#i will start the ava tag fuck you

[fivepebble]

listen, i know we only have 1/6th of a silhouette to work off of but hear me out,

[thelastwarriornun]

24 for avatrice?

Bang. Bang.

Beatrice’s ears ring with it in the absence of Ava’s shouting, or the shrill clicks and shrieks of the clicker. Beatrice’s breaths are a loud rasping thing, only  interrupted by the rhythmic wet tap, whether from the recently deceased clicker, or her own injuries Beatrice isn't sure. 

It comes back in fragments. Ava, patrol, the creek trails, all very routine. Nothing Beatrice would consider even a challenge. They’d found broken glass, and a fresh trail of blood leading them into a local minimart. Unusual certainly, but they were experienced with this. The building was old, rot having set in from all the moisture, another commonality. 

All very routine, until the floor had given way, wood shrieking and splitting as it collapsed, taking Ava with it. A gaping hole left in its stead. Beatrice remembers shouting, dropping onto her stomach with an outstretched hand as if she could undo the damage. She remembers sliding through the fractured wood, and dropping despite the height ignoring the ache in her knees. 

It wasn’t until Beatrice had landed, taking in the dark room around her, that she heard it. The telltale clicks and shrieks of a clicker. Beatrice's hand barely finds her holster before it’s there just two feet from Ava, Ava who’s groans come with tightly closed eyes, still reeling from the world falling out from under her.

It was too close. Too close to take a shot without putting Ava at risk. Too close to do anything except shield Ava from the fevered snap of jaws. It was an easy choice to make. It was the only choice. It doesn’t make it any less painful, Beatrice throwing herself into the shambling form, as teeth tear and rip through her shoulder, taking flesh and fabric indiscriminately.  Well this will be much harder to cover up with a chemical burn. 

Beatrice somehow manages to find her pistol, pressing the barrel against the clicker's head. Well head was probably overly generous, whatever once resembled a skull had given way now to the fungus blooming into something bright orange and ovular shaped. Beatrice fires twice, two shots in quick succession that spray blood and flecks of fungus against the ceiling. They fall together, and the clicker makes for a terrible cushion, smelling of rot, and full of varying lumps, manifestations of the infection. 

So Beatrice finds herself rolling off the infected, a groan on her lips as her back collides with cold tile, ears ringing. “Fuck.” It felt like an appropriate time for cursing.

“Beatrice.” Ava’s voice is faint, confused, likely still regaining her senses.  

Beatrice finds that pushing herself upright is a losing game, her right hand useless between the painful ache in her muscles, and the slick sticky puddle of blood now coating the tile. Right then, laying will have to do.  

“Beatrice!” More urgent now, and hands are on her. They’re gentle, as they pull Beatrice up, propping her against a nearby wall as Ava tries to fix something that can’t be mended. “This isn’t– it can't be– it’s from falling right? It didn’t bite you?” 

Beatrice laughs, a wet sound, ignoring the waves of pain that echo from her shoulder. Even she can see the distinct rows of teeth now memorialized in the cut of her shoulder. “Ava listen to me.” 

“Shut the fuck up Beatrice. Just give me a second to think.” Ava tears her flannel open, buttons scattering across the floor as Ava turns it into a bandage.

“That was one of my favorites.” Beatrice’s complaint is quiet, but Ava scowls all the same, tying the fabric in a tight knot against the open flesh, as Beatrice grits her teeth. 

“Now you want to be funny. You’ve barely said a word to me this entire patrol. But now you can’t seem to shut up.” Ava’s tone is harsh but her hands are gentle as they grip onto the front of Beatrice’s t-shirt. “That should slow the bleeding. Maybe I can buy us some time. They won’t come looking for a few hours–” 

“Ava stop.” Beatrice manages to catch Ava’s hands, hates the way they threaten to slip away between her own red stained fingers. Still Beatrice holds fast, and really this would be so much easier if the edges of her vision would stop blurring. “I have to tell you something, and I need you to promise me you won’t speak until I’ve finished.” 

“Beatrice there isn’t time.” Ava protests, and Beatrice can see it’s a losing battle, understands it really. Even now Beatrice finds herself caught between this moment, and a dream, a time when Beatrice’s curses were interrupted with inappropriate laughter, and the rising swell of grief. We’ll lose our minds together. 

It was so many years ago, and yet here Beatrice was. Once again watching love turn someone to insanity. Except this time Beatrice can stop it, can quell the rising tide, be the stormbreak she couldn’t before. 

Beatrice’s good hand slides along the curve of Ava’s arm, finding its way to the knape of her neck. It catches there, fingers tangling in the hairs that have escaped Ava’s ponytail. It seems silly now, their fight earlier, thinly veiled jealousy rearing its ugly head in both of them, Ava jealous over a girl Beatrice hadn’t spoken to in weeks. Beatrice, already steeling herself for the next time Ava makes up with Michael. They’ve been doing this dance for years, too afraid to speak plainly lest it ruin this. 

“Bea.” It escapes in a sob, Ava’s breath warm against Beatrice’s cheek. 

Fingers press against the knape of Ava’s neck, and Beatrice closes her eyes, unwilling to see the rejection she might find, or even worse, a reflection of herself all those years ago. Ava’s lips are soft, gentle, as if Ava’s worried she might break her. But Beatrice has spent years damming her own want and desire, and the soft press of Ava’s lips is enough to send the whole of it crashing down. Beatrice’s fingers are no longer gentle, as she surges forward, as much as the press of Ava’s body will allow, nipping at Ava’s bottom lip. 

Beatrice swallows a gasp against her lips, as Ava’s palms press flat against her chest, as if torn between returning the kiss, or pushing her away. Beatrice retreats, opening her eyes, expecting to find rejection. Instead Ava is afire, eyes wide, stuck somewhere between desire and grief, the two twisting together until Beatrice can hardly read the difference. Beatrice doesn’t make it far, only softens the press of her fingers against Ava’s neck when the tension of indecision seems to snap, and it’s Ava this time who closes the gap, molding their lips together. 

Beatrice's head bumps painfully against the wall, but she’d do it a hundred more times to keep Ava’s lips against her own. Ava’s hands cup along each side of her face, thumbs brushing along her jaw. And fuck immunity, fuck dying, because Beatrice is sure that there’s nothing she wants more than to fade into oblivion like this, with the press of Ava’s lips against her own, and the thud of her own heartbeat filling her ears. 

Ava’s hand slips down along her neck, and Beatrice hisses from between clenched teeth at the sharp wave of pain that rolls through her. But Beatrice doesn’t want to lose this, the starstruck look in Ava’s eyes, or the clench of her hands in Beatrice’s tattered shirt. So Beatrice smirks,” if I’d have known that would shut you up I would’ve tried that years ago.��� 

“You should’ve.” Ava doesn't miss a beat. 

“Who’s being funny now?” Beatrice pauses sucking in a breath. The weight of years of secrecy, of hiding was a tough vow to break. Especially when so many people had paid the cost to keep it so. 

“I don’t want you to die.” Ava’s voice is soft, tears glistening even in the dim light of the basement, and Beatrice hears it again, an echo of the past, I cannot watch you die. We’ll go together then. 

“I’m not going to turn Ava.” Beatrice flips her arm displaying the fully healed tattoo on her arm, biting back a laugh when Ava scowls. 

“Really? You want to show off your stupid tattoo now?” 

“Not the tattoo, the burn. I’m immune, Ava.” It falls flat, and Beatrice presses a hand to Ava’s cheek forcing her to look at her before she can withdraw much. “I’m serious Ava. The only people who know are Mary, Shannon, and Suzanne. I was bit back in the QZ, that’s how I met Shannon and Mary. It was a long time ago, they were worried how people might react so that’s how I got the chemical burn. I’m going to be fine.” 

It’s not much, a flicker of something, hope, in the softening lines of Ava’s face. “Swear to me.” 

Beatrice doesn’t look away, simply brushes her thumb across the remaining trail of moisture along Ava’s cheek. “I swear. Assuming we make it out of this, I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay then.” Ava glances around, frowning slightly as she straightens up, as if just now recognizing the gravity of the situation. Ava extends an arm to Beatrice, who takes it with a grimace allowing herself to be pulled upright. “Don’t think bleeding out will stop you from having to talk about that kiss.” 

Beatrice laughs, ignoring the way the world seems to tilt beneath her as they look for an exit. Because of course Ava would take this in stride, and god Beatrice would do it again, throw herself into the jaws of a monster if it meant spending just another day with her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[bobbyjean]

in case you’re wondering where my loyalties lie i will be voting anita ekberg til my thumbs fall off and then i will be voting barbara stanwyck and liz. i could be missing someone since there are over FIVE HUNDRED women but that’s my story.

[wholoveseggs]

next parrtttttt plzZzzzzzZZZZZzzz of gardener

The Gardener {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

Things come to a head when you decide to confront the Mikaelsons, before your magic consumes you.

♡♡ Sorry for the slow progress on this one! I hope ya'll enjoy the ending! ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: little bit of smut, lots of violence, Klaus being Klaus, more brother fighting, Elijah down bad, lots of magical hijinks and lots of death..????...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton@wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp @sweetieseven

The building was a ruin, a pile of rubble, and the ground was covered in vines and roots, spreading out and delving deep into the ground. The street was cracked and broken, and the air was thick with the smell of death and decay.

Wolves, witches and any other enemy to the vampires were clambering over the ruins, hacking away at the wood, taking whatever they could.

Maeve was giddy, stumbling around cheering and encouraging the rabble. You watched her hack off a smaller branch and start whittling at it with a dagger, laughing and dancing around.

"Take as much as you can! Don't stop!" She shouted, a feral grin on her face.

She handed off her newly made stake to one of the wolves, who looked at it, confused.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asked, his brow furrowing.

"Stab a fucking vampire!" She yelled, and then turned back to her task, snapping off another branch.

You were watching from afar, sitting on the curb, your mind still reeling. You couldn't believe it. They were all gone.

Agnes, Beatrice, Ava, Liza, the coven, all of your friends, gone. But you could still feel their magic inside you, their essence lingering. It made you sick, the way it made you feel powerful, but it also filled you with guilt.

"This is the best day of my life," Maeve said, skipping over to you, her arms laden with branches.

"Really?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, definitely," she said, dropping her load on the ground, her eyes alight with joy, "it's not every day that you destroy a thousand year old evil and become a god."

"You're not a god," you said, shaking your head.

"Oh but I am," she said, her smile growing, "and so are you! Can't you feel it? The power, the energy, the magic, it's all ours now, the city is ours!"

She was practically vibrating with excitement, and you couldn't help but smile.

"It is pretty amazing," you admitted, looking up at the giant tree, "but I can't believe they're all gone."

Maeve's expression grew somber and she sat down next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

"I know," she said, squeezing you close, "but it's okay. We all knew the risks, and we all did this together. They'll be watching over us, guiding us."

You nodded, sniffling and wiping the tears from your face.

"I didn't think I would make it, honestly," she said, letting out a soft laugh, "I was so sure I was gonna die, I didn't think I was strong enough, or smart enough. But I did, and I'm here, and now, we're gonna win."

You looked at her, a smile tugging at your lips, and then a werewolf jumped onto the curb, brandishing his new stake.

"I dedicate this stake to Klaus Mikaelson! The great abomination!" He bellowed, and the crowd of vengeful rabble cheered, pumping their fists and screaming. "I shall sink it into his heart and watch the life drain from his eyes!”

The group erupted into roars and cheers, and the werewolf ran off, the crowd following him, chanting and howling.

"That werewolf is too stupid to realize he's dead already," Maeve said, shaking her head.

"Then why give them the stakes?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because they need to feel useful," she said, shrugging. "And maybe there is a chance, like throwing a bunch of darts at a dart board. Who knows? Maybe one will hit the bullseye."

"Maybe," you said, staring up at the giant tree. "It's up to us though, isn't it? To finish this, to kill Klaus."

"Yep," Maeve said, smiling. "Then the rest of them… Including Elijah....," she trailed off, giving you a sideways glance.

"Yes, Maeve," you said, rolling your eyes, "I know."

"Do you?" She asked, her tone growing serious.

"Yes, and I'm fine. I don't- ....I won't let my feelings cloud my judgment," you said, holding her gaze.

"They died for this, Agnes, sweet Bea...," her eyes welled up with tears, "they gave their lives for this. I need to know, if it comes down to him or us, which will you choose?"

You hesitated, her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. You looked away, trying to avoid her stare, but she grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

"Choose."

"I will choose freedom from oppression always," you said, your voice low. "Even if it means killing him."

She studied your face, searching for any hint of a lie, and then nodded, letting go of your chin.

"I know we've never exactly been close... But it's just us, you and me now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I've got your back, and you've got mine. Right?"

"Right."

She smiled and stood up, stumbling a little as she dusted herself off, looking around at the wreckage and all the people grabbing branches and chunks of wood.

"We don't have long, I don't think we can hold this magic forever. Not if we want to live," she said, turning back to you. "That means we have to go now," she nodded towards the tree.

"Now? Like right now?" You asked, surprised.

"Yeah, why not?" She said, shrugging, "we're going up against the biggest, baddest, most powerful vampire ever, the element of surprise is the only advantage we have. So, let's use it."

"I just thought, I don't know, we would have more time," you said, running your fingers through your hair.

"More time for what? More time for us to lose our nerve? To think about certain suit wearing obstacles? We gotta act now, while we can," she said, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

You sighed, knowing she was right, knowing that there was no point in thinking about anything else. You couldn't save him, you had sacrificed too much for this already, it had to be worth it.

You stood up, giving her a small nod.

"Alright, let's do this."

The city was under siege, the French Quarter on fire. Werewolves had returned to the streets, attacking vampires left and right, their stakes at the ready. Witches were casting spells, creating traps and ambushes, luring vampires into their clutches.

It was chaos, the kind that Klaus usually relished, but this was different. This wasn't fun. He was being hunted, and he could feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface, the urge to destroy everything in his path.

“Niklaus!" Elijah's voice cut through the noise, and Klaus turned to see his brother rushing towards the entrance to the compound.

Marcel stumbled inside, covered in blood, a werewolf bite on his neck and a stake sticking out of his back. Elijah caught him, helping him to his feet.

"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" Klaus demanded, grabbing Marcel's shoulders and shaking him.

"Witches," Marcel said, gasping for air, the werewolf venom burning through his veins.

Elijah pulled the stake out of Marcel's back, guiding him to a sofa. Klaus watched them, his eyes narrowed.

"Witches are causing this?" He asked, his anger growing, "they're the ones responsible for the chaos in the Quarter?"

"Not just the Quarter, the whole city," Marcel said, wincing.

Klaus let out a sigh and bit down on his wrist, offering his blood to Marcel. Marcel hesitated, his eyes meeting Klaus'.

"Just take it, Marcel," Klaus said, his patience waning.

Marcel took Klaus' wrist, drinking the blood. The wound healed and the venom was neutralized, leaving Marcel weak and exhausted.

"What had made them so bold? Why now?" Klaus asked, pacing the room.

"Maybe it had something to do with this," Elijah said, his voice oddly quiet, and Klaus looked over at his brother, his gaze falling on the wooden stake.

"Is that?" He started to ask, but the words died on his lips.

"White oak," Elijah finished, holding it out to him.

Klaus stared at it, his expression completely blank, like his brain couldn't process what he was seeing.

"Impossible," he whispered, taking the stake.

"Apparently not," Elijah said, and Klaus could hear the fear in his voice.

"Where did this come from?" He asked, his hands shaking, he looked at Marcel, who was slowly getting up off the sofa.

"The wolves were the ones who attacked me," Marcel said, rubbing the spot where the stake had pierced him. "I killed a couple of them, but the rest fled. I think they are planning on attacking you,”

Klaus' eyes darkened and he stormed out of the room, the stake still in his hand. Elijah quickly chased after him, catching up to him before he exited the compound.

"Niklaus, wait," Elijah said, grabbing his brother's arm.

Klaus stopped and turned to face Elijah, his eyes filled with fury.

"They will pay for this," he growled, his grip tightening on the stake.

"There could be more out there," Elijah said, his eyes pleading, "we need to regroup, to plan, we cannot rush into this."

"You expect me to do nothing?" Klaus hissed, his anger rising. "You think I'll stand by and let my home burn? That I'll let these insolent fools threaten my family?"

"If they get to us, our sirelines go with us, you know that," Elijah said, his expression steely.

