiet and zoning out a lot. Something has to be on his mind, right?

"Babe," she calls for him snapping him out of his trance.

"Hm?"

"Everything alright?" She puts her hand on his shoulders and gives him a worried look. Miguel swallows his spit then turns towards her grabbing her hand and placing his on her waist.

"I've been thinking..." His voice is small. She starts to grow anxious as she had never seen him look so timid. He was more nervous than when he asked her to marry him.

"W-What is it?" She stutters. He kisses her knuckles.

"It's just something that I've been wanting for a while now. And if you don't, then It's completely fine. I care about your happiness above everything."

"Miguel, stop being so cryptic and tell me what's up," She half jokes.

He nervously bites his lips and looks away. Then, taking a deep breath, he looks into her eyes and says, "I want to have a kid."

She felt it was best to pretend the work-in-progress nursery didn't exist. In her mind, the room is still empty. There wasn’t a crib set up. The walls weren't in the process of being painted. They didn't have arguments about what to put on it because they didn't know the gender. In fact, gender of what? They weren't planning for a baby. The third room is as empty as she is.

The both of them were foolish, deciding to get everything set up before she got pregnant instead of winging it like everyone else. She should have winged it. Then maybe she would still have a piece of him with her.

It was so fucking hard to focus on what mattered. She was hanging on a thread that thinned out every single day. Before the funeral, she wondered what would be her breaking point? The point where she finally got up and decided to keep going.

The weather was very fitting for that day. The sun was gone, and the rain came in waves. Her tears, however, never stopped. It was a stupid decision to make it open casket. She gazed upon his resting face for the first time since he died in the hospital then turned and ran to the nearest bathroom to empty her stomach. She hadn’t even gotten to say her speech; Miguel’s mother read for her instead.

Something inside her snapped. Sometimes the pain is a dull ache in her chest, and she’s numb everywhere else. Other times it’s a sharp twang that she can feel in her back. She has to lay or sit down when that happens. Sometimes it courses through her entire upper body and she can’t even move. But this…this stabbing, twisting, and searing pain that ripples through her heart and travels to the tip of her fingers and toes…she hasn’t felt this before.

This was the breaking point, but it did the opposite. She didn’t talk for the rest of the day, her and his family begging her to stay with them. She didn’t listen.

It was nights like tonight that she felt completely alone. She knew she wasn’t, if she just picked up the phone and texted someone, then maybe she would be okay. She just needed to stop looking at the ceiling, turn to her nightstand, pick up her phone, and call her mother. But it was 1 in the morning, and Miguel looked so happy in her lock screen picture…

Her and Miguel had been up here on the top of the apartment building so many times before. They liked to dance, he would watch her play or paint, they had picnics together, it was perfect when they wanted to get out of the apartment, but still have some privacy.

The view was nice. They could see across the entirety of Nueva York. Central Park in the fall was especially amazing to gaze upon. But now it fills her with grief. As she steps on top of the edge, she decides that if this couldn’t make her feel better, then nothing could.

She’s glad she’s doing this in the middle of the night, where no one could see her and call for help. She was sure that she would traumatize a couple people when morning came, a problem that she couldn’t be bothered by. She was ready to be back in his arms. So she walked off. And closed her eyes as she plummeted through the air.

She’s scared. But excited. She only has to feel excruciating pain for a second and then never again. It’s almost over.

She hits something, or more so, something hits her. She’s still flying through the air, but it’s different now. There’s a warm body holding onto her for dear life, and she’s soaring upwards into the night sky. Opening her eyes to gaze at her savior, she sees a masked silhouette. It-it’s Spider-Man…but he looks completely different. She can barely see him, the only source of light being the moon, but she could swear that this wasn’t his mask.

They land on the rooftop again and he puts her down. She crawls away from him, embarrassed and ashamed at what she’s done. She was still alive and now she was in more pain than ever before. Wailing on the floor, she glared up at him in vitriol.

“Why did you save me?” She yelled, her voice powerful for a woman who hadn’t been verbal for a week. Spider-Man didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure if he was looking at her. “I didn’t want to be saved.” Still, he said nothing. So she continued to cry, and she cried harder and harder until she felt a sensation on her back.

He was trying to comfort her, but when she turned he backed off, holding his hands up instead. Her lips quivered, then she threw herself into his arms. His hold on her body was snug and comforting. Her anger for him dissipates immediately as she accepts his affection. For the first time in a while, she felt safe. She didn’t want him to let go.

And he didn’t. He stayed until she fell asleep in his arms. Then, he picked her up, gazing upon her peaceful face with the light from the inter dimensional portal, then walked into it with no intention of coming back.

~

This wasn’t her room.

She sat up in the bed and took in her surroundings. These weren’t her sheets, that wasn’t her wallpaper, the blinds were different, the floor wasn’t carpeted, everything even the floor plan of the room was different. This isn’t her home.

Her heart begins to pound. Where was she? She was still in her clothes, but that’s the only comfort that she had. Immediately, she shoots out of the bed, the comforter tangling in her feet making her fall onto the floor. The large thump that her fall makes scares her. She stays on the floor, still and quiet as a mouse. There's no noise for a couple seconds. Then, the sound of someone walking.

She hyperventilates, quickly removing herself from the blanket and standing up. But she realizes that she has no where to go. There's a small closet in the room, and space under the bed, but those the only hiding spaces she can think of. And the footsteps were getting closer. What can she do, she wonders as she backs into the wall.

The door swings open. And her heart stops.

Miguel stared at his wife's variant in concern and turns on the light. The woman blinks and shields her eyes, but the bewildered look that she sported quickly comes back. "What happened?"

When he spoke, she gasped and took another step back. She smacked her hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with tears, her breath shuddered. "You're alright?" Miguel asked her again. She didn't answer.

For what felt like the longest time, they just stared at each other. He was afraid of approaching her thinking he may scare her away. She was in completely disbelief at what she was seeing. Miguel raised his hands and stayed near the door way. "Please, don't freak out," he began.

She let out a sob, tears escaping her eyes when she did. Placing her hand on her chest, she lifts herself from the wall. Miguel takes this as a sign to keep going.

"I know you must be confused. You're probably upset and angry. I understand." She took a step forward. "But if you would just left me explain..." Another step. Then another. And another. And she held her hand out in front of her. As she approached him, he realized how badly she was trembling, and it only got worse the closer she got. But still, she moved forward.

The speech Miguel had been practicing before she woke up died in his throat. He was speechless as he watched her courageously close the space between them. When she finally stood right in front of him, she hesitated. He could hear her soft gasps and cries. Then finally, she softly touched his chest. He looked down at her hand, then up at her face. Even though she was crying profusely, she looked upon him in wonder. He just wants to reach out and grab her, but he holds himself back.

She begins to rub his chest and torso, appalled by his presence. He looks back down at her hands. Then, they trail themselves up to his neck, stopping right under his chin. He lifts his head up. They both hold their breath for a second. Then, with a gasp from her, and a sigh from him, she finally touches his cheek. Miguel closes his eyes and leans into her palm. He lifts his arm up, and encases her hand in his, keeping it in place.

Her lips begin to move. With a tiny shaky breath, she whispers, "It's you."

Miguel's face is troubled. He has a small frown and his eyebrows were upturned. He twists his head in her palm to give it a small kiss.

Her eyes flicker all over his body. It is him...but he's different. He's taller now. His build is thicker and he feels tense. Miguel was a gym buff, but this man...this kind of definition is not built in the gym. His frown is deep, and so are his wrinkles. His eyes were more troubled than hers, and had the slightest hint of red. And his teeth...she could feel his sharp canines with her thumb.

"No," she realizes. "It's not you."

Miguel opens his eyes and stares at her. He can see the fear growing on her face, and he starts to panic. He moves his hand to her wrist to hold it gently. But he's prepared to squeeze it if she tries to run. "I'm not him. But-"

"But you look like him." She continues, her voice on the precipice of hysteria. "And you sound like him." She holds both of his cheeks and caresses his face with her thumbs. "And you feel like him..."

Miguel winces as he watches her cry louder and louder with every observation. "Cariña, please," He takes her hands off of his face and kisses her knuckles. She completely breaks down crying. Miguel reaches his arms out, and she throws herself into his chest, sobbing into his neck. "You don't have to cry anymore. I'm here now."

"But who are you?" Her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He gulps. "...I am Miguel, but-"

"But you're not my Miguel, are you?" She lifts her head up to stare at him. She looked anguished, her brain not being able to process what was going on. He doesn't answer. "Did you save me?" He nodded. "Why?"

"I had to, baby. I-"

"Where did you come from?" She pushes herself off of him, and Miguel can't find it in him to hold her there. He let's go of her, knowing that there is no where she can really run where he won't find her. "No, where have you been?"

He furrows his brows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Where the hell have you been?" She screams at him in unbridled rage. Her tears were never ending, and her glare was fierce. "I was in fucking agony when you died. I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't get over you. I didn't want to. I missed you so much." Her anger turned into desperation and she falls to her knees on the floor, weeping into her hands. Miguel looks on in desolation, his eyes filling with tears as well. He walks to her and leans down, trying to get her to stand. She flips her head up at him. "Who are you?"

"Please, let me explain." He sits on the floor with her, holds her face and leans into it. She doesn't pull away, instead, she kisses him first, her cries never ending. Her hands tangle themselves in his hair. Miguel wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her into him. He sits back and pulls her into his lap.

The kiss lasts until they run out of breath, then they pull away, panting in each others' faces. "I...am Miguel." He starts. "But not your Miguel. And you are not my Y/N."

She shakes her head and scrunches up her face. "Just listen." Her mouth closes again, and she relaxes preparing herself to take in every word he says...

...Miguel spent a lot of time watching her. His Y/N, across the multiverse. In each one, they are together. It's fate. And in every one...she dies. No matter what that universe's Miguel does, she dies. That must be fate, too. Then he found a universe where that didn't happen. He died instead. He took a chance, and when he replaced himself he was the happiest he had ever been. And then everything was destroyed. An entire universe...gone. He swore to never interfere with fate again. He whispered a soft 'sorry' to every Miguel he found after that.

He saw her, Y/N on Earth - 548. Happy as ever with her devilishly handsome husband. He felt for him. He had no idea the heartbreak he was about to experience. But, for the second time in his studies, he was the one who died. He cried, knowing that he could never do anything about it. When she became a shell of her former self, he focused all of his attention on her. Putting all of his work on Jess and Peter, he monitored her. He watched her cry, she spent all of her time off from work at home rolling around in her bed as if the emotional pain was so strong that it was physical as well. He watched her touch herself at night, whispering his name into the empty air, him joining her from where he was spying groaning her name as well, wishing his cum was dripping from her cunt instead of down his hand. He called for her, hoping that his prayers to keep her safe would reach who ever was listening. They didn't.

He knew that when she sat up like a ghost from her bed that fateful night, she was about to do something rash. He held his hand over his watch, ready to jump as soon as he felt he needed to. When she began to walk to the edge, he decided to not even risk it and hopped into the portal.

He didn't expect her to turn and scream at him the way she did. He hadn't heard her beautiful voice for some time, he missed it so much, and the first thing she did was yell at him. He was stunned. He couldn't believe she was right in front of him. He looked at his watch. No indication of a canon event. There was nothing. Which meant...she was never supposed to die.

He was impulsive, he knows that. But, it worked out in his favor. She was supposed to be alive. He had done right. And now he had a decision to make. Does he leave her here to figure everything out on her own, or does he take her with him...and let her family think she's dead…

“You were watching me?”

Miguel refuses to meet her eyes. She didn’t move, but he tightened his grip around her just in case. Her voice was wavering.

When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Why didn’t you save him?”

He looked up at her that time. Above everything else, she was melancholy. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t, mi amor. You don’t understand.”

With her face contorted in pain, she released a choked sob. Her mouth was hung open. If she chose to believe this imposter, than hearing that nothing could have been done about the love of her life brought her no comfort. It wasn’t fair.

She gripped Miguel’s shirt letting her head fall forward into his chest. He held her for a long time while her shoulders shook. “Please, believe me.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her cries stopped. He began to worry, but she soon lifted her head up and looked into his eyes. His flicked back and forth between hers, and the both of them dive into another passionate kiss. This time, they don’t let up from each other. It gets more intense. Miguel’s breath picks up as his hands begin to explore her back and waist. She pushes her body up against his, rubbing their chests together.

She’s the one who pulls away opting to kiss down from his cheek to his neck. “Just come to bed with me. Please?” She begs into his skin.

Miguel, in a daze, whispers “Okay.”

He lifts her up and lays her down onto his bed, kissing her sweetly as he climbed on top of her. He felt so much bliss, he never imagined he would be able to do this again.

The way she grabbed his face made him never want to physically leave her side again. This was where he wanted to stay for the rest of their lives. She kissed him with so much despair, so much need, how could he ever leave her mouth? But, the strain in his pants and the grip she had on his back get worse, and he finds a reason to pull away.

She whimpers, missing the way his tongue caressed her mouth, leaving her lips swollen and shiny. Her eyes open, silently asking him where he was going, until he reached under the hem of her shirt and lifts it off of her, exposing her beautiful breasts. She gasps when he begins to rub his hand between them, eventually grabbing one to hold and play with. Miguel grins at her while she watches him rub his thumb across her hardened nipple. Which turned into her watching him dip his head down to her sternum and leave the smallest, lightest kiss.

The restraint he had on himself as he trailed his mouth down her body was unnatural. His claws had long since come out, ripping into the bedsheets as he tried so hard not replace them with her luscious hips. She was responding unbelievably well, making him happy he didn’t listen to Lyla tell him how terrible of an idea this was.

Lyla was wrong, he told himself when he heard her soft cry as his tongue played with her nipple. She began to squirm from frustration, and he just had to push his hips in between her open legs, the heat from his dick making her rub her wet panties along his shaft. Miguel moaned with her nipple fully inside his mouth, her moaning with him from the vibration against her chest.

She’s not scared of me, he thought as he leaves her nipple and kisses down her body. His lips finally met up with her panties, opting to push them to the side instead of taking them off completely. He places a kiss on her sensitive clit, his precum staining his underwear when she yelps. Miguel takes a moment to look at her glistening pussy, then he closes his eyes when he finally licks it.

And she doesn’t hate me. Miguel looks drunk when he starts eating her out. His eyebrows are raised and he gently placed her hand on her spread thigh, caressing the soft skin. Her whines making him even more desperate to please her, he presses his tongue into her center harder. His lips are covered with her fluid. Miguel gives her thigh a nice squeeze, then a slap, then he stands up straight.

When she opens her eyes to look at him, her heart races. His eyelids were low, and he towered over body making her feel smaller than she was. His stare was filled with infatuation, wiping off his lower face with one swipe of his large hand. Without breaking eye contact, he rips his shirt off and swipes his pants and underwear down, his large member bouncing back up. Miguel spit into his palm and started jerking himself off. Then, he climbs onto the bed, aligning his hips with hers.

He drools onto her pussy, her shuddering as his spit meets her clit and runs down her lips. It does well to lube her up with Miguel rubbing his tip in between her folds. “Ngh…fuck,” he mutters, the feeling of her wet cunt on his sensitive head giving him a feeling of euphoria.

She grew impatient, while Miguel was trying to take his time and savor her, she was ready to feel him split her apart. This was something she’s been dreaming about since she lost him. She waited for the day his naked body would engulf hers, his face on her cheek whispering filthy insults and sweet praises into her ear. As she remembers how sex used to be with her love, she starts to tear up.

“Miguel,” she whined making him look at her worriedly. When his eyes open, the red she noticed before is even more prominent. His mouth was opened slightly so she could barely see his fangs. How he could look so similar yet so different from her Miguel, she doesn’t know.

“Yes?” He asks her.

“Please, I can’t wait any longer. I want…” She moves her hips on him again. Miguel looks down at their hips and holds hers still.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes his length into her slowly. He grunts as he sheathes himself inside her warmth, reveling in her cries. “Shit, baby.” She’s tight and squeezing him so nicely, he can’t stop until he's inside of her fully.

She’s breathing heavily with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her back is arched lifting her naked chest into the air. “Look at me,” Miguel commands. She lifts her head up giving him what he wanted. Her eyes are filled with tears. It hurts, but feels so good. She missed him so much, and now they were one again.

Miguel whimpers at her beautiful face. “Hermosa,” he reaches out to her cheek to hold it. “Don’t cry.”

“But I love you,” she tells him.

He gasps. His hand lifts from her face. Freezing, he stares into her eyes in disbelief. “W-What?”

She takes his hand and brings it to her lips, leaving a gentle smooch. Her eyes close and the tears fall. “I love you, Miguel.”

His eyesight gets blurry as well, and soon Miguel is crying profusely. “Oh, baby,” he leans over her and pulls his hips backwards. Then he slams himself back down, making her yelp. She grabs his face and kisses him. “I love you too.”

