#i’m thinking it does between anger and bargaining

[newhairnewt]

they should add a sixth stage of grief called “feeling physically sick when anyone mentions it” cus that’s where i’m at right now

[saveyourblood]

The Exit (Evan Buckley x Reader)

Summary: “She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question. It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. The one where you and Buck were together, now you're not, and you're cycling through the five stages of grief.

Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: mild violence, toxic(ish) relationship

“There’s no way he moved on that quickly.”

Denial. 

Hen just looks at you. You take another sip of your drink. 

She successfully convinced you to go out after work for the first time in months. Unfortunately for her, that doesn’t mean you’re good company. Your only plan for the night is to get so drunk that you can get his face out of your head. 

“It’s like I always say: Men ain’t shit.”

“You literally never say that.”

“I don’t have to, because they ain’t shit,” Hen grins. 

You try to smile. God, you wish you could. You’re pretty sure that night stitched the corners of your mouth into a permanent frown. 

“I just can’t believe it,” you mutter. You signal for the bartender. 

Hen sighs. “Look, babe, there’s no way that relationship is going to last. She’s a rebound.” 

“You think he’d introduce us to his rebound?”

“The whole point of a rebound is that you don’t know it’s a rebound,” Hen explains. “Buck thinks he loves her because he still loves you, and that love doesn’t just… disappear. It has to go somewhere.”

“Why can’t I have it?” 

Hen sighs again, a sad smile on her face. 

“Maybe I was just a really shitty partner,” you cede. “Maybe if I could be better, we could be better.” 

Bargaining. 

Hen’s in the middle of a sip, but she shakes her head anyway. “No, that’s not what happened.”

“I don’t even know what happened. I think that’s the worst part. I mean, here’s this man that I think I’ve been in love with for the last three years, and the second I mention the word ‘marriage,’ he runs for the hills.”

“He’s got some personal shit to work through,” Hen says simply. “Shit that you can’t fix.” 

“But why couldn’t he let me at least help him? Isn’t that what a partner is supposed to do?” 

Hen plays with the napkin on the bar in front of her. “Buck’s never had a real partner — not until you came into his life. I think underneath the macho firefighter charade is a boy who’s just… scared of how he feels.”

“He doesn’t know how he feels,” you scoff. 

The bartender wordlessly fills the empty shot glass in front of you. You take it the second he’s done pouring it, wincing as it burns your throat. 

“Maybe that’s what he’s scared of,” Hen says softly. 

“He can’t be that scared: he has a girlfriend,” you retort bitterly. You push your empty shot glass around aimlessly before quietly adding, “I’m so tired of feeling this way.”

Depression.

You won’t be reaching Acceptance anytime soon, so for now, you cycle through the other stages of grief… except for Anger. 

You and Anger either don’t get along or get along far too well. You and Anger is either tequila and lime or tequila and a goddamn blowtorch. Anger gets you everything you want or it ruins it, and there’s no in-between. You’re not friends, not even close; Anger is your shadow, nipping on your heels, ready to strike in the right lighting. 

You look over your shoulder at the pool table. Buck and Eddie are taking turns shooting, and off to the side sits Taylor. 

You don’t get what Buck sees in her, yet you absolutely get it, and it’s an infuriating paradox. She’s a news broadcaster, but she looks like she could be a model. Where you have scars and curves, Taylor is clear and straight-edged. She flips her long red hair over one shoulder, and even under the shitty bar lamp, it shines. 

It’s the right lighting. 

You push yourself away from the counter and hop out of your seat. You march across the bar, far too steady on your feet considering how much you’ve drank. It’s as if Anger, which usually follows behind you, is propping you up and pushing you forward. 

Taylor sees you first, because of course she does. She smiles a little as her eyebrows furrow. It’s juvenile, but you kind of want to punch her in the mouth and see what her perfect little smile would look like with a fresh painting of blood over it. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks innocently. 

“Yeah, just… Buck, can I talk to you? Outside?” 

Buck, who’s lining up a shot, looks up. His mouth opens slightly before he forces it closed, his jaw clenching in the process. He quickly shoots, the cue ball bouncing off the side of the table before hitting another ball. He doesn’t even look to see if he made the shot; he stares at you the entire time. 

He stands up straight, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah.”

Buck leads the way. If Anger wasn’t following you so closely, you’d feel Taylor’s gaze burning a hole in your back. 

It’s cold outside. Not unseasonably, considering it’s February. Hell, it’s not even actually cold; you grew up on the East Coast, so where you’re from, winter chills you to the bone. Here in LA, winter is more like a breath of fresh air from the summer's unrelenting heat. 

Buck crosses his arms over his chest. He’s from the East Coast too, so you know he isn’t cold.

“What’s up?” He asks.

You laugh. Like, actually laugh. You haven’t done it in so long that you almost forgot how it sounded, how it feels. You missed the rumble in your chest and the shaking of your shoulders. You missed laughing, and you missed laughing with him. 

Buck isn’t laughing, though. He’s just staring at you. 

“You know what? Nevermind,” you chuckle, turning on your heel. 

You take a few steps down the sidewalk before Buck calls after you. “Where are you going? You’re the one who wanted to talk!”

You stop dead in your tracks, any trace of a smile leaving your face. 

Buck shifts behind you. He’s close enough to hear but not close enough to feel. 

“Does she know?” You ask, back still turned to him. 

He shifts again. You let the silence deafen you both.

“...It hasn’t come up.”

You laugh again. It isn’t genuine this time. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You try walking away again, but Buck grabs your arm. It feels like his fingertips are made of fire. You spin around to face him, causing him to let go. His jaw is set again. 

You grab fistfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and pushing him against the brick wall of the neighboring building. 

Anger. 

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” you growl. “You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

Buck keeps fucking staring at you. He raises his chin a little, but he doesn’t try to move your hands. 

“You are so full of shit, you know that?” You continue, shaking your hands a little before letting go of his shirt. 

“You’re drunk.”

He can smell it on your breath. He can’t possibly know you well enough to know you’d never say any of this sober. Because sure, you were together for three years, but you’re not together anymore. One of the reasons for that has to be that he doesn’t know a damn thing about you. 

“You’re still full of shit,” you repeat. Even you can tell that it isn’t as convincing this time. You take a step back; being this close to him is making your stomach turn. 

Buck pushes off the wall, towering over you. “How? How am I full of shit?” 

“You’re a liar,” you say, tilting your head up to stare at him. You won’t let him intimidate you. 

“A liar?” Buck challenges, getting closer to you. 

Anger. Anger. Anger. 

You put your hands on his chest and push him against the wall again. You aren’t strong enough to manhandle him — to a certain extent, he’s letting you push him around. That pisses you off even more. 

“You lied to me for three fucking years straight,” you hiss. 

“How?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Your voice wavers, and you can’t stand the sound of it. You clench your jaw and take in a breath, which you let out shakily. No fucking way are you going to let yourself cry in front of him. He doesn’t deserve your tears. 

“You told me you loved me, and when I wanted more, you ran,” you say, pausing to swallow. “You told me you loved me for three years, and not even three months later, you’re showing off your new girlfriend.”

If only for a second, you swear his vision drops to your lips. Buck goes right back to staring at you, though, and you see his jaw pop — he’s getting angry. 

Good.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” You challenge. You lean in, the gap between you growing shorter every second.

His jaw doesn’t relax. 

A chuckle escapes you. Of course he isn’t. 

You put your hands on the wall, inches from Buck’s waist on both sides. You lean in, turning your lips to his ear. “Remember this, Evan Buckley: everywhere she touches you, I was there first.” 

Buck grabs your face with one hand, and your brain short-circuits. Your chin is tucked between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his fingers resting on your cheek and neck. He pulls you back first, then turns you around until it’s you who’s pressed against the wall. 

Then, he kisses you. His hand stays where it is while the other pins your hip in place. The kiss doesn’t feel like it used to; it’s somehow worse yet better than when you were together. There’s no trace of love in the way his tongue slides across yours or the way he takes your lip in between his teeth. Everything about this is so rough, so raw, so needy.

Eventually, Buck brakes away but keeps his forehead pressed against yours so hard you think it might leave a bruise. He huffs out a few breaths that you gratefully inhale. 

“She isn’t as good as me,” you say. It isn’t a question.  It isn’t even a taunt — it’s a simple fact. Three months ain’t got shit on three years. 

“You just had to go and fuck things up, didn’t you?” He mumbles, voice gravelly. 

He’s kissing you again. Your head is fuzzy, and you know it isn’t from the booze. He’s pressing into you, but you manage to snake a hand in between your waists to palm him. He’s half-hard, and when you make contact, he lets out a low groan into your mouth. You swallow it whole. 

His words finally register. You squeeze him, probably a little too hard. He groans again, finally moving his hand from your face to the wall behind you for leverage. 

“I fucked things up?” you challenge quietly. Your hand hovers over Buck’s crotch, and he leans closer, desperate for any connection. “You’re the one who ended things.”

“You’re the one who wanted to change things,” Buck argues. 

His head dips, and he starts to kiss your neck. You let out a small sound at the sensation, biting your bottom lip to quiet yourself. You’re still pissed at him, but you continue palming him through his pants, which earns you another groan. 

“I brought up the idea of a future, and you ran,” you say between heavy breaths. “You’re more scared of change than you are being alone. It’s pathetic.” 

Buck bites the skin above your collarbone in protest to your words. You wince; it’ll definitely leave a mark. 

The weird thing about your relationship with Buck is that it never really felt like it ended. At least, that’s how you took things. One second, you were happy, and the next, you were moving into a studio apartment that wasn’t his. There was no funeral, no eulogy, just a loss so deep that it gave you whiplash. You didn’t bury your relationship under six feet of dirt; you buried it under six feet of snow. You buried it alive. And the snow is melting. 

Buck’s hand sneaks under your waistband, and it’s as if the alcohol in your bloodstream burns off. You’re left sober, staring at a sickening reality: this is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Even though it feels so fucking right, it is so fucking wrong. 

Both of your hands find his shoulders. You push him away, not as roughly as before, not even with a lot of force. Really, all it takes for him to pull away is the change in your demeanor. 

“You have a girlfriend,” you whisper.  

You still don’t think it’s fair that he got to move on so quickly. Buck is flying down the freeway and left you at an exit miles back. He’s moving on way faster and way better than you ever could. It doesn’t feel fair. But then again, it doesn’t matter what you feel. Because there is no ‘you and Buck’ anymore: it’s Buck and Taylor, and somewhere in the backdrop, there’s you. 

Your hand finds his wrist, which you pull away slowly. You press your lips together, then let out a sigh. “You should probably get back to her.”

Acceptance.

[gwens-love]

The Witch’s Bargain

Summary: On a journey led by Agatha, a haunting ballad promises power. When the ritual turns deadly, you remain the sole survivor.

Warnings: side character death, obsessive behavior (kinda but not really but still…?)

Word count: 1.7k

~Agatha Harkness x witch!reader~

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Here you stood ready for the future and it looked bright. You heard stories about the road about what it could give to people that made it to the end. Alas nobody ever did… well Agatha did but the others always died.

You were determined to make it, you and your little coven made out of your closest friends. The four of you and Agatha would start the journey tonight right before the sun disappeared behind the trees.

So you hiked to the place where she told you to be. Exited and with a tiny pep in your step, you weren’t nervous like the others, you needed an answer to your question, and you were going to get it.

After arriving you saw Agatha waiting. She was leaning on a three with a bell in her hand. She looked up and smirked, “You all know the song? If not… well then we’re going to have a problem.”

You looked back at your friends expectedly, when they gave you a nod you answered the woman in front of you, “Yes we know it.” You said with a shimmer of excitement in your eyes.

“Great, let’s begin then shall we?” Agatha started the song with the ringing of a bell. You were caught off guard by the sudden sound.. you weren’t expecting a bell, but you still took it as a sight to take your position in the circle.

You stood on the side of the formation, mindlessly singing the song that you knew by heart. You didn’t notice that it had ended until you saw your friends shooting their magic at Agatha.

You didn’t know what to do so you did what you thought was right and joined your friends.

One by one you saw there lifeless bodies fall, you tried to stop your magic but it wasn’t working, you couldn’t stop it.

So you closed your eyes and waited for the inevitable moment of death, but it didn’t come… you slowly opened your eyes to be met with the stunned ones of the only person left.

Agatha just stood there arms still open from taking your friends’ powers, “How?” you heard her silently whisper to herself. “You.. what did you do? Who are you? Why isn’t it working?” She yelled angrily.

You looked at the bodies of your friends taking a few steps back, but Agatha had other plans. “No, you don’t get to walk away, give me answers..!”

You took another step back, your eyes darting from Agatha’s intense gaze to the bodies of your friends, lying pale and still in the dirt. Every instinct screamed at you to run, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and this woman who had single handedly killed three other withes in just a few seconds.

But Agatha had other ideas. She strode toward you with a slow, purposeful step, eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of curiosity and delight. There was no anger in her face anymore, no frustration at her failed attempt to drain your power. Instead, her expression was one of twisted fascination, like she had stumbled upon something more precious than she could have ever hoped for.

“Oh, little y/n,” she murmured, her voice soft but edged with something sharp and dangerous. “You have no idea how rare you are, do you?” Her eyes gleamed as she tilted her head, studying you from every angle. “Tell me, how does it feel to be the one who got away? The one I couldn’t break?”

You swallowed, feeling the press of her words as if they were claws scratching down your spine. “I… I don’t know why it didn’t work,” you managed, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what’s different about me.”

Agatha’s lips curled into a smirk, a spark of obsession flaring in her gaze. “Oh, I believe you. But that only makes this more fascinating, doesn’t it? I’m starting to think you don’t even understand the power you hold. But that’s alright, darling. I have all the time in the world to help you… discover it.”

She lifted her hand, fingers brushing the air between you both, close enough that you could feel the prickling heat of her magic. You flinched but held your ground, refusing to let her see the fear twisting in your chest.

“You’re scared,” she whispered, a laugh caught in her throat. “But there’s something else there too, isn’t there? Curiosity.” She leaned in, her face inches from yours, her voice dropping to a low, almost seductive murmur. “You want to know why I couldn’t take what I wanted from you. You want to understand what makes you different. Oh, y/n… you’re just as intrigued by me as I am by you.”

You clenched your fists, anger sparking in your gut. “I’m nothing like you.”

Her eyes flashed, and a wicked grin spread across her face. “Oh, but aren’t you?” She reached out, and before you could pull away, her fingers brushed your chin, forcing you to look into her eyes. “I can see it, you know. That fire in you, burning so bright and fierce. Power, unrestrained… yet somehow untouchable. Like a rare, precious gem.”

Her grip tightened, her thumb tracing a slow line along your jaw. “I could study you for years, y/n. Peel away every layer, uncover every secret.” Her voice softened to a whisper, her gaze darkening. “And I would never tire of it.”

Your stomach twisted, and you pulled free, backing away. But Agatha’s gaze stayed on you, unwavering, as if she could see right through you, see every thought, every weakness. The hunger in her eyes was as palpable as a knife pressed against your throat.

“You can’t run from this, y/n,” she said, a note of amusement lacing her tone. “From me. Whatever magic kept you safe tonight, it won’t protect you forever.” She gave a slow, mocking smile. “I’ll be there, in every shadow, waiting… watching. And when you finally come to me, when you beg to understand what makes you special…” She leaned closer, her breath warm against your cheek. “I’ll be there to take it all.”

The weight of her promise lingered in the air between you, and as she stepped back, her smile held a dark satisfaction, as if she’d already won. With a flick of her wrist, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing in the clearing.

