#i say about a man who would skin me alive without a second thought

[dazaistabletop]

I want to shake him aggressively just as a dog does a squeaky toy

[pumpkinbxtch]

Hi, I just saw that you said that Jason is a little possessive, so I was wondering can you do a request with Jason and reader in that scenario, where he is a little jealous and possessive boyfriend?

he wrote 'mine' on my upper thigh

— jason grace x fem!reader

warnings: jealousy, language, jealous jason

a/n: I live for this face of everyone, it makes me very irresistible, lol.

— Want to die? — Jason asked, his expression completely changed. As if his pale skin wasn't enough, the way his face turned into a deadly calmness gave them enough reason to doubt every decision they had made in the last two miserable years of their lives. When they felt a cold breeze run down their spine, confirmed they had definitely messed with the wrong guy. What Jason didn't know was that normal mortals didn't find it hard to play that game because, well, those threats were never as real as he was used to.

— It's just a woman, no big deal, buddy — maybe was the brown-haired guy said it in a disdainful tone, or maybe was the last word that made Jason's stomach churn, but he remembered he was still in public, so he tried not to incinerate them with a snap or at least not to keep gritting his teeth the way he was because he swore he was about to shatter them.

— Just a woman — he repeated the words, dragging each one with hatred and disgust. The guy with the red hair looked more nervous than his other friend, so he tried to make peace, but that was something Jason had already left behind as an alternative to that argument. He wouldn't forgive any disrespect to you, because you were his best friend, his girlfriend, the person he would die for without a second thought, and if they wanted to see him that way, then you weren't just a woman, you were his woman.

He glanced to make sure you weren't anywhere near the checkout and took a few steps toward the pair. The redhead was close to wetting his pants, but his friend still had that stubborn look, pretending to downplay the significant difference in height and muscle mass between them.

For a moment, Jason struggled with his morality, because it was stupid to fight with his clearly abnormal strength for something that was easy to ignore because they would never be able to lay a finger on you while he was alive. However, he couldn't help but notice the way their eyes had been roaming over your body or the way they looked at you while you smiled at him. It made his blood boil and awakened the most primitive part of his being causing his logical side to drown and disappear, almost like those days when he was with the wolves. Besides, if he thought about it, it wasn't just them, it was every damn man and woman who dared to smile at you in a way that suggested more than just kindness, especially if they were the ones making you laugh. That's when he always felt on the edge of losing control.

Jason could feel shame somewhere in his conscience for his behavior, but this was also too real to hide for a little longer. That moment alone with those idiots had only given him the golden opportunity to unleash those piled-up frustrations.

— Yeah, just a woman — it was stupid, the conversation didn't go beyond that, but the retort was enough for the air to smell metallic and their hair to stand on end warning of the electricity beginning to fill their surroundings. How bad would it be if two mortals were struck by lightning for earning the title of the biggest idiots of the month? The answer was obvious to Jason: very bad, useless, in fact. So he took a deep breath and watched their hair return to normal.

— She's mine — he said, starting to turn around to go help you, but he stopped when he heard the other mocking him.

— Who says? —Jason was fed up with the irreverence and turned back to them, his fingertips sparking again.

— Beat it —he said as he sent a small electric shock to both of them. Mild enough not to cause harm but enough to make them scream. His eyes literally sparkled, making them doubt what they were seeing, scaring them, and confirming that the Mist hadn't helped when he saw them run. He wondered if he had gone too far, if he had let himself be carried away too much by that part of him that didn't make him proud but that he knew was part of him. In the end, he decided he didn't care, remembering that someone had once told him he had to stop holding back. So, with that philosophy in mind, he decided to go look for you.

The picnic tables weren't as crowded as you expected, in fact, there was hardly anyone around you, and you wondered if it was because for a moment there was a hint of rain or because of the heavy aura that Jason had been carrying since you left the grocery store, and now that you thought about it, you considered that both reasons were possibly related.

— Jason Grace — you called him sweetly as you opened the picnic basket, and he immediately softened his frown and looked in your direction. He was struck by the gentle way the breeze swayed your hair, it was an almost imperceptible movement but it highlighted how beautiful you were. He knew why you were calling him by his full name, his behavior couldn't be more obvious, but those words echoed in his mind.

»Who says?«

He slid along the bench to get closer to you as he watched you set things on the table. He wrapped his hand around your waist, and although you smiled in that way that was like oxygen to him, it wasn't enough for him. So, taking you by the hips, he forced you to stand up.

— C'mon, let's eat, baby — you said giggling, and he sat you on that old wooden table while he returned to the bench.

He looked up at you with his blue eyes, and seeing you from that perspective that made you look majestic. he rejected the idea of letting anyone else be the person who hugged you or who was close enough to smell your sweet scent. The idea of someone else other than him being able to kiss your lips, which were so perfect and soft, drove him crazy, he couldn't handle it.

»Who says?«

With that thought, he started searching in your bag that was lying next to you, you never stopped him, but you wondered about that change in attitude because he seemed a little rougher and severe, his eyes were even a little darker, but you couldn't deny that he looked handsome, that you even liked it.

When Jason found what he wanted, he stood up supporting only his right knee on the bench as support and he enjoyed the way that velvet skirt rose, leaving your thighs in his view. Before leaning towards them, he searched your eyes for any kind of disapproval because for him, the most important thing was how you felt, and not finding anything like that, gave him enough confidence to continue.

He felt your muscles tense and tried to undo it by caressing your leg, but failing that, his lips kissed a bit above your knee, which made you swallow saliva, what the hell was he trying to do and why now? Jason was never too public, any major display of affection was always in a more intimate place. When he straightened up, in his hand you finally saw what he had taken from your bag: your eyeliner.

Dazed, you reached out to try to take it, but he quickly caught his hand with yours on the table and before you could do the same with the other, he placed the open eyeliner between his lips and trapped your other hand in the same way.

He raised his gaze above his glasses and slowly shook his head, sending a silent warning before leaning towards you again, exactly on your upper thigh. You felt the moisture of the pen on your skin and with a given precision, you started to see that he was writing, but it wasn't until he finished that you could barely read it. The air left your lungs when you deciphered it and you didn't understand how after doing that, he had sat back down with the same serene smile as always, his hands spreading the tablecloth for you to eat while he hummed a familiar song.

Had you missed something? It was definitely something new in him to behave openly in that way, but you didn't dislike it. After all, what it said there wasn't a lie.

— Do you have any objections? — His demanding question didn't match the sweet tone in which he had said it, and you got off the table to put both hands on his shoulders.

— No, sir — you confirmed with the same tone and kissed the line of his jaw before taking a seat beside him.

Jason continued to arrange things, he seemed peculiarly focused, so you took the opportunity to discreetly look down once more, but your skirt had covered the word. Slowly with your hand, you lifted the fabric until it was visible again:

"Mine"

You felt a warmth spread through your body and crossed your legs on purpose to make it visible. That action drew a smile on your boyfriend's face, and not long after, he kissed you. No, it wasn't a lie, but as you was his, he was yours.

[daryltwdixon]

If I Could Give You the Moon, I'd Give You the Moon

I'm obsessed with this angst I've created. Part II of Know It's For the Better

Based on Phoebe Bridgers' Moon Song

Daryl stumbles slightly as you guide him along the quiet streets, his arm draped heavily over your shoulders. He’s drunk—more than you’ve ever seen him—and his weight shifts unpredictably as he leans too far to one side, forcing you to readjust.

“Y’don’t gotta hold me like I’m some old man,” he slurs, his words tumbling together in a low drawl. “Still got my legs, ya know.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the pavement you almost kissed back there,” you reply, your tone light but strained as you try to keep him steady.

He barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, then mutters, “Ain’t my fault these damn streets’re crooked.”

“They’re not,” you say, rolling your eyes even though he can’t see it.

He tilts his head toward you, squinting like he’s trying to focus, and grins—a real, lopsided grin that you’re not used to seeing. It’s different from his usual smirks, less guarded, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Y’look real nice tonight,” he says, his voice softer, slower. The words hang between you, catching you off guard, but before you can say anything, he adds, “Too nice t’be draggin’ my sorry ass home.”

"Weren't you the one who offered to walk me home? Now I'm carrying your 'sorry ass'," you tease, your tone light as you try to deflect from the compliment. You’re not sure if he realizes what he just said—the slip, the way he noticed how you looked.

Or at least, the first time he's ever said anything about it.

The thought makes your heart launch into your throat.

You’ve seen Daryl in all kinds of states—angry, wounded, stone-cold sober—but this version of him, loose and unguarded, is something else entirely. His walls are gone, every word spilling out without hesitation, and you can’t help but let yourself take it in, selfishly cataloging every soft laugh, every crooked grin.

When you reach your porch, he steps back, swaying a little as his arm falls from your shoulders. His hands fumble at his sides, like he’s not sure what to do with them. Then his eyes land on yours, and for a moment, the playful grin fades.

“Don't gotta always take care’a me,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost miss it.

You shake your head, offering a small smile you don’t really feel. “You already do the same for me."

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t speak. Just stares at you like you’ve said something he doesn’t know how to answer.

And then he steps closer.

His hands, rough and callused, come up to your face, cradling you with a fragile kind of care, like he’s holding water in his palms. Like he’s afraid that if he grips too tightly, you’ll slip through his fingers, yet if he lets go, he’ll lose you entirely. Every touch feels suspended, precarious, as if the moment itself might shatter if he doesn’t get it exactly right.

“You’re good,” he says suddenly, like it’s something he’s been holding onto for too long, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, “Too good.”

There's no doubt he can feel your heart thumping against your neck, the pounding having to be pushing up against his fingers where they brush the soft skin under your jaw.

"Know I shouldn't--know it's for the better that I stay far away from ya," he whispers, like he's talking more to himself as his eyes continue to search your face, "But I can't stop thinkin' of...thinkin' what it would be like..."

“Daryl—”

Then, his lips are on yours in an instant—desperate, reverent in the way they push against yours.

For a second, you’re frozen, your mind spinning too fast to make your body respond. You want to—God, you want to—but the shock keeps you locked in place. His lips are hot and firm against yours, moving with a kind of unpracticed urgency that steals your breath.

The kiss is so Daryl, everything you expected and somehow more. Clumsy, a little haphazard, but so earnest, so real, so alive. You’d never believed the romance novels you’d devoured about kisses that made sparks fly, but this… this proved them right all along. Electricity seemed to crackle between you, only for you to realize it was you humming, the vibrations of your approval thrumming softly through your joined mouths.

When his lips parted and his tongue tentatively brushed against yours, your body finally remembered how to move. Your hands slid up, grasping the solid muscle of his arms, and his whole frame shuddered under your touch.

And then he froze.

His breath hitched, his body stiffening as if something had just yanked him back to sobering reality. In an instant, he pulled away, his hands falling to his sides like they didn’t know what to do anymore.

His breath, warm and uneven, carried the faint scent of whiskey, brushing against your flushed face as his eyes met yours. Wide and uncertain, they searched your expression like he was trying to figure out what he’d just done.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough and low. He cleared his throat, stepping back quickly, the distance between you feeling sharper than it should. “Night.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, lips tingling, your heart racing, and no words to fill the space he’d left behind.

The next day, you find him on the porch, sitting on the edge with his crossbow resting against his knee. He’s fidgeting with a bolt, turning it over in his hands like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

When he hears your footsteps, he glances up briefly, his expression unreadable, before quickly looking back down. “Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice low.

“Morning,” you reply, stepping closer. You hesitate before sitting beside him, keeping some space between you.

The silence between you stretches for a moment, the sounds of birds in the distance filling the quiet. You try to think of what to say, but everything feels too uncertain. Like you're not sure if you should just say it outright or wait for him.

You should ask him.

The words hover in your throat, right there, but they refuse to come out. Did he remember the kiss? Did he remember the way his lips pressed against yours, clumsy but so full of something it made your chest ache? Did he remember what he whispered, his voice rough but so sure of his feelings when he confessed his unrelenting thoughts of you?

The memory burns in your chest, every word, every touch of his fingers and taste of his lips is seared into your mind. You need to know if it meant something—or if it was just the whiskey.

He breaks the silence first, letting out a short, almost nervous laugh. “Man, I was… somethin’ else last night, huh?”

“Do you remember much of it?” you ask softly, your heart picking up its pace.

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Not really. Bits and pieces, maybe.”

You stare at him, searching his face for something—anything—that might tell you he’s lying. That he does remember. That those words weren’t just a drunken slip. But his expression is unreadable, his focus locked on the crossbow like it’s the only thing in the world.

Your throat feels tight, your hands curling into fists in your lap. “Daryl…” You pause, the words catching before they can escape. You want to ask him about the kiss, about what he said. But the fear of what he might say—or worse, what he won’t—roots you in place.

“If I, uh…” he starts, his voice softer now, “if I said or did somethin’ dumb… didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Your breath catches, and you nod quickly, forcing a brittle smile. “Right, course."

And just like that, the warmth of the sun from the morning sky feels as cold as ice, seeping into your skin and draining the last bit of life from you.

You stand abruptly, brushing your palms against your thighs to give your hands something to do. “I should get going,” you say, keeping your tone light even though your heart is still pounding.

Daryl finally looks up at you, his eyes catching yours for a brief, fleeting moment. There’s something there—uncertainty, regret, maybe even a flicker of longing—but it’s gone too quickly to be sure.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and rough. “See ya.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the porch even as your body screams at you to leave. The words are still there, trembling on the edge of your tongue—Did you mean it?—but you swallow them down, just like you always do.

Turning away, you step inside, letting the screen door close softly behind you. As soon as you’re out of sight, you press your back against the wall, closing your eyes as the memory of last night washes over you again.

His words replay in your mind, over and over, as if they’re branded into you. You clutch the hem of your shirt, willing yourself not to cry, even as the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

Because as much as you want to believe he meant it, his silence today feels like an answer.

And yet, you know you’d still give him anything—everything. If he asked, if he even hinted that he wanted it, you’d tear down the moon and hand it to him without a second thought.

But he doesn’t ask. And so you don’t offer.

[nsharks]

pls give us some blurb😔 I'm so sad today😔😔😔

Here is my revised preview for the next part!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit against her chest, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring," Ari says with a chuckle. "Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses."

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

The pond water is cool to the touch. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet curls. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she nods. "I know... I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

She quickly recovers. "Yeah, of course. Ghost told me all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't doing it in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. She is pretty. And she has actual boobs. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top.

Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

[lewmagoo]

six summers | bob floyd

description: it's been six years. six years since you walked away from the man you loved. six years since the night that your own foolish actions led to the disappearance of sixteen-year-old melissa seresin. you’ve spent these last few years living with crippling guilt. and after everything that happened, the last thing you are expecting is an invite to return to the camp and reassume your role as counselor. but here you are, staring in disbelief at a letter asking you to do just that. providing you with the opportunity to make things right. will you be able to come to terms with the past and allow yourself to accept this second chance? or will you let your guilt consume you?

characters: bob floyd x reader, the dagger squad as their respective characters, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, a number of my own ocs

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of death, guilt, references to sex, mentions of anxiety

series status: ongoing

listen to the playlist here!

this story is inspired by @ryebecca and this fantastic moodboard she made ; i also drew some inspiration from riley sager's the last time i lied

*this is my own original work - i do not consent to having it reposted or redistributed in any way

July 30th, 1980

1:15 am

All you felt was terror. Icy cold, like someone had shoved their frigid fingers beneath your shirt, digits pressing harsh, angry bruises into the skin while they were at it. Your arms were wrapped around yourself as you stood in the damp morning air, your eyes flitting about nervously, your gut churning with nausea. 

“You do realize that your negligence in this situation is going to come with consequences, right? How could you be so stupid?!” Penny Mitchell’s voice had a sharp edge to it, despite her lowered tone. Her eyes were piercing. You couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t try to pin this all on her. I’m just as much to blame.” That was Bobby’s voice, coming from beside you, an air of protectiveness emanating from him as he stepped closer, standing in solidarity with you.

“Oh, trust me, I’m holding you responsible, too. But she’s the one who was supposed to be in charge of that cabin. If she would have been at her post, this wouldn’t have happened. But no! The two of you were off doing God knows what, while one of our campers wandered off into the night!” 

Penny got into your face, pointing her finger, her anger palpable, radiating off her in waves. “You had better pray that girl is still alive, because if she winds up dead, her blood is on your hands, counselor.”

May 18th, 1986

10:30 am

“Mail’s in!” The voice of your roommate carried through your apartment, pulling your attention from the rhythmic tapping of the antique typewriter you’d picked up from a yard sale. Without a second thought, you sprang from your chair, flinging open your bedroom door, bare feet quick against carpet as you hurried toward the kitchen, where Margie was just walking through the door with a stack of mail. 

“Any of it addressed to me?” You asked, a hopeful inflection in your voice. 

Margie nodded, tossing the envelopes onto the countertop. “Yeah, you’re popular, got two letters addressed to you.”

Eagerly, you shuffled through the stack before you located the letters she was talking about. One had no definitive markings, so you had no idea where it was from. But the other had a promising logo on the front– The Capital Gazette.

“The Gazette sent something back!” You exclaimed, flipping the envelope over, fingers trembling as you tore into the seal. 

Margie gasped, her attention immediately zeroing in on the letter you held. “What did they say?!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Gimme a minute!” You shot back as you rushed to unfold the paper. Your eyes hurriedly scanned the contents, but within moments, your shoulders fell, the thrill of hope fading away to heavy disappointment. The words we regret to inform you were all you needed to read to know what the letter was about.