Klaus growled, his eyes flashing yellow, he hated feeling hopeless, stuck, weak.

"So what do you propose?" He spat, his words dripping with venom. "You want me to sit and wait for the axe to fall?"

"We need to stay here, let the vampires and werewolves handle each other," Elijah said, keeping his voice steady.

"It's not the wolves!" Klaus roared, pushing Elijah back, "it's the witches, they're the ones behind this."

"Niklaus," Elijah said, his voice soft, "how could they possibly-"

"I don't know!" Klaus yelled, throwing his arms in the air, his frustration and fear overwhelming him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His mind was racing, going a hundred miles an hour. He had to fix this, had to end this, he couldn't let anything happen to his family, his home.

Suddenly, it was like a light switch had flipped in his brain. His eyes widened and he turned to look at Elijah, his expression grim. He sped past him, up the stairs to the study, with Marcel and Elijah quickly following behind.

Klaus ripped the portrait off the wall and opened the safe, pulling out a small, wooden box. He held it in his hands, staring at it, his jaw clenching.

"What's that?" Marcel asked, his brow furrowing.

Klaus didn't respond, just opened it, and Elijah felt his blood run cold, his heart shatter. It was gone.

"Impossible," Elijah said, shaking his head.

Klaus threw the box across the room, the wood splintering, embedding into the wall. He was breathing heavily, his entire body was tense.

"I told you," he muttered, his hands clenched into fists. "I told you what she was... what she was capable of..."

Elijah stared at him, his heart sinking. He remembered the day that he had met you, the first time you had come to the compound. He remembered how beautiful you were, so soft and full of light. How could you possibly be capable of such a betrayal?

Klaus lunged at Elijah, his fist colliding with his jaw, and Elijah stumbled backwards. He recovered quickly, his own fists flying, striking Klaus across the face.

They brawled, punches and kicks being exchanged, and Elijah grabbed Klaus, throwing him into a table. They crashed to the floor, grappling and struggling.

"You have always been blinded by your feelings for her!" Klaus spat, his fangs bared, his face inches from Elijah's.

Marcel grabbed at him, trying to pull him off Elijah, but Klaus shrugged him off, pinning his brother to the ground.

"You fell for the oldest trick in the book! My noble brother, always willing to see the best in people, even when they're plotting against you," he snarled, his eyes flashing yellow, "how many times has it cost us, Elijah? How many times have we nearly died because of your stupid sentimentality?"

Elijah snarled, pushing Klaus back and landing a blow to his nose, knocking him to the ground. He pinned him down, his hands wrapped around Klaus' throat.

"You think I'm the fool?" Elijah growled, his grip tightening, "it was you who pushed the witches too far, you took away their hope, their freedom! You're the reason they're fighting back!"

Klaus grabbed the stake and jammed it into Elijah's neck, his eyes widening in shock. He pulled it out, and Elijah gasped, falling to the floor.

"Enough!" Marcel yelled, and he yanked the stake from Klaus' hand.

Klaus stood up, breathing heavily, staring down at his brother, his face filled with rage. Elijah coughed and sputtered, blood spilling from his mouth, the wound slowly healing.

"If we are going to survive this, we need to work together. Save the family drama for later," Marcel said, his voice hard.

Elijah stood up, wiping the blood from his face.

"He's right," he said, his voice hoarse.

"So, what do we do?" Marcel asked, glancing between the two brothers.

"We hunt them down," Klaus growled, his eyes filled with fury. "Those foul witches and their ilk."

"And then?" Elijah asked, his expression grave.

"We kill them all," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, and the room grew quiet, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He looked at Elijah, his face filled with determination, "Every last one."

You made your way through the city, ducking into alleys and hiding whenever a vampire passed by. It was a bit odd to see the city so barren, the streets empty. You tried not to think about it, pushing away the memories of when they were thriving, full of vampires, witches and werewolves alike.

You didn't talk much, keeping quiet to avoid drawing attention to yourselves. But Maeve pointed to the trees and grass, the once green and vibrant plants that now lay withered and dead.

"Was that us?" she whispered. "Our magic?"

You just nodded, trying not to dwell on it. You had sacrificed a lot to get here, you couldn't lose focus now. You had to keep going, no matter what.

"We are going to die, aren't we?" She asked, her voice barely audible.

"Maybe, but so is everyone else," you replied, your voice equally low. "This is bigger than us, we have a chance to free everyone, to end the tyranny,"

You could feel the magic you had taken on, it was too much, twisting your insides, making you nauseous. You knew that the longer you kept it, the worse it would get. The ancestors didn't care that you were in agony, you were their vessel, a tool for their revenge.

"I've never really thought about the afterlife," Maeve said, a small smile creeping across her face. "But, I hope that it's peaceful, that my family is there waiting for me,"

"I'm sure it is," you said, your voice wavering.

"What about you? What do you hope the afterlife is like?" She asked, glancing over at you.

"I hope it's worth it," you whispered, "I hope that everything we did was worth it."

She nodded, her expression solemn. You didn't know what else to say, so you just headed towards the compound, the one place you didn't want to go.

As you grew closer, the damage done to the streets became more pronounced, the rubble thicker and heavier. You had to climb over fallen walls and dead trees, concrete stained with blood. There had been a fight, wooden stakes and branches lay strewn about the ground, but no bodies. Whatever wolves, vampires or witches had engaged them here were either dead or dragged away to be fed upon.

You tried not to think about it, clambering over the rubble, making your way through the gate, sticking to the shadows of the courtyard. It was dark, the sun hidden behind stormy gray clouds. You were glad for it, it would make sneaking around the compound easier, but a part of you wanted to see the sunshine one last time.

The bodies of a werewolf army lie strewn about the courtyard and the large pool of liquid in the middle of it. There were torn off heads, limbs, all in a pile and it was impossible to tell which person belonged to which body. There were a few witches as well, their bodies laying next to those of the wolves.

It was gruesome, the smell of blood and rot filling the air. You covered your mouth, trying not to vomit, but the sight was too much, the magic coursing through you amplifying your senses, and you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

Before you had time to process what you were looking at, there was a strange shift in the air, and Klaus Mikaelson stood before you. He was covered in blood, his shirt torn and ragged. He was staring down at the pile of corpses, his expression blank.

"I presume it was you that caused this... massacre," he said, his voice eerily calm.

"No, pretty sure that was you," you retorted, and he smirked, a cold, hollow thing, turning to face you.

"I call it self defense. Why? Well they had these..." he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and he held up a number of poorly whittled white oak stakes, "and were not afraid to use them."

He dropped the stakes, his eyes roving over you, then his gaze turned to Maeve, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

"I see you brought a friend," he said, his voice mocking. "Does she care to explain what's happening here, or am I going to have to torture it out of her?"

Maeve glared at him, her eyes narrowing, and she lifted her hand, a ball of flame appearing in her palm.

"We've come to kill you, to end your reign of terror," she said, her voice hard.

"Is that so?" He replied, his eyes gleaming. "I'm impressed, little witch, it takes a great deal of strength and cunning to kill an Original vampire."

He looked over at you, his expression turning dark.

"And quite a bit of debauchery too, considering the lengths in which you went to," he hissed, his tone bitter.

"This has nothing to do with us, Klaus," you said, taking a step towards him.

"Oh no?" He snapped, his voice rising, "sleeping with Elijah wasn't a calculated choice? That was all just a means to an end?"

"Don't," you growled, your voice low.

He threw back his head and laughed, a loud, mocking sound. Then he lunged, grabbing you by the throat, lifting you off the ground.

"I should kill you," he growled, his eyes burning with rage, "I should rip your throat out and tear your body to pieces."

Maeve's hands clenched into fists, the fire growing hotter, brighter, and she let out a scream, sending the ball of flame hurling towards Klaus.

He dropped you, flying backwards, crashing into the side of the building. You landed hard, the breath knocked out of you, your body aching. Maeve rushed to your side, helping you up. She pressed a stake into your hand, and you gripped it tightly, the wood smooth against your skin.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head towards Klaus, "let's finish this."

Klaus stood up, his shirt smoldering, the skin beneath it red and blistered. His eyes flashed yellow, and he lunged, moving faster than you could follow.

Maeve ran at him, the force of her magic causing Klaus to stumble, and he let out a roar, charging towards her. They collided in a flurry of blows, their hands and feet moving impossibly fast.

Klaus grabbed Maeve, his hands wrapping around her neck, and he began to squeeze. You ran at him, leaping onto his back, plunging a stake into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, throwing Maeve to the ground, and reached behind him, grabbing you by the throat.

He tore the stake from his shoulder, tossing it aside, and slammed you against the wall, his hands crushing your windpipe.

"Tell me, love," he sneered, his eyes boring into yours, "did you enjoy it?"

You stared at him, your mouth open, struggling to breathe, the magic within you bubbling and churning.

"All the pain you have caused, all the suffering, the lives ruined," he growled, his eyes darkening, "and you had the gall, the nerve, the audacity to pretend you are righteous,"

He was breathing heavily, his jaw clenching, and his hands tightened around your neck.

"To claim that you were better than me," he hissed, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone, "to make Elijah believe that you loved him."

The magic inside you burst forth, exploding outward, and you sent a pulse of energy towards him, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling a few times, coming to a stop against a stone pillar.

You collapsed in the heap, coughing and gasping for air, the magic flowing through you burning, searing. You screamed, your back arching, your limbs twitching, your muscles contracting. It was too much, the pressure, the pain, and the magic began to escape, slipping from your grasp, flowing into the air.

You watched it, like a wisp of soft twinkle lights, drifting away, it gravitated towards the wood, the stakes and branches strewn about the compound, to the beams above you. It sank into them, filling them, and the wood began to glow, burning with the same white light that flowed through you.

Maeve stumbled to her feet, stake in hand, it was disintegrating, falling apart in her palm. She knew this was her last chance, she couldn't afford to wait any longer, the magic was escaping her, draining from her body and draining her life.

She snarled and launched himself at him and they rolled across the ground, grappling and fighting. She screamed and struggled, the force of her magic beating against his chest, but he was too strong, pinning her down.

You took a single step forward, and then you felt it; a sudden rush of coldness, a wave of despair, as his hand touched your arm. You turned, and he was standing there, Elijah.

He looked like he had been through hell. His clothes were tattered, his face covered in dirt and blood. But it was his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes that broke your heart. They were full of pain, a sorrow so deep, so profound, that you couldn't look away.

You stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, neither of you saying a word. And then you heard a cracking sound, Maeve's scream, and Klaus' triumphant roar.

You saw her body fall, limp and lifeless, the white oak stake gone, Klaus holding the splintered remains in his hands.

The whispers grew deafening, chanting in unison, filling your mind, the voices blending together, drowning out all thought, and you were filled with rage.

You struggled in Elijah's grip, the magic swirling and coiling within you, ready to be released.

"Let me go," you hissed, your voice filled with venom.

He didn't budge, his grip tightening, but he wasn't looking at you. Klaus stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, his mouth twisted into a smug grin.

"It's over, brother," he said, his voice mocking, "kill her and end this,"

You snarled and kicked, lashing out with your magic, the air rippling. You struck him in the chest, and he fell backwards, his grip loosening, and you ripped yourself from his arms, turning to face him.

He looked like you had stabbed him in the heart, his expression crumpling. You felt dizzy, drunk almost, on the power. Everything was so vivid, so intense. Your senses were overwhelmed, your head spinning. Maeve's magic flowed through you, and you could feel her essence, her soul. The voices of your ancestors were a chorus in your head, a chorus calling for the deaths of all vampires.

Elijah moved, reaching out, trying to grab you, but you sidestepped him, dodging his attempt to restrain you. You turned towards him, the anger and pain that you had kept locked away, bubbling to the surface.

"You're all monsters," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"We are," Elijah said, his eyes full of anguish.

You felt a surge of emotion, your vision blurring, and a tear rolled down your cheek.

"I wish I had never met you," you whispered. "Why... Why did you have to take everything from me?"

He didn't answer, just stared at you, his face pale. You could hear Klaus chuckle behind you, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Come now, love," he drawled, "that's hardly fair."

You spun around, the magic inside you thrumming, your fingers twitching.

"You have no idea what's fair!" You snapped, your voice shaking.

Klaus smirked, taking a step towards you, but Elijah blocked his path, standing in front of you.

"Move," Klaus snarled, his eyes glowing yellow.

"No," Elijah said, his voice strained.

"You can't save her, brother," Klaus said, his voice low, his gaze fixed on Elijah. "She took too much on, look around,"

The ceiling was collapsing, the walls crumbling, the foundations cracking. All of the wood and plants were rotting and dying, pulsing with the same white light that you could feel pulsing through you.

"She chose this, to die for her cause," Klaus sneered. "How noble of her."

Elijah pushed him away, his jaw clenched, and he looked at you, his expression pained. Klaus grabbed him, pulling him away, and he let out a shout, struggling against his grip.

"Just let her go," he snarled, "it will be over soon."

Elijah shook his head, his tear filled eyes now turning to rage, and he punched him, hitting Klaus so hard, he stumbled, releasing his hold. Elijah's eyes burned with anger, his fists clenched.

"No, I will not kill her," he hissed, "not now, not ever."

"You're weak," Klaus spat, wiping the blood from his mouth, "she betrayed you, she lied to you, and you can't bring yourself to end it, to do what must be done. You are a fool, a pathetic, sniveling, little fool."

Elijah charged at him, his hands grabbing Klaus by the throat, slamming him into the wall. He punched him repeatedly, his knuckles smashing into his face, his eyes filled with hatred.

"You have only ever despised those I love," Elijah snarled, his fist connecting with Klaus' face, "because you are a coward, afraid of any emotion that does not serve your own selfish desires."

Klaus laughed, spitting blood, his lips split, his nose broken.

"You will never learn," Klaus said, his voice thick with disdain.

"And you will never understand," Elijah said, his voice barely above a whisper, his fist connecting with Klaus' face once again.

You could hear the whispers, the voices, the magic in the air calling to you. Your coven was gone, they were dead, but their spirits lingered, their voices echoing in your mind. You held all their power now, their legacy, and the weight of it was crushing. You were barely holding on, with Maeve dead all the magic was yours, and it was destroying you.

Your knees buckled, and you fell to the ground, your body wracked with sobs. You were alone, all alone, and the power was too much. You couldn't hold on anymore, your grip was slipping. the pain too intense, and you let go.

Everything went white, the light blinding, and there was a horrifying crack, and the earth beneath you exploded. The ground gave way, and you fell, the air rushing past you.