You were alone, surrounded by silence, the bodies of your friends lying still and cold around you. And yet, you felt her presence, the ghost of her touch, her words seeping into your mind like a poison. You had escaped her once, but as you looked down the dark, twisted path before you, you knew one thing with chilling certainty.

Agatha would never let you go. And, somehow, she knew that a part of you would never truly want her to.

You stood there, your heartbeat pounding in the silence, Agatha’s words lingering in the air like smoke. She’d vanished, but the weight of her promise pressed against your chest, inescapable, inevitable. The road ahead was dark, twisted with secrets you could barely begin to unravel on your own. And Agatha knew that. She knew exactly how badly you wanted to understand this strange power inside you—this magic she couldn’t steal, even though it had cost your friends their lives.

Her laughter echoed faintly in your memory, and as you closed your eyes, it was almost as though she was there, waiting, watching, just out of sight.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. Then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper, you said, “Agatha.”

The shadows shifted, and in an instant, she was there again, emerging from the darkness as if she’d never left, her eyes glinting with anticipation. She folded her hands in front of her, looking at you with that same unsettling mixture of hunger and amusement, as though she’d been expecting this all along.

“Yes, darling?” she drawled, a smile curving her lips. “Changed your mind already?”

You swallowed, gathering your courage. “I… I want to know more about my power. About why you couldn’t take it from me.”

Her smile widened, but she waited, her silence drawing you further into her web.

“And you know things,” you continued, your voice steadier now. “You understand magic in ways I… can’t even begin to comprehend. If you teach me… if you show me everything you know… I’ll let you study me. You can try to figure out what makes me different.”

Agatha’s eyes lit up, her face glowing with delight as though you’d just handed her the world on a silver platter. She took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the pull of her presence, the way her very being seemed to draw you in, impossible to resist.

“Oh, little y/n,” she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You and I are going to have so much fun together.”

You shivered as she reached out, her fingers grazing your cheek, her touch cold but electric, leaving a trail of tingling energy in its wake. “This will be our little… arrangement, then,” she murmured, eyes darkening with excitement. “You’ll let me study that precious power of yours. And in return, I’ll teach you everything I know every spell, every secret, every shadowed corner of magic that only I understand.”

Her smile grew sly, her hand drifting down to cup your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “But know this, y/n,” she said softly, her voice a dangerous purr. “Magic is a two-edged blade, and I don’t believe in half-truths. If you come to me, I’ll show you everything. The beauty and the darkness. The price of true power.”

You held her gaze, the fire in your chest flaring brighter, stronger, refusing to be dimmed. “That’s exactly what I want, Agatha,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Show me everything.”

She chuckled, her laugh soft and deadly, and the sound of it sent a thrill through you, both thrilling and terrifying. Her grip softened, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as though savoring the touch.

“Good,” she whispered as she drew back, her eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and anticipation, you knew there was no turning back. You’d made your choice, stepped willingly into her dark embrace. Whatever lay ahead… the secrets, the dangers, the dark allure of her magic, you would face it together, bound by a deal that neither of you would ever break.

And somewhere, deep down, you wondered if this was exactly where you were meant to be all along.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Fin <3

Taglist:@midnight-lestrange

[starlazergazer]

It’s Not Too Late

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: Anakin gets a second chance to have true freedom and peace! Reader comes across Darth Vader for the first time after order 66 and attempts to pull Anakin back on the right path.

Warnings: None, some angst

Word count: 3k

A/N: Only in this one very instance can you fix him! I know the request asks for fluffy but I made this super angsty instead with some fighting banter between Anakin and the reader so I hope you like it because I loved writing it!

You’d heard the whispers, how could you not, though no one was ever brave enough to tell you them to your face. Not that you blamed them. That your best friend Anakin Skywalker could be the famous Darth Vader, Palpatine’s personal padawan, was so ludicrous, so ridiculous, you wouldn’t have let anyone utter the accusation in your presence leave unscathed.

And yet still a part of you knew.

The day it happened, the exact moment it happened, you could feel it. More than a disturbance in the force, more than a breaking of prophecy: a betrayal, a very personal very painful betrayal.

But still looking up at the man you had thought you once knew from your position chained on the floor you felt the last part of your hope die, unaware even that that hope had existed in the first place.

“I didn’t want to believe the rumors” you shook your head at him, eyes bouncing back and forth between those familiar but very different blue ones.

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me” a smirk grew over his lips as he looked down at you. And somehow those words hurt worse than seeing him walk around with such authority through the empire’s army, more than seeing a new infamously red saber strapped to his hip.

“You’ve changed” you shook your head back up at him, feeling the lump grow in the base of your throat with each passing minute “You are not the Anakin I knew”

“I am exactly the Anakin you knew” he chuckled back at you, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat down calmly in the chair before you, causally crossing one leg over the other “Just finally lived up to my full potential”

And you didn’t know how to respond to that, to his complete acceptance, even beyond that his full belief that he was being aided by the dark side of the force, that it was somehow making him better, stronger. “What do you want?”

“Your base” he answered plainly, leaving forward in his seat to rest his elbows on his knees staring down at you “the rebel base, I want coordinates”

“What makes you think I have them?” You asked with a shrug, watching the smug smile slowly fade from his face.

“Don’t play dumb it was never a good look on you”

You felt your own anger spike within you as his did. He clearly didn’t know you that well if he thought you would give it up this easy. “What happened to being the chosen one?” You taunted him, turning to pressing his buttons on purpose, proving even if just to yourself that at least you knew him “you were supposed to-“

“-bring balance to the force yes I’ve heard it all before” and oh how you relished the anger in his tone, in the way the words hissed out through a clenched jaw, the way his eyes narrowed down at you ever so slightly, you’d always enjoyed messing with angry Anakin “answer the question”

“I’m just saying if you wanna talk about playing dumb, does turning to the dark side really seem like the best way to go about that?”

“Says the one chained to the floor” he pushed to his feet towering over you as he spoke “Now because of our past I’m giving you a chance here, a chance to answer to me instead of the emperor, do not mistake this kindness for weakness” and before you could respond he was turning around and walking back through the door, but you weren’t done. You couldn’t let him leave it like that, couldn’t let him bring up your past friendship like it was nothing more than a bargaining chip to be cashed in later.

“You know I thought we had lost you with order 66” You called out after him “I mourned your death” you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel shame over the way your voice shook, overwhelming amounts of anger and betrayal trumping any and all other emotions within you.

He didn’t even look back as he spoke in a disturbingly monotone voice “Anakin Skywalker is dead. I am what remains”

You shook your head at his response though he couldn’t see it, hating him for the way he tried to hide from what he has done, shelter who he once was from the man he has become.

A bitter laugh escaped you “No, you don’t get to distance yourself from your own actions, you don’t get to protect that jedi you once were by calling yourself a different name.”

His body went rigid at your words, the surprise from your outburst evident in his reaction, it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that you were the first person to ever call him out on it.

“Anakin Skywalker was my friend” you pushed on, spitting the words at his feet “and you tarnish his memory with every action done in the name of the empire"

Anakin spun around on his heel at your words, a dangerous smirk on his face before he knelt down squatting before you, an all too familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye “You know I always liked the way you spoke your mind no matter what” A taunt in his tone, a look that dared you to step out of line “You never really knew when to shut up did you? I suggest you learn”

“You forget that I know you” you taunted back, leaning in even closer to him, showing him he wasn’t scaring you by forcing proximity “you can’t hide behind your charms from me Skywalker”

Still the smug smirk didn’t drop from his face, his eyes taking a second to bounce between yours before locking on a piece of hair that fell in front of your face. Slowly his hand reached out, effortlessly tucking it back behind your ear like he had done a thousand times before. And suddenly you were back beneath the stars with him, talking about the future, upcoming missions, battle strategies, just about anything you could think of to keep him out there with you.

His hand struck with practiced efficiency, reaching out to grab your chin before you could even comprehend its movement, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he held your gaze on his “You will tell me where the rebel base is or I will take you to see emperor Palpatine, and trust me neither of us wants that to happen”

And even though the mere gesture of pulling your hair behind your ear had sent your heart racing and your mind reeling you forced your eyes to lock onto his, pushing down any feelings of familiarity, telling yourself exactly what he had just told you moments ago Anakin Skywalker is dead, he is what remains

“What’s the magic word?”

He cracked a smile at that, still holding you in place for a few seconds longer, giving you one last opportunity to answer before finally dropping your face, muttering a soft “so be it” before standing back up and heading for the door.

-

It had been easy to escape your bindings, too easy honestly, to the point that a small part of you wondered if you had been meant to escape them in the first place, if this was what your past with Anakin was worth to him, a chance and a poorly hidden saber.

You broke for the nearest town as soon as you could, keeping low and your thin scarf pulled over your face knowing it was far too easy to stick out in the empty desert.

You didn’t make it that far.

“You really thought it would be that easy?” His voice taunted you from behind, your body sagging slightly as you heard it, you hadn’t even noticed his approach.

“Yeah honestly” you returned, spinning around to face him “planning was never your forte”

He chuckled softly at that, shaking his head, casting his eyes down to his feet as he rested a single hand on his saber on his hip, looking far too much like the Anakin you had once known long ago. “Tell me where the base is Y/N”

And even though it remained unsaid you could feel the threat in his voice, in the way he glared at you, in the way his hand on his saber twitched.

“Are you not going to ask me about him?” You knew now wasn’t the time for the question, knew it was dumb to press that particular button now, but you couldn’t stand letting Anakin cast him off like this, cast you off like this.

He faltered at your question, his shoulders dropping slightly, his hand slipping from his saber. “You’ve been in contact with him?”

“Of course I have” you sighed, “And Ahsoka, Rex” you let your sentence trail off, hang in the air, let him come to you and ask the question if he wanted to know.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Anakin waited, as you waited, only breaking when his voice spoke up, a shake in it you weren’t expecting “are they-“

And maybe it was the way his voice shook, the way his posture slumped, the way those all too familiar blue eyes were silently begging you, but you took pity on him, chancing a small step forward as you finished his sentence “they’re okay. Ahsoka even removed Rex’s chip, they’re all okay”

Another silence hung in the air, an almost imperceptible nod in Anakin’s head as he stared down at his feet, only looking up to chance a look at you when he finally spoke again, in a small defeated voice “just tell me where the base is Y/N, that’s all I need, then I can turn around and pretend I never saw you here”

You sighed at that, shaking your head softly “You know I can’t do that Ani”

He chuckled bitterly at that, going for his saber, igniting it, his face illuminating in red as he did so.

And instinctively your hand went to your own saber, ready to draw it and defend yourself, ready to be caught up in a sparing match with Anakin just as you had so many times before, but no, you had to remind yourself, it wouldn’t be just sparing this time around, not anymore.

You unclipped it from your belt, taking a moment to feel its weight in your hand, before tossing it to the side, watching the sand around it kick up as it landed a few feet away from you. “I won’t fight you”

Anakin shook his head, his eyes snapping to your saber on the ground next to you, a bitter laugh that didn’t full materialize on his lips “I’m not falling for that”

“Its not a trick” you shrugged, opening your hands before you, “I won’t fight you”

“Pick up your saber Y/N” he yelled at you, still holding his own before him, still poised to strike but holding back, waiting “I will not tell you again”

You watched him with a small shake of your head “Ani I can’t fight you”

And for a second you just watched his chest rise and fall quickly as a war raged in his mind, as he debated his next steps, before a frustrated yell ripped through the air and he was charging at you, and you couldn’t help yourself, you closed your eyes, a breath catching in your chest as you waited for the inevitable, and kept on waiting.

A tentative eye opened to see a bright flash of red, hovering just above your shoulder, just waiting there. Your gaze followed it up to Anakin only to see he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking down at his saber. And you could tell from the look in his eyes, from the way his grip kept changing, from the rapid fall and rise of his chest, that he was trying to talk himself into it.

Then a sigh and the blade was retracted, Anakin refusing to meet your gaze as he stepped back “get out of here Y/N”

And immediately you took a step back, your body begging you to run, to put this place and Anakin as far behind you as possible. But still you couldn’t.

“Come with me”

His gaze snapped up to yours in surprise, his eyebrows crunched together in confusion “I can’t” it came out as more a question.

“You can” you tried to encourage him, taking a tentative step towards him “You can come with me now and we can figure the rest of it out”

“I work for the empire” he spoke softly, “the empire isn’t what you think it is, they’re doing good, I’m doing good”

You sighed with a shake of your head, still inching forward, still holding out hope “You, you became the very thing you sought to destroy. Turning your back on everything you once stood for”

“Did I?” he challenged you calmly, repeating thoughts you knew he’d already gone through a thousand times before “or am I still upholding my same beliefs. I vowed to serve the republic and I still do, no matter what name it goes by now”

“You vowed to serve the people of the republic” you corrected “and now under the empires rule those people suffer”

“under the empire’s rule they are safe” he countered “From the time we were children we were told we were meant to be peacekeepers and that is exactly what I am doing now”

“You call this peace?” You couldn’t help but chuckle “How many die each day because of the empire’s tyranny”

“Because of the resistances rebellion” he countered but there was no malice in it, not the same angry argument as before but rather a debate.

“Look at them Anakin” you gestured to the town just before you, at the people begging for scraps outside of the bar, at the buildings crumbling from lack of maintenance “this is the effect the empire has on people”

Anakin shook his head at the sight before him, his eyes casting back down to the sand too quickly.

“Look at them” you repeated, putting more force into your words, practically begging him “Look at what the empire has done to this town, what you have done.”

“The empire stopped the war” Anakin’s gaze suddenly snapped back up to yours, a new defensiveness in his tone you weren’t used to hearing from him “these people are at peace, they do not fear for their lives anymore and that is what the empire has done”

“These people are starving” you objected, trying to keep your voice light but firm “they no longer fear death at the hands of intergalactic war but rather storm troopers on a power trip, bounty hunters, vagrants. They are far from safe”

“And what would you have me do now?” He demanded, exasperation in his tone “I stopped a war, I gave everything to stop a war”

“And now?” you questioned him “you did it, you stopped the war, why are you with them now?”

Anakin didn’t respond to that, his mind churning as his eyes bounced back and forth between yours, not saying a word as his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

It all seemed to click for you then, where his hesitation was coming from, his stubbornness, his need to believe he was right, had been right all along “It’s not too late for you you know”

Anakin froze on the spot, eyes jumping up to meet yours, desperately willing for you to continue.

“You made a few mistakes, took some missteps but you can still do good”

“I’ve made a lot more than a few mistakes” his tone was soft and dejected.

“That’s okay” you tried to assure him with a shake of your head “You can still do good”

He shook his head in response, eyes finally lifting from you to scan the town around you “that’s not who I’m meant to be, that is not my destiny”

“Screw destiny” you countered quickly “it wasn’t long ago your destiny was to bring balance to the force and now the jedi order no longer exists. There is no more destiny there is just the choices you make here and now”

“I can’t” he objected weakly with a shake of his head “I can’t just leave”

“you can” you countered but saw as he refused to listen to you, taking steps back, so you forward, without a second thought wrapping your arms around his neck, whispering the words into his ear “Ani you can”

And you felt him go rigid under your touch, refuse to give in, but not quite pushing you off.

“Let go what you have done in the past” you tried to urge him “focus on what you can do now. And right now you can help them. You can help me”

And slowly you felt his arms come up, first placed awkwardly on your back, giving you a chance to take it all back, before slowly wrapping completely around you, pulling you deeper into him, a shaky breath escaping him as he did so, as he buried his face in your hair “I don’t know how it all went so wrong”

“I know Ani I know” you assured him softly, rubbing a hand up and down his back “but now we can work to make it better”

“We?” You heard the hope in his voice and couldn’t help but chuckle, chuckle and fight to keep the tears at bay.