As Miguel fucks her slowly, neither of them can find it in them to stay quiet. Miguel has to tell her how terribly in love with her he is. She has to let him know how much she missed him. He leans into her neck and whispers how he missed her too, and to stop crying because he’s here now. Even though, he can’t stop crying either.

She’s so happy to hear that he will never leave her side. She decides to believe him, accepting happiness instead of reality. She ignores his red eyes, his sharp fangs that press against her neck, as if he can barely hold himself back from biting her. She ignores how different the rumbling in his chest is from her Miguel. It’s not soft or sweet nor does it make her content. This one is predatory and dangerous, it makes her nervous.

She dismisses the way he grabs her neck; tight, leaving her with no air, whereas her Miguel knew that she didn’t like it rough. Honestly, neither did he. This Miguel went faster and harder. He grunted into her ear. But, she doesn't care.

She completely ignores how different this Miguel was. Her wishes were answered. She got him back. It doesn’t matter that his hold on her hip was so strong that he’s scratching her. That he didn’t stop or slow down when she came making her overstimulated. She let him cum inside her soon after, knowing that she wasn’t on anything.

“I miss you so fucking much,” she wailed when he slipped his dick out of her, his cum following suit and staining the bed beneath her.

Instead of getting a warm towel, Miguel laid down next to her and pulled her into his arms silencing her cries. “I told you baby, I’m right here.” But she doesn’t correct herself. She doesn’t calm down. She grips him for dear life and Miguel grows nervous.

Lyla was wrong…right?

“You know she will never love you the way she loved him. It will never be the same. Miguel...are you listening?”

“Lyla…shut down.”

ending a/n: Heyyyyy, did y'all like it? This will definitely not be my only Miguel fic but rn I don't really have any ideas for him. My brain is filled with thoughts of Hobie, and I need to stop neglecting my baby daddy Toji, lmao. So I'll be working on a real quick Hobie imagine and my AO3 stories as well for now. Unless I think of something else. I've been thinking about requests but I will fuck around and make a whole story from it cuz idk how to stop writing so damn much. Y'all I rly dk if I want to make another part to JFTN I rly like how it ended and I can't rly think about how I would continue it. Y'all might just have to deal idk girl. I love ya though! Anyway, I'll see y'all in the next story!🩵

AO3 version

My AO3

Masterlist

[jaemified]

I COULD NEVER LIE TO YOU.

“maybe i finally understood why you were the way you were. or maybe you just never tried to understand me.”

☆ pairing ; toxic bf lee chan x fem reader

☆ genre ; hurt, ANGST, no comfort, toxic relationship, y/n vents but she has no one, slightly suggestive content

☆ warnings ; swearing, drinking, implied substance abuse, mentions of cheating and sex, y/ns insecure af (and only cz he made her that way), chans a gaslight and manipulator but also very possessive !!

☆ wordcount ; 0.9k

☆ synopsis ; youve been struggling with a toxic relationship for years now, but you had no one to tell that to, or anyone thatd believe you at least. so while your boyfriend slips out for the night to god knows where, you use this time to write down and express everything youve bottled up all this time.

☆ kona speaks ! - i think its funny how i always start with swearing in cw when its not anywhere near the worst thing in the story LMAOAOAOA anyway sorry i havent uploaded in FOREVER.. college is so hard (+i love my new format! all my drafts from the past 2 months are written like this:))

!disclaimer!, this is a pure work of fiction and is not in any way related to chan and his personality! purely for entertainment purposes only, and for me to express some thoughts :)

READ BELOW THE CUT

OCTOBER 31, 2023

you had left me on my own yet again. its not like i had any true friends left to be with anyway, after you scared them all off, that is.

who knows where you couldve gone.

no, the real you.

my sweet, sweet channie i fell in love with all those years ago.

where could you have gone?

maybe i wasnt good enough, maybe i wasnt pretty enough.

or maybe you werent understanding enough.

i always thought it was me, but maybe it was you all this time.

i like to think back at when we were last happy, god. that mustve been ages ago, just about.

it was.. my 16th birthday?

-my 16th birthday-

it was.. the day we had to put my dog down. my puppy since i was young. i remember it all clearly now.

i was..

-i was..-

we, we were 17.

mmm, my dog was probably my best friend. the realest one in a while.

i remember how you were there for me, even took me to my favorite donut shop to distract me while you tried so hard to make me laugh.

it worked.

i wish you were still you when we were young.

my sweet channie.

where could you have gone?

i could care less about your whereabouts.

i could care less about how you told me i was lying and that you knew i loved you whenever i tried expressing how i felt about us now.

but maybe i just want to be loved again.

maybe i just want to feel something again.

and i know it cant be with you.

i remember the last time you brought me out we were at mingyus halloween party last year.

nobody could find you, so i went to look for you myself.

i noticed your location was still shared with me, and not any of your friends.

so i tracked you to our car.

-our-

i tracked you to your car.

(since nothing that was yours was mine anyway)

and there you were.

fucking some random girl in the backseat.

that was the last day i saw any of my friends.

you never let me out again.

“you cant go, youll just be in my way.” you said before you left for soonyoungs christmas party.

“you cant go, i cant bare to see you hurt again.” you told me before i was about to leave to my own birthday party planned by my friends.

“you cant go, youll just play victim in front of all my friends and cry about how i fucked another girl.” you told me before you left a few hours ago.

i never know with you. but, i know deep down you care.

somewhere.

its always how y/n cant go here, y/n cant do this. or, shes too busy, we have something planned, shes not home.

even in the way you always spoke over me i knew you were just trying to speak for me.

but what about you?

why cant i have a say in anything you do? why do i get everything taken from me? why did you scare off all my friends and even make your friends hate me too?

you always came home high or on something whenever a different girl each time, dropped you off after you came back from a different party.

i never missed the way theyd look at me.

as if you said something about me.

because you know i never forget the look on someones face

it wasnt till later when i found out from wonwoo that everything you did to me, you told those girls thats what i did to you.

i learned to be quiet though.

i learned to sit there and smile, and just take it.

there was nothing i could do though, theres nothing that couldve changed your actions.

i mean, i cant control you.

so why can you control me?

the channie i knew from when we were 20 wouldve consoled me and been there for me.

the channie i knew from when we were 15 wouldve just laughed about how mr seo accidentally buzzed his head in the boys locker room.

the channie i knew from when we first met in grade school wouldnt even have thought about doing half the things you do now.

so where did we go wrong?

i still think about that.

was it, when we hit puberty?

was it, when we moved out?

was it, when we graduated?

our first date?

the day i found out you cheated?

y/n scoffed as she looked at the giant brown teddy bear in the corner of the room that chan had won for her on their first date.

she let out an annoyed sigh, thinking back, looking back at whatever point in time that couldve even reflected a glimpse of this change in him.

it was too subtle, but too sudden, for her to even remember.

she took a sip of her ginger ale before picking up her pen and scribbling some more in her diary that only she had the key to.

who knows what he’d do if he saw all the things she said about him.

you really werent much help.

nevertheless, i still love you.

i really fucking love you.

i know you do too.

i know a part of you inside still cares for me.

i could even cry thinking about it.

yeah, i realize i dont get out much.

but you never hurt me.

physically, at least.

the emotional damage is beyond repair though.

but i know theres still a bit of the you from our youth left.

i see it in the way you look at me.

no matter how mad,

how upset,

how happy,

how sad you were,

whether you were high,

whether you were drunk,

even when we were younger too.

you always looked at me the same.

that softened gaze and warm eyes.

the eyes never change. the eyes dont lie.

i mean, you could deny it (which id only laugh if you tried), but your eyes tell.

maybe thats why im still holding on.

maybe im just waiting for the boy i first fell in love with to randomly come back.

the chances are slim.

but i still hope.

im holding on.

by a thread, at least.

not like you’d let me leave anyway.

i could say how theres still love left within us

probably, somewhere

but when was the last time we were genuinely happy?

what do you get out of this?

because it isnt happiness. it cant be. you wouldnt be here if you were.

we’re both miserable. i see it and feel it.

it’s like, im just here for you.

i can understand the pressure though.

everyone would ask “how did you make it through college?” “how did you make it through high school?”

they dont understand though. you kinda made me

-you kinda made me-

they dont understand though.

i mean,

maybe i finally understood why you were the way you were

or maybe you just never tried to understand me.

i could tell you all of these things.

but i couldnt.

because i could never ‘lie’ to you.

[miss-celestia13]

Good Girl

Jake x MC Smut One Shot

Words: 3.4k

A week apart. A clever little toy. Taunting Jake and refusing to back down means Manon is about to learn that playing with fire gets you burnt… in a very good way. Praise, denial of sex to make her beg, and a filthy dream that shatters her control. Shameless gratuitous smut!

It's been a while since I posted some explicit shit, and this was gathering dust in my drafts. Can be read on its own. You don't even have to know the fandom to read it. It's smut at its most indulgent and plotless self. I hope you enjoy it! It's a dual POV, switches from Jake to my MC and back again every so often, but I've tried to make it as clear as possible. Their names are bolded to show whose head you're in.

Manon: It’s a shame you have to work...

Jake: Why?

Manon: I was shopping earlier and bought something for us to play with.

Jake: …

Manon lay on her front on her massive hotel bed, legs crossed at the ankle and kicking up as his chat bubble told her he was typing and deleting repeatedly. It took another few minutes before he sent something else.

Jake: For us or for you?

Manon: Well, I was bored earlier, and it was definitely for me then, but I know you’ll figure it out when I come home.

Jake: Manon.

You should have waited for me.

Manon: You should know by now that waiting isn’t my strong suit.

Jake: How many times?

She considered lying, but part of her still thought he could read her filthy mind, and her thumbs moved before her mind could catch up.

Manon: Twice.

Jake: That’s it?

Pathetic.

A strangled laugh left her, she could hear his cocky tone, and already she wanted to go for round three. She decided to play a perilous game and prod at his need to claim, conquer, and own her in bed. Familiar heat made her muscles loose, and a hot flush crept up her neck to stain her cheeks pink.

Manon: There is plenty of time to make that number rise...

Jake: Do you want me to deny you, Manon? You didn’t like it last time.

Manon: I vividly remember enjoying the end results, though.

Jake: I see.

We’ll see how long you last this time.

Sleep well, Manon. ;-)

(Jake is offline)

Fuck. Her pulse flickered wildly in her neck as she stared at the screen and wished she could slap herself, turn back time, and not provoke him into another game of, “Let’s see how long Manon’s sanity can stretch before she snaps and begs.” Two days were her limit a few months back, and she hadn’t pushed him that far since. The safety of a luxury hotel and the temporary distance between them gave her a false sense of confidence, and she would be the loser if she couldn’t hold out. No. She refused to lose and wouldn’t see him for a week. It would be easy. A walk in the Godsdamned park. It would’ve been if Jake hadn’t shown up at her door the following morning and joined her for the rest of her stay. Her new plaything was soon confiscated, and her suffering began.

Five days. Five fucking days he slept naked beside her, joined her in the shower, touched, kissed, and grabbed her until she trembled and moaned, only to be released with a peck on the cheek and a sly smirk as he turned away. Her nerves were shot, a permanent tremor took up residence in her hands whenever he brushed past her or smiled her way, and she ran out of clean underwear two days ago, slick so often she had to change them multiple times just to get through the fucking day. He never let her out of his sight to ensure she couldn’t relieve the pressure building to an implosion inside her with her fingers. She was on a blade edge as she readied for another sleepless night.

Exhaustion dragged her down as she slid off her robe and clambered into bed, ignoring the smug look on Jake’s face as she put her back to him and slammed her eyes shut. She thought sleep was beyond the realm of possibility, but her body had been on high alert for days and demanded a break. She was asleep within minutes, barely cognizant of his gentle kiss on her temple as oblivion pulled her under. There was no respite from her constant simmering arousal inside her dreams. He was there, under her, on top of or lifting her up, and it changed each time she blinked and was so vibrant and real that she could feel the slip and slide of her essence on her inner thighs as he fucked her.

Unleashed and intent on making her crumble, she was helpless as dream Jake flipped her on her front and ordered her to get on her knees and hold on. Her shaking hands gripped the bedpost just as he slid inside her, every hard inch so familiar and real to her as she keened. Out of focus and constantly changing, she could only burn as the dream spun out of control. Seeing them from above, two souls twisted together on the bed, positions switching as she flung her head back and screamed. She flinched away from it and blinked, finding herself under him once more. Release was so close it was a coppery tang on her tongue as he urged her on. Ready to crest that peak, primed to detonate, relief and gratitude sinking through her…

She was unceremoniously dragged out of it and blinked stupidly at the dark ceiling as Jake jostled the bed and turned to face her.

 

She was soaked in sweat, her saturated cunt clenching in time with her furious heartbeat, and a moan trapped halfway up her throat as her thwarted orgasm winked out of existence. That was it. Her hormones had reached critical levels. She couldn’t take it anymore. Lust was a lead weight low in her belly. A swirling ache with its own pulse resided in her core, and she realized dimly that she was whimpering softly. She could take the edge off herself and hold off a little longer. The thought made her bottom lip tremble as sweat trickled down her face. She was soaked and unable to think or breathe through the violent arousal stealing her tongue. Sensing Jake watching her, she didn’t jump when his sleep-roughened voice rumbled too close for her jumpy nerves.

“Two words, Manon. Say them, and I’ll fuck the ache away.”

Oh, fuck, he never played fair. Her legs clamped together, and she was rubbing them slightly, seeking friction as his large hand wrapped around the back of her thigh. He’d feel how wet she was; it slid down her thighs to soak the sheets, and she knew he’d already noticed. She was proven right when his fingers crawled between her legs to delve into her slippery folds. Her whimper fast turned into a whine as he circled her entrance with the tip of his finger but didn’t penetrate her. It was cruel of him to tease her when she felt like an animal in heat. A creature of base instincts so devastating she feared she might die if he didn’t fuck her. The words were on the tip of her tongue, her mouth parted along with her thighs, and she was close to begging when he called her good girl.

She hated to lose. She would rather die than give in, but her body would not rest without his care and even if he allowed her to touch herself, it wouldn’t be enough. He was smirking, she could barely see him, but she knew he was as she loosed a quivering breath and his finger grazed her clit. No, she had no other option, and her mouth opened before she understood she was talking.

“You win. Please, I think I’ll go mad if you don’t fuck me.” She fully expected him to gloat, or laugh but he didn’t make a noise.

Suddenly, his mouth was on her neck, teeth scraping down the column as she jolted and let out a yelp that soon turned to a warbling moan as he slid two fingers inside her weeping cunt. The heel of his hand caught her clit as he moved it in and out, her fluttering inner walls holding his fingers tight. She could feel her sanity splintering and weakening as pleasure ignited like fire on gasoline. Jake murmured pure filth to urge her on.

“I need you relaxed, Manon. I can’t give you what you want until you come for me. I need to hear you. Then I’ll fuck the sense back into you.”

An unhinged laugh spilled out of her as her stomach tensed, the heat between her legs now an inferno as she ground herself into his hand. It was like sparking flint over dry brush. He coaxed her along, crooking and pulling his fingers, kissing her until she drank the air from his lungs. Besotted after all this time. She wondered how they’d be twenty years from then. Still obsessed with each other and deeply in love? She believed so, and as the first ripples of her release spread from her core, she knew she would always feel so utterly unglued around him. Everything in him was designed to pull her apart and put her back together. Her mouth opened, a dark wail and curse of his name as her body tensed and jerked with every pull of his hand between her thighs.

“There, let it take the edge off. You’re beautiful.”

Over time, Jake got even braver in the bedroom, and out of it, he was confident, a little cocky when needed, and completely aware of his effect on Manon. A few words, a couple twists of his wrist, and denying her for a short time, it was a recipe for heaven when she finally erupted. He’d hated every moment of denying her; he needed her touch as often as she needed his. All he had to do was think about her or catch a hint of her seductive scent, and he was rock hard, ready to taunt her body into unconsciousness. Oh, yes, he knew how strongly he could make her react. She was always extra touchy the following days after one of those animalistic nights. He tried not to use it too often, but she deserved that from him tonight. He knew if he fucked her right away, she would come too fast to savor it. She was a livewire under his influence; he only had to look at her over the last few days, and he could observe her struggle to keep the words that would end her torment trapped inside. Her quaking body flooded his hand with her essence, and he wanted to taste it more than he wanted to breathe.

“Jake,” she whispered as she took her first full breath since waking; he affirmed as he sucked his fingers clean and wordlessly told her to go on, “I need you. Now. “

“Do you want me to take care of you?” He needed her consent before physically committing to taking her control away.

Her soft, urgent whine made his smirk broaden as she said, “Yes. Don’t make me beg.”

He let go of a black chuckle, “You already are, Sweetheart.”