“I didn’t get the job,” came your glum statement.

“What?” Margie snatched the paper off the counter when you let it drop, reading it for herself. “Oh, come on! You’re the best damn writer I know, how could they turn you down?!”

You shook your head, fighting the tears of disappointment that had gathered on your lash line. “They don’t need me. They’ve got better writers.”

“That’s bullshit!” She huffed, shaking her head, knocking some of her unkempt curls loose from her haphazard ponytail. 

“Whatever,” you said, bitterly. “There are other newspapers I can apply to. Other magazines. People are hiring all over the place,” you said, hoping to instill hope in your own heart. But it did little to lift your spirits. 

Your roommate sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Thanks, Mar. So am I.”

Her attention shifted to the other, unopened letter on the counter. “What’s that one say?”

With a clueless shrug, you reached for it. All it bore was your address in handwriting that was oddly familiar. Tentatively, you tore into the envelope, brows furrowed as you unfolded the paper and began to read.

And then, “holy shit.”

“What is it?” Margie demanded, curious. When you looked at her, she noticed the expression of worry etched into your brow. 

“Camp Mitchell,” you whispered. 

At that, the woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.” And then, she waved her hand, motioning you on. “What does it say?”

“They…they want me to come back as a counselor.”

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out to you because I wanted to extend a formal invitation to return to camp as a counselor this summer. I know that things ended on a sour note for all of us involved, but Pete and I desire to breathe new life into this camp. We want to give other campers the chance to experience the wonder and magic of summertime at Camp Mitchell. I understand if you would prefer not to return, but it would be an honor to have you back with us again. Think we can agree to let bygones be bygones? I sure do hope so. Please give me a call at the number below and let me know if you would like to return and reassume your role as a camp counselor. Arrival deadline for counselors is May 24th. Hope to see you soon!

Best wishes, 

Penny Mitchell

You stared at the words in absolute shock. They wanted you to come back? After everything that had happened? After your own foolishness had resulted in a girl going missing? You had to admit, it was a bold move on Penny’s part. 

The police had heavily investigated you when young Melissa Seresin went missing six years prior. Penny had even blamed you for the girl’s disappearance. It was hard to imagine her wanting you to come anywhere near her camp ever again.

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, tossing the letter back onto the counter and stepping toward the kitchen table, where you hurriedly pulled out one of the chairs and lowered yourself into the seat. Two life-altering events had just taken place in the span of five minutes. You needed to process all of it. 

As you tried to regain your wits, Margie scanned over the letter. Then, she sauntered over to you, letting out a sigh as she pulled out the chair across from you and flopped down into it, her legs parted, arms falling down to dangle over the sides. She blew a pesky curl away from her face. 

Sympathetic brown eyes landed upon you, and the girl before you smiled softly. Understandingly. “What are you gonna do?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Since the job with The Gazette fell through…I might have no choice but to take up the offer to go back to camp. At least I’d be making some kind of income during the summer while I try to figure things out.”

Margie raised a dark brow. “Listen, you do what you think is best for you. But…after everything that happened there, are you sure you’re ready to go back? It’s only been six years.” She was not coming from a place of judgment. She was coming from a place of genuine concern for her friend. 

You groaned softly, placing your head in your hands. “I dunno know what to do. Honestly, I’m not ready. But then again it might give me closure. And maybe that’s what Penny is thinking. If she wants to make things right with me after the way things ended…maybe I should go.”

The girl sighed. “Yeah, I guess closure might be something that comes outta this. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that shit again, though.”

Your mouth quirked into a grateful smile. “I know, Mar. I’ve gotta think about it, first. I’m not making any decisions yet.”

“Well, let me know what you decide. Whatever choice you make, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As Margie left you at the table to be alone with your thoughts, you considered the weight of the situation. It had all happened so fast, and you felt as if you were caught up in a whirlwind. You only had a week to make a decision, because you had to be at camp on the 24th if you decided to go. 

Were you ready to go back, after only six short years? The thought made your stomach turn. Camp Mitchell was a place that held a lot of trauma for you. Your life had fallen apart there. 

You had been a first-year counselor in the summer of 1980. A job meant to get you through the summer, before you returned to college in the fall. You remembered being so hopeful and excited about what the summer held. 

Camp Mitchell was a camp situated in Michigan’s wilderness. Secluded, surrounded by forests as far as the eye could see. Quaint little wooden cabins. A mess hall. A volleyball pit. A lake. All the other amenities that a typical summer camp would have. 

You were put in charge of the junior/senior girls' cabin. Eleventh and twelfth graders. You were slightly intimidated because you were only a few years older than they were. You worried that they would not respect you. But much to your relief, the girls accepted you with open arms. 

Throughout the many weeks of camp, you bonded with several different girls who passed through your cabin. But none of them connected as well with you as Melissa Seresin. 

July 1980

She was the younger sister of one of the other counselors, Jake Seresin, and she was sweet as could be. She attended camp most of the summer, because her brother worked there, and she didn’t want to remain stuck at home alone while her parents traveled for the summer. 

So, she tagged along with Jake. Unlike her brother, she was not cocky. She had a very kindhearted demeanor. A little spoiled, once in a while, due to being the youngest and only girl of rich parents and a doting older brother, but nothing you couldn’t tolerate. 

Melissa remained a semi-permanent fixture in your cabin, even as groups of girls from different places — schools, church youth groups, family groups, so on and so forth — passed through all summer. 

She knew the camp like the back of her hand, and had spent a few summers there already. You didn’t have to worry about her like you might other campers, because she was well aware of the camp’s procedures. 

That was why it was so jarring when, one night in the middle of the summer, she disappeared without a trace. 

Late one night, after lights out, the girls in your cabin noticed her absence. Melissa was always in bed come lights out. Not always asleep, but certainly always present. Her neatly made, unoccupied bed raised suspicions, but it was her missing backpack that made the girls think that she had left altogether.

You were not at your post like you were supposed to be. Earlier that night, you had enforced lights out, but soon after had slipped out into the night to meet someone. The girls ranged from fifteen to eighteen years old, so you were not particularly concerned about them getting up to mischief. But in your haste to leave, you neglected to double-check that Melissa was present. 

To your utter shame, you had left to meet up with another counselor. The head counselor of the seventh and eighth-grade boys' cabin, Robert Floyd. Bob to his friends. Mr. Bob to the campers. Bobby to you, and only you. 

It wasn’t in your nature to sneak around. Neither was it in Bob’s. But you had gotten tangled up in an impassioned summer fling, and you took advantage of every free moment you had to be together. 

It was in that time span of you and Bob sneaking off to the lake, that Melissa had gone missing. And when you returned to the cabin an hour later, the girls were all awake, in a slight state of upheaval. 

“Where have you been?!” Asked Claudia, one of the senior girls. “I was about to leave and go find Mrs. Mitchell!”

“I needed some air. Why, what’s up?” You cautiously asked. 

Claudia motioned to Melissa’s empty bed. “Melissa never made it in for lights out.”

You stared at the bed, its covers untouched and meticulously tucked in, as a hotel bed would be. That was the way she made it every morning. She hadn’t been in that bed since last night. “No, she was here when I left!” You insisted. 

“Um, no she wasn’t,” Marissa, another senior, piped up. “Plus, her backpack is gone.”

“Oh, God. Well, that’s my bad for sure. Okay, um, I’m sure she can’t have gotten far. She knows this camp well. Don’t worry, I’ll go take a look around. The rest of you, stay put. Lemme just do a count to make sure nobody else went off with her.”

After a headcount, you came up with fourteen girls. Melissa would make fifteen, so she was the only one missing. Huffing out a sigh, and attempting to keep yourself calm and neutral so the girls wouldn’t panic, you squared your shoulders.

“I’ll go grab another counselor and we’ll take a look. Claudia, you’re the oldest, so you’re in charge. Make sure no one leaves. The rest of you, try to get some sleep. I know you’re a little freaked right now but it’s gonna be okay.” The biggest lie you could have told them. It was, in fact, not going to be okay.

“What should we do if she comes back?” Claudia asked, running a nervous hand through her thick brunette locks. Her dark eyes were fearful, although she was trying to appear brave, just as you were trying to do. 

“Just make sure she stays put. I’ll come back and check in a bit, if I don’t find her, and we can touch base then.”

Once you were certain the girls understood the plan, you excused yourself again, stepping out into the humid July night. Crickets sang as you ambled down the path that led to the boys’ cabins, but the pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out the sound. 

Your hands shook, unsteady as you held your flashlight before you. Tears blurred your vision, and the heat of embarrassment washed over you. How could you be so stupid? Here you were, off getting laid while one of your girls was nowhere to be found.

You had to look for her, but you weren’t going to do it alone. Hurriedly, you ascended the steps of cabin 13, the first of the boys’ cabins. Light on your feet, so as not to step on any squeaky boards, you crept closer to the door. 

Three soft raps, five seconds apart. That was your code. And sure enough, within moments, the door inched open, and there was your Bobby. You had just seen him twenty minutes prior, but he’d already changed into his sleep clothes. An old camp shirt and basketball shorts. 

Brow furrowed, he quietly closed the door behind him, stepping out onto the porch. You reached for his hand and guided him off the porch, onto the soft, sandy ground. “What’s goin’ on, Kit?” He asked. The nickname he’d dubbed you for reasons so much more lighthearted than the situation you were facing.

“Melissa’s gone,” you whispered. “The girls said she was never there for lights out.”

“Huh? But you checked on them before you left.”

“I did, but I…I guess I just missed Melissa. I thought she was there, but tonight was so chaotic…God, I can’t believe I could be so stupid” You despaired.

“Shh,” Bob soothed, reaching out to run comforting hands down your arms. “Hey, she probably just went for a walk. I’m not close to her, but I know she likes to go and write in that journal of hers a lot. She’s probably doing that.”

“But that’s not like her. Yeah, she writes in her diary but she’s never done this before. Just…up and left like that. I’m scared, Bobby. I think something might’ve happened to her. And it’s all my fault.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, don’t even let your mind go there. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” His hands had moved to cup your cheeks. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look for her. If we don’t find her in the next hour, we can tell Penny and get a search party goin’.”

You prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but the sick feeling in your gut told you otherwise. It was your fault, no matter how much Bobby tried to assure you it wasn’t. If Melissa was truly missing, then you were the one to blame. But you didn’t dare speak it into the air. You couldn’t.

“O-okay. We can look together, then.”

And so, the two of you set off on the search for Melissa Seresin. Missy, as her brother liked to call her. You thought of Jake, who was in charge of the senior boys’ cabin. You knew he’d be pissed that you didn’t wake him up immediately and tell him what was going on. He was very protective of his baby sister. But you didn’t want to involve him just yet. You had to try to find her yourself, first. 

You set out to search all the places she frequented. Melissa wasn’t as outgoing as her brother. She had a vibrant personality, but also had introverted tendencies. She cherished her alone time, so it wasn’t odd for her to be at the lake, or the horse stables, writing. But she was always visible, and she had never sneaked off before. And certainly not after dark, either. 

These woods were terrifying at night. It was easy to get lost in their vastness. Even a girl who knew her way around could get lost. But you prayed that wasn’t the case. 

You took to searching her usual hangout spots. The lake, even though you and Bob had been there a half hour ago, and hadn’t seen her. Sure enough, she wasn’t there. Then, you took a peek in the horse stables. The camp had not yet obtained horses to occupy the stables, so it was just an empty building.

Hopeful, you followed Bob inside, holding your breath as he called out, “Melissa? You in here, honey? It’s Bob Floyd.”

But you were met with dead silence, so deafening it brought a shiver down your spine. “Oh, my God. She’s gone. She’s gone forever. This is all my fault!” You panicked, burying your face in your hands. 

Bobby, ever the calm and steady one, gently soothed you. “Hey. Hey! Look at me.”

You lifted your tearful eyes to his face, illuminated by the yellow glow of your flashlight. 

“It’s gon’ be okay, alright? We’ll find her. We just need to go get Penny and Pete and tell ‘em what happened. We can get a search party organized. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Lovingly, he took your hand, and together, you made the trek back toward the main part of camp, where the office, mess hall, and staff quarters were. The entire walk, your mind was spiraling with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Melissa. 

Something was wrong. You knew it. 

And, as it would turn out, you were, unfortunately, right. Melissa Seresin never was found. Not when you and the other counselors organized a search party. Not when the police got involved. Not when Jake and Melissa’s dad, an agent in the FBI, got his team involved. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Gone without a trace.

Jake blamed you. But that was okay, because you blamed yourself, too. 

Your own negligence was the reason Melissa was gone. And the police grilled you for it. Much to your utter relief, the Seresins chose not to press charges. But you were left to live with the guilt, and that was punishment enough.

And now, here you were. Six years later. Wounds from the past only partially healed. Presented with an opportunity to go back to the place where it all started, and ended. If you did return, would those wounds reopen, and drain the blood from your veins? Or would those wounds finally heal?

And most importantly, did you have the guts to find out?

One Week Later

A ticket reading Harper, Michigan was clutched tightly in your hand, the paper rumpling from your grip. Your suitcase and duffel bag were beside you, as you stood at the bus depot, waiting for the Greyhound to pull up and take you to your destination.

“I still think you’re crazy for this,” Margie spoke from beside you. She’d come to see you off. 

You turned to her, taking in her soft smile, despite her disapproval of your choice. “I know,” you replied. 

“But I also understand why you want to do this. I really hope it gives you the closure you’re looking for.”

You threw your arms around your friend’s shoulders, hugging her tight. “Thanks, Mar. I’ll try to give you a call at some point in the next few weeks, but the only phone on the property is the one in the main office and I doubt I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” she assured you. 

You took one last good look at her, as you knew you wouldn’t see her for a few months, if you fulfilled your commitment to work the entire camp season. The late morning sun shone down from the sky, illuminating her dark curls. Always so unkempt, but the style suited her. 

“I’ll be seeing ya,” you finally said.

She nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take care of yourself. And good luck.”

The bus pulled into the stop as you bid your final goodbyes, and then, you handed off your luggage to the attendant to pack away beneath the bus before you climbed the steps into the large vehicle, flashing your ticket to the driver. You took a seat toward the back, settling in and placing your purse beside you, hoping that you would get two of the tackily upholstered seats all to yourself. 

As soon as you were settled, you fished your Walkman out of your bag, unraveling the headphones and placing them on your head. As soon as you hit play, the opening sound of the 1975 Eagles album, One of These Nights, filled your ears.

You had purposely chosen this tape to accompany you on your trip, because it held a lot of nostalgic memories for you. Namely, it had been a gift from your Bobby. He’d given it to you in the beginning stages of your romance, after you’d expressed to him that the album was one of your favorites.

“I want you to have it,” he insisted. “A memento that you can have all the time, to remind you of what a great time we had together here.”

And you did have a great time. But the trauma of Melissa’s disappearance had soured the whole thing. All you had left of Bobby was this tape, and a few braided jute bracelets he had made you, from plant fibers. You still wore them on your wrist to this day. 

He had tried to keep in contact with you after the camp shut down. He’d sent letters. Called your home phone. But you never answered. As much as you loved him, the reminder of what had happened was too painful, and you let your connection to him fizzle out. 

But as you listened to the familiar cords, a rush of memories flooded you, the wave so intense that it took your breath away. Flashes of Bob’s beautiful face. Twinkling eyes, blushing cheeks, a crinkled button nose. The prettiest laughter you’d ever heard.

Large, warm hands exploring. Lips trailing searing kisses down your sternum. Whispers of your name. Groans of pl–

With a gasp, you snatched the headphones off your head, eyes flickering about, as if someone around you could have heard your thoughts. But everyone else was in their own little world, completely oblivious to the salacious flashbacks you had just experienced.

But they made you warm with shame nonetheless. 

You’d be foolish not to admit that you’d thought of Bobby over the years. Looked back on your encounters with fondness. With desire. You’d been sexually involved with a few other people since then, but the entire time, you could only think of him. It was why you’d stopped seeing other people. They weren’t your Bobby. 

You wondered if he thought about you, too.

More importantly, you wondered if he’d be returning to Camp Mitchell like you were. Were you ready to face him again? The thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies. 

You imagined he’d moved on. He had to. Hell, he probably had a wife and kids already. Imagining such a thing sent a queasy rush through you. You still weren’t over him, and you supposed you never would be. He was your first great love. 

But he wasn’t the only person you would potentially face from your past. 

Your mind went to the other counselors you’d worked with that fateful summer. Specifically, you thought of Jake Seresin. Surely he wouldn’t return to camp, right? Not after his baby sister had disappeared from that very place. It had to be too painful for him. 

Little did you know, everyone you had worked with was also traveling from their own respective homes and cities, headed right for Camp Mitchell, just like you were. 

The camp was founded by Pete and Penny Mitchell, a husband and wife duo. They had started it with the best of intentions. It was in its fifth successful year when you came on staff. And that just so happened to be the last year it was in operation. 

Until now. 

What had made the couple decide it was a good idea to reopen the camp, you had no idea. But you were going to give it a chance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

But several hours later, as the Greyhound pulled into the station in Harper, a tiny town boasting of a general store, a bus depot, and a long, winding road that led up to the camp itself. 

As you stepped off the bus, you realized one very important detail: you had no idea how you were even getting up to the camp. Would they send a driver down to retrieve everyone? 

Your question was soon answered when you caught sight of a large white poster board propped against a nearby lamppost. CAMP MITCHELL STAFF WAIT HERE. A DRIVER WILL ESCORT YOU TO CAMP. 