Pulling back from him softly, noting the way his arms seemed reluctant to let you go completely, just enough that you could look into his eyes. “You and me, we’ll make it right”

[determinedowl23]

ohhhhhmy god oh my god guyssjsjaidbwisjsis IT HAPPENED I SAW IT AND IT WAS AMAZING

Notes:

Act I

I NEED TO MARRY ALFIE BOE SOOOOO BAD BRUH YOU DONT EVEN GET IT

Alfie’s so short I forgot about that lmao he’s so baby

I do really really really love Michael but I can already tell that Javert is not exactly his thing. He’s too whimsical- too Marius. Super glad he gets to do something with Alfie tho <333

Jeremy (I think) rocked the bishop omgggggg

I WAS NOT EXPECTING KATIE HALL TO BE HERE CHAT- soprano Fantine is such a foreign concept to me but she was gorgeous 

THANK YOU BOEBALL VALVERT FOR BEING THERE FOR ME I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND AND HIS BOYFRIEND

THENARDIERS ARE SO FUNNY I’ve never seen funnier thenardiers. He called Cosette Baguette when Valjean took her away

Also at the beginning of the bargain when Alfie started singing Madame T went “oh he’s got a lovely voice tho”

COSETTE NEW PINK DRESS IS SO PRETTY!!!!! It matches Marius’ bow :))))

Ok both Eponine and Cosette were mixed bags for me- I liked them most of the time, but there were a couple times their voices felt a bit… nasally? They were both very pretty tho :)

James D Gish is beautiful. My dad says he’s the second coming of Ramin Karimloo and im inclined to agree

Gavroche is king shit as per usual

They had stars in stars omggg. ALSOOO at the end the lights make it look like he has wings. Probably unintentional but he’s soooooo fallen angelcore 

As much as Michael doesn’t fit Javert, his Stars really is amazing

WE GOT ENJOLTAIRE CRUMBS 👏👏👏 The entire pause between ABC Cafe and Red & Black they were just looking at each other forever

As much as I do love enjoltaire, im an even bigger fan of Gavroche and Grantaire’s dynamic. It was the main thing I noticed about R’s character (even with Kyle Adams playing him) and I’m so happy that it’s in other productions

No Javert barricade outfit in one day more :(

Three flags??? In this economy????

Act II

Okay I did genuinely forget about the barricade outfit but it did come back! It’s different from the Staged Concert, more greenish-black and I think he has his hair down- there’s at least some strands loose on the front

OKAYYYY IM REALLY SURE TGAT BEFORE R STARTED HIS SOLO IN DRINK WITH ME HE WENT AND HELD ENJ’S HAND FOR A BIT- and after he sang and Enj left Gavroche ran over and gave him a hug it was so sweet

Alfie Boe Bring Him Home is still my favoritest thing in the entire world. I owe him my life im so serious he was my top artist for a reason

Enjolras did the Aaron Tveit “until the earth is free” opt up it was amazing

They cut Gavroche’s individual death scene which was either for better or for worse because that’s the one that always gets me crying, so I just teared up at the end

When Javert let valjean and Marius go from the sewers he turned around as if he was gonna follow them, paused, screamed, and put his head and his hand

Dude michael ball does the best suicide scene he’s so unhinged and skdjaidhaisjsj

EMPTY CHAIRS BRO. At “phantom faces” the Amis all stood up in their places in their seats, with Enj, R, and Gavroche on the center balcony right by the conductor. Also at this point he begins to scream with anger at his survival. I’ve never thought about angry Empty Chairs, but it works so well and I need to see it more

Valjean in AHFoL Reprise made me so sad bro. Insert my post about him and Donna Sheridan but add that they’re so attached to their daughter (Amanda Seyfried) and kinda don’t want to let her go to get married

The audience clapped along to Beggars at the Feast. Don’t know if we were allowed to, but we did anyways

When Marius tells Cosette her father is a saint Valjean just shakes his head no oh my god 😭😭

HE DID THE NICK CARTELL NOSE BOOP WITH COSETTE

THE BISHOP COMES UP BEHIND VALJEAN WHEN HE DIES AND VALJEAN GIVES HIM THE BIGGEST HUG EVER OMFGGGGGG

During bows when Michael came up to bow with Alfie they had to switch sides so that Michael could be on the left and Alfie could be on the right. Order has been restored to the world

In summary: Amazing show god I love Les Mis!!!!! Alfie Boe is the only one who can save me <3333

[mockerycrow]

I SEE YOU EVERYWHERE (Soap x GN!Reader)

soap masterlist

a/n: i wrote this after listening to this song. not proofread LOL enjoy. 984 words! also i’m sorry about how i’m basically non existent. i’m trying, y’all </3

[WARNINGS: MWIII spoilers, major character death, grief, mentions of catholicism. pure angst, hurt/little comfort.]

Sixty-seven days ago. Two months it’s been, approximately nine whole weeks. Estimating around ninety-five thousand minutes and over five million seconds. 

It’s been sixty-seven days since.. You know. You always wake up feeling like it happened sixty-seven seconds ago instead. Your eyes flutter open and you take a breath, inhaling a certain kind of heavy and thick into your lungs. Your chest expands uncomfortably in the morning, your ribs squeezing your lungs a bit tighter than before. Accompanied with the tightness of your chest is this tingling feeling, so slight it’s almost like background noise, just like how the past few weeks have felt. They’ve flown by in a flash, but at the same time, are oh so slow. 

Sometimes, you wake up expecting to see him standing over your sleeping form to wake you up after staying up a tad bit too late because he insisted you do so. So he wasn’t lonely because ‘The LT denied me’, in his words. Sometimes, your eyes are sick and twisted towards you. Your eyes are faster than your brain and you see him. You see his shadow so thick you’re convinced until you reach upwards, your fingers pushing through the dark smoke that enters your lungs after you’ve blinked. 

You’re sure the others have noticed the toll it’s taken, despite your efforts to hide. You know they’re hurting in their ways, too. Being in a tightly packed task force like this, you’re bound to know each other's tells. Part of you wonders who is hurting the most. Is it Gaz? The man who’s been the most logical out of all five four of you. Is it Ghost? The enigma of your group? He’s always been quiet, hard to read. Harder since.. Everything. Maybe it’s Price. He’s the one who actually saw, really. The one who watched him…

…

You feel something in your throat bubble, so you push the thought away. 

Then you come back to it. Maybe it’s you who’s hurting most, being his lover. The person he insisted that was his other half he had been looking for. Maybe that’s you being hopeful and cheesy; maybe it’s you being selfish. You aren’t sure. Honestly, you aren’t sure what you should be feeling, nor are you sure how your teammates should be reacting. There’s five stages of grief and everyone’s path looks different. 

Denial – you aren’t sure who you think denial is at first. Symptoms are fear, avoidance. What happened, you can’t avoid it. Not really when he was so integral to the team. Is. He never stopped being. After a few days of people watching, you’ve decided it’s you. You wanted to put it onto someone else at first, maybe Gaz—perhaps Ghost. They’re still.. Living. Going through the motions, at least. But you had to look at yourself late at night, around two forty-five am to ask, “are they the one’s waking up thinking he’s standing over them?”

No. They are not. It’s you. Of course it’s you.

Next—anger. You debated this one, of course it was tied between Ghost and Price but after Shepherd died, of course the Captain took that title with no question. There is a major difference between peaking into the gym, watching Ghost gasp for air after a night full of boxing and then hearing through Laswell the General has been killed. Major difference, indeed. It’s not often your Captain loses his cool and when he does, it’s for good reason. He deserved it, you only wish Price was more cruel.

Bargaining? It’s a no brainer, you decided as soon as you thought of it. Gaz. None of the men cry much, but it wasn’t a surprise when you found Gaz sitting on the steps outside of the temporary base, smoking a cigarette with misty eyes paired with a lost look. A look where he wasn’t completely there; lost somewhere, maybe in thought, maybe back in that moment. In the moment where he had to ignore his mutilated body to focus on the bomb. On the fact that Makarov was getting away. He lit a second cigarette.

Maybe it doesn’t quite fit him, but Ghost was the last one to decide for. Depression is what you ended up assigning him. There’s not many words for how you could describe him. Ghost’s been flighty, quiet yet hostile. He never means to snap at any of you of course, you all know it. You can tell from the heavy, long look he gives you after snarling at you like a cornered dog. He’s just sad and scared, something you can understand on a deeper level. With him, it feels like beckoning a wolf with bits of meat—a wolf who isn’t afraid to bare his teeth. You’re willing to get bit.

Then… what’s left?

Oh, yeah. 

Acceptance. Left for the one who is forever missing.

In a way, it feels wrong. You know he’ll never be able to move on like the rest of the world can. It feels even worse when you realize only a select amount of people will know about his death—the world won’t know who he is. Work in the dark to serve the light, hm? What a fucked world. After spreading his ashes across the hills, it feels like he’s become one with the Earth. Maybe that’s his form of acceptance; going back to what housed him. The green roots and blue skies. The rain that pours down over the ruined cities you’re crawling through, the beautiful stars and planets above you during a late night in God knows where. You see him everywhere.

You hope God is taking care of him, as you rub your fingers over his cross necklace. The last thing you have left of him; his dog tags sitting in a memorial on base. You may or may not believe, but Johnny sure did. And you know, somewhere deep down, he’s alright.

🏷️; @kivino @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @indefenseofkara @mushr00mf00d @lieutenantlashfaz @fiveshotsofjager @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp

not tagged? you’re either not on my taglist, your submission confused me or your settings to tag are off. click here to add yourself to my tag list.

tagged when you don’t want to be? let me know! no hard feelings <3

[kutner-elegist]

flash fic request: kutner and wilson go on a date

I am so sorry this is late and it isn't what you requested, but I just. didn't know how to write this 😭 like I couldn't come up with how Kutner and Wilson would go on a date and what they would do and how it would go. I will come back to it if I get a better idea 😭 This is something I wrote instead but it's kinda sad...

“Tell House I’m not coming back,” Wilson said to Kutner the moment he opened the door.

“Uh, okay. I’ll pass on the message.” Kutner’s eyebrows furrowed into his confused frown.

“House didn’t send you?”

“No. I wouldn’t bother you just because House told me to.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Someone you love died and you don’t want to see or talk to House, so I thought you might need someone.”

“Oh.” Wilson’s face softened. “Sorry.”

Kutner’s body language was nervous and shifty, fidgeting with his hand in his pockets. “I know it’s hard to have other people around at a time like this, but believe me, being alone is worse. I’ll leave if you want, though.”

“If you want to come inside for a minute …” Wilson stepped aside so Kutner could walk in.

Wilson brought out some whiskey. They sat on the couch, respectful distance of awkward silence between them. The drink was bitter on his tongue, but it gave him a reason not to speak.

“This is nice.” Kutner spun the glass around and watched the liquid swirl.

“Thank you for coming.” Wilson broke the silence. “And sorry about the House thing earlier. I just …”

“Don’t worry about that.”

But once he started thinking about House, Wilson couldn’t stop the floodgate. “I just don’t think I can forgive House. I know it doesn’t make sense, but—”

“Who says you need to forgive House?”

“I mean, there’s really nothing to forgive. It was a freak accident. He did everything he could to save her.”

“You just lost Amber. Worry about House later.” Kutner put the glass down on the coffee table. “You will forgive him, because you’re Wilson and he’s House. But everything you’re feeling right now, you won’t reason your way out of it.”

Wilson poured himself the more whiskey. The first round was circulating throughout his body now. “Then how am I supposed to get out? Because if I don’t, I don’t think I can survive this.”

“But you will.”

The drink spilled over when he slammed down the glass. “How would you know?” he almost yelled.

“Because I did.” Kutner looked Wilson directly in the eyes.

Wilson retracted into his seat.

Kutner continued, “You think if you have to get it out even if it means cutting into yourself or it will consume you, but this isn’t oncology. It’s more like rehabilitation. You keep going until it gets better. It’s gonna suck. And I’m sorry.”

“How does this rehabilitation work?”

“Right now you’re at what if. What if House didn’t call her, or just let her drive him home instead of insisting that she get a drink. Then she wouldn't have been on that bus, and none of this would have happened. What if my parents didn’t have a convenience store. What if the gunman picked a different place to rob. What if I wasn’t six years old. What if I was old enough to do something. None of that matters, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t matter. It takes time to get over, but you’ll get over it because it’s the easy part.

“Then you get to will never. Mom will never sing again. Dad would never dance again. We’ll never go to Disneyland. I’ll never be the same.

“Should have is the hardest. I should have thanked them more. I should have been a better son. I should have gone to bed when they told me to, instead of running around and giving them trouble.

“And then, I wish. I wish I had one more hug. I wish I told him that I love him that night. I wish I remembered her bedtime stories.”

“Would have is easier. They would have told me that it was okay. They would have wanted me to be happy. They would … be proud of me, I think. It’s kinda like Kübler-Ross. Denial, anger, bargaining, all that. The point is, you come to terms with their absence more and more with each stage.

“Eventually you’ll realize that you have to remember them for who they were. Not how they died, not what could have been. They loved you and you loved them and that is all you have and you’re going to cherish it.”

Wilson could no longer hold back the tears. He’d thought Kutner had lost a girlfriend or a friend as an adult. Now he could see the six-year-old boy, scared, bereaved, and alone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it all about myself.”

Wilson threw his arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. He was shaking. Kutner still smelled like hospital antiseptic, and it made him think about Amber. How at peace she was. That she didn’t want anger to be the last thing she felt.

Kutner placed one hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked when Wilson finally stopped crying.

Wilson was still too choked up to speak, but he nodded yes.

“Feels better when you cry.” Kutner smiled. “Uh, I have clinic duty in the morning.”

“Oh, of course.”

“But if you wanna talk, you know how to find me.”

Wilson followed Kutner to the door. Kutner waved goodbye and disappeared into the stairwell. Wilson stumbled his way back, feeling the haze of the whiskey. He sprawled across the living room floor, where he once lay with Amber that time he got a waterbed and hated it. The thought made him smile. He fell into an easy, dreamy slumber for the first time since her death.

[tellingtell5]

Three Little Birds part. 2《Nick Blaine, The handmaid's tell》

A short story about Nick Blaine.

Nick Blaine x oc!fmale

Hi: I love The Handmaid's Tale and the relationship between June and Nick, but I couldn't get this story out of my head. I’m always looking for stories about this character, but I never find exactly what I’m looking for, so I decided to write it myself. I hope it reaches someone. Thank you

I wrote this part with this song on repeat—I think it fits so well.

I had the strange certainty that Rita, the Waterfords' Martha, would strangle me with her bare hands if I let my guard down.

“How did you get this far?”

Anyone overhearing her choice of words might think she despised me, but instead of taking offense, I let out an involuntary snort of laughter. A fleeting smile softened her features before she shook her head and focused on fixing my mess.

“Nick must have the patience of a saint, no doubt about that.” Her expression twisted in distaste as she took a cautious sip from the spoon, grimacing at my creation. “And the stomach of steel.”

Good thing he's the one who does the cooking.

The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. I had fallen into some kind of daze, a haze that dulled my senses, burying all the worry and unease I should have felt every single day. I bit down on my tongue, stopping myself just in time—one careless remark, one slip of the tongue, and both of us could end up hanging from the Wall.

The strange peace I had lived in for the past few months as Mrs. Blaine had blinded me completely. I had let myself see this woman as something she was not—one of my closest confidantes. Fear settled deep in my chest, its sharp claws scraping their way up my throat until a glassy sheen blurred my vision. I gripped the cold marble countertop as if it could anchor me, steady me—my knuckles turned white under the strain. Tilting my head back, I stared at the ceiling, willing the tears to retreat before they could spill over into something pathetic.