That was the trigger word, saved for these moments as its power over her was so explosive that she turned feral. His smirk transformed into a grin, and he caught her as she pounced and pushed him onto his back. Her tongue was in his mouth as his cock jumped against her ass, and she clawed his chest, sharp nails making him hiss into her mouth. He groaned and bucked his hips when he felt her drip onto his torso. His cock ached with the need to sink into her tight heat and feel her disintegrate around his length. She made a beast out of him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He never got bored of exploring her body and claiming new territory. He wrapped his hand around his cock and sighed as he applied pressure and stroked up and down a few times. Manon keened and found her voice.

“I’ve said the damn words, Jake. Stop playing.”

He didn’t respond; he let himself go and gripped her waist, flipping them so her hips cradled his and she was pinned. The heat pouring off her was scalding, and her skin was damp, salty, and musky as he inhaled slowly. His mouth watered as he stared into her lust-hazed eyes. She would let him do anything and trusted him so profoundly she readily handed him the reins. He didn’t take that for granted as he snapped his teeth at her plump bottom lip and stretched to reach under his pillow where he’d stashed the item that started all of this. He fumbled blindly until he felt the cool, smooth handle. It was a small clit sucking toy she mentioned once in passing, and he wanted to surprise her with it, but her impatient ass couldn’t wait. She already knew what he planned as she writhed under him and shook her head.

“Yes or no, Manon. You can stop me at any time. I’m doing this for you.” He rasped as she babbled.

Her voice never sounded, but she did nod.

“Will I keep going?” He double-checked, knowing he was being a little cruel.

“Yes! Fucking hell you are -” She sobbed as he impaled her on his thick cock and held her still, the insult she planned to spit at him forgotten as her eyes rolled back.

Her cunt held his cock in a taught clasp. A sensation of static flared under his skin as he made tiny shifts of his hips to open her up and stretch her to take him with force. Oh, her body would sing for him, primed to explode as it was. His small movements inside her turned into sharp darts of his cock that had her clinging to his shoulders. A sloppy kiss kept his own need to cum at bay as he experienced again how she melted like ice in July. He slid his hand up her thigh and paused at her knee, hiking her leg to change the angle enough to rub against that spot, making her wetness turn to a torrent of need. Still, he couldn’t make it too easy, when he felt the first pulse of her orgasm, he held her down with strength until the early flutters died out.

She was wound tighter than a reel of thread. One sudden move, and she would begin to unravel. Sobbing and distressed at being denied, she babbled “please” like a lifeline as he ignored his own lust and focused intently on her. He wished he could strap her down and drive her to the brink of insanity before giving into the want to hear her cry his name, but their restraints were back at home. She was too riled to wait for him to find something to tie her up. His sexual taunting earlier had affected her more than she wanted to admit, but he could feel it in the flood of essence drenching his cock and the raking of her nails down his skin. When she began trying to steal her pleasure, Jake pulled almost all the way out and slammed back into the hilt. Both moaned, and she was constantly making wordless noise like he’d made her forget English. He loved it and how powerful it made him feel. She liked to put on a show; her body kept him up all night more often than not, and he realized they never had been able to take things slow. Always fast, eternally burning, and all-consuming, it thrilled him.

“Use it now.” He ordered firmly, putting a good dose of authority into his tone, and she whimpered as she felt around the mattress for the toy. The quiet thrum when she turned it on seemed very loud as she worked it between their joined bodies to align it with her swollen clit. He knew she found the right setting when her inner walls clamped down on his length and tried to pull him impossibly deeper, her trembling making him shake as well.

He loved to overwhelm her. She was a force of nature in all she did and needed no one. Still, he knew she wanted him to take charge, to simply feel and not have to think for once. She always delighted in it once she let go of her pride and relinquished control, only doing so after she plucked away at his restraint to make him manhandle her. A distressed throaty whine made him smile as he taunted her with slow sensual plunges of his cock inside her flickering cunt. She was so wet, the toy was unrelenting in its efforts and her teeth were bared against the onslaught of sensations he could practically see moving through her. All he could smell was her sex and desire, a heady perfume he wanted her to wear every day. It took everything in him to ignore the tingling building low in his spine as she went rigid and arched into him, the sobs coming from her turning his lust into something sharp and dark.

“Now. Let go, or I’ll stop.” He clipped as he felt her tense and try to hold her orgasm off.

Her breath hitched as she turned the toy to a higher setting, and his thrusts became harsher to help her over the edge. He slammed into her again and again as her wail turned to a scream so ragged and raw he was proud of them both as she shattered. She attempted to move the toy away as her orgasm rolled through her, stealing his breath as her inner walls clenched around his cock, and he barked at her to stop.

“No, keep it there. One more time, you can do it.”

A helpless little sound trickled from Manon’s throat as her body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked her through it. All she knew was fire and desire so intense her mind struggled to comprehend what was happening to her. More brutal and rougher, he pounded into her and grinned down at her as she howled savagely and tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through her aching body. It was too much. Her second orgasm still pulsed in her core as she felt another rising to swallow her whole. Jake sobbed above her, bending her further back, and a bite of delicious pain heightened the frenzied energy running through her veins. She couldn’t take it. Her mind fractured into jagged lines and red light, thoughts scattered like ash in the wind as his clever tongue filled her ears with praise.

“Good girl. You’re almost there. Turn it up for me.”

No, no, she couldn’t, the sucking sensation sealed around her over-sensitive clit was sending her farther into madness, but her traitorous fingers did as told, slipping over the soaked handle to find the right button to turn it up. The pattern of it changed. Every snap of his hips and the insistent suction made her thrash her head as her body convulsed. It blended into her second release, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where she could only wail and wait for the darkness at the edges of her vision to take her. Her breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as hers as he urged her on, and she gave herself over to the wildfire consuming her body and soul. She disintegrated into a million pieces like a house of cards in a hurricane. It terrified her how hard it seized her. Like she was having a fit as her mind slowly winked out, and she heard his cry of victory. Her name yelled into the sex-heavy air as he collapsed on top of her still-flailing body and smothered the noise she was making with his mouth.

Jake kissed her until she stopped kissing back. Knew she was on her way to sleep before his mouth was on hers, and he needed to soothe her before she fully slipped into a doze. Male pride at her twitchy, barely conscious body made him smile as he pulled free of her of her cunt. Tender touches to sweep her hair away from her face and wipe the sweat from her brow made her mumble his name and smile. She would sleep like the dead before long, and he knew she’d wake him for another round before they faced the outside world, so he carefully disentangled himself to go clean up. He picked up the still buzzing toy off the bed, turned it off, and took it into the bathroom to wash it off. He was done within minutes and soon crawled back into bed.

The sheets were damp with sweat and her essence. Never had he witnessed her so needy and vulnerable. Usually, he didn’t stop her from getting herself off to tide her over until she was desperate enough to let him win. She had nowhere to hide from him this time, and he’d taken full advantage. No matter where they were or what they did, they always ended up here. He thought they’d slow down after all the time they’d lived together. But somehow, it only became more apparent that they were addicted to each other and the pleasure they gifted one another. He loved it. He couldn’t wipe his satisfied smile away as he dragged the sheet over them and settled down to sleep. His last thought was that he couldn’t wait for her to get her own back and take it out on him.

**************************

Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was good. And thank you for any comments or reblogs if you feel like doing that too! I appreciate it 🥰❤️

[wraenata]

You seem to put a lot of energy into being considerate of others. I'm thankful for it but like, how? I hope you're taking care of yourself.

Hi anon! Thank you very much, I really appreciate this.

I really like being considerate of others, in fact it makes me happy. When I see someone having a down day, I just want them to know that someone saw, and wants things to get better for them. Because that's how I really feel. I love all of you in my phone and I want you to be ok. And I like leaving nice tags for people on their art, because I know how much joy that can bring.

But, ugh, yeah. I'm not going to lie, it takes a lot of energy.

I think I'll put the rest under the cut...

Ever since the months started getting warmer this year I've been having more trouble keeping up with my dash (I'm someone who needs to scroll through the whole thing). Before the wedding I was in and covid about a month ago, I was able to just barely keep up with my dash and also scrolling the rise tag. Because I didn't want to miss anything! I also was able to scroll through ao3 to see what new fics were posted and bookmark ones I wanted to read! I...haven't been able to do that anymore...and I hate it.

I'm so far behind on reading fanfics that I absolutely enjoy because I just don't have the energy for reading anything longer than 1k at a time right now. And I can't start any new ones until I catch up on the old ones. There are so many writing posts I came across on my dash that are stuck in draft jail until I have time and energy to read them. And quite a few art posts that I came across when I just didn't have time.

I try hard to keep up with my dash at work but I only have so much (extremely generous) time to do that. I'm often speed running tags when I don't have a lot of time or energy. And sometimes I can't express just how much I love your art because of that low time or energy. And I hate putting posts in drafts cause it piles up and gives me anxiety. And when I come home its just, dash, all night.

I am eternally grateful for @/teainthesnow, she keeps all the tmnt tagged posts coming onto my dash so I can still see them (if you see this tea I am so appreciative of all the work you do for the fandom, you are an amazing person and I love you/platonic).

I've already unfollowed a few blogs, and I agonized over it, for like weeks, before doing it. But it hasn't been enough. If you noticed I unfollowed you in the past 2 months, please know that it was nothing personal and I hated that I had to do it. I miss seeing your posts and how your day is going. We are mutuals in my heart forever.

In fact I wish I could follow so many more blogs but I have had to stop myself for a while now. And it really fucking sucks. I've tried filtering a bunch of tags to make it easier too but it's not enough.

The fact of the matter is, I need to unfollow more blogs. And I hate to do it. I know I need to do it. I've known for a while now. I don't have the energy to keep up with it anymore, not after getting covid. I'm just so tired. All the time.

If you see that I unfollow you at some point, again, I love you and we are mutuals in my heart forever. All of my followers are my mutuals. My askbox and messages are always open. You can always tag me in posts (and oh my I'm just remembering all the of tag games I haven't had time to do) I just can't keep up with this anymore. I want to get back to reading fanfic and making the mountains of fanart I want to do for people.

I just, I love you all. But I'm so so tired. I really hope if anything comes out of this long ramble, its that I love you all. The rise fandom has given me so much and I want to return that love.

I'm sorry for the late response anon, and I'm sorry for turning your lovely ask into a bit of a vent. I've tried to put this off for as long as I could, but I just can't do it anymore.

I love you all though <3

[honkytonka]

Riddle Me Piss

“The project could have been finished hours, if not days ago, had I employed my own genius, but I graciously allowed you to toy around and perhaps gain even a modicum of skill. Yet, the headway you’ve made on my goals is inadequate, and the ineptitude of your technical ability is only eclipsed by your lack of respect. Should I look the other way as you disregard the terms of your employment in my workshop when you already contribute so little?” “If you want to trailblaze mediocrity, I’ll escort you to the door. I’m certain Dent or Cobblepot could use another mindless, incompetent goon. Otherwise, control yourself and just complete the task at hand.”

arkham!riddler x reader (gender neutral), omorashi, piss, honestly very little piss it's mostly them arguing, i just thought his rules in knight were INTERESTING, no use of y/n, 2.9k words, ao3 link if you wish

“At this rate, I should be done in under three hours!” You beamed up at your creation, and your creation returned the smile! Somewhat. It had been weeks you spent on this project in the notorious and infamously annoying Riddler’s workshop. The humanoid robot you’d been working to build so tirelessly was finally nearing completion, and you were giddy to see your project take form. Your boss would call it his project, but you had done the bulk of the work. He had drafted the schematics, but it was you hauling huge hunks of metal into the sewers! Running wires, oiling joints, nearly blowing your own eyebrows off when a controlled test explosion suddenly became uncontrollable, it was all you.

Despite it all, you could look back on the last few months fondly. While being employed by the Riddler wouldn’t be considered glamorous to most, you were ecstatic when he hired you as his assistant. Even if your job had mostly been transporting materials and cleaning up his sewer hideout the best you could. The robot that towered before you was, hopefully, your ticket to even more exciting opportunities. You didn’t just seek him out because you were desperate for work, but because you were desperate for work you actually cared about. You were also a little desperate for his approval, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

Today, the workshop was particularly lively, both of you working in the same space. The air buzzed with the electrical crackling coming from your station, and the banging and whirring of a myriad bunch of tools from his. You looked to Edward for an assessment of your remaining work, hoping he could peel himself away from his own mechanism he’d been pouring over for countless hours. With a bit of verbal prodding you captured his attention, and he gave your project a cursory glance, an absentminded thumbs up, and returned to his own task one table over. A little disappointed with his indifference, but grateful that he didn’t have a tirade on the quality of your craftsmanship this time, you grinned.

Leaning away from your masterpiece, you pulled one of your arms out of the robot’s chest cavity, groaning as you stretched your muscles and rolled your shoulder. You couldn’t remember when you last had your arm free, likely hours ago. With a hand hovering over an electrical switch on your workbench, you prepared to temporarily put the robot in stasis. “I’ll be right back.“

Suddenly Ed was a bit more invested. While still hunched over his own work, he replied, “Excuse me? If you disengage the power without the lines fully linked, this entire stage will have to be restarted from the beginning.”

“Then I’ll just restart this part from the beginning,“ you shrugged. “I’m the one working this ‘bot, anyway. I’ll handle it, even if it takes a little more time.”

“And what is so important that you would halt my project’s progress at such a crucial point?”

“I’ve…just gotta take a piss?” you nervously chuckled.

He heaved an irritated sigh. “I don’t have you employed here to retrace steps and redo completed work. Especially not for something so…unfortunately biological. Perhaps your miniscule mind couldn’t retain an entire ten rules.”

You remained silent, and unseen by your boss, you raised an eyebrow.

He continued, “I’ll remind you of the seventh. Your bathroom breaks are discretionary, and thus, at my discretion, I am deciding you can wait. Finish this task before you go attend to your personal affairs.” His voice was dripping with condescension, as it always did when he affirmed control over his workspace. Always, even over trivial matters.

You tried to hold in the flabbergasted look on your face. Did he think eating and sleeping were ‘personal affairs’, too? You thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that yes, he probably did. “That rule wasn’t a joke?”

Riddler furrowed his brow. “Not only do you fail to comprehend the brilliance of my actual jokes-“ he paused when he heard you quietly snicker, “but you misconstrue my simple work guidelines? No, I was obviously serious.” His tone told you he was serious now, too.

Taking a deep breath, you somewhat calmly stated, “Okay, but I’ve been elbow deep in wire management for the past seven hours, and I’d have to rework maybe twenty minutes of my time when I get back.” Your eyes darted over the lines you’d been working. Twenty minutes was underselling how much time it’d take, but there was no way you could wait another three hours to take a pee break.

“While your time is infinitely less valuable than mine,” he scoffed, finally turning to face you, “it isn’t completely worthless when you’re working my machine. I won’t have a moment of it wasted.”

“Ed-”

“Rule the first,” he chirped, “you are to refer to me as Riddler, The Riddler, or Mr. Nygma, sir.”

“Mr. Nygma. Sir,” you spat, losing your composure, “I get what you’re saying, but I’m seriously gonna piss my pants if I stay here too much longer.”

“How embarrassing that would be for you.” he tutted and turned back to his workbench. The sound of his clattering tools filled the space once more.

You stared daggers at the back of his stupid, greasy head, in disbelief that he would be so firm on a bathroom break rule, of all things. Was he holding himself to the same standard? He hadn’t left the room since you entered it hours ago, you supposed. The workshop was sweltering and he hardly drank water, so maybe he sweated it all out? You’d believe it from the state of his soaked wifebeater.

“Can I speak to HR?” you mused, hoping humor would soften him up.

“He’s preoccupied.”

And before you could squeeze in a retort, the whirring of a drill cut you off. With an audible, exasperated huff, you resumed your own work. For a little while longer, you could put off your break.

This was not the first time Edward had harped on your adherence to his rules, but it was certainly the most frustrating. Issues had arisen many times, especially in regard to his name, with each spiel about your insubordination ending in a self-aggrandizing speech about the importance of his chosen alias, ‘Riddler’. Yet, in the confines of his bunker under the city, his title felt overly formal and detached. It was alien, speaking of ‘the Riddler’ while he was in the very same room you stood. As with most of his rules, you tried to bend the first when you could help it. If you couldn’t, you stuck to ‘Mr. Nygma, sir’.

And Mr. Nygma was a curious case. The man behind the ‘Riddler’ moniker was just as egocentric and cooky as his public peacocking would lead you to believe. When you sought employment under his wing, you anticipated an eccentric inventor, a toned-down version of the act he put on with the Batman. On the contrary, he was even more eccentric behind closed doors, away from the scouring eyes of the public.

While you were still a smidge combative as he picked apart your skills and sought to debase your self esteem with every sentence he spoke, his antics were no longer surprising. If anything, they were a bit endearing. Navigating the minefield of his personality had become a fun challenge, for which you were up to the task. Perhaps too much so, as you genuinely chased after his good favor. There was a seed of hero worship somewhere within you that sprouted and flourished when his usual mockery turned to praise, however baseless or nonchalant.

But you couldn’t just put your damn urinary system on hold for him, he was being ridiculous. You were still a human being.