With a sigh, you rolled your suitcase over to the post, hoping you wouldn’t have to wait long. And you didn’t. About five minutes later, an old teal-colored truck came down the road, its engine obnoxiously loud. On the side, Camp Mitchell was printed in bold letters. 

You straightened, smoothing out your travel-rumpled clothes as you grabbed your belongings, prepared to help load everything into the truck. It didn’t even occur to you that you might know the driver. You expected to meet someone entirely new. 

As soon as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the curb, you were already moving to the truck bed, hoisting your duffel bag over the side, letting it land with a satisfying thump. 

“Here, let me,” a familiar voice spoke up, and in moments, a pair of hands were stealing your suitcase away, heaving it into the bed. 

You looked up at the man assisting you, and your blood ran cold. As he turned from putting your luggage in place, he froze, too. Wide blue eyes, no longer hidden beneath a pair of wireframes, locked with your own. 

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. 

But he did. In a voice as smooth and soft as butter, yet breathless with surprise. “Kit?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Kit. The nickname he’d dubbed you six years ago. It was something so simple. So silly. You’d had an affinity for KitKat bars that summer. They were the only candy bars you liked from the camp store. As a joke, Bobby had said “I should call you KitKat, since you like those things so much.”

And thus, it was shortened to Kit. The name stuck. 

Hearing it again made your head spin. You felt woozy on your feet. You swayed a little. A memory flashed in your mind. You and him. Sitting under the old weeping willow. His fingertips wiping chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

It sent a burning ache through your chest. 

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “B-Bobby.” The first words you’d spoken to him in six years. 

He let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d show.” 

You gathered yourself, trying to regain your composure. “I didn’t either,” you whispered. 

He offered a tentative smile. “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you, though.”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed in confusion. “You are?”

“Gosh, I am. It’s been too long. I didn’t…didn’t know what happened to you. You never responded to my calls or letters. I thought maybe…” He wouldn’t speak it out loud. He couldn’t. 

But you inferred what he meant from his tone. He’d feared that the trauma of what had happened had been too much for you to handle. That you’d succumbed to it all. 

“I was working on myself. Trying to heal.”

He nodded. “Understandable.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “I really am glad to see you, though. You look well.”

You shrugged. “I’m workin’ on it. And I’m glad to see you too.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and you realized how much he’d changed, but also stayed the same. He’d filled out. His shoulders were more broad. Muscular. His glasses were gone, presumably replaced with contacts. His hair, once close-cropped, was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, peeking out from beneath the baseball cap he wore. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. 

He looked like a man. 

But there was still that boyish glint in his eyes, and hiding behind his smile. Still that same gentleness reserved particularly for you. It was overwhelming, and you could feel your chest beginning to tighten. 

“Are you, uh, are you ready to head up there? Or do ya need a minute?” Bobby asked, his voice low. Laced with concern. 

You stepped back. “I thought I could do this. Maybe I can’t.”

He let you have your space. “Take all the time you need.”

The rush of memories flooding you was overwhelming. The last time you saw him. The last thing you said to him. 

Six Years Ago

The day you left camp, it was raining. Pouring from the sky in sheets, washing everything in a gray hue that made the world look like a watercolor painting. 

The sandy ground squashed beneath your feet as you walked toward that old truck, with the camp’s logo on the side. Your luggage was stuffed into the truck bed, wrapped in plastic garbage bags so it wouldn’t get wet in the downpour. 

As you climbed into the cab, Bobby came running out of the main office, making a beeline for the truck. He scrambled to wrench open the door and join you inside, breathing labored as he settled into the seat. 

For a few moments, it was silent, save for the sound of him moving to start the engine. He fiddled with the heat dial, hoping to reduce the fog on the windows, as the rain had made the air unseasonably chilly that morning. 

You both sat there, staring out the windshield, watching the water trickle down the glass. He made no move to put the truck in gear. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

“Bobby—”

“No, listen to me. I’m sorry it came to this. It shouldn’t have.”

“What’s done is done. Please, let’s just get out of here. I can’t stay in this place another minute.”

Bobby lingered for a moment, his eyes on you, even as you refused to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you’d melt into a fit of tears. So, with a soft sigh, he put the truck in drive, and began the journey down the winding dirt road that led out of camp. 

The trip was silent. You had nothing left to say, because you’d exhausted all your words these last few weeks. Countless hours of interrogation. Recounting that night over and over again. The conclusion was that a girl was missing, and it likely would not have happened if you’d been doing your job. That was a sense of guilt that you would have to live with for the rest of your life.

Bob pulled into the bus station fifteen minutes later, and you didn’t hesitate as you hurried to slide out of your seat, shoes colliding with wet asphalt. Your chest was tight, eyes blurring with tears as you rushed to grab your luggage. 

“Would ya stop for a minute?!” Bobby exclaimed, reaching out to gently grab at your arm. 

But you jerked away from him. “Please, don’t…don’t make this harder than it is,” you whispered.

He stared at you, brilliant blue eyes wide, filled with emotion. “So, what, you won’t even say goodbye?”

You feared that saying goodbye would break the dam, and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together. You’d fall into his arms, sobbing your heart out, and you would never get on that bus. The man before you sighed, shaking his head before he moved to haul your suitcase out of the truck, placing the plastic-covered bag on the sidewalk. 

“That’s it then?” He spoke, his tone grim.

Squaring your shoulders, you nodded, forcing yourself to hold it together. “Goodbye, Robert.”

You turned to leave, and he watched you go, his heart falling to pieces within him. He was losing you, perhaps forever, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wanted to go after you. Wanted to shake you and tell you to just listen. But you were so entrenched in the trauma of what had happened that he wasn’t sure you could listen to reason at all.

So he let you leave. He watched you climb onto that Greyhound, bound for home, all while he was left there with a wound in his heart, wishing that things could have ended differently. Wishing that your love for each other had been enough to keep you with him.

But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. And that was something he had to live with.

May 1986

Seeing you again was a lot for him. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. Even more so, now, if that was possible. He was also hit with a rush of emotions. He never thought he’d see you again. When he’d received the letter from Penny, inviting him back to camp, he had thought about you, and was sure you wouldn’t come back.

But here you were, standing before him, uncertain and anxious, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But he kept his distance, not wanting to invade your personal space. You weren’t his any longer. He could not touch you the way he used to. 

You took a moment to pull yourself together, taking a deep breath, counting to ten, trying to ground yourself. Then, you fixed your posture, and nodded in Bob’s direction. “Alright. I think…I think I’m okay. We can, um, we can leave if you’re ready.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.” He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into that old truck once again, just as you had six years ago. 

Everything had come full circle.

Bobby rounded the truck and settled into the driver’s seat, and soon, he’d started the engine, pulling away from the curb, turning onto the road that led up to camp. Your gut churned with anxiety. You were really doing this. There was no turning back now. 

The radio played softly as Bob drove. Some old country song. Hank Williams, you thought. Its grainy, peaceful tune did well to calm your anxiety. Your hands had stopped trembling.

“It’s been a while,” the man beside you murmured. His accent seemed to have gotten thicker, a slight twang to it. 

“I know,” you replied, staring down at your lap. Then, “God, I’m so sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t have gone no contact like I did. I got the letters you sent. And I got every message you left on my answering machine. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to respond.”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. I should’ve given you more space. I know everything that happened was a lot for you.”

“But that’s no excuse for me to just ignore you. It wasn’t right of me. I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted. It’s in the past, Kit. We can leave it there.”

It was that easy. A soothing sense of relief washed over you, warming you from head to toe. That exchange made you feel a little more at ease, and the conversation soon shifted.

“Did everyone come back this year?”

He nodded, humming lowly. “Most of ‘em, surprisingly. Bradley, Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, Javy. Half got here last night. The rest came earlier this mornin’.”

You hesitated, picking at a jagged nail on your right hand. “And…Jake?”

Bob was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, him too.”

You recoiled in confusion. “But…why would he come back?”

“Penny didn’t say it in her letter, but they’re doing a dedication ceremony for Melissa. There’s a new garden area they installed in the main part of camp. It’s gonna be called Melissa Jo’s Garden. They had a plaque made and everything. Jake agreed to come for the ceremony. I dunno if he’s staying all summer though.”

“Oh.” It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs. You had not left things on a good note with Jake. He harbored deep resentment toward you for neglecting to watch over your cabin. He blamed you for his sister’s disappearance. 

“He seems to be handling everything alright. He might actually be okay with seeing you again.”

But you weren’t so sure. There was that nervousness again, roiling in your gut. Did you have the nerve to face him? And how would he react? You doubted he’d welcome you back with open arms. 

You’d soon find out, because just up ahead, the Camp Mitchell sign could be seen. Large, deep green in color, with white lettering. So familiar, yet so foreign all at once. 

You couldn’t believe you were back. What if this turned out to be the most foolish decision you’d ever made?

You didn’t have time to consider that, because Bobby was pulling into the common area in no time, and killing the engine. It was time to face the past you’d been running like hell to get away from. 

As Bob got out to gather your luggage, you pushed the old, squeaky passenger door open and let your feet land in the soft sand. 

The scent of pine and honeysuckle filled your nose. It sent an intense wave of nostalgia through you. So much had changed, and yet nothing had, all at the same time. 

The layout was still the same. Clinic. Main office. Mess hall. Common area. But in the middle of the main entrance was a small garden. Stone paths weaved throughout. Spindly bushes, multicolored flowers, and other plants decorated the soil. Right in the middle of the garden was what appeared to be a large stone, covered with a tarp. You assumed the plaque for Melissa was hidden beneath the tarp. 

And then, a voice caught your attention. You looked up to find Penny Mitchell approaching you. Blue cotton shorts, accessorized with a belt. A blue and white striped t-shirt tucked into them. A pair of hiking boots were on her feet. Practical, that one was. Always ready for an outdoor excursion at a moment’s notice.

You braced yourself, unsure of how she would behave toward you. She had rightfully held you responsible for Melissa’s disappearance, and you weren’t sure if she’d moved on from that. But, if she’d invited you back, she had to have at least found it in her heart to forgive you. You hoped so, anyway. 

“Welcome!” She said, sweeping her arms out in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Oh, um, thanks. Me…me too,” you said, unsure of the proper response. 

Bobby sidled up beside you. You didn’t feel so alone with him there.

“Did Bob fill you in on everything on the drive up?”

“Kinda, yeah,” came your answer.

Penny nodded. “Once everyone is settled, Pete and I will take you on a tour. We’ve made a lot of changes these last few months.” Then she looked at Bob. “Would you show her to her cabin? We’ll put her in cabin five.”

“Sure thing,” he replied.

“We’ll have a little orientation meeting after dinner. There’s a whole itinerary we have to go over. I put a schedule in your cabin. Any questions?”

Yeah, lots. You stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you invite me back? After everything that happened?”

She regarded you silently, her expression neutral. Then, she said, “Because I believe in second chances. Or, rather, my husband does. He wanted to bring all of you back and start with a clean slate. Whether or not you’ve earned that second chance remains to be seen. But I hope you have.” Her words sent a painful ache through your chest. You didn’t blame her for being wary of you, but it still hurt. 

As she excused herself, you were once again left alone with Bobby. “Y’alright?” He gently asked, cadence low and comforting.

You processed his words for a moment. “Yeah…yeah. I’m okay.”

“You need a minute?”

“No. Let’s just get my stuff to my cabin.”

With a single nod, he grabbed your suitcase and duffel bag, moving to walk up the hill. You followed closely behind, letting the rush of memories ebb through you. The cabins were small, build from dark wood, with green paint detailing the shutters and doors. They looked like they’d received fresh coats of paint, but otherwise, everything was still the same.

It didn’t take long to reach cabin five. Bob carried your things inside, and you slowly followed, your heart quickening as you stepped through the door. The scent of cedar and pine was familiar and painful all at once. 

This wasn’t the cabin you’d been in when you were here last. You were in cabin two then, just one over from this one. Even so, it looked so eerily similar that for a moment, you were transported back to the summer of 1980.

Funnily enough, Bob had been the one to show you to your cabin for the first time that year, too.

“You’ve still got ‘em.”

Your eyes flickered to him, and your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“The bracelets I made you.”

Oh. You looked down, eyeing your wrist, where the two braided jute bracelets remained, from when he’d made them for you that year. Dyed faintly with berry juice. Fraying at the edges, but still intact. “Um, yeah…I do. Guess I just could never bring myself to take them off.”

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out. You let him gingerly take your wrist into his palm. His fingers brushed against the braided rope, and his touch sent goosebumps across your skin. “After all these years,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his voice would fail him.

All at once, you were floored with an intense wave of emotion, so powerful it nearly drove you to your knees. It hit you out of nowhere, like a gut punch. “Bobby,” you whimpered.

Shocking blue flickered to meet your wide-eyed gaze, and his face crumpled, bottom lip quivering. “Kit.”

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you were in each other’s arms then, holding on tightly, as if the other would float away if you loosened your grip. The sound of soft sobs reached your ears, and you realized that they were coming from you.

“I never should have walked away from you. Never, ever!” You cried against his chest. “I’m sorry!”

“No, shhh,” he soothed, cradling your head against him. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s okay, you’re forgiven.”

You pulled back to look at him, shaking your head. “It’s not okay!”

Two large hands came up to hold your face. “It hurt me, alright? I’ll admit that. Broke my heart in two. But I never held it against you, because…because I knew everything you’d been through. I know that summer was the worst time of your life. It made sense to me if you didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I would’ve just been a reminder of everything that happened.”

“But I did want to talk to you, Bobby. I did. I just couldn’t get past the goddamn trauma.”

He shook his head, his face kind. “I know. But we’re here now, together. That’s gotta count for something.” Maybe we’ve been given a second chance, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He was well aware that your romance might never be rekindled. However, he was content to just remain friends with you if it meant that you would be in his life again.

You went quiet, letting your head fall against his chest again. You couldn’t believe you were here, standing in the middle of a cabin at the place where you had lost everything. It felt so surreal. It was as if a million years had passed since you saw him here last, and yet, it also felt like no time had passed at all. 

There was so much that needed to be discussed. But there was no hurry. For now, you were just relieved to know that you had not burned a bridge with your first great love. If nothing else went right for you this summer, he was the one good thing that would come out of it. 

“I’m glad…I’m glad it was you who picked me up at the station,” you admitted.

Bobby smiled softly. “So am I.” He searched your face, as if memorizing it. “I really thought I wouldn’t ever see you again.”

You hummed in agreement. “Me too. But I guess fate wanted us to meet again.”

“She’s a tricky one, that Fate.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Finally, he parted from you, though the absence of his body made yours feel cold. He didn’t want to overstep. “Well…I guess I’ll let you get settled.” He moved toward the door, but your voice gave him pause.

“Actually, wait for me. I don’t want to face everyone alone. I’d prefer it if we walked together.” Bobby might be the only person in this damn place to accept you again. You wanted to cling to that, and the security it provided.

He gave a single nod. “Alright. You want any help getting settled, then?”

Together, you set about getting everything situated. Bob went around and checked the cabin for spiders, because he knew you weren’t a fan of the little (and sometimes big) guys. He found one, which he very gently coaxed into his hand (murmuring “c’mon, little buddy” as he did) and released it outside. 

Once you had your stuff organized, and did a quick clean sweep of the cabin, you were ready to join everyone else. There was a paper posted on the wall just beside the door, detailing the itinerary for counselors and other camp staff. In about fifteen minutes, dinner would be served in the mess hall. 

Directly following that, there would be an orientation meeting in the meeting hall, a place where staff meetings usually took place. Assemblies with the campers were also held there. It ws in that hall that you would be forced to face people from your past. Namely, you’d have to face Jake again. 

The thought made your stomach churn, and your hands tremble. But then, Bob’s gentle presence brought you back to the presence, and your racing heart calmed down a little. 

He offered you a kind smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

Together, you walked out of that cabin and into the camp grounds, falling into silence as your steps synced up. There were so many things Bobby wanted to say, but he didn’t want to inundate you with questions and confessions, so he left it. He knew you had to be terribly overwhelmed as it was. He didn’t want to be the cause of more stress.

So, silence it was, all the way until you got to the mess hall. He stopped to open the door for you, and you hesitated. 

“It’s okay,” he assured you. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

You liked the sound of that. 

So, with a deep breath and squared shoulders, you stepped through that door, entering the room. Dark wood stretched out before you. The mess hall was a similar design to the cabins, just much bigger. High ceilings with unfinished wooden beams. Wooden floors and walls. Dark green paint detailing. Windows on each wall to let in natural light. A large stone fireplace in the middle of the room. 

It was very cozy, but as your gaze shifted to the table of faces to your left, you felt a chill run over you. Here goes nothing.

You appraoched the table, taking in each person seated there. At the head of the table was Pete Mitchell, Penny’s husband. He lifted his head and offered a smile, but you couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. Beside him, Penny glanced up at you.

Then, to her right, you saw Natasha Trace. Another person you had once had a connection with. She was good friends with Bobby before you met him. The two of them had gone to school, and eventually college, together. Beside her was a woman you’d never seen before, but judging by the way Natasha held her hand, you inferred that they were in a relationship. It was no surprise to you. Nat had always made it clear that she only had eyes for women.

Then, on the other side of the woman was Mickey Garcia, another one of Bob’s good friends. His best friend, in fact. Mickey offered you a smile, and you took that as acceptance of you. He always had been rooting for you, all those summers ago.