You screamed, falling, falling, and the voices grew louder, the light blinding. And then everything went black.

~~~

You awoke slowly, a dull throbbing ache in the back of your head. You couldn't feel your legs, your entire body was numb.

You blinked, your vision blurred, and slowly everything around you came into focus. There was rubble everywhere, a huge pile of it. The air was filled with dust, making it hard to breathe. There was a rumbling sound, as debris began to rain down, a piece of rock became dislodged and tumbled down, smashing into a pile of bricks, shattering them.

There was a ringing in your ears, and you could hear the muffled sound of shouting, a distant siren. You tried to move, but your body was heavy, your limbs were leaden, and you were stuck under something warm and solid.

You looked up, and Elijah's face came into view. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in an unnatural way, his neck was at an odd angle, his hair caked with dust. He had you caged under him, his body covering yours, protecting you from the worst of the destruction.

"Eli?" You croaked, your voice hoarse, the sound of it muffled.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking, his gaze focusing on you. His pretty brown eyes full of heartache and despair.

"Why?" He whispered, his voice breaking.

"I had to," you said, your voice wavering.

He looked down at you, his eyes roving over you, taking in your injuries. He moved slightly, pushing up against the rubble, his immense strength allowing him to lift the heavy wooden beam that was pinning you.

You winced as the movement jarred your legs, a sharp stab of pain shooting through you. You were sure they were broken, the bones in your lower half crushed, shattered.

"You used me," he whispered, his voice trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks, "you made me care for you, made me think..."

He broke off, shaking his head, his eyes filled with anguish.

"And then you betrayed me," he continued, his voice hollow.

The voices were screaming, the magic within you burning, searing.

"I was always told vampires were evil," you pleaded, the pain in your chest unbearable. "And then, I met you, and it was like, everything I knew, everything I believed, it all changed. You made me see the world differently."

His face crumpled, and he looked away, his shoulders shaking.

"I had a mission," you said, your voice cracking, "I was to destroy you, and bring peace back to this city."

You looked at him, pleading, your eyes welling up. You felt a stake next to you, the wood felt so hot, the magic inside it vibrating, the whispers in your head growing louder, a cacophony of sound.

"I never meant to fall in love with you," you cried, the tears rolling down your face.

"Killing me, would cause the thousands I sired to die too, many of them innocent. Who are you to decide who is worthy of life or death?" He asked, his voice trembling, his gaze full of anger.

"It doesn't matter," you said, the words spilling out of you, "they're all monsters."

"Just like me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, "just like you."

"No," you whispered, your voice barely audible. You lifted the stake, pressing it against his chest, the wood burning against your skin.

"This is a mercy," you said, the tears rolling down your cheeks, "an end to the suffering, a chance for peace."

"Do it," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Kill me."

"I don't want to," you cried, the pain in your chest becoming unbearable.

"Do it," he yelled, his voice laced with anger, "End it. Put me out of my misery."

"No," you choked out, the pain overwhelming. "I don't want to, but the voices, the magic, it's too much, I can't, I can't hold on," you sobbed, the stake glowing brightly.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his breath tickling your face.

"I can't watch you die," he whispered, his voice soft, his face twisted with agony.

He kissed you then, a soft, gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours, and you clung to him, the stake pressed against his heart, the wood burning. You knew you didn't have it in you, to make the choice that would end him, forever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, the pain in your chest overwhelming, "for everything."

"Me too," he said, his voice filled with sorrow, he took the stake from your hand, casting it aside. You watched as it slowly disintegrated, the weapon you sacrificed everything for, turning to dust. Just like the magic you had inside you.

Elijah placed his hand on your cheek, cupping your face, his thumb brushing against your skin, his eyes meeting yours. Then he groaned, pushing hard against the debris that trapped you both, lifting the heavy wooden beam that pinned you to the ground. He pulled you free, holding your broken body close, and you felt his arms wrap around you, his touch gentle, careful.

You looked around, the devastation was worse than you thought. The entire compound was gone, the building demolished. There were fires burning everywhere, and a thick layer of dust and debris covered everything. The city was eerily silent, the sky dark, the only light coming from the fires. You were the cause of this, the destruction, the death. You couldn't take it anymore, the guilt, the shame, the pain.

You buried your face against his chest, letting the tears flow freely. He held you, his embrace warm, his touch comforting. You could feel the heat of his breath, the beat of his heart. The voices grew louder, and you were drowning in the sound, the pain was excruciating.

"I'm dying," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt, "and I'm afraid."

"Don't be," he whispered, his hand rubbing your back, his voice thick with emotion, "I'll be with you, every step of the way."

"I love you," you said, your voice trembling, the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice choked, "with all my heart.”

He tightened his grip, holding you closer, his arms wrapped around you, his chest pressed against yours.

"Please," you begged, "please, kill me."

You felt his lips on yours, the taste of blood and tears. His fingers dug into your back, and you felt the pain, the fire in your bones, your muscles, the magic tearing through you, burning, scorching. You were going to die, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"Not yet," he said, his voice breaking, and you felt the sharp pinch of teeth in your neck.

The pain was intense, like a fire, burning through you. You screamed, arching against him, and he pulled back, his eyes wide, his pupils blown, the veins beneath them protruding. He was feeding from you, draining you, killing you.

You felt the darkness creeping in, the whispers fading, the voices growing quiet. Then it was all blackness, nothingness, a void. You were floating, drifting in the darkness, and then you felt something, a tether, a rope, and it was pulling you back, calling to you. It was not the continual haunting drone of the ancestors, but one singular, familiar voice. The voice of the person you loved the most.

Epilogue

A soft sigh escaped your lips as Elijah's warm hands held you underneath him, the movements of his hips slow and controlled.

His hands roamed your body, the look of lust on his face making your heart skip a beat. You would never tire of the way he made you feel, the way he knew what he was doing. This slow, lazy dance, the intimacy of it, the gentle brush of his lips, the smooth silk sheets on your bare skin, the pleasure he made you feel. It was all overwhelming, intense, the sounds you were both making echoing in the room.

You stared up at him, the golden glow of the fireplace shining on his skin, his dark eyes staring down at you. A rare smile was on his lips, and he sighed in contentment, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the bed creaking beneath you. It didn't take long for you to fall apart, the sweet pleasure ripping through your body, Elijah following soon after.

The two of you laid there for a while, not saying anything, just enjoying the peaceful silence. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't stop the questions racing through your mind.

"You're thinking too much, my love," he whispered, his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

"I'm sorry," you sighed, shaking your head, trying to dispel the memories that were plaguing you.

"Talk to me," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. "I want to know what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours."

You closed your eyes, not sure where to begin. "I... I just miss it sometimes," you whispered, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the shame burning inside of you. "The power, the magic. It was so overwhelming, so intoxicating, and now... I feel empty without it."

"I know," he replied, his voice soft, his hand reaching up to stroke your hair. "I can't imagine what that was like, having all that power, feeling it consume you."

You nodded, the guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders. You knew what he was feeling. He was angry, hurt, betrayed, and you didn't blame him. It would take a long time for him to forgive you, if he ever did. You were grateful that he was even giving you a chance, allowing you into his life, his bed. He had been so patient, so understanding, so loving, and you didn't deserve it.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. "I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a sore subject for you, and I'm sorry."

He sighed, shaking his head, his hand resting on your hip, pressing your legs apart. "No," he whispered, his eyes full of sorrow, his touch tender, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. "It's not a sore subject for me, not anymore," he said, his voice firm, his words ringing true. "I forgave you a long time ago."

You blinked back the tears, his words washing over you, filling you with relief, with joy, with hope. You didn't deserve his forgiveness, his love, but you would cherish it, cherish him, for the rest of your life. And now that you were immortal, that would be a very long time.

You never expected to find peace or love with Elijah Mikaelson. Of all the ways your paths had crossed, this one was by far the most unexpected. Laying here, in his arms, a vampire, his wife, was never part of your plan. You chose this, him, and he chose you, and that's all you ever needed.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}

[exhuastedpigeon]

Seven Sentence Sunday

The finale helped break my fanfic writing writers block (yay) and now I'm working on a fic set immediately following Chris leaving and how Eddie grieves, heals, backslides, grows, learns to love himself. I know there are already so many versions of this story but I'm having fun writing it.

“Hey,” Buck says when Eddie walks in eighteen days after Chris has left, four shifts into the reign of Captain Gerrard. Eddie isn’t sure when he started counting his days, but it must have been eighteen days ago.  “Hey,” Eddie says, opening his locker and tossing his bag in. His voice sounds rough even to his own ears.  “H-how are you?”  “How do you think I am?” He snaps, unable to keep the anger and sadness inside of him for another second. As soon as he says it guilt runs through his veins like ice - this isn’t Buck’s fault. Buck has been nothing but supportive. He’s been a rock in an ocean of grief and pain and chaos. If Eddie’s honest with himself, which he’s getting marginally better at, he knows he’s lashing out at Buck because Buck is safe. Ava, his new therapist, would probably tell him that he’s trying to hurt Buck because he doesn’t think he deserves Buck’s kindness and it's easier to push him away than accept his kindness. “Sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Tagged by @tizniz @cal-daisies-and-briars @wikiangela @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks

no pressure tagging @sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @neverevan @watchyourbuck

@inell @rosieposiepuddingnpie @butchdiaz @acountrygirlsfun @actualalligator

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @thekristen999 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley

@devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @elvensorceress

@epicbuddieficrecs @fortheloveofbuddie @hmslusitania @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33

@ladydorian05 @loveyouanyway @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @rainbow-nerdss

@underwaterninja13 @steadfastsaturnsrings @wildlife4life @shipperqueen6 @sibylsleaves and anyone else who wants to share!

[theworldofotps]

Don't Mind

Pairing: Hook x Reader Word Count: 1,090 Description: Tyler's girlfriend is an exotic dancer; he's warned all of his coworkers to leave her alone. Sammy doesn't listen.

Massive thank you to my beloved @omg-im-such-a-masochist for helping me with some of the idea and basically outlining the perfect direction to take this. _______ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic​ @writtingrose​ @99hook @madhatterbri @sjwrites22​ @sassymox​ @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex​ @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666​ @lilred91​ @rebellious-desires​ @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie​ @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @thatnerdwriter @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234​ @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth​ @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin​ @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @alyyaana  @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456  @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars If you wanna be added to the list lemme know Hook Tag list: @wickedval ________

“So, what’s up with your girlfriend Hook?”

Tyler looked up from his phone in the direction of the question seeing Jericho staring at him the younger man raised a brow.

“What about her?”

“Is it true I mean I’ve heard she’s a performer and I’ve seen some of her Instagram posts is it true?”

“So, what if it is, what’s it to you?”

“Just curious is all I’ve never met a wrestler whose partner is a stripper.”

“She prefers exotic dancer and Dan’s wife is a Burlesque performer it’s along the same lines.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? Aren’t you worried someone else is going to snatch her away or she’s going to cheat on you with someone from or that’s she’s met at work.”

Tyler did his best to keep from rolling his eyes at the question he’s heard more than once from his coworkers.

“No, I’m not worried because I trust my girlfriend I’m the one going home with her nobody else, so I don’t honestly mind.”

“Oh okay, what club does she work at?”

“That’s none of your business and I suggest if you somehow find out not to bother going there, any of you or I will personally throw you out myself.”

“Okay okay easy man no need to get worked up.”

Jericho held his hands up in surrender and started a different conversation with one of their other coworkers. Tyler puts his phone in his pocket and leaves the room deciding to actually go and visit her. When his phone rings he puts it on the car phone and starts it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi babe it’s me.”

“Mamas I was just getting ready to come and see you.”

“Oh, perfect I had a break, but I wanted to talk to you really quick before I went back to work.”

“What’s up?”

“Haven’t you told your coworkers not to show up here?” “Yes, I have why?” “Well, that Sammy guy did, and he asked for a private dance…from me.” Tyler felt as if everything froze the sound of Y/n’s voice fading in the background as she continued to speak.

“Don’t go anywhere near that room tell your boss that something came up and you need to give it to another girl. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Ending the call Tyler peeled out of the parking lot making his way towards the club, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He had made it very clear that he didn’t want any of his coworkers going to the club; the fact Sammy went and then had the fucking nerve to ask for a private dance from his girlfriend. No Tyler intended to kick his ass if he didn’t leave the first time he asked.

Pulling into the parking lot he got out and showed his ID, the bouncer was familiar with him, but he did it anyway. Going inside Tyler walked over to the bar motioning for y/n’s best work friend to come and talk with him.

“Hey Hook, didn’t expect you here today.”

“What room is y/n supposed to be in?”

“She’s in the breakroom.”

“Thank you.”

Walking through the club he made his way towards the breakroom which he occasionally got to sneak into when he wanted to spend a little time with you. Not bothering to knock he pushed open the door spotting her sat at the table sipping a bottle of water.

“What room is he in?”

He asked, voice hard as he watched her, just seeing her sitting there in her work outfit the thought of Sammy trying to get her.

“You scared the shit out of me babe, room number four.”

Y/n says as he turned walking down the hallway but stopped, he had no idea where the rooms even were. Grabbing her bottle Y/n followed him and gave directions to the private rooms then pointed a dark red door with a number four on it.

“Wait here.”

He said gently touching her cheek and opened the door, Sammy was sat with a drink in his hand and his back to the door.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long, now come dance for daddy like I paid for.”

Sammy chuckled sipping his drink and set it on a small stand next to the chair he was in; Tyler walked over grabbing him by his shirt dragging him over the chair arm.

“What the fuck?”

Sammy managed to get out before Tyler hits him watching as the man falls to the floor holding his face.

“I told all of you not to come here more than once I told you to stay far away from y/n’s place of work and yet you go behind my back. And then you book a fucking private room with her?”

Tyler was seething as he grabbed Sammy’s collar and shoved him into the wall, Y/n stood outside the door watching as the two of them went back and forth arguing. Sammy was doing his best to make it to the exit and Tyler was landing a hit every time he managed to lay a hand on him. When security came in to break it up Y/n spoke quietly to the bouncer watching him lead Sammy out. Turning she saw Tyler still pacing the floor, walking over she forced him to sit in the chair after closing the door. Thinking for a moment she could still see the rage and frustration on his face. Biting her lip she turned on some soft music dimming the lights ever so slightly and walked back to the chair. Whenever she wanted to work on a new dance for work, she’d practice them with Tyler. This one she was about to do though was one she hadn’t got the chance to try on him yet. As the music drifted into the room from the speaker, y/n began moving her body with the tempo. Slow movements at first as the song began to build her hands dancing across him as her hips moved.

Tyler watched her slowly realization of what she was doing hit him and he couldn’t help but feel himself relax a bit. “She’s really dancing for me, damn I’m one lucky S.O.B”

He thought his hands finally reaching out to touch her, y/n smiled seeing that his features were finally relaxing. Leaning close she pressed a kiss to his neck letting her lips linger as her tongue flicked out to taste the skin.

“Let me dance for you baby just sit here and enjoy the show.

[sapphicscholar]

Hey there! With everyone posting their post-s3 Hacks fics now, I figured I'd shake things up a little with this multi-chapter X-Files AU! You don't need to have any knowledge of the original show (though there are Easter eggs dropped in for those who do) - this is more my playing in the world of the show but telling my own story than of trying to recreate the plot of TXF beat by beat.