Another hour and a half of tinkering and toiling passed before you unceremoniously wrenched an arm out from the machinery, oil stains and dirt smearing your skin. You knew the longer you worked, the more you’d have to backtrack, and your need was growing urgent. It had just been too many hours. “I seriously can’t wait anymore, I’m leaving. I’ll be back in a few, and I’ll work extra fast to get caught back up to where I am now, okay? I promise.”

Once again answering without even turning to face you, he simply replied, “You exit the workshop right now and you will not be entering it again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?”

He overlooked your repeat violation of his first rule and shifted attention to your tone. “You should be thankful that someone so wholly superior is tolerating your nonsense at all.” As if he could sense the vitriol forming in your throat, he held a finger in the air to shush you. It worked.

“The project could have been finished hours, if not days ago, had I employed my own genius. I graciously allowed you to toy around and perhaps gain even a modicum of skill. Yet, the headway you’ve made on my goals is inadequate, and the ineptitude of your technical ability is only eclipsed by your lack of respect. Should I look the other way as you disregard the terms of your employment in my workshop when you already contribute so little?” “If you want to trailblaze mediocrity, I’ll escort you to the door. I’m certain Dent or Cobblepot could use another mindless, incompetent goon. Otherwise, control yourself and just complete the task at hand.”

Rage boiled under your skin and your face flushed, but the heat shifted from anger to embarrassment to genuine concern as you realized he was truly not budging. Either he assumed you were bluffing when you mentioned pissing your pants, or he didn’t give a damn of you did.

“Please,” you muttered. If he couldn’t be reasoned with, maybe he could be guilted.

Edward actually turned his head to cast you an unamused glance. “What?”

“You know what I’m asking,” you paused to collect yourself and push more of your pride down. “I’m begging you to let me go.”

“I don’t recall my instructions stating that begging would release you from your responsibilities, either,” he quipped.

“Listen, I’ll do what it takes to make it up to you, but please.”

“No,” his gaze met yours, unyielding. “And cease your needless pleading, the banter is growing tiresome.”

With his eyes on you, you tried to mitigate the venom of your countenance, poorly. If it weren’t for the hum of machines in the room, he would have even heard your teeth grinding. “Fine. If you want this to be a whole thing, I guess it will be.” Before a rebuttal could leave his throat, you held up a finger up to shush him, as he had done to you. It worked. “And if you want piss on your workroom floor, just know it’ll be your own damn fault.”

For an aching long and quiet moment, he studied you over his shoulder, his eyes hovering over your balled up fists and slightly shaking legs. His expression was unreadable, indifferent at best. His eyebrows knitted and hope welled in your chest as he seemed to seriously contemplate his next words, only to dash your hope against the rocks as the grimace on his face contorted into a thin, wry smile. “Rule the eighth: Accidents as a result of my strict enforcement of the seventh rule are to be considered your fault entirely.” Each word of his rule was enunciated with painful clarity, as if you had misunderstood them before. “You only have yourself to blame for the predicament you’ve put yourself in.”

“That’s ridiculous! And you can’t seriously expect me, or anyone to follow your bullshit rules, especially this one!” you snapped and yelled, your decorum gone. “This isn’t how you treat someone working for you! You’re unfair-“

“And you’re delusional if you think you can berate your intellectual better in this manner.” While his tone was sharp, his smug grin did not falter. “This is your final warning, otherwise forsake your project, your employment, and leave. Feel free to spend all the time you wish sitting in a restroom somewhere off my premises, messaging your moronic friends about how you lost another job.”

You practically snarled at him, but your frustration quickly deflated at the prospect of being fired. Pinprick tears formed as your emotions spilled over, and you squinted your eyes shut. “I can’t believe you,” you murmured. Without another word, you silently returned to your work. Thankfully after a quiet moment, Ed was once again enrapt in his own project, too.

Of course, it was impossible to get any more work done this way. While trying to look busy, you contemplated throwing your tools in his face and walking out. You wondered if he would really just let you leave, considering the liability you could pose as a free agent with knowledge on his base of operations. And with contempt for yourself, you daydreamed about your finished project, and the tiniest scrap of praise he would toss your way as reward. You stayed still, futilely attempting to push the pressure in your groin to the back of your mind.

When it couldn’t be postponed any longer, you leaned into the robot and faced away from Ed, pressing a burning cheek against the cool, clammy metal. The open cavity of your robot cradled your head as you buried your face inside, anything to hide.

A small sob threatened to rise from your chest, and to keep it at bay, you bit your lip with a force to bruise. Muffled, your slight noises could barely be heard above the ambient workshop noise. Yet his ears must have picked it up, as the sound of Ed’s tools quieted, and you heard his clothes rustle like he was repositioning. Like he was turning to face you. You could practically feel his eyes boring into your back.

There was absolutely no satisfaction in finally getting release. Mortified, you stood motionless as your undergarments became warmer and wetter, followed by the inseam of your shorts, and down your legs. Ammonia joined the other scents that hung in the workshop air, the motor oil and sweat and mildew. When a puddle formed around your shoes, you whimpered, but dared not move your feet. You dared not move anything.

You heard a snicker behind you. “Look at me, you sniveling fool.”

When you did finally open your eyes, you couldn’t turn to face him. On the surface you were a wreck. Tears stained your cheeks, and your bottom lip was quivering. Your chest rose and fell quickly, trying and failing to measure your breaths and stay level headed. You didn’t want to know what you looked like below the torso. Deep down you were even worse, with butterflies swirling in your stomach, and fire in your mind. That Ed had turned to see everything had you confused, unsetted, and absolutely in a tizzy. His undivided attention flustered you under normal circumstances, and your mixed feelings on this current mess now had you beside yourself.

“Are your ears just as defective as your bladder? I told you to look at me.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes still bleary. After blinking away the remaining tears, you could make out Edward looking down at you, arms crossed and face amused. “Well?”

“…well?” you repeated through gritted teeth.

He gestured to your lower half. “Are you going to apologize for mucking up my workshop floor with your appalling bodily fluids?”

You stared at him in disbelief for longer than was comfortable before finally mustering the courage for a comeback. “I-I don’t remember the rules saying I had to apologize.”

“As if your deficient memory of my rules could be trusted,” he sneered, his grin still unwavering. “Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated needing to outline a response to this issue. You’re in the presence of the Riddler, and you should know to mind your manners.”

You kept your lips pursed, shut tight.

He rolled his eyes. “New rule, the eleventh. You will promptly apologize to me in the event of any accidents caused by your negligence, and pay your dues for the consequences accordingly.”

“Sorry, I guess,” you lied through your teeth.

“Good, now go change into something else, and procure something to clean this while you’re at it.”

“Ed- I mean, Mr. Nygma,” you glanced at the robot’s internal wiring and back to him, “I’ll have to restart this stage if I put the project in stasis…?”

“Or,” he walked over and nudged you aside, checking for dry ground where he intended to step before positioning himself before the robot’s chest cavity, “you could simply close this circuit.” With deft hands he rearranged the tangled lines, routing and configuring them in a manner you would have never considered.

“I’ve witnessed you failing to find this solution the entire day. I anticipated that a higher pressure environment would spur the wheels in your head to finally start turning,” he chuckled. “Evidently not.” With a click, he put the robot into stasis and turned to face you with some approximation of a genuine smile.

Mouth agape, you stared at him, incredulous, before turning to shuffle out the room without another word. You had plenty to say to him, but it could all wait until you had dry bottoms.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The first song of spring (pt. 5 - EPILOGUE)

Elrond x reader

Fun fact: this was supposed to be a two-parter. 

*****

Elrond is in his study, writing a draft for the King’s newest speech; a pleasant flower-scented wind is flowing in, the early afternoon’s light spreading on his desk. He is so focused on the words his quill is carving on the parchment, muttering them under his breath as he writes, that when he hears knocking at the door he can’t help sighing: if he is interrupted while he works, then it is twice as hard to regain his concentration.

“Yes?” he answers, without lifting his gaze, and he vaguely hears the door opening and someone stepping in; but when he hears the visitor speaking, it is not the voice of one of the servants coming to relate a message, as he thought.

“May I come in, Elrond?” 

It is yours.

The quill falls from his hand, the ink staining the parchment; he looks at you, completely taken aback as he realizes that this time he cannot escape. 

“Princess” he greets you with a polite smile as he stands and bows low; you have seen each other less than an hour ago in your father’s study, so it is unlikely that you have come for some official matters “It is a pleasure. How may I help you?”

He is polite. Solicitous. Respectful. Everything a good herald should be, as you look at him, determined to put as much distance between you as he can, you wish you could hate him, or forget him... forget the love you have now realized you hold for him. 

“Elrond” you begin in the end, after a few seconds you have spent simply looking at him, and wondering how you could be so blind at your own feelings “Have I somehow offended you?”

“Of course not, princess...”

“Why are you calling me that?”

“Because... you are... the King’s daughter...”

“You know this is not what I mean!” you cry; your father taught you that a princess should never raise her voice, both because it is impolite and because she should be able to command respect simply with her presence, but this is not a council of war nor the drafting of a new law, and you only wish Elrond could put aside your title and remember what you used to be for each other. You have missed that, and him, so much... even though you know you could never be content with simply being his friend anymore “Since I have returned, you have avoided me like the plague; you don’t even talk to me, and you do your best to pretend we don’t even know each other. If it is not because you are crossed with me, then why? I thought we were... important for each other; I miss you, Elrond. I cannot order you to be my friend, and if you want, I’ll stop bothering you; I only ask you to explain yourself.” 

You have cornered him, he has no way to avoid that conversation as he has done a hundred times already in the last months... and looking at you, Elrond decides he doesn’t want to either. He feels guilty -he feels wretched- at the thought of all the times he has hurt you; how could he not think of how you would feel, deserted and left alone, kept at arm’s lenght as if you had committed some heinous crime? You have your father now, and the friends you have made and reconnected with, but he knew you care for him, and he should have suspected that keeping away, he would have wounded you.

You miss him; you have felt lonely without him. Elrond feels the most wretched creature alive, because that thought evokes in him a tiny frisson of happiness. Yes, he feels flattered... and dares he say, hopeful... but not so much that he forgets he has to beg for your forgiveness.

“I am sorry; please, believe me, it was not my intention to hurt you, and yes, of course I still want... to be your friend” he begins, finally stepping closer. You are so beautiful in the afternoon light, he thinks, so beautiful he feels his heart break “I wish nothing more than to be close to you.”

He is sincere, you only need to look at him to be sure; but then, why?, you wonder, more and more perplexed. You take your hands in his, and you feel him jump at the contact, but he does not refuse it, and your fingers interwine, istinctively, naturally, the movement as spontaneous and unforced as the feelings that now fill your hearts.

“Elrond” you whisper, and the emotion threatens to steal your words; you are so close you could hug him, so close you could even... “Please, be sincere with me, just as much as we have always been with each other. What is wrong?”

He sighs; he feels horrible,  but at the same time, it is like an enormous weight has just been lifted from his heart. “If I tried to stay away from you... it was to try to save myself from pain, and heartbreak” he reveals quietly; his hand is caressing yours, lovingly, devotedly, as his heart fills with an hope he attempts to quench, because the disappointment would crush him, but looking at your fair face, and at the affection in your eyes, it is hard to keep his heart guarded “I feared that now that you are back among the people who love you, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

You look at him, ashamed and embittered, and wonder how one so intelligent and wise could be so blind. “Oh, Elrond... I will always need you. No one will ever take your place in my heart, whatever happens. Even if you had not returned me to my father, even if you hadn’t been a light in the melanchonic years I spent in Khazad-Dum, nonetheless I know I would love you like I do now. How could you think I would be content without you? Have you not seen how unhappy I was in these past months, and how desperately I tried to go back to what we were before...?”

“We cannot.”

His tone is certain, confident, even curt -this from the kindest, sweetest person in Elvendom- as if Elrond wished to communicate a decision no one and nothing could influence. “We will never go back to what we were, at least on my part. Everything has changed; I will be your friend until the end of Arda, if you will have me, but you must know there is so much more that I desire.”

“Elrond...”

“It is you. My princess, my lady, my (name)... you are my desire, you are everything I need to be happy for the rest of my days. I have fallen in love with you, fully and desperately; in a sense, my heart has been yours ever since I met you, and this feeling I had never known before has grown every day since. I am in love with you, and I will always be, and I don't care if I am not worthy of you, I will always be your friend and your protector, as long as I live. I will never love anyone else, because how could anyone compare to you?"

Elrond sighs; he looks like a warrior who has withstood his strongest opponent and is simply relieved the battle is over, even though he doesn’t know yet whether he has won or lost. He looks at you, adorably blushing, scared and melanchonic but still full of love, waiting for your reaction; the problem is, you don’t have one, left speechless and even thoughtless by the revelation. 

Of all the things you could have imagined, of all the possible reasons for his coldness, you could have never guessed this. You have just realized what has been in your heart for so long, the reason for the pure, deep happiness you feel every time you see him and the sadness that has become your faithful companion since the two of you had become estranged, and you would have never dared to think he would feel the same, since for months now he has seemed unable to even look at you, but knowing it... makes you happy. Very happy, so happy you could cry and laugh at the same time, and you’re about to tell him that your feelings match his and you have loved him for so long without even knowing...

But...

“What does it mean that you are not worthy of me?” you wonder, but a moment later the answer to your question is clear in front of you, just like Elrond’s ashamed and distraught expression “No... don’t tell me...”

Your beloved’s smile is kind, sad, and patient; in a word, resigned, and it is an horrible expression to see on the face of someone who is in love. “I am sure your father would want a worthy husband for you, something better than an Half-Elf herald; I know I have not much to offer, and I would never ask you to... lower yourself to this; you are a princess...”

“Stop it! Stop it now!” you cry; you would never give him an order, even though as princess you have the right to, but you can’t stand hearing him talk like this... insulting himself, doubting of his value, claiming that he would not be an appropriate companion for you - for any Elleth in the world “Don’t talk like that! Don’t even think like that!”

“But it’s the truth. Princess... (name)... Meeting you, being your friend, and returning you to your father, has been the greatest joy of my life, and I will be content with it forever. This is enough, for me.”

Elrond's fair face is made even more beautiful by a smile which speaks of the purest love there is, a love given freely without hope of being reciprocated, or expressed openly. Seeing him like this breaks your heart, but after everything he has done for you, you don’t intend to lose him... rather, you want to spend the rest of your immortal life giving him back all the joy that his presence in your life has brought you.

“Is this really what you want?” you ask; you are still holding his hands in yours, fearing to see him slip away before you can express your own feelings “You want to be content? Not happy, next to the person you love and who loves you back with all her heart?”

“Princess...”

You have never felt so moved in your life; but the words, that usually would remain imprisoned in your mouth, pour out of your lips, frank and free and so sincere. “Stop calling me that; I am not, and I don’t want to be, a princess for you. I want to be your friend, your intended, your soulmate, and one day, if you want, your wife and the mother of your children. You have captured my heart ever since the day we met, and since then, my love for you has only grown. I don’t care about your kin, your role at court, or anything else; I only want you by my side. I want your heart, and I am ready to give you mine in return, forever.”

Elrond looks stunned; he has always known you care for him, you trust him and consider him a dear friend, but he never thought you would return his feelings, especially not with such intensity. He looks at you, ready to insist there are thousand of better potential husbands for you and that your father will never accept it... but seeing your expression, loving and determined, his words fail him, and a sweet hope fills his heart.

“I will talk to your father as soon as possible.” he states; his emotions are in turmoil, joy and love and excitation fighting in his heart, but he is calm, determined and clear-headed as he prepares for the most important conversation of his life “I will ask for your hand, and I will do my utmost to make him give us his blessing.”

“Otherwise, we will run away together.”

“No, my darling; we will not. You have been away from home long enough, and I will not steal away my bride from her home like a thief. I love you with all my heart, and you deserve an honourable marriage, in front of your people.“

He seems so sure you don’t even try to reason with him; you have no idea how your father will react, but you have faith in him, and in Elrond, and that everything will be all right.

“Now I will go to request an audience with the King; pray I find him in a good disposition” Elrond says with a sigh; but then he smiles, determined to conquer what for him is the greatest of prizes “I will come to you later.”

He kisses your hand, and is about to leave the room when you stop him taking his hand. “Wait. We are... we are each other’s intended now, are we not?” you ask; you feel yourself blushing, and Elrond has also gone pink in the face.

“I... I believe so.”

“Good. Then we could... I mean, could we...?”

You have never been so grateful no one has a reason to visit the herald’s study at this hour. You are stuttering, for the first time in your life, but as luck would have it, Elrond easily understand what you mean, and even more fortunately he agrees.

“I think we can. If you want, of course. We don’t have to, if you are not comfortable, we can wait as long as we...”