Beside Mickey was Javy Machado. You couldn’t get a read on him. His face bore a neutral expression as he regarded you. Back then, he’d been best friends with Jake, and had therefore been completely on his side. You assumed the sentiment was still the same. 

Then, of course, there was Bradley Bradshaw. He was Pete and Penny’s surrogate son, in a way. After Bradley’s mother died when he was a teenager, Pete had brought him on to learn how to run the camp. One day, he would take charge of the place, after the husband and wife duo retired.

All of them were seated around that table, but you noticed that one was missing. You had no idea where Jake was. Maybe he wasn’t joining everyone for dinner. Maybe he’d left. A part of you hoped so.

“Wanna sit here?” Bobby asked, motioning to two seats next to Bradley. 

You nodded, and he pulled out your chair for you. Once you were seated, he took his own seat beside you, between Bradley and you. The other man leaned over the table, and you got a look at his face for the first time in six years. He’d lost his baby face, and was now sporting a defined jaw. A neatly kept mustache shadowed his upper lip. You thought it suited him. “Good to see you again,” he said.

Bradley’s statement seemed to break the ice, and a few murmurs of greeting echoed around the table. Even still, an air of awkwardness hovered over the group. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin. But you were here now, and there was no turning back. 

The food was set up around the table like a regular family dinner. Simple foods. Sandwiches. Veggies and dip. Chips. You grabbed a sandwich, but you found your stomach in knots, and the thought of eating anything nauseated you. 

“Well, Penny, you did it. Got us all to come back. Good on you,” Natasha spoke up.

Penny shrugged. “Pete and I have been talking about it for a while. I know the way things ended back in ‘80 was…bad, to say the least. But we really feel that this place has potential, and we could breathe new life into it.”

“What do the Seresins think about that?” Javy asked, his brow raised.

“We think it’s an okay idea,” a voice spoke up from across the room. 

The group looked up all at once to see the man stepping through the door. You tensed, taking in a breath. Your heart rate picked up, thudding against your chest as the chill of anxiety crawled along your spine. 

“Really?” Natasha piped up.

Jake nodded as he approached the group. “Yeah. Seeing as how Penny wants to dedicate this place to Missy. We all remember how much she loved it here. I firmly believe she’d want it to keep going.”

Penny smiled. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Jake.”

He stopped at the empty end of the table, hands coming up to rest upon the back of the chair there. “But I do have one question.” 

“What’s that?” The woman asked.

Jake smiled, but you could tell is wasn’t a real smile. In fact, when you looked at his eyes, the pale green was filled with snake’s venom. “What the fuck is she doing here?” He jabbed his finger in your direction, and you froze, your eyes growing wide.

That was more like the reaction you’d been expecting. 

Penny faltered, her smile fading. Beside you, you felt Bob stiffen. But you didn’t dare pull your eyes away from Jake’s accusatory glare. 

“I-I just thought that–”

“I don’t care. Look, Penny; I really appreciate you putting this all together, but in what world did you think it was okay to invite the person who had a hand in my sister’s disappearance?”

“She isn’t the one who wanted to invite her. I am.” Pete stood from his seat, his eyes narrow. “I thought that she deserved a second chance. And I wanted you to find it in yourself to allow her that chance.”

“Oh, really? What, is she gonna bring my sister back? Hm?” Jake’s gaze was so cold. You wished the ground would swallow you up. How on earth could you have thought this was a good idea?

“No, but–”

“If she stays, I’m refusing the dedication. She’s the reason I lost Missy. She doesn’t get to just stand there and pretend she’s sorry, while my parents and I are still grieving.”

Your eyes had blurred with tears, and your chest was tight. You should never have come. 

But then, “leave ‘er alone, Jake.” Bobby stood up, facing the other man. 

“Oh, you coming to her rescue is rich, Baby on Board. Wasn’t it your dick she was sucking when my kid sister went missing?”

The room went dead silent.

Bob took a breath. Then two. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. She’s here, whether you like it or not. And she deserves another chance, just as much as anybody.”

“No, you know what? You’re right. This was a mistake. I should never have come,” you spoke up, rising from your chair.

But Bobby grabbed your arm. “No. Don’t let him drive you away.” His eyes were pleading.

You pulled away from his grasp, sadly shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Then you turned to Jake. “I wish I could bring your sister back. But I can’t. You need to know that I cared about her. And I should have been more thorough when I did bed check that night. I regret it every day, and I’ve lived with that guilt for the last six years. But my guilt is nothing compared to the loss you and your parents have had to endure. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll leave, if that’s what you’d prefer. I never should have come in the first place.”

With that, you ducked your head, pushing your chair out of the way as you scrambled toward the exit. You could hear Bob calling your name, but you ignored him, your legs carrying you quickly toward the door. Your vision had tunneled, and your chest was heavy. You had to get out of that building. You felt like you were suffocating. Like someone had pulled a plastic bag over your face.

You threw your arms out in front of you and shoved the door open, letting out a great heaving sob as you stumbled down the front steps. You made it a few feet from the stairs before you leaned forward, hands braced on your knees as you fell apart.

“Oh, God!” You cried. You heard footsteps quickly approaching. It made you whirl around. “Just leave me the fuck alone!” Came your wail.

“No! I don’t care what he says, you deserve to be here!” 

It was Bob, you realized. 

“What do you want me to do, then?! He doesn’t want me here, Bob! And I never should’ve come. So just…just pull the truck around and I’ll get my luggage and get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“Either you take me back to the station, or I’ll get someone else to do it!”

“No other buses are running until tomorrow morning, so you can’t leave anyway! You’re stuck here for the night.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. “I just want to leave!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders. “You’re not listening to me! I can’t handle watching you walk away from me again. I lost you once, and I’ll be damned if I let Jake Seresin be the reason I lose you again!”

And then, silence.

“Oh.” 

He released your shoulders suddenly, his face stricken. “I-I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong. This is probably super overwhelming for you and I’m just making it worse.”

“No. No, you…you aren’t.” A pause. And then, “I don’t want to walk away from you again, either.”

“If you want to leave, then I’ll take you to the station tomorrow morning. But I just want you to try and stay. I know Jake doesn’t want you here, but I’m sure Pete can convince him to at least give you a chance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

However, back inside the mess hall, a discussion was happening. “I’m sorry, Jake. I know we should have told you we invited her back. I take full responsibility for that oversight. But your parents…they knew she was coming. We checked with them beforehand. Your mom is of the belief that we should give her another chance.”

“What?” Jake asked, incredulous. 

“Yeah. So, I know it’s hard for you, but if your mom is willing to forgive, then I’m going to respect that, and give this girl a chance. You know she’s lived with this guilt for so long. I think that’s punishment enough.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. If it was up to me, she’d be on the next Greyhound outta here. But if my mom wants her here…” He looked out the window, eyeing you and Bob as you spoke to each other. “It boggles my damn mind, but I’ll respect my mom’s wishes. That doesn’t mean I forgive her, though. I don’t think I ever will. But you go ahead and keep her on staff. Something tells me it ain’t gonna end well, but what do I know?”

And with that, Jake stalked off in a huff. 

He swung the screen door open, and your head shot up, your eyes widening as you saw him coming down the steps. Bobby took a protective step toward you. 

“You can stay,” Jake said as he walked past. “But only because my mom is the one who wanted you here.” Then he leaned in close. Well, as close as Bob would allow him to get. “But just know this. If you fuck up in any way, shape, or form, I’ll ship you back home myself. We clear?”

“Y-yes,” you responded with a curt nod. 

“Good.” 

And with that, Jake Seresin walked away.

You let out an unsteady breath, your shoulders slumping. Bobby looked at you, his gaze questioning. “What are you gonna do?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t…”

“You don’t need to decide now. Just sleep on it. Make your decision with a fresh mind, alright?”

“Yeah,” came your whispered reply. “Yeah, that’s–that’s what I’ll do.”

He took his baseball cap off, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for you. Do ya wanna just turn in early? I’m sure they’d understand if you skipped orientation.”

You considered his words, and finally, you shook your head. “No. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to go, and see how I do. But I think I’m going to just go and lay down for a while until then.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“I’d like that.”

With a soft smile and a nod, Bobby began to guide you back toward the cabins. Your hands were shaking, and your head was spinning. It felt like someone had shoved their hands into your chest and taken hold of your lungs, squeezing them with all their might. 

It was a painfully uncomfortable feeling, and you hoped that it would pass soon. But as long as you were here, in this place that held so many memories, it would probably remain a permanent fixture in your body. The only thing that soothed it was Bobby’s presence.

Even after all these years, and after the sour note you’d left him on, being near him still felt so comforting and peaceful. It was an odd, but welcome, sensation. You hadn’t expected it to be this way. When you thought of seeing him again, you imagined it would be painfully awkward, or that maybe he would refuse to speak to you. 

But this was Robert Floyd you were talking about. He didn’t hold grudges. And if he did, then he’d been deeply hurt beyond repair. It was a relief to know that things were not beyond mending between you. At the moment, you were too overwhelmed and emotional to even consider what it might mean for you in the future. You were just grateful that he was near you again.

So much had changed. When you’d left him, he’d been more gangly. Twenty-two years old. Large wireframes perched atop his nose. All round cheeks and softer features. Now, he seemed a little taller. Or maybe, his slight bulk made him appear so. Gone were those gangly limbs, replaced with muscle that had been defined by physical labor. 

His hands, though. His hands had stayed the same. They’d always been big, but he’d grown into them. They suited him now. Strong and steady. Farmer’s hands. 

“You want me to come get you when it’s time for orientation?” The low cadence of his voice jarred you from your daydream.

“If you would? I forgot to pack my battery alarm clock, so have no way of keeping time.”

He nodded. “Sure. I can get ya one of those clocks. I actually have two, you can have one of mine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, I don’t need two anyway. I’ll bring it to you later tonight.”

You shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Together, you stopped just outside your cabin, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Bob’s face was gentle, his eyes kind. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s a for you lot to be back here. And Jake didn’t help anythin’ by reacting the way he did. But if no one else is happy to see you, I want you to know that I am. I’ll respect whatever decision you make, but I really do hope you’ll stay.”

You considered his words, mulling them over in your mind. He didn’t expect you to decide at that very moment, and you knew your brain was too overworked to make that decision then as it was. So, the best you could do was nod your head. “I’ll see you in a bit, Bobby.”

He hummed, mouth quirking into a smile. “See you in a bit, Kit.”

You watched him walk away, his footsteps sure, his stance confident. He had a swagger to him that he didn’t have six years ago. It suited him well. 

With a soft sigh, you finally turned and made your way into the cabin. As soon as the screen slammed behind you, you surged forward, collapsing into your bed, which was right near the door. Immediately, you buried your face in the pillow, and everything you’d been keeping inside came spilling out of you in bitter waves.

What had you gotten yourself into?

to be continued...

-

taglist (tagging those who showed interest; if you want to be added let me know)

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fairyheart @hangmanapologist @laracrofted @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @milesmillergf @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @floydsmuse @senawashere @creatchie8

[leviackermanstoes]

Iron in my teeth.

-viktor (arcane) x OC!

-warnings: Possibly some Canon divergence. Fluff. Angst. Bad writing. Slight vi slander. Svet=light in Russian. Viktor sad boi. Sorta ooc jayce.

----🌌

Fear and Loathing. It's what keeps us bound to this earth. What keeps us moving so that we may eventually reach a place in time where something will take that away.

Fear and loathing is what keeps the city awake.

--

The tower is awake and rumbling with the sounds of footsteps as a group of enforcers hurded past the door. From the window, I could see fireworks being set off on the bridge. A plume of green and pink smoke burst into the air, eroding into the midnight sky.

The sounds of echoing scream and even further cries haunted the streets, taunting the silence that threatened to tear the streets apart. Enforcers are growing more and more willing each day to kill another person, every day another five or more people dead on the street and as I watch them leave each day, the thought that none of them will return makes me think about better times ahead.

"Your awake"

The voice is unmistakably dipped in an illustrious accent and belonging to None other than Viktor himself. Stood in the doorway of the room, I watched him through the glass reflection as he leant on his cane.

"It seems everyone is" I sighed.

I heard the sound of tapping as Viktor hobbled over to me. Standing by me at the window, Viktor hummed as he looked at the scene unfolding down below.

"I don't know why they do it," He spoke. "Why they try to force change"

I fiddled with my ringed fingers as I took thought into what Viktor said, and it made me realise that no one who went down there was not willing to accept they may not be able to change what has already been done.

I turnt my head to viktor. The deep blue glow from the night outside illuminated the room in a sapphire light. Almost like the gemstones that viktor has in his study. The colour made him look alive.

"How is your work going? I heard from jayce that you made a breakthrough with the hexcore."

"It is true. It responds to organic matter. It's incredible to watch, but we haven't found a way to keep it alive. The plants die, and wear away"

Viktor tilted his head down. eyes shut tightly. I felt his heart racing even without my hand on his chest. The man was sick. Each day you spent in his study, helping him with different activities, the more you noticed it. His skin had gotten so pale, and the under of his eyes reached a deeper shade of purple each day.

"I'm so sorry, Viktor"

I put my hand on his bony shoulder. He parted his lips slightly as if he wanted to say something. For a few moments, he kept parting them and then closed them once again. His eyes glittered without staring into the moonlight dazing upon him. Effortlessly, he was beautiful, even if his body was decaying.

"Long ago, I met a man in the undercity who told me that to get what you want in life, you have to pretend everybody wants it too"

Viktor looked up, staring down into the city below. It was hard to know what he was thinking of sometimes. Such a complicated man, with such intrigue, meaning he could be thinking of anything between some diagrams on a paper and the gleaming golden hue that was the moon on piltover.

"Sometimes," he says. "I think that there is not a single person in the world who could understand what happens in my head"

He huffs a laugh to himself. "And yet, somehow, you always seem to understand completely"

My gaze fell upon him. His gold eyes gleamed in the light. Sharp features on his face highlighted how overworked he truly was, deep chiselled lines down his cheeks, droopy eyes, and tired brows.

"If I could, viktor, I would take your pain away if only for a second"

Viktor tensed his lips, jaw clenching as he turned away, almost ashamed or disappointed.

"You shouldn't say such things, Svet"

"Why not?"

Viktor didn't look at me as he turned and slowly hobbled away from me. As viktor reached for the door, he stopped.

"Because when I die, I don't want you to remember that you once loved me. For I fear, you would follow me into whatever afterlife I may go to"

And just like that, viktor left. The large intricate door was left open, and he was just gone. And for once, I didn't like the feeling that came with watching someone leave me. For once, I thought I could actually die.

-

There is nothing quite like the realisation that you have met your undoing.

I stood before the council, prepared to announce plans we had discussed for the past few days now. Although nothing has really been done except rioting and the quick rise of enforcers hunting.

"If you have something to say, please go right ahead" spoke councillor Kiramman.

I looked around at them all. My eyes landed on jayce, and then Mel, who sat beside him adorned in gold and luxurious fabrics ethereal as she always were.

"I know there is nothing I can say that will get you to change your minds about this. No words about politics or war and justice do I have that will guide you to see the true extent of our damage done to our future"

I sighed. Standing before the council, a group of important, powerful people, I knew I only had one chance to convince them to stop their battle on the undercity.

"I know you would all like to believe that there are only criminals and villains that live below you. I know that it looks like they attack without reason and that they are vicious. But no dog attacks without being provoked and that is what you are doing to these people"

I looked at them all. They were listening but not understanding.

"I know someone," I sighed, feeling tears gloss my eyes. "Who is very dear to me, someone I have known and loved since gods painted rainbows in the sky and hung clouds. Someone from the undercity who would very much like to see his home not under attack. If you do not stop these attacks and these violent wars that threaten to tear the fabric of our world apart"

When I looked over at the door, tears welled in my eyes. I saw viktor. Standing there proud, leaning on his cane with his sharp smile. Hair still dark and wavy like the midnight ocean.

I turnt back to the council.

"Mark my words here. That if there is no change. Like I have asked. You will not only see the fall of your city, you will see the fall of each other"

Councillor kiramman slammed her hand on the table and stood up. "Who are you to make any demands?!"

I stared the older woman down.

"I am a woman in love, councillor. I am the most dangerous person in this room right now"

Jayce stood.

"We have an put faith in Vi that she will lead with mission alongside Caitlyn Kiramman and bring us the answers and results we are looking for"

"You put your faith in someone who went from having nothing to lose to having everything to lose?" I questioned.

"You do not know what it is like!" Jayce yelled.

His voice echoed around the walls. I saw in my peripheral, viktor hobbling as fast as he could toward me. As he stood beside me, I felt like we were at the window again.

"Please, Jayce"

Jayce's face turnt soft, shocked. As if the sudden realisation that his best friend dying was a result of the fissures in the undercity. The very fissures that were still existing in this very moment.

You were not ashamed to say if the sight of viktors' weak and decaying body was not enough to get jayce to stop the war, then you would set fire to piltover and ensure the council would have nothing.

"Tell me, what you think we should do"

Viktor turns to look at you. With a soft smile, weight was lifted off your shoulders. Viktors' sharp, sickly face almost made you cry. You would do this for him and for the city and for the future that know everyone deserves.

Viktor grabbed your hand.

