#if I think of more I’ll share later she puts on a great show

[readysetjo]

Some fun Billie Eilish moments from my show 11/16 KC, MO

-these were some shots at the beginning because of how hard (not soft) the fog machine was working

-the stage was shaped like an “8” or “B”

-there were a couple of moments where Billie picked up a handheld camera and got some closeups and footage of her band/ backup singers, under the stage, and the audience and it was a super silly and cool way to get a different POV

-she said she added the song “Your Power” to her he set again due to recent events and told the women in the room that we were in a safe space. She performed the song acoustic (she played guitar) and her 2 female background singers sat on stools looking at each other. I was emotional

-she projected the Guess music video while she prepared for her part of the song and then switched back to the regular concert and it was seamless and so fun

-there was a huge box-like prop that was actually 4 light display panels that worked as tv screens and it would rise and lower with an option for Billie to stand in it. Someone’s just the bottom platform would move and she would perform raised

-the lighting was very intricate and intentional as well as the visuals

-she had the whole crowd go silent so she could record the layers of her voice in real time to be used as the backing vocals for “When the Party’s Over”. It was one of my favorite parts without a doubt

[cailinsblog]

Could you write a fic where Jack is dating someone who knows nothing about Hockey? He likes teaches her the rules and is just sweet about it?

Omg I love this idea thank you 💕💕😻

A Journey of Love, Hockey, and Skating | jack hughes

Jack hughes x reader

Masterlist

It was a crisp autumn day when Jack Hughes, star forward for the New Jersey Devils, found himself in a dilemma. It wasn’t about hockey, contract talks, or media scrutiny — it was something far more personal. His girlfriend, Y/N, had never been to a game of his. She didn’t know the first thing about hockey, and Jack was starting to realize that he had never really taught her the ins and outs of the sport that had shaped his entire life.

Y/N and Jack had been together for a little over six months now, and though they had spent a lot of time together, their worlds never really collided when it came to hockey. She had met him through mutual friends, and while she loved him for his personality, his kindness, and his easy smile, hockey was a world she knew little about.

One evening, as they sat on the couch in his apartment, Y/N casually mentioned, “I’ve been meaning to ask… what’s the deal with icing? Like, what does that even mean?”

Jack chuckled, surprised. “You’ve been with me for months, and you’ve never asked about icing?” He raised an eyebrow, teasing her playfully.

“I don’t want to look dumb,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“Y/N, you could never look dumb,” he reassured her. “Come on, let me teach you. I’ll explain everything. Hockey 101.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll need a lot of lessons, I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said, his voice soft and patient. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll even show you how to skate. I want you to feel like you get it, like you’re part of it.”

The thought of skating, especially in the context of Jack’s world, made Y/N nervous. She hadn’t skated since she was a kid, and back then, she had barely been able to stay upright. Still, she loved Jack and wanted to share this part of his life with him. “Okay, I’m in,” she agreed, smiling.

### The First Lesson: Hockey 101

The next day, Jack decided to take her to a quiet rink in the city. It wasn’t a professional arena, just a simple outdoor rink where locals came to skate during the winter months. Jack wanted it to be a low-pressure environment where Y/N could relax and focus without the distraction of a crowd.

They arrived, and Jack pulled on his gear — the jersey, the skates — and Y/N stood by the bench, watching him in awe. He made it all look so effortless.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Jack started, his hands on his hips. “In hockey, the objective is simple: score more goals than the other team. You have three periods, and each period is 20 minutes long. There’s a goalie whose job is to stop the puck, and there are five players on the ice at a time — including the goalie.”

He pointed to a few different areas on the rink. “The blue lines are where the players try to control the game, and the red line? That’s the center line. Icing happens when the puck is shot across both blue lines without anyone touching it, and it crosses the goal line. It’s a violation, and the game stops. But we’ll get into all the details later.”

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to follow along. She didn’t get all of it, but Jack had such a calm, patient way of explaining it. She didn’t feel dumb for not knowing — instead, it felt like they were creating their own little world, a space where she could learn and Jack could teach.

Jack smiled. “You’re doing great. Now, time for the fun part. Let’s get you on the ice.”

### The Skating Lesson

Y/N put on her skates, a little wobbly, and stood up. The moment her blades touched the ice, she immediately felt the unease of being unsteady. Her knees trembled, and she almost lost her balance.

“Whoa, careful!” Jack said, reaching out to steady her. He grinned. “You gotta bend your knees a little. Think of it like a squat.”

She followed his instructions, trying to stay as low as she could without falling. “Like this?” she asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, exactly. Now, just glide a little bit.”

Y/N pushed off tentatively, and for a second, it felt like she was floating. But then her legs went out from under her, and she collapsed onto the ice with a soft thud.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack skated over to her immediately, offering a hand. His expression was a mix of concern and amusement.

“I’m fine,” she laughed, brushing herself off. “I think I need more practice.”

Jack grinned. “No worries. I’ll take it slow. Just focus on shifting your weight and pushing off with your outside edges. That’s the trick.”

Over the next hour, Jack patiently taught her the basics of skating. He held her hands as she made tentative strides around the rink, supporting her whenever she lost her balance. It wasn’t graceful — her movements were jerky and uncertain — but Jack’s presence gave her the confidence to keep trying.

“Good job, Y/N,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “You’re getting it. I’m really proud of you.”

She smiled up at him, her heart swelling. “Thanks, Jack. I don’t think I would’ve gotten this far without you.”

Jack skated backward in front of her, keeping her steady with one hand on her shoulder. “This is fun. I like being here with you. Maybe next time we can practice more advanced stuff, like crossovers, but for today, you’re doing great.”

She let out a little laugh, looking at him affectionately. “I can’t believe I’m skating with Jack Hughes. This is so weird, but also amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, squeezing her hand. “And you’re doing way better than you think.”

### A Quiet Moment

After a couple of hours of skating, they took a break by the rink-side, sipping hot cocoa from a small cart nearby. Y/N was still a little shaky on the ice, but she could feel herself improving, and the adrenaline from skating was starting to wear off. They sat on the wooden bench, Jack wrapping an arm around her as they watched other skaters glide by.

Jack, who usually exuded confidence on the ice, looked at her with a softness in his eyes. “You know, this is my favorite part of the game — the quiet moments. The ones when you’re with someone you love, and everything else just fades away.”

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “I feel the same way. I may not know everything about hockey yet, but I love being here with you. I’m really glad you’re teaching me.”

He kissed the top of her head, his voice tender. “I’m happy you’re learning, but what makes me happiest is that you’re here. You’re not just learning the game — you’re learning a part of me.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the cold air around them only adding to the warmth they felt in each other’s presence. The rink began to clear out as the sun set behind the city skyline, casting a soft golden glow over everything.

Jack stood up and pulled her gently to her feet. “Alright, I think we’ve had enough for today. You ready to hit the ice again?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves forgotten. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

They skated hand-in-hand, slowly at first, then picking up speed, laughing as they went. Jack helped her through each little challenge, showing her how to lean into the curves and glide across the ice with more ease. As the evening wore on, she felt herself getting more confident.

By the end of the night, Y/N couldn’t believe how much she had learned. The ice no longer felt like a slippery obstacle — it was something she could share with Jack, something that had brought them closer together.

As they left the rink, Jack turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “You did amazing today, Y/N. I’m proud of you.”

Y/N smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. “I’m proud of me too. And I’m really glad I have you to teach me.”

Jack grinned. “I’ll teach you anything. Hockey, skating, life... whatever you want. We’re in this together.”

And as they walked off into the chilly night, hand in hand, Y/N realized that it wasn’t just the rules of hockey she had learned that day — it was something far more important: how to trust, how to share, and how to love.

And with Jack by her side, she knew there was no challenge she couldn’t face, no lesson she couldn’t learn.

Please send in request

[togrowoldinv]

To Show Thanks

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Wanda does all of the cooking for Thanksgiving and you help her see just how thankful you are for her

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, bathtub sex (W receiving), soft sex

Note: The most wonderful time of year indeed. Enjoy the milf!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

The house smells of turkey and the holiday season as Wanda stands by the stove. She’s been cooking since the crack of dawn, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

You’ve helped with a few things, but mostly it’s been Wanda who is putting in the work. The twins run around the house and play as they wait for the company to arrive.

“No! I’m running out of time!” Wanda’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“It’s only 5, baby. You still have about an hour until the guests arrive,” you say.

“That’s not long enough,” she says, a sigh falling from her perfect lips. They form into a pout as she observes the work she has ahead of her.

“Well, you could use your magic,” you say.

Wanda smiles but shakes her head.

“No magic today. Just me,” she says.

“You are magic no matter what, my love,” you tell her.

You stand up from your chair and hug Wanda from behind. She sinks into your touch. Dropping a kiss to her cheek, you make her feel relaxed even if for just a moment.

“Tell you what,” you begin. “I’ll get the rowdy boys to set the table and I’ll help you do anything you need. We can do this.”

“We can do this,” Wanda repeats though she’s not sure she believes it.

You kiss her cheek once more for good measure and then you go find the boys. They’re in their room playing Mario Kart.

“Hey guys,” you say. “How about we pause the game and go help Mom get ready for the guests?”

“Okay!” Billy answers easily. He’d do anything for his mom.

“Can we finish this level?” Tommy asks.

“Later, buddy,” you say.

“Okay,” he says, a slight sigh in his voice. He pouts like Wanda does.

“I have a super secret task for the two of you,” you tell them before you leave the bedroom.

“What is it?” Tommy asks.

“Today is Thanksgiving, which means that you tell people that you’re thankful for them. I got your mom a card and I was thinking you two could write a sweet note in it for her. What do you think?”

“Yes!” They both agree. Anything for Wanda.

You smile and lead them to the home office where they work on the card. You leave them to go back and help Wanda. Once they’re done, they come downstairs and set the table.

Wanda was right about timing being close, but you manage to have everything cooked and ready to serve at exactly 6 o’clock.

“We did it!” Wanda says excitedly.

“You did it, babe. All you,” you say.

Wanda smiles softly and places a soft kiss to your lips. The boys feign disgust. Soon, the doorbell rings.

She answers the door and lets guests inside one by one. Steve is first with Natasha, Maria, Tony, Sam, and Bucky not far behind. You remember meeting them all at the boys birthday party, but it’s so nice to see them again.

Everyone gathers around the table and begins to eat Wanda’s wonderful food.

“This is amazing, Wanda,” Steve compliments.

“Yeah, great job, Wanda. Reminds me of home,” Sam says.

Wanda smiles shyly and tries to share the credit.

“No, this is all her. I can cook, but not like this. She’s like professional level good,” you say. Everyone nods in agreement.

“So, how’s everything going?” Maria asks Wanda.

You know what she’s referring to. After Wanda and Vision split up, the woman has gone through a hard time with the divorce and now child custody hearings. You’ve been the bright spot in all of it.

“It’s good,” Wanda says. “I didn’t know going to court would be so expensive but it’s almost over.”

“I’d sue his ass for what he’s put you through,” Natasha jumps in. Maria nudges her shoulder but she only shrugs.

You shoot her a smile and she returns a smirk.

“How about we just talk about what we’re thankful for?” Steve, ever the peacemaker, tries to change the subject.

“Great idea,” you agree. “I’ll go first. I’m thankful for Wanda and her wonderful children and friends.”

Wanda smiles and kisses your cheek at your words. You hold her hand under the table. You’ve become her everything over these last few months.

Wanda speaks next. “I’m thankful for friends who have become family, for my precious babies, and for y/n who is truly my best friend.”

Everyone goes around and continues to share what they’re thankful for. Love and laughter fills the air as the hours pass by. After dessert and socializing, the guests go home.

Wanda is in the kitchen running a sink of dishes when you stop her.

“Come with me,” you say, pulling her softly.

“But the dishes, baby. They won’t do themselves,” she tries.

You keep walking and lead Wanda to the living room. The boys are there with Wanda’s card in hand.

“We got you this, Mommy,” Billy says, handing her the card.

“Oh, thank you, baby,” Wanda says. She sits between the two boys. She opens the card and tears fill her eyes.

“We all signed it to say we’re thankful for you,” Tommy explains.

“Wow,” Wanda says softly. “This is so sweet. I’m so thankful for you guys too.”

Wanda kisses them both on the forehead as they lean into her. She reaches out to you too and you join the snuggle pile.

“Can we finish our level before bedtime?” Tommy asks after a moment.

“Yeah go ahead boys. Mom and I will be up to tuck you in soon,” you tell them. They hug you both before running up the stairs.

Wanda tries to get up but you pull her gently back onto the couch. She lands on your lap and you grin at her.

“Thank you for the card,” Wanda says.

“That was from the boys,” you say.

“Mhm. I know you were the mastermind,” she says. “I should really clean up dinner.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean nope?” Wanda asks.

“You, my dear, did all the cooking so I will do all of the cleaning,” you say. “I’ll pour you some wine and you just get to relax, okay?”

You don’t give her a chance to say no. Instead, you kiss her and get up to start cleaning. Wanda sits at the counter and watches you. After a bit, you tuck the boys into bed and finish up cleaning.

“How about a bath?” You ask Wanda, leaning over the counter in a way you know draws her eyes to your chest.

“Only if you’ll join me,” she replies, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Yes please,” you say.

You go to the bathroom together and run the water. Wanda slips off her clothes first and slides into the warm water. You join her and settle in behind her.

She rests her head on your shoulder as you softly run your hands over her body.

“Thank you for today,” Wanda says.

“You did the hard part.”

“No, I mean- you didn’t have to clean up or give me a card or anything,” Wanda explains.

“Oh,” you say. “I just thought you’d like it.”

“I did. I loved it,” Wanda rushes to say. “It’s just- no one’s ever done that for me before. It’s new.”

“You deserve it, Wands. Everything doesn’t have to fall on you. And you deserve to hear how thankful we all are for you,” you say.

“Hmm,” Wanda hums. She turns her head to look into your eyes. “I really love you.”