He is a gentleman, your Elrond, kind and respectful, but you don’t want to wait, not even for a second more, and that is the reason why you throw your arms around him and kiss him as if your life depended by it. Your intended -your lover, your beloved, your future husband; Eru, you have never been so happy, and you will never want for nothing as long as you can call him yours- is taken aback only for a second, and then he circles your waist with an arm and finally kisses you back, pouring in that kiss all the love, the adoration and the joy that your very presence evokes in him. 

In the end, a whole hour later, you both go speak to your father, who gives his blessing to your union; he doesn’t look surprised in the least by your revelation -but he is moved, a little bit; he is exceptionally good at disguising his feelings, but you know him well enough to understand he is happy, and approves, that you and his herald have chosen each other- and simply asks that you pospone the wedding so that a number of guests and allies from other kingdoms, including, I imagine, your Dwarven friends, can be invited. He doesn’t threaten Elrond with some terrible torture if he hurts you in some way; you both know he doesn’t need to, because your beloved is the kindest, most faithful and affectionate person in Middle-Earth, and will always take care of you and make you feel loved and valued.

In the end, your father kisses your forehead and then Elrond’s, symbolizing his acceptance of your intended as his new son. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world” he says, smiling as no one at court, except you, has ever seen him do; you and your intended, now holding hands, share a smile, knowing that complete happiness will be a given, as long as you remain together.

Tagging @starlady66, @grinkitty and @elvenenby. This chapter is dedicated to @eowyn7023​. 

[unknwnxquantity]

My mom loves this song too. I listen to songs sometimes in honor of my parents, whether they’d appreciate it or not. Sometimes I’ll tell them I’m listening to it in that given moment.

I told my mom today (this is a draft from like more than a month ago…. So I told my mom this over a month ago) I was listening to endless love and how I remember it’s her fav song and she’s like “yes!! And debarge a dream!!” Which is another song that reminds me of her when I was growing up, that we share together bc of how much the song reminds me of her.

When I worked at my job in the city, we’d be able to make music playlists and would have your playlist played maybe a few times a week for a couple hours. I put “A Dream” on one of mine. In honor of my mom. I did that with other songs too (that would fit the vibe of the store), that reminds me of my parents, siblings, gf, old friends, etc. to honor them and think of them at my job when the song came on. And hopefully it would impact customers and my coworkers positively. Put them onto the song, or give them a hit of nostalgia and memories, their own associations to those same songs I have my own associations with. Anyways… I remember my one coworker ima call her P bro she used to piss me off so bad. She’s like “what you know about debarge???” And I’m like “I have parents.” Omg and guess what like a week after, she put a debarge song on ONE OF HER PLAYLISTS (the song is I like it) AND EVERYONE WAS LIKE OOO OKAY P GOT TASTEEE. She used to challenge me and tried to step on my toes bc I was quiet and had high anxiety at first. Pushover vibes. I learned partly bc of her how to stand up for myself especially in work environments. Our interactions would act as mini pushes for me to step into my own energy. The desensitization of putting assertive words and phrases to life and or acting them, so I can then stand my ground to the rest of the world.. Libra sun cap moon like my mom, but Leo rising. I usually always have some sort of ego beef w a Leo rising or moon, like no I am the Leo SUN… yall need to calm down (even tho one could argue a Leo moon is more Leo than a Leo sun but that’s not the point).

My gf thought she liked me lowkey😭 I was like no p is for the guys real bad (she did like her feminine guys tho lol). Shes just one of those girls that if you weren’t her type of mold or if you weren’t a guy, she’d just push and test your buttons, to see what she could get away with. Passivity. Power struggles. Freaking ego trips. i stood my ground a couple times after a few months. Then she’d leave me alone but do little jabs here and there… to see what she could get away with. Testing. I hate that shit. Now I’m ready!!! To put ppl into their place!!! I’ll give them the stank faces I practiced making or correct them with my confident tone of voice. I will be disrespectful. I wish she met me how I am now. But whatever. We ended up having a surface level friendship, but underneath it all could barely stand each other. Couldn’t even really fake the conversations even tho we tried. Actually she fucked my cousins cousin, who also happened to work at that job at the same time as us! The cousin (who I wish I was who I mentioned in one of my early posts… like in a looking-up-to kind of way) and then the cousins cousin who was exposed to nyc life in ways I wish I was…Meeting and working with celebs in nyc area all his life basically. Super exposed to streetwear and sneaker culture at its peak. And what’s funnier is all three of us have Scorpio moons (I think my cousin does, he’s a scorpio sun for sure, either Libra or Scorpio moon when I did his birth chart). And I had “beef” with the cousins cousin in our preteens, bc he got closer to my cousin and I was jealous bc they’re both boys and I was a girl and lived a state away…How funny is that. How funny is life.

[ofstarsandskies]

OutOfCanonShips;; Huzzah, the Modern AU drabble I put off for actually 8 years is finished! Feelsgoodman. Now to catch up on drafts now that I'm free of this beast I set out to finish. Didn't help I lost progress about 5 separate times, including an hour ago. Cross-posted onto AO3 as usual. Enjoy!

Content Warning (cw): Victor/Ludger centric (though in the AU, they're not related), also maybe Victor/Julius if you're feeling spicy.

"Ludger, I'm home!" Elle's sunny cheer lasted just that sentence once she had a look at him. "You're wearing that shirt again? You had it on yesterday!"

"D-Did I? Um, white's just my favorite color is all!" Ludger side-stepped the issue, something his audience didn't appreciate. But telling her 'your dad will kill me if I try to leave the house' would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

His master (awful as it is to remind himself…) told him Day 1: 'Your entire life now depends on pleasing me', after all…

"…Whatever," Elle brushed past him, taking her usual seat at the kitchen table and dumping her book bag.

He understood her critique, really. He wished more than her he could do something about it, too. But until Victor sent orders to deliver him a fresh batch of clothes, he had to make due with the table scraps his master fed him.

It still beat the first few days of swapping between pajamas Victor lent him and his street clothes from when Victor’s men kidnapped him. Every morning, he'd do a small load of laundry every night before bed, throw his normal clothes in, and wake up a bit before both Victor and Elle to start their day in proper attire.

Only sometime later on a random afternoon did a bodyguard drop off enough dress shirts, dress pants, and neckties to last about a week. While not as nice as a full closet, having some variety let him pretend he reclaimed a tiny piece of a normal life. So, with a little mix-and-matching, he at least looked a bit different every day for his going-on two months of captivity.

A couple weeks using this system though, Elle made it clear she found this ‘habit’ weird. She’d ask every now and then if he liked wearing the same seven outfits, which Ludger’d segue into any other topic to avoid answering any questions which could hint at his… situation. It worked for a while, but Elle was bright for her age; his diversion tactics wouldn’t fool her forever.

Fast forward to today's instance of complaining at his lacking wardrobe. She didn't buy the 'its a favorite' line given her low grumble and dirty look, but least she dropped it to focus on her homework: a reading passage with a vocabulary list which felt way more advanced than what he remembered learning in class. The woes (or perks?) of attending a fancy private school maybe?

Halfway into her vocabulary work, Elle set down her pencil. He readied some encouragement, though not before she hit him with a difficult question, “Why don’t you buy new clothes, Ludger? Daddy and I have a whole closet, but you wear the same stuff every week!”

“Well, I…” Ludger fiddled with his tie, trying to whisk up a decent excuse. “I-I don’t have the time! Between cleaning the house, watching you, cooking meals, and taking care of what your father asks me to do, my only free time’s when I’m sleeping. Why, I wouldn’t even have spare clothes if your father’s men hadn’t dropped some off for me during work!”

Sadly, that answer wasn’t enough, “You should ask Daddy to let you take a day off to go shopping!”

“I-I can’t do that. If I’m gone, who’s going to take care of you?”

“Then I’ll go too! I’ll make sure to pick out something less lame and dorky for you!”

“I-I…” Ludger’s grave kept digging with no lifeline to save him. Unless Victor came home early, there was still another hour before the man got off work. He couldn’t be honest--Victor’s orders always ended with a ‘or you will die’--and he’d exhausted every excuse in the book. So…

“Um… ask your father about it when he comes home! If he says yes, then I’m sure it’s fine. But if he says you can’t go, there’s nothing I can do.” He’d probably get yelled at for pushing this predicament on Victor’s shoulders, but better yelled at then dead.

Elle pouted for a moment, waiting for him to change answers. A silent stare down followed for minutes, though eventually she picked her pencil back up and continued where they left off.

“Fiiiiiiine. But if Daddy says yes, you better not make more excuses not to go!”

That garnered a light chuckle, “I’m already looking forward to it. Maybe you’ll find my fashion sense better than your father’s.”

“Anything’s better than what Daddy gets. He always picks boring work stuff.”

Elle had a point, the most dressed down Ludger had even seen his boss still left him in business casual. That dress philosophy carried to Ludger’s current line-up: nothing but dress shirts, dress pants, and a proper suit for when Victor brought over special guests. It wasn’t too dissimilar to his usual look, but what Ludger wouldn’t give to wear a plain old t-shirt again…

“I’ll be sure not to pick anything boring. Blade Union’s got some cool shirts that look ‘worky’ enough to make your father happy.”

“Eh, who cares if it makes Daddy happy,” Elle said, flicking away the thought. “This is your shopping trip. We’re picking what WE think looks good on you, and he’s gotta deal with it.”

“Heh, okay, we’ll make him just watch the whole time.”

“As he should!”

With the two in agreement, Ludger left the table to check the fridge. There was just enough rose petal jam to make crepes; he’d use tonight’s dessert as his way to show his appreciation beyond a simple ‘thank you’. Ludger could already imagine the bright smile on her face once she took a bite.

If I start them now, they should be done by the time Victor’s home… Ludger thought as he reached over for the large mixing bowl.

--- --- ---

Right as Ludger handed Elle her plate, the front lock clicked open. Ludger followed his usual procedure and waited near the door. Once Victor stepped in, he bowed. “Welcome home, sir!” He greeted, reaching to remove his boss’ coat and hang it on the coat rack. “I made rose jam crepes for Elle just a moment ago. I set aside a few if you’d like some.”

“Maybe later,” Victor dismissed the offer, heading straight to the kitchen table to check on Elle. “How was school today, Elle?”

“It was fine,” Elle replied. “Daddy, can I ask you something?” Once her father nodded, she didn’t mince words, “Can you take me and Ludger clothes shopping tomorrow? Ludger needs new ones!”

Victor's perfect composure briefly cracked at the question, “What’s wrong with the clothes he has now?”

“He wears the same dorky stuff every day! And when I said he should buy new clothes, Ludger said no cuz he’s too busy watching me! So I promised I’d take him shopping and find him something good to wear!”

Victor didn't answer Elle right away, his face unreadable as he stared through his daughter. When he finally responded, he stood up from his chair, “Let me talk to Ludger about it.”

Ludger instantly regretted ever suggesting Elle should ask Victor once he meets his boss’ gaze. He knew he messed up whenever he saw that look-- this wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation. Alas, Ludger could no nothing but follow Victor into his bedroom and watch him lock the door behind them.

“Were you the one to suggest Elle take you out shopping?”

“N-No, I--!” Ludger’s desperate response almost cut Victor off. “Elle asked me why I don’t buy more clothes, and I told her I’m just too busy. But when she insisted, I said to ask you when you came home.” With that, he took a breath to calm down and bowed, “I apologize for not handling the matter myself, sir.”

The angry look Ludger feared was gone, but his nerves couldn’t settle with the silence replacing it. Did he do the right this? Was Victor satisfied or is his boss deciding how to punish him? Should he lament losing his one chance to experience normalcy after so long?

“Ludger,” Victor’s hand touching his cheek made his whole body flinch. His boss paid it no mind and continued, “Can I trust you won’t use this as an opportunity to run away?”

“You can, sir. I won’t leave yours or Elle’s sides for one second.”

Victor withdrew his hand. “Alright. I have one condition,” Off his boss went into his walk-in closet. A baseball cap that's collected a fair bit of dust and a pair of thick sunglasses were in his hands upon his return. “Be sure to wear these while we’re out. I’d hate for my pretty manservant to catch the wrong set of eyes.”

“Um… I’ll be sure to remember them, sir.” Ludger couldn’t tell if Victor meant his remark entirely in jest; he loved his empty innuendos. Nonetheless, he'd revel in the opportunity to feel the sun on his skin from beyond an open window. A few conditions wouldn't dampen his future good time.

Talk over, Victor opened the door and let Ludger out first to break the news to Elle. As expected, she tore through half her crepes already. The second she spotted him, she spun around in her chair.

"Did Daddy say yes?"

“He did, so don’t stay up late tonight. We’ll want to head out in the morning to avoid the afternoon crowds.”

“I won’t! But you gotta go to bed early too, Ludger! We’re not leaving till you got a closet as big as mine!”

While a heartwarming sentiment, it brought up an excellent point… where would he put his new clothes? Ludger didn’t have his own space-- his things sat on a single shelf in the corner of Victor’s closet. It’d fit another two outfits at best, but any more… he'd need way more space.

Checking Victor's expression, he didn’t object, so… maybe he graduated from ‘tiny clothes pile’ to hangers! Or at least a second shelf. Whatever saved him from restacking the same tiny pile every few days.

“I promise I won’t stay up any later than work asks me to,” Ludger wished he could offer a less half-baked promise, but those decisions weren’t up to him anymore.

Elle got the hint and assaults Victor with her best puppy-dog eyes, “Daddy, can Ludger have a break tonight, pleaaase? He can finish his chores tomorrow, can't he?”

Not even a stone cold criminal could resist Elle’s cuteness, “Alright, I’ll let him take tonight off after dinner.”

"Yay, thanks Daddy!"

With that, Elle's eyes fell on him as she held her hand up. Ludger nodded to show he's listening, assuming she forgot they weren't in class. When she cleared her throat without taking it down though, the gears clicked and he gave her a proper high five.

I'm really not used to having friends anymore, am I?

"What's on the menu tonight, Ludger?" Victor asked the important question.

"I'm thinking an old favorite of mine, mabo curry. My caretaker loved theirs with extra tomatoes, but I can cook a tomato-free version too."

Elle stuck out in disgust, "Ew, who'd ever want extra tomatoes?! Tomatoes are grosser than broccoli, celery, and spinach combined!"

"Tomatoes aren't that bad," Ludger'd argue the former three were tasty too, but all kids had their 'vegetables suck' phase. "Though I'll admit, the extra tomato version's something only my b--caretaker could love."

Hopefully Victor didn't read into that brief slip. Keeping Julius nondescript as possible might already be in vain, but if this ritual had the slightest chance of protecting his brother? He'd do anything.

"Sounds good," Good, no further question. "Cook three tomato-free mabo curries."

"Yes, sir!"

Despite the command, Ludger's hand subconsciously drifted to the beautiful organic tomatoes his brother'd kill to eat raw. Old habits die hard no matter how long, huh?

I hope you're still eating your favorites with a smile, Brother. Ludger prays somehow, his thoughts reach Julius as he grabs the pork instead. I miss you.

--- --- ---

"You're retiring to bed already?"

Sorting through documents since dinner, Victor didn't notice Ludger already changed into pajamas. A shame, really-- Ludger's slimmer build caused the collar to drift far down enough to bare a flawless pale shoulder. He'd willingly change that if Ludger grew more receptive to his advances.

"I promised Elle I wouldn't stay up past work, remember?" Ludger's bold almost caught him off-guard. His pet always spoke to him in his proper place. What changed? "But if you need something, I'm at your service, sir!"

"I should be content for the evening," An unknown entity within him guided his hand to gently stroke Ludger's soft hair. "Goodnight, Ludger."

"Goodnight, sir!"

Ludger snuggled into his spot on Victor's bed and fell asleep in minutes. A stark contrast to his first weeks here of pretending he wasn't awake and waiting until Victor fall asleep first, then waking up long before him to start his morning ritual. Assurances his orders weren't a ploy to murder him or steal his virtue while he slept went ignored.

Though Victor saw through the ruse, he found no need to stop it; observing if Ludger's acting skills improved from the previous night amused him enough. His act never reached anywhere near convincing, not helped by Victor's teasing him on occasion.

Rolling closer or reaching over to smooth a few locks of Ludger's hair back always made him flinch or suck in an extra breath. And when that got boring, Victor pushed Ludger's limits by asking his pet to huddle real close so he could hold him.

Ludger couldn't look him in the eye for longer than a second that whole night. Honestly, how someone Ludger's age could be so innocent and satisfying to tease is a marvel. The caretaker Ludger loved mentioning must've worked a full-time job warding off the disgusting realities of this world.

Whatever devilry they worked, watching his pretty manservant blissfully snore away stirred an odd feeling in him. Something close to how he once felt looking at his late wife, yet not as strong.

…Hmph. Best he not think that through. Once Victor "trusted" Ludger enough to keep this mess a secret, he'd be out the door.

Unless... For whatever reason, Ludger chose to stay. Elle would like that. She ignored the maids Victor fired in the past, but Ludger? Today proved how much she adored his company.