"Together"

"Together,"

---

[minzart]

You know what? I'm gonna complain it is good to put it out with a semi(hopefuly)understandable way see if anyone else had the same thoughts or something

So yeah arcane season 2 ramblings bellow

I knew it would be a hard task to deliver after such a good season 1, like it had everything ending with a perfect cicle, the first step was the last

We got themes and coherent actions with it, the characters are Charaters as much as embodiments of the narrative and it's mensage

And it was all a tragedy in the making

I though they could keep the loop, at the end I never expected we to get close to see Zaun and Piltover being split. Never, they are sisters cities one hurting the other more and more as progress comes and their bridge burns and grows bigger and bigger but never splitting, a never ending cicle(to a never ending game)

It works in the first season and I wished they kept it running in the second,but nooo let's pick up an already solved tread and force it to work again.

What the fuck am I talking about? well, many things, one specifically is

The sisters arc.

I can't be the only who thought what season 1 was trying to say with the tea scene was that she IS Powder AND Jinx, and what she actually needed was for both sides(Vi and Silco) to shut the fuck up and let her BE HERSELF. At that time I though if we ever get a season two she would realize what happened that night, not as choosing a side as she puts but as a birth of something new, while VI could also realize her sister has changed and she is not dead but become worse, or spiral into a worse state of mind ignoring who her sister is and insisting she is dead and wtv that thing Jinx is is not her sister anymore(and that's only bc at that time i discovered her lol conterpart is an enforcer so i though hey Vi's gonna have a villain arc and people are gonna acknowledge she also has insues to work with right :D )

But what season 2 did was forget continuity they are trying to GO BACK and this time the narrative will repeat itself beat by beat but worse.

In season 2 they revived Vander(and that IS vander with a warwick skin), only to beat the man to death 3 times over and over, and worse, don't revive his fucking theme with it making him a plot device more than the character he is, and let's pull Silco right along with him and change all that mattered before with these 2 too why not.

And don't come telling me "but they foreshadowed warwick in season 1" I KNOW AND I WANTED TO SEE WOLFMAN AS DID EVERYBODY. But what I did not want was it to be Vander AGAIN. I wanted them to lean into the amnesiac aspect of his story, Warwick WAS a man before, he was someone ELSE, but now He is OTHER, he is not Vander and would never be, and THAT would be the link to conclude the sisters arc.

The direction I though they would go was to cherish the past, learn from it, and see that you did changed and yet not, you are you in all your gloric and flaws, the child you once were is still in you as is the adult you have become with. It. there.

You can not run from your past, you can not break off of it, else you are not yourself anymore.

In a way VI would trace Vander's footsteps but worse, I though she would lean in the protecting the status quo without thinking about it, yes she is from the undercuts but she has been 7 years in jail and the city changed without her in it, she wants to go back so bad, that she can't see she can't. There is no way she could go back, she is not Vander, and yes his ideas are alive but the time they worked not, a new twist has to be given to it, adapt it to the new present, a thing she can't do alone

And as paralels Jinx, would have traced Silco and not liked it one bit, I never got the vibe that she would by the end fight for a cause, she is no leader, and she is no dog either, she is chaos itself right? She works for herself at the end of the day, I hoped we would see she try and abandon that path altogether without noticing she would be the reverse.

Silco was a dictator in the making with the speech of freedom as his weapon, Vander was a keeper of the status quo in the name of "peace", read stability. Jinx would be an arsonist that accidentally spiked the dream of revolution, of freedom, in the people around her while VI would want to go back to "status quo" by the means of violence.

You see how that's an interesting talk? Yes the past was safety, and yet it wasn't perfect, and yes freedom is beautiful but to get there it will be gory. There will be loss to both mentalities.

It would what? Exactly, keep the goddamn theme of season 1. Maybe not perfectly, I'm no professional, but I can dream.

"But jinx did become a simble of revolution!" NO she did not, it was cute that Isha transformed her image in a simble of hope and that itself works someway for the theme they tried to do for her as just Poweder 2.0, bc that's all she is, the child self, nothing more. But that is not what I'd call satisfying for Jinx character from season 1. Added to that, what revolution? if by the end both sides made up by the power of third party enemy?

The Warwick variable would come to contrast both as a new character, maybe a victim of the status quo Vi is adhering and a psicological contrast to Jinx change.

As a side not LET SILCO DIE. LET HIM FUCKING DIE AND STAY DEAD LIKE VANDER IS. I don't want a backstory,nor flashback, nor memory trip, the past of these two was excellent as ambiguous, they are the mentors, the fathers, the side characters, ambiguity WORKS IN THEIR FAVOR, legends of their own making

What i asked of this arc was a paralel scene with Jinx and Silco to VI and Vander back in season 1, y'know? The one VI is knocked down and Vander's ghost basically comes back to give her a BRIEF pep talk that MATCHES HER OWN MINDSET AND HIS, BC THEY EMBODY THE SAME PARALEL? YEAH. AND I WAS HAPPY that Silco got his ghost moment, but... he would not... forgive, season 1 would not and Jinx in that mind state,nor before, would too, these two have one thing in comum and is SPITE, they are cocrooch that refuses to die despite being repeatedly beaten out of your home, wish that was the focus of these two in that paralel scene, but well... with the theme they choose he had to be changed

Mel Medarda what did they do to you my girl you did not deserve this

Now, to be fair her arc could be fixed with more episodes or just one more season just establish something that wasn't there is season 1, her magic powers. But in my rant I'm trying to see if there is just another way for her to go that could tecnicaly and not need another season

Arcane was fast peaced but at least it had a focus.

Season 1 focused on the sisters more than up top, everyone there, including Mel were more world building devices than characters to me, and season 2 changed the focus characters to Viktor and Jayce but forgot to bring with them their support characters wich explains to me why I feel so lost to half the casts motives and place in the story.

In the beggining I loved that we focused on her opposing her mother in every decision, and gave a paralel to her own path in season 1, when Ambesa says let's use hextech I wanted the show to scream the same scens as Mel had when she convinced the council to use it too.

I wanted the show to pick these people who says "wow Mel is so evillll she manipulates peopleeeee my poor babyyyy jayce noooo my himbo sonnn" by the throat and say "you want to see manipulation? I'l fucking show you it" and presents Ambesa as the foil.

Focus on a political intrigue to these two, buy time for wtv is happening with Viktor, Caitlyn, Vi and Jinx to cook, Ambesa wants an invasion, Mel doesn't.

Maybe the seeds for magical powers were there in season 1, Mels paintings(magic and art thend to be used interchangeably in some medias i think), Ambesa's music video, "why did you come here mother?", but it would need more time to flourish in a satisfactory way, or at least better presented.

"Oh your powers are growing faster bc the arcane is awaken" BULLSHIT I TELL YOU.

Mel is strong in her words, love a woman who can kick ass but love one that can make myself bend to her will with one word even more.

Actualy on second though you know what would made her arc suck less? IF THEY DIDN'T FRIDGED HER FOR HALF OF IT. If the black rose was not meant to be the big bad at the end then what the fuck was the point of taking her out of the picture(would it be too hard to make her magical powers manifest in the scene she was kidnapped insted of... kidnaping. Girl was playing detective already)? The only way I can think it was a good idea is bc they didn't want to make her and Caitlyn fight for the sake of a final show down with Ambesa, bc there is no way these two would be in speaking terms if they interacted during Caits dictatorship

Speaking of dictatorship, for more that I love it I also loath it bc they just didn't show the during reing enough and I blame they taking Mel down way too early(I love the path of anger and grief Caitlyn went). Imagine a world were down there it's an emotional conflict leaded by Vi-Warwick-Jinx and up there a political intrigue of Mel-Caitlyn-Ambesa. That ends with peace below and an explosion(fascist reing start) up there? A, say it with me, INVERSION OF SEASON 1 ENDING :) wouldn't that be NEAT?!

Maybe even end it right there and let it ambiguous. There is no need for season 3 if they don't can't do it, the open ending is the strong forte of this series for me especificaly.

But what about the rest? What about

Jayce, Viktor and Ekko

Gonna be honest, they arc is so over the place with who they were in season 1 that they fell completely unrelated to anything in there anymore.

Season 2 changed focus from the sisters to Jayce and Viktor, everything plot related was through them, the problem is, their choices and... themes? Were not previously established by season 1 and season 2 took both out of the picture and put doppelganger in their places.

For more that I love Jesus viktor... now that I saw the fans that know him as The Machine Herald complain about his arc I know what was bugging me with it too.

He didn't choose any of what happened to him, something that is and was, a big thing to him back in season 1 and his lol conterpart. You know, Sky was never a character, she was a warning to Viktor remember? She died, consumed by the hexcore because of his medling, and he still continued to use it, wasn't that supposed to be the warning sigh to us that Viktor was going to spiral? And yet...

By the end Jayce and Viktor are foils, even if the season presents literaly 3 versions of them in one season bc they didn't transitioned their chance as smoothly as I'd like. Bc for more gay and amazing that ending was... Jayce is not the same character he was when he shot Viktor, absolutely not, you are telling me, that he was given a mission to show Viktor the future, and his response was to kill him instead of try to allude to the end? That the Jayce that shot Viktor in the chest was the same Jayce that understood he had to hug the divine manifestation lf his partner in the Astral plane to show the future and esencialy die with him by the end?

Love how Ekko swinged by the end and bough enough time for that finale he literaly lived up to his expectations as the boy savior, but lord I wanted him to be so much more coherent, the narrative yanked him out of the leadership role he had in season 1 and made him a by stander and last minute deus ex maquina. HE SHOULD BE THE ONE TO ANSWER VI/Vander AND Silco/Jinx THEMES, HE HAS WAS THE THRID FACTION THE BETTER FUTURE, THE SIDE WE AS THE AUDIENCE SHOULD CHEER THE MOST AS THE NEW FUTURE FOR ZAUN. NOT THE LETS GET TOGHETER AS ONE TO DEFEND OUR CITY FROM THE BIG BAD NATION OVER SEAS- FUCK THAT.

Him and Sevika should join forces, their arc should have been bring down town togheter and focus on a better future, heal the now, even if both have diferent visions of a future they should agree to clean Zaun even if in diferent direction. I love him with Heimendinher, bc it could be amazing to see a founder of Zaun learn with the next generation of leadership, let's bring the spark of empathy back to the old man, lets show what community is again for him, a tall about how disconnected he had become from what were supposed to be his people,let him give propositions and Ekko oppose them but with compromises, a paralel to Jayce in that way too.

How Jayce was the pupil that went into politics and become corrupt, Ekko is the one who is a community leader and won't be corrupt, how Heimendinher was too cautious and practical for both parties he will be opposed but know to better compromise, learn again why humanity moves fast, we do not have eternity. Where Jayce failed Ekko will thrive, and it was to make that old man learn emphaty again.

So maybe the focus of these 3 should be the future isn't?

Viktor, by his own hands, would want a evolution were no weakness are present, and by weakness I mean emotion bc... the focus of his path in season 1 was to live, he wanted to be alive to make a name for himself, to be remembered, so maybe with his close dance with death with that missile it pushes him to realize humanity never changes and even when everything could end up right and peaceful, our personal vendetta would detriment any chance of progress, hence he starts a way to fix it.

Instead of... internalized ableism, is it a interesting talk? Absolutely but you can't deny it was poorly set up, he was dieing and he wanted to not be... I'm sorry but "your imperfection is beautiful" was done better with Entrapta and Hordak from reboot Shera

Bc by lol lore that was the conflict between him and Jayce right? Viktor wanted a hive mind Jayce didn't, it was a conscious choice from both parties, so there we have a divorce arc, and sexual tension with the enemie.

So yeah

These are my thoughts mixed with what I wish it was and complains... I have no idea if I make sense or not

But hey if you got to this end thanks for reading, and hope it resonated a bit with you, if not, well shit bro I did say I was complaining.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Consequences | Epilogue

Word Count: 1.6k~

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading this story! The interactions with you all have been great and the comments, likes, reblogs, the insight you all have into this story, it gives me flutters, so thank you all so much. I hope this Aemond dies in a hole 😙

Series Masterlist 

They say Harrenhal was haunted.

 A most wretched, cavernous place. Said to have been built brick by brick with human blood mixed into the mortar.

 Originally, Aemond would have thought these the tales of lowly peasants, with nothing better to do with themselves than to incite fear amongst one another in the pursuit of something exciting. Something to fill their dull, miserable short lives with a sense of adventure and a morbid curiosity.

 It was true, the hallways had whispers, seemingly without anyone there. A thousand different voices, all merged into one distant, unintelligible breath. Calling out to whatever living soul had even dared to step within its walls.

 It was utterly maddening.

 Aemond knew better than to believe in ghosts and deathly whispers.

 The only whispers he listened to were those of Alys Rivers, they seemed to hold the only slither of truth, as vague as they were.

 Harrenhal had been abandoned when he arrived, and it was no wonder. If he knew, sitting right where he was now before the fireplace, what this place could do to a person, he would never have come.

 But he could not have stayed there, at the Keep.

 She was there. With her scathing, judgemental stare. As if she had any right to judge him, Aemond thought, the lowborn cunt.

 He wanted to wrangle her pathetic neck for the way she spoke to him. She was older, and more sure about her words than the other maidservants and was not afraid to show her disgust for him on her face at all times. Several times she spoke above her station and Aemond was wound tight, about to snap at any moment.

 And his mother…

 She was distant. Had been since the day she had stormed into Aegon’s chambers. Not only form her eldest but from him as well.

 Her distaste for Aegon’s actions was always apparent, though she loved him, she showed it with her hand and tongue. Several times Aemond had witnessed her strike him across the face, before he was King anyway.

 But with Aemond, she employed silence as her means to show her distaste for his actions, although she had made no obvious indication that she knew what he’d done.

 It was like being a child again. Aemond hated that.

 He was a man grown and yet here he was, being chastised by women wherever he went.

 Getting out of the Keep meant getting away from not only her and his mother. But from the memories and regrets that lived there.

 The memories of her life.

 The many, many regrets.

 He had hoped that amongst her possessions, she might at least have kept a diary. So that he might at least have known her thoughts and feelings, imagining her reading them to him in her sweet, soft voice. Only to be hit with the realisation that she, amongst a lot of other maidservants, could not read nor write. So he was further doomed into the awareness of just how far up in this hierarchy Aemond really was, compared to these meek, feeble women, who would toil for their betters ‘til their last breath.

 He would even have settled for a lock of her hair. Perhaps that one that was always free of her braids at the side of her face, curly and unbending to the will of the rest of it. All he had were the memories of reaching out and touching its soft strands, running his fingers through her tresses to her skin, warm and alive.

 Gods, he missed her voice.

 Sometimes, when he was alone, staring at the flames of the fireplace as he so often was, he would think of how she had referred to him.

 Your grace.

 Only once had she called him by his name. Clearly that is. The second time he had the poor girl underneath him, thrusting up into her. Even now, he remembered her desperate whines. But she’d said it with his title in front of it. Tainted by it.

 He so desperately wanted to hear his name from her lips, without prompting her, as if it was as natural as saying her own. All the times she had, she had been forced or obliged to.

 He missed her flesh. And how utterly perfect she felt, inside and out.

 But with her passing came another realisation. That beside her position as a maidservant, he knew nothing about her. And with how much time had passed between her passing to now, he was forgetting what she looked like, her mannerisms, her scent.

 Aemond tried so desperately not to forget her face. It was like watching someone drown. Looking down into the depths of the water at their face as they sank, until the water swallowed their features in its murky void. Until there was nothing left.

 He willed it into existence.

 But it also meant having to remember what he did.

It is a small mercy she died in her sleep. In peace. So that she did not have to look upon your face. That’s what Hedi had said once.

 He thought guilt would come to him, or perhaps a form of karma. Knowing perhaps that if this war had to end, perhaps he’d have to fight or die to end it.

 He’d done his part, as his King had requested, in slaughtering House Strong and taking Harrenhal for himself. There was but one survivor of House Strong, one he found multiple uses for since sparing her life. Alys Rivers.

 As well as using her as a vessel for his desires, he often sought her ability to see visions of the future. He hoped he could tell him what his fate might be and what would await him the longer this war carried on, but his tempers were starting to flare once more when she said she could only see obscurity. Her visions were dim, without real substance nor real clarity.

 It was like being stuck in the middle of a story, without the decency to have the plot to complete it.

 The maids came and went into his chambers, knowing not to speak to him and instead doing their various duties with caution in their step. Ser Criston had said he would deal with the staff, which could only have meant one thing.

 These girls were new to the job, having been rushed to employment from their various hometowns to start their positions, but ultimately having no choice but to be accustomed to it. They were quiet at least, went about their business with a softness in their fear of the One-Eyed Prince.

 They needn’t have bothered with their fear, he thought.

 He was long disinterested.

 Since her.

 He was vaguely aware of the maidservant in his periphery, adding more logs to the fire in front of him. It was a small victory that they did not try to speak to him. Aemond twirled the written and wax-sealed scroll in his hand, between his fingers, addresses to the King on what he had done.

 Once the maidservant was finished, she stood and brushed her sooty fingers on her apron. Her hair was braided loosely down her back which spoke to just how green the staff were, that prim and proper style adopted by the Keep was clearly not something that was adhered to in other regions of Westeros.

 He opened his mouth, holding the scroll out for her to take to the messenger, until she turned around.

 Your grace.

 Those eyes.

 Those lips.

 Her hair.

 His heart was beating fast in his chest, hot whips of panic making him break out into a sweat. And before he knew it he had retreated a few paces, the chair loudly scraping against the flagstone floor, his breathing laboured and tight against his leather doublet, insides fit to burst with utter dread.

 His eye quickly flew about her face, trying to make sense of this horror that had filled his stomach. Bile started to rise in his throat. Limbs felt as if they were not his own.