Updates every Sunday unless the tag starts quieting down in a few weeks, in which case I'll probably bump to 2x/week updates :)

Chapter Preview:

Ava glances down at the slip of paper in her hands again. “B10.” The letters are scribbled in blue pen. The fuckers hadn’t even bothered to type up her new assignment on real letterhead or anything.

In the elevator, Ava’s finger hovers over the button for the basement level for a long moment before she jabs at G. If they’re not even going to pretend like this assignment is anything other than the death knell of a once-promising career, she doesn’t owe them a full 9-5 workday either. Besides, she’s pretty sure that the cute barista who works the morning shifts at Dolcezza was giving off flirty vibes last week, and she could really use the pick me up after the week she’s had. Not that she’s more than a day into it. Fuck.

Still, a good matcha latte is enough to fix most days a little bit, and even though Sam hadn’t been working, Ava decides it was the right decision. She almost isn’t resentful as she stabs at B and feels the elevator trundle down to the rarely used basement level of the Hoover Building.

Even though she’s pretty sure the janitorial staff hits all the floors, the air down here feels dusty. Like, call a doctor and order an inhaler levels of dusty. She sniffles a little as she peers down the hallway until she finds office 10, which she thinks might actually be the only office down here. With a grunt of effort and a bump of her hip, she manages to shove open the heavy door without having to put down her latte or her phone or the Post-it. She’s busy enough celebrating her small victory that she barely notices the other body in the room until a loud, “Excuse you,” startles Ava enough to have her latte slipping from her hand and crashing to the floor.

“Fuck!” Ava yells, watching as eight dollars spills across the carpeted floor—and, oh god, carpet? No wonder it smells like the 70s down here.

“Are you just gonna watch that? Pick it up!”

Ava jumps into action, grabbing her mostly empty cup from the ground and tossing it into the trash. It’s only then that she properly notices the woman who’s been yelling at her. She’s dressed impeccably in black suit pants, heels, and a satiny blouse thing, and Ava wonders how the hell she got lost and ended up down here instead of wherever she belongs. Ava’s bet is on legal. Maybe HR… A shame. She’s pretty hot, but probably way too into rule following and chain of command shit to be fun.

[party-hearses]

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle // 1

i'll bury us both, fed to the night as ghosts

series masterlist | next chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader, ex!Tommy Miller x f!reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Summary: After your two year relationship with Tommy Miller ends, Joel takes you in — and it’s home like you’ve never quite known before. 

Series Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, language, infidelity, eventual smut, age difference, soft!joel, AU - no cordyceps outbreak, Sarah doesn’t exist (sorry), Tommy stans don’t come for me

Wordcount: 5.8 k

A/N: I’ll be honest — I have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t written a fic in damn near 20 years, so I’m just kind of throwing this out into the void to see what happens. I'm playing fast and loose with years and ages; it's 2023 and there's no outbreak. Also, not a personal fan of the ‘brothers’ trope, but…here we are. 

…I can’t wait until your next business trip…

You press the heels of your hands into your eyes as hard as you can. Who even uses email to have an affair, anymore? 

…miss your hands…

The words are hot against your eyelids, seared into your line of vision, despite the dull ache from your own hands. It had been a week, and the wound still feels gaping — all consuming, bitter pain licking at your insides what feels like every minute of the day. 

     “Dammit, peach. I’ve barely seen you in a week and a half, and this is the bullshit you start?” 

     “Oh, so it’s my fault that you’re having an affair?”

     “I didn’t say that!” 

     Tommy’s eyes wild, hands on his hips, southern drawl like syrup over each syllable. 

     “You’re always workin’. In meetings. Pourin’ yourself into spreadsheets and budgets. What  am I s’posed to do?”

     His hands in the air, desperate, shoulders hunched.

     “Still sounds a lot like you’re blaming me.”  

You can feel the tears well up, and you swallow hard to stop them. Do not cry at work. Do NOT cry at work. You breathe deep, the burning in your lungs waning, but not extinguishing. The usual busy noises of your office are absent today, save the soft purr of the air conditioning and the receptionist’s furious clicking at her keyboard. Even the phones are silent; no frantic calls from upstairs to divert your attention from the constant replay of that night. 

Finally feeling steady enough to remove your hands from your eyes, you lock your fingers together and lay your cheek on top of them. Everything feels heavy — your workload, your personal life, your head. Your gaze slowly flickers to the office window, the sunlight streaming through, the heat scorching. It seems to call out to your blood, making you feel restless, agitated, but also so fucking tired.  

Sleep had eluded you since Tommy had left, and you’d barely been able to steal moments here and there, between dinner for one on the couch and the canned laughs of late-night talk shows. How different your life had been even two weeks ago.  

“Did you bring lunch?” 

Abruptly brought back to earth, your eyes snap up to the face of your colleague, Ava. 

“Um, yeah. Just some veggie sticks and hummus. I, uh, haven’t been feeling terribly hungry.” You smile weakly, the attempt at a joke feeling like a weight around your neck. 

Ava nods in understanding, her eyes sympathetic. She had been the second person you’d called the next morning, after your older sister. Kit, five years your senior, had answered, already sounding distracted by her two young children. 

     “Well, girl, I can’t say I didn’t tell you so. Getting involved with a man seventeen years older than you…” 

While Kit had been hard and borderline disinterested, Ava had served as a warm landing for your sobbing, rushing to the empty apartment on a Saturday morning to soothe you. 

“It’s Friday. We can duck out early, grab a drink? You could use one, and Jackson isn’t back from his meeting upstairs.” Ava checks her watch, confirming. “It’s not like anyone will even miss us.” 

Ava is dependable, fun, beautiful. Her cool California attitude compliments her chic New York style, but she had called Austin home since college. She could wrap anyone around her finger with ease, and her insistence on being your friend made your heart clench. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” You nod solemnly, tears now pricking at your eyes from the tenderness you feel towards her. 

She meets the tenderness with a wide grin. “Knew you would, doll.” 

As you turn to gather your bag, a sudden lightning bolt of fear strikes you. 

“Av, what if he’s there? What if we see him?” 

She swallows down a laugh. “Tommy Miller? Downtown?” She leans closer to you, raising her eyebrows. “He wouldn’t be caught dead at Taquero Mucho. Not willingly, at least.” 

Ava is right, as always. The lush pink floral interior and neon signage on the walls of the restaurant do not, and would not, mesh with Tommy Miller’s bearish sensibilities. You instantly feel more at ease, letting Ava order pink, fruity drinks for the both of you. 

One cocktail turns into two turns into three, and the warm buzz in your veins settles your mind for the time being. Ava sits across from you, happily munching on tortilla chips and chattering away. 

“I couldn’t believe Belinda said that! Like, retire already, grandma.” She grins, rolling her eyes. 

You chuckle, only half hearing the story she’s been telling. Noticing, she gently shifts in her seat, drawing closer to you. 

“Doll, I’m sorry to have been chatting your ear off. You know how I get. Let’s hear- ah, wait!” She notices your empty glass, and as if she had snapped her fingers, the server materializes. 

“Two more, please.” She nods toward the server, who rushes away to put the order in, lest they keep Ava waiting. “Okay. So… what are you going to do? We need to get you out of that apartment. And since you refuse to stay with me…” 

Your gaze drops to your hands in your lap. If you thought crying at work was bad, crying at lunch was worse. You clear your throat, eyes catching your chipped fingernail polish.  

“I don’t know, Av. He- it’s his apartment. It’s not like I don’t make enough to get something on my own, but… I don’t know. It all feels so empty.” 

Ava nods as the server places two more pink cocktails on the table. Mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ to him, she reaches for it before responding.  

“Where’s he staying? And for how long?” 

“His brother’s. Said he’ll give me as much time as I need…but I don’t want to be there anymore. I don’t feel like I can be. Maybe I should get out of Austin?” 

Ava raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You can’t let him run you out of town! That’s outrageous. He’s not even worth that.” She rolls her eyes again. 

You reach for your drink, sipping it slowly, willing it to quiet the bitter fire in your blood. 

     “Peach, come on. I- I didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything. You’re gonna throw two years away over a one time thing? A-a mistake?” 

     “It should have never happened, Tommy! Fucking a client? And I know it wasn’t just once! What the fuck were you thinking?” 

     Tommy’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t speak. His hand goes to the back of his neck, kneading. 

     “Guess I wasn’t thinkin’.” 

Tommy had shattered you. Betrayed you. Split you open and cut your insides out. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that he wasn’t a good man. Complicated? Yes. Hard to read? Yes. Prone to making colossal fucking mistakes? Absolutely. But you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t bad. 

You shake your head at Ava slowly, sadly. “I don’t know what I did wrong, Av. Two years. I don’t know what happened.” 

Your eyes well up, and this time you can’t stop the tears. You sniffle, wiping them away quickly, as Ava puts her hand on your forearm. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, doll. He’s the one who fucked up. He’s the one who ruined everything.” 

“H-he said I work too much. I’m ‘not there’ enough. And…and…the worst p-part is, I don’t think he’s wrong!” It takes everything in you not to wail. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on the in-out in-out of your breathing. 

Ava signals for the check, another of her magic abilities. You can feel the server’s eyes on you as he brings it, quietly clicking his tongue against his teeth. Another sad drunk girl. Tsk, tsk. It’s barely 3 o’clock. Ava hums softly, scribbling her signature on the receipt. 

“There’s not a justification in the world for what he chose to do. You worked hard for your career, busted your ass to be where you’re at. It’s no excuse for him to have a full-blown affair with a client.” She closes the receipt inside the booklet and stands. “Now let’s get you home, so you can cry it out in peace.”

Unlocking the door of the apartment fills you with dread. The key feels unwieldy in your hand, and you consider for a split second whether it will feel daunting or freeing to give it back to Tommy. You let yourself in, the apartment hauntingly empty — just as you had left it, just as it had been for the past seven nights. 

You’ve only spoken to Tommy sparingly over the course of the week. A few short texts here and there, mostly about the logistics of the arrangement you are both now navigating. He had left for Joel’s late the night it happened, a duffel bag slung low over his shoulder, slamming the door on his way out. 

     “This it, peach?”  

…miss your hands…

 Dropping your bag next to the front door, the tears don’t stop once they start.

Ava had offered to come up, but you knew you couldn’t let her. She didn’t deserve to have to wallow with you, no matter how much she wanted to be there for you. 

 It had been a good distraction, lunch with her, but you still didn’t know what your plan was. Where you’d be going, where you’d be living. 

Hugging yourself, you shuffle into the guest bathroom to wash your face. After Tommy had left, you’d moved everything you needed out of the main bedroom and bathroom, suddenly feeling like a trespasser there. 

     Had he brought her here? Did she sleep in this bed? Did they talk about the future together? What does Joel think?

The last question to run through your mind catches you by surprise, a small gasp escaping your lips. What does Joel think? 

If Tommy was stoic and gruff, Joel was downright intimidating. You’ve only seen him smile a few times, and you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard him laugh. He wasn’t, however, unkind, taking to calling you by the same nickname Tommy had, albeit a bit awkwardly at first. Like he couldn’t form his mouth around the languid, round letters - p e a c h. Angular as he was, he had always made you feel welcome, in his own, quiet way, teasing Tommy about you being out of his league. The familial resemblance was strong between the brothers, with their dark waves and warm eyes. But something about Joel made your soul clench, as if he had curved his fingers around your ribs and impressed himself upon your heart. He was comfortable, in a cloudy way — never revealing himself, but not pressuring you to, either. Amicable silence, as it were. 

Thinking about Joel calling you out of Tommy’s league makes you scoff, now. 

“The rich client with the kitchen remodel isn’t too out of his league, is she?” You mumble to yourself, cold water pooling between your palms. 

     “I don’t want it to end this way, peach.”  

     “I didn’t want it to end at all, Tommy.” 

 You bring the water to your face, scrubbing away the salt of dried tears and sting of betrayal.

The sun had dipped below the horizon when you wake up later on the couch. Fumbling for your phone with one hand, you rub your eyes with the other. As you check the time, your phone alerts you to two new text messages, delivered two hours ago.

Tommy Miller: Will you be home tonight? Tommy Miller: I need to stop by to get a few things. 

Your hands tremble as you read and reread the messages. You rub your eyes again, unsure if you’re understanding the text in front of you clearly. It doesn’t change. Panic rises in your throat, searing and sour. 

A vicious cross between fury and complete despair surges through you, and you drop your phone into your lap. Tears pinch at the backs of your eyes. Forget figuring out where to live, you hadn’t even considered how you’d next face Tommy.  

     I don’t want to see you, Tommy. Do you want to talk? I’ll be out, feel free to drop by. Please come home. 

You weigh your options, constructing and dismantling multiple messages. Retrieving the phone, you pray he can’t see that abhorrent blue bubble that indicates you’re typing. That shows him you’re there. 

As if he’d read your mind, your phone vibrates, his name and picture flashing on the screen. The picture gives you pause — a day you had spent on Lake Austin, the wind whipping through his hair, a broad smile on both of your faces. You feel like you’re going to be sick. 

Focusing on your breathing, clenching your teeth, you accept the call.  

 “Hey, Tommy.” Your voice is small. So small. You feel your cheeks burn at how stupid you feel. You should be screaming at him — biting back the venom he instilled in you — but all you can manage is barely a whisper.  

He sounds relieved. “Hey, peach. Didn’t know if I’d catch ya.” 

You hum discontentedly. How can he be so cool about this?  

“Uhhh, well, I, uh, need to stop by the apartment tonight to grab some things. Would that be okay?” 

You don’t know what to say. Would it be okay?  

“It’s your apartment.” 

The response surprises you, that same venom bubbling over without your permission.

Tommy sighs. 

“I don’t want it to be like this, darlin’. Can we talk? Please?” 

“Can you make it here without sleeping with a client?” 

Tommy laughs hollowly. “Guess I deserve that. Sassy today, huh?” 

You picture him then, on Joel’s couch, fidgeting with the hem of his button down with his free hand. Pressed against the cushions, eyes to the ceiling. Gently annoyed with you for ignoring his texts. Football would be switched on in the background, and your heart thrums when you think of Joel being there, watching him. What does Joel think?   

You clear your throat, refocusing your attention. 

“Let’s get this over with, Tommy.”  

Sassy, indeed.

It was easier to be hard over the phone, joined by nothing more than wires somewhere in space. But as Tommy stands in front of you now, elbows on the kitchen island, hands stretching towards you, all you feel is the velvety pull of attraction. The soft lull of two years spent shrouded in each other. 

His voice is low, but soft — practically a purr. 

“Baby. How do we move past this?” 

You don’t meet his gaze, wrapping your arms around yourself. Looking at anything but him, anything but those warm eyes. You know that if you do, it will be over. 

“Tommy…I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s that easy. You had an affair. You didn’t forget to take the trash out, or-or-or make a shitty comment about my friends. You slept with someone! You had a relationship with her.” Your voice is measured, eyes dragging from the floor to the ceiling. Avoiding. 

“What can I do, peach? Please, just tell me. I’ll do anything.” 

 “It doesn’t change what happened.” You cross your arms over your chest, defiant now. “It won’t change what happened.” 

Exasperated, Tommy slams his hand on the counter, drawing his body to its full height. He’s broad — so broad — his shoulders squared. 

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. You’ve made it clear. Joel has made it clear. I fuckin’ get it!” He clenches his fists, bringing them up to his face. “I fuckin’ get it.” 

You drop your eyes instantly as your pulse quickens. “What do you mean, Joel made it clear?” 

Tommy sighs, deeply, not removing his hands from his face. “Joel will barely fuckin’ talk to me. Can’t get more’n two words out of him. Said he doesn’t blame you for bein’ done with me. Said I know better. And you know what? Yeah, he’s right. I do. Can’t even argue with’m.” 

You hum cooly in agreement, your pulse thrumming in your ears. There is a sudden acute awareness of the change taking place in your perception of Tommy following his words; he’s been wrenched open and put on display for you, and the need to step back from the jarring offering is nearly suffocating.  

“Okay. Okay.” Hands falling to his waist, revealing his eyes. Bloodshot, tired. Surrendering, but sharp. His voice, softer now, velvet dipped in whiskey. “I’m sorry, peach. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am. I wish I could take it all back. I…I know I really fucked up.” 

You hold his desperate gaze for a moment before lowering your eyes to the floor again. 

“Tommy… ” His name splintering across your lips. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” That small voice again, cracking. Shattering. Sparkling pieces scattered across the kitchen floor around your feet. Meeting his offering with outstretched, empty palms. Nothing left to give. 

He drops his head, tucking his chin to his chest, and exhales a shaky breath. “Okay, peach. I hear ya.”

You can see his eyes bright with unshed tears. This is the softness that you know, that you’ve craved. The hushed tenderness that you’d shared beneath bed sheets, woven between fingertips brushed against silk skin, delicate whispers in the dark of a once shared bedroom.  

As good as strangers, now. 

The silence settles between you, mourning both what once was and could have been.