Come to think of it, Elle's never been this happy since Lara passed away. What am I lacking compared to Ludger?

Though he phrased it like a question, Victor knew the answer: he lost his humanity.

Bisley's molding reduced the people around him into pawns in his grand designs, be it in official Spirius business or his orders as the Kresnik Syndicate's boss. Dead bodies were also an inconvenience to clean up, not a precious life lost.

He and everyone who worked for his syndicate knew and accepted their world ruined lives. Hell, some reveled in the destruction and despair their work caused. Victor certainly did, though whether those feelings were by his own volition or Bisley's grooming, he couldn't say.

Though there were times he wished his humanity came back. Caring for Elle without Lara's guidance was more an actor following the script of a loving parent than the genuine gestures from a normal, loving father. He knew he loved her--he'd burn the world down in her name--yet what he called love would never be the same as Elle's or Ludger's.

Alas, regaining humanity after staining your hands time and again is a feat nobody in this rotten world achieved.

--except, perhaps, one individual. His company's former right hand.

Why can't I escape you, Julius?

Julius Will Kresnik, the man his father once called his greatest asset and deadliest weapon. Spirius employees and Kresnik members alike would've sacrificed everything in his name back in his prime. Rivals also feared his wrath should they step on the Kresnik's toes.

And yet, when the power to control Elympios itself as Bakur's successor lay in his hands? He threw it away.

"I'm humbled by your offer. However, I have more important matters to attend to right now. I wish you good luck, Mr. Kresnik," were the last words Julius ever said to him. That 'important matter' he'd attended to? Vanishing from Spirius and the Kresniks without a trace.

The sole lead (assuming it's even related) in Julius' disappearance was members of the Cyber Attack Unit reported "the kid" stopped showing up days after. Records of his or her existence were purged by the time anyone noticed; perhaps "the kid" worked with Julius to plug any physical and digital holes their mutual desertion attempt left behind. It mattered not-- fodder like him or her die off every so often.

What did matter is in the end? Julius' plan worked. By the time Victor cemented himself as Spirius' CEO and the Kresnik Syndicate's Boss, tracking Julius down meant dedicating time and manpower towards a wild goose chase that could last years.

Crown's best work, all in service of running away.

Eight years later, Victor still never pieced together what possessed Julius to so thoroughly bury his past. Bakur wouldn't have called Julius his most loyal if doubt ever clouded him; what could've broken such a resilient tool? So many questions left rotting for eternity.

If Julius wanted to pretend those thirteen years never happened? As long as he didn't snitch, fine. Not what Victor wanted, but fine.

Perhaps after his fantasy lost its luster, he might come to his senses. Victor's men made that wish no secret; those in higher positions couldn't escape Crown comparisons. Complaints under breaths about how there wouldn't be any issues if Crown were in charge persisted as well.

Julius' departure lay far behind them, and yet his influence hadn't faded one bit.

How shameful. A boss of my esteem, reduced to wishes I'd see a spineless deserter again…

Should Victor ever uncover the rock Julius crawled under, he wanted a thousand and one things from him. His undying loyalty, his extensive skills, his limitless connections, his prestigious history… everything he could want in a tool, Julius could provide. Yet what he wanted most, after seeing the warmth and joy he couldn't emulate from his beloved daughter and pet, was to ask him two questions.

Julius, how did you rekindle your humanity? Victor mused as he pet the boy who almost shared his name. Or did you never lose it?

Ludger continued sleeping soundly, his faint snores somehow soothing Victor's thoughts as he drifted off into slumber.

[loverlylight]

Hey, on for a bit. Got some more writing done, about halfway through the summary I wrote and at about 3500 words. It's a very rough draft, since on top of everything else that's rusty for writing, I'll need to do some spell checking and remember how one shows and not tells. Putting the rough draft before the summary, though, just... because. It's a "what if Duke Keane and Uncle Wiley met", since I'm not having much luck finding stuff about the two of them thus far. My draft ends before the stuff I think is particularly interesting, like Wiley talking about Miss Holloway and why he sought out Duke so this is a lot of setup+Wiley being creepy+Duke trying to figure out who this guy is and what's going on.

Also, for story reasons Wiley hasn't told Duke his name yet, and since Duke is the POV character in this part there is a lot of referring to Uncle Wiley as "the man". And occasionally "the stranger".

Duke Keane wished he could enjoy his drive home, really.

He enjoyed nature well enough, and liked being around trees, but something about the Witchwood forest always left him feeling slightly uneasy. Especially at this time of year, when the name seemed especially apt. While a few sparse leaves clung on, almost all of the trees surrounding the road were bare, pointing spindly digits towards the heavens. A few amber rays lingered on the horizon, but nighttime was coming, and it was coming fast. The eerie feeling was only amplified by how empty the road was; Duke knew from experience this route was all but abandoned this late in the evening.

But Duke had chosen loneliness over dealing with the traffic and extra miles of road to get home if he had driven into the city proper, and he'd just have to live with that. Duke reached over to where his phone lay on the passenger seat and turned up the volume on his makeshift radio, hoping the upbeat 80's pop songs would help him feel a bit more settled. He had finally gotten the car radio fixed over the summer, back when he had to take his (station wagon?) in and out of the shop for a few weeks, but even if his car had been running smoothly for months trying to use the radio right now was pointless. Any type of connection was shaky out here-- radio, internet, cell service-- but hey, that's what downloading songs are for, Duke reasoned.

Duke usually wasn't out this late, but he had to stay a few extra hours to make sure everything was all right with one of his kids before he'd felt right about heading home. Being a social worker was... difficult, to say the least. Perhaps especially in Hatchetfield, but Duke couldn't say for sure. He wouldn't give it up for anything, though. Duke knew firsthand how difficult life could be for a child without anyone they could truly depend on. His own father passed away when Duke was barely a teenager, and despite people's efforts he ended up falling through the cracks of a failing system. And even so, Duke knew there were children who had things far worse than he did.

So, Duke grew up, got his qualifications, and became a social worker. He held no illusions that he could fix things completely, but he had to try. He had to do the best he could, even if some times, many times, it wouldn't be enough. Just having someone there, someone who tries to help, can be a blessing, but the kids in Hatchfield would often contend with... unusual things. Things Duke could barely work out the logic of sometimes. Things that would occasionally get Duke wondering if all the creepy urban legends that spread across the town had a hint of truth to them. Legends about witches, cults, axe-weilding murderers, even stories of a more strictly supernatural (bent). Duke grew past any serious belief in those a long time ago, but still, sometimes he wondered. Regardless of the cause, some of the kids he worked with were dealing with things outside his scope, and he'd be at a loss for how to help. All he could do in those situations was offer any scant help he could provide and wish desperately that he knew someone who could actually provide the answers those kids needed.

Duke was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of engine sputtering.

"Shit." Duke muttered under his breath, manuvering the (type of car) onto the sliver of (edge of the road) before it died completely. So much for her being back to functioning reliably. Duke grabbed a pocket flashlight from the (well between seats) and hopped out of the car, quickly closing the door behind him. He wrapped his jacket a bit tighter with one hand, bracing himself against the late twilight chill. This was not ideal, to say the least. He did not want to be stuck here all evening, or to have to walk for miles down the road until he was able to get a signal and call for a tow. There wasn't anyone waiting for him at home, either, so he couldn't count on his absense being noticed.

Duke popped the hood of his car, squinting as he ran the dim light of his flashlight over the engine. For a moment he contemplated grabbing his phone to use as a light instead, but since he didn't really know what he was looking for he didn't want to eat up the remaining battery. Sure, Duke wasn't completely clueless when it came to cars, but just because he could change the oil and jumpstart the battery it didn't mean he'd be able to tell the cause of the trouble if it wasn't blatantly obvious.

Which, of course, it wasn't.

Duke let out a sharp huff and tried looking over the engine once more, trying to will himself to know how to fix this. Wishful thinking wasn't doing him much good, however, and Duke was about to admit defeat when he heard a sharp drawl ring out from behind him.

"Car trouble?"

Duke whirled around, startled, and his flashlight landed on a tall man in an all-demin ensemble, who couldn't have been more than five feet behind him. Duke's eyes darted around the area, baffled. Putting aside how the man was able to get so close without him noticing, where had he even come from? He would have noticed if there had been another car on the road, and there wasn't really a (space) to walk along the road either. He knew there were a few folks who lived in the Witchwood, but he was fairly certain there weren't any inhabitants nearby.

The man remained standing there, head cocked ever-so-slightly, hint of a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, and he stared silently at Duke with an odd intensity Duke couldn't really account for. The two remained frozen in silence for a few more seconds, before Duke gave the stranger a weak smile. This man was giving him the creeps, but no matter where he came from or why he was here, he might be Duke's only hope for avoiding a cold night stranded in the woods.

"Heya," Duke put as much charm and cheer in his voice as he could muster, "didn't hear you come up. I don't want to bother you, but are you any good with cars? Mine seems to have decided she was done for the day."

The strange man remained staring intently at Duke, who quashed the urge to squirm. He knew better than to judge someone off of a decidedly unsettling first impression, and if he alienated the man the likelihood of someone else showing up was slim to nil. Duke may be internally working out what to do if the man turned out to be dangerous, but hey, benefit of the doubt, right?

After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, the man shrugged.

"Let me see what I can do."

Duke took a few steps back and gave a nod of appreciation, handing over his flashlight without a word as the man strode forward. He fiddled with the cuff of his jacket nervously as the stranger rested his hand on the front of his car and stared down at the engine for a short while, not looking for anything in particular as far as Duke could tell. Then, to Duke's surprise, the man lowered the hood and turned back to face him.

"Should be able to get it running now. Do you think you could give me a lift?"

At that, the tension in Duke's body releases, and he allows a brighter smile to grace his features. This man must have been stranded here too, that would explain things! If he had been trying to find his own way out of the woods that could by why he was acting off, and it was just Duke's heightened nerves from his car breaking down that made him paranoid. Maybe this man's car broke down further up the road, maybe he was a hiker who lost track of time, Duke didn't really care. But this seemed to be man who was also in need of help, and if Duke could he would be happy to provide it.

"Of course I can, provided I can get her started! Where you heading to?"

Duke didn't know how it happened, honestly. One minute the stranger was standing by the hood of the car, and the next he was all but pinning Duke against the side of the car. The flashlight had dropped from his hand, and from it's light Duke could see it had been replaced in the man's hand with a pitch-black knife.

"Actually," the man said casually, raising the knife to make sure Duke could see it, "why don't you just give me the keys?"

Duke slowly raises his arms, trying to placate the man. He doesn't seem to be particularly angry or close to violence, but that knife is far too close to his face for comfort. So, this isn't a hitchhiking situation after all, it's a carjacking. This isn't something Duke's dealt with before, but having to defuse volatile situations comes with the job, and he knows better than to risk his life over this.

"Okay, that's fine," Duke keeps his voice steady and slow, but never moves his eyes from the other man, "I'm just going to grab my phone so I can find some other way home, all right?"

The man chuckles, and Duke does not like the sound of that one bit.

"Oh, no no no. You're coming with me."

The breath catches in Duke's throat and he can feel the color drain from his face. He had been able to keep calm for the most part until now but he felt his heart start to race as actual fear started to settle in. This couldn't be happening. Was he really getting abducted right now?

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but closed it again after he knew nothing was coming to him. His eyes darted wildly around his surrounding, trying to think of something, anything that he could do to get out of this. But he has no weapon, nowhere to run, and the look in the stranger's eyes tells him he won't be reasoned out of this either. The man stepped closer, closing the remaining ground and looked directly into Duke's eyes.

"Now, you're not going to make me ask a second time, are you?"

Duke gulps inaudibly as the man idly taps the tip on his blade against Duke's chest, just below the collarbone. He was in way, way over his head.

After a few tense moments, Duke lets out a shaky breath.

"No, I... won't."

Duke reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out his keys, and drop them into the man's waiting palm. The man immediately breaks into a wide unsettling grin, and Duke cringes back against the car door.

"Smart move," the man says glibly, tapping his blade against Duke's cheek in a show of faux affection. He backs away slightly, and gestures with the knife to the other side of the car. The two walk slowly to the passenger side door, knife always menacingly close to Duke. The stranger opened the door, grabbed Duke's phone off the seat, and gestures with his head for Duke to enter. Duke slowly sits down, gaze flicking between the strangers face and his knife, trying to gauge if things have reached the point where trying to make a break for it and getting lost in the Witchwoods was a safer bet. Before he can, however, the doors are locked and his abductor is in the drivers seat, turning the key and starting the car without a hitch. It's too late to try and run now.

"Where are we going?" Duke asks quietly, trying to gather any type of information to give him some type of advantage.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," the stranger says with a smile, gazing out into the tangled growth of trees beside them. He then looks Duke in the eyes once more.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Duke."

Before the gravity of what the man said had time to sink in, they were plunging off of the road and into the depths of the Witchwood.

-scene break-

Duke doesn't know how long he's been there, sitting shotgun as his abductor drove them through the woods.

Any remnant of day has long since died, and the only thing to break the endless blackness were the headlights shining straight ahead. The dashboard clock read 12:00 and hasn't moved, even though Duke knows, he knows it's been more over a minute. The route the stranger is taking them is convoluted, Duke tried to keep track in the hopes of eventual escape and backtracking but he'd long since given up. The man clearly wasn't driving on any sort of path either, Duke was frankly surprised his car seemed to make it over the rough terrain with little issue. And not only that, but the forest seemed... off. Like things were shifting somehow, but nothing blatant enough to be obvious.

Duke winced slightly as the car drove between two trees that he could tell were too close together for the car to fit, and yet somehow it did. Duke glanced out of the corner of his eye at the man driving, who was looking unerringly from the path ahead. He hugged himself slightly and turned away, the silent void on his right far less unsettling than what he could find elsewhere at the moment.

The strange man had been silent ever since they left the road proper. After a few minutes Duke had tried gently asking a few questions, hoping he'd be allowed some insight into what was going on, but the man acted like he hadn't heard Duke. He quickly gave up and allowed a tense silence to settle, only broken by the car thrumming around them. And in that silence, Duke's mind raced.

This man knew him.

Somehow, this man knew him, and Duke had no idea who the man was.

He wasn't the father or guardian of one of his kids, right? He thought he had a good recollection in that regard, but that was the only option that came close to making sense. Even that thought was quite a stretch, but Duke kept trying to come up with another possibility and came up empty. Duke was far from unfriendly, but he still managed to avoid any close bonds outside of his work, much less something that would prompt this type of action.

And what was "this type of action" anyway? If the man wanted to kill him he could have done so just as easily back at the car. Trying to get a ransom? Since the guy apparently knew who he was, he would've known Duke didn't have enough in the way of funds or connections for it to be worth his trouble. Whatever was going on, he knew it had to be premeditated. Even though his car breaking down had to have been coincidental, if this had been an indiscriminant act, this stranger just happening to know his name was too implausible.

Duke was pulled from his thoughts as the car slowed to a halt. They had made it to a clearing, Duke could almost make out the trees on the other side. In the center was a small stone hut, decrepit and ancient. The stranger turned to look at Duke for the first time in ages, pinning him with his gaze once more.

"Well Duke, given what I know about you, I don't think you're stupid to try and run away now, are you? You know that even if you try and run you won't find your way out of the woods, and I don't want to waste my time tracking you down again."

Duke knew he was right. He wasn't exactly a survivalist, and if the man was able to navigate the two of them here he cartainly knew the woods better than Duke did. He didn't know what this man was going to do to him, but if he fled the mostly likely outcomes were a slow death of cold and starvation or recapture. Duke managed to tear his eyes away from the other man, and dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to steel himself for whatever was about to come.

"Are you going to kill me?" Duke didn't know if he had meant to say that out loud, or if his thoughts had grown so overwhelming they had to spill out of his mouth.

The stranger let out a low chuckle.

"Tempting, but no. This is a gift. Whether the gift is for you or not, well... that's up to you."

Duke's head snapped up, brow furrowed deeply. That was not at all what he had expected.

"What is that supposed to--"

"We are going to go in there," the man cut Duke off, gesturing to the hut with the knife he had once against drawn from his jacket, "and there's going to be a little chat. We can do this at knifepoint, or you can walk in by yourself. You understand?"

Duke almost, but stops himself before any words come out. While his terror now has a healthy dose of confusion mixed in, his fear was still running the show. This man made things fairly clear that whatever happens next is going to happen on his terms, and Duke knew nothing he could say would have much of an effect. He closes his eyes tight for a moment, willing that this all be nothing but a bad dream, and then nods. The man flashed Duke a condescending grin.

"Good."

He turns off the car and the headlight with them, and the blackness envelops them completely. Duke gets out of the car and closes the door behind him, squinting into the darkness. A few stars (there were usually more stars out than this, weren't there?), faint and distant in the sky, kept the outside world from total darkness, but still Duke could barely make out his hand in front of his face. His sight adjusted slightly and he could see the man standing in front of him, staring, waiting. Duke took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The twigs snapped beneath their feet, and the air felt frigid and overbearing. Duke couldn't hear anything, no nocturnal animals, no distant rush of water, he couldn't even hear any wind through the trees. The two reach the stone hut, and Duke's captor swing open the decaying door, hinges protesting with a shriek.