When had I started losing sight of my true purpose here?

I had a vague suspicion. No, I knew. My priorities had been buried beneath a thousand different emotions, tangled and confusing.

A slow, comforting warmth spread across my back in gentle circles. I blinked and looked up to find Rita watching me, her face creased with deep-set worry, the expression of a mother trying to soothe a child.

“Relax, dear. I was only teasing,” she murmured. “You’ll get the hang of it in time. Besides, I’m sure Nick will appreciate the effort. Getting your hands on that cheese wasn’t easy.”

She thought my distress came from failing to cook a decent meal for my poor husband.

In time.

That was exactly what I didn’t want to have here. Time.

I didn’t want to learn these skills—things I had never cared about until they became chains binding me to a life I never chose. I had always loved learning, but for myself. The moment it became an obligation, something done for the satisfaction of others, it turned bitter on my tongue.

Anxiety gripped me again, sharp and unrelenting, coiling like a vice around my lower back. Guilt slithered in alongside it, tightening around my throat. I had been asleep.

For weeks, I had carefully traded and bargained for supplies, gathering ingredients just to prepare something for Nick—to thank him for these past few months. A quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered that maybe, maybe my reasons ran deeper than just gratitude, but I crushed it before it could take shape.

Anger surged in my throat, burning like bile. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I barely made it to the nearest bathroom before retching violently over the toilet.

As my body trembled with each heaving breath, a distant memory surfaced—an image of myself setting a plate in front of him, my voice cold and detached: "Thank you for not taking advantage of your position and for being decent, Nick."

But maybe that wasn’t what had sent me running to the bathroom.

Maybe it was everything else—the emotions I had been choking down for months, the ones I had buried so deep they were now clawing their way out by force. I let a few stray tears escape, surrendering to them at last. I stayed there, slumped over the toilet, too drained to move, too exhausted to face the woman still trying to fix what I had done.

Nick had to go out that night to take the Commander to who knows where. His absence left me with an unease I couldn't quite justify. Despite having spent months living with this man, whom I now considered something close to a friend, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was an intruder in his space. The fact that I had no personal belongings to place in the room, aside from my clothes, only made things worse.

Everything was infused with remnants of Nick’s former life, and I liked to imagine what it had been like back then. Before he became "the enemy." A sharp pang ran through me at the thought of him in that way. He had never shown any sign of agreeing with what was happening around him, but the signs had made it clear that Nick was not just a simple driver. That only made my confusion more frustrating. An Eye sharing a roof with a Mayday terrorist. The irony of it all was overwhelming.

I sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette from the pack my husband had "accidentally" left in plain sight, all because I had once mentioned in passing that anxiety sometimes made me return to such a harmful habit.

A strange sensation twisted my stomach at the realization that I was pleased by the small gesture. I had come to understand that this was his real language. When he came home from work, we would share bits of our lives under the cover of the night, whispering secrets of a past life that was all but forgotten. It was always me who ended up rambling on until sleep lulled me into silence. A few days later, I would find something I had casually mentioned, like the sudden appearance of lavender on the table. His presence was comforting, and little by little, I had started to miss him when he wasn’t there. I rubbed my chest when a warm feeling settled there upon hearing him climbing the stairs.

When he appeared in the doorway and saw me awake, he hesitated, halfway through pushing the door open. He always did that, as if he still wasn’t used to me being here. Without a word, he looked at me carefully, noticing that I had put on one of his old t-shirts. I had taken his word when, in one of our late-night talks, he had suggested I could take whatever I wanted from his closet if I despised the standard at-home attire as much as I had claimed.

I saw the way he held his breath, despite this not being the first time he had seen me like this. And I mirrored him. For a moment, my heart fluttered with unease, wondering if he would finally drop the facade of a considerate man and report me to some Gilead authority for my adulterous behavior. Or at least, that’s what I wanted to believe—because I refused to acknowledge that the tightness in my chest had been anticipation at the heat I had detected in his gaze.

He tore his eyes from me, staring at the floor as he finally pushed the door fully open. He moved his hand toward me and placed something wrapped in newspaper in front of my eyes.

"I was going to wait until morning, but since you're awake…"

I carefully put out the cigarette, trying to hide the sudden nervousness in my movements. Hesitantly, I took the package, and he sat at the other end of the table, trying not to look directly at me.

Forcing myself to ignore the trembling in my hands, I unwrapped it, and something inside me twisted violently. My breath left my lungs, and a mixture of emotion and fear flooded my senses. I was as confused as I was terrified. The clash of emotions was so intense that my first impulse was to hide the gift beneath the newspapers and frantically look around, as if someone could see through the walls. A cold sweat ran down my back, and only Nick’s warm hand pulled me from the storm of sensations. But it didn’t just stop my mind from spinning—it reassured me in a way I hadn’t expected.

"You mentioned it a couple of nights ago, and…"

"It's forbidden." I cut him off, afraid that if he said it out loud, someone might hear, even though that was impossible. His thumb brushed over my skin, trying to soothe the fear that must have been evident on my face.

A shadow of a smile appeared on his lips, and a new, unfamiliar sensation twisted in my stomach. I surprised myself by wanting to see that expression again.

"I’m not going to say anything. Are you?"

I shook my head several times and gave his hand a squeeze before pulling away and uncovering the precious, dangerous gift he had given me. That innocent-looking object could cost us both our lives, but that didn’t stop the smile stretching across my lips until it nearly reached my ears. "Emma." Seeing those words—the first I had read in almost two years—made tears well up in my eyes. I blinked rapidly and put some distance between myself and the book, afraid of damaging it with moisture. Muscle memory took over, and I lifted it to my nose, flipping through the pages quickly. I inhaled its scent and, for a moment, distanced myself from the horrors of my reality.

"How…?"

The new regime had not only banned certain books; they had burned them, destroyed them in every way possible. I could already guess what Nick was about to say, because I had long since figured out where he got certain forbidden items for the Waterfords—or for me.

"It was on the black market." He shrugged as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "I remembered that you used to be a literature teacher and that one of your favorite authors was Jane Austen."

He spoke while looking at his hands, nervous. Suddenly, I had the sense that he was making some kind of declaration, but I couldn’t let myself believe it.

My heart pounded so fiercely I was afraid it might burst. I focused again on Nick’s gift, running my fingers over it as if it were something delicate, something that might crumble if I touched it too firmly. Why did it affect me so much? It wasn’t the first time someone had given me something, but this… this was different. It wasn’t an empty gesture, it wasn’t just an object. It was proof that, in this world of shadows and cruel rules, someone saw me. Not as property, not as a function to fulfill, but as a person.

And with that realization came another: something like this didn’t just "appear" in the black market. He had sought it out, maybe even requested it from someone he trusted—someone who wouldn’t turn him in for such an atrocious crime.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself standing before Nick, who was still seated, looking up at me. With a trembling hand, I touched his cheek, and his eyelids fluttered shut. I traced the contours of his face, mapping them in my mind, wanting to etch them into memory. My fingers moved with the same certainty that had been drawing me toward him all along, like a branch swaying in the wind.

Until now, I had kept my distance, believing that what I felt for him was just a reaction to the circumstances—an attraction born from the need for shelter in a world that wanted to consume me. But in that moment, I saw him. Truly saw him.

Not as the Commander’s driver. Not as a potential Eye. Not as my husband of convenience.

I saw him as the man who "forgot" cigarettes so I could smoke in peace, despite it being forbidden for women. As the man who brought lavender to the table when I had once mentioned it was my favorite scent. As the man who had turned a blind eye so many times when I returned home with packages of questionable origin.

I moved closer, barely aware of my own movements. Nick didn’t pull away. I studied the contours of his face, the lines etched by exhaustion, and for the second time that night, my breath caught in my throat as he slowly opened his eyes.

Deliberately, I let my fingertips trace along his jaw, brushing against the rough texture of his barely-there stubble. My fingers continued their path, skimming over his cheek, tracing the arc of his cheekbone in an absentminded caress. A flood of memories crashed over me—memories I had buried deep, afraid of what would happen if they ever surfaced.

I remembered the brush of his hand against mine as he passed me a cup of tea in the quiet hours of the night. It wasn’t the touch itself, but what came after. He didn’t let go right away. Just a second, maybe two, but his thumb moved—slowly, deliberately—as if trying to memorize the texture of my skin before he finally pulled away. From that moment on, we had both found excuses, no matter how small or absurd, to seek out those fleeting touches. A silent confirmation that we were still here.

The memories urged me forward. I lowered my hand, tracing the corner of his lips with my fingertip. And when I felt the softness of his lips beneath my touch, I remembered the first time I had truly laughed since being trapped in that place. I couldn’t recall the joke or what had led to it—only the way my chest had shaken with forgotten joy. The pleasant ache in my cheeks from holding tension for too long, the sting in my eyes from unshed tears. But most of all, I remembered the way Nick had looked at me—intense, burning.

As his breath brushed against my fingers, I realized he was looking at me the same way now—waiting, patient. Watching for my next move. My fingertips drifted down to the curve of his neck, feeling the quickened pulse beneath his skin.

I remembered the tightness in his jaw when Commander Waterford had made a barely veiled suggestion—an alternative way for us to “fulfill our duty.” How my throat had closed up, unable to find the words to escape the conversation. But I hadn’t needed to. Because Nick had appeared from nowhere, resting a hand on my back and leaning in, brushing his nose against my temple before pressing the lightest of kisses there, sending a rush of heat to my cheeks. Then, with complete ease, he straightened and turned his gaze to the Commander without letting go of me. “We appreciate your concern, but that won’t be necessary,” he said with a quiet confidence that stole my breath.

He could have let me flounder. He could have let me speak, knowing how much it cost me to hold back, to hurt myself, to become the easiest solution to an inconvenient problem. After all, what was I to him? Just an obligation. A forced tie. Letting me go would have been easy.

But he chose to save me.

The memories, the emotions, the accumulation of small moments—once scattered crumbs, now a mountain—tightened in my chest. Because this wasn’t just kindness. It wasn’t just refuge or an escape from the prison I was trapped in.

And I saw, too, the truth I had been trying so hard to deny.

It was him.

It was the way he looked at me, the way he protected me without expecting anything in return. The way he always stood just a little closer than necessary, the patience with which he waited for me to take the next step, the certainty that if I chose to retreat, he would remain exactly where he was—just like now.

My fingers trembled as they brushed against his lips again, feeling the warmth of his breath on my skin. Nick didn’t move. He waited. He always waited.

And I didn’t want to run anymore.

"You know..." I leaned in, close enough to hear his breath hitch, turning shallow, unnatural. "In another life, I would have come to you."

I didn’t realize I was crying until he wiped my tears away, gentle and fleeting, as if afraid to overstep. His gaze, once fixed on my lips, now locked onto my eyes, searching for something even I didn’t know existed.

"Oh, yeah?" His voice carried a trace of curiosity. "Why?"

My heart pounded, but I didn’t hesitate.

"Because..." Our noses nearly brushed, and the weight of the moment shattered the last of my defenses. "I would have seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. I would have noticed how careful you are, how you give me space without being asked. I would have caught the way your brow furrows when something worries you, the way your voice softens when you speak to me. And I would have liked all of it. You would have captivated me."

Nick didn’t speak. He just looked at me, something shifting in his expression—something intense and resolute. The seconds stretched, an eternity suspended between us. For a moment, I thought I had made a terrible mistake, that I had misread his kindness for something it wasn’t.

But then, with agonizing slowness, his lips brushed against mine. Barely a kiss—more of a question than an answer. A moment frozen in time.

His lips moved against mine, slow, deliberate, disarming in their gentleness. This wasn’t a kiss born of desperation, of survival. It wasn’t the practiced touch of a husband fulfilling a duty. It was something deeper, something real. His hand found my waist, the pressure firm yet hesitant, as if he, too, was stepping over an invisible line. I sighed against his lips.

After everything I had endured, all the suffering I had swallowed without an outlet, I could let it go here, in the safety of his presence. Nick absorbed every ounce of pain I poured into him, and when his tongue brushed mine, he transformed it into something else. Something warm and sweet. A silent comfort that tried to soothe the fire raging inside me.

Heat. Longing.

I clung to his shirt, searching for something solid to anchor myself to as the kiss deepened, losing its initial hesitation. Nick took in my anguish without pulling away, without fleeing. And when his arms tightened around me, when his mouth demanded more, I understood—I wasn’t alone in this. He was drowning, too. And somehow, in the wreckage, we had found each other.

When we finally broke apart, the air between us was thick with something unbreakable. I pressed my forehead to his, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Nick’s breath was ragged, and when his fingers slipped into mine, I knew.

I knew what I hadn’t allowed myself to admit before.

This wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t just a survival strategy.

I was falling for Nick.

I had been falling for him from the beginning—in every silent conversation, in every fleeting touch, in every moment when his presence reminded me that I wasn’t entirely alone.

But what did love mean in a place like this? Was it real, or just a mirage in the desert? Could I trust my own feelings when everything in this world was designed to break us, to manipulate us, to make us dependent on the smallest scrap of humanity left within us?

My hands trembled as I gripped the sink. Water dripped against the porcelain, each drop a reminder of reality trying to cut through the chaos of my thoughts. I leaned down, letting the cold water run over my fingers, as if it could wash away the memory of that night.

Despite having found what felt like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm, the bitter taste of guilt wouldn’t leave my mouth.

I took a deep breath, running a hand over my face, forcing myself to regain control. I couldn’t afford to lose it. Not here. Not now.

I straightened and left the bathroom, my steps unsteady with the weight of it all. A question had begun to take root in my mind: Had this been my husband’s strategy all along? Had Nick deceived me, luring me into submission, turning me into an obedient wife without force?

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the poisonous thought. Then I remembered the night before—how he had warned me to be more careful next time I helped a Martha escape, to make sure no one followed me.

My husband, likely an Eye, knew I was still involved in underground activities. And once again, he had covered for me. Not only that, but last night, he had held me in his arms as I trembled from fear.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Rita was there, her expression alight with something I didn’t understand. Before I could ask, she took my hands in hers with unexpected tenderness.

"Blessed be the fruit," she whispered, her voice unsteady.

The air thickened around me. Something ignited inside me—a fire I didn’t recognize at first, an ache I hadn’t realized was still lurking.

Affection.

That was Rita’s tone. The warmth with which my mother used to whisper comforting words when I was a child, the gentle way her hands would cradle mine.

My entire body tensed at once, not fully grasping what was happening. I stared at the woman before me, bewildered, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. But Rita only looked at me, her eyes shining, her grip tightening around my hands with a warmth I hadn’t expected. And in that moment, with that simple touch, the truth crashed down on me like a collapsing wall.

Blessed be.

The pieces clicked into place all at once.

The morning nausea. The constant exhaustion. The way my body had felt different, foreign, over the past few days.

A shudder ran through me as Rita’s words echoed in my mind, over and over again.

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

But the world spun violently around me, and flashes of my nights with Nick surged behind my closed eyes like forbidden memories. The way he looked at me when he thought I wouldn’t notice. The heat of his body beside mine in the dark, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with my own. His mouth on my skin, his hands exploring me with restrained urgency. And the way that, when it was over, he never pulled away. Instead, he held me against his chest, as if making sure I was still there.

I remembered his lips murmuring my name, breathless. The way my own voice had broken in response. And the realization that, despite the horror surrounding us, despite the fear and the uncertainty, I had come to crave those moments. A wave of dizziness crashed over me, and I had to steady myself against the table. Rita’s grip tightened.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

No. No, I wasn’t.

Because if all of this was true, if what Rita believed was real—

Terror clawed at my chest.

The door opened, and I heard familiar footsteps. I would recognize them anywhere.