“I really love you too, Wanda Maximoff.”

She leans up and kisses you. You deepen the kiss and let your hand slip between her legs. Wanda gasps at the feeling.

“Just relax, baby. I’ll take care of you,” you say.

She lets herself relax against you as you move your fingers through her folds. Wanda lets out the sweetest sounds with every stroke. You slip fully into her easily and make quick work of getting her to her high.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go,” you say softly as she comes against your fingers.

Wanda’s eyes remain closed in pleasure as you simply hold her against you. She stays there until the water gets too cold and you have to get out.

You get dressed in warm pajamas and snuggle into bed next to each other. Wanda clings to you.

“I’m so thankful for you,” Wanda says as her eyes droop closed from exhaustion and relaxation.

“I’m thankful for you too, Wanda. I always will be,” you tell her.

With one more shared kiss, you two fall into a deep slumber that lasts until morning.

Wanda has never been so happy and that’s all thanks to you.

[da-rulah]

In Cold Blood - Terzo x f!reader

Summary: Solitude had always appealed. Perhaps that’s why you took on this project… The thought of transforming a dilapidated old Victorian farmhouse into a sanctuary of your own, to live in peace and the romanticisms of a gothic home you fell in love with.

After the structural integrity of the house is replenished, you fill your days with DIY and decorating, bringing to life a house that had been frozen in time and left to rot for decades. You could enjoy the solitude of the land already, a few miles outside of a town plagued by disappearances and a fear of the dark. But you couldn’t escape the news of more missing people, nor the strange occurrences happening around your new home.

Were you imagining things? Or was there indeed a shadow haunting your sanctuary?

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count: 19.6k (i'm back bitchesssss)

Warnings: Dark fiction, horror fic, mentions of murder, coercion, manipulation, obsession, masturbation (f), voyeurism, manhandling, threat and mild violence, dubious consent (later turns to verbal consent), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, blood, blood drinking, unprotected sex

Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Leave a tip

WARNING: This is a work of DARK FICTION. It is a horror fic, and contains mentions of violence as well as elements of dubious consent and manipulation. Please do not read if this is going to affect you negatively. You have been warned, and I take no responsibility if you choose to ignore the warnings and triggers attached.

a/n: well hello there. It's been a while, hm? Radio silence and then BOOM, a 20k word fic outta nowhere? Well, this was written for the wonderful @angellayercake's birthday, and she's been so kind as to give her permission for me to share it. I promise, more new content coming soon, and I'll be working on an update for The Mayor's Daughter ASAP! Happy reading, creeps...

“What’s the catch?”

The real estate agent blinked at you in confusion, as if you’d just asked her to recite the square route of pi to the 30th decimal.

“The… the catch?” she asked, “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s just so cheap, I have to wonder which closet the skeletons are hiding in…” you joked, knowing full well the skeletons were actually in the backyard under the headstones that sat growing moss and ivy for the last six decades at least.

“Ma’am… I’ve been very upfront about the state of the house. It needs extensive repairs and renovation, it has a graveyard out back, it’s way out in the sticks and the landscaping is overrun… What more could be wrong with it?” She rang out her hands nervously, chewing on her cherry red lips as you scrutinised her body language. You’re sure there was something she wasn’t telling you, but this was a perfect opportunity for you…

Coming off the back of a decent chunk of inheritance left by a relative you’d long-since forgotten, you needed a project. You’d always wanted to renovate a beautifully gothic home from the 19th century, and when you saw the listing for exactly that on the edge of a small town? Ideal. Perfect. Exactly what you wanted. The thought of being a little out in the country, surrounded by land and away from the bustle of the city you grew up in was all too appealing.

“It has a charm to it, don’t you think?” you smiled to yourself, fiddling with the dusty net curtains still hanging in the living room’s huge bay window.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” the agent agreed with reluctance, still so confused as to why you would be at all interested in this ruin that she couldn’t even show you all of due to the structural integrity of the floorboards.

“I’d like to put in an offer,” you told her, turning back to face her with a smile on your face.

“You… really? Oh, my god! Okay, great! Well, I’ll get the paperwork…” she sprung into action, suddenly full of an energy that could only have been triggered by the whiff of her future commission.

It would take some work, sure, but this place had the potential to be the perfect project and future home for you…

It took six months, but the structural integrity of the house had been stabilised by a team of builders you’d hired to take care of the place while you got your affairs in order and ready to move halfway across the country. You weren’t taking much; a lot of the furniture left in the abandoned house was part of the project and with a little restoration would be absolutely beautiful. You were ready for the work, ready to create a home that you could be so proud of and had your stamp on it.

Moving into the house was quicker than you thought it would be, with most of your furniture sold and donated. For now, you had to live out of suitcases until you had a bedroom and closet space that was clean enough to hang your things in.

At the very least, you’d cleaned and stripped the four-poster bed that still lay in the master suite, checking the integrity of the bed itself and noting how… pristine it seemed compared to a lot of the other furniture left behind. But this was made of expensive, dark mahogany wood – it was built to last, and so with a polish, a new mattress and sheets? You had a gorgeous bed to sleep in each night, taking a little bit of pressure off when you’d spent an entire day exhausting yourself over more renovations.

One of your first jobs had been landscaping in the graveyard. You’d felt pulled to the graves, wanting to give whoever was buried on your property a much more respectful resting place, rather than allowing them to be swamped by ivy and moss.

It seemed to be a family plot, probably the last family to have owned the home. Every stone had the same surname, dating back to the first of the deaths in 1904. What struck you as odd, however, was the nature of the stones themselves…

For the time period, you might have expected angels, cherubs, perhaps a cross or two. But whilst these stones were ornate and beautiful, they were not steeped in biblical references at all. Instead, the eldest stone had a decaying gargoyle sat atop it… Another, a ram’s head at the base. One had a stone skeleton laying above where the body would have been buried, carved into a slab of concrete as if it was protruding from the grave itself. You’d never seen graves like this before, symbols and carvings you couldn’t identify but had you on edge the minute you looked at them. But one of those symbols, you certainly recognised.

A pentagram.

Now, as a purveyor of the dark and mysterious, you hadn’t minded the thought of a graveyard in your garden. For goodness sake, you loved the gothic aesthetic, the dark and macabre had always called out to you. But to find these graves had a theme to them, a darker, occult theme… It cast a deeper shadow over the home you’d purchased.

Who were this family? Were they part of an occult? You were itching to understand the history, to uncover more about the lost family that let their home fall to ruin and their graves be overrun by nature.

But it had to wait, the renovations taking over to make your house a far more liveable abode. With the graves at least clear from nature’s extremities, you could come back to them another time to give them a proper clean, to uncover the names in full and potentially use the information to gather more with a trip to the local library or a google search.

For now, you had to get to cleaning room by room so you could begin stripping and re-decorating where it needed it most.

“…The Sheriff’s office have released a statement today to calm locals calling for more action in the string of disappearances throughout town. Last Monday saw the latest in the line of disappearances, 29 year old store clerk, Andrew Walton, taking the total up to 12 missing in the last nine months. Mr Walton was last seen on CCTV heading into the alley of the 7/11 where he worked…”

The radio news bulletin caught your attention as you were working in the master bedroom, stripping the already peeling wallpaper from the panelled walls atop a stepladder. You’d only moved in three weeks ago, and yet, the little radio you always put on to work to kept churning out the same story consistently – the string of disappearances in town that seemed to be getting more and more frequent.  

It would seem it was the town with skeletons in the closet, not your precious new home. The estate agent failed to mention that one…

When you first heard about it, you’d made sure the house was secure, with locks on the windows, every entrance bolted and sturdy. Being so far outside of town, you weren’t particularly worried since you rarely ventured from your home, particularly not at night when most of these disappearances seemed to have taken place. But it didn’t hurt to be safe...

Still, the thought that there may be someone out there snatching people for God only knows what purpose was a little unsettling. You could only hope the sheriff would do his job and catch whoever was behind the crimes soon – but it had already been nine months… All you could do was lay low, stay as far away from the potential risks of heading into town alone in the dark.

As the lunchtime bulletin ended, the radio began to play one of the top 40 songs you’d heard at least three times already today. Whilst it was repetitive, you’d learned the words, and found yourself singing along as you scraped at patches of wallpaper residue with your little scraping tool. You lost yourself to easily in the renovation tasks, the monotony allowing for your brain to whisk you away to distant worlds, like shooting your own music videos to the songs as you sang along.

Drifting so far off into your own thoughts is probably the reason you hadn’t realised the radio had actually cut out completely, and it was just you singing and the sound of the metal scraper to fill the silence… The batteries had died.

“Ah, shit…” you mumbled to yourself, stepping off the ladder and reaching for the radio you’d placed on the window sill. Upon closer inspection, you made the definite conclusion that it was in fact the batteries, and sighed in annoyance. Of all the things you didn’t think you’d need for a while at least, you would now have to rummage around in the unemptied moving boxes that were still stockpiled in the dining room, filled with ‘random crap’ from your ‘random crap’ drawers – the drawers every home has… You just hadn’t renovated enough of the kitchen to have a ‘random crap’ drawer yet.

Digging through the boxes, you pulled a tape measure, a pack of four highlighters with two missing, six bank statements dated four years ago and a set of tiny little wrenches from the collection, until finally, you found a pack of unopened batteries at the bottom of the box.

You fumbled with them, rushing to get them out and replace the dead ones in the radio so you could get your music back and get back to work. Just as you pushed the second battery in, the radio roared to life again, startling you with a sudden gasp. Your heart raced in your chest as you chuckled at yourself, laughing at how stupid you’d been to have forgotten to turn it off before you pushed the new batteries in.

But a sudden and much more frightening crash from beneath you had you jumping again within seconds, your grip on the radio faltering as it flew to the ground, the new batteries flying out at the impact and drenching the room in silence again.

Your head flew immediately to the old door to your left, the one that led beneath the house to the basement…

You don’t know how long you stared at it, your heart rate never calming down as your mind raced with scenarios. An animal? Old house falling apart? Ghost? Psycho killer from town? You had no idea what to think.

But you lived alone. No noise should be coming from down in the damn basement.

You stared for so long, you began to question if you’d heard anything at all. Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. But with a mental kick up the arse and a quick shake of the head to rid yourself of the fear, you marched over to the door to investigate like every stupid final girl in every horror movie you’d ever seen.

When you pulled on the string light, it buzzed and flickered before settling on a barely-there orange glow. Thankfully, it didn’t matter so much, the small windows in the house’s foundations letting in just enough light to deem the room visible. You could smell the must as you stepped down the wooden stairs, creaking under your feet as if some obnoxious special effects guy was dubbing the scene.

The movers had moved some of the restorable furniture you’d asked them to keep down here, stacking it in a far corner for you to come back to when you’d sorted the main structure and décor of the house. They were caked in a thick layer of dust, fingerprints from the movers clearly visible.

But nothing looked like it had fallen, there wasn’t anything broken or toppled over on the floor at all. The bang you’d heard had no source, that you could see. Even the cellar doors that led to the yard out back were still chained and bolted shut – you couldn’t blame it on a gust of wind, and upon first inspection, there was no sign of an animal somehow making its way inside either.

But to be sure, you walked through the clear space in the centre of the basement and over to the furniture pile of display cabinets, side tables, some chairs and a wardrobe you’d had moved from the master bedroom. It was one of your favourite pieces, that wardrobe. You planned to only clean it up and revarnish it, matching the ornate wood of the bed that had been kept pristine and you now used as your own. Even the mirrors on the door – oval shaped with dark ivy carved into the edges – were in fantastic condition. No scratches, just caked in a layer of dust like the rest.

A closer look proved there were no animals in the basement, no rodents or critters to try and ferry back outside. But what you did notice were the fingerprints on the brass handles of the wardrobe. Perhaps the movers had peaked inside – you hadn’t when you viewed the place. Maybe there were some old clothes still left behind from another decade?

Curiosity got the best of you, and you opened the door with a shriek of its hinges to find… nothing. The wardrobe was empty save for a few wire hangers that jingled with the opening of the door, and another layer of dust, albeit thinner, on the low shelf inside. But the dust was disturbed…

In the centre, there was a rectangle in the dust, as if it had been carefully wiped clean with absolute precision… It was about the size of a shoe box, but the dark grain of the wood stood out around the greyed and dulled wood surrounding it. Something had been in there for years, and had been removed…

Instantly, you blamed the movers. They’d gone nosing around and taken something they thought was valuable? Oh hell no. It got your back up immediately… You’d trusted these people, and they’d stolen from you? They’d be getting a phone call later.

Now pissed, you shut the door to the wardrobe a little harder than perhaps you should, the bang that sounded ricocheting off the stone walls of the basement.

That sounded like what you’d heard from upstairs.

You brushed it off, thinking nothing of it and instead looking up into the oval mirror of the door to check you’d left no damage to it.

But then you saw him. A man, in the dusty reflection standing in the far corner, the darkest spot of the basement. You could only see an outline, a silhouette. But one of his eyes seemed to gleam brighter than the other, the light perhaps hitting it just right. He was glaring at you, watching you intently in the dull reflection…

You shrieked, spinning in your place and slamming your back into the wardrobe behind you. Your chest heaved in panic, heart racing and breaths coming short and fast while your eyes searched the dimly lit corner and found nothing.

There was no man stood in the corner, nothing at all in fact. You were completely alone, your mind playing havoc on you in your heightened state of anxiety and anger. Even now, your heart was still hammering away, your lungs just beginning to regulate your breathing.

You straightened yourself up and wiped at your clothes that collected dust from the wardrobe when you’d slammed into it.

“Dumbass,” you mumbled to yourself, heading back upstairs quickly and slamming the basement door. You tried your best to shake off the anxiety, putting your batteries back into your radio and rushing back to the master bedroom to continue with the wallpaper scraping in the hopes it might put your mind back at ease. But for the rest of the day, you felt an anxiety you couldn’t shift, as if there truly was a man in the corner of every room you entered, glaring at you from the shadows.