When the door closes with Tommy on the other side of it, it feels final. An unfamiliar liquid sense of relief floods your veins, and you breathe deeply. For the first time in a week, you feel like you can suck in enough air to actually fill your lungs. You hadn’t recognized the somber, weepy creature you’d become, and you were sure no one else had, either. Ava had treated you like you were made of glass, afraid you would shatter at any moment. And as much as you had needed that, your stomach twisted into knots at feeling so helpless. Ending things with Tommy — officially — felt like giving yourself permission to dig out the shards and stitch the wound.  

You take in the room around you - a blanket strewn across the arm of the couch, wine glasses littering the coffee table, bottles lined up on the floor in front of it. You shake your head, in something that feels a little like disbelief. The reality of leaving this apartment - your home - had begun to truly set in, but the question of where you would land hung heavy in the air. 

Of course Kit would take you in, if she wasn’t multiple states and thousands of miles away. Ava was an option, having offered her couch to you almost the moment she found out, but you had leaned so heavily on her already that taking more would have made you feel too guilty. A hotel would be too expensive for an open-ended move out date, though the prospect of not having to make your own bed or wash your own sheets was tempting.  

Dropping yourself onto the couch with a heavy sigh, you begin to aimlessly scroll through the contact list in your phone. You know, deep down, that it’s for show, though you don’t know for who. You know, too, that you’ll end up at Ava’s, despite your unwillingness to do so. 

 You lean back, pulling your legs up and stretching them across the cushions. Reaching across the empty wine glasses for the television remote, you click it on before throwing your arm over your eyes. You don’t care what’s on, you just need the sounds. Of people. Of laughing. Of life. Resigning yourself to calling Ava in the morning, you slip into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The Saturday morning sun finds you still curled up on the couch, your legs pulled close to your core. Without opening your eyes, you drop your hand to the floor, feeling for your phone. Finding it nestled partially beneath the frame of the couch, you bring it up to your face, cracking your eyes as little as possible to check the time. There’s a missed call, and when it catches your attention, your eyes fly open completely. 

 Joel Miller - 1 Missed Call & Voicemail

“What the fuuuuck… ” you mumble, swiping to your calls app and bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Uh, hey peach. It’s Joel. Gimme a call back when you get this.” 

You can’t quite place his tone of voice, and your hands tremble as your brain rolls through all the reasons he might be calling you. Did something happen? Is he angry that Tommy is still at his place? Is he angry that you ended it with Tommy? Is he going to try to convince you to take him back? You play the voicemail again, to see if you can catch any stormy inflections in his deep voice - though you glean nothing more than a hazy awareness of the hunger coursing through your blood when he speaks.  

Finally sitting up and crossing your legs beneath you, you stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity. It’s not that Joel scares you, but you don’t know of any time that he’s called you for any reason. Worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth, you finally press the little image of a phone next to his name and wait for the call to connect.

“Yeah?” Joel’s tone is curt, and you can tell he’s at work based on the construction noises you hear in the background. It sets your teeth on edge. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Steeling your nerves.  

“Heyjoelit’s-” you manage to squeak, before you recognize the quiet way his breath hitches. 

“Peach.” and he’s soft. So soft. Softer than you’ve ever known him to be. And it’s your name on his tongue; honeyed and heavenly. You could drown in it. 

“Hi,” you whisper. “I’m just…returning your call.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately, but you hear the opening and closing of a door, the groan of an office chair, and then silence. You would think he’d hung up if you couldn’t hear his deep, even breathing. 

“Peach,” he finally says again, and your skin flares. He clears his throat. “I—there’s— you doin’ okay?” His words are rushed, clumsy, as if he’s trying to get them all out at once. The thought that Joel Miller has anything to say to you, much less too much to say to you, clouds your mind. “Could kill Tommy. Fuckin’ bastard.” 

You laugh once, idly. “I’m holdin’ it together, Joel.” 

“Attagirl.”  

Your skin prickles, and you draw in a surprised gasp. 

He continues, unaware of the change in your breathing. “Look, I, uh, know you’re busy, so I’ll get t’the point. I’ve got an extra room. For you. If ya want it, I mean. I know you’re tryin’ to get out of Tommy’s place, and I’m not lookin’ to rush you or anythin’, just..wanted to offer it up. Rent free, ‘n all that.” You imagine him running his hands through his hair as he stumbles through his speech, clenching his teeth. “Least I could do, with my brother bein’ the dickhead he is.” 

Oh. It’s pity — he feels sorry for you. You bite your tongue, sink your fingernails into your palm, force yourself to focus through the haze in your eyes. Stupid. Stupid girl. 

“Joel, I—” 

“I know ya probably have friends you can stay with. I’m not tryin’ t’be weir — peach, is this weird?” He’s lost in his own thoughts, but stops abruptly when the question escapes. He sounds just as surprised by it as you are.  

 It hangs in the air between you for a moment, and you relish just slightly in the idea that he’s floundering.  

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.” you reply, gently. “I’m okay to figure something out on my own. I’m a big girl.” 

“Oh, peach, no. No.” His response is quick, and firm; without any hesitancy, or a second thought. “Don’t for a minute think I don’t know how capable y’are. I know you can, I just don’t want you to have to.” 

 His words sizzle across your flesh, urgent and pleading. They leave you feeling dazed, unsure of the reality of the conversation. Your eyes flick to the furnishings of the apartment, desperate for something to ground you. Trepidation clutches at your throat, rendering you speechless. 

Joel shifts in his chair, and you hear him let out a long breath. “I- I know we don’t know each other. I feel like I’m scarin’ you, darlin’.” 

You shake your head, grasping for what to say. Chest tightening at the thought of his worry, the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. “What would Tommy say?” 

It feels like a condemnation; speaking it aloud, between the two of you. As if it would make Joel suddenly realize how wrong it was, to ask this of you. To offer this to you. 

“Tommy doesn’t get to say anythin’.” His whisper-soft tone now a growl, clawing at your insides. It covers you from head to toe, and you feel, for the first time in a very long time, shielded from the hurt. A hurt that exceeded the past week, or Tommy entirely. A hurt that was buried so far inside yourself that the aching reminder it even existed left you reeling. Tears prick at the back of your eyes, and you silently scold yourself for crying again. 

The silence on the phone is comfortable, as if Joel knows that you’re digesting everything he’s saying. True to his word, he’s not rushing you — just sharing the space with you, allowing you to take it all in. 

A loud knocking sounds from his end, and it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Shit, sorry peach. I gotta go.” He sounds further away, muffled; the intimacy of the conversation shattered, as if you had imagined it altogether. 

Then, abruptly, his warm, inviting timbre restored: “Please think about it. Bye, darlin’.”

 “I mean, are you thinking about it?” Ava questions, her eyes on the shirt she’s folding. She’s cross legged on the floor, while you stack books in the cardboard box at your feet. 

It hadn’t occurred to you how little you had to call your own, until you had to put it all in boxes.  

You don’t respond to Ava’s question immediately, instead chewing on your bottom lip gently. Turning it over and over in your mind, formulating the most diplomatic response. 

“How bad would it be if I was?” You avoid her eyes, which you know have turned to daggers at your back. 

It’s her turn to mull the question over, bobbing her head side to side as she considers. 

“Tommy’d be pissed.” It’s pointed, but not malicious. Honest. “But…we don’t care what Tommy thinks anymore, do we?” 

 You drop your head, smiling mildly behind the curtain of your hair. No, we in fact, do not. 

“Plus, he’s very…handsome.” Ava chooses her words carefully, but you know to read between the lines: Joel is fuckin’ hot. “The whole ‘older man’ thing really works for you, babe.” 

“Kit would be more upset than Tommy, I guarantee it.” You laugh softly, unable to help yourself. You get cheated on by someone more than fifteen years older than you, and immediately move in with someone even older? You imagine your sister tutting at you, ever the mother-figure. 

“No doubt.” Ava rolls her eyes affectionately as you turn to her. You plant your hands on your hips and survey the bedroom around you. “Seriously, though, how would the…logistics of living with Joel work? Would you, like, have dinner together? Hang out? Be friends?”

You laugh, despite the anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t know, Av. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’m kind of hung up on the whole ‘moving in with my ex-boyfriend’s brother’ part of it all.” 

Now it’s her turn to plant her hands at her hips. “Are we still harboring some feelings about Tommy Miller, doll?” Her eyebrow quirks. 

“Av! Come on. We spent two years together! I’m not just gonna get over it like that.” You snap your fingers before bending down to close the now-full box below you. 

“You know what they say…the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Ava waggles her eyebrows, and you laugh, full-bellied, at her levity. “You’re a fox, girl. Believe it or not.” 

You roll your eyes, shoving the box out of the door of the bedroom, into the hallway. 

“And he’ll be helping you move all this, right? To his house?” 

“Nope!” you chirp brightly, “that would be you, babe!”

Kit, as you had anticipated, is not thrilled about the idea of you moving in with Joel. You call her from your office phone on Monday morning, gripping the receiver so hard your knuckles are white. 

“Are you kidding? How are you even entertaining the idea?” Her voice is unflinching, and you tap the fingers of your free hand against your desktop, mildly annoyed. 

“I’m 28, Kit.” You remind her, as you always do. “I’m the one who would deal with the fallout. Not you. Besides, it’s not like I have a ton of options.” 

She scoffs, and you can imagine her rolling her eyes. “So you’ve told him yes, then?”  

“No! That’s why I’m…taking a survey. Feeling it out.” You mumble, “You’re obviously not on board.” 

Kit sighs, drawn out and heavy. “I know you don’t care what I think. I know you’re an adult. I just…worry about you. I’m so far away, and if anything happened…” 

You cut her off. “I appreciate that. A lot. But at some point, I have to take care of myself.” 

“I don’t think moving in with a 50 year old man qualifies as taking care of yourself.” She’s trying to be delicate, you can tell, but her remark is biting. 

Twirling the phone cord around your fingers, you purse your lips. 

“Why don’t you come stay with us for a bit? Maybe an extended vacation?” You can picture the sticky countertops, loud toys, an uncomfortable pullout couch. And Kit’s husband, awkward and gangly, never shutting up about ‘the economy’. Kit sounds somewhat hopeful, though, and it makes your heart quiver. 

“Kit…I can’t leave my job. The one stable thing I have going for me.” 

 ���They have finance jobs here.” 

 “I’m not letting Tommy run me out of Austin.” You echo Ava’s words, an indignant feeling rising in your chest. “I’ve got a whole career here. This is…a minor setback. If I do move in with Joel, it won’t be for forever.”    

She laughs softly, but you clock the reluctance. 

“I promise. I’m okay. I am okay. I will be okay.” 

Kit pauses. “You’ll tell me if you’re not?” 

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” 

“Well,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “best of luck, peach. It sounds like you have your mind made up.”

You shove the last box into the back of your Subaru, and dust your hands off on your leggings. 

     “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this, Joel?” 

     “Yes. Stop askin’ me.”   

      “If I’m too much, at all, I don’t have to stay.” 

     “Peach.” It’s a warning. “It’s Tommy that I need out of my space.” 

Calling Joel back to accept his offer had been harder than every other aspect of moving out of Tommy’s apartment. Once you and Ava had packed all of your belongings, you stood back to observe — and it was like you had never lived there in the first place. The only thing that truly felt different about the space was that you knew you didn’t live there anymore. You feel a pang in your chest thinking about how Tommy would feel without you there — you didn’t know if him missing you or not missing you would be worse. 

“Anything left?” Silas, Ava’s boyfriend-du-jour asks, from your elbow. 

You shake your head, pulling down the hatch to close the back of the car. “Just the key. Which you don’t have to stick around for.” You give him a watery smile, feeling the weight of the day through every muscle in your body. 

He nods. “Cool, cool. I’ll grab Ava. We can meet you over there?” 

You hum in agreement before turning back to the building. Going up the steps to the second floor feels mechanical, a recreation of the thousands of times you’ve done it before, and your legs carry you automatically. The last time, now. Pulling in a large breath, you exhale through your nose, centering yourself while you click the door open.  

Sunlight streams through the windows, bathing everything in the late afternoon light. You glaze your eyes over the room, not searching for anything forgotten, but committing it to memory one final time. You recognize that it feels less like a chapter closing and more like a freefall into something entirely unknown — into the mouth of something that lurks beneath the surface, teeth gnashing, ready to consume. 

Leaving the key on the kitchen island feels like an offering to that dark entity, but you’re ready — willing — to tumble headfirst into it. So you do, with no grandeur, and no looking back, just a deep breath out and the millstone around your neck lifted. 

Joel’s truck isn’t in the driveway when you arrive at his house. Ava is posted up against her car, Silas still in the driver’s seat, arm out the window at her waist. You wave as you pull up, masking the fear radiating through your extremities. 

You throw the Subaru into park, and Ava jogs over to meet you. Her eyes are wide, but kind, as you close the door behind you. 

“Okay?” She asks, her hand gentle on your arm. 

You nod, swallowing hard. “Feels kinda surreal, Av. But I’m good.” 

Brushing her off, you make your way to the front door. There’s an envelope clipped to the mailbox, ‘peach’ scribbled on the front of it, and your hands shake as you grasp it. 

‘I wanted to give you some space while you got settled. Your key is in the envelope. Make yourself at home — I’ll check on you in the morning. —Joel’ 

Your heart flutters as you pull out a house key, with a keychain in the shape of a peach threaded through the top of it. Your breath catches in your chest as you run the metal through your fingers, tightening them around it. If Tommy’s key had been an anchor, Joel’s feels like a lifesaver. 

Blinking back tears, hands still shaking, you slide the key into the lock and twist. 

Eat your heart out, Tommy Miller.

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — CHAPTER 3: NO COMPASSION

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: at this point me writing this fic is just my attempt at keeping the abigail/dan stevens tumblr fandom alive. hopefully cuckoo brings back the dan stevens stans. also keep ur eyes peeled for the 4th and 5th chapters… they’re gonna be a bit… 🫣 especially the 5th one.

SUMMARY: sylvie and sammy spend some time at the bar lounge conversing and getting to know each other, and things only get more awkward and tense between her and frank. joey then reveals some concerning information told to her by abigail. frank decides to take matters into his own hands, and… well, that doesn’t end up going the way he had planned.

WORD COUNT: 2,441

TAGS: @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @atcarpenter @blackwolfstabs @tommyshelbysangel @reclaimedbythesea @witchy-weve-monbebe @maggotssmichael @xashleyo03x @evildarliing @maggotmommys

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, shoot me a message on here or send an ask to my inbox. :)

“What happened?”

Sylvie sat on a barstool next to Sammy, trying to keep her distance from Frank, who was nursing another glass of whiskey. “Don’t worry about it.” She muttered. “Just… had to talk about something.”

Dean was now sitting in an armchair, drinking from a whole bottle of liquor, a joint in his other hand. “It’s too fuckin’ quiet in here.” He complained. “Play some music on the radio or somethin’…”

Peter walked over to the radio that was sitting on the bar counter and turned it on, adjusting some of the dials. Soon, “Young Americans,” a Bowie tune Sylvie particularly enjoyed, started playing. That perked her up a bit.

“You sure?” Sammy asked, tapping her polished nails against her glass of whiskey.

Sylvie nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

Sammy shrugged. “Fair enough. Anyways, what’s your name again? Ava, right? I mean, that’s probably not your real name, but we can’t use our real names here, anyway.”

Sylvie hesitated a little before answering. “Uh… yeah. Call me Ava.”

“You must feel really confused about why you’re here.” Sammy then remarked with a small chuckle. “I mean, you ended up joining in on this whole… thing… a bit later.”

Sylvie slowly nodded. “Yeah… I’d say ‘confused’ is probably an understatement. What exactly is this all about, anyway? Why are we all here at this specific place?”

Sammy sighed, taking a sip of whiskey. “To put it simply… we have to babysit a kid.”

Frank, who had clearly been overhearing their conversation, let out a scoff. “Babysitting? That’s a light way to put it. A euphemism for ‘kidnapping.’”

Sylvie turned to shoot a glare at Frank, before looking back at Sammy. “Kidnapping?” She repeated, her eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me we’re holding a child hostage?”

Sammy shrugged. “Pretty much.” She answered. “Look, it’ll be good money. Think we’ll all end up getting, like, millions of dollars as our little reward. What’s wrong with free money?”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just leave? I don’t want to be part of this… this is fucking wrong.”

“Joey wasn’t happy either, but there’s no turning back now. Don’t need Lambert kicking our asses, either.” Sammy took another sip of whiskey, her voice as nonchalant as ever.

“Who’s Lambert?” Sylvie carefully asked. She was only growing more confused by the second.

“Our boss, I guess,” Sammy answered. “He was the one who wanted us for this whole mission. Since you were brought here, that must’ve meant you were wanted, too.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though, you don’t exactly strike me as the criminal type. Hm, why would Lambert want you here…?”