My body reacted before my mind, turning toward him instinctively. The movement was too sudden, and my knees buckled beneath me. The world tilted, darkness swallowing everything.

I braced for the impact—the hard floor that would finally wake me from this nightmare—but instead, strong arms caught me.

His worried face was the last thing I saw. The crease between his brows, the lines of tension carving his features. A hand brushed loose strands of hair from my face.

His mouth moved, but his voice sounded so distant, as if it were coming from another room. My mind slipped away to a fleeting memory—to the way those lips had traced my skin with a devotion that should have been impossible in Gilead. That was what had led to this disaster.

I tried to speak, but no voice came, only desperation. Nick’s attention shifted to Rita, and I thought I heard him ask something about me. And then, Rita spoke the words that made everything real.

"She’s pregnant."

And the world went black.

[cowboylament]

Bonus content

While trying to work out the logistics of the penultimate chapter of what conversations were happening behind the scenes and how they affected the characters, I wrote them out. I figured they'd be fun to post once I finished in homage to SJM. these are more or less unedited. It includes:

Mor finding Lucien after the fight with Y/n

Erinyes visits Y/N and they discuss their bargain.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Ao3

It had always been empty. 

That thread in my chest, it was no different than what it had always been, but barren of what it had become. The keen wit, those enormous feelings building with steady current. I’d watched it happen. Her eyes, her ears, would snag on a scene or word and the curiosity that found itself in my chest would be nothing more than a hum. She wasn’t as rash as she liked to joke she was. Her emotions built. The single note would find a touch of complexity, another string, another note, until a web had formed. Her feelings informed by her thoughts even the hard emotions, even the anger, always came to harmony. It was not quite music, but I could feel when she’d worked something out, my ribs nearly vibrating.

The first time I’d seen it with my eyes in the house of wind I’d wanted desperately to slip into her mind as she could slip into mine. With that sharp gaze, her acute presence with the world, I wanted to listen to her logic as it conducted feelings in my chest. I’m sure, even when she was wrong in her deductions, there was more sense being made than not. She was too smart, too perceptive, for it to be otherwise. 

A hand, gently, used my shoulder as leverage to climb onto the barstool next to me. I wanted to be naive enough to think, even if only for a moment, it was Y/N. But I could not delude myself. I knew her too well, knew the feel of the air and the pull of all rooms when she was in them. If she’d arrived any idle part of me would drift her way, she had that sort of power. Even half-drunk, even half-slurred, the margins of my body smudging, I knew when she was there and when she was not. Tonight she was not. 

The hand belonged to Mor, I could smell her perfume. She said nothing. 

“Another?” Asked a waitress. 

I nodded. 

The waitress looked toward the female, “for you?”

“Same as him.”

“I thought you were meeting with Amren.”

“After two hours of watching you sulk, she decided to take her leave.”

The waitress slid over our drinks and I stared at the contents before taking a sip. I could open the bond now, could reach for her, but the nothing between us and her shielding would make it all the worse. I’d no intention of ever going back to what we’d been and somehow we’d landed that direction just the same. A wall between us where a deeper understanding might be. I remember when I understood everything, maybe I thought I’d understood everything, but only enough to win when I wanted to win.

“What is this Gawayn like?” 

Mor pursed her lips, thinking. I imagined him tough, tall, the usual blend of every other Illyrian with their often inflexible way about life. It was hard to imagine Y/N wanting anything to do with one. 

“He's funny, different.”

“Different how?” 

She stared at me a moment, “He’s protective of her but in a way that doesn’t involve Rhysand.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“He doesn’t do anything because she’s Rhysand’s sister, he does it because she’s his friend.”

I huffed a laugh, “So that's the standard?”

Mor looked with devastating awareness, “You forget yourself. You only took her on those walks and up to the garden because Rhysand told you to do so.”

He’s going to be my high lord. The immediacy of my embarrassment was alarming. The night we’d stopped shielding and the days after I knew I couldn’t let her be subject to my emotions. Their sudden and unwavering displays, how they crashed into me when she was near. I had to dampen it, somehow, I spent the days she was in bed trying to figure out how to put a buffer between us, to put a kink in the bond. 

“What happened tonight?”

“It's not worth rehashing,” I said. If I told her what she did I’d have to admit what I’d done. I’d have to reveal my hand, my cruelty, my part in it all. 

She tutted her tongue, “You both.”

“What’s your court’s deal?” I asked, half curious, half avoiding the lecture. “Why the betting, why the pretending her work is nothing?”

“From what I hear you’ve done the same thing.”

I could tell I had to be careful with my words. This was a delicate matter to Mor, one that might lose me an ally. 

“Our taunts are a game to us because we know when we’re lying. But I’ve never suggested it was nothing what she manages. I’ve seen her and I know the skill it takes.”

“You think we don’t?” Mor asked sharply. She didn’t like being confronted with the truth as much as I didn’t. 

“I think I’ve seen you tease and taunt her and I’ve felt her worry down our bond.”

Mor sighed, watching me and I could see that she knew I was right. In my time here Y/N was the one who got questioned the most, her word was trusted the least. Rhysand seemed to fluctuate in and out of being her leader and her brother, at times incapable of being both at the same time. I could feel her annoyance, her pain, that she was the exception to him.

“The way she is with you, this version of her is equally new to us. She has been this way for no one else. She keeps her cards very close to her and what she does reveal has always been carefully chosen to cost her the least. Since you got back it's been the opposite. She’s risked a lot for you.” 

“So why make the bets then? If she wasn’t inclined to tell you before then teasing her seems even less a way to get anything from her.”

“She’s the one who came up with the idea.”

I sat up straighter, and blinked a few times.

“Years ago, after she came back from the winter in the cabin. An excuse to keep us in the loop of her life and all the more reason to leave the males she chose. She had truly terrible taste most of the time, and making Rhys lose a bet always got them out of the way.”

“Why does it bother her then?”

Mor watched me, her head falling to the side like she was asking the same thing. I didn’t think she’d reveal her answer, but after another moment she said simply, “You’re the first male that mattered.”

The words struck my gut. Suddenly all that wine seemed to seep into my consciousness and the world began to blur and spin in a way I had not considered as I’d continued glass after glass. Everything, of course, reveals itself after a bad decision has been made. 

“And the Emissary business?” I asked, needing to leave everything I’d started, the road we’d taken, to break the surface and breathe some air.

Mor shrugged, “She didn’t want to be an Emissary. I think Rhysand holds that against her. Not maliciously, but…”

“How did she become one?”

“After their parents died he asked her to do it. He’s pretty good at finding a place for people, building on their strengths.”

“I’ll say.”

Mor laughed, “I guess he saw her with Egrette.”

After the words left her mouth Mor’s eyes widened, just barely, and she turned toward me to see if I’d heard, waiting for me to ask who this Egrette was.

“I know about Egrette.”

“She told you?”

“Not willingly. I found her outside, she told me she worked there. I started taking the night classes but Egrette already seemed to guess who I was.”

“Why take the classes?”

I shrugged, “I wanted to know about her life, much like the rest of you.”

Mor’s whole body softened, and she looked past me for a while. Long enough that I thought she was about to leave or that the conversation was truly over, she’d finished her glass and I was nearly done with mine. It seemed there was nothing left to say, but then she spoke again.

“How good is she?”

“Better than me.”

Mor hummed, “She’s said the same of you.”

The female stood and I knew she was going, the female turning and stopping at my side. 

“Are you staying in Velaris?”

That all my actions had even made that a question was shameful. I’d left her in that foyer alone. Even after what we’d said there was a history between us that didn’t warrant such dismissal. We’d never left anything unresolved, even if before that meant finding a winner and a loser, if it meant risking losing. Tonight we’d both lost. 

“I wouldn’t leave, not even after what was said.”

“What was said,” Mor asked one more time.

I stared ahead, the place fuller than before, like the deepening of the night only crowding the place more. “Burden was used.”

Mor didn’t flinch, standing before me.

“C’mon,” she said 

“Why?”

“You need to sleep. In the morning, you and I are gonna make a plan.”

“Why?”

“Because you need my help.”

“No, why do you want to help.”

Mor smiled a little, mischievous even and the normalcy of it made my insides recoil. After all this, after all that was said, did we deserve to have such a thing? Someone in our corner, someone like Mor to help me get what I wanted. 

“I like how she’s changed since you got here.”

A small part of me, very deep, too deep to really hold onto but felt nonetheless, smiled. I paid our tabs as a thank you, and we walked home. I tried to tell her a few things, tried to fall into something of a rapport with her, despite it feeling unnatural. Back home to share such details with someone was a risk too great to bear. There was nothing between anyone, fragile alliances, momentarily aligning causes were to serve your purpose in the end, not each other. Eris only helped me with Y/N I didn’t doubt to have one less brother vying for High Lord. 

By the time we’d gotten to her apartment, I’d awkwardly revealed some of our disagreements, desperate really, for someone to confirm to me what was meant. As if I myself was not already secretly aware of her in part. Those minor grievances, I knew what she wanted from me, but I couldn’t give it, and therefore couldn’t accept her reasoning. 

Mor laughed eventually, as she unlocked the door and it was a sound I’d become grateful for hearing. I didn’t want pity, pity seemed to suggest something I couldn’t consider, like we were too far gone from ourselves that we couldn’t go back. It seemed to me they felt sorry because we’d ruined something and I didn’t want it to be ruined. 

“Are you always following in her footsteps? I thought you Autumn males were a bit more brave. She’s terrified and yet she’s still taking the lead.”

I scowled, the words so close to her suggestion, “I tried tonight.”

“Did you?”

It felt like it. To me it had felt like I’d tried, tried to touch her, to know her, to reveal to her something of my thoughts and she seemed to misunderstand. I know you, I wanted to say, and I can love you for it.

The door opened to her apartment and it was warm, inviting. The place was smaller than I anticipated. Being part of the court I expected something extravagant, lived in but grand. This was all rather small and homely. 

“She asked after if I were to be her burden.”

Mor let out a low whistle and shut the door. I fell into the one chair as she walked toward a closet. She pulled sheets and pillows like I was nothing more than a long-time friend who’d drank too much. I closed my eyes and listened to it, that sound of care. An ache began to eat away at me one foot in memory and another in the present. Where, lying on the table, she’d been hurt beyond need. The wound sewn shut, the color just barely returning to her lips. She’d stepped between us somehow, saved me from Rhys. My mate, I could hear her care and I wanted to return it to her if only with noise. To lift her off the table and carry her quietly upstairs to her room, to clean her hair of the blood, listen to the water fill the tub, and drip from the cloth. Those idle sounds, the kind you get only at home. The kind where someone is waiting for you at night. Then she said Cassian and I knew that I was not that thing for her, the place where such sounds could be found or even wanted.

And again, in the foyer. She’d looked so sad, so hurt. I’d said the one thing I knew I shouldn’t have said. I watched the devastation for only a second before I managed to turn away. Had I been brave I might have crossed the small space and asked exactly what she meant, taken her in my hands, and had her look at me so we could say precisely what we’d been trying to say. Her heart had been beating furiously. 

A draft off the window beside me blew the scent of Velaris and all its promises, people chatting, people laughing, signs of love. My mind returned here to this room. 

“Her words are her only weapon,” said Mor.

“I know that.”

She glared at me, continuing her sentence I had not even realized I'd interrupted. “They are also a shield. Do not kid yourself into believing that you understand her private definitions. Whatever she said to you, whatever you think she meant, she is concealing something she is terrified to reveal.”

“I don’t scare her.”

Mor pitied me again. I could feel it. She threw a sheet over the couch and I stared wordlessly out the window. It had begun to rain. The secret kind, the one that comes in the night and dries before anyone has any chance to know it has arrived. I’d not yet slept and already I felt sick. When Mor finally offered the couch I collapsed into it. 

“You should understand something Lucien,” Mor said as I curled up on the cramped uncomfortable slab. I hid my face in the fabric and blankets. Her words holding a very careful sympathy, “You scare her most of all.”

***

There was a woman by my bed. 

I don’t know how I knew this. 

Looking at the space it revealed this fact to me but I couldn’t say how, not outwardly, not obviously, but there she was and wasn’t. She was very beautiful, like something of a dream. Her hair spilled more than it fell, in long swerving sheaths. She bent forward in a nurturing manner toward me, sleeping, but I could tell this was not totally natural for her. So I knew who she was.

“I thought there were three of you.”

She didn’t look my way, she knew I was there, watching, “My sisters are away.”

“They made you out to be much more unpleasant.”

She smiled then, “We appear that way to the guilty. You are not guilty.” She said standing. “Not yet anyway.”

I tensed and finally, she met my gaze. Anxiety was a better-known battle, something she could look in the eye. The fae were renowned for their beauty but she was beyond that of the immortal creatures, those not quite fae, even Amren. Striking wasn’t the word, there was something soft about her, like a perfectly round stone eroded by a river. So in touch with the world and beyond it just the same.

“You are Tisiphone.” 

She bowed her head much the way Lucien did—such grace. 

That night in the woods and after in the house…I felt power return to me that had been taken. That caress of the hand. Lucien too had seemed to sense it. She’d touched us both. I stood up straighter. She was in my room watching me sleep and I was watching myself sleep. It might only mean one thing.

“Have you come to claim me at last?”

“That is not my way.”

“What is your way?” 

“My sisters and I claim oath breakers. You are not one.”

I folded my arms in front of me clasping at my fingers though all signs of respect for forgotten Gods were foreign to me. Our worlds are different, the scales of meaning and feeling different. 

“It is you who I made the bargain with.”

“Yes.”

“How?” 

She stared down at her own hands and for the first time, I saw a fern stem pinched between her fingers. She spun it idly but it didn’t seem she was trying to find her words. What is it like, the mind of a God? That duty that she must fulfill, the rules of its power, it was lost to me. I couldn’t even find an imagination to conjure what it might be like to serve the world in such a way, under such confining terms. 

“Once blood was shed, once it fell into the earth my sisters and I arrived.” 

“And why are you here now?”

She looked up from the green stem and smiled that same smile. I wouldn’t say it was friendly but it also wasn’t insincere, “You’ve been looking for me, have you not?” 

I wrung my hands, grasping at the fingers. Before me the answers, so many answers, and were they ever fair? Could life deliver its small miracles and then return to its cruelty just the same? I had to know before I made the food, but suddenly asking seemed the hardest thing in the world. I missed Lucien. If he were here, if he were asleep beside me one glance and there would be words, something steady, something sure. But he was in a townhouse not so far away and he didn’t know this place at all. 

The female cocked her head. “You are afraid,” she said. 

“I don’t know what it means, to make a bargain with a God. I don’t know if I’m able to keep it and I prefer you this way I admit.”

She watched with a tenderness about her, “I did not have to take your bargain you know. I confess it made little difference to me if you lived or died.” Her eyes swept over me. Whatever she had once thought she no longer did, her consideration of my standing there seemed weighed with a consideration that she herself had admitted to having. I had trouble, however, believing such indifference remained. Not at least, in such overwhelming amounts.

“My duty is to avenge and your blood was innocent. I was there to do so, but the lines were not so clear. We followed in the hopes of clarity but we found you, your mate approaching, searching for you. We are not precisely death, but we can act as its bringers. We were going to take you gently, but then you began to think about the next world.”

And Eris. I’d been thinking about a better life in what came next, I’d wanted it to be good and kind the way we’d been kind in the end. A knife pressed into the palm, the belief that even injured I could make it. How he’d fought for me to get out. 

“Plenty of people like to think they’ll be better in their next life.”

She shook her head, “It is the life they had they often wish better of and it is rare that one might wish to reconcile with the men who harmed them.”

“They didn’t harm me,” I said quickly.

She raised a brow, “I have no claim over them. You do not need to worry.”