It took a few days to get all the paper and residue off the walls in the master bedroom, careful not to mess with the panelling you wanted to sand down and keep as part of the décor. But for now, you could finally get onto stripping the paper in one of the other bedrooms, hoping to strip all of the paper from the upstairs in one go before getting around to sanding and replacing any panelling so you wouldn’t be spreading the dust into rooms you’d already finished and cleaned. There was method in your madness – strip everything down, sand, then clean.

The next biggest room upstairs had no furniture in it and was in the worst state, having been the room with the most extensive damage to the flooring and structural integrity. Builders had to replace the entire floor, and so had removed everything to do so. Apparently a leak in the roof – now fixed, of course – had caused irreparable water damage to the far corner, where they’d also removed the mouldy panelling and cleaned the remaining black mould properly and safely.

But now the rest of the room needed its paper stripped, so that’s where you found yourself. Your little radio blared the same station as always as you scraped away at the paper, making your way along the walls. It came off easier than the master bedroom, the damp of the room helping to already ease the adhesive from the plaster beneath.

As you moved to a section of the wall near the window, placing the stepladder on the floorboard, you heard one rattle beneath it. Having had the entire floor replaced, you’d assumed that every floorboard would be secured down. Perhaps the builders had missed one, but a few nails and you could fix that. So you moved the stepladder out of the way and crouched to inspect the plank that wobbled.

It had the holes in it where the nails should have been, and yet, there were no nails to hold it down… It was as if it had been secured and then pulled up again, except you couldn’t figure out why.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you pushed on one end of it to lift it from the structured beams beneath it. It opened up to a crawl space filled with fresh insulation and piping beneath the room. But when you pulled out your phone to flick on the flashlight, you noticed a rather out of place looking jewellery box had been hidden just to one side of the loose floorboard.

Instinct overruled you and you reached for it, pulling it from under the floorboard and wiping the dust from the top of it. It was a beautiful jewellery box, made of dark wood with an intricate baroque pattern carved into it and filled with some kind of gold resin. It had no lock on it, only a hook to keep its lid closed.

It made no sense to you… Why would this be under the floorboards when the floor was so new? Where had it come from? Should you open it?

And then your brain connected the dots. This box was the same shape, and a similar size to the disturbed dust inside the wardrobe in the basement. This had come from the wardrobe…

Logically, you concocted a story that maybe one of the builders had found it and wanted to hide it, come back for it later but forgot. But if they knew it was of value, surely they wouldn’t have forgotten it? And that patch in the wardrobe seemed too fresh, too pristine… Still, you had no other logical answer. You refused to believe it had magically found its way up from the basement and under the floorboards by itself – or even more horrifyingly, at the hands of someone else.

But you had to open it, right? You had to see what was inside, to see why someone would want to hide such a pretty little box at all. So you flicked the hook open, and slowly opened up the jewellery box…

You’d have to say you were disappointed. There were things in here, but nothing that screamed value at you, more like cheap and random items. There were some cuff links that you thought may have been silver, but were only sterling silver; a costume jewellery bracelet made of plastic pearls; a lipstick, worn down to within an inch of its life in a deep red shade; various little knick-knacks that together made absolutely no sense at all. The only thing that stood out to you as remotely unusual, was a watch.

This watch looked ordinary, something you’d pick up for cheap. It was broken, the glass cracked and the time clearly not moving on from 11:06 on the day it broke. It wasn’t branded, the clock face not diamond-incrusted or made of any real precious materials. But just under where the hands connected in the centre was a tiny little rotating set of numbers for a date, reading as 19/03/24 – just over a week ago. The watch had stopped working just over a week ago.

You couldn’t entertain this idea any longer. You stuffed the watch back into the box, slamming the lid closed and putting it back under the floorboards in the hope it might poof itself out of existence. You had to be imagining things, this wasn’t real. First, hearing noises down in the basement. Then, seeing the reflection of a man in the wardrobe mirror, only for him to disappear when you turned around. Now, finding a box of trinkets in the floorboards with items that were completely out of place for the time period of the old house.

You were being ridiculous, making up things that didn’t exist and had no significance at all. This must have been left by a builder, the battery being the reason it stopped, not the crack in the glass. There was just no way. No one had been by the house since you moved in besides the postman, and even he had quickly stuffed the mail into the mailbox at the end of your drive and run off quickly every time you caught him.

A creak in the floorboards in the hallway snapped you from your racing conspiracies, igniting your fight or flight response much like the noise in the basement the other day. This time you didn’t freeze, you stood up quickly and ran to the doorway to see if you could catch whatever was making the noise.

There he was again.

The same silhouette, a man stood in the hallway, backlit from the large window behind him and the sun streaming in through it. You couldn’t see his face properly, left in shadow but you could see those same eyes, glaring at you, watching to see if you would make a move…

Anger flared inside you, thinking you had an intruder in your home. You weren’t one to back down from a fight or go quietly. If this man was skulking around your house in broad fucking daylight, you were going to confront him.

“HEY! Who the fuck are you?!” you yelled from the doorway, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

The silhouette said nothing, instead stepping to the right through the door to your master bedroom. Without a second thought you ran towards the open doorway, grabbing the scraper from the floor where you’d set it down earlier as some kind of precautionary weapon.

“I said, get out of my-“ you stopped, frozen in fear. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, confusion replacing the rage inside you.

Nothing.

There was nobody in here. And you made damn sure to check… No one behind the door, no one in the en-suite, no one under the bed… No one.

You were losing your mind. You had to be. Perhaps you had spent too long alone in this old house, maybe you needed to socialise, head into town and meet some real people instead of chasing shadows. This wasn’t healthy, all this obsessive renovation work. This was your brain telling you you needed a break, right? It had to be that, because you could come up with no sound, logical explanation as to why you were seeing a shadow man roaming around your house other than madness. None of this was really happening, this was simply a descent into insanity caused by too much isolation.

At least, that’s what you told yourself to quiet the pounding heartbeat in your ears as the fear crept its way inside, burrowing deeper with every strange happening you seemed to experience.

A day off was all you’d needed, time out of the house to escape the need to be working, to essentially touch some grass and speak to another actual human being besides the shadow you’d conjured in your head. You’d gone into town, done some shopping, sat in a local coffee shop… You’d met a lovely older woman in there – Amelie, a widow and life-long resident – who’d welcomed you to town, so excited to have a fresh and pretty face to say hello to.

Although, she had warned you to head home before the sun set… That you should never walk alone in the evenings, and should lock your doors and windows at night.

“He likes the younger ones,” she’d told you. “I’m no good, you see… He likes them young.”

That had chilled you to the bone… Perhaps the mad ramblings of a woman hitting senility, but already on edge after the last few days at home, it seemed to strike a nerve. But nothing could have prepared you for the look on her face when she’d asked her where in town you had moved into, and you divulged it was the old farmhouse on the outskirts.

Her cheeks had sagged, smile dropping instantly. She shifted in the chair she’d taken at your table, straightening out the skirt of her dress over her knees and avoiding eye contact. And then she clutched her necklace in her fist – a gold crucifix – as she reached to take yours in her other hand.

“You must protect yourself, yes? That house… Something is there. You must be careful,” she told you, her voice as stern as she could make it to hide the tremble of fear.

“I-I’m okay, really… It just looks old, it’s overgrown and falling apart but I’m working on-“

“No!” she yelled, turning the heads of other patrons in the coffee shop. Her grip on your hand squeezed tighter, her nails digging into your hand painfully. “You should leave, before it’s too late. Such a pretty young thing, you shouldn’t be there…”

You pried her bony, arthritic fingers from around your hand and gently held hers in both of yours.

“I’m okay, Amelie. Please, don’t worry…” you comforted her, but she seemed dissatisfied, her eyes wide as she conceded.

That entire interaction had sat with you for the rest of the day as you’d wandered through the local farmer’s market, picking up fresh vegetables to turn into a casserole for one tonight. It shouldn’t have unnerved you the way it did, such an elderly woman was clearly suffering the effects of an ageing mind and yet, with the experiences of the last few days? Her warning unnerved you.

You headed home long before sunset, and locked the doors and windows like she’d told you to. Did it make you feel any better? Absolutely not… But as you pottered around in the kitchen making the casserole you’d planned, slowly the anxiety started to ease, helped mostly by the music on your little radio.

You ate in peace, scrolling through your phone while you tapped your foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen. You didn’t mind these lonely evenings so much, having grown tired of the bustling city long ago. These days, the quiet of your own company was quite welcome, easily sinking into your own little world.

Even as you stood at the sink, scrubbing at the dishes, you were in your own world, humming along to another overplayed song you’d heard time and time again. You’d find yourself staring out the window in front of you at the sunset, the sky painted pinks and oranges and casting a tranquil glow over the little graveyard out back. Dusk was quickly approaching, the night drawing in as you cleaned.

Just as you placed your plate on the drying rack beside you, you looked out again at the graves, now like silhouettes as the sky turned to a deeper shade of bluey purple. But your heart dropped, every hair on your body standing on end.

The shadow figure. The same shadow figure… Stood out by the graves, looking down at them with its back to you. He seemed to be wearing the same thing as last time you spotted him; slacks, a black coat made of heavy wool that just passed his knees. He was just standing, staring…

You froze in place, watching… You felt paralysed, like you’d spotted a large spider on the wall, staring at it to make sure it didn’t move out of sight because losing it was worse than staring in fear.

It didn’t move, just standing there, staring down.

A rush of anger hit you out of nowhere – this fucker was trespassing on your property, scaring you stupid. You’d locked this prick out when you’d come home, and so he thought it was okay to skulk around your land, trying to frighten you?

Fuck that. No. Enough of this.

You wiped your hands on the dish towel to the side, instinctively reaching for the biggest knife in your knife block on the counter before running to the back door. You unbolted the top and bottom, and ran out into the evening with a surge of adrenaline.

“HEY!” you yelled, like you had when you’d seen him in your hallway, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

The figure didn’t move, still staring down as you approached quickly from behind. You stayed back a few feet, clutching the knife in your hand and ready to use it should this fucker try anything…

“Answer me…” your voice shook with fear, no matter how hard you tried to keep it steady and strong. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing on my land?”

A dark chuckle… The shoulders of the figure shook with his laugh, and it only pissed you off more.

“Your land? Interesting…” the figure muttered, his voice thick with a heavy Italian accent and gruff like he hadn’t spoken aloud in decades.

“I-I’ll call the cops…” you threatened, “just leave and no one gets hurt.”

His head cocked up at that, turning to look over his shoulder. For the first time, you got a small glimpse at his face, and the eye that gleamed brighter than it should. He seemed to be smirking, as if this situation was somehow funny to him.

“You would hurt me, cara mio?” he teased, his eyes flitting down to the knife you held extended towards him. “I did not have you pegged for a violent woman.”

It caught you off guard, the way he spoke to you. Was he trying to belittle you? Make you question your own self-defense to weaken you? You wouldn’t let that happen.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him defiantly, ignoring his comments and still wielding the knife.

“Paying my respects,” he grumbled, as if he were annoyed by an intrusive question.

“Th-this is my property, and you need to leave. I’ve seen you in my house, and you need to go before I call the cops,” you repeated yourself, your voice shaking.

“Why did you buy this house?” he asked, frustratingly ignoring your warnings.

“None of your business-“

“It is my business,” he snapped, “This house belonged to my family,” he span on the spot, finally facing you. His expression was intimidating, his eyes – now visibly different colours – were boring into you, just begging you to try something. “These are their graves. This is their house. It does not, and will never, belong to you.”

“Well you might want to tell the bank that, Mr, uh…” his name escaped you, forgetting the surname that you’d uncovered weeks ago on the graves behind him.

“Emeritus,” he smiled sadistically. “Terzo Emeritus, and this house is mine.”

He took a step closer to you, and naturally you stepped back in fear. The grip on the knife readjusted with the second step he took, readying yourself to use it should you need to.

“But a pretty thing like you? I’m willing to share…”

“Don’t make another move…” you jabbed the knife forward a little, raising your voice in an attempt to appear threatening. “I know there’s some creep going around town, snatching people… And now you’re here, in MY house, threatening me?”

“I think I’m the one being threatened, cara mio…”

“SHUT UP!” you yelled. “Leave, now. Or I will call the fucking police.”

His hands, encased in leather gloves, shot up in a defensive pose, his smile widening sickeningly. He stopped approaching, but his morbidly beautiful eyes slowly scanned you from head to toe, taking you in, analysing. For a moment, you were locked in a stalemate, staring each other down. You thought maybe he was sizing you up, waiting for the opportune moment to strike like a predator hunting its prey.   

But instead of pouncing like you’d expected, he turned back around and knelt down before the graves.

“Penso che forse lei non è così affezionato a me come io sono di lei, non siete d'accordo? (I think maybe she is not as fond of me as I am of her, don’t you agree?)” he mumbled, as if the dead could hear every word. “Non temere, non lascerò che questa bellezza mi scaccia, i miei fratelli. Questa è casa nostra e imparerà a godere della mia compagnia. (Fear not, I will not let this beauty drive me away, my brothers. This is our house, and she will learn to enjoy my company.)”

“W-what did you say?” you stuttered, still wielding the knife. He looked briefly over his shoulder at you.

“Non vedevo tanta bellezza da più di un secolo, (I haven’t seen such beauty in over a century,)” he spoke to the graves again. “Non dal mio esilio e ritorno. (not since my exile and return.)”

You were growing more and more frustrated as he spoke his mother tongue to thin air, waiting for him to do something – even if that something were to force you to defend yourself. This was just… bizarre.

He stood again, kissing the tips of his gloves and pressing them to each headstone, save for one on the end. Why he missed that one, you weren’t sure, but you couldn’t focus on that right now. He seemed to be saying a goodbye, as if he were actually going to leave upon your request.