Frank let out an annoyed sigh and picked up his glass of whiskey, moving to sit next to Sylvie. His gaze darted between the two women, finally landing on Sammy with a bit of a smart-ass look on his face. “Ooh, trust me. She’s not as innocent as she looks…”

“Why’d you say that?” Sammy curiously asked, raising an eyebrow.

Frank shrugged, his smirk remaining. “I can pick people apart rather easily.” He casually answered. “Joey’s a junkie, little miss Ava over here’s far from being perfect, too. Ya think Joey’s got a talent for reading people? Well, so do I.”

Sylvie could feel her chest start to tighten again. Frank always had a talent for making a situation quite uncomfortable very quickly.

“Comes with being a cop. I’m not fuckin’ stupid.” Frank continued, taking another sip of whiskey.

Sammy rolled her eyes, unfazed by Frank’s tough-guy demeanor. “Whatever you say.” She muttered, before looking over in Peter’s direction. While Sammy and Peter were having their conversation, Frank turned his attention back to Sylvie.

“You better not be a pain in my ass while we’re both here.” He muttered, finishing the rest of his glass of whiskey. He lazily tapped his fingers against the glass, eyeballing it carefully.

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of talk coming from the very person who enjoys trying to piss me off.”

Frank quietly chuckled at Sylvie’s words. “Yeah, yeah, I know…” he murmured before his voice took on a more serious tone. “I’m just taking my job here very seriously. I don’t need anyone getting in my way, including you.”

Sylvie was about to speak when Joey soon appeared, taking a seat at the bar lounge next to Frank.

“How’s the kid?” Frank asked, not even bothering to look at Joey. He kept his gaze fixated on the empty glass in front of him.

“She’s fine,” Joey answered, but something in her voice conveyed a sense of concern. “Look, I don’t need to know who the girl’s father is, but do you know?”

Sylvie narrowed her eyes at Joey’s question. What was so important about the kid’s father?

“No, why?” Frank answered, still not meeting Joey’s gaze.

“She just implied that her father might be a particularly violent man.”

Frank took off his glasses, letting out a sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose before putting them back on. An annoyed smile formed on his face. “Wow. She implied that, did she? Of course, she fuckin’ implied that. She’s scared. She wants to rattle you.”

Despite Frank’s reaction, Sylvie was starting to feel worried herself. “No, listen to her.” She said, glancing at Joey. Maybe it was the fact she knew what it was like to have… not-so-great people as parents, but something in Sylvie was making her… wonder.

“Why should I listen to her?” Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes. “She’s a kid. Kids lie.”

“What exactly did she say?” Sylvie asked, looking at Joey carefully.

“She… apologized. She implied that something… not good is going to happen.” Joey explained. “Based on everything she said, her father sounds like he could be a possible threat.”

Then, she looked back at Frank. “That’s why I’m asking you — do you know who her father is? If you used to be a detective, then surely you might have an idea of who he could be.”

Frank sighed again and turned to look at Joey, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh my God, you’re gonna be a real pain in my ass, aren’t you? There’s one in every crew.”

“No, sir. I just don’t scare easy, so when I do, I pay attention.”

Joey then rose from her seat, turning around to leave. Once she vanished, Sylvie glanced at Frank. “Why’s the kid’s father so important?” She asked. “Must be quite serious if she wants to know.”

“Well, he’s wealthy as shit. That’s why the kid’s with us right now.”

“So, she’s being held for ransom...” Sylvie quietly observed, mostly to herself. “Still, especially if her father’s dangerous after all, can’t we just… return her to her family? I mean, I feel really bad for her. She’s only a kid.”

Frank scoffed. “$50 million is a lot of fuckin’ money, y’know. You’re here, so you might as well just be as bad as the rest of us.”

Frank paused for a moment, appearing deep in thought. “Y’know what, I think I’ll go talk to the damn kid myself.”

Sylvie felt a tinge of nervousness at Frank’s idea. With the way he was, she didn’t trust him to be around a child at all, especially if he was confronting said child. “Talking” for Frank most likely meant “threatening.”

“You’re not gonna hurt her… right?” Sylvie asked, her tone serious.

Frank shrugged. “I will if I have to. The fuck are you gonna do about it, anyway?”

“Stop you, obviously.”

Frank let out a snide chuckle. “I’d love to see you try. You wouldn’t even kill a fly if you had to.”

He got up from his seat and stormed off in the direction of the girl’s room. Sylvie stayed back for a little bit, but then she decided to go after him, determined to make sure he didn’t lay a finger on her. Even though she didn’t know the girl at all, Sylvie still felt an almost instinctual need to make sure nothing happened to her. She was a child, after all.

As Sylvie followed Frank’s path, she could hear the sound of a door opening, followed by his voice and… screaming. A child screaming.

“You see my face? You see my fuckin’ face? Huh? Are you lyin’ to me?”

“Goddamnit.” Sylvie hissed under her breath. She started to run towards the room, and sure enough, Frank was holding the girl at gunpoint. She looked terrified, and it made Sylvie feel a pang of anger.

“You fuckin’ lyin’ to me? Don’t lie to me. What color are my eyes? What color are my eyes?! It’s a simple fuckin’ question, kid!”

“I didn’t see your face!”

“Well… good! Who the fuck is your father?”

“Put the fucking gun down, right now.”

The girl and Frank both turned around to look at Sylvie and the kid only looked even more terrified.

“He’s gonna hurt me!” She whimpered, clutching onto a blanket for support. “Don’t let him hurt me.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Frank snapped, shooting Sylvie a sharp glare. “Back the fuck off. This is a private matter.”

Sylvie took a deep, shaky breath. “Just… put the gun down. There’s no need to point it at her.”

Instead, Frank ignored her, looking back at the girl. “I’ll ask it again. Who the fuck is your father?”

The girl’s eyes anxiously darted between Sylvie and Frank but lingered on Sylvie’s face for a couple of seconds longer, almost as though she recognized her. Then, she looked back at Frank.

“Jo… Joey said you didn’t want to know.”

“Well, fuck Joey! I do wanna know!”

Frank turned to face Sylvie again, his eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you doing? She’s not supposed to see your fuckin’ face!”

Shit.

“Fuck— I’ll… I’ll go.”

As Sylvie started to hurry away from the bedroom, she froze when she faintly heard the girl mention a particular name — Kristof Lazar. Sylvie had heard that name before, but from where?

Wait a second.

As Sylvie returned to the bar lounge, she suddenly remembered memories from around five years ago. Charlie — the man from her college that she knew. He had mentioned a “Lazar” on numerous occasions and from the information Sylvie had heard, he was a dangerous man. It couldn’t possibly be the same guy… right?

Sylvie took a deep breath and tried to brush it all aside, taking a seat at the bar lounge. Sammy, who had still been chatting with Peter, took notice of her nervous state. She was about to say something until Dean spoke.

“Yo, what’s goin’ on, bagman?”

Frank was heading towards the front door, putting on his leather trench coat. “I’m leaving.”

Joey narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You heard me. You cut up my share however you want. I’m out.”

Sylvie felt a significant amount of concern. Frank had never been the kind of person to get scared, so whatever it was, something was seriously wrong. He was usually all tough and uncaring, so seeing him suddenly nervous was quite out of character.

Joey rose from her seat, following after Frank. “Whoa, hey. What happened?”

Frank ignored her, continuing to advance towards the door.

“Hey! You can’t just leave without telling us what’s going on.”

Frank turned around, staring at Joey with an uncharacteristic look of what seemed like fear. “What’s going on?” He repeated. “What’s going on is that we are fucked. That little girl is Kristof Lazar’s daughter.”

Rickles let out a “shit,” with Joey looking equally as worried. Meanwhile, Sammy and Peter were confused. Dean, on the other hand, was nonchalant.

“That’s an urban legend, man.” He said, rolling his eyes. “Calm down. Like, that whole thing is completely bogus.”

Frank walked over to Dean, his eyes narrowing. “He’s not a fuckin’ urban legend. He is very fuckin’ real, believe me. Nobody even knows how big his fuckin’ empire is.”

Sylvie took a deep breath. “Yeah… he’s right. I… I think Lazar is real.”

“How do you know?” Sammy carefully asked, her gaze wary.

“I… I know.” Sylvie simply answered. She was going to have to side with Frank on this one, as much as she didn’t want to.

“Is he, like, a crime boss?” Sammy then asked.

“He controls a lot more than just crime,” Rickles answered. “I’ve… heard of some shit.”

Joey sighed. “Is Lambert fucking insane? He just put a death mark on all of us, including himself.”

“What if we just, like, y’know, like, give her back and say sorry?” Sammy suggested.

Frank let out a scoff and walked over to Sammy. “Oh, yeah. ‘Here’s your daughter, Mr. fuckin’ Antichrist. We’re really sorry. Hope she’s not too traumatized. Let’s play a round of golf sometime!’”

Sammy narrowed her eyes at Frank in disgust and annoyance. “Fuck you, Frank.” She murmured.

“Let’s just leave.” Joey then said. “We leave her with some food and make an anonymous phone call, get the fuck out of here.”

Peter nodded in approval, snapping his fingers. “I like that.”

“It’s not like she’s seen our faces.” Joey then added.

Frank let out a bitter scoff as he approached Joey. “Uh, actually, she has, thanks to you.”

Joey narrowed her eyes at Frank. “I was supposed to be the only one in and out of that room, and I wore my mask.”

“Well, I didn’t, so I walk in there to see Angelina Ballerina memorizing my fuckin’ face! Why did you take off her blindfold, Joey?”

“Now we have to kill her.” Peter then said.

“Not a fucking chance.” Joey hissed. “We’re not killing the girl.”

“She saw Frank’s face…”

Sylvie let out a sigh before reluctantly speaking. “Mine, too. She… saw my face, too.”

The room went silent.

“Oh, this is really bad,” Sammy murmured. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Frank shrugged. “We pull this off, pretend we don’t know who her father is, and with the money we’re making from this, we disappear forever. Start a new life. Then, I don’t have to see any of you fucks ever again.”

He paused for a moment before speaking again, trying to come up with a plan. “Everyone, stay alert. Any threat is gonna come from outside, so we set a perimeter and we hold it. Rickles takes first watch in the crow’s nest. Joey, secure the interior. Look for any ways in or out. What is it, like, twenty-two more hours, hmm?”

Frank checked his watch. “Twenty-two hours.”

He went to pick up his bag and left, cursing under his breath.

“What a dick,” Dean muttered as he watched Frank leave.

[isan0rt]

@lightandfellowship re: your tags on this post (just to kind of bring this out to a different post).

I was thinking about making a separate post to expand on those tags anyway because they were a little off topic to the op, but I was like, you know, it's that Xehanort was worse to the Dandelions than Luxu was, yes. But Luxu was supposed to be that callous to the Dandelions in the first place. He was supposed to think of them as tools and to just let whatever fucked up thing was supposed to happen to them just happen. And with anyone else he can, but he can't put his personal feelings aside enough to 'do what needs to be done' for this set of people alone.

But Xehanort can.

And I think that's really interesting when looking at Xehanort as the 'replacement Luxu.' Xehanort who, as observed by another post I don't have immediately to hand, speaks with MoM twice. Xehanort who is chosen by MoM and manipulated into doing his bidding the same way Luxu was, given the same coat and made the heir to Luxu's keyblade, Xehanort who actually is allowed to take action to bring the Keyblade War about and revive the Lost Masters while Luxu is only allowed to watch.

Actually I started this post with a different thesis ('Xehanort is able to put his personal feelings aside and be ruthless even where Luxu fails to follow his role') but writing that paragraph I've changed my mind actually. Because Luxu has basically no agency in this situation, whereas Xehanort does.

Like, both of them are assigned roles by their mentors but Xehanort isn't really given a road map about how to fulfill his role. He's being manipulated, sure, but he's also making choices himself all along. They're choices that are fucked up but he understands they're fucked up and is choosing them anyway because he strongly feels it's necessary for the greater good.

Luxu has been told these things are necessary for the greater good. He's been told what to do. He's been told to just watch and that he can never take action. He doesn't even have the illusion of agency that Xehanort, who is actively choosing to lean into his feeling that destiny is inevitable, does. What is that like, to live hundreds of years never having any sense of agency? For Luxu, helping the Dandelions is fucking up. It's doing what he knows he's not supposed to, what he's been told is against the Plan, but he has no agency and this is his little way of rebelling, even if this is, to us, the 'right' thing to do. There's a question of what actually is 'right' and 'wrong' here and whether Xehanort is a 'better Luxu' than Luxu for choosing to simply follow The Plan.

Also I'm rambling here but putting things together as I go, sorry to also expand on other tags on posts I reblogged from you lol, but like. Luxu also very clearly has Lucifer stuff going on, the same way Xehanort does, down to the name. Xehanort takes on the Satan imagery over time - but it was Luxu's first. And Luxu is the one who actually tried to rebel against his Creator by deviating from his role (only to watch) and intervening with the Union leaders.

The thing about angels is they are not, in Catholic traditions (I can't speak to other denominations) is that they are not supposed to have free will. Free will is for humans; angels only follow The Plan, with no agency or say in the matter. They're messengers and avatars created only to execute the will of God. The Foretellers seem to play this role, if you will, in relation to Master of Masters. He hands them roles to execute the plan he's already designed. If we're, in this analogy, considering Master of Masters to be in the role of 'god', both Ava and Luxu are ultimately fallen angels - they both question the will of their creator, both rebel - but Luxu rebelling was built into the plan. He is Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and so he was still allowed to come back to the fold at the end of kh3, having fulfilled his duty even considering his rebellion. He still had no agency in the end, even having done what he thought was exercising it by saving the Union leaders.

Anyway I'm just rambling on at this point and don't really have a conclusion to this but the whole interplay between Luxu and Xehanort, agency and servitude, angels and devils, light and dark, feels really compelling to me.

[strawberrym1ko]

DATING PERICE HEADCANONS

ᯓ★ CHARACTERS: Pierce

ㅤᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SYNOPOSIS ― Personal headcanons on dating Pierce from My Inner Demonsㅤᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 B.C ― Author having favouritism. Writing Pierce as the man he is. Tooth-rotting fluff. Author being heavily single

M.LIST || APHMAU M.LIST

ㅤ↳ You can not tell me this man isn't into physical touch. But not like heavy PDA or constantly touching you, but in the sense that if you two were cuddling, you would always be sleeping on his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around your form. Or the pinkie finger holds when you guys are out in public, or lingering behind your figure, a hand on your waist. Just the subtle things. That I would personally kill for-

ㅤ↳ Another thing thats a big part of your relationship, are headpats. We know this man believes headpats resolve everything, because lets be real. They do. Sad? Headpats. Argument? headpats (This one in particular is funny and works the most because you'll stand there so confused you forget your argument). Just random cuddling? Headpats. And it puts you to sleep, so win win.

ㅤ↳ When he discovers what slow-dancing is from a movie both you and Ava were watching, he would ask Ava about it and to teach him. So, when your playing those types of music, he could surprise you with his knowledge and dance in the kitchen late at night with you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ↳ Ava took a photo-

ㅤ↳ Park walks. He gives me those vibes. Especially at sunset and at night time. It started with you going to the shop and asking him to tag along because female at night is a massive no no. So, he did and rather enjoyed the walk and conversation (it was mainly you yapping). After that he asked you if yous could do it again and it became a little weekly routine. Once or twice a week you two will go walk through the park.

ㅤ↳ Scary dog privilege. Thanks for listening to my ted talk-

ㅤ↳ You are the yapper of the relationship. He likes it. He would much rather sit down and listen to you ramble on about anything and everything. Listening to your voice for him is like listening to an angel forgive him for all that he has done back in Daemos. Like he wasn't this cold-blooded killer that had no shot of redemption. But listening to you talk about your desires, dreams and deepest secrets to him makes him believe that the gods were giving him another shot.

ㅤ↳ Because he likes to listen to your voice, I believe that if your a reader, he would enjoy it when your reading out loud to him. On your bed, all cuddled up against him with your book in hand and your voice repeating the words on the page.

ㅤ↳ I'm slowly running out.

ㅤ↳ Lets you do his hair from time to time

ㅤ↳ Loves it when you trace his tattoos or get skin-friendly markers and draw in the gaps on his tattoos

ㅤ↳ Baths together (because he still doesn't know what the fuck he is doing)

ㅤ↳ Bathing to him is a very vulnerable thing due to the scars of war scattered around his body. You accidentally stumbled in the bathroom while he was taking a bath once. He mainly sat frozen, not the response he was used to. Afraid you would ask him about the scars, about his past. But, you didn't. Instead you sat on the edge of the tub, taking the shampoo from the corner of the tub. "Need help?" You asked. Pierce nodded his head. You didn't completely ignore his scars, later on asking if you could touch them, but you approached it with such gentleness, a sort of gentleness he never experience before, that he started to crave for it.

[multimilfs]

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader: Stairway to Heaven

Summary: Anon requested Melissa Schemmenti + 132 -- "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

List of prompts found here!

A/N: Happy ficmas everyone!! I have been working really hard to get ready for kickoff today and I hope you'll all enjoy what I have in store! Enjoy!

Special thank you to the amazing @arewecoolio for reading this over for any errors!! You're the best 💖

Full Ficmas List

Tag List: @multifandomfix @greenawayprentiss @escapetodreamworld @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Warning(s): None

Gary is cool. He's even funny on occasion, when he remembers the punchline. He treats Melissa like a Queen—though she deserves nothing less—and worships the ground she walks on. But you’re not convinced he’s good enough for her. 