 Your grace.

 She had not said a thing and only stared at the prince with shock, wondering what she had done, the surprise of him reacting the way he did made her breathe heavier.

 Every time he blinked, behind his eye, he saw what he’d seen in his nightmares.

 But it was not her.

 But someone who looked so alike to her that it terrified him all the same. The only difference was her eyes and young face, still plump with her youth and her form which was smaller and not yet that of a grown woman.

 Aemond.

 “Your grace?” the young woman had said in a quiet, fearful voice.

He wanted to vomit. Those voices that carried down the hallways of this wretched castle had all formed into her voice. All he could see was her form, drenched in her blood as he imagined she was when she had died. The blood that he could not deny was on his hands.

 No. He couldn't face it.

It cannot be.

 “Get out”

 He was not sure who he was talking to.

 This girl.

 Or her.

 She did not move. Too paralysed by his flighty reaction. Flashes of her face and the other took his vision.

 “Get. Out”

 She eventually found her courage, almost tripping over herself to scramble to the doors. Doing as he had ordered and left.

 Aemond never saw her again.

 The shame, guilt, anger was all renewed. The flames had been fanned, and he was on the pyre. Burning alongside her.

 His hands gripped at Vhagar’s reins tightly, as if all his power and control on her would fade if he were to let go.

 He thought that by doing what he did, some of that power would come back. That perhaps some of that control would be restored to him as it slipped so effortlessly out of his grasp.

 Everything was fire.

 Fire and Blood.

 There was not a speck of green that Aemond had not burned.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise @valeskafics

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles  @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr   @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx  @daemonlover @iiamthehybrid @thedamewithabook @hiatuswhore @apollonshootafar @ladymarg0t @hopeless-addiction-love @leeleebabe101 @babyblue711 @croatianprincess @what-is-your-wish @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @garnetbutterflysblog @queenmizuki @tempt-ress @ithoughtulikedme @babyblue11 @qyburnsghost​ @heavenly1927​ @madislayyy​ @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @eddiemunsonsgroupie @iloveallmyboys @malynn​ @qorirah

*Bold means I couldn’t tag, if I can't tag you you can always turn on notifications for when I post. DM me if you wanna be removed besties

[scekrex]

Another request💕💕💕 hurt/comfort 💕😭

Male reader x Adam were reader feels like he isn't enough for Adam and all ways flinchs, he got that from his parents who were abusive ( you can skip this if you not comfortable) 💕

Who will Adam react?

If you can thank you 💕💕💕

I've got you hun! This is basically the headcanons but I turned em into a story, hope that's fine by you, xoxo/p

Lonely Eyes

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, mentions of past abuse, trauma response

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was quite hard for you to believe he actually loved you the way you loved him - you weren't saying he was lying to you, he was acting too kind for that, but it felt like every second he could see someone hotter than you, someone more attractive than you and leave you for them. Because in God's holy name, why would someone as handsome, someone as cocky date someone like you? You didn't know, there was no way that made it make sense.

You were constantly drowning in thoughts that told you you weren't enough, that he deserved better than you, in hell's seven rings, he couldn't even touch you without you flinching away. No hugs, no cuddles, no casual touches like having him wrap his arm around you. You always flinched away from his touch, no matter how soft it was.

It was a very obvious trauma response from when you had been alive. Your dad had been abusive, the man had hit you whenever he could, if there had been no reason, he had made one up.

Adam knew about that and he understood, well he did to a certain level.

-

“Y/N,” Adam said as he entered the living room, you looked up from the book you were reading, “I wanna talk to you about something.” Oh fuck. That was it. He had finally had enough of your bullshit and was going to break up with you now. “Let’s get this over quickly,” you sighed, sadness washed over your entire body language and Adam frowned in confusion, “What?” You looked up at him, “You wanna shatter my fucking heart and break up with me? Do it quick.” You tossed your book to the side and got up from the couch. It had only been a matter of time after all, better sooner than later, it would make the pain more bearable.

“The fuck are you talking about, babes? No one's gonna break up with your fucking ass,” the brunette stated as he walked over to you. His hands slowly came up to cup your face but he stopped right before touching your warm skin, he wanted your approval. You slowly leaned into his big palm and smiled a little when his thumb caressed your cheek. “No?” you asked, completely drowning in this sweet sensation, “Are you sure?” Adam looked baffled, then responded, “Am I sure? Am I sure? Babes,” he moved your head a little which caused you to open your eyes and look at him, “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my fucking life. I fucking love your ass, babes, ain't no way I'm giving you up.” Words of affirmation seemed like a lie to you, well they usually did. But with Adam? He seemed to be honest about it and while you still didn't understand how he could love someone like you, you chose to enjoy his company, love and affection for as long as he intended to stay. It was simply the best thing you could do.

“So the thing I wanted to talk about,” the first man brought up the original topic that conversation was supposed to be about, “What would you say if I told you that I got us a table in that fancy ass restaurant you like so much?”

Your eyes beamed at him.

[libec-mostly]

‼️ HUGE IWTV SPOILERS ‼️(also don't care if there are any grammatical mistakes i learnt english by myself don't judge 🙏)

the fact that every major moment in this show comes with fire is an amazing decision and it has such a beautiful metaphor and correlation with religion like

first it was a church fire inside of chaos, a flame of a human life inside of louis, a massacre, and pain pain pain oh so much pain, and then acceptance, and love, and worship "I saw him, saw his extraordinary aura and knew him to be no creature I’d ever known, I was reduced to nothing" and then some sense of security, a fucked up idea about happiness and a family, and eternity, and it was a rebirth of louis. here inside a chapel, surrounded by dozens of candle flames, of holy fire, under the christ, he found a real god, his god, like a 'devotee experiencing christ for the first time'

fire in storyville, denial of his own nature, torturing memory of the life and a family of a human that he once was, and reality that he now had to face, inability to control his emotions, and the consequences of unconscious impulsive actions, the birth of claudia, his daughter, his sister, his companion, his everything, his claudia.

a burning of antoinette and a homicide of lestat - louis is lost completely, day by day, he's tired and he can't keep up with the play pretend of a perfectly fucked family, with his claudia. with HIS lestat. and he's already torn between the present and the past and he wants to go back, he wants to be loved and be seen by lestat for the first time again, but he made his choice a forever ago, and he regrets it that instant. louis and claudia are reborn again, they leave new orleans

during a search for others like them in romania, it's an old vampire lady who threw herself in a fire and it's opened louis' and claudia's eyes on the reality of being a vampire without hope and guidence, and maybe for a second here, they thought about lestat, and felt a sense of compassion towards him

a fire in a mansion of some reach douches in paris - the first time after claudia's birth when she feels alive again, she found a coven that feels like family and she's riding a bike home and maybe just for a moment she remembered what lestat said about "an experience that feels like eating syrup while riding on the wind". and maybe it's weird but she felt herself being at two places at the same time - at home in new orleans, and at home in paris. "I love everybody and everything in this every moment, right every now!" claudia is alive oh so alive

and then it's an execution of claudia. a death by sunlight. and claudia is strong, incredibly strong, and she doesn't fall to her knees, but it hurts so much, and oh somebody please help me, i don't want to go, somebody please! she turns to lestat. she doesn't say anything, she can't, she doesn't need to. she looks at him "it burns so much i can't take it, it's under my skin, it's all over me, it hurts dad. dad. please. i need your h-". claudia is strong. so strong, she manages to kill lestat just by looking once in his eyes, while being burned alive by the sun

louis setting the théâtre des vampires on fire, not feeling a single emotion but a raging flame of anger after being resurrected. and louis is a dead man walking, two times more literal or ironical this time. and he's leaving paris because paris burns in all the colours of fire.

and then it's louis walking into the burning rays of sun in san francisco after meeting a young reporter, who made him plunge into an ocean of devouring memories of new orleans, of lestat, of his death, of his birth, of his claudia, and it was all so suffocating and it burned and burned and burned underneath his skin, and there he was again. dying. being born. becoming a new louis, an unprecedented louis, a polished to a shine mask of louis, that he would have to wear for the next 77 years.

"The sun as the giver of all life and the vampire as the epitome of the undead, the diametric opposite to life itself..."

"...are we closer to vampires because we too can be burnt, or are they closer to us for it?"

[unreliablesnake]

Is it in your DNA? (Phillip Graves x ofc)

Summary: Graves wants to find out who is his bio-dad. But when he finds out, the man isn’t exactly welcoming.

Note: Based on this post by @gravesrafe. You’re a genius, I hope you don’t mind that I wrote this. / The OFC is called April. / Maybe this is a part one. Idk. / The mistakes you might find in this are completely unintentional, I swear.

Until now, Phillip had been staying in his house, always keeping an eye on what was happening in the outside world and at Shadow Company, and getting ready for the perfect moment to return. His girlfriend kept him entertained most of the time, but when she left for a few days to visit her father who had just broken a leg, he realized that his thoughts could get quite wild when he was on his own.

She was really close to her dad, he had seen this several times with his own eyes, and this made him think. He never knew his father. His mother never talked about him, always avoided the topic when he asked, so around the age of twelve he gave up trying.

But now as an adult maybe it was time to find out. Maybe he could use his wealth and connections to hire the best private investigator available to find his father. So once he made up his mind, he made a few calls and soon found who he was looking for thanks to a friend.

“Thank you for coming here on such short notice,” said Phillip as they sat down in the living room.

The man flashed a polite smile at him as he leaned forwards on the sofa. “It's only natural, Mr. Graves, I know how busy you are, and it must be important.”

Clearing his throat, Phillip leaned back in the armchair and stretched his fingers on the armrest. “Well, it's a personal issue.”

“Your girlfriend?”

He couldn't help but laugh. He trusted her more than anyone, he didn't have a reason to start an investigation about her. “It's my father. I never knew him, but I think it's time to find him with your help,” he said after a short break.

The man thought for a second. “Is your mother still alive?” he asked.

“If you want to know if I’ve ever tried to ask her, then the answer is yes, I have. Several times. But she’s stubborn and doesn’t want me to know for some reason.”

“I see.”

That was all he said. Phillip thought he would refuse to work for him, saying it either wasn't worth his time or energy, or was a case that wasn't the kind he would normally pick to work on. But the silence stretched even longer, causing him to shift in his seat from the anxiety that was beginning to take over his mind.

And he wasn't the type to be anxious. The last time he felt that way had been a bit over a year ago, when his girlfriend got into a car accident. It was pure luck that he wasn't away on a mission at the time, so the moment he got the call from the hospital, he told everyone to man up and handle things without him for a week or two.

He wished April was there with him now. Just taking her hand, feeling the soft skin and warmth would have made him feel a lot better. But she wasn't here now, and he had to handle this on his own. After what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat to prepare for the question that had been on his mind for a while.

“Have you even tried to find him on your own?” the man suddenly asked, surprising Phillip. “I know about your company, I'm sure you have the resources and connections to manage on your own.”

“I'd rather have someone else do it,” came the honest response.

The private investigator suddenly stood up and dusted off his dress shirt before straightening his tie. “All right. I'll get to work tomorrow and get back to you once I know something about him.”

“Thank you,” was all Phillip said as he shook his hand.

Two days after this conversation his girlfriend finally returned, and she was extremely interested in his sudden urge to find this father he had never known. As they were lying in bed with her head resting on his chest, she drew circles into his skin as she kept asking him questions about the man he hired.

“Do you think he will find your father?” she asked quietly.

Phillip gulped at the thought. It's not like he hadn't thought of the possibility of the private investigator failing to do this simple task. Because how hard could finding one man be? “I'm sure he will,” he replied eventually.

She rested her chin on his shoulder as she looked up at him. “You don't sound too sure,” she pointed out, to which he only responded with a groan. “Okay, okay, I'll let you off the hook.”

“Have you talked to your dad since you got home? Is he okay alone?” he asked before gently kissing the crown of her head.

A sigh left her lips, then she simply turned on her back and looked up at the ceiling. “You know how stubborn he can be. His neighbor offered to help, I offered to hire someone to help, but he keeps saying he can manage on his own,” April replied, her tone giving away that she was tired of her father’s nonsense.

He couldn’t blame her for feeling like this, after all he had gone through the same thing with his mother after she had a surgery. Sometimes he joked that they should be together, maybe this would benefit them, but he knew neither of them would be happy.

Days passed painfully slowly, each feeling longer than the last, making him believe the private investigator got to a dead end. But then his phone rang, and he saw his name on the screen. “I was beginning to think you found nothing,” he admitted after the suggestion to meet for dinner later that night.

Phillip didn’t want company, so he reserved a private room in a fancy restaurant he often took his girlfriend to. The man arrived on time, as if he had waited outside until the very last minute. “As I said on the phone, I have good news, Mr. Graves,” he began as they settled down. He took out a thin file that he set down between them. “I found your father, although I must warn you; he’s a very private man.”

“But you still found some things, right?”

“Yes. His name is Russell Adler,” he began as he opened the file and handed his client a photo from the top. “He works for the CIA. I had to pull a few strings to get this information, but I’m positive that this is the case.”

As he picked up the picture, Phillip took a good look at the man. He looked similar to him, even had a nasty scar on his face like he did. Well, his scar apparently wasn’t nasty, at least his girlfriend always said she loved it about his face. A smile crept on his face at the thought of her, but he quickly regained his composure and looked up at the other man.

“How in the hell did my mother meet someone like him?” he asked, already afraid that the answer would be a drunken night out.

“Your mother lived in the same building for a short time. I don’t exactly know the full story, but they had a fleeting relationship,” he explained. “From what I’ve heard, your mother never told him she was pregnant. He went on a mission, disappeared for months, then by the time he returned, your mother was already gone from that apartment building.”

The Shadow put down the photo and reached for the whole file instead. “So my mom didn’t want him to know, huh? I wonder why that is.”

“He’s… difficult. I talked to a few people he used to know, and they all said the same thing. He lived for his job. He’s known for being a true patriot, always putting the best interest of this country before his own.”

“Sounds just like you,” his girlfriend noted when he told her everything later that night. They were sitting on the couch with her head on his thighs, his hands buried into her hair as they talked. “Do you want to meet him?”

“I don’t know,” Phillip admitted. “He has no idea I exist. And if he was already working for the CIA when Mom got pregnant, then he could have easily found her after he returned from that mission. But he didn’t care enough to look for her.”

April reached for his hand that was resting on his stomach and raised it to her lips. “But what if he would be glad to find out he has a son? You’re successful, intelligent, and so stupidly handsome.” He couldn’t help but laugh at this. “You should give it a try.”

The smile that stayed on his lips grew wider when she sat up and turned around to kiss him. If his men knew how smitten he was with her at home, they would probably make jokes about him behind his back. But he didn’t care, not as long as they were together. She made him a better person, made him see things in a different light most of the time.

Even now she managed to convince him to meet that man. “But you’re coming with me,” he told her before kissing the tip of her nose.

And so a few days later they were sitting in a rental car outside the man’s house. Phillip was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, but he loosened up a little when she put a hand on his shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Listen, I know I said you should do this, but if you changed your mind–”

He shook his head immediately. “No, no, it’s okay, I’m ready.”

She didn’t find him convincing enough, but she nodded nonetheless. They got out of the car and walked up to the front door, which to their surprise opened before they could even knock. There was the man from the photos right in front of them, eyeing the pair with a suspicious look on his face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Adler,” Phillip said with a nod.

“Do we know each other?”

He took a deep breath before pulling out an old photo of his mother from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Do you know her? Her name is Mary Graves,” he said, carefully examining the man’s facial expressions. There was a glint in his eyes, something that told him he recognized her. “So?”

Adler let out a sigh, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t be mistaken, I know who you are, Mr. Graves. The Shadow himself,” he began. “I assume that woman is your mother.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I used to know her, yes,” the older man said as he folded his arms over his chest. “Based on your possible age and the time I knew her, my best guess is that you believe I’m your father.”

“I hired someone to look into this issue, he was the one who found you. Look, I know it was my mother who left, and she never said anything bad about my father. She just… avoided the topic, especially after moving in with my stepfather,” Phillip explained as he put away the photo that was given back to him. “All I want is to get to know my bio-dad.”

As Adler took a better look at the man who claimed to be his son, Phillip absentmindedly reached out to take his girlfriend’s hand, fingers tightly laced with hers while they waited. “You’ll need a DNA test to prove this,” he finally spoke up.

Phillip couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips. “Of course. I was expecting this answer,” he said eventually. “I’ll arrange everything, you just have to be at home when they come for the sample if you agree.”

After a nod, the man turned to look at the woman on his alleged son’s side. “And who is she?” he asked.

“My girlfriend. She was the one who convinced me to come and talk to you.”

“I’m April,” she said with her usual kind smile as she extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For the first time since they arrived, Adler’s lips curled into a smile. “Likewise. But as pleasant as this conversation is, I’d rather not invite you in yet. Let’s wait for the result of that test,” he said, his expression gradually turning into a condescending one as he turned to the other man again.

Phillip nodded. “That’s understandable. They will give you a call to arrange an appointment. See you later if the test proves it’s true. If not, then this is the last time you see me.”

“Have a nice trip back home,” was all he said before closing the door.

The two of them got back in the car, and Phillip began to drive towards the airport without saying a word. His girlfriend tried to talk, first about neutral things, like what they should eat for dinner or how they could go and spend the following weekend in his lake house. But he didn’t seem interested in any of these topics so she gave up and stepped back to give him some time to figure out how to say what was on his mind.