“Until next time, bella cosa (pretty thing),” he bowed his head a little and began to walk towards you, giving you a wide berth but keeping his eyes trained on you at all times. You figured he was simply making sure you didn’t try to stab him as he passed, walking himself out of the gates of your land and a little ways down the street before he turned back to you, and blew you a slow, calculated flying kiss.

As he continued to walk away down the lane that stretched towards town, you quickly glanced back at the graves, noting now that the names did indeed all share a common family name.

Primo Emeritus. Secondo Emeritus. Copia Emeritus. Terzo Emeritus.

Your eyes widened. You were sure that was the name he just told you belonged to him? That wasn’t possible… Such an unusual name, and he’d made no mention of being a ‘Terzo Junior’, or ‘Terzo the second’. And it was the only grave he didn’t plant his kiss to…

You span around in the grass beneath your feet, looking out down the lane you’d just seen him walking down and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the fields that lined the lane into town, and the road stretched with no bends for at least two miles, no obstructions at all. You should be able to still see him walking, running even if he had chosen to. He hadn’t had time to vanish like he had, in mere seconds.

Your head whipped back to the grave – his grave? – before you shook your head of the nonsense that he might well be some kind of spirit who can appear or disappear in the blink of an eye. These ‘occurrences’ were nothing more than fuel for a spooky story around a campfire. None of this was true, you’d just… lost sight of him, or misjudged the view of the road. Something, anything, had to explain this away.

But it didn’t stop you from bolting back through the garden and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind you with the knife still in hand and bolting the door shut, heart thumping in your ears.

You slept with that knife under your mattress that night.

His face haunted you, both day and night. No matter what you did, or how you tried to refocus your mind, to fixate on only your renovations, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. In the few days since the incident by the graves, you were questioning your sanity more than ever.

Had that even been real? Was he real? He couldn’t possibly be… The way he disappeared in an instant every time you saw him led you only to the conclusion that you’d lost your mind, officially. You must have concocted this spectre after seeing his name on the grave when you’d cleared the landscaping around them. You told yourself that over and over again.

That became harder to do though, when you’d spot him out by the graves again not even a week after the first time. You’d been installing some small curtains to the window by the kitchen sink for you to hide the site from view when you’d spooked yourself at the mere thought of that night, and yet there he was again.

You stared in shock, frozen and motionless, as he turned his head towards the house, looking it up and down, before his gaze settled on you in the window. He raised his hand, but before he could gesture a wave at you, you shut the new curtains and obscured his view, darting out of the kitchen and hiding in the dining room still full of packed boxes.

Your heart pounded as it always did when your imagination ran away with you and spooked you like this. You shook your head, told yourself to snap the fuck out of it.

But then you saw him every evening.

Always by the graves, always turning to wave at you, no matter from which window you were watching him from. You did your best to hide, to ignore it and tell yourself he wasn’t real. You just had to keep going, to continue your work and maybe find a good psychologist in town one of these days.

This plan of wilful ignorance was barely working, but what else could you do? Giving this apparition any kind of attention would surely only make it worse, whether he was a figment of your imagination or a genuine ghost from the past.

Ignoring him was hard. There was such a large part of you that wanted more information about him, to learn where he’d come from, why he haunted you. He was intriguing, if terrifying. The face that followed your dreams, both day and night, was starting to become all too familiar, all too comfortable. If it weren’t for that ghostly white eye of his, he’d have quite a charming face. His glare wouldn’t seem so dark if it wasn’t pierced by the white glow, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so threatening… Home invasion and grave haunting aside.

Still, you did your best to continue as normal. The renovations continued, and before long you had stripped every room upstairs of the aged and withered wallpaper that desperately needed replacing. Finally, you could start decorating to your own tastes – starting with your bedroom.

After a trip to the nearest hardware store, and a delivery of wooden slats, you got busy creating the wainscoting that was to run along the bottom three feet of the wall in your bedroom. The idea was to panel it, and then paint everything a beautiful deep shade of royal purple. The hardwood floor was going to be stained a dark shade throughout the entire upstairs, but you’d managed to source a stunning Persian rug in a purple that matched the aesthetic you were hoping for. The furniture – the items you’d had moved to the basement – were already perfect for the room, matching the bed that had also been left behind. You’d chosen gold metal accents to replace the handles on the wardrobe and chest of drawers, and sourced lamps and trinkets in the same gold to match.

After no longer than a week, you’d completed the room with a mix and match of modern and Victorian gothic aesthetics. Frankly, it looked like a Pinterest board – but it was so inherently you.

When you’d laid the finishing touches to the room, you stood in the middle of it, proudly looking around with a wide grin on your face at the beautifully finished space. That estate agent couldn’t see the potential of this house, but you had the second you stepped foot inside. And whilst it was only one room, the rest of the house still just the bare skeletal bones of a home, this was a huge victory.

“I like what you’ve done with my bedroom, bella cosa (pretty thing).”

Your body stiffened at the sound of his voice, coming from the doorway behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head and willing for the nightmare to stop. You hadn’t heard him, you were imagining it. You had to be.

Except, you heard footsteps behind you, on the hardwood floors. His shoes clacked with every step, slow and deliberate as if he was taking in his surrounding, inspecting your work. When you braved opening your eyes, that’s exactly what he was doing.

He really was here.

“Grazie for keeping my furniture, cara mio. I was always fond of it, and you’ve given it new life,” he said, ogling the wardrobe as he dragged his gloved fingertips along the edge of the wood.

“And purple, too…” he span on his heels to face you, a warm smile crossing his dark features, “My favourite colour.”

“How did you get in here?” you asked, voice shaking as you watched him look around the room.

“I told you, cara, this was my house. I know every entrance and exit there is,” his mismatched eyes settled on you again, “even the ones you don’t.”

He was lying. There were only three ways in or out of the house, and they were all locked – bolted, latched, even the cellar doors in the basement were chained shut.

“This is not your house,” you argued, spitting the words through grit teeth. “You need to leave. I will call the police.”

His eyes darkened again, a veil of threat overcoming him.

“And I told you, this has always been my house.”

You weighed your options. Your phone was on the kitchen counter downstairs; if you were fast enough, you could run down to it and out the back door before he caught you, calling the police as you ran along the road into town. If you didn’t fuck it up, you could even lock him in, taking the key from the back door and locking it shut behind you, leaving him gift wrapped for the cops.

You just had to be quick.

And you tried, you really did. You bolted out of the bedroom, running down the length of the long hall towards the top of the stairs. You hadn’t heard him behind you, his shoes making no noise behind you and so you imagined he’d been left stunned by your sudden departure, giving you a head start.

So you hadn’t expected a pair of large, strong hands to grip you by the tops of your arms at the top of the stairs, and slam your body into the wall. A sharp pain radiated up through your spine, but you cried out in fear more so than pain when you realised he’d trapped you, palms flat against the wall by your head and arms encasing you.

Instinct had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut and waiting for the next blow, or for this nightmare to end. You could feel a cool breeze against your cheek as you turned your head away from the man trapping you, as if his breath were ice cold.

“Look at me, cara mio,” he ordered, his voice deep and slow. You whimpered beneath him, trying to plant yourself flat against the wall to get as far away from him as possible. “Per favore, I want to see you.”

You wanted to deny him, but his silence said he’d wait for an eternity until you did. And you didn’t want to find out just how aggressive he could be, if given the chance. So slowly, you opened your eyes, looking at him through your peripheral vision before you turned your head ever so slightly.

His face was so close to yours, hovering above you. His eyes flickered across your features, like he was looking for something, or maybe mapping every feature and committing it to his memory for some nefarious reason.

This close to him, you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same… You avoided his eyes, noting instead how his skin seemed pale for an Italian man, but soft and smooth without a single imperfection. His jawline was chiselled, like you’d cut your palm if you tried to slap him. He had frown lines in his forehead that came with a life of frustration, yet forked lines from the outer corners of his eyes that came with a life of happiness; neither made him look haggard, yet showed he wasn’t quite as youthful as you.

Despite his pale complexion, his lips remained a soft pink. They were full, parted as you both silently examined each other up close. That breeze you felt was most definitely his breath, which you’d expected to be warmer but given the situation, perhaps it was your fear adding to the chill.

Running out of features to scan, you landed on his eyes; the eyes that haunted you more than any you’d seen. At first glance, the colour mismatch was disconcerting. It would put anybody on edge, perhaps make them wonder if he’d fallen victim to some kind of accident or birth defect but the more you stared, the more you fell into them. You couldn’t place why, but they seemed older than the rest of his features, holding more wisdom than you might have expected.

“Are you real?” you asked him, logic and reason battling against the very real fear that you were imagining him, that he was some kind of spirit that haunted his family home you’d never be rid of. But you’d felt him. His hands had been the ones to throw you against this wall, his body was imposing on yours as he trapped you. He was solid, flesh and blood. But there was an innate and visceral fear that something was wrong.

At your question, his eyes met yours, and his lips quirked into a playful smile.

“I am very real, cara mio,” he assured, taking his hand from beside your head and wrapping his gloved fingers around your wrist. He lifted your palm, gently laying it flat against his chest. “Can you not feel me?”

You could. He was solid, like you’d now discovered and you could feel his heartbeat beneath his shirt. Still, something felt wrong. He had no body heat like a normal living man through a simple cotton shirt should, and the heartbeat you felt was significantly slower than it should be.

“Who are you?” you whimpered, palm to his chest without even an attempt to remove it.

“I told you who I was. Terzo Emeritus.”

“J-junior?” you asked him. His brow creased in confusion, missing what you were asking entirely. “Terzo Junior? The grave, it… it says Terzo.”

Now he understood, sensing your confusion and chuckling lightly at it.

“Just Terzo,” he told you, gentle grip still on your wrist. You could pull your hand away if you tried, and yet, you kept it in place as if his own slow heartbeat was somehow reducing your own to a more comfortable pace.

You were at a loss for words now, brain running far too quickly to settle on something suitable to say to him. But at least now you had grown aware of your palm still settled on his chest, prompting you to rip it from his grip expecting him to put up some kind of resistance, to which you met none.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him, unable to tear your eyes from him in the same manner you’d torn your wrist from him.

“Perhaps only your company,” he shrugged slightly, raising an eyebrow in suggestion. “To exist with you, here.”

“This is my house…”

“Sí, so you keep saying.” A beat of silence passed as you thought of what he was truly asking, what that even meant.

“I want you to stay away from me,” you insisted, finding a shred of strength within you. Terzo took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it go as he studied you.

“I don’t think I can do that, cara mio,” he sighed. His admission had tears forming in your waterline, a new fear that you wouldn’t be able to shake this man’s seemingly growing obsession with you. All you wanted was peace, solitude and an escape but you’d fallen into a web, and the spider was crawling towards you agonisingly slowly.

You took a few deep breaths, each exhale shaky. You just wanted him to go, to leave you alone. Maybe this had been his house once before, but it was yours now, and he couldn’t stay here. He already seemed infatuated with you, if the way he looked at you now was anything to go by. His eyes drank you in like he was a starving man, and you were the ripest of fruits for him to devour.

“Please, I just want to be left alone…” you begged, tilting your head back against the wall and letting the tears fall as you squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob in your chest.

Silence descended, and suddenly the weighted oppression of his presence vanished with a swift breeze. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel he wasn’t entrapping you anymore but when you opened them, you saw he wasn’t anywhere near you at all.

He’d vanished again, faster than a snap of your fingers.

And you were left wondering if any of that, once again, was real or a fantasy of your own making. You were so sure you felt a solid body, a real heartbeat. You weren’t a scientist, nor a paranormal specialist but you would assume if he was the spirit of the man buried in your back yard, you wouldn’t be able to feel him in such a way.

But now he had vanished, the feeling he left with you felt very much like an oppressive presence, a lingering energy. Now he left you with the anxiety of another visit without warning, another appearance to trick you into believing your delusions were true.

You expected to see him again.

Another week passed, a surface layer of anxiety lingering persistently. All you could do was focus your attention on your project, doing your absolute best to continue as normal. Now you had finished the master bedroom, you moved onto the upstairs bathroom, which had needed gutting and refitting.

You’d had a small team of plumbers in to replace the pipes through the house just as you had electricians to rewire the place before you’d moved in, and until now, all you’d had was the bare bones of a shiny new bathroom. You’d installed some counters with a new sink, the gold hardware matching around the bathroom. The marble top was a beautifully tasteful black with gold veins to match the black wood of the cabinets.

Even in here, you stuck to your darker aesthetic. The walls were painted a beautiful matte black, the floor tiled with black and white squares. It took you all week, two of those days on tiling alone. But it was something to focus on, a room that you knew would be frequently used and so needed to be finished now your bedroom was complete.

When it came to adding the finishing touches, it felt like the cherry on top of another beautifully made cake. Your house was quickly turning into a showroom, a place that could be featured in home renovation magazines had you been willing to open it up.

But already, you’d had one too many visitors in your home for your liking…

By the end of the week, you were exhausted – more so than usual. The anxiety of feeling watched, monitored, stalked was taking its toll on you, and you needed some respite. For all you knew, Terzo Emeritus could show up at any moment to frighten, repulse and excite you. It was weighing heavy, and your mind was just as spent as your body was.

As you headed to bed that evening, you allowed yourself some self-care in the bathroom you’d now finished. The point of renovating this house was to enjoy it, right? So why deny yourself that…

You filled the new clawfoot tub with hot water, brimming with bubbles and scents that had you falling into a state of total calm before you’d even sunk into it. Your tiny little radio joined you in the bathroom, tuned to a station that played nothing but classical, and on a bath shelf you’d bought you rested some candles, a book and a full glass of red wine to enjoy as you pampered yourself.

Sinking into the water, you relished in the feeling of being submerged in its warmth. Almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders melted away, eyes closing in bliss as your head slipped back to rest against the tub’s edge. You couldn’t help but let out a hum of satisfaction, the relief and pleasure accumulating in a soft moan.