You’re watching the two interact across the lunchroom with simmering jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion you’re not fond of feeling, but one you can’t seem to shake these days. The grip on your grading pen tightens as Melissa laughs at some joke of Gary’s. 

“Girl, you’ve got to do something about all… that.” Ava says, motioning to your expression, “Channel that anger into something productive. Like packing orders. Or sex.” 

“I’m not participating in your pyramid scheme.” You answer. 

“Oh, so you’re going to get some? Finally. It’s hard having to entertain you with my stories when I’m not getting anything back.” 

“To be fair, I never asked to hear about your sex life,” You point out. Ava shrugs and you continue, “If you tell me about Tyrone one more time I might lose it.” 

“Tyrone? He’s old news. I’m onto Jamal now, keep up.” 

“Jamal? What about his sister?” 

“She was into some weird stuff. I’m freaky too, but even I draw the line at dolls.” 

Ava shivers and you decide not to ask. It’s better for your sanity that way, though you’re morbidly curious. Ava never tells a bad story. 

Another presence joins the table as Janine sidles up, looking far too awake and positive for 9 am on a Tuesday. She smiles obliviously. 

“Dolls? I loved dolls as a kid.”

Ava scoffs, “Yeah, I bet you made them kiss each other and all that nonsense.”

“Of course I did. It was like directing my own little show!” 

“Is that where the control issues started?” You ask. 

Janine’s oblivious smile drops and she levels you with a look. It’s closer to matching Barbara’s with every day that passes, it’s almost impressive; but unless Barbara herself levels one at you, you’re going to remain unphased. 

“Don’t shame my childhood development just because you’re jealous over Melissa and the vending machine guy.” 

You turn red, “I am not jealous!” 

“Right. And I wasn’t named tastiest doomsday prepper in Philly.” Ava says, rolling her eyes. 

You and Janine lock eyes, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Everytime you talk to Ava you learn more about her; that isn’t always a good thing. When Janine opens her mouth, you give her a subtle shake of your head. Once the two get started it’s impossible to get them to stop. 

Unfortunately, Janine is too stubborn, and has to do things her way; she engages the Principal in a battle of wits she can’t win. You tune it out the second she starts in on how doomsday prepping is futile and the kind of neurotic spending reaction it induces only benefits the government. That isn’t a can of worms you feel like glancing inside. 

You decide to torture yourself emotionally instead. 

It should be easy to watch Melissa laugh and grin in that smug, bright-eyed way she pulls off so well, but it turns your stomach to know Gary is the cause of it. He’s nice enough—that’s the excuse you try to use everytime, to no avail—but he isn’t you. And against the slim odds of someone like Melissa ever wanting you romantically, you wish it was you. 

Does he know her favorite restaurants, her favorite soap operas? Does he know about the years Melissa dedicated to caring for her Nana? Does he know how incredibly fucking lucky he is to have Melissa Ann Schemmenti wrapped around his finger? 

The likelihood of him knowing anything important is slim-to-none. The redhead is too private to share information so soon, but the little green-eyed monster in your head prods you, asking what if he does? Your fists clench in your lap. You’ve been climbing the stairway to heaven this whole time and Gary’s probably on the highway. 

“Hey, hon,” You’re surprised from your thoughts to see the object of them in front of you, leaning on the table, smiling. 

You smile back, “Hey, Mel.” 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

Hope claws up your throat. You shove it down violently, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Depends. Why?” 

“Gary was asking about you, he wants to meet ya. I was thinking you could bring your secret lover on a double-date tonight. You meet my guy, I meet yours.” 

You tilt your head, brows scrunching, “Secret lover?” 

“Oh come on,” Melissa rolls her eyes. She levels you with a look that says don’t give me that bullshit, “I’m not blind. You suddenly go silent on all things romance and think I wouldn’t figure out what that meant?” 

Nerves and mortification make you nod, smiling sheepishly. Your chest hurts. Of course she’d notice; after several years of friendship and teaching together, how could she not? The two of you were practically glued at the hip before Gary came along. No topic had been too much and then for you to go silent… you can see how that’d come across. You’re glad she didn’t suss out the real reason. 

“I’m not sure. Things are still pretty new…” 

“I’ll buy your drinks.” 

That makes you pause. 

Then you see how she’s looking at you. She’s leaning down into your space, grinning like she knows she's won. You can’t deny her anything, not when you know how much it’ll mean to her for you to really meet Gary as her romantic interest rather than a passing acquaintance. It’ll kill you. Watching her laugh with him will undo your feeble grip on sanity. 

It’ll kill you, but you’ll do it for her anyway. 

“When and where?” 

— — 

This is a terrible idea. 

The place Gary chose is a total dive, and not the good kind; every surface is covered in a fine layer of grime and ash, ninety percent of the men and women at the bar smoking like chimneys, and the beer you ordered tastes like if someone decided to waft alcohol in the direction of their drink. All of this you could forgive. 

What you can’t forgive is the absence of a proper pool table. 

Every table in the place is falling apart at the seams. There’s maybe two cues per table and some of the nets have holes large enough to send grown men chasing after solid and striped balls alike. 

The worst part? Melissa stands in the center of it all, smiling like none of it bothers her. You know better. Her smile is strained at the edges, her eyes slightly pained. If only she’d say the word, you’d sweep her out of here. She just maintains that strained smile when you walk up to her. 

“Where’s the secret lover I was promised?” Melissa asks. 

You smile, though your heart isn’t in it. It’d taken endless promises to get her to agree, but eventually—

“Sorry I’m late y'all. There’s a guy selling mixtapes outside and I had to hear it before I bought anything. Can’t be too careful, you know?” 

Melissa’s smile melts from her face. Her eyes bore hard into you, dark with emotion. As she looks between you and Ava—who leans against the table next to you, either totally oblivious or uncaring—her jaw tenses. 

Gary chooses that moment to speak, a jovial smile on his face, “Now I did not see this coming! I never would’ve guessed you two would be seeing each other.” 

“Neither did I.” Melissa says. 

You want to disappear into the floor. Despite the fact that Melissa is openly seeing Gary, you feel you’ve done something wrong. 

It doesn’t help that Ava drapes herself against your side. She makes deliberate, intense eye contact with Melissa, and takes a slow sip of a drink you failed to notice. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. You’re grateful for the absence of anything sharp. 

“What can I say, I lucked out. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of her.” Ava says. Her tone is startlingly sincere. 

You give her a hard look. She just shrugs. 

“No drink for me?” You ask, anything to distract from the way you can’t look at Melissa. 

Ava raises a brow, “If you want something, you just gotta ask.”

“I’d kill for a gin and tonic.” 

“Got it.” 

“I’ve got it, you two sit.” Melissa interjects. 

She extracts herself from Gary and stands at the same time Ava does. On another night, you’d take Melissa's offer as the kind act it is, but tonight it feels strangely like a threat. 

The two are caught in a strange staring contest. You want to reach out and tug Ava down into her seat, but you’re frozen, wondering what the hell is going on.

“I’ll get it.” Ava says.

“She’s my friend.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest. 

“She’s my date.” 

Melissa’s body tenses at the word. 

You’re too busy watching Ava, trying to decipher where she’s been hiding this acting talent. She had been reluctant to join your ruse and now it seems like she couldn’t be anywhere else. For a moment it feels authentic enough to make your stomach turn.

Gary cuts in before Melissa can back down, “I could use another beer if you’re going towards the bar.” 

“Sure. You got it, Gar.” 

The two walk away in tense silence. Melissa keeps looking at Ava from the corner of her eyes, while the principal pretends she isn’t there. 

It leaves you with Gary and you smile. Trying to pretend there’s no tension is easier with the women across the bar. 

“It’s good to meet you,” He says, friendly enough, “Melissa talks about you enough I feel like I already know you, but I’m glad she got you to come out tonight.” 

“Yeah. It’s good to meet you officially. Besides the occasional run-ins during lunch, I mean.” 

He nods and drinks the last swig of his beer. You take a few seconds to glance through the haze of smoke towards the bar. Melissa leans one arm on it, waiting while the bartender runs around helping out rough-looking men and women. She looks perfectly placed and yet stands out; she’s probably the most beautiful woman to ever set foot in this place. 

Ava’s chatting up a woman at the bar like Melissa isn’t even there. So much for her putting on a good act. 

Even if she’s not looking at Ava directly, you know Melissa’s listening, cataloging everything. You’ll get an earful about having self-respect when choosing partners later. 

“There’s another reason I had her ask you here tonight.” Gary says.

His face is serious. You’ve never seen the man without a smile and it unnerves you. Trying not to let that show, you raise an eyebrow. 

“I wanted to meet the woman Melissa’s in love with.” 

You blanch. 

“Gary, that’s—she’s not—“ 

A hand settles on top of yours and his smile makes an appearance. It’s kind, kinder than you deserve after all the things you’ve thought about him. 

“I knew there were three of us in this relationship when I went out with her the first time. But I’m giving you the chance to make it two again,” He says, “She’s crazy about you and I can see you feel the same way. She’s all yours.” 

You should be overjoyed. Melissa feels the same way about you, you have a shot? Instead, you feel angry. 

“You’re going to give her up just like that?” You snap. 

Gary startles you by laughing. 

“I can’t exactly give up what isn’t mine.” 

“She chose you.” 

“Sometimes people make mistakes.” When you seem unconvinced, he shakes his head, “Melissa’s a good woman, she deserves someone who makes her happy. That just happens to be you and not me. I’m not mad about it.”

You’re reeling. The room feels like it's spinning and you don’t have time to regain your focus before the women return. Ava sets down your gin and tonic with a nod. 

Melissa starts up an animated conversation with Gary, who nods along, adding in his own comments. He keeps glancing over at you when Melissa won’t. The whole thing makes your stomach turn; you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You grab Ava’s hand, flashing a strained smile at the pair, “Excuse us for a moment,” and drag the principal off to the bathrooms. 

 Once you’ve shoved Ava in the ladies room and locked the door behind you, you spin on your heel towards the other woman. 

“I know you want this to bother her, but dragging me into the bathroom for a quickie is a bit much, even by my standards.” Ava says. 

“That’s not what this is.” 

“Right, why else am I here then?” 

“When you and Melissa went to grab drinks, Gary told me Melissa’s in love with me.” 

Ava stares at you. 

“That’s it? I could have told you that months ago.” 

You blink, “What?” 

“Yeah, neither of you are subtle. You practically have it written on your billboard sized forehead.” 

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach a hand up to your forehead, before reminding yourself to focus on the task at hand. Ava knew Melissa returned your feelings the whole time. You wonder who else knows and has let you stew in jealousy for weeks. 

Melissa’s reaction to Ava makes a lot more sense. It’s almost comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has been fighting with jealousy. You feel very, very blind.

“Who else knows?” You ask. Your friend gives you a blank stare, “Seriously? Everyone knows?”

“Yes. Do me a favor though and play dumb a few more weeks? I’ve got good money on this.”

“You bet on me?”

“I bet on Melissa, actually, which is why I need you to keep quiet.”

“Ava, I’m not going to ignore this because you want to win a bet. Come on.” 

Ava rolls her eyes, “Fine, I’ll cut you in on the bet.” 

“Ava!” You glare.

“This could be your chance to support a young, black entrepreneur. It’s hard out here.” 

“Try that on Jacob.” 

She lets out an ugh and throws her hands up. You want to be upset that she’s asking you to keep quiet, to lose more valuable time with Melissa, but you can’t be; even if she did leave you oblivious for weeks. If you’re going to be upset with her, you have to be upset with everyone. 

It comes from a place of letting you make your own decisions; you know that and admire it just a little. But you were oblivious. Melissa seems like she is too, if Gary’s talk told you anything. Would they have let the two of you circle each other the whole time? 

You would be miserable if Gary—Gary, who you’d been unfair towards this whole time—hadn’t spoken up. He’s sacrificing his chances with Melissa so you can have your own. Mentally, you make a note to get the man some kind of ‘thank-you’ gift. 

Ava snaps in front of your face and you jerk back. 

“What are you going to do?” She asks. 

“Uh… talk to her?” 

“Not the energy I was looking for, but good enough. Let’s go.” 

Ava grabs your arm, not unkindly, and drags you to the door. You drag your feet. 

“Now?!” 

She doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. The bathroom door is opened and you’re nudged through it. You walk, but throw a glare over your shoulder, annoyed at her sudden silence. Ava doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Gary is the only one left at the table and you panic, eyes searching the room. The heart in your chest settles when you catch a glimpse of familiar red hair. 

Melissa’s across the bar at one of the more put together pool tables, surrounded by women in a shocking amount of leather. Her eyes are focused right on you. They move briefly to Ava, though she doesn’t seem to find anything damning. The focus of her gaze moves away when one of the other players nudges her and she leans over the table to line up a shot. 

You’re caught for a second in watching her. Her eyes narrow before she settles in to take the shot and when she pulls back the cue, she makes direct eye contact, and sinks a solid ball in one of the pockets. 

Cheers go up from the woman you assume she’s playing with. You don’t bother to look at her. Instead, you make a direct beeline for Melissa; her eyes following you every step of the way. 

“Can I talk to you?” You ask when you reach her. 

You’re well aware of the glances her fellow players are throwing in your direction, but you don’t care. Melissa seems curious, but she gives nothing else away. 

“I’m in the middle of a game, hon.” 

Laying your hand on her arm, “Please, Mel.” 

Like magic, you watch her soften. She nods and hands off her cue to the nearest person without looking. You lead the way outside, wanting away from the noise and smoke for a few minutes, if only to clear your head. 

The silence is too tense for your liking, but neither of you are doing anything to break it. You breathe deeply. You’re at a loss on what to say; how do you tell someone you’re in love with them? 

Instead of anything rational coming from your mouth, you ask, “How do you feel about Gary?” 

Melissa jerks in surprise, “That’s what you pulled me out here for?” 

“He seems to think your feelings, your heart, lie elsewhere,” You barrel forward, hoping it works in your favor, “Namely, with me.” 

Her eyes widen slightly before she schools her expression. It’s all you need to feel more secure in blindly following Gary’s word. 

“I’m not sure where he got that idea.” Melissa says. 

“But you’re not denying it.” 

“Does it matter? You seem to have things pretty easy with Ava.” 

A note of bitterness slips into her voice. You soften, recognizing the underlying jealousy you’d been feeling only this morning. 

“It matters to me,” You say, “because I’m crazy about you, Mel, and I need to know you feel the same way.” 

Melissa doesn’t bother to hide her surprise this time. You smile, but fidget under all of her attention. You want to reveal every thought and feeling to this woman in a way that’s overwhelming. She seems so shocked, you can’t help but want to assure her of how real your feelings are. 

“I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much,” You admit. It feels odd to say it out loud, “But you make a lot of impossible things feel possible.” 

She looks at you like she’s never seen you before. It’s daunting. 

“You really mean that?” Melissa asks. 

“Wholeheartedly.” 

“And what about Ava?” 

You chuckle, “I bribed her into playing the part. She’s a surprisingly good actress.” 

“Good.” 

Melissa leans forward and kisses you. 

It isn’t the kind of kiss you expect, but it’s the kind you always daydreamed about; the soft, almost hesitant way she claims your lips, while her hands dig into your hips. You’ve never felt so awkward and so pleasant in your life. You have no idea what to do with your hands. 

The other kisses in your life never felt so strange. You wonder how much they really meant to you, if this is what a real, loving kiss feels like; unsure and yet, eager. 

Throwing your nerves out the window, you give in to all of it. You sink into the whirlwind of emotions and wrap yourself around Melissa. Her kiss grows more insistent and you match it, pulling where she pushes, moving with every forceful press of her lips. 

You’re on your last shred of oxygen when she pushes you back. Only an inch of space separates the two of you taking in furious gulps of breath, cheeks flushed pink and wearing matching smiles. It hardly feels real. 

“You’ve been holding out on me.” Melissa says. 

“Hardly. I’d have kissed you in a second if you asked.” You say sincerely. 

“Me? Why would I be the one to ask you?” 

You raise a brow, “Well, you were the one seeing someone else.” 

“I wouldn’t have gone out with him if you said something.” 

A laugh leaves your lips unbidden. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at Melissa, wondering how you managed to get so lucky. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to answer that question. She’s wonderful and kind and beautiful and all the things you feel you don’t deserve. She’s yours anyway. 

Her eyes shine as she stares back. Wishing you could jump into her mind, you get lost in them. Then you do as she wants and capture her lips in another kiss. It’s shorter than the first and more comfortable, but the feeling of newness still lingers. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how much time you’ve lost being jealous. But you try not to dwell too much; it’s difficult when the most beautiful woman in the world is staring into your eyes. The lost time doesn’t matter when you have it now—when you have her now. 

[thisisnotthenerd]

this episode of burrow's end? astounding.

aabria iyengar said i'm bringing a whole new level to the game for my first miniatures season. incredible. the maxis/set pieces this season? phenomenal work by the art department. she said i'm bringing everything to bear for this one and they said we can do that literally.

anyway, the episode:

ava waking up, immediately walking in on a war meeting, meeting the director (kiran), teasing bennett about tula, and finding out about truck.