Duke froze, his breath hitching inside him. The woods were nothing, that hut... inside that hut was pure blackness. It felt jarring, like it was poorly inserted into reality, a true vacuum from which the outside world fled.

A hand clasps around his shoulder and Duke starts, surpressing a shout. His captor stood right behind him to his left, arm resting almost casually across his back even as the vice grip at his shoulder tightened.

"I... I don't think I can do this."

"Just follow me. You'll be fine." The words provided no comfort but a threat. The thought of entering that vast nothing may petrify Duke, but there was an unspoken understanding that they would enter, one way or another.

Hesitantly, Duke stepped over the threshold.

He was half-surprised to find his foot land on solid ground instead of plummeting into an endless abyss. His mind must have been playing tricks on him in his stress. This was just an old hut, nothing more. Windowless and almost certainly ready to collapse at any moment, but still just a hut. The man closed the door behind the two of them, and they proceeded forward. Duke could still see nothing, but the other man walked forward with ease and purpose, guiding Duke effortlessly with the hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, they stop.

"Kneel down."

Duke's blood ran cold and any sense of coping with the situation fled. He should have ran. He should have ran when they arrived, he should have ran before they got in the car, he should have ran the moment the man first spoke.

"What?" That was all Duke could get out, in a strained, breathless whisper.

"Now, I thought you weren't going to mae me do this the hard way." There's a tightness and an edge to the man's voice, and even if Duke can't see the blade resting near his neck he sure as hell can feel it.

They had come this far. There was no point in struggling now.

Duke lowered himself blindly to the floor, sitting on his thighs and trying to focus on the roughness of the stone against his jeans. Anything to bring his mind away from what was happening. The man grabbed him, firmly but not harshly, and Duke allowed his body to be manuevered so he was now (that type of kneeling where it's like you're standing on your knees). Duke closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, and then another, trying to keep some semblance of control, when suddenly something cold and heavy is latched around his right wrist.

"What the hell?!" Duke yells, eyes flying open and instinctually trying to yerk his hand out of the iron shackle. The only response he gets is a shackle closing around his other wrist.

"What's going on? Why are you doing this?" Panic has fully set in, and Duke writhes against the chains lashing him to the floor. They're taut enough that no matter how Duke thrashes, he is unable to move from his kneeling position. The denim-clad man makes no response, and suddenly a pinprick of light blinks to life across the room. Then another, then another.

[rhyme-thinks-stuff]

It's 1 AM and I miss my old fandoms. I miss the hyperfixation feels.

This post got kinda long so I'm putting the rambling below the cut here

I'm surrounded by DSMP on tumblr, and I still like the characters and story. I see a lot of cool fanart and headcanons and stuff on my dash, it's really cool! I like seeing it! I like watching people love it. I like drawing stuff for it occasionally when prompted. Especially c!Ranboo, their character design is very fun to draw!

Like how I finished Tears of the Kingdom. It took up a large part of my brain for a month or two, I made art and thought so much about characters and their relationships and I started a rare pair tag and I even wrote an entire first draft of a short fanfiction for that rare pair, and then I finished it.

But I don't really think about DSMP it when I'm not looking directly at it. My object permanence isn't great. I mean I'm still kinda in the fandom? I'm very much surrounded by it. But I'm mostly just a quiet observer of it and not an active participant. I think it's cool but I don't feel all that passionate about it, especially compared to how I felt around the time I first discovered it.

And I enjoyed the ending. But it flipped a switch in my brain, and I quickly just. Stopped thinking about it the same way.

And I was frustrated, because I wanted to finish the second draft of that fanfiction, maybe get it edited enough to post it. But my brain had apparently decided that I was done with that fandom well before I was ready to be

I tried getting back into Genshin Impact and I got mostly caught up with the story. I explored new regions for weeks. I thought about my old favorite ship and worked on the fanfiction I'd put down months ago. but then I just stopped thinking about it. And maybe that was partly because school just started, but I think the interest was fading anyways

I was then focused on my ocs and their original story for a couple months, but I haven't thought about them much recently. Again probably because of school

School takes up too much of my time. I wish I had the space for something I love to take up space in my brain. I miss the feeling of loving something so much that i can't stop thinking about it, I miss being excited over characters, I miss shipping

Although I've felt all those things while attending school before. So maybe I'm just in a phase. Maybe I'll fall in love with something again soon. Maybe I need to make myself draw more

I have been wanting to read the remaining 2/3s of Homestuck. Maybe if I remember I can be crazy about that for a while

But it's so frustrating. That my fandoms tend to only last a few months, or come and go in phases. I wish I could stick with something for longer, and more consistently. I'm so tired of my interests waxing and waning. I guess the variety is kinda nice. But it doesn't give me much ability to build much of anything.

[fatexweaver]

I want everyone to know, this is a ROUGH DRAFT! I will be improving/changing a lot later. I thought I would post it here because why not?

I remember the heat against my face as my house burnt down. The smell of burning wood. I opened my eyes, and I could see my wife burning in the house, her face twisted into a horrifying scream. I came to this town for work but ran across something else.

I moved into the town a few months ago for better jobs. I heard about the gold rush in Texas, and I thought I could make a good living as a prospector. The hot sun beamed down on my wife and me as we rode into town. Old Oak was the name of the town; it sounded like a nice place to settle down.

I parked our wagon outside of town, I needed to get the lay of the land. I bought a plot of land here, there was supposed to be a cabin already there.

As I looked at the map, I heard the sound of someone walking toward us. Looking up, I saw a portly man in a suit and top hat walking toward us. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked while I put my map down.

He stopped a few feet away from our wagon. He placed his hands in his coat pockets, not saying a word for a minute. "Mighty fine to see new people here. Just passing through?"

I shook my head. "No, my wife and I plan on living here. I'm looking to be a gold prospector."

The man furrowed his brow. He didn't seem happy with my answer. "Really now? Well, you have some stiff competition. Tell me, what is your name?"

I politely grinned at him. "Jebediah, sir. Jebediah Wayne."

"Well, a pleasure to meet you, Mister Wayne. I am Bartholomew, I own a few of the businesses here. Will you be staying at the inn?"

"No, my wife and I got a cabin. We'll be living there for a while."

Bartholomew gritted his teeth together. "Do you mean that old cabin west of here?"

I looked at the map in my hands. "I believe that is it. I bought the land."

Bartholomew stepped forward. "My good man, might I offer you something else? I will give you twice what you paid."

I heard the desperation in his voice. At the time, I didn't know why the cabin was so important. I now wish I had taken his money.

"Sir, my wife and I are moving in there. It is not for sale." I sternly told him. I figured him as just another greedy land baron.

Bartholomew stepped back. "Mister Wayne, I wish you luck in your future endeavors. Please, have a nice day." He tipped his hat and left.

I watched as he left. Even then, I knew that wouldn't be the last time I saw him. I wish he just remained a minor annoyance. Instead, he'd be the first step down a very dark path.

My wife looked at me with a worried look. "Jeb, do you think he might try anything?"

I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. He's probably just a greedy land baron."

I saw my words did little to ease her. She still looked worried about Bartholomew. And I should have been more worried than I was.

I drove our wagon to our cabin, shocked at how it looked. The place was rundown. No one had lived there for some time. I was almost ashamed to say it was my place.

I hopped off the wagon. As I walked to the cabin, I cautiously looked around. I didn't know what had made its home here. I pushed open the old door, coughing as dust hit my face.

The inside of the cabin was rundown. Furniture was turned over, cobwebs hung from the rafters, and a terrible odor filled the air. I covered my nose as I walked out of the cabin.

"What's wrong, Jeb?" My wife asked.

I lowered my arm, finally free of that smell. "Well, what's right is more important. That place is filthy."

If there is a God, I think that was him trying to give me a sign to get out. I should have taken it. I should have taken Bartholomew's money. But I did not listen. And that guilt will forever hang over my head.

It took my wife and me all day to get the place even close to clean. As the sun began to set, I stood outside on the porch. I looked out on my land. This was my land, I owned it. And, at the time, I did not think some two-bit land baron could hurt me.

On that night, there was a loud knock on the door. I didn't have much in the means of defense, but I did buy a cheap shotgun. I grabbed it from underneath our bed. I aimed it at the front door. Slowly, I pushed it open. I heard my wife scream when she saw what was on the other side of the door.

A dead cat hung from the doorframe. The throat of the poor animal had been slit. I grabbed the rope that held the cat up and tore it off the frame.

I carried the dead animal far away from our home. With my hands, I dug a small grave for it. I looked around, trying to see if anyone was still there. As I looked off in the distance, I thought I saw someone standing up on a hill. But, at the time, I didn't know if it was my imagination or not.

When I got back down to our cabin, I saw my wife still shaking with fear. I held her in my arms to calm her down. I walked her back to our bed, laying her down.

I stayed up the rest of the night, shotgun in hand. I was going to do something about this. Whoever did this scared my wife, I couldn't let that go.

When the sun came up, I walked down to town. It wasn't hard to find the sheriff. I pushed my way into the building, still angry over what had happened. "Where's the sheriff?"

An old man came up, a cigar between his lips. "That would be me, what can I help you with?"

"I don't know who, but someone hung a dead cat from my doorframe last night."

The sheriff took the cigar out of his mouth. "That's terrible. You got any enemies, son?"

"No, we just moved here. Is there anything you can do?"

The sheriff walked over to the window. He placed the cigar back into his mouth as he looked out the window. "Where's your house, son?"

"I live in the old cabin outside of town. I bought it at an auction."

The sheriff froze, his hand tightened around the cigar. "Son, if I were you, I'd leave that place as soon as possible."

"No, I came here to make a new life for me and my wife. I can't move back. Now, if you don't do anything about this, I will."

The sheriff turned to look at me. I saw the desperation in his eyes. "Son, I'm sure you got family out there somewhere. Take your wife and go."

I stepped forward and shook my head. "No, I won't. Listen to me, sheriff. If you don't do anything about this, I will. I will kill those bastards who scared my wife."

The sheriff looked defeated. "I'll do what I can. I can't promise much. And the results might not be to your liking, son."

I tightened my grip on my shotgun. "Sheriff, they scared my wife. They threatened us. It's better you go after them than me."

As I turned to leave the sheriff's office, I felt eyes on me. I turned to look and saw Bartholomew looking at me. I figured he might have something to do with this. I nodded my head and continued.

Going back home, I saw my wife tending the cabin. I placed the shotgun against the doorframe. I snuck up behind her and wrapped my arms around her. Kissing her on the cheek, I felt my anger fade away.

She leaned into my embrace. "What did the sheriff say?"

"He'll do what he can. But I doubt that will be much. If I see anyone suspicious around the house, I'll handle them." I hated telling my wife that the sheriff could little. But it was the truth.

She turned around in my arms. She placed her hand on my cheek. "Jeb, don't do anything you'll regret."

I looked deeply into her eyes. "I promise, I won't regret shooting the men who scared my wife."

The expression on her face grew serious. "You know what I mean, Jeb. I don't want you in trouble. If need be, I'll go talk to the sheriff myself."

"I don't think that'll do any good. For all I know, he might be in on it."

"What makes you think that?"

I looked at our cabin. "There's something about this place that they don't want us to know about. And I'm going to find out what that is."

What secrets did this cabin hide? Why did Bartholomew want this place? Why did the sheriff want us to leave so badly? There was something about this place that no one was telling us about.

When my wife went to bed, I stayed up to look around. I silently searched through the cabin. It wasn't until I hit a floorboard that this all made sense. I removed the floorboard and hidden deep within the floor of my home was a small chest.

I placed the chest on a table. There was a rusted lock on it. Using the butt of my shotgun, I was able to break the lock. I hesitated for a moment before opening the chest.

Inside the chest were several stacks of paper. I looked through the stacks, finally coming to a photo. In the photo, I saw two people I knew instantly. One of them was Bartholomew. The other person was the sheriff. As I looked through the papers, I saw something hidden deep within the chest; it was a journal page.

I read the page, my eyes went wide in terror as I read what they did. The sheriff and Bartholomew were once business partners with another man. And just so they could lay claim to all that he had, they killed him. I was living in his former home.

I turned to look outside, happy that I didn't see anyone. I thought about what I should do. My gut instinct was to run to the sheriff, but he was involved in this. I did not know what to do. But I knew who to blame now. I now know why they wanted to run us off.

As I was about to wake up my wide, I heard some feet on the wooden porch outside. Grabbing my shotgun, I aimed it at the door. Pulling the hammer back, I fired a shot at someone. I listened as they dropped to the ground, yelling in pain.

I pushed open the door, only to be hit in the face. I felt my body go limp, and two hands grabbed my shirt. I could feel myself being dragged out to the dirt yard we had. The world around me was a blur for a few minutes. When I started to sober up, I saw Bartholomew standing in front of me.

"I told you to leave. But you didn't listen. Now, look at where it got you," Bartholomew said.

I could see the spineless sheriff behind him. I spat blood in his direction, a small insult. What they did next sealed everyone's fate. And I do not regret the actions that I took, only the way I accomplished them.

I watched as one of the men that Bartholomew brought with him grabbed a lantern. He walked over to my house, swinging the lantern. I saw my wife looking out from the window. I tried to say something, but my mouth was filled with blood. I watched in horror as he threw the lantern into the cabin.

I tried to wrestle myself free, but I only received a kick to the face. Laying on my back, I listened as my wife screamed in pain. I rolled onto my stomach, my eyes filled with tears as I watched my wife burn in the cabin.

She slowly made her way to the front, her beautiful clothes engulfed in flames. I reached out to try and get her, but a single gunshot ended that. She dropped to the ground, looking up at the stars. I saw Bartholomew put a pocket revolver away. There wasn't a single look of regret on his face.

I don't know how long I was just laying there. I slowly got to my feet. As I walked to my beloved wife's burnt body, I began to weep. Holding her in my arms, I held her tightly against my chest. Deep down, I hoped that I could bring her back. But I knew she was gone.

I buried her away from the cabin. I knew what I needed to do. But I didn't know how to do it. I looked up at the sky, screaming in anger. "I don't care who hears me! I want revenge! I want their blood! I want...I want my wife back."

All was silent. I had, until that moment, been a faithful man of God. I believed in his words. I believed in all of that. But I had never stopped to consider if there were other gods out there. One had heard me screaming in anger. To some, he would be a god. To others, and myself, he was more of a devil.

I turned around when I felt eyes on me. Standing only a few feet away from me was a man in a black cloak. His face was concealed by a mask of darkness, concealing his face. I was about to ask him if he was with Bartholomew, but he raised his hand as I was about to speak.

"Jebediah, I have heard your cries. I offer you my services." His voice sounded like a choir. Multiple people speaking all at once.

"Who are you?"

"Who, and what, I am is of little importance. But I know you want vengeance. I can give you that." The mysterious being held a black hand out to me, offering a handshake.

I studied his hand. I thought about my dead wife. I already missed her smile, her tender voice, and I just ached for her touch again. I firmly gripped the creature's hand. "I want them to pay. Do you understand me?"

While I couldn't see it, I could sense that the creature was smiling beneath his shadowed facade. "I'll give you revenge, Jebediah. You'll be able to do more than you ever dreamed."

The world around me went dark. I felt like I was falling into a bottomless abyss. When I finally saw a light, the world came back to me. I was standing outside of the town. I rubbed my head, trying to figure out how I got here. Was everything I had seen just a dream?

"Why question yourself now?" A familiar voice asked.

I turned around and saw a copy of myself leaning against a wall. He had a wide grin on his face. Walking over to me, he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I bet you got a lot of questions."

"I do. What the hell are you? A demon? God?"

"All of the above, and more." That wide grin of his only got wider as he patted my shoulder.

I pulled my shoulder away from him. I suspiciously eyed him, still not trusting this being. "I have another question. Why are you helping me?"

The creature gave a dramatic sigh. He leaned against a fence post, eyeing me. "Why so many questions? Right, this world isn't used to my race. You see, I belong to a race that helps people. Our god has decreed it. So, I was in the area and decided to help."

As I was about to rebuff his statement, I thought about my wife. Looking at the town, I focused on the sheriff's office. "Is he still here?"

"Oh, very much so. He's held up in his little building. So, why don't you go pay him a visit?"

I felt a new weight on my hip. I looked down and saw a black revolver on my hip. Unholstering it, I looked the gun over. Opening the chamber, I saw six bullets. "Only six shots?"

"Yes. You get six chances to kill them."

"And if I miss?"

"Trust me, you won't." The creature bowed in such a way I thought his spine would snap in half.

I took my first step into the town. As I marched through the dusty street, I could see people eyeing the revolver in my hand. I looked at the sheriff's office, and I could see the old man in there. I had to act fast.