And sure enough, about half an hour later he licked his lips and said, “I can’t believe that guy. He didn’t even want to get to know me. He didn��t even consider being my real father, he denied everything.”

“He didn’t deny anything, honey,” April began as she reached out to take his hand. “You wouldn’t invite some stranger into your home only because they claim to be your son. He just wants to see the result of the test first. Once you’re proven right, he’ll be more cooperative.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” she said with a laugh, earning a warm look and a kiss on the back of her hand in return. “He’ll come around. Don’t worry.”

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

"I Will Always Love you, Ser Brienne of Tarth..."

Brienne of Tarth x reader

Warnings: Violence

A/N: This is a mix of multiple asks that I received in January (lmao sorry about the wait). It includes:

@suckerforcate 's ask: "I'd love a brienne x Reader fic/ Prompt: Brienne: Are you flirting with me?/ Reader: you finally noticed?/ Just some cute fluff, love confession, oblivious Brienne etc😘❤"

Anon's ask of a skilled archer and knife thrower (slay katniss and clove) where they end up saving Brienne in some way

“You have to go down to the crypt, Y/N.”

Brienne’s voice was stern and her gaze was harsh as she looked down at the scowl on your face.

“No!” you replied. She was taken aback by your tone as you continued to secure armor to your body. “Winterfell is my home! If you think I am going to give it up without a fight, Brienne, you are sorely mistaken! I think you, out of anyone, should know how important loyalty is!”

Her face softened and her posture relaxed as she sighed. “You’re right…I apologize. I just…I don’t want you hurt. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know,” you murmur. You look up at her now and your hand goes to her cheek. After placing a kiss over the rouge bleeding into her fair skin, you smile softly at her. “But this is a war, darling. And, physically or not, everyone will get hurt. So why not help where I can?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said.

In the soft light of your chamber, the two of you stood there. Neither of you said a word as you looked into each other’s eyes. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fireplace before you opened your mouth to speak. You closed it, pausing before looking back up at her. 

You wanted to say it. You wanted to say it so badly.

“I will always love you, Ser Brienne of Tarth. And I will fight beside you all night if I have to, because you deserve someone like that. You deserve someone who will stick by your side no matter what.”

But you held your tongue. She didn’t need a distraction going into a battle and a love confession would certainly be one. 

You could see the look in her eyes change–but you had no idea what it changed to. As always, she was unreadable, but you were certain there was that shred of affection–perhaps even love. Or perhaps, it was wishful thinking–it was always wishful thinking.

__________

You stood side-by-side on the parapets of Winterfell with the other archers. Watching the Dothrakis, their scythes flaming as they rode fearlessly into battle, you felt a sense of hope. Perhaps there was a chance the living could win this. But it wasn’t until the war cries quieted and every last flame went out that the shrivel of hope that you had felt dried up and flaked away like a leaf in the autumn breeze. In the field, the only light that remained was the bonfires for the catapults. If you scanned the troops hard enough, you could just barely make out the speck that Brienne had become from a distance. 

__________

Everything was ablaze. Still on the parapets, you and your fellow archers aimed your bows down to the surrounding flames. The second wave of the living-dead had surrounded the fortress and now, the Wights were overpowering the living. You desperately hoped that Brienne didn’t fall prey to the White Walkers. The thought of her suffering so much made you sick to your stomach.

“Y/N!” One of the archers yards away called to you. “Behind you!”

In a flash, you aimed your bow and sent an arrow straight through a Wight’s eye before it could pounce on you. 

As soldiers came flooding into the courtyard, chased by Wights, you bounded down the stairs in an attempt to help. It was on those stairs that you scanned the crowd in desperate search for Brienne, and to your relief, you found her towards the front near the entrance, making sure that every man and woman returned safely. As much as you wanted to call for her, to make it known to her that you were still alive, but you wouldn’t dare risk distracting her and putting her in harm's way even more than she already was. So, instead, you rushed down the stairs. 

The bow having no use anymore, you retrieved the valyrian steel throwing knives strapped to your belt. Each one slit the throat of an attacking Wight as you hurried through the hoard of soldiers fighting for their lives. 

Brienne. Where’d Brienne go?

She seemed to have disappeared again. Wights and soldiers alike fell all around you and each one you came upon, you prayed that it wasn’t her. Through the pandemonium, you heard struggling grunts. Looking over, you saw exactly who you were looking for.

Brienne was on the ground with other soldiers, fighting off a swarm of Wights that were beginning to overpower them. You called her name and her head shot up. You sprinted across the courtyard, knives of valyrian steel in hand with the only goal being to save and protect Brienne. Before you knew what was happening, your blade was in the spine of a Wight attacking Brienne.

You reached your hand out and she took it graciously, smiling at you in thanks as she stood up. That night, until the Night King was dead, the two of you remained side-by-side, for if you lived and Brienne died, you would fall to pieces, impossible to glue back together.

__________

Candles lit the dining hall where you sat with Brienne, playing a drinking game with Pod, Tyrion, and Jaime. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Brienne this happy. Her smile never dissipated as she laughed at Tyrion drinking to Brienne’s response to his question. All you could do was look at her with a dazed smile as you admired her, knowing that you will never love someone as much as you do Brienne.

In front of you, Jaime and Tyrion snickered to one another, noticing your infatuation with the woman beside you. When you came out of your daze, you noticed Brienne blushing madly before getting up and leaving the hall. You followed after her moments later, able to hear the laughter of the three men at the table behind you.

Hurrying through the hall, you made it to Brienne’s chambers. You knocked softly on the door and she answered not half a minute later. 

“Oh…erm…hi,” she mumbled.

“Hi,” you replied. “Can I come in?” 

Without hesitation, Brienne let you into her room. A fire roared in the hearth, her clothing from that day on a wooden chair in front of it. Brienne was a creature of habit–one of the many things that you adored about her.

“Are you alright?” you asked carefully. “You left in quite a hurry and I can’t bear to be without you.”

A soft smile appeared on her face, almost as if she was flustered of someone caring about her absence. “I’m alright,” she said. “I promise.”

Silence stood in the room, the pair of you standing almost six feet apart. It wasn’t until the heavy silence became unbearable that Brienne spoke up. “Have you been flirting with me?”

The question shocked you, but your face softened into a smile. “You finally noticed?”

Brienne smiled back, stepping closer this time. I reached for hand, taking it and pulling her forward to truly look at her. Emotion poured from her gaze and she swallowed hard. “You know I’m not good with this stuff…We’ve known each other for years and I’m just now realizing you’ve been flirting this entire time.”

You let out a giggle. “I think I have been since the day I met you.”

She laughed with you, squeezing your hand. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say a thing,” you muttered, your free hand reaching up to touch her cheek. “I’ll say everything for you.” And, with a deep breath, you finally told her the words that you had desperately wanted to tell her from the beginning.

“I will always love you, Ser Brienne of Tarth…”

[winchesterszvonecek]

you’re beautiful, you know that?

This is so Otis BYE

Beautiful - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Prompt: “You’re beautiful, you know that?” + “Don’t act so shy now.” + “Stop, you’re making me blush in public.”

Word Count: 998 this was so close to 1000 but i could not find those two words

Warnings: female!reader, fluff

a/n: i added two other prompt requests to this as i thought they’d go together perfectly

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You could get used to moments like this. Moments where nothing around you seemed to matter anymore. Where the world carried on, people passed by and everything became but a blur as you did nothing but stare into the eyes of the man you were lucky enough to love.

One Brian Zvonecek to be exact, who was only the sweetest, most caring man you’d ever met in your whole entire existence.

You honestly couldn’t believe where you were. Not just right now in this moment, with his arms around your waist and his lips pressed against yours, but in general. In life. A life that couldn’t seem to get any better as not only were you lucky enough to be with Brian, but you were lucky enough to have just gotten the chance to say yes when he asked you to marry him.

You still couldn’t believe it. Seeing him getting down on one knee like that even after the three years you’d been together had been quite a shock. Not because you never expected him to propose as you had done, you think, but because he never showed any signs that he was planning it. And he wasn’t exactly the best at keeping secrets.

Yet he had. He’d kept the biggest secret possible and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him for it as you knew how badly he wanted it to be a surprise. And it was safe to say, you were well and thoroughly surprised.

“I still can’t believe this is real.” You whispered, pulling back from where he’d been kissing you like a drowning man for the past, however many minutes you’d both been standing there.

Seriously, you knew he had to have a good set of lungs on him to be a firefighter but damn could that man kiss.

“You better start.” Brian replied, gently brushing your hair behind your ear as he gazed lovingly into your eyes. “Because it’s very real. And I don’t accept takebacks.” He added humorously, making you smile sweetly in response.

“Trust me, I don’t plan on changing my answer any time soon.” You chuckled, pecking his lips softly as you roamed your hands up the length of his back, feeling the softness of his t-shirt covering the hardness of his muscles. “In fact, I don’t plan on changing it ever which means you’re stuck with me.”

“You promise?” Otis asked quietly, his eyes softening as part of him still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have kept you this long, let alone have you this close to becoming his wife.

Which is why he often needed reassurance that you still wanted to be with him. And that you’d stay with him as he’d fallen so deeply in love with you that he couldn’t fathom life without you.

“I promise.” You nodded, feeling your heart flip beneath your chest as he was so… God, you didn’t even know the word to describe him.

Sweet? Soft? Gentle? All of the above plus more? He really was the whole entire package. Perfect in every way and you wouldn’t change it for a second.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his and kissing him in a way that helped clear his worries more than your words ever could. You knew he was a little insecure and part of you liked that about him as it showed just how much he loved you, but now that you were engaged? You didn’t want him feeling like that anymore as that was no way for a person to live.

For as long as you were both alive, you were his. He was yours. And that was the way it always would be. Now and forever.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Otis said softly as you parted, lightly grazing his knuckles down the side of your slowly blushing face.

You smiled, dipping your head as you didn’t want him to see how scarlet your skin had turned, the heat of your cheeks so immense already that you were sure he could feel it. He always was complimenting you, telling you how pretty you were and how much he enjoyed gazing at you all the time.

But something about him calling you beautiful just moments after asking you to marry him had your stomach feel like a butterfly enclosure and you were pretty sure it was about to fly up your chest and escape through your mouth.

“Don’t act so shy now.” Brian chuckled, hooking his finger under your chin and lifting your face back up as he always did like to see you blush. Especially when it was him that made you do it.

“I’m not acting shy.” You exhaled, trying your hardest to sound believable. But you were fairly certain you’d failed and if the cocked eyebrow paired with the slightly pursed lips Brian aimed your way hadn't told you already, the mere heat present on your cheeks would have.

“You are totally acting shy.” Brian teased, thoroughly amused with how flustered you’d suddenly gotten. He raised his hand, setting it gently aside your face, his heart warming to a degree which matched that of your face. “But lucky for you. I like it when you act shy… Which reminds me, did I tell you how utterly breathtaking you look tonight?”

“Stop.” You whispered, ducking your head again and hearing the faint chuckle pass his risen lips. “You’re making me blush in public.”

“Good.” Brian said softly, lifting your face again and when your eyes locked with his you could see every ounce of mischief having gone from within them, replaced with nothing but his undying love for you. “That way… Everyone can see that the most beautiful woman in the world is off the market.”

“That she is.” You whispered, kissing him gently and allowing yourself to simply melt into him. “And she feels very lucky that she just so happened to be scooped up by the sweetest guy ever.”

Like this? Apply to my Otis tag list here!

tagging: @sancochillo @kellykidd @violetmacher @kiddbegins @neapolitantoebeans @alexxavicry @babyyoda89 @wandamaxim0f @bloodybagels @stephydearestxo @evanbuckbuckley @annchersita @doublebassallie @orileyrandom @sjhhemmings @gretsky0321

Enjoy my work? Why not consider supporting me on Ko-Fi?☕️

[yanderestarangel]

☆Yandere!Edward Richtofen ☆

a/n: just using some posts from my old blog ( I ​​excluded it because I wanted to focus more on the things I liked and not stick to just one topic ) Anyway, enjoy.

Tw: male reader and gn, other than "you" no other names used, death, blood, manipulation, harassment, dark themes, non con.

This man met you when you unexpectedly fell into an intradimensional portal connecting realities.

You fell at his feet

Like a fallen, lost angel who needed to be held at any cost and when I say any cost, I mean literally anything.

Young Richtofen tries to hide his sadistic side from you, he will always give you a friendly and reassuring smile, but deep down he wants to see you in your most intimate and fragile state. If you are an independent person who likes to do everything alone, forget it my angel, Richtofen will simply cut your independence completely, whether you like it or not.

He will remind you of how he saved you when you were so lost in his world, the desperation in his eyes as he saw a horde of zombies chasing you, you literally begging a stranger to save you from death, how grateful you are it must be because he did it. the one who found you and none of your mates who would leave you there without a second thought.

He would use anything to see you grateful and fearing in a way. Edward hates this feeling that fills his chest and warms him.

The man hasn't had much human contact in his 30 years of life, the university was empty and cruel to poor Edward and the gods have sent you, their saving angel.

He trembled just listening to you talk, seeing you every day seemed like a difficult task, Richtofen controlled himself more and more not to grab you in the middle of everyone and claim you as his. But you haven't realized it yet. For you, richtofen was just a crazy doctor who had created the zombie apocalypse you were in now while still worrying about returning to your reality, you were afraid, like how much time had passed there, if your world would corrupt like that of Richtofen someday. To you, the innocent Y/N Edward was a friend or acquaintance you were uncomfortable with, but kept as a means of survival and gratitude, after all he set you up and saved you from being eaten alive by the undead. But in the rotten mind of the doctor. You were his. Only his.

Richtofen knew how to get him home, it was simple, easy and fast. But he never told you. Never. Every time you met him, the same thing was repeated.

You would enter his lab in an abandoned building a few meters away where you and the rest of your team slept, he would smile at you asking you to come closer.

You would ask the man again who would pull you into his lap and ask for a kiss in exchange for the information. "-My love..." Richtofen started with you in his lap passing his nose over your neck and hair, you felt uncomfortable with the man's big hands on your thighs going up and up, you could feel the man's breath on your skin . "-I have the name Richtofen, please don't call me that." -you said as you took his hands away and stared at him, the man smiled and lowered his tone looking at the notebook in front of him. "-Nothing so far, I'll see if I can do something else and send you home soon... But nothing my prince." - said the man while blatantly lying to you, he knew how to get you. But he wouldn't. You left the frustrated man's legs and went to his dorm again hearing Richtofen say something but you didn't even turn around to see him.

How long has he been saying the same thing? 2 weeks? 2 months? 2 years? You didn't even know what time it was anymore. In addition to Richtofen, no one in the group was interested in talking to you, which made him frustrated for having only the doctor as a support to not go crazy in this distorted world.

Edward was working on other things, the main one being how to kill more zombies so the two of you could live a little better in that horrible reality. He even thought of opening a portal and running away with you to another place, but that would be too risky and he hated risk. Then you and he would stay in that world forever, but the man saw that you were getting more and more impatient and that worried him leading him to a drastic and horrible measure, kill all his team members and succumb to total madness only you are he .

He waited for you to sleep that night and quickly took care of killing all your team members, Richtofen felt nothing. The warmth of someone else's blood just made him feel empty without any regrets.

He quickly disposed of the bodies giving zombies outside the safe walls of the city, you were quickly returning and showering cleaning the blood and gunshot marks on the gray building. You woke up with a weight on the side of the mattress and quickly turned around to see Edward smiling at you, bidding you a warm good morning.

After that you went downstairs seeing the silence of the dorm and asking the man where all the other members were.

And that's when the theater began.

Richtofen lied playing the victim saying that the men had found the portal to his reality, you smiled happily but everything fell apart when the brunette said that they had entered and placed a timed detonator so no one could find them, it seemed like a false lie and it was really, but the air there and the current loneliness made you hyperventilate with all that belief in your doctor “friend”.

You cried while Richthofen mentally repeated an apology, he blamed himself deep down for all of this, but there was no going back.

[icallhimjoey]

To Have And To Scold

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your best friends are getting married, and who else can they ask to be their best man and maid of honour but you and Joe? It's just that... you don't really get along all that well, do you? At least, that's what you think.

CW / disclaimer: sort of enemies to sort of lovers (very vague, im sorry, but you'll see), slow burn, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: here's part 4, i hope it brings you at least some answers! (if not, i know part 5 definitely will!) (and also remember there'll be 5 more parts after that!)

Wordcount: 2.8K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue

It wasn't insanely cold at all, but it felt nice to hug your coat tighter to your body, arms folded over and shoulders hunched up, as you made your way down the street.

You weren't crying, but knew you would the second you'd get home. Kind of wanted to now, not that you knew exactly why, but you'd definitely watch something sad if the tears wouldn't come on their own accord.

Maybe the thought of Joe fucking hating you would be enough. Because that kind of was it, wasn't it? Joe only was mildly friendly sometimes because you were friends with his best friend's fiancé. That was it. No other reason. Just had to be nice because you and Mark were a weird package-deal he now had to deal with just because he was friends with Poppy.

Well... tough.

Jesus, you were all over the place. Thoughts going from, why does he hate me? to, so what if he does?

Just as you turned a corner, you heard someone run up behind you. There were people about all over, so footsteps nearing didn't necessarily mean they had anything to do with you. But then before you knew it, someone fell into step next to you.

Joe.

Stubborn as you were, you just kept walking and didn't acknowledge him. Didn't say anything, and then, in some sort of weird power play, neither did he.

Silence.