thorn and viola talking about what they are doing as a couple and as a new family

tula trying to make a parent connection with meredith but jaysohn & lila spilling the beans immediately.

being tagged by population control (the coppers). all of the conspiring going on inside of the burrow while taking a bath. tracking down sybil. oliver and teedles fucking.

lila being so on the ball with those investigation crits this episode to find reactor charlie and solve the puzzle.

tula immediately killing the guard. the old tula's back and by the blue she is afraid and angry.

wolf skull and human skull in the reactor and that stoat has canine and human teeth instead of mustelid teeth. hm.

the kids failing the wisdom save to not jump into the reactor. tula slamming lila to the ground.

the stakes of the thorn whip roll. watching jaysohn appear in the blue? the editors said maximum tension for you, maximum tension for you, maximum tension for all of you.

and then he rolls a 14. jasper escaping the brian murphy dice curse could not have happened in a better episode.

and now they're making dex saves and finding their way into the reactor. i cannot wait for the next episode of burrow's end. rapidly making it's way up the list of my favorite sidequests, if not near the top already.

i started this episode by updating the runtime in the spreadsheet and now i'm going insane over this episode. every single one in this season has been an episode of all time. all star players. all star gm. all star art department. all star editors. all star production.

[i3utterflyeffect]

can you explain to me the difference between your stick!alan and your stick!noogai aus? I feel a bit lost.

oh yeah totally!

basically, stick!noogai happens in AVA 1, before victim is deleted! the reason it's labeled as noogai is because it differentiates him from current-day c!alan (short for character alan btw). at this time he'd be around 13, if i didn't fuck up the math spectacularly.

The others would be made under completely different circumstances.

stick!alan, or at least my specific au of it, is set at AVA 5! dark uses a virus to drag alan into the computer. All the sticks have already been created and he has an established history with the others already!

technically they're BOTH stick!alan, which is why i've been tagging them as such, but they start at different points! i'm interested in these types of interpretations because the original interpretation of stick!alan had it in AVA 6, and i think it could be interesting to look at it from different angles :]

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has It's Thorns - Part Fifteen

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, panic attack, stalking,

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: Unbeta'd, readers beware as always lol.

tags: @tearfallpixie @cncohshit @jordynyingling0219 @faceless-mirror @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747 @witchyweeb34 @black-damask1999 @jilliemiw86 @ilovesamkiszka @lyschko666 @lacktoesandtoddlerants @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses @laurpartyprogram

Ricky didn’t drive straight home, no, he just drove, it was probably stupid but he did, he just drove, half freaking out. Thankfully, breathing deeply, he was calm, he was fine, he wasn’t having another attack, no. But did he sit there thinking about the way that Ava had talked to him last time, did he sit there and think of her talking him through grounding himself with his senses, five, four, three, two, one... He didn’t have coffee or tea for one this time... He had gum... So that worked well enough.

Did Ava’s voice suspiciously sound like Talia’s? No comment on that. If it did, it was because of her reasoning that Talia was the one who taught her, he’d blame that, easily done.

Finally, it was when he remembered that he had groceries in his car, food that he needed to get home, some of it needing to go in the fridge, and he soon turned around and drove home. He was being an idiot. At least now he was a calmer idiot.

Shit.

None of this made him feel good, none of this made sense. He didn’t even want to go home.

Finally pulling into his drive though, he swallowed heavily when he saw the other car that was waiting for him there, the person that was waiting for him on the stoop. Double shit. He was screwing up so badly, and now he was probably about to get his ass handed to him by Chris. He didn’t even want to imagine why he was there, but he could guess, the fact he was right now was too coincidental. Sighing, he killed the engine before he got out of his car and moved to start getting his cold groceries out of the trunk. The bags had been waiting long enough, and the sooner he put them away, the less likely anything inside would spoil.

He was lifting bags from his car when Chris was coming up beside him, wordlessly grabbing a couple to help him carry inside as well, of course, he was doing it without being asked, Ricky sighed, damn it, he couldn’t even be annoyed at him when he did that. Couldn’t today he just be a little bit selfish and tell him he was a fucking idiot and walk away and let him deal with his stupidity as he should? Like he really should! No. Course not. It had been a week since the party, and Chris had been waiting for him to do something, and he hadn’t... Well, he had, he’d just fucked it up, at the party.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Between them, he got his groceries inside, and everything was put away, and hopefully, everything that was cold was away before anything had been out of the cool long enough to be affected. Considering it wasn’t too hot out, he thought he might have gotten away with it.

Once it was all done. Rick made himself a coffee, considering he hadn’t gone into the café earlier, offering to make Chris one despite seeing him inside the café.. Met with an eye roll as if Chris didn’t know that Ricky had seen him there, drinking his own coffee already.

“You know I’ve just had coffee with Talia, Rick, don’t play games.. What the fuck, man.. I saw the look on your face.”

Ricky shifted uncomfortably, lifting his mug to busy himself with a scalding mouthful of the beverage, swallowing with a grimace,

“I don’t know what to tell you, I just, I reacted. I freaked, and when I realised what was happening, I got the hell out of there. I don’t know what's happening to me.”

Chris frowned, rolling his shoulder, that didn’t sound like like Rick at all, and it worried him, he wanted to be angry because Ricky was just completely disregarding everything everyone was trying to do to help him, every little bit of advice he was being given. Not to mention talking to Talia, spending time with Talia, she was wonderful, and Ricky, was hiding away like some fucking little goblin, for what?

“Rick, I’ll say again, what, the fuck.”

Ricky looked at Chris, he can’t do it, he can’t keep it in, he can’t lie..

“Something happened, at the party, and I, I fucked up Chris, I fucked up bad, and she, we-”

He sighed, heavily, leaning back against the breakfast bar that separated his kitchen and his living room he set his coffee down while

“We had sex.”

“Wait, at the party, at my parent's house... When? Where? You know what, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

Chris’ confusion was obvious by his rapid words, and the questions, looking at Ricky, Chris could probably figure it out, he’d spent enough time in that house, he’d grown up in that house. He’d hooked up with enough of his partners growing up in that house himself, so honestly, yeah, he could figure it out, didn’t mean he wanted to. The real confusion came with the fact that he’d been having coffee with Talia for the last few days, and she hadn’t said anything about talking to Ricky, about having anything to do with him, which made him think that that interaction and it was not sitting well with him as the reality was sinking in what had happened.

“Let me guess, it didn’t end well. You two fucked, and then you what, ran, or blew her off, or something.”

Rick looked away, his stomach in knots with how easily Chris hit the nail on the head, his voice taking that tone he knew well, and the look in his eyes though, it burned there, as much as Chris was an easygoing guy, there was anger in him when it came to respecting women, and Rick could tell that he was pissed, pissed on behalf of Talia and Rick knew it, and he didn’t blame him. He’d been a fucking asshole just walking away from her like that, no matter what had happened between them. Seeing the two together, it was so clear they’d struck up a friendship, and Rick tried desperately not to think about the sting of how easy it had looked for the two of them together. How happy they had been. The pain in his neck however wasn’t as bad as when he saw it right in front of him.

“Something like that, yeah, I just, I told her it would never happen again, and left her there.”

No, he wasn’t going to say anything about how his soulmate tattoo had been affecting him ever since, how seeing her with Chris had made it flare up when he’d gotten angry, that he just, no, he didn’t tell him that. It sounded insane, more insane than hooking up with her randomly in the guest bathroom of one of his best friend's parents' houses.

Chris looked at him, his face was stone and yeah, he was pissed at Rick, he was his best friend, and dammit, he was completely fucking up with an amazing woman, and if she wasn’t Ricky’s soulmate, he might for the first time in a long time, actually consider dating again. He let out an aggravated sigh, standing straighter, he just left her there. For the love of… that explained why Ava had been so disheartened when Talia had gone home early, feeling sick. Feeling sick, his ass. Made more sense now. Looking at the way Rick was sitting at the dining table, Chris nodded, standing from the table himself,

“Stand up, now.”

“What?”

“Fucking hell Ricky, you either stand up and take me punching you like the fucking asshole you're acting like, or I get Ava on the phone and she-”

Ricky had his mug of coffee down on the counter and standing straight waiting for the punch even before Chris pointed out that the younger man would probably end up castrated before the end of the day. They both knew it, neither of them even wanted to think about it, mess with Talia, and Ava would fuck you over, and Chris, hearing some of the things Talia said, he knew it went both ways.

He flinched when Chris picked up his fist, which just made the crunch when the punch connected to his cheek hurt even more.

“Fuck, Chris! Shit, man.”

The taller man just shrugged, shaking out his hand and stretching his fingers, it was better than hitting out of anger, getting into a fight out of anger, and it could get bad, he was well aware. Chris didn’t want to go down that path, least of all with Ricky, as much of a shit he was acting like, he cared about him too much, he loved him, he was just so fucking out of his head right now.

“You deserved it. Now. Richard Olson, you’re going to listen to me this time, I don’t care if it's in person, or over the damn phone, but you are going to have a civil conversation with that woman. Talk to her. A real conversation, Rick, not just fucking, no matter the temptation.”

This time he didn’t care if Ricky liked him telling him this, he hadn’t liked his suggestions before, but this time, this time he was pushing it, it was getting ridiculous, sex in his parent's house, during the barbecue, really Rick? Not that Talia was bad-looking, if she wasn’t Rick’s- no, no he wasn’t going there, it wasn’t his place, he knew it wasn’t his place. Of course, talking to Talia wasn’t going to fix everything, but he’d figure some other things out. As it was, he kept going with Ricky,

“You never know, you might like her, she’s an amazing woman, Rick, we’ve been having coffee for a few days now. I think you’d like her if you gave her a chance.”

Rick’s whole body went tense hearing how fondly Chris spoke of Talia, the smile he got on his face when he said she was an amazing woman. There was no way he could admit to the way his soulmate tattoo burned something awful with the irrational anger that ripped through him as he picked up his coffee to drink, distraction, he needed a distraction so he didn’t hit his friend for talking about her like that. It was bad enough that he could barely see Vinny lately without risking running into Talia while she was staying at his house, but now this? He missed hanging out with Chris too, and she wasn’t just worming her way everywhere in his life, but now under his skin, how the fuck did he dig her out?

Talia didn’t bother with an Uber today, having found her way around town enough, she enjoyed walking. She did a lot back home too, and today she felt comfortable enough that she had decided to walk back to Vinny’s on her own two feet. Walking gave her time to clear her head every day, and while today had felt like a good day, something felt off, she couldn’t quite place why. Chris had seemed a bit preoccupied before he left, not to mention, through their time having coffee, a part of her wondered if she was being stupid going for coffee with him at all.

He was one of Rick’s friends, but at the same time, he was one of Vinny’s friends too, and it could affect Ava’s situation. It was complicated. Chris was an attractive man. Any other situation, maybe these afternoons having coffee, and she might be working up asking him out on a date. He was funny, smart, great taste in music, and yet, being around him would draw her even closer to Rick, and that thought was even more painful and treacherous for her heart. Not that being friends with Chris was horrible, considering she had no intention of abandoning Ava here alone. They could be friends, she wanted to be friends.

As she was walking, she was about halfway down Vinny’s street, well aware of his address now, since the party she committed the address to memory, and saved it permanently in her phone. She was not going to be caught without it, no chance. Not that it mattered now she was learning her way around, which was good if she planned to come back here, and considering Vinny was now such a big part of Ava’s life, she would, she could promise you that. It wasn’t that far from Vinny’s house when she felt a surge of heat through her soulmate tattoo again, her neck just suddenly burning up out of nowhere. She’d felt it a little at the café, just for a moment, but it had calmed down quickly, but not this bad though, this time made her cry out, her hand moving to her neck, fingers curving around it.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened this week, the tattoo flaring up, not that it was always painful sometimes, it felt good sometimes too. Oh, oh, it felt wonderful, the kind of good like it had felt in the bathroom when she was Rick. Something was happening, and she didn’t know what was going on, and it was making her head completely spin around. Whether she was thinking about him, or feeling her mark react… it certainly made her think about him… something, something was happening. What was she supposed to do?

Who was she supposed to talk to? Was this normal? She’d never heard of a soulmate tattoo doing this. She had a feeling if Jordan and Kyle’s tattoo had done this, they’d have said something, right? Or if Ava and Vinny’s tattoos were reacting the same way.. Right, right?

Dammit.

Maybe she was finally going insane. All these years, all the years of her family thinking she was a little bit off her rocker thinking she was soulmates with a famous musician and fighting to just be accepted… and maybe after everything that had happened with Ricky now, she’d finally just, broken.

Made sense.

This all started happening when she finally met him. Maybe she’d just finally snapped.

“Congrats, Talia, you made it. Welcome to around the bend.”

Rubbing her neck, the pain seemed to have calmed down, but that didn’t change the reality of what was happening, of what her soulmate tattoo was telling her, whatever it was that it was telling her. She was feeling phantom pain, and yes, phantom arousing moments… the latter was not so bad, but the fact that it came out of nowhere, well…

Sighing, maybe when she went home she’d see about finding one of those therapists that specialised in soulmate bonds, broken ones. She’d talk to Ava, but it felt like it would just be something that could drag her down with Vinny. Sure she was here for support, but with her not soulmate connection with Ricky, she just felt like it was more pressure, and it was such a horrible feeling like she was nothing but a dead weight to her best friend’s relationship.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[toasty-self-shipping]

Summer romance part one

a self shipping fic

(repost because tumblr fuck it up)

the weather was getting hot and the beaches were starting to open a group of unusual friends made a plan to hit one to cool off and have fun through one certain alien was really excited since it was his first time at one 

“ok let’s see towel sunscreen my heart shape sunglasses oh! can’t forget the bracelets”

cici walked over to her bed and grabbed five pearl like bracelets and put them in his bag and walks out the apartment 

“I hope the sun isn’t too strong for me to fly over there ugh I can’t never ride subway again ever since that accident”

he begins to fly off luckily the clouds were out so the sun wasn’t too hard on cici 

she pulls out her to check the location of the beach boyfriend sent a text message saying “when you see the Ferris wheel that’s when you know you found it” cici looks up and sees it 

“oh there it is! wow there’s a lot of people here” he lowered herself down to the entrance and spots girlfriend boyfriend pico along with Darnell and nene

“why me and girlfriend and boyfriend are like the only three that are dressed for the beach and two are wearing long sleeve shirts!”

pico and Darnell rolled their eyes

“look your ass is going to freeze later on when the sun goes down and me and Darnell are going to be the only ones to stay warm”

Darnell nodded his head

“plus there’s some things I wanna graffiti on so this jacket is good for hiding my spray cans”

cici finally reaches to them after going through the crowd of people

“hey guys! sorry for taking so long to get here it was hard to get through a bunch of people”

“that’s ok we’re glad you could made it”

“I made something really pretty for all of us” she reaches into his bag and pulls out 5 bracelets “I made some matching bracelets for beach! you guys don’t have to wear them if jewelry isn’t your thing-“

“of course we wear them” boyfriend grabs a bracelet along with girlfriend

“they are very beautiful cici the pearls are pretty” girlfriend puts it on her arm

you made us one to? nene grabs a bracelet

“well of course I made you guys one! I didn’t want anybody to feel left out”

“I’m not a big fan of bracelets but I take it and put it in my pocket” pico takes the bracelet and puts it in his pocket

“yeah same I’m more of a earring guy but I take it” Darnell puts the bracelet in his back pocket

“so what’s the first we should do there’s a lot of stuff here to do” girlfriend asked the group

“well going to the beach area is on my mind I wanna get in the water to cool off and look for seashells”

“going to the beach does sound good to me”

“Mm yeah I can go with that! what about you guys wanna tag along with us” girlfriend asked pico

“well we were just going to the beach later around around like when the sun goes down a little bit” pico said to girlfriend

“plus we was going to the amusement park center to play some games right nene” Darnell looks at her

“huh oh! yeah the game and maybe win some prizes to” she was looking at bracelet

“ok then we you guys later let’s get to the beach before the day is over!” cici grabs girlfriend and boyfriend hands and runs off

“man it’s amazing how strong she is you guys ready to hit the park”

“yep!”

“alright let’s go”

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