As you let your body relax, a noise caught your attention; a floorboard, creaking just outside of the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open, your body reacting and freezing in place. However when you let your eyes roam over to the mirror above the bathroom sink, you saw him…

By force of habit, you’d left the bathroom door ajar, a small gap just large enough to be able to see that ghostly eye of his in the dim hallway, and the outline of him peeking through the door. Your heart rate hammered in your chest as it always did when you saw him, but you remained still. For now, he wasn’t making any kind of move, and he didn’t seem to be aware you had seen him.

But he was definitely there, watching you as you bathed. It was violating, invasive, perverse… And yet, you did nothing about it.

Instead, you sank further underneath the bubbles, reaching for your wine glass with your eyes trained on the mirror. You took a sip, relishing in the taste and releasing another satisfied moan as if putting on a damn show for him. What possessed you to do so, you had no idea, but he’d been tormenting your mind for weeks now – why couldn’t you do the same to him?

Reaching for your loofah, you dunked it under the water and sat upright, back exposed to him. You stretched your arm out, running the loofah along your skin in a slow and deliberate manner. You were careful to never expose yourself too much, but to tease with the expanse of pretty, bare skin to conjure enough suggestion in his mind that would leave a man desperate to see more.

When you ran the loofah up the length of your leg just above the water, you heard the floorboards creak again, like he was fidgeting on the other side of the door. You checked in the mirror to see if he was still there, and he most certainly was, but you were having the effect on him you hoped for.

Perhaps you stretched it out a little longer than necessary, running the loofah over your body more than needed but you were making your point. Your wicked little mind was ticking over, aware he could only see what you wanted him to; your shoulders and head above the bubbles from behind. Do you dare to cross the line…?

Perhaps the thrill of being watched was having an effect on you too, because you came to the conclusion that yes, you did dare to cross the line.

You lay back against the tub again, using the loofah now to run across your shoulders and down between the valley of your breasts, which the bubbles were barely covering in your relaxed position. You trailed the loofah further down, reaching over your stomach and between your legs.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you brushed the loofah over your core, now realising that washing yourself so intimately – and being watched while doing so – had aroused you more than you’d first thought. A flash of pleasure had you squeezing your eyes shut again, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grazing over your centre with added pressure, hips rocking in the water.

Before long, you abandoned the loofah all together, and from where he was stood, Terzo could see it float and bob up to the surface which had him drawing only one conclusion; you were definitely not just washing yourself.

You worked slowly, methodically. It had been so long since you’d let go like this, since you’d last touched yourself at all and you wanted to savour it, to enjoy it. You were in no rush, working your fingers in gentle and slow circles over your clit under the water. The moans that you let slip weren’t at all restrained or controlled; for all you knew, you were alone, right? So why would you hold back?

 It was impossible not to keep checking the mirror, to make sure he was still there and every time, he was. You couldn’t help but let your imagination run away with you, picturing him entering the room, kneeling down beside the tub and reaching his hand between your legs for you. You pictured him taking you from the bathroom, into the bedroom and having his way with you, dark, handsome and brooding as he always had been.

You imagined his hands beneath his gloves, his bare fingertips tracing patterns into your skin, his full lips trailing kisses down your still wet body. What did he look like under those layers of his? How would he feel under your own fingertips? How would he feel inside you?

But Terzo made no such move. Instead, he watched silently from the shadows, and each time you caught that glimpse of him your hips bucked towards your hand until eventually, you couldn’t hold back anymore and allowed yourself to fall over the precipice.

Your orgasm was powerful, thanks to not only the lack of self love recently, but also, the arousal of becoming an exhibitionist. It rippled through your body like the water around you, and had you crying out wordlessly as you sank further into the water up to your chin. You hadn’t felt so good in a long time, and it worked perfectly to relieve the remainder of that tension in your body.

As you came down from the orgasm, you dared to glance back at the mirror only to find that he’d vanished. Another little disappearing act, only this time, you found yourself free of the anxiety that usually came with that, and instead smug with the knowledge you might have got one over on him for a change. You’d teased him to a point that he couldn’t tear his eyes from you until it was over, and for a moment you felt truly powerful. At least, if he were real… and not a fantasy you’d concocted for yourself. There was still the very real possibility that all of this was just your own madness and loneliness, and you were just now starting to lean into the delusions as a form of self-preservation.

For a little while longer, you stayed put in the tub, enjoying your book, the rest of your wine and the music in the background. Of course, you kept checking on the mirror to see if maybe he’d return for another look, but nothing. It was twisted, the way your stomach drooped in disappointment each time, but you brushed it off. You were sure before long, you would see him again – whether real or fictional.

Once you had finished in the bathroom, draining the tub and rinsing the suds away, you floated back into your bedroom wrapped in a bathrobe and ready to sink into bed with your book. You pottered around, changing into some pyjamas and crawling under the sheets when a glimpse of colour caught the light beside your bed, earning your attention.

Hanging from your bedside lamp was a pendant, and most certainly not one of yours. They were stored in a jewellery box atop the dresser, not hung on display like this… but it was beautiful, and you reached over to lay the charm in your palm and inspect it properly.

It was simple, yet elegant. The charm was shaped like a water drop, except the stone was purple; perhaps amethyst or a rarer sapphire but it caught the light exceptionally. Surrounding it, were smaller stones that resembled diamonds, but your knowledge of precious stones couldn’t confirm whether they were in fact real, or if this were costume jewellery. It didn’t matter though, it was beautiful as it was, sparkling under your bedside lamp.

You had no idea how it got here, but you could hazard a guess. It had been left for you like a gift, delicately placed in a position that would get your attention. There was only one person it could have come from, and as you played with the unusual pendant under the light, you began to realise that maybe he wasn’t the figment of your imagination you were trying to pass him off as…

The next morning, you had a revived energy, a spring in your step from a decent night’s sleep. The time spent on self care seemed to do the job, relieving the stress enough for you to be ready to tackle the downstairs living room next. Truthfully, your new found vigour may have also had something to do with a large part of you giving in to the idea that Terzo was not a fantasy, he’d been very real this whole time.

You still had no idea who he was, or how he was a real person. You were beginning to think that perhaps spirits did walk the earth, just by how he seemed to appear and disappear on a dime. But you remembered the heartbeat, the solid chest under your palm…

There were so many questions. Who was he? A descendant of the family this house once belonged to, and rested in your garden? How does he keep getting in? He mentioned entrances you might not know about, but you’d searched thoroughly, or so you thought. Was he obsessed with you? Stalking you?

Was he dangerous?

His behaviour was most definitely shady – people don’t just come and go in other people’s homes as they please. But you’d never reported him, no matter how much you’d threatened it. To begin with you’d hoped the threat of calling the cops would be enough to deter him, but he always came back. And at every opportunity, he could have done something to hurt you, yet never did. Even last night, you were in a completely vulnerable position. And whilst peeping on you in the bath was absolutely a violation and a crime in itself, all he did was watch. And you let him.

His existence was confusing, but you’d surrendered to the notion that he did in fact exist; and honestly, that in itself was quite freeing. It felt like some kind of weight had lifted, and it made beginning work on the living room easier to stomach.

This room had suffered in the years the house sat in decay. The old windows had made way for black mould to grow around it, and whilst you’d had the windows replaced since, the mould was still present. Your first job was to clean the walls and potentially replace some of the floorboards, if the moisture had taken hold of the wood.

Armed with a bucket of diluted bleach and a sponge, you got to work scrubbing at the walls and the large window sill that you were planning to convert into a cosy nook; a perfect place to sit and watch the world go by, book in hand. Your little radio sat on the mantelpiece of the stunning fireplace you were going to bring back to life, blaring out the same cycle of tunes you were used to now you’d tuned it back from the classical of last night.

You let yourself zone out as you scrubbed at the mould, singing along to the radio now you knew most of the songs blaring from it. It was a wonder you weren’t sick of them yet, but you still hadn’t got around to unpacking your record player that was supposed to have a home in this particular room. First, you had to finish it though, of course.

As one song ended, the radio host announced a lunchtime bulletin. By this time you were only half listening, fixated on the satisfying cleaning job.

“It’s 1pm, you’re listening to 108.3fm – here’s your lunchtime bulletin. Police have made a shocking discovery after the disappearance of 25 year old Amanda Riley just three days ago.”

Your ears perked up at the news, now getting your attention. Another one? This was concerning, terrifying even. And now they’d made a discovery?

“Human remains were discovered just outside of town in a wooded area yesterday, which police have now confirmed are that of Amanda. Family members formally identified the body, and police have given a statement to locals urging caution and vigilance. Sheriff Ansel had this to say…

“‘We believe Ms. Riley’s murder to be connected to the string of disappearances in the area in the last few months. The victim was found with all her personal belongings still on her person, including wallet, cash, ID and mobile phone, however when the family came to formally identify the body, they noted that the only thing taken from her was her unusual pendant…’”

Your blood turned cold. The hand still scrubbing at the wall froze in place, and slowly, you turned to look at the radio as if it was speaking directly to you.

“‘The pendant is recognisable as a purple amethyst in a teardrop shape, surrounded by smaller white diamonds. While the item is valuable, we believe that the killer may have taken such a personal item as a trophy, which could be part of their M.O. Still, we are urging the public to please keep an eye out to see if we can trace this item, either in pawn shops or perhaps being sold online. We ask that you not panic, and please get in touch if you note anything suspicious. Thank you.’”

Your hand dropped the sponge back into the bucket of diluted bleach, drifting up to your chest where that very same pendant was sat against your skin. You’d put it on that morning, barely even thinking about it, just because you liked it.

But he’d given it to you. Left it out in the open for you, like he was proud of it. He’d given you a dead girl’s fucking necklace. And there was only one way he could have got it…

You stood up, running into the kitchen and colliding with the sink before your body displayed it’s disgust by vomiting violently. All those unanswered questions, and yet, one of them had been answered.

Who was he? A murderer.

As you coughed and spluttered your breakfast into the sink, your mind raced. She wasn’t the only missing person, just the first body to have been found. There were others. So many others, for nine months. Thirteen missing people, one of which found dead with this fucking necklace missing.

You felt dizzy, like a wave of vertigo hit you in an instant. You hobbled over to the fridge, clutching at the kitchen counter to keep yourself steady and rooting around for a bottle of water. Your hands shook as you unscrewed the lid, taking a sip to rinse out your mouth as you stumbled back to the sink to spit. You took another sip, this time swallowing and trying your best to focus on the sensation of the cool water trickling down your throat. But your head was too busy.

Trophies. He was taking trophies? Why? This sick bastard must enjoy it, he must relish in his kills, wanting something to remember each one by. What else had he taken…? And then you remembered.

The box under the floorboards.

You slammed the water bottle down on the side, a jet propelling out onto the work surface from the force. Before you knew it your feet were moving of their own accord, up the stairs and down the hall. You were unsteady, tripping into the walls as you walked. You needed to know, but you didn’t want to.

Stumbling into the bare room, you fell to your knees with a hard smack where the floorboard was loose. Shaking hands lifted the plank, reaching underneath to check the box was still there; it was. You pulled it from its hiding place setting it down on the floor while you racked up the courage to open it again.

In one quick motion, you unlocked the latch and flung the lid open like ripping off a band aid. All the items were still there, just the way you’d left them, including the watch that had made you question them in the first place. It looked like it could have been vintage, save for the date wound to March of this year.

You looked at the collection of random items; the watch, the cuff links, the old red lipstick, the cheap bracelet, a skeleton key, a tiny used bottle of perfume, a red comb, an old butterfly hairpin, a daisy pin badge, a rusty swiss army knife, a fountain pen and a vintage zippo lighter.

Twelve items.

With the necklace, that made thirteen. Thirteen items. Thirteen victims. Thirteen trophies.

“I should have hidden them better, eh?”

The sound of his voice had your body stiffening in fear, skin instantly peppered with goosebumps. You hadn’t even begun to think about confronting him or having to see him. You weren’t sure what you were going to do yet, but you’d have hoped to have time to calm yourself down and think rationally about your options.

But you were going to have to do this ad-hoc.

“I don’t often make mistakes, bella cosa, but when I do… They haunt me. I suppose my kindness is coming back to bite me on the culo (ass).”

He sounded surprisingly calm for a man who’d just been found out to be a serial killer. It unnerved you, and no part of you could figure out his next move. You were a sitting duck.

Slowly, and carefully, you stood up, turning around to look at him. Part of you worried if you startled him with sudden movement, he might strike like any predator would its prey.

He was stood in the doorway, leaning up against the wood with his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks, coat pushed back behind them. He looked far too casual, his face hinting at neither anger nor humour – nowhere on the emotional spectrum.

“Kindness?” you asked, ruminating over his use of the word. “There’s no kindness in what you’ve done.” Perhaps it was dangerous to speak so ill of the murderer in front of you, but you couldn’t help yourself.

His neutral expression darkened in a warning glare, his chin tipping up so he was looking down on you, adding to his intimidating aura.

“Not everybody deserves kindness, cara mio. Some deserve far less,” he challenged, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking slow steps into the room, keeping a distance from you still.

“No one deserves that…”

Terzo scoffed, looking off to gaze out of the window and shaking his head as if what you said offended him in some way.

“So now you know,” he shrugged, looking back towards you, his hands still shoved deep in his pockets. You kept an eye on them, mind racing with all kinds of possibilities – he could have a weapon of some sorts hidden from view. You needed to be on your guard. “I suppose you will report me now, sí?”

There was a playful glint in his eyes that you didn’t miss, like he was taunting you, waving a red flag to a bull. If you said you were, would he attack you too? But surely he couldn’t simply take your word for it if you said you wouldn’t either… Truthfully, you weren’t sure what you were going to do. Your only instinct was to run – fast.

You let his question linger in the air, far too much silence going by as he watched you, assuming you’d frozen in fear. He hadn’t expected you to dart towards the door, your only goal to get downstairs and out of the house as quickly as possible. So when you did exactly that, he watched for a split second, anger snapping inside him.