I swallowed, “So that saved me?” 

Her face took some faraway look, like what Lucien had when something dear seemed so out of reach, even in memory, even surrounded by it. Her mouth parting, eyes unseeing, “You entered into a bargain to which you named no party, any God could take you up on it.”

“You and your sisters did.”

“Just me.” 

“Why?”

This seemed to be the question she couldn’t answer. Whatever forces were at work, internal or from that world seemed to be anchoring those words in her stomach. They would not come out, not when I asked. 

“I returned your power to you. Enough to fulfill my end of the bargain.” She said returning to this moment, her eyes meeting mind. “I’m sure it is not lost on you that you are alive when all you’d asked for was to get your mate to safety. I was prepared to take you even still, as you lay there bleeding. But we have more leeway in such deals. I watched you closely, watched you with him. I wanted to…see something.” 

“See what?” 

She angled her head at me, “If you meant it. I hesitated, curious and skeptical as you are, to see if it was not some near-death regret. When you stepped between your brother, I began to see, but it was not until you were alone that I understood. So I didn’t take you, I left thereafter.”

“So the feeling…in my hand.” 

She smiled, raising a hand toward me, “I believe your people shake hands.”

“And Luciens too?”

“He was involved no?” 

“But the bargain was between us.”

She hummed as if understanding some difference between us now. Something illuminated by my confusion. She turned away in thought, finding words for some discrepancy of godliness. My sleeping figure on the bed unmoving, if I hadn’t asked I’d have thought she had come to take me, that she already had come for me. A haunting stillness, she broke it by placing the fern in her hands across my chest. My hands on instinct, moved to reach for it. 

“Bargains are a precarious thing. But it is not so simple, and fate has many strings. We Gods are not concerned with the markings of the body, our deals happen in the threads, on the soul. If you betray the oath on your shared thread I will come, and I won’t be so hesitant.”

“My oath?”

“The oath you made to get him to safety. You are bound to protect him, to lay no hands on him, cause no fatal wounds.”

“I had no plans to.”

She turned, more serious, “Your life has changed dramatically in so short a span, even for a mortal. You cannot know what you will want in the centuries ahead. Good people make bad bargains.”

I took a breath as she had, the words a smattering in my head, coming to a careful calm, and organized hum, “You waited to be sure I was good on my word. I suspect I’m alive because for whatever reason you believe I can manage it. If death is always the inevitable end, if you do not appear here in your other form, I must conclude you think I can manage.”

Her eyes narrowed in a kind of happiness, mischievous too, whatever she’d suspected I’d proven right in my answer.

“We put our faith in you as often as you put our faith in us.”

“So not often.”

The female smiled softly, “No. I will say only that night held mutual rarity between us. And…” whatever it was she wanted to say she stopped herself. Her eyes again did a sweep over the room, turning her neck, seeing it as if for the first time in its entirety. She settled on the scarf on my bed, in the spot Lucien would have if we mated.

“He made that for me,” I said. “I was looking for you because I wanted to mate him but I needed to be sure my deal would cause him no pain.”

“I cannot promise that,” she said regretfully and my shoulders slumped, an ache carving its place in my chest. Her words suddenly freed, she said what I knew she’d been unsure of saying, “You’ve learned a great deal in so short a time. I do believe I will never have to make good on my word. It's the only reason I ever make bargains.”

The words added a heaviness to the room.

“Have you been watching us?”

“A little,” she confessed. “But this is the last we will see of each other.” 

“Why?”

“For plenty of reasons, most of which I cannot say, but at least because there is something important you should know, something the fae seem not to realize.”

I was silent, waiting and she turned her whole body toward mine. Whatever she was to say would be the most important thing of all.

“To mate in this life, it binds you to each other for the rest of them. Whoever it is you become, a thread of fate will forever link you to one another. Our deal is on a thread between you both, the thread that he has yet to formally accept.”

“And if he accepts it?”

“Your souls will become a union, he will inherit the same oath. You will serve, in part, as each other’s protector for every life to come. You will forever be his keeper as he is yours.”

Our breathing was a singular sound and movement. Her spilling hair moved across her chest rising with each breath as I lingered on the words she’d shared. Yes, I wished Lucien was here. I wanted to tell him everything, had to tell him everything, but it was still not the time. But I was no longer afraid. He would choose. I liked it, that it was his choice. I wanted to be sure, as she was sure, that he was up for what I’d begun. So I met her eye and I nodded. 

She nodded back. I knew then, our time was up. She moved like water through the room and as she passed me a cold fell off of her familiar and understood to me but I could not point out where or how. She walked toward the door and when she reached the threshold I felt her going.

“Thank you,” I said suddenly knowing I’d have no chance to say it again. She would not be listening. She turned back and I clarified, “For hesitating, I do not take this time with my mate lightly.”

“It is your doing, do not think too highly of me. I am still a bringer of death.”

“And life.” 

The female seemed to withdraw. I didn’t back down. I suspected this was not what she was known for, perhaps she didn’t like it or perhaps she did and it hurt regardless. She took one step out of the room and in a blink she was gone. It was only an instant between my waking and the moment she’d left, but there was light in the room of morning. I sat up, turned as if I’d find her again, find my other self at the end of my bed, but there was no one there. I felt it though, in my hands. Dropping my chin, pinching the stem between my fingers, I twirled the fern and its life in my hand.

[suitsusboth]

Hi! I saw on your twitter that you have another idea for season 2 au (post gazebo). What is it about? 👀

hello! yes, i do. i’m trying to get it order bc i just know how s2 pissed me off s3 is probably also going to piss me off and i’ll want to write something. from my annoyance with s2 love came back to me was born, but that was a fix-it before the dreaded wedding. i think it’s be fun to see how things play out after ep six but without kate falling off the horse and that’s why the sharmas “forgive” her.

i wanted to start in a place of true conflict for kate— she has undeniable feelings for this man, and him for her, but it just feels like it could never be. never should be if she wants to heal her relationship with mary and edwina. but then she realised, after the mist of the gazebo scene falls away, she was forgotten about. and it’s sort of a breaking point for her.

i want it to be a deep dive on the sharma family and their dynamics/history and why they are the way they are. it’s not my intention to villainise mary/edwina at all, but i want to explore the unhealthy dynamic they have going and then find a way to come out on the other side of it. i also want kate to realise she can have good things, want her own dreams, let herself love and be loved. that sometimes she does need to put herself first.

and some good old Anthony apologising. because that’s what kate should have gotten 🙃

my intention is to make it a two part series, so the conflict and healing between the three woman would take some months (aka, end of s2 and then carry into what would be s3. i highly doubt i am going to follow much of what the show does in s3 and it would be a kanthony focused perspective, obviously). i just feel like that’s realistic? healing and forgiving can take time.

i won’t lie i was inspired by the recent ts album release and the stages of grief for the first intended part: denial, bargaining, anger, depression and acceptance. i just think they fit very well with the concept i’m imagining.

i don’t know if it would be everyone’s cup of tea, especially as we’re moving into Kanthony happy era. but it’s been in the back of my mind for a while so maybe i will write it 🤷🏼‍♀️

[unlikelysaintdelele]

some interesting things i've noted during my ACOTAR reread Pt. 2

*SPOILER WARNING for those who haven’t completed the series*

I finished ACOTAR a few weeks ago but I haven't gotten the chance to transfer my notes until now. Once again, names have been color-coded!

Feyre couldn’t keep her mouth shut only around Rhys. It’s almost like her true self comes out around him.

Anytime Feyre calls on some strength, the image of Nesta comes to mind. She sees Nesta as strong and admires her for that.

A queen without a throne

Are tattooed bargains a night court specialty? I was listening through the graphic audio, as a reminder, so some things slip through.

Pearls in Nesta’s hair. It makes me think of the pearl jewelry Elain later receives from Lucien. I think pearl is meant to represent luxury, and it seems to complement their features.

Elain is the only one with their father’s eyes and I always found it interesting. How similar is Elain to her father? Her father favored her, but I think that’s only because Nesta was cold and Feyre was busy.

Warrior beast vs half-wild beast, Tamlin and Feyre bonding for being unrefined (Disney Beauty and the Beast reference?)

“Don’t ever disobey me again” is honestly not the vibe, Tictac.

I don’t like knowing Tamlin’s anger is on a tight leash with Feyre. He’s angry at her. It feels overprotective in such a suffocating way.

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” SOB

The most beautiful man she’s ever seen

Blue eyes so deep they were violet

They just stared at each other! As if in a daze! 

Night pressed in closer around him, smiling

Molded from the night itself, star-kissed night

I have a random “until dawn” note… idk

Cauldron boil me (double, double, toil and trouble… sorry, random silly thought)

Elain began learning to grow veggies! Reminder, the soil at the cottage was crap, it couldn't sustain the veggies. Elain could barely grow flowers. People keep forgetting that Feyre was their only access to nourishment because there was no other choice. Sweet Elain gets so much hate for not using her gardening skills to help, but it was set up so that she couldn't.

Nesta’s iron-will allowed her to resist glamour! I want more on Nesta’s strength. This is one of many reasons why I’ve been a Nesta stan since day one. I know she was cruel but we’re told why in book one. She wanted her father to do something, anything: be a father and care for them. I’m not saying it was any excuse to be cruel, but they were in a shitty situation and she showed her love for her family in other ways. Being willing to lay down her life for Elain? Going after Feyre even knowing it was risky? Asking to be taught to paint? She loves her sisters, she just shows it differently.

Heart of Stone was mentioned for a second time! hehe

Wyyyyyyyyrrrrmmmmmm. I’m a fan of giant worms (Dune, Star Wars). Fun fact about me: I went through a short phase where I just kept writing about worms.

Feyre deems Elain as stronger for being hopeful. She sees so much strength in her sisters and admires them for their differences.

Love Nesta! More Nesta love. She wondered what a woman might do with a fortune and a name. She wanted to travel! She wanted that independence! Pre-war Nesta hurts to experience. She’s opening up now that she’s safe socioeconomically and physically. It makes me wonder what else would have begun to heal if she got more of that peace and security.

Rhys: because I’m tired and lonely. The things he does and willingly puts himself through to protect his court and anyone else he can spare. Love his complexity.

(apparently there's a character limit for each block of text so here's a lil divider)

Honestly? I was vibing with the Tamlin romance, it was chill. The bite was nice. UNTIL Rhys appeared. Timtam just seems so stale in comparison. The chemistry is immediate between Rhys and Feyre, the tension is palpable. I’m still not over how Feyre chose Tampon over Lucien. why would I pick someone so clumsy with affection and who isn’t around nearly as much as the sassy redhead who bickers with me like an old friend? Rhys > Lucien > Tamlin is the order at the moment, and the order will stay until I have to consider the other boys (wait for me batboys).

Tamlin’s dad was Amarantha’s friend! They fought together in the war. Rhys’ father killed Tamlin’s, so Amarantha took Rhys in as a lover as punishment. Amarantha is so greedy honestly, and it's so gross. She wants Tamlin and Rhys but the only reason Tamlin hasn’t been forced like Rhys is that she wants to be chosen, she wants him to come to her willingly

Even in their last moments together, Rhys and Feyre are honest with each other. Honest in a way I've never seen her with Tamlin.

Very excited to begin ACOMAF, my fave book of the series.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello, hello! I was wondering if you could help with recommending fics that include dancing! I have read a few fics already and I love them, but I couldn’t seem to find anymore. The ones I read involves Aziraphale and Crowley not ‘dancing’ per se, but more so swaying together in a really fluffy way. If you could find more like that, I would be so grateful!

Thank you for reading, and have an amazing day/evening/night!

Hi hi! We have a #dancing tag that you will want to check out. Here are some more slow dancing fics...

Dance With Me Angel by Justanothernerdsstuff (G)

“Dance? Really Crowley? We are in the middle of the street,” Aziraphale flustered, wanting to say yes, but shocked that Crowley even asked.

“And there is music playing,” He gestured to the violinist, playing a slow song. “We should give them someone to play for,” He stopped, and Aziraphale did the same. Crowley bowed again, more dramatically this time. “So would you please, dance with me angel?” *** After dining at The Ritz, Crowley asks Aziraphale to dance.

Moon-Landing by TeaCub90 (G)

... Staring upwards as if the satellite above their heads has poisoned him somehow; as if Aziraphale took a small slice of it for himself once upon a time, a small rock smuggled away in his pocket, and found it weighing him down like heavy lead.   A picnic, and a chat about the moon.

Everytime We Touch by tickety_boo_22 (G)

After being free from Heaven and Hell, Crowley gets tired of Aziraphale looking over his shoulders for danger, and tries to walk away. After being faced with Crowley's feelings about their relationship, Aziraphale becomes determined to set things right. Luckily, both entities get asked to be part of Anathema and Newt's wedding.

i'll never be lonely by john1513 (M)

Aziraphale summons a demon to his bookshop to demand (*politely ask) a little favor of him. Was it a great idea to summon a literal demon from hell to be your friend for a bit? Maybe not. But Aziraphale has been a bit lonely lately, and he's tried everything, really. Turns out the demon he calls is less Demon and more Grumpy, Cuddly Man, but, hey. He's not complaining.

Aziraphale sells his soul in exchange for friendship, and gets more than he bargained for.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy by prongsredconvers (G)

“I’m not angry, Aziraphale” Crowley interrupted him, his tone somewhere between a sigh and a mumble “I was never angry at you. I just don’t want to have dinner with you” “But if you are not angry, then why?” Crowley slowly rocked on his feet. “Because I’m tired, angel” Aziraphale stared at him. There wasn’t irritation in his voice. Nor anger. It sounded void, emotionless. Maybe a little resigned. “Tired of what?” “Of everything” the demon replied

Or: After a fight, Aziraphale understands how much he's really hurt Crowley and tries hard to fix it. Also, Crowley finally takes care of himself.

Heart Shaped Bruises by ivoryline (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale have been hanging around the same pub since the eighties. At some point, they seem to have fallen in love.

Every Thursday at around 6 p.m., give or take a quarter hour, Crowley finds himself at a little shithole pub called Garden’s Gate. Aziraphale is also there around that time, but that’s not why Crowley goes. He couldn’t care less what Aziraphale does. No, he goes there because he’s been parking his arse in the same spot since the eighties and he thinks he might have a coronary if his boots were to ever grace another establishment’s disgusting carpet. The barkeep knows him, and probably hates him, which suits Crowley perfectly.

- Mod D

[bearlytolerant]

This is a little fic as a thank you to @fangbangerghoul for drawing one of my fave ocs. I do hope you enjoy this final version. ☺️

Fandom: Starfield

Rating: E

Pairing: Delgado x Reader

Word Count: 3825

AO3 Link

“Ah, the dread pirate Captain Delgado of the Crimson Fleet,” you say in your distorted voice. You bow with a flourish. “I never would have thought you’d leave your throne on the Key and grace me with your presence.”

“Cut the theatrics,” Delgado spits. “You are outnumbered.”

You take one step back and lower your hands to your side, knives still gripped tight, giving a slight nod. “I only wish to negotiate.”

“Negotiate?” An understanding passes between the two of you. Delgado lowers his gun. “What is there to negotiate?”

Holding up two of your gloved fingers you gesture to him after sheathing your knives. “Leave the others and come with me. Surely, there is a favorable bargain we can strike?”

“There is no bargain!” Mathis Castillo sidles up alongside Delgado as if he has any say at all in the matter.

“Shut up so I can think!” Delgado gives him a shove back which earns a nasty little glare from the bearded rook.

“There’s nothing to think about,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes that he can’t see. “It’s a simple bargain.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing is simple with you.”

“I promise it will be quick and I know we can work something out that leaves us both walking away with what we want.”