Arms crossed. Shoulders high. Eyes down at your feet. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

With every step it became more and more annoying that he was just... there. That he followed you. That he was now walking with you, and that he wasn't fucking saying anything.

Not that you wanted to talk.

You kind of wanted him to leave.

But you could rise above it. Try to be the bigger person. Keyword being try.

You came up to an intersection and you knew that Joe needed to take a left to make it to his place. Instead, Joe took a right and kept up the pace next to you.

"What are you doing?" you refused to look at him still.

"Walking you home,"

It made you grunt under your breath a little, so annoyed by the fact that Joe followed the code of chivalry just so he could tell Mark and Poppy that he'd done the right thing. This wasn't a genuine thing. Joe didn't care about your safety more than he did his own standing with his friends.

"You don't need to, I'm fine on my own, thanks," and you sped up, but Joe followed suit and you secretly debated stopping all together to see if he would too.

"I know you will be," Joe said, voice sort of flat, void of any emotion towards you at all. "But you do understand that Mark would skin me alive if I didn't at least make sure you got home all right,"

How the fuck did him admitting to walking you home for his own sake rather than yours make him suddenly feel more sincere?

It's because honesty was still honesty, even if you didn't like the truth. It softened you a little despite everything, just, a little flicker of, at least you're not lying to me.

But you buried your kinder feelings quickly, shook them off and forced your thoughts elsewhere. There were enough other people about, enough hustle and bustle happening all around you for you to divide attention. There was plenty to look at, plenty to listen to and plenty to think of.

Walking beside Joe without sharing any words only really became weird when the streets became quieter and emptier as you got closer to your flat.

It was silent for a while, just the sound of your in-sync footsteps following you. You realised you were growing more and more annoyed at the sight of your old jeans and ratty trainers next to Joe's pressed trousers and shiny loafers.

So pretentious, you thought.

It's just his style, you thought immediately after, berating yourself for thinking mean shit all the time. Just because Joe didn't like you - potentially hated you - didn't mean you had to think mean shit of him in return. You could be the adult here. The grown-up who was above all of this dumb teenage behaviour.

"I'm sorry," Joe suddenly said, "I shouldn't have said–"

"That's okay," you lied, not needing his apology.

Joe accepted your interruption, and another silence took over.

Rise above, you thought to yourself. Rise above all of it.

When you had to wait at a crossing, you suddenly sighed, loudly.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped the way–"

"That's okay," Joe said, copying your earlier interjection and you were scared to look up at him in case he was smiling.

You weren't going to accept it quite as easily though.

"It's just," you inhaled a sharp breath, "I don't know, I made a shitty comment and I regret it and I'm sure you've heard it a million times before, because I have too, and," you winced in true regret.

"What do you mean?"

Cool. Joe was going to make you repeat yourself. Rub salt into that wound. Sure. Why the fuck not?

"Do people not constantly ask you if you're dating Poppy?"

"Only everyone," Joe said, and you could hear his smile as he said it. You still refused to look. "Especially, my mum," Joe then added, and you couldn't help the burst of laughter that escaped you.

You quickly reeled it all back in though. Cleared your throat. Kept your smile to yourself, and your eyes down where they had been for most of your walk.

You assumed Joe would elaborate, but it stayed quiet next to you.

Awkward and familiarly distant, exactly like you knew Joe to be.

Suddenly, Joe jogged a few steps ahead as you walked past a pub, and you saw him reach for the door - not to the pub, but to the place next to the pub. You slowed to a halt.

"Gelato?"

Joe couldn't just say ice cream like a normal person, could he?

"My treat," Joe waited patiently, the door to the ice cream place held open by one hand, whilst the other resided in one of his pockets. It was past 10 by now, but there were still people inside getting their sugary fix of Italian desert and you were about to say no, until you stomach growled.

You'd barely had any food tonight, and even though it wasn't exactly the type of weather to indulge in a cold treat, you actually really craved something sweet. Looking at all the bright colours of frozen goodness behind the glass only confirmed that for you.

You gave an exaggerated sigh, playing now, and said "Fine," through an eye roll. As if saying yes to ice cream was a favour you were doing Joe, and not the solution you needed to sober up a little.

The smallest of smiles appeared on Joe's face, head tipping down as you walked past him, stepping inside, before he followed you.

Five minutes later, you were sat at a small table, both with little tubs of beautiful ice cream and little plastic colourful spoons, shoveling straciatella and pistachio goodness into your gobs.

You were practically groaning over how good it was.

"How's yours?" you asked when Joe didn't seem half as into it as you were.

Ever silent, ever cumbersome.

"Oh, s'good," he said before he went in for another bite, and you had to really resist the urge to reach over and go for a spoonful from his portion.

It was like Joe read your mind, because, before you had even really finished your thought, he nonchalantly slid his tub of ice cream across the table.

You just looked at it for a moment as he still held it in his hands, and then tapped it against the surface, signaling for you to dig in.

Interesting.

You took a small spoonful, and Joe was right. That was good. Yours was better though.

Were you the type of people to share ice cream together?

No. Far from it, actually.

But did you?

"Mine's better,"

Yes, you did.

You copied Joe, sliding your tub over to his side of the table for him to have a taste of yours.

Joe took a far larger glob of ice cream from you than you'd taken from him, but you didn't say anything. He'd paid, and you had just claimed that yours was better, so you let it slide.

Joe narrowed his eyes up at the ceiling and worked the taste of your choice of ice cream into his mouth before swallowing and concluding, "Yea, that's good too."

Not agreeing, not disagreeing, but a secret third nonthreatening thing: light diplomacy. It kind of made you chuckle at how safe Joe was being. Earlier you'd been full force trying to ruffle each other's feathers all over. Now, it was careful words, and silence.

You decided to take advantage.

"I feel bad,"

Joe's eyes shot up to look at you.

"I shouldn't have said anything about the picture of you and Poppy," and you kind of meant it.

"I don't know why I brought it up. It was stupid, you can do whatever you want in your own house, it's - it's not fair of me to assume anything, and,"

Joe was about to say something, so you upped your volume to make sure he'd let you finish.

"And, I want to say sorry, I can be... I don't know, vengeful and unforgiving if I don't use my brain, so, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything about it."

Joe listened, and then looked at his last few bites of ice cream before he chuckled.

Laughed.

For a moment you thought he was laughing at you, and you could feel your defenses itch. You were absolutely ready to fall right back into snarky comments and glares.

But then Joe squeezed his eyes shut, scrunched up his nose and said,

"It's unbelievable how much you and Poppy are alike,"

You eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

"Honestly, it's remarkable. Might as well be the same person."

You'd heard Mark say this time and time again, but you were curious what similarities Joe could see. He barely knew you, after all.

"Alike how?"

"Well, for starters," Joe made big eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "Vengeful and unforgiving? Tick," Joe said as he pretended to tick an item off an imaginary list. "Apologising for it? Tick,"

You huffed a laugh, and saw Joe smile too.

"No, I'm joking," Joe continued, "But sometimes she... tonight Poppy got drunk just because she..." Joe paused, and you thought you could sense a little hesitation. "She forgot to use her brain and got a little vengeful and a little unforgiving," Joe finished, keeping things vague and unclear.

"Was it about Mark?" you pried.

Joe just smiled at you.

"She worries too much,"

You mimicked ticking that off whatever imaginary list Joe'd been writing on, because you fucking worried about everything all of the time. Joe huffed a laugh at it, and another short silence fell where you finished your ice cream and then watched Joe finish his.

"I know Poppy gets jealous sometimes," you confessed. "It's truly unnecessary, because I would never, ever. Never. With Mark, I mean," and you visibly shuddered at the thought. "Absolutely not," you weren't sure if you needed Joe to know, or if you hoped that he'd tell Poppy that you said that.

"It's not that," Joe said, which kind of threw you for a loop. "That's not what she worries about,"

And like you weren't in the middle of a somewhat civilized conversation, especially considering it was the two of you doing the talking, Joe collected your empty tubs and spoons and got up, ready to leave. He dumped the rubbish into a bin near the front, and then kindly held open the door for you again as you headed out.

Outside, you carried on the walk over to your flat, but this time, it was a lot more leisurely than before. Slower steps. Hands in your pockets instead of crossed over your chest. Shoulders relaxed. The air not quite as... hostile as before.

You looked at Joe and wondered if you were going to have to ask him what he meant earlier. You could practically see him think. Go over what to reveal to you, and what not to. For Poppy's privacy, you were sure.

Giving him a minute seemed to do the trick, because suddenly, he spoke.

"She worries that you know Mark better than she does... that you mean more to him than she ever will,"

Silly, you thought. Didn't say it.

"She's always like, am I still only second best to him?"

"Oh my God," you didn't want to sound like you thought that was the dumbest thing you'd ever heard, but that just slipped right out.

"No, I know," Joe smiled, immediately agreeing. "Trust me, I know,"

"Second best?" you repeated. "Does she really think that?"

Joe just sort of nodded.

"But we're not... we're not even in the same rankings. I might top the scales when it comes to all of his friends, but, Poppy is... she should hear how he can go on about her. It get's a little gross, sometimes. She really doesn't need to worry,"

Was this why Poppy had so intensely told you that you were important to her at the bar? Had Poppy and Joe talked, and had she shared all of her vengeful and unforgiving thoughts before using her brain and apologising? Was telling you she loved you with your face squished in her hands her way of apologising to you?

"Can you tell her for me? I'll do it myself too, but I imagine it'll stick more when you tell her,"

You rounded the corner into your street.

"I will. It's not... it's not always like that, though," Joe said.

"Oh, no, of course," you got it.

Everyone had their moments, didn't they?

"But can you blame her?" Joe suddenly said, and you turned your head to look at him. Joe had his eyes aimed at the pavement.

"What are you implying?" you asked cautiously.

"Well," Joe started, and if you weren't mistaken, you could see his jaw clench a little. Was that annoyance?

Was Joe annoyed with you?

For fucking what?

You'd been right before. There was definitely some sort of real hatred within Joe that was all specifically curated for you.

Great. Just, so great.

You immediately grew defensive, felt it bubble up in your gut, but tried to keep it there until you knew for sure it was needed.

"Mark's very protective," Joe said pointedly, immediately making you frown.

You wanted to argue, and tried to think of things to prove him wrong, but your mind faltered and words got stuck in your throat. All you could come up with were memories of your earlier teens where Mark's protectiveness was exactly what had made you become friends.

"Guess so," you mumbled quietly, sort of deflated, not really wanting to get into it.

Besides, you'd reached your flat, so rounding of your conversation was smarter than delving into a whole other conversation you would then need to have by your front door. Oh man, even just thinking of rounding off a stuttery conversation with awkward goodbyes made you cringe.

"But you're right," Joe said loudly as you pulled your keys from your pocket.

"The framed photo is a little weird, given that I cropped the two of you out,"

You stilled entirely and just looked at him. Looked to see if you could find a hint of humour. Anything to indicate he wasn't being serious. You came up blank.

"I'll see about replacing it,"

You just sort of blinked at him.

He didn't need to actually go and replace it, what the fuck.

You were a loss for words, completely unable to think of the right words to say, so you just stood there and said nothing until it became weird.

"Good night," Joe then said with a small smile as he nodded his head down at you before turning on his heel and walking back the way you'd come. A few steps out he looked over his shoulder, lips pressed into a tight smile and he waved.

Motherfucker waved at you with wiggling fingers and a kind face and Jesus fucking Christ.

It was dead silent in your street, and you really had to force yourself not to watch Joe walk away, not to listen to Joe walk away, until he was out completely out of sight.

Inside, you pulled your phone out and opened your text thread with Mark. You had one really important question to ask him, and it couldn't wait 'til morning.

"hey, quick q, why the fuck don't Joe and I get plus ones to your wedding?"

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsbower @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[elvensorceress]

something more than seven sentences Sunday

tagged by @rogerzsteven @buddiefication @spotsandsocks @alyxmastershipper @dickley-buddie @kananjarus @messyhairdiaz @rewritetheending @ajunerose @hippolotamus @buddierights @shortsighted-owl @jobairdxx 💕

tagging @fatedbuddie @monsterrae1 @the-likesofus @thekristen999 @blutterlie @matan4il @mansikkaomenabanaani @spaceprincessem @fiona-fififi @heartbeatdiaz @finduilasclln @lostinabuddiehaze @bekkachaos @eddiescowboy 💕

idk what this is yet, it’s a surprise to everyone including me. but here, you can have what I have so far 😘

Buck is the first to know. Like with most anything else. 

Eddie says, “I’ve been thinking about— about maybe trying—” The words fail him because what doesn’t fail him these days. He has to try again in the middle of the locker room because he was the fucking dumbass who started saying these things at the end of their shift. 

Buck’s first shift back. 

Buck, of course, tips his head curiously, attentively, but if he wonders why these words are so difficult and why they taste like asphalt and storms and acidic sludge hospital coffee and sizzling burning flesh and desperation in Eddie’s mouth, he doesn’t say anything. He couldn’t know any of it anyway. 

“I’ve been thinking about dating again,” Eddie manages this time, and isn’t struck down by a bolt of lightning on the spot. Because they were already struck down by a single bolt of lightning, and it can’t happen twice. It can not ever happen again. It’s still there, fizzling under his skin, singing in his blood. It makes his flesh too hot too tense too tight too itchy too needy.

Buck’s face is somehow motionless, blank, without expression or reaction. Like the words struck him dead. Because things strike out of nowhere and they stop his heart and take his life and leave Eddie screaming himself hoarse to anything that might bring him back. 

“Yeah?” Buck says, like he’s interested, like he’s supportive. He’s always supportive. But he sounds lifeless. Neutral nothingness.

Eddie can’t really look at him, but affirms, “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Now, it’s almost thoughtful. The soft, small sound that comes from him. Or doubtful? Maybe doubtful is a better description. Because Buck doesn’t sound like he believes it or comprehends it, and obviously no one in the world would expect it. 

Eddie doesn’t even know how it came out of his mouth. 

How did it come out of his mouth?

“Yeah, no,” Buck says. Contradictions and ambivalence. Ambiguity. “I get it. I-I mean you’ve been alone and— and single now for—” He pauses and likely attempts math in his head. His forehead scrunches and his eyebrows narrow and he touches one fingertip to the other fingertips on one hand like he’s counting. “For a long time? So. Yeah. Makes sense. You, uh, you want help setting up some profiles and picking out dating apps?” He shuts his locker door and it’s a very loud, very harsh clash that jitters and grates over Eddie’s frayed nerves. 

“No,” because how can he not add his own contradictions and ambivalence. “God, no.”

Buck scoffs then gives him a wide, amused, slightly mocking smile. One that’s too stiff but also too knowing. “It’s not a weird, rare thing anymore, old man. Lots of people meet through dating apps. Most of them I bet. That’s what they’re there for.”

Eddie scoffs back at him because he can. “Yeah. I’m sure that is what they’re there for.” 

At least the amusement doesn’t fade. Nothing of him should ever fade. Nothing of him should ever be lost. Nothing should die nothing should die nothing should die. “Hey, not all of them are for hookups. Some are legit. I can help. I know a ton of them.” 

He walks to the doorway where Eddie is standing and then he’s too close and freshly showered and smells sweet and clean and alive and vibrant, and Eddie would fall to his knees and offer worship this second if it meant feeling him alive, always keeping that bright beautiful spark cradled in his hands no matter how it burns. 

“Unless of course you don’t care and want all the options?” Buck says with such nonchalance? As if anything about it could ever be apathetic indifference? 

He’s lucky Eddie can’t touch him because that at least deserves a fist to his arm. But touching can’t happen. Touching burns, destroys, hurts, aches with how it presses on wounds and digs into scar tissue and ignites fire in his blood. Eddie levels him with a glare instead. “I said dating. I was thinking about dating not fucking around.”

Buck laughs something hollow and mirthless. “Same difference.”

“It is not. Not to me.” 

Buck rolls his eyes. “Okay. Whatever. Have fun bar hopping and bothering people in the middle of a grocery store or whatever the old-fashioned way is. Oh! Maybe Chim and Hen and Bobby and everyone should know about your plight and they can set you up on blind dates. That’s a good, old school form of dating, right? I could probably even text Taylor just to say hi and see if she has any ideas of someone for you.”

What in the unholy fucking spawn of hell? Eddie sticks a vicious finger in front of Buck’s face and only just manages to not snarl, “You breathe a word of this to anyone, especially the soul-sucking ex-demon and I will—”

“You’ll what?” Buck quirks an eyebrow and chuckles like the petulant brat he was when they first met. “Kill me dead? Sorry, you’re too late for that. Already died. Already came back. Still here. Didn’t work.” 

It’s so fucking chipper and derisive, and Eddie might legit hate him for a good three seconds. 

If he could ever hate someone he needs and craves and adores and misses and could breathe like oxygen and worship more than any deity because Buck is life-giving sunshine and soul-sustaining joy and every word that could ever be synonymous with love. 

But he is a self-deprecating jerk sometimes. Still casually dismissive of his worth. As if he didn’t have a whole horde of people falling apart and shattering over nearly losing him. 

So, Eddie does what he was taught any parent should do when confronted with this kind of negative attention-seeking, destructive, self-hatred. He stops the way he wants to scream and grab him and shake him until he fucking understands. He gives him nothing but his own cold, dead expressionless non-reaction, tells him, “Not funny.” And walks out without another word. 

Buck is extra sweet and extra behaved and extra soft the next time Eddie sees him, when he comes over for dinner and playing games with Chris. 

But that doesn’t help Eddie either.