You barely made it out of the room before you felt a sudden force slam you forwards and into the wall of the corridor. A scream erupted from your chest, blood-curdling and gut-wrenching to anyone who would have heard it – but out here? No one would. How he’d moved so fast, you had no idea, but he had both of your wrists behind your back, and his whole body weight held you tightly against the wall.

“You are leaving so soon?” he asked, leaning in to speak directly in your ear as you writhed under him to try and escape, but his grip was too strong even without him putting seemingly any effort into it. “I was just getting used to you living in my house…”

“This is MY house,” you growled, gritting your teeth and avoiding his eyes.

“Then why should you want to leave? Are you scared I might hurt you, cara mio?”

Tears spilled from your waterline, giving away your fear and distress. Of course you were scared he was going to hurt you. He’d already hurt so many…

When he received no answer from you other than a sob in defeat and the stilling of your limbs as you gave up fighting his grip, he manhandled you until you span around, your back now against the wall just like it had been the other day.

“Th-this isn’t real… You’re not real…” you whispered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut in the hopes you might wake up from your nightmare. You did not.

“I’m quite real, cara. We’ve been over this, no?” he lifted your wrist again like he had the other day, this time settling your hand delicately on his cheek and holding it there with his much bigger palm. “See?”

His gentility confused you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw a strange softness in his face. For a moment, you almost thought his expression was one of admiration. It didn’t matter what it was, but you couldn’t look away. This man – this serial killer – was being so gentle with you, his eyes cast over you like he was utterly obsessed with you.

“Why?” you whispered, more tears spilling over your cheeks. Still, you held his, despite his grip on your hand lessening ever so slightly. You wanted to understand, talk him down maybe just enough to let you go. You wanted to appeal to the softness you saw in him.

“I have no choice,” he said flatly, almost with a hint of shame. But that only crossed the wires in your mind more.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“I choose them carefully… They are not good people, cara. They have ruined others lives, even taken them and I-“ he stopped himself, looking down at the floor in shame. Your brows creased together, trying to piece your thoughts into coherency.

“It’s always a choice,” you started to argue back, softly so as not to raise any more rage within him in such a precarious position such as the one you found yourself in beneath him. But his head snapped back up nonetheless, his hand gripping onto yours and throwing it back down beside you. He kept you caged beneath him still, hands planted firmly on the wall.

“I assure you, bella ragazza (pretty girl), there is no choice. It is me or them.”

Slowly, he raised his head from where he’d stared at the floorboards between your feet. His eyes watched you closely as he tilted his head back a little, and his lips parted until you could clearly see two very white, very sharp fangs protruding from under his top lip.

For a moment you didn’t react at all, calculating what you were seeing. His hands hadn’t moved, so he hadn’t put them in himself. You’d seen him so many times, and up close too, and never saw them before… They had to be real. He had fangs.

“That’s impossible…” you whispered, “there’s no such thing as-“

“Vampires?” he finished your sentence for you, “I’m sorry to shatter your illusion of a perfect world, cara mio, but I can assure you, there certainly is.”

Finally, your survival instincts kicked in, adrenaline pumping through your veins almost in an instant. You shoved your hands against his chest and pushed with all the strength you had, trying to get him away from you, to preserve yourself. All this time you had felt like prey, and it had been instinct all along. You were prey.

Your shove did nothing. He remained unmoving, like stone encasing you against the wall. You thrashed your arms around, trying to escape him but it was completely useless. You were already trapped, and at the mercy of a real vampire.

“I’m sorry, cara mio, but you will not overcome my strength nor my speed. This is useless, I assure you.” His voice had no hint of patronising, instead of genuine sorrow. It felt as if he knew he had to kill you now, but he didn’t want to kill you. You gave up, your fists balling up against his chest as you lay your head back against the wall, out of breath and sobbing as you accepted your fate.

“Please… don’t kill me, Terzo…” you wept, head lolling forward to look into his eyes for what you thought might be the last time.

His brow was creased, his lips parted in horror as he looked back at you. He raised his gloved hand and wiped at the tracks on your cheek. “I don’t wish to kill you, cara mio… You understand, no? I must kill to stay alive, but not you – never you.”

You barely registered what he was saying before you were shooting questions at him again, needing to know more, to understand why he chose those people. Why he kept their trophies…

“Why them? Why did you choose them? They were innocent, just like me. Why did they deserve that?” you sobbed, your chest heaving as he held your cheek, still caging you against the wall.

“The girl they found? What the polizia (police) don’t know is she was behind the wheel of an intentional hit and run a few years ago. The store clerk a few weeks back? You do not want to see what was on his hard drive. All of them, vile humans. There is more evil in this world than you could possibly fathom, tesoro. They even tasted different…” he shrivelled his face in disgust, “but it keeps me alive, and my conscience semi-clear.”

The shock of his revelation did nothing to help your racing heart or foggy mind, processing everything far slower than you would like in this tumultuous situation.

“Suppose that was true, why do you keep their things?” you prodded further – there must be some part of him that enjoys it. Even if only the fact he were proud of removing scum from the earth, if that were true.

“Because I carry their souls with me… No matter how evil, they are people, and I take their life. Each one is a burden, and I must never forget that.”

There was genuine sorrow, genuine regret there. You could see it. But it changed nothing, he was still a murderer, a monster. And you were still trapped underneath him, literally backed up against a wall and inches away from deadly threat.

“But… it’s sick, Terzo! They’re kept like trophies, like you’re proud of what you do to them!” you protested. He hollowed his cheeks in annoyance, becoming more defensive as you accused him.

The hand that wiped your tears lowered to your neck, his fingertips tracing along the chain of the necklace you had yet to take off, until it reached the unusual pendant, where he played with it against your collarbone.

“And yet, you still wear it. You had time to take it off, if you were so disgusted by it. But here it is, looking so pretty around your… beautiful neck,” he sighed, his eyes roaming hungrily over the exposed skin he so clearly wanted to puncture and drink from. The fear in you started to rise again, your pulse that had just started to settle raising. More hot tears fell over your waterline as you took a deep, shaky breath.

“What… what do you want from me?” you pleaded, your voice trembling and squeaky. His eyes flickered up to yours, fingertips still playing with the pendant, grazing the skin so gently it left goosebumps. You would never admit to the thrill his touch seemed to be giving you, knowing what you know of him now.

But Terzo leaned in further, his hips meeting yours and pressing you further against the wall. The hand that had been keeping you caged against the wall all this time dropped to your waist, holding you just enough to send a wave of curious gratification through your abdomen. He was close enough that your noses would touch, should he tip his head down to you. You could feel his icy breath against your face again – a symptom of his state of undead, you now understood.

“I want you to love me, tesoro…” he confessed in a whisper, watching for your reaction.

“I only fear you,” you defied, unable to admit the curiosity his request sparked.

“Are they not the same?” His eyebrow arched up in question, waiting for your response. But honestly, you had none. You were dumbfounded, wondering what on earth he meant by that. Of course they weren’t the same, nothing about love and fear are the same. The attraction you had felt towards him in recent encounters was fleeting; a right place, right time kind of attraction. It had nothing to do with him, and now knowing what he was, it could never be him again.

Terzo understood your silence to be an internal monologue, a debate in your own mind. He pressed further, illustrating his point.

“Let me ask you, tesoro, does the thought of me make your hairs stand on end?” his fingertips grazed along the length of your collarbone, the grip on your waist squeezing slightly, “Does it make your stomach fill with the flutter of butterfly wings? Does it make your heart beat like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings?”

You couldn’t deny it, but those were markers of fear as well as love. It didn’t mean they were synonymous. You refused to answer him.

“I can hear it, you know…” his hand flattened against your collarbone, “The pounding in your chest, the rushing of your blood through your veins. I hear them, working so hard when you are near me.”

Terzo leaned into your neck, his nose brushing against your jugular so tenderly as he breathed in deeply, enjoying your scent to the point of near intoxication. Little did you know, it was that scent that drew him out of hiding in the first place. He simply couldn’t stay away from you, and when he saw where the scent was coming from, saw your sheer beauty, he understood why you smelled as tempting as you did.

“Fear smells just like love to me, tesoro. It adds a sweetness to your already saccharine scent. Just like nectar appeals to a honey bee, you appeal to me much the same,” he continued to nuzzle his nose against your skin, his breath fanning over your collarbone. Every so often in his clumsy, inebriated state his lips would gently tickle the skin, sending a rush through you that now you were certain he could smell. “That nectar can be turned into honey, no? I wonder if I could do the same for you…”

You bit your lip, looking up towards the ceiling in an attempt to avoid his eyes that frankly were too hypnotic for their own good.

“They are all markers of fear, Terzo…” you whimpered. You felt his breath as he chuckled against your skin.

“Then tell me why I can smell the sweetest honey already pooling between your legs, cara mio…”

Your head snapped down to look at him, and you met his eyes already waiting for you, a smirk on his lips. You wanted to deny it, to slap him, to push him away from you but what was the point? He was right. There was no denying it. He could smell you.

The shame you felt, letting a monster like him have such an effect on you, was astronomical.

“Please…”  you pleaded; for what, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, cara mio? What can I give you?” he asked, straightening up and again cupping your cheek with his gloved hand, still holding your waist, still pressing his hips to yours. His lips were so close, all you could do was stare at them until you snapped yourself out of it, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Everything.”

It took no longer than a heartbeat for Terzo to process your answer, before his lips attached to yours so fast and hard you felt his fangs scrape against your bottom lip. A thrill zapped your core, and your balled up fists against his chest gripped the lapels of his coat to bring him impossibly close. You succumbed so quickly to him, desperate to feel his lips against yours.

While you were sure this feeling was not love, it was certainly not fear either. ‘Infatuation’ felt closer to the truth, borderline obsession just as Terzo had exhibited towards you. But denying it was futile now, and so instead, you leaned into it. The pair of you desperately held onto each other, kissing as if this was the only way you could get oxygen, and you’d been suffocating without each other.

Terzo started to move, trailing his passion down to your jawline, underneath your ear and down to your neck. Your heartrate quickened again, knowing that his mouth near your neck could go only one of two ways. Both options seemed to excite you in equal measures…

“W-will it hurt…?” you asked him, as you felt his fangs graze against your skin lightly, like he was holding himself back.

“Just for a second…” he panted like a dog laying out in the sun. And he wasn’t wrong, the pain would be momentary, his fangs emitting a small amount of venom that acts as an anaesthetic. That wasn’t the problem, and it wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks. “But I can’t…”

You cupped his cheeks, lifting his head to look him in the eye again. “What’s wrong?”

He looked as if he were in pain, his face screwed up in utter agony. He kept shaking his head, like he didn’t want to say it, like he was hiding a secret that would break him just to say aloud.

“If… If I do this, I might not be able to stop,” he whined, “and even if I do, how could I ever let you go after tasting you?”

You searched his eyes, saw the pain and the uncertainty in them. He truly didn’t want to hurt you, and right now he looked more vulnerable than you would think a creature of the night was capable of being.

“When you moved in I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t stay away… And that was merely your smell, Tesoro. I’m afraid if I taste you, I could never leave you alone again.”

His admission floored you, and as much as the idea of giving yourself over to him willingly seemed to appeal to you, the rational part of your brain was still working enough to understand that that was a line that should not be crossed just yet.

“It’s okay… It’s okay,” you told him sincerely, comforting his distress before bringing his lips back to yours and resuming your heated exchange. Perhaps someday you would allow him that taste, a way of committing deeper than you could possibly comprehend at this stage. But there was a reason for the phrase “blood pact”, and it didn’t originate with the exchange of open wounds between two mortals.

As enthralled as he was in your lips, feeling your pulse beneath them tempting him, Terzo had to push the thought to the back of his mind. He couldn’t lose himself to the temptation so soon. He’d frighten you away if you saw him so feral, and he couldn’t let you disappear like everyone else in his life – not the only woman to ever have smelled so divine to him. Only he knew what that meant, that pull…  You were it for him. His obsession was unavoidable, you were his promised love.

It happened instantaneously for his kind, but for you? It would take time for you to see it, to feel what he felt. Human sense of smell was nowhere near as powerful, and so you could never know just by his scent that he was the one for you, the soul on the other end of the red string tied around your wrist.

To rid his mind of the temptation, he focussed on the moment at hand. His intense grip on your waste drifted over your hips and to the backs of your thighs until he was lifting them, using his hips to ground you against the wall so you wouldn’t fall. It was as if you were weightless to him, his inhuman strength making such light work of carrying you further down the hall and into your bedroom – his bedroom – until you both fell onto the bed.

No part of you thought for even a millisecond of stopping him, an intense need for him screaming from within you. You pushed his coat from his shoulders, diverting to his shirt buttons as soon as he began pulling at his sleeves to rid himself of the heavy wool. In no time at all, his chest was bare to you, peppered with dark hair that you’d expect from a man of Italian descent. You pulled him closer to you, reattaching your lips desperately.

His gloves disappeared as you kissed him, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the touch of his cold skin on yours, his hands sliding up under the hem of your shirt to hold you. He paused for a moment, searching your face for any sign his touch wasn’t welcome.

“Just cold…” you assured him, running your fingers through the dark locks of hair that had fallen over his face as he hovered above you.

“I, eh… sí, mi scusi, I am cold to the touch…” he apologised, a wave of insecurity flashing through his expression.

“I don’t mind,” you smiled sweetly, pulling him down with your hand woven into his hair and kissing his insecurity away. He regained his confidence, grip returning to your bare waist under your shirt and tightening with gratitude at your reassurance.

The way he kissed you was like worship, like he valued every second you allowed him to touch you, to be with you – and as he slowly began to undress you, his worship continued. He started with your shirt, pushing it up your abdomen and peppering the skin with more kisses as he exposed it. Over the curve of your breast peaking from above the cup of your bra, you felt the low rumble of a groan against your chest that was suppressed as he buried his face into your flesh. He was so gentle, so calculated in his motions and it was driving you crazy already.