You watch as Mathis whispers something into Delgado’s ear. Delgado scowls.

“Fine. But if you try anything—”

“Yes, yes you’ll blow my head off, etc.” You gesture for him to follow you with the curl of your finger. “I’ll keep this civil. I promise.”

He takes a step forward and you turn, heading toward the outpost.

Delgado treks after you, the eyes of his merry crew now at your back and you half wonder if they’ll go against his wishes and shoot you dead. After all, they’ve killed for less. But you make it to the door unscathed and smash the hatch button. Together you step inside. Hitting the next one on the wall inside, the door starts to close behind you. But before it gives one last hiss to lock in place, Delgado tugs on your suit, hooking his fingers under your helmet.

You assist. Yanking yourself free of the helm, it hangs loosely on your fingertips as Delgado’s lips trail along your chin. Nibble at your neck. There’s still a small mark left from the last time you saw him.

“I don’t know why we have to make this so dramatic,” you say.

His kisses still and he withdraws. “If you’re going to complain, I can simply turn right back around and leave.”

“I’m sure your empty threats work well on your crew but they won’t work on me.”

“Dios mío.” He shakes his head in exasperation as you smirk but he grabs your helmet out of your hand and shoves it back onto your head. He turns tail and hits the hatch button. Inner door shuts and outer door opens.

“Wait,” you call. But he ignores you, taking a step into the open air.

“Load up the cargo!” He barks at his crew. “It’s a no deal!”

Anger wells within you. Does he really think he can just walk away? But as you follow after him and reach for Delgado’s hand, there’s an explosion and chaos ensues. Screaming and gunfire. Almost black smoke unfurls like a hand delivering a smite in the dusty sky. He glances back at you and you nod your head. Though, a part of you wants the other pirates to steer their own fate while you remain uninvolved.

Heading further out of the hatch together, you get a better view of what’s going on. Spacers, usually highly unorganized, spill from all corners. They must have set an ambush. Each of Del’s crew is aiming at a spacer but the fleet only has half their numbers.

“We could flank them,” he says turning back to you.

“I’ll take left.”

He gives a curt nod and you split, going in opposite directions. You flip the switch that makes your suit reflective and more difficult to see. You scan the area, searching for a spot to climb up the outpost for a better look. There's a boulder not too far away that if you sprint over to, and use your boost just a bit, you should be able to reach the top. It will be high enough ground.

You take off running. There’s another explosion behind you. But you don’t look. Your eyes stay focused straight ahead. Too focused. Halfway to the boulder, pain shoots up your right leg and you glance down to see the tear in your pants and the blood pooling and dripping in rivulets that splash to the ground. You stumble and the spacer strikes again. This time you grab their wrist, keeping their blade away from your throat. But they deliver a well placed kick to the knee. There’s a loud crack. A bloodcurdling scream. Yours? Like fire and ice in your veins, the pain oscillates between an unbearable burn and a tingling numbness. Your head swims. Clenching your teeth, you touch your forehead, attempting to hang on to reality.

“My, my, if it isn’t The Mantis! And everybody loves to talk you up! You’re no superhero and when I’m done with you, everyone will see the ordinary human you are,” the spacer taunts.

They topple you, taking the advantage. Your head hits the dirt with a blow to the face.

Everything fades to black.

—

Your body jostles. Swims. Like static, your eyes open to gray and flecks of white. Something is buzzing in your ear. You try to lift your hand to swat it away. The thing moves and speaks to you. No, not a thing. But someone? You throw all of your energy (which is minuscule) into seeing and listening. Slowly but surely, your vision clears and you can make out Delgado’s form. His lips are moving but you can’t quite understand what he’s saying.

“Huh?” You manage to rasp between dry, cracked lips.

“It’s about goddam time.” His voice is clear as day now.

Your vision adjusts to your surroundings. You blink, capturing details. Scattered trees with canopy branches along a patchy grass landscape and copious amounts of rocks, you see the small, simple outpost situated between the circle of dirt you’re laying in. Everything comes back to you. A contraband interference gone awry when spacers ambushed. There’s still a little smoke in the air and you realize now that the dirt is littered with spacer bodies. So, Delgado’s fleet survived.

You palm the ground beneath you. Curling your fingers, you try to move but you wince in pain as your head starts to throb.

“Take it slowly,” Delgado coaxes and he offers his hand. “Let me assist.”

Still a bit dazed, you take his hand and he helps you to your feet. You wobble and he stabilizes you. But pain sends a shock through you. Nearly crumbling, you let out a small broken sound. Delgado wraps one arm around your waist while throwing one of yours up and around so your hand dangles over his other shoulder bearing most of your weight for you.

“I can do this myself, you know.”

“Have you seen the condition you're in?”

“Not exactly but I’m sure—”

Delgado removes your arm and takes a singular step away. You crumple to the ground. More pain rips through you like a wildfire. Air whistles between your teeth as you suck in a breath.

“You’re an asshole!”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Well, let me see it. Show me how you can walk all by yourself.”

You glare up at him, the tingling fire spreading throughout your body again as you try to stand. “Not even going to lend me a hand?” You ask in a muttered breath.

“No. Unlike you, I actually listen. You said you can walk on your own. So, cut the crap and get up. Let me see you walk.”

Gritting your teeth together, you try to get on your hands and knees. But your one right knee reminds you that you’re in no shape to kneel or stand. Something is broken. You roll and flop onto your back, barely holding back tears. Delgado’s brow flies up as he stands over you, throwing you a patronizing look.

You struggle with the pain in your leg as you lie there staring into the sky. It sizzles through your veins like an internal burn. “Fuck,” you mutter, unable to admit Delgado is right.

He scoops you up in his arms, no longer willing to argue with you.

“Do not worry. I won’t tell a soul that The Mantis needed to be carried.”

“Did I mention that you are an asshole?”

Your body jostles as he shuffles back over to the lab outpost hatch.

“Come now. That is harsh. Would an asshole carry you? You should be thanking me. Not throwing insults.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s at the hatch now, smacking the button with his gloved hand and you both wait in silence while the door hisses open. He hits the next button. The outer door closes and he steps into the first room of the abandoned science outpost. It’s all sterilized white walls, occasionally decorated with hazard posters and whiteboards with notes scrawled across them. Some formulas, but mostly notes the scientists left for each other. A vote for movie night draws your eye and you briefly read through the titles. You silently cast your own vote as Delgado continues waltzing through the room. You spot a med kit hanging on the wall beside the door leading into the next room. He rests you against the wall underneath the kit.

Pulling up your pant leg, you check the condition you’re in. You’ve been through worse. But your knee is swollen with a bruise at the center like a fresh picked bouquet of violets.

Delgado sits back on his haunches and administers a trauma pack. The pain ebbs away as you rest your head on the cool wall. Then he rips open the package of an immobilizer with his teeth. He immediately tends to your wounds.

“I can get that.”

“Listen to me. I don’t like repeating myself. You are injured. Badly. I am going to take care of you and you are going to shut up about being able to do it yourself.”

You sigh as you lean your head back, too weary to fight him on the issue. Instead, you interrogate him while he fusses over your injuries.

“What happened to the contraband?”

“What do you think happened?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m guessing your precious Fleet got their hands on it but I wasn’t sure. It could’ve been blown up.”

“It was.”

“Oh.”

“So I sent the Fleet away. Shinya patched in new coordinates for a party cruiser to crash.”

“That seems pretty low for the Fleet,” you say, wincing slightly as he wraps your knee in bandages.

“The cruiser is full of a bunch of corpo fucks with backgrounds that would have you showing up at their doorstep anyway. Unsavory types.”

“More unsavory than Fleet?”

“Yes. I would be happy to send you all the information Shinya has on them if it will ease your conscience.” He finishes with the bandaging and pulls your pant leg down.

“I believe you. Or will try to.”

He tries to stand and you grasp his wrist.

“Why did you stay behind?”

“Why do you think?” His eyes meet yours, the wrinkles around the edges softening.

“Thank you,” you whisper and swallow. “For staying behind for me.”

He graces you with a gentle smile, placing a hand over yours. There’s a light squeeze.

—

Back on your ship, that Delgado had carried you to against your protestations, he makes the only real substantial meal you have. A soba noodle pack. While he’s distracted, you remove your suit. You plop down in a chair at the table and wait. It’s not a long wait. He sets down two servings. One for him and one for you. He also places a juice drink pack near your bowl before sliding into the seat across from you. He hands you a spoon. You take it and he stirs his soup. Cringing, you prepare for the lecture you’re sure he has prepared. Something along the lines of needing to keep more than just protein packs and oatmeal in your food stores. Probably tack on how you need substantial meals if you’re going to be out kicking ass into all hours of the day and night.

“How was your time in Paradiso,” he asks, much to your surprise, before slurping his own noodles.

It takes you a minute to process but you blink the surprise away. “Not relaxing. I ended up doing some corporate espionage. For a tea recipe.”

His nose crinkles with a disgusted face. “Why would you subject yourself to that kind of torture?”

“Call it a moment of temporary insanity,” you shrug and sip some of the broth from the bowl.

“A moment?” He laughs. Then shakes his head.

“You’re one to mock me when you’re dining with The Mantis inside of the Razorleaf.”

“I suppose I too am having a moment of temporary locura.”

You chuckle with him and the two of you finish off your noodles in a contented silence. He collects the dishes and takes them to the sink, washing them. You slide out of your chair and slink up behind him, curling your hands around his hips.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his ear. “I owe you twice now.”

Slowly, with suds still on his fingers, he twists to face you. Cupping his face in your hands, you gaze into the warmth of his sun touched eyes. His hands snake around your hips, surely leaving wet prints, and grasps your ass, tugging you near. Your thumbs graze along his stubbled jawline as you inch your lips a singular breath away from his. Closing the tiny gap, he nibbles on your lower lip before he slants slightly, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He consumes you with a devouring kiss.

He’s less restrained than you, hands exploring every part of your body that he can manage to reach. Your clothes, is now the towel that sops up all the suds and water from the fingertips. Spinning you to swap places, he pins you against the counter and you melt in his hands. His fingers find their way under your shirt and he glides them up, rolling the tee up as his hands follow. Lifting your hands above your head, he slides the shirt off your arms and tosses it aside. He works at your pants next, hooking his fingers in the elastic. He stretches and shuffles them down to your ankles and you kick them off.

Hands around your waist again, he lifts you just enough to set you on the counter and peel your panties down your thighs, all the way pat your ankles. He shoots them across the ship and turns back to you with a self satisfied smirk.

“You’re gonna have to go fetch those when you’re done with me,” you scold.

He raises a brow but lowers it as he digs the pads of his fingers into the top of your thighs. “I don’t think so. Besides, I will be the one giving orders,” he spreads your thighs apart, “around here.”

With a sharp intake of breath he eyes you and then takes one step to stand between your legs. Unhooking your bra with nimble fingers, he slides the straps down your arms and then tosses it somewhere behind him before cupping each of your breasts in his hands, squeezing.

“Dios mío. You are incredible,” he breathes. He continues to fondle your breasts and then pinches and rolls your nipples between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“Why thank you, papi.”

He laughs before bending and drawing a nipple into his mouth. You let out a soft sigh as the warmth and tenderness of his tongue against your skin soothes away lingering pain, replacing it with an inner ache of desire. As if reading your mind, one of his hands travels down your middle, coming to rest at your cunt. He cups you, swirling his thumb around your clit as his mouth moves to the other breast.

“Already so wet for me.” Continuing to tease you, he slips a finger inside of you, curling just slightly and you clench around it while he continues to increase yowant with the steady circling of his thumb. “How long have you been wanting me to touch you, mi princesa codiciosa?”

With parted lips, you meet his intent gaze as he guides another finger inside you. A shattered sigh slips loose. You answer, “the moment I saw you.”

He rewards you with another pump of his fingers, this time going deeper. Muscles contracting to keep him right where he is, he thumbs your clit more.

“I am unsurprised. So helpless and needy for my touch.” There’s a cluck of his tongue. “Finally, something you can’t do for yourself.”

“I can,” you retort. You try to sound more firm and condescending but it comes out more breathless.

His brow shoots up. “Oh?”

“I just don’t want to,” you whine.

He shares a small, self satisfied smirk. He continues to fuck you with his fingers, the pressure for release building slow but bright and blooming. You try to scoot and take more of him in. As soon as you try to grind he withdraws, leaving you wanting.

“Why is that?” He coaxes an answer from you, grasping your chin to meet his gaze while he thumbs the line of your jaw with your own slick.

“Because sometimes it’s nice to be taken care of,” you admit.

“You don’t like doing everything for yourself? Maybe I should make you.”

You shake your head no in his grip. “Please, Del. Help me feel good.”

He releases your chin and trails that hand down your body, thumb resting on your clit again. With his other hand, he frees his cock from his waistband. He strokes down his hard shaft and swipes his tip along your slick folds. Once, twice and then a third time, taunting you.

“Delgado, please.” He smirks with your plea and with his nails digging into the side of your thigh, he thrusts deep into you with a groan.

With a sharp intake of breath, your hands reach out to grasp anything. His biceps, then his shoulders. The back of his neck. They end up landing in his hair as he drives into you.

“More,” you manage to say.

“More? Dios mío, so fucking greedy.”

But he moves his hand further up your thigh, the other trailing across your stomach and side, falling to rest at the small of your back. Gliding the one around your thigh to clasp the underside of your leg, he wraps it around his waist and keeps it supported. The angle he has now makes you cry out with his next thrust, penetrating you even deeper. “Yes, that’s it. You take me so well,” he practically coos.

He sets a perfect pace. Not too slow but not too fast. Allows you to become lost in the ebb and flow of your building orgasm, hand slowly slipping, losing your grip with each progressive moan that he encourages from your mouth. Your hand plunges into the sink of dissipated suds and cold water and he steadies you with the hand at your back. Scooting you forward just a bit, he fucks you and fusses over you.

“Hands in my hair, mi vida.”

The one hand still wet, you follow his instructions, threading your hands through his salt and pepper hair and grasping the short strands tight.

“That’s it.” He continues to pound into you, coaxing more shattered cries from your lips. “I’ve got you,” he reassures as the pleasure builds, your walls gripping his cock.

Your eyes close, seeing nothing. Only relishing in that sweet release that spreads the pleasure throughout your body in an electrifying pulse. Every fiber of your being lights up with tingling numbness. His thrusts slow as he pulls you even closer, holding you. He continues to fuck you gently as you come down from your high until you feel the warmth of him spilling inside of you with a low groan. His head falling against your chest. His grip on your leg loosens and you let it slowly slide back to the counter where it drapes over the edge. His cock continues to quiver inside of you and you pull his head up to look at his satisfied and hazy gaze. You pull him into a hungry kiss, remaining locked in his arms for a few moments longer.

He releases your lips and combs his finger through your hair. “Is that what you needed, my vida?”

“Mmm,” you hum, “yes. Thank you.”

—

After a warm shower, Delgado sits on the couch, both of you only half clothed, and he pulls your feet into his lap. A softer beat of music plays in the background. You’ve got your tablet in hand, playing your favorite comedy vid on the screen. You chuckle a little and then laugh as he grabs one foot, tickling the bottom. You jerk away. But he grabs your ankle and tugs it back. Starts massaging the tender portion between the ball and the heel. You groan a little and set your tablet down in your lap.

“I don’t want to take you home.”

“So don’t,” he says, his thumbs placing pressure into your heel.

You smirk. “Is this where you tell me you’re giving up your life of piracy to become The Mantis’ sidekick?”

“You are delusional.” He picks up your other foot and starts massaging it.

“Too bad. You’d make a cute sidekick.”

“It is more thrilling to be known as your arch nemesis. I would like to keep it that way.”