Sprinting toward the door, I kicked it open. I saw the old sheriff look up at me in terror. I aimed my revolver at him, feeling the hand of the creature grabbing my wrist to guide my arm. I pulled the trigger, firing a shot into his chest.

"You? We...it was Bartholomew. He put us up to it." The sheriff covered the bleeding wound on his chest.

I aimed the gun at his head. Pulling the trigger, I watched his head splattered against the wall. Holstering the revolver, I suddenly felt a rush enter me. Grabbing the wall, I heard clapping behind me.

"Congratulations! You just killed one of the men who killed your wife. And you just completed half of our contract." The creature walked over to the corpse; he nudged it with his left hand.

"I want to know where Bartholomew is." In my mind, I acted too hastily in murdering him. I should have gotten some information out of him beforehand.

The creature loudly laughed as he slapped his knee. "Have you already forgotten our deal? I promised you both of their heads. Place your hand on his chest."

I did as I was told. As soon as my hand touched his flesh, I felt another rush. I saw from the eyes of the sheriff the final conversation he had with Bartholomew.

"Why did you have to murder his wife?" The sheriff puffed on a cigar, upset over what had happened.

"That was on her. She should have left." Bartholomew checked his pocket watch, tilting his hat. "I'll be leaving now. My carriage will be arriving soon."

"So, that's it? You have someone killed and then leave?"

Bartholomew walked over to the sheriff. "My good, sir, you're as much of a killer as I am. I didn't see you doing anything to stop it."

The sheriff bit his cigar in half. "Get the hell out of my office."

Once the vision ended, I left the office. Going to a saloon, I grabbed the first horse I saw and started riding. I could hear the actual owner yelling for me to stop, but I had a carriage to catch.

I could hear the creature laughing in my head. "Wow, first you murder the sheriff, now you steal a horse, what's next?"

"I just want to catch Bartholomew. Can you tell me where he is heading?"

"East. He is going to the train station."

I swung the horse to head east. I could already feel the anger in me rising as I rode the horse as fast as it would go. Images of my beloved wife flashed in my head.

I could see the carriage not too far away. I drew my pistol, aiming it at the horse. Carefully, I pulled the hammer back. My aim was steady. I could feel the creature helping guide my aim. Pulled the trigger, and the gun jumped in my hand.

The bullet instantly killed the horse. The carriage stopped, leaving Bartholomew stranded.

I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the look of horror on his face. Even now, I think about the terrified look on his face. I got off the horse, my thumb pulled the hammer of the revolver back.

"Please, I bed you, mercy!" Bartholomew got down on his knees as he begged.

I looked at the revolver in my hand, I wanted to enjoy myself. I hit him on the side of the head with the butt of the pistol, knocking him to the ground. My wife needed mercy, and he didn't give it to her.

For several minutes I beat him. By the end of it all, the white shirt I had been wearing was stained with his pathetic blood. I aimed the pistol at his head, finally ending his life.

I watched as the revolver turned to ash, its job done. I turned around to look at the creature. "Okay, so what's my part of the deal?"

The creature grinned, wringing his hands together. "Well, I need a form that won't scare people as I prepare for my lord's glorious return. So, your body will serve as a nice host."

I didn't know that he had already switched places with me. I watched as he grabbed Bartholomew's top hat. He got on the horse and rode off into the sunset, with me following him.

And now, I follow him in silence, watching in horror at the rituals he performs. I can only pray that one day I can return to the physical world. Until then, I can only watch. I don't regret my actions, but I hate the deal with the devil I made.

[sailsonthehorizon]

The places we shall go

A few words on forgotten memories and derelict ideas.

Pentax MV / Kodak Gold 400

Mustard Yellow Curtains

When I was a child, we lived in rural Wales. It was an old detached house, surrounded by woodland and wildlife. It also came with a mysteriously abandoned old caravan. It had mustard yellow curtains, and a weird fuzzy brown fabric covered the seats.

Old abandoned anythings are intriguing. Why are they there, where have they been, what happened. As a child, it’s potential as a secret base was assessed before deciding that building dens in the forest would be infinitely more fun. We did rescue a strange smelling drafts set from one of the peeling laminate cupboards. 

Until I was older, I had no idea what happened to that caravan. I remember it being there one day, and gone the next. My younger sister, whose ability to remember things has always far surpassed my own, later told me that our dad hired a digger, dug a big hole, pushed the caravan in and buried it. 

Memories of the massive digger…still nothing. 

But I do now remember wishing I’d rescued the curtains for my den.

Pentax MV / Kodak Gold 400

Finnish Rock Concerts

Not all that long ago I owned a motorhome similar in size to the one in the photo. By heck it was a beast, a clumsy Fiat with a clumsy 1.9 diesel engine that could manage a top speed of 55mph downhill with the wind on its arse. Hated by car drivers everywhere and near impossible to park.

I absolutely loved it, and it would have been amazing - in a different life to this one - to take the old girl over to the continent and spend 6 months chugging around Europe. Waking up by the Med, sand all over the dashboard, umpteen empty coffee cups shoved into the door pockets. Each one a crumpled souvenir from an exotic late night visit to a service station. Trundle north into Scandinavia, see the midnight sun and take in a Finnish rock concert before taking her back over the North Sea to England.

I might have fitted a bike rack for a little moped so I could put-put around the Tuscany countryside, stopping for a picturesque espresso in an even more picturesque village square. I definitely would have covered the rear window in a tasteless, colourful cacophony of stickers from the countries that we visited.

The adventure never happened. The idea did.

[cherievol6]

not waiting around - pt I

PART II

heyyyy so i just found this in my drafts from a while ago and stuck on an ending - i hope you like it! i was kind of in a bad mood so writing an angsty piece was a good vessel for me lmao. enjoy :)

harry can’t make up his mind and you won’t be second best

warnings: swearing, harry being arrogant, angsty angstiness

word count: around 2.5k

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“How are you not currently ripping his bollocks off?”

“I agree, I’d be knocking his fucking block off right now.”

You mostly tuned out of the incessant ranting of your friends that you didn’t wish to partake in, it’s becoming white noise at this point.

“Babe, aren’t you gonna say something?” Your sister clicks obnoxiously in your face, snapping you out of the fixation your eyes had on the black scrunchie on your bedside table. It sat exactly in the place it was left by the user merely a week ago.

“Need to take my hair down…know how much you love pulling it.” He smirks, gently removing the black scrunchie from his seemingly untameable hair. You swat his arm at the crude remark, covering your face with your hands as he clambers to you on the bed, prying your defensive position down to meet your eyes.

“You’re awful.” You mumble jokingly, his smile immediately erasing any previous embarrassment.

“Kidding…kind of.” He mumbles and you giggle at him, confirming his remark by sliding your hands through his curls, sighing as though they were meant to be there. His eyes closed as he revelled in the feeling, lurching forward to kiss you feverishly.

The scrunchie in his fingers was blindly placed on the table beside your bed, him laughing as his arm flailed around to make sure he didn’t miss and drop it down the side of your bed – he knew you’d kill him.

“Can I borrow it again later for our face masks?” His voice is muffled now as he buries his head in your neck, your heart stutters slightly as you try and repress the feelings crawling up your throat and begging to be voiced.

“Of course, it’s yours now.”

The face masks were rain checked later that night. Maybe even crossed out completely, there was no way you two would ever be that intimate again.

“You literally poured your heart out to this man for him to fuck off and ghost your text messages. He needs to be put in his place.” You cringe heavily at her summation of your embarrassing drunken confessions you’d made the night Harry was at your house. You and Harry agreed to keep things casual, only ever meeting as and when you both needed some kind of distraction. It worked for you both, smooth sailing for the first couple of months. The lines began to blur soon enough, and you’d fallen into the deep end with him.

“Friends with benefits almost never ends well.” Your best friend says in a motherly voice, though you’re glad it’s not actually your mother…she’d be broadcasting your business all over Facebook the minute she heard the news. Something back handed about not being ‘good enough’ for the nation’s heartthrob.

You know your friend is right, friends with benefits always ending up with someone getting hurt. You knew first hand at this point, your unrequited feelings being the sole reason for the ending to your agreement with Harry. You blame the wine, the substance making you talk for England. You’re not quite sure you’ve ever been so drunk around him before, then to top it off, you accidentally tell him that you “wish he wanted you for more than just a shag in the sheets”. His reaction, from what you can remember, was a curt yet unamused laugh, and a swift exit with a very icy demeanour which you could still feel the stab from, even stone-cold sober.

There had been a few words exchanged in between the time of your confession and his dramatic exit, them holding nothing but salty air and what you felt like was disgust. The only words you distinctly remember were “this was never a good idea”, and they’d been playing on a loop in your head for days.

To add insult to injury, the same non-committal man had been seen at a party with none other than his top-model ex just last night, embracing how you’d done to him for the past four months. Except you feel as though his embrace with her held more weight than the ones you’d shared, your memory tainted of him – your mind told you now that every intimate thing with him was done regrettably on his end.

His defensive reaction threw you for six after your domesticated interactions in private, you feeling as though his comfort around you and willingness to act couple-y meant he may harbour similar sentiments to you. You were deathly wrong.

“He literally sacked you off last week and now he’s back with his ex? What on earth is that all about?” Your sister screeches, her and your best friend seemingly more infuriated than you are.

“I get it, okay? I must have such a fucking liability to him that he, in your words, ‘sacked me off’.” You snap back, silencing them both as you try to gather your thoughts about this. The picture of him and his ex-fling idles on your phone which lies haphazardly on the bed beside you, it still open from your first viewing of it.

“Listen, I need you both to leave, this is something I need to work out in my head, first… before I start chopping anyone’s balls off…please can I just have a day or two to sort myself out?” It comes out as a plea, the two women in front of you immediately feeling pity for you, seeing that it has in fact torn you up and the only way you could fix it was being alone. They nod and embrace you tightly, and you have to will away the tears when they’re rubbing your back and saying soothing things before exiting out your door with a chorus of goodbye’s.

You glance back at the scrunchie again as the waterworks set off, feeling absolutely pathetic being upset over someone who made it clear to you from the start that he didn’t want a relationship. Part of you feels now that he was never against a relationship, he just didn’t seek that in you. You knew that some kind of conversation with Harry was overdue, the way you left things hanging the week prior unacceptable to both of you, regardless of any embarrassment or resentment. Apologies were owed and air needed to be cleared.

You grab the dreaded scrunchie from your desk and tie your hair up in a furious manner, all of your actions being exaggerated due to the massive amounts of rage and adrenaline coursing through your body at this moment, you felt as though you couldn’t decide between crying or shouting.

It continued as you got dressed. Crying as you pulled up your jeans, shouting profanities as you struggle to pull on your hoodie, crying as you found one of his stupid fucking rings under your bed…one he’d lost after coming over about a month ago, shouting at your reflection for being such a hopeless romantic with the wrong men. Your neighbours must’ve thought some odd things as you stormed out of the house, chucking a couple of hoodies in the passenger seat of your car.

The only barrier you face now is the short walk from your car to the front door of his luxurious home. You aren’t sure who’s going to be there, you aren’t sure if he’s going to kick you out. You just need the closure, so you can move on. The easiest way for you to get past something was to eject it from your life, so here you are, idling in your car outside the house of the man you think you might be falling in love with – ready to close that chapter of your life. You both wanted different things.

You’re about to leave your car which is tucked neatly round the side of his house, the place he’d advised you to use in the past, when you hear his front door swing open in the distance.

“I’ll see you later, H. Don’t stress it too much, we’ve got the PR team on damage control.”

You recognise the male voice as Harry’s manager, possibly there to discuss Harry’s documentation of his night out last night which was plastered on every sight you can think of. Harry doesn’t offer much of a response, a few mumblings leaving his chest which you can’t make out from your clandestine spot. Jeff’s car exits the security gates of Harry’s home and speeds down the road, though you don’t hear Harry’s front door close. You round the corner from where your car is parked and see him still stood there, looking like death warmed up. He already knows you’re here by the looks of it, his gaze following your small frame shrouded in his clothing as he unlocks his gate without hesitation. The air around the pair of you feels thick and unwanted, like neither of you want to gain any more closeness than the security of the gate which separated you both. He doesn’t spare you a look as you reach the foyer, not bothering to take off your shoes as you know your stay won’t be long…and he doesn’t deserve your politeness at this moment.

As you enter his barren house, you can almost see the two of you materialised in every corner, feeling reminiscent of something still so fresh.

“Chuck ‘em on the sofa, please.” His voice is gruff and tired, and you comply, tossing his clothes to his royal blue furniture. You can’t help but cringe as they fall strewn, and the clean freak in you ends up trying to quickly re-fold the messy items.

“Hey, you don’t have to—” he cuts off when you scoff, finishing the folding and digging your hand in the pocket of your jeans.

“I found your teddy bear ring,” your tone is nonchalant and dull, the ring suspended in the air between you, “thought you’d want it back.”

Harry’s hand reaches out for you to drop in into his palm, but you beat him to the punch by dropping it on to the coffee table, not wanting to engage in any physical contact out of fear you might cave. You also pettily wanted him to feel slightly guilty.

“Listen, I get why you’re angry, but can’t we be mature about this?” He says, and you can’t believe he’s trying to take the high road when he’d stormed out like you were both on a reality TV show.

“That’s rich coming from you, storming out of my house like a teenager and then not answering my texts. I’m looking at you right now and all I see is arrogance, Harry.” Even you’re surprised by your clipped tone, and his face contorts in irritation, his hand rifling through his long messy hair. You subconsciously reach out to adjust your scrunchie at the same time.

“I had some shit to think about. You unloaded all those fucking things on me that night and I had to remove myself before I said something hurtful.” You’re not sure why this makes you squirm slightly, the thought that he had more ammo that he was suppressing.

“I’m sorry that I’m such a fucking liability, Harry. I was plastered, for God’s sake! I wasn’t planning on telling you all of that shit, hell, I wasn’t planning to keep on seeing you for much long after because of it all.” You can feel yourself getting upset again but you refuse to cry in front of him. It was the truth, you knew it had to come to an end now you’d caught feelings, but you didn’t think it would crash and burn like this.

He doesn’t seem to have a rebuttal, choosing to just stare at the ring on the coffee table in silence, his thoughts so loud you could almost hear them.

“Don’t try and make me out like I’m doing something wrong by having feelings for you.” You punctuate your sentence with arms folding across your chest, waiting for him to finally spit something out. He sighs, stepping closer cautiously.

“Those pictures, they aren’t at all what it looks like. She was really fucking drunk, I was just taking her home.” He pleads, gesturing with his hands to express his point.

“Harry that’s not my issue here. My issue is that you’re somehow unable to have an adult conversation about emotional relationships when it makes you uncomfortable. I get it, okay! The thought of me having feelings for you is apparently so unbearable—"

“I never said that.” He clips. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“I didn’t need you to Harry. I didn’t come here to argue either, I just came to drop off your stuff and cut this final tie off.” Your eyes begin to sting slightly but you push the emotion back deep into the depths of your subconscious, never to be confronted or freed again.

“Why does it have to be like this?” He looks between your eyes rapidly, brows furrowed and face displaying that of frustration. You try to ignore the way he adjusts his hair falling in a part across his head, something you used to love doing yourself.

“Because as much as you hate to admit it, you can’t bear the thought of being committed to someone like me.” You huff, bottom lip trembling. Harry rubs in between his eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me how I feel, for God’s sakes.” His voice travels into the now stagnant air and you don’t feel as though you have much more to say. The only thing that goes through your head at this moment in time is the notion of ‘if he wanted to, he will’. Men like harry don’t usually beat around the bush with their feelings, and it was laid right in front of your eyes – Harry was using you as a rebound for his ex, and he was still in love with her. Simple as. And with that thought in mind, you adjust the cuffs of your shirt and sniff the stuffiness from your nose from the impending tears.

“Whatever it is you’re feeling, Harry - I’m not waiting around to hear it.” You say, eyes sharp and locked on his to solidify your point. His eyes are vacant looking back at you, and follow your figure as you turn to leave his house, leave him behind.

“I’m fucking in love with you, you know that?” He yells as you’re halfway through the threshold of the door. You wish that this was like a film or something, that you’d stop in your tracks and turn back to him, running into his arms and making up in the beat of a heart. But this was real-life, real-life feelings and real hurt that you were feeling. You turn around, tears falling freely now.

“No you’re fucking not.” You whisper. His hand slips to your cheek and he has a pained look on his face and you’re shaking your head with your eyes screwed shut. He tries to convince you with small murmurs of your name.

“But you still love her, don’t you?” Your vision is bleary as you finally try to look at him. Even through the fogged vision you see the chagrin on his face as he tells you after a pause that he doesn’t know. With that, you slip away from his hold and watch your breath in the cold air, leaving his house for the last time with a small kiss on his cheek.

He doesn’t follow you this time.

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PART II IS NOW UP!