Once your shirt was finally above your head and discarded somewhere to the side, he pulled the straps of your bra down, kissing along your shoulders and down your arms until he reached behind you to unclasp it. Your breasts bounced before him, and he immediately began to leave open mouthed kisses over them, laving his tongue over your nipples as they stood to attention under the chill of his lips. His free hand worked at your other breast, kneading like he was making the finest ricciarelli biscuit dough.

You couldn’t help the soft whines and hums that left your body as he worshipped you, hips rolling under him in a desperate attempt to feel something more. You wanted him so badly, already overcome with desire.

His hand came to rest on your hip, squeezing and he continued to suckle at your breast. His fingers dipped easily into the waistband of your paint-smeared sweats – one of several pairs you alternated when working on the house renovations. Before long, he was dragging them down your thighs, his cold knuckles grazing at the skin and sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

Terzo was taking his time without wasting any. He knew what he wanted, what you wanted, but he spent just enough time working your body, lavishing it to build anticipation. But before long, his kisses began to travel south, leaving a path of wet little marks down between the valley of your breasts and your navel until he was tracing the hem of your underwear, daring to run his finger along the sensitive skin.

It took a formidable amount of strength and restraint to keep your hips as still as you did, and even then, you were wriggling under his touch. But when he could tell you were growing restless, he wrapped his arm underneath your thigh and lifted it above his shoulder. Naturally, you spread wider for him, giving him complete access to your covered core where he could see so clearly the stain of arousal.

He was so close to you, the scent of your sweet honey so intoxicating. You could never understand how divine that scent was with your own human senses, but to him? It cemented itself in his memory. He knew that after today, he would never forget it. He didn’t want to rush, but frankly, it was getting impossible to resist a taste.

He lifted the hem of your panties and pierced the material beneath it with his fangs, easily tearing it away from your body before he pressed his nose to your mound, and took in a deep inhale. He growled between your legs, the vibration and exhale teasing your nerves until you were clenching around nothing.

He could wait no longer, his tongue reaching out to lap between your folds in one slow motion. He savoured the taste on his tongue, making sure to collect as much honey as he could for a truly overwhelming taste. You watched as his hips rocked into the bed below him, his hands tightening on your thighs. His tongue felt cold too, but the pressure was so welcome, a wave of euphoria passing through your core.

Expertly, Terzo used his whole mouth to bring you the pleasure he thought you deserved and yet, not once did you worry about the sharp fangs he’d used to strip you. He had the ability to retract them should he need to, and for this particularly delicate activity, he did just that. But his lips and tongue worked together to have you moaning at every lap, hips rolling underneath him.

Your hands found their way to his hair for purchase, tugging at the roots every time he sent a surge of pleasure through your clit. He loved it, moaning with you as if he too was close to an orgasm. Both of you had lost yourselves to the moment, completely enthralled in lust.

Terzo was becoming more and more desperate to have you finish on his tongue. Each pretty little sound he caused only made him want to hear more, and as you grew closer and closer to orgasm, you sweetened with added hormones that drove him wild. He unwrapped a hand from around your thigh and easily slid two fingers inside, not bothering nor needing to tease with how your body already gave itself over to him. He curled his fingers inside you, a shock of pleasure forcing your back to arch from the mattress as he found the perfect position.

His pace increased with every moan he elicited, the tension in your lower abdomen growing until you were on the verge of snapping.

“T-Terzo… Please,” you begged him. He chuckled darkly as he buried his face deeper within you, his nose adding to the equation and making your hips writhe until finally, that tension inside you snapped.

He didn’t stop, holding you down with inhuman strength as you erupted in cries of bliss. Your muscles contracted, thighs trapping his head in place and fingers pulling painfully at his hair.

Terzo slurped at your core, not letting a single drop of arousal go to waste. You tasted different as you came, the rush of hormones adding something so damn addictive that it wasn’t until you physically tried pushing his head away in oversensitivity that he snapped out of his trance, his head jolting up to look at you with his mouth and skin shimmering. He looked completely feral, his eyes wide, and you watched as his fangs returned with a snarl of a hungry animal locking onto its kill.

Your heart jumped in your chest; out of fear or lust you couldn’t be sure. But he heard it, the irregular thump as you lay vulnerable and weak beneath him. It only served to make his erection twitch in his slacks… Fear was a powerful feeling, and mixed with lust it was one of the most erotic combinations.

He crawled his way back up your body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before diving into a punishing kiss that knocked any remaining wind out of you. You could feel his length pressing into your hip, and while you were certainly already struggling with exertion you wanted nothing more than to know how he’d feel inside you.

So you reached between you both for his belt, fiddling with the buckle as you kissed him. Taking the hint, he kicked his shoes off over the edge of the bed, and when you’d managed to undo his belt and slacks, he helped to kick them with his underwear passed his knees to follow suit. With him bared to you and pressing into your hip once again, you could feel just how endowed he was, and just how ready for you he was.

“You are so beautiful, cara mio…” he mused between kisses, his cold fingertips trailing down your neck and arm, then back up. “And you can’t ever understand how exquisite you taste.”

“To an extent, I can…” you teased with a flirty smile, “I can taste myself on your tongue.”

He stared down at you for a moment, until realisation finally settled and his lips curled into a devilish grin.

“Tu sei una tentatrice, amore mio… (you are a temptress, my love…)” he whispered, lowering himself to your lips once again.

As you both lost yourself in another steamy kiss, you couldn’t help rolling your hips up to meet his. He hummed into your mouth, understanding that you wanted him completely, and reached between the two of you to grip himself. You spread your legs a little wider to make it easier for him, feeling how he prodded at your entrance once he’d lined himself up.

“Are you sure, amore?” he stopped to ask, and you nodded, biting your lip to contain the smile as you cupped his cheeks. With your permission, he slowly pushed forwards, filling you slowly as he glided through your slick. You fought to keep your eyes open, if only to watch the look of bliss that overcame his face – and boy was it worth it.

He looked so ethereal, like his pale skin had been carved by the finest of Greek sculptors in marble burdened with the curse of perfection. The chill of his skin did nothing to quell the burning heat of yours, finding the perfect balance.

“You’re so… warm,” he moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck while he enjoyed the feeling for a moment. “Sembra fottutamente incredibile. (feels fucking incredible.)”

Given a moment to compose himself, he began to slowly rock his hips back and forth, gritting his teeth from the sensation alone. You would be the first to admit that he, too, felt incredible inside you, reaching places his fingers had only moments ago and sending waves of a dull pleasure through you once again at the embers of your last orgasm were being stoked.

His hand gripped your thigh and lifted it around his waist, obtaining a better angle and something for him to grip onto to stop his mind spiralling into sheer madness. Already, you were so difficult to resist; temptation was calling to him in the form of your steady, yet thundering pulse where his face lay against your neck. But if he lost himself, lost control like he was so terrified to, he was afraid resistance would fail him.

It was like torture. How could he feel so incredible pumping his length inside you while simultaneously experiencing the physical strain of holding his thirst back. You were his, he’d decided that long ago. But to truly make you his, all he would need to do was to give in, to sink his fangs into the skin he was peppering with kisses. He felt like a recovering addict desperately trying to resist as someone waved a hit under his nose. In some ways, that was exactly what he was.

But not yet. It was too soon. He had to resist for now, to let you make up your mind without ancient ritual influences before he allowed himself to truly make you his. He couldn’t bind himself to you, only for you to walk away when it all became too much, or hell forbid, you found someone more human to settle down with.

Instead, he focussed on the pleasure filling his cock as he pistoned in and out of you. He focussed on your pretty moans, and the way you clenched around him. He focussed on kisses to your neck instead of bites, groaning against your skin as he indulged in you. But too easily he lost himself, and soon he couldn’t help but drag his tongue from the bottom of your neck, to right underneath your ear.

You loved how it felt, completely oblivious to just how close you were to becoming a meal to him. To you it was simply another thing to drive you wild, and when you once again wrapped your fingers in his hair, your other arm pushing down on his back to pull him against you, you had no clue you were making it so much harder for him.

He kept suckling, licking, even nipping so gently at your neck – so fucking close to what he truly wanted as his instincts began to take over. He fought them as hard as he could snarling at himself in warning but still, you were oblivious to his internal fight and mistook his anguish for noises of pleasure.

Truly, he hadn’t meant to let it get this far; but when the sharp tip of his fang grazed just a little too close to where your pulse thundered against his tongue, and you writhed under him with a targeted hit to your g-spot, he nicked your skin just enough to draw the tiniest spec of blood… He hadn’t even noticed, your scent already filling his nose that he didn’t sense it intensify just a fraction until it was too late, and he’d laved his tongue over the graze.

It all happened too fast, then.

You were mid-moan when you felt an excruciating pain where his tongue had just been, the noise catching in your throat with a sudden choke. Your fingers naturally tightened in his hair, and your nails dug into the cold flesh of his back as a scream travelled its way through your ribcage and you couldn’t help but let it out. Your back arched and your muscles constricted, but Terzo’s hips never stopped and now that he’d got a taste of you – a real taste – he growled a visceral growl that you felt rumble in the pit of your stomach.

If he thought you’d tasted good between your legs, this was the most intensely delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. Such pure, untainted blood coated his tongue, dribbling down your neck as he ravished it. He’d known this was dangerous, that one bite would bind him to you for eternity after the first whiff of your scent when you moved in. But now that he’d tasted you, he couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d fought so hard to stave off.

“T-Terzo, you-“ you tried to stop him, remembering how pained he’d looked when he explained why he really couldn’t do this, but it truly was too late. All it took was one drop. He cut you off with a hand clamping over your jaw, his other holding your hip in place with bruising force.

His hips never stopped, every sensation he felt only pushing him to fuck into you harder like a rabid monster. In that moment, that was exactly what he was. In that first split-second, he frightened you. You saw the side of him he’d tried so hard to hide, and coupled with the pain in your neck, your body flooded with adrenaline – which of course, only added to the sublime taste of your blood.

But like he had promised, the venom acted fast. The pain ebbed away into nothing but a sensation of being prodded and sucked at. Still you held onto him tightly, unable to deny that this was possible one of the most intimate feelings you’d ever felt, and the pleasure started to stack up.

Even to a point, where the rush of blood through the two puncture wounds in your neck became a pleasurable experience. You’d have trouble explaining just how, but it felt unbelievable, like a massage that tickled and sent endorphins flooding your mind. Little did you know, that was also the venom coursing through your body. But it didn’t matter, because coupled with Terzo’s cock thrusting against your g-spot it was the most glorious feeling in the entire world.

As you barrelled closer to a second orgasm, Terzo ripped his fangs from your neck and looked down at you beneath him. He had a look in his eye that was so predatory that you knew immediately you belonged to him now, whether you liked it or not. As luck would have it, you did like it; very much. That obsessive look, that ownership turned you on to a point that had you squealing for him beneath his hand.

Quickly, you reached your peak for a second time, holding him so tightly you thought that maybe even you would draw blood with your nails in his back. Just as that second burst of pleasure coursed through you, Terzo reattached himself to your neck, drinking in the newly sweetened blood that a rush of hormones created for him. If you could imagine the most expensive, and decadent wine you had ever tasted, it wouldn’t hold a candle to the taste of your blood to him right now.

Suddenly he lurched back again, this time removing his hands from your body and holding himself up, only to dive in and sink his fangs into the swell of your breast as it bounced with the force of each of his trusts. Again, you were met with pain the flooded your body but mixed with the high of your orgasm, you could only scream in pleasure. He drank from you again, kneading at your other breast as he too hurtled towards an orgasm.

The pain subsided quickly thanks to another dose of his venom, but he continued to drink from you, prolonging your euphoria just long enough for him to finally and violently reach his own high.

He erupted inside you, his head throwing back as he growled and lost his rhythm, pounding sloppily into you with each twitch of his cock. In your post-orgasm haze, you witnessed the look of bliss on his face, seeing for the first time the distinct red that coated his lips and dripped from his fangs down to his chin. He looked manic, but holy shit it was intensely erotic.

With the small amount of strength left in you, you sat up just enough to push your lips to his. You don’t know why you did it, or even that you had until you could taste the metallic twang of iron on your tongue. Terzo collapsed into you, wrapping his arms around you as he rolled to the side, taking you along with him. With the mess he created of your core, he slipped from inside you, now simply intent on holding you close while he processed that you were kissing him, despite being tainted with your blood. But it grounded him, and slowly, his orgasm subsided and his mind cleared of its fog.

Your kiss came to a natural end, the pair of you exhausted, and without a word you lay yourself on his chest, not bothering to wipe away the smears of blood around your own mouth as you caught your breath.

“I’m so sorry…” he whimpered, pulling you tighter against him and obscuring your view of his face so you wouldn’t have to witness the shame that settled there. You didn’t have the energy to speak, instead hoping that the circling of your thumb over the cool skin of his chest was enough comfort for now to show him you didn’t mind, that you’d wanted that as much as he had.

You let some time pass, calming yourselves down in each other’s arms. His grip on you lessened as the minutes passed, and eventually, you were able to look up at his face. To your shock and heartbreak, you noticed his cheeks were wet with something other than blood – Terzo was crying.

“Hey…” you soothed, shuffling further up the bed to hover above him. He covered his face with his hand, hiding himself but you pulled it away, cupping his cheek and swiping at the tear tracks. “No, no no… Stop this, it’s okay.”

“Mi dispiace tantissimo, (I’m so sorry,)” he cried, “I hurt you. I did the one thing I should never have done…”

“Shhh,” you hushed him like a newborn who couldn’t sleep, “I wanted that, remember? I told you you could.”

“You don’t understand, I… I have bound myself to you, and now, when you leave… it will devastate me,” he sobbed, staring straight up at the canopy of the large bed, unable to look you in the eye.

“What makes you think I will leave?” you asked him gently, still gently swiping his fresh tears away whilst fighting your own.

“Amore mio, I have lost everybody I have ever cared about,” he told you, finally looking you in the eye. “I have either outlived them, or watched as they turned their back on me. And now I have selfishly bound myself to you, knowing that I cannot ever let you go.”