“What a shame.”

“I do not see it that way.” He places a kiss on your foot and pushes your feet aside to crawl up your body, placing a palm next to each side of your head, pressing the couch cushion down. “I keep you in business.”

You laugh in his face at the absurdity of his statement. “I have enough crime without you to keep me in business.” You reach up and run a hand through his hair.

“Ah, but you have to admit, it is more thrilling this way. Tangling yourself up with me.”

“Mmm, I suppose I do see the appeal of tangling myself up with such a naughty pirate. But I may need further convincing.”

His face inches closer to yours, a devilish grin spreading on his face. “Of course you do,” he says before biting your lower lip and melting against you in a deep and lingering kiss.

[aralezinspace]

Sweet Nightmares (The Tale of the Blade in the Dark) Part IV

A single Hidden One goes against Dream of the Endless, and gets way more than they bargained for. One does not emerge from a nightmare unscathed. Previous

A/N: (crossover with Assassin's Creed) My contribution to @roguelov's Sweet Nightmares challenge! Enjoy! gif by @honeybeezgobzzzzz Tagging @fangirlmary @alteon77 @boofy1998

Last part, a nice lil epilogue to wrap the story up. So this takes place in the world of Assassin's Creed Mirage specifically (the game takes place in Baghdad and there's a Sandman comic story also in Baghdad it practically writes itself) xD I'm definitely planning to write more for this world once I play the game but it doesn't come out til October 😭We're not done with Yeraz yet, it'll just be a minute. Thanks for reading!

Warnings: AFAB, named, they/them reader, blood, nightmare!Morpheus, some Endless style torture, copious use of petnames

“What happened to Yeraz?” a novice murmured, almost afraid to disturb the magic in the air from the elder’s story. 

The Assassin smirked under the shadows of their hood.

“No one knows,” they replied softly, the words filled with an almost wistful longing. “Some say that after killing their mentor, they fled the city and perished in the desert. Some say they killed him, then surrendered themselves to the Mentor here at Alamut and was executed for treason. However… there are some who believe they still live, roaming between the waking and the Dreaming, bound to an eternity of service to the Nightmare King. Forever paying the price for their Mentor’s arrogance.”

“Which do you believe?” another novice asked, too eager to sound humble. The elder chuckled softly. 

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. Think on my tale, and your answer will show itself soon enough.” They tilted their head up to the night sky. “It’s getting late, and I am sure you have a full day tomorrow. Thank you for your hospitality, goodnight young ones.” 

The novices understood a dismissal when they heard it. They all nodded to the elder and murmured, “Goodnight Master,” before heading up the path to the castle, talking quietly amongst themselves about the Master’s story. 

All except one. 

He appeared to be one of the younger novices, staring at the ground as he anxiously twiddled his fingers. He could not have been more than nine summers old. Born and raised into the Brotherhood, as they had been. The Master sensed he had another question. “What is it, child?” 

“Did the Dream Lord ever forgive them? Yeraz. They- they were led astray by their Mentor, their act wasn’t out of malice or hate or anger, just- they were not to blame.” The Master could see him trembling, hear the wobble in his voice. 

They patted the spot next to them and the young novice sat down, staring pointedly into the flames, almost afraid to meet the Master’s eyes. He mumbled to the ashes, “Whether they lived or died in the end, he must have known Yeraz would have made another choice, if they could have. He must have known they were wiser, less arrogant… Right? So… did he ever forgive them?”

The Master sighed, their insides churning. They had told this story several times in the last few months, and no one had asked this before. For once, they did not have a ready answer, no wise words to impart. 

“I do not know,” they murmured into the fire, soft and slow, carefully measuring their words. “From what I do know…” They sighed, a heavy rattle of air that showed the weariness that hung heavily about their shoulders. “The lives and memories of the Endless are long. The Dream Lord was known to be quite cruel when he wanted; he definitely made sure Yeraz was sorry they ever came within a thousand leagues of his realm. Even if he forgave them, I’m sure he never forgot.” 

“They didn’t deserve what he did to them,” he muttered, almost too soft for the Master to hear. A lump stuck in their throat. He continued, “I would have shown mercy, just sent them back.” He paused, frowning slightly. “The shame and dishonor of failure and being spared by their target would have been enough.”

The lump in their throat grew bigger, burning, almost choking them. They gave the boy a hesitant but encouraging pat on the shoulder and cleared their throat. “Now then, it’s late, and you should be in bed. Go on, I’ll bank the fire.” The novice stood, but made no move to go inside. He fumbled nervously with his fingers as the Master banked the fire, the flames dying down to glowing embers. 

“Master,” he choked softly, his voice high and trembling, thick with shame. “Um- would you mind walking up with me?” The words tripped and tumbled out of his mouth, trying to justify his request. “I-it’s dark and I can’t see very well, I- I don’t want to get lost or fall.” 

A tiny smile touched the Master’s face, even though they knew the boy probably would not see it. “Of course,” they replied gently, hearing the thinly disguised terror in their voice. “Take my hand.” 

The moon and stars gave off just enough light for the novice to see a human shaped form that was a slightly different shade of black and navy reach out to him. He took their hand, their callused fingers wrapping snugly around his. As they walked up the path to the fortress, the Master murmured softly, “I know what it is to fear the dark. And sometimes that fear is justified.” They paused, the only sounds around them the chirring of bugs and the scuffing of their feet on the dirt path. 

“Remember this, my boy: fear not the darkness, but welcome its embrace. My Mentor gave me these words, and now, I give them to you.” The large lanterns that marked the gateway to the fortress flickered into view. They were almost at the top of the path, and the Master could feel the novice’s relief. He repeated the words under his breath, his voice still trembling slightly. 

The novice let go of their hand when they reached the safety of the fortress’ entrance hall, dimly lit by a dozen lanterns and candles. He turned to a doorway on the left, presumably leading to the novices’ quarters. The Master kept walking forward toward the grand staircase; their own guest rooms would be on the next floor.   

The novice paused at the doorway and bowed at the waist. “Goodnight Master, thank you for the story and your guidance.” 

A tiny smile touched their face. “Goodnight child, sleep well.”

[noxexistant]

I hope I’m not bothering you but omggg the Delancey’s smoking, like when I read the Alex Snyder smoked my head just immediately jumped to the Delancey’s chain smoking,

I’m not sure why but I have this image of Snyder almost trying to like, bond? with Oscar in a very fucked up manipulative way as he’s one of the oldest there, one of the most brutal too, and Snyder likes having that power and that brutality under his thumb and it’s easy when he pretends he respects Oscar in a way that oscar’s father cleary never did which means Oscar’s more likely to listen to him, and even easier to rip that out from under him if he steps out of line, easy to remind him of his actual place - and when it comes to cigarettes it’s something so addictive but so easy to take away if they don’t ‘behave’

I’m so sorry if none of that made sense lmao

you’re not bothering me at all!! thank u so much for coming to me with more alex snyder and delanceys, always, because i am Eating them

i absolutely adore the image of snyder building this deeply carefully crafted bond with oscar, particularly because the age gap between them is small enough that they could be brothers - it’s so easy for snyder to dip into, to act like they’re anywhere close to on the same level. he knows how to talk to coax oscar to let his guard down, to make it seem like they’re peers in some way, to make it seem like they’re almost friends as they smoke together in snyder’s office. as if it isn’t snyder’s office in the building where oscar is a prisoner.

snyder does not respect oscar in any way beyond his strength. oscar is a gutter rat, all manic violence and chips on his shoulders and something to prove, but he has potential - potential that snyder intends to coax out of him with his teaching. and he doesn’t say exactly that, at least not in so many words, but he tells oscar about his potential, at least. says it’s only snyder who could bring it out of him, teaching him how to direct his anger and violence at the right people for the right gains.

“you keep working with me,” snyder says, and it’s a careful construction too to say with and not for, “perhaps we could truly be working together someday. don’t you think clothes like mine would suit you?”

snyder offers him a private little smile. oscar picks at the ratty undershirt he’s been wearing for weeks. he can’t imagine himself in a suit like snyder’s, but he wants to. it looks like it fits just right. tailored, comfortable. warm. he smiles back, tentatively, and speaks quietly.

“yeah.”

he and snyder are both total opposites at other times, when oscar is screaming like a feral dog and snyder is scowling down at him like he’s dirt. when oscar is being thrown in solitary, or held still and forced to watch as morris is lashed or beaten, or watching his portion of food be given away to another child.

but snyder is calm again, the next time after that that oscar is brought to his office. the only difference is that he slowly, carefully, gets out a cigarette for himself - and does not offer oscar one, just enjoys the way the boy stares. it’s such an easy bargaining chip, resting atop morris’ safety like icing on a bun.

oscar agrees to whatever snyder’s latest instructions or terms are. and snyder smiles again. he reaches for his shining, golden cigarette tin and opens it, holds it out. smiles wider when oscar reaches out and takes one, and has to lean forwards for snyder to light it off his own.

“i’m proud of you,” snyder tells him. “you always do the right thing. raised yourself into a fine young man, didn’t you?”

oscar glows.

[lyranova]

Heyyyy! Can I request 2, 6, and 21 for the excerpt ask? 😌 Thanks!

Hiya f-oighear! Of course you may, and one of these is pretty long, but I hope you enjoy 🥰~!

2 that makes me laugh

There’s quite a few that make me laugh, but this particular scene from COTF Chapter 23 always makes me giggle:

The children blinked at Yami’s words. A versus battle? They looked at each other with a mixture of excitement, confusion, and a bit of fear.

“ Alright! This is awesome!” Hikari and Brielle shouted excitedly, their eyes lit up as though it were christmas morning. Josslyn snorted slightly.

“ This is going to be a bloodbath,” Josslyn said with a shake of her head, then she turned to look at Ezio. “ Rest in Peace Pinky.” Ezio suddenly looked at her eyes wide in disbelief.

“ ‘P-Pinky’?! Your hair’s pink too, Joss!” Ezio shouted, his voice slightly high pitched. Josslyn couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“ Alright then, the first person is; Hikari and,” Charlotte pulled out another lot. “ Ezio.”

“ I repeat. Rest in Peace Pinky.” Josslyn said, turning towards the pink haired boy, this time putting her hands together in mock prayer. Ezio could do nothing as he gaped like a fish out of water, but Hikari smiled brightly at him.

“ This’ll be fun! Do your best out there Ezio!” Hikari said, Ezio just stared at her as his face paled. As Charlotte began to draw more lots Ezio muttered under his breath how he was too young to die.

6 that i struggled with, but triumphed over

Oof I’ve had a lot, they were mainly pregnancy and birth fics, but there was one scene in particular that I really struggled with, and it wasn’t a pregnancy or birth fic; it was actually a fight between Yuno and his OC daughter Miku in COTF: Shadows!

“ Is something wrong?” Miku asked as she gently closed her book and set it aside, worry etched into her eyes that something had happened to Kya again.

“ No, nothing's wrong,” Yuno quickly said, but her father’s eyes betrayed him. “ I just wanted to ask you something.” Miku nodded slowly.

“ Can we push your training back again?” She blinked in surprise at her father’s question, before the surprise turned into exasperation and annoyance.

“ But it’s already been pushed back twice!” Miku said as she sat up straighter, and her voice slightly exasperated. She had been looking forward to training with her dad again, his smile turned sad and regrettable.

“ I know, and I’m sorry, but-,” Yuno tried, but he heard his eldest child sigh in irritation as her fists clenched the edge of the couch tightly.

“ ‘But something came up’, that’s what you were going to say, right?” Miku muttered, her tone becoming very annoyed. “ Something always seems to come up whenever you and I try to train.”

“ I’m sorry, Miku, I promise we’ll train tomorrow. I’ll clear my entire afternoon, how does that sound?” Yuno bargained, but he watched his daughter roll her eyes before she stood up, which made his eyes narrow a bit.

“ Yeah, right,” She grumbled as she walked towards the door. “ You’ll clear your afternoon, some nobles will come to visit or something else will come up, and you’ll push it back again. If I were Kya or Kito this wouldn’t happen.”

“ Hey,” Yuno called after her, his tone soft but holding a serious sternness to it. “ You know this is my job Miku, and it’s a 24 hour 7 day a week one that doesn’t give me time off or a chance to rest. I know it’s hard, but you just have to be patient-.”

Miku stopped walking and spun around when she heard those words leave her father's mouth, her purple eyes held a fiery anger in them. Her fists clenched at her sides, and she stomped her foot down onto the wooden floor with such force that it made a loud ‘boom’ echo though the room.

“ Patient?! I’m tired of being patient, dad, I’m tired of waiting while everyone else gets a turn or a moment with you! I’m tired of always having to be the grown up and waiting my turn!” Miku shouted angrily. “ I’m starting to think you and mom are pushing my training back on purpose!”

“ I asked Miku if it was alright that we push back her training to tomorrow, and she…got upset.” Yuno muttered with a shrug, and Miku glared icily at her father.

“ I’m not upset,” She exclaimed angrily as she stomped her foot against the ground. “ I’m just mad because you’re being a jerk and aren’t keeping your promise to spend time with me!”

“ Hey, don’t call your father a jerk,” Neva warned seriously as she looked at her daughter. “ Apologize. Now.”

“ No, I won’t!” Miku said angrily at her mother. “ Why should I when he’s a liar and keeps breaking his promise to train with me? He always says he’s too busy and can’t drop everything, but when Kya went missing he was able too!”

“ So it’s just that you don’t trust me to take care of her? Or is it that you don’t want to give her to me? Or did you already promise her to Kya?!” Neva quickly shook her head at her daughter.

“ That isn’t it either Miku, your father’s only saying that taking on Sylph is a big responsibility, and that he wants you to mature a little more before he-.” She tried to tell her, but instead of cooling her daughter's temper, she seemed to fan the flames instead.

“ You two just don’t want me to inherit Sylph and always want me to be dependent on you!” Miku shouted as she backed away from her parents.

“ That isn’t true-!” Neva began, but Miku’s gaze shot towards her mother.

“ Yes it is! You just want me to stay weak, like you!”

“ Miku Vega!” Yuno shouted, his voice raising for the first time during the entire disagreement. He could handle any insult their eldest daughter threw at him, but he wouldn’t allow her to insult and be disrespectful to her mother.

“ I hate you both,” The girl muttered. “ And I never want to see either of you again!” She shouted before running out of the library, leaving her parents standing there irritated and somewhat dumbfounded.

21 that i liked, but had to cut

Actually…I don’t have any 😅. The reason I don’t have any? Because I usually end up deleting what doesn’t work, even if I like it, and I either use it somewhere else or it just gets lost in the void. But, i did find two different excerpts for “Dandelions”! One is an “alternate” way that the beginning could have gone, and the other is when the two break up!

William frowned, he remembered there being papers on his desk about a person smuggling in goods without the proper documents a while back. They hadn’t been able to locate the person, but they did know they went by the name ‘Cinnamon’.

Wait, ‘Cinnamon’?

He looked at the shop's sign again before looking at the woman. No way, this couldn’t be.

“ Is the owner around?” William asked suddenly as he walked away from the bench and towards some other plants.

“ Did…I do something wrong?” He asked softly as he came to stand beside her.

“ No, you didn’t.”

“ Then…is the date not to your liking?”

“ No, it’s been perfect.”

“ Is it because of my scar?”

“ Of course it’s not because of your scar.”

“ Then please tell me what it is so that I can fix it!”

“ You can’t fix it William. You can’t.” Zera said defeatedly as she turned to look at him, her eyes held tears in them that she tried to desperately blink away.

William watched as she slowly pulled her engagement ring off her finger, grabbed his hand gently, and placed the ring in the center of his palm.

“ I’m sorry.”