His admission broke your heart. You certainly had no intention of going anywhere, the bond you now shared with him feeling strangely cemented and more intimate than any you’d had with another. But in the end, time would come for you just as it had the rest of his family, lying under the earth of your own back garden.

“How does someone… become like you?” you asked tentatively, absentmindedly, playing with the chest hair the covered his pecks.

Terzo’s brow creased in confusion. “Why would you ask such a thing? I couldn’t condemn you to a life like this…” After all he’d been through; the killings, loss, isolation, and even the exile he’d faced decades ago when the townspeople discovered what he was… He couldn’t put you in a position like that. He didn’t want you to become part of the dark legend of the Emeritus house, another spooky story passed from generation to generation to tell around campfires for years to come.

“Just tell me, how?” you pressed. He sighed, laying his head back on the pillow and staring back up at the canopy.

“You would need to drink the blood of my kind,” he stated simply, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “I could not ask that of you. The process is not an easy one, and to become like me is to be condemned to a life of heartache.”

You thought for a moment, acknowledging his concerns but deciding that whilst that had been his experience, it didn’t need to be yours. Not with him beside you – neither of you would need to be lonely ever again.

“I’m so sorry you’ve felt that heartache, but I believe that the two of us together could avoid that.”

He raised his head to look at you again, examining your face for a moment while he contemplated what some kind of future might look like with you.

“Perhaps not yet, I understand. But Terzo, I will prove that I intend on going nowhere. And when you feel like you might be ready to trust that, I’ll be waiting,” you promised him, cupping his jaw and stroking your thumb gently over his cheek. “Until then, I can be your very own personal supply, hm?” you smiled, “You won’t need to take a life, so long as you have me little and often, right?”

“You… would do that? For me?” his eyebrows creased together in question, truly in disbelief you would offer him such a thing.

“Mhm,” you nodded, “I mean as long as every time feels as incredible as that,” you giggled. “And besides, you’ll get a decent meal at least once a month,” you joked, lightening the mood a little with a cheeky smirk.

Terzo rolled his eyes with a laugh that vibrated his chest beneath you. He shook his head at the absurdity of your offer, no matter how technically practical that sort of arrangement would actually be to a man of his kind.

“Oh, amore… sei davvero una tentatrice (you really are a temptress)…” he grinned, leaning up to capture your lips in a sweet, blood-stained kiss.

A/N: Huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading! If you'd like to leave me a tip, you can do so here.

If you'd like to read any of my other works, you can find them here.

[life-love-geekculture]

Okay, let’s talk Lucanis’s mind prison (Warning: Spoilers):

I honestly haven’t seen much discourse yet on how the “prison guards” reflect aspects of our favorite assassin’s personality. So, I figured I throw my two cents into the ring.

Let’s start with Caterina. Honestly, the most surface level of our four candidates, especially with Spite spelling it out for us. Caterina is Lucanis’ fear. Specifically, his fear of failing. Failing and disappointing Caterina. Failing the expectations set for him and by him. Failing Rook. Not killing Ghiln’nain at Weisshaupt was the cherry on top of an absolute shit sunday of what Lucanis would see as a year’s worth of failure. He’s been captured, tortured, and turned into an abomination by the very people he’s supposed to put the fear of the Maker into. It all just confirms those secret fears of not being good enough he’s been carrying for most of his life. And now he’s being confronted with a similar situation but with stakes on a personal level. Either decision he makes, he (at this point) loses.

Next up, Harding. Harding is his fear of Spite. Of what he could become, and who he could hurt, if he ever loses a modicum of control over the demon. It’s no accident Harding’s is the face he summons to project this. She might be the most sympathetic to his plight and still be willing to kill him if he ever loses control. Harding tells him in the real world that she would know it wouldn’t be his fault, but she wouldn’t let him hurt their friends. And Lucanis encourages her with this! Harding also seems to be the only other person besides Rook to ask if he would like a different room and to show concern with his isolating patterns. The fact she cares in spite of her fear (which he shares) makes her a perfect representative. Because he might literally kill himself then risk hurting her.

Neve. Ah Neve, a potential love interest or Lucanis’s best friend if you romance him as Rook. By this point in the quest, Rook has bulldozed their way past Lucanis’s fears and insecurities. Now it’s time to lash out. If you listen to his & Neve’s banter with each other and in general, they are the driest pair of a-holes you will ever meet. It’s great! So, naturally, when it comes to throwing that cynicism and sarcasm up like a freaking shield, Neve is who he thinks about. I also love the insight this section gives into how Lucanis groups people in his head (family, enemy, and contract). That’s not Spite. Spite, we’ve seen, tends to build the framework of his interactions from his host. That is all Lucanis, baby! We also get a little more insight into how Lucanis views Neve herself. I like to think Spite’s description is kind of the gut instinct, first impression our boy had meeting Neve in the Ossuary or later at the Lighthouse. On paper, she’s a Tevinter mage like the ones who held him for a year. His head knows she’s not the same, but I’ll bet she set off all his defensive instincts and now there’s guilt associated with that. Because he likes Neve. He gets along with Neve. He really needs to teach Neve how to appreciate coffee. But he can’t shake how he felt first meeting her and, like everything else, he carries it with him.

Fucking Illario. It tracks that Lucanis at his most self-hating would dredge up this dumbass. This is the crux of his current dilemma. He loves his cousin. They’re the last person the other & Caterina has. But if he’s going to do this the Crow way, Illario has to die & Caterina will likely fall in the crossfire. Or, worse, she will never forgive him. It is the surest confirmation he is the monster everyone thinks he is. After all, only an abomination would kill all the family he has left. And because it’s Lucanis and it’s Rook, who just keeps sidestepping every excuse he can come up with, his last card is to show the monster behind the man. To show Rook the demon of Vyrantium.

In case you couldn’t tell, I love this mission!

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Five: My Whole World Came Alive

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 2.9k

Chapter Warnings: Mature, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, confusion, and self doubt. Two idiots falling and pining for each other, and finally some progress. Tommy keeps it real. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad. Emily is modeled after my sister and JB is based on my dad, who used to try setting me up with his younger work buddies when I was in my 20s :)

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Thank you all for reading! Comments and reblogs make me weep with gratefulness.

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Chapter Four | Main Masterlist

Sitting in Phil’s Icehouse with juicy burgers and drinks – you insisted Joel try a mimosa – conversation flowed between the two of you. Joel found his lips twitching into a smile at nearly every word that came out of your mouth. He was fascinated with the stories you shared of your college years, and he listened, completely enraptured, to your plans for the future. Every bit of your lunch together felt like a date. He wondered if you felt the same, yet he couldn’t find the courage to ask outright.

“Yeah, so, I have a meeting at Sarah’s school this week for a possible position. Remember that interview I mentioned a few weeks back? It went really well and now they want me to meet with the teacher who’s retiring and the principal,” you explained, sipping at your mimosa. “I’m pretty excited.”

Joel’s eyes lit up. He’d forgotten that you were looking at a position at Sarah’s school. “Wow, that’s great, darlin’. This would be for a science teacher position, right?”

“Yep. Middle grade science.” The beaming smile you flashed him nearly blinded Joel. “Wanna know the best part? If I get this job, I’ll have the same hours as Sarah, give or take a bit, so I can continue with the school drop-off and pickup for you. She might have to stay later with me somedays, but it’ll still work.”

Nodding, Joel’s mind was flashing lightyears forward, picturing you calling his house home and taking Sarah to school with you, coming home to have dinner together, watching TV in the evenings. Heart thudding in his chest at just the thought of you living together, Joel shook himself. He had to slow his mind down, put the brakes on those kinds of thoughts until after you were actually dating him, at least.

“You could be Sarah’s science teacher in a few years, huh?” Joel asked, focusing once again on listening to you instead of drifting off into daydreams.

“Could be, yeah,” you laughed. “I imagine she’d be my favorite student.”

He beamed at that. Conversation shifted to other things and soon your meals were finished.

“We should do this again,” you said, glassy eyes meeting his across the table, lips curved in a gentle smile. “I really enjoyed spending time with you, Joel.”

Fighting the urge to grab your hand and entangle your fingers, Joel smiled back. “Yeah, me too.” He wanted to kick himself for not saying more, for not asking you out for a real date. He just couldn’t find his words.

How was it that you made him so nervous?

Joel spent the next week in some kind of weird liminal space between a dream and reality, between agonizing confusion and utter happiness. Lunch with you on Sunday felt like a date – he asked you with the intention of it being a date, even if you didn’t know that yet. He spent the week thinking about that lunch, how you teased each other, laughed, shared stories of your past. How your gazes locked for longer than necessary, touches lingered, the smiles never fell from your faces.

It was wonderful, yet nothing was said of what it all meant – which was his fault, probably. Hence the roller coaster of feelings throughout the week.

He could tell you felt it, too. Doing as Tommy suggested, he started paying close attention to how you acted around him, how you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. It was all starting to come together. He could finally see what Tommy was talking about.

You liked him. You really liked him, Joel Miller, overworked single father.

It was a wonderful feeling, knowing that someone liked him. It’d been way too long since he felt that way, that spark of hope for something more.

For the first time in a long time, he slept well the night before and woke early, eager to face the day and see you before heading off to work. He was already out front, filling a birdfeeder Sarah asked for, when you arrived.

“Good mornin’, darlin’,” he greeted, pulling the car door open for you once you parked in the driveway. His heart skipped a beat at the way you smiled up at him, taking his hand to help you out of the car. Your touch electric on his roughened palm.

“Hiya, Joel.” Your voice washed over him, warm as honey and twice as sweet. “Whatcha doing out here?’

Gesturing to the red barn-style feeder Sarah picked, he finished filling it with the wild bird seed the clerk insisted birds loved. “Just fillin’ our new birdfeeder.”

“Oh, what a cute feeder!” You admired the intricate features as it hung from the post Joel installed. “Sarah has been talking nonstop about birds this week. Hopefully we’ll see some good ones.”

“Hope so,” Joel hummed in return. “Don’t know much about birds personally, but I’m sure Sarah’ll teach me.” Your smile brightened at his sheepish grin.

“I have a bird guide I could give her to help identify all the different types that visit the feeder.” Your face lit up with excitement. “I even have binoculars from when I took an ornithology class in undergrad. I’ll bring them when I pick up Sarah this afternoon.”

“Orna what now?” Joel questioned. He had no idea what kind of class you were talking about, but he loved how smart you were.

“Ornithology,” you repeated, drawing out each syllable with a soft giggle. “It’s the study of birds. It was a really cool class. We had field trips around campus once a week to go bird watching. I got pretty good at naming the different species that we saw, but it’s been a while.”

In awe of you, Joel’s eyes crinkled with the strength of his grin. “Would you, uh, maybe want to go on an adventure with us tomorrow?” he asked, stumbling a bit over his words, a nervous energy welling up in his gut as he once again sort of asked you out. “We could go for a hike in the county park, and you could teach us about birds.”

You gazed at him, lips pursed in thought, for long enough that Joel began to fidget, brimming with recurring doubt. Did he misinterpret the signs after all? He wouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t any good at this stuff anymore. You responded before he could spiral back into the land of self-doubt. “That sounds great, Joel. I’d love to.”

A visceral relief washed through him. “It’s a date then,” he said, his voice deep and rough while his dark chocolate eyes locked with yours. A satisfied smirk graced his lips as your eyebrows rose in surprise. Too quickly, doubt clouded your pretty eyes, and you laughed it off like he was teasing you. Joel sighed. He would be more direct next time. He’d get the hang of asking a woman on a date again someday. Hopefully.

“We’ll have to go early, is that okay? Birds are more active in the early morning hours,” you explained, heading for the door to find Sarah.

“That’s fine. We’ll make a day of it, grab lunch somewhere when we’re done.” Joel followed you into the house, already plotting out conversations in his head on how to properly ask you on a date.

The rest of the day went by in a blur for Joel and before he knew it, the job was finished, and it was only mid-afternoon when he arrived home. You pulled into the driveway with Sarah shortly after him and he came down from taking a shower to find the pair of you on the living room floor playing a racing video game.

“Hi Daddy!” Sarah exclaimed as he kissed the top of her head and took a seat on the couch. It didn’t take long before Sarah asked him to play as well and the three of you were taking turns racing against each other, laughing when one of you crashed.

There were moments, when your gaze would connect with Joel’s and he’d swear you shared the same thought – this was how it could be if you were together, a family.

“Do you want to stay for pizza? Tommy and your dad are coming over,” Joel asked when Sarah’s attention focused elsewhere.

“We have an early morning ahead of us, Miller. Don’t be up late partying with the guys,” you replied with a smile that reached your twinkling eyes. “I’ll stay for a bit, but then I need to go dig out the old binoculars and get my beauty sleep.”

“You’re already beautiful,” he murmured, watching your eyes widen as you smile demurely.

“You say the sweetest things, Joel.” Your voice held a teasing tone that drove Joel nuts. How was he ever going to convince you that he was serious?

Shortly thereafter, Tommy arrived, pizza and beer in hand. “Come on, Millers! I come bearing gifts. JB here yet?”

“I’m right here, ya troglodyte,” your dad called from the front yard, stepping up the porch steps as Tommy whirled around.

“What the hell did you just call me?”

“A troglodyte. Learned it from Spud and thought it fitting since you don’t close doors behind you.” He winked at you as he teased the younger Miller brother. Placing a kiss on your cheek, he added, “Hey Spud, haven’t seen you in a bit. Must be working too hard. Miller! You workin’ my daughter too hard?”

Joel spluttered. He was too busy gazing at you to pay much attention to JB and feared he got busted. “I hardly think so,” he grumbled, fighting the blush he knew rose to his cheeks.

“Ah, in the same ol’ grumpy mood, I see. Maybe this’ll help.” Your dad placed a 12-pack of Joel’s favorite beer on the coffee table before taking a seat in the recliner he always chose at Joel’s place.

The five of you sat around the living room, eating pizza with beer for the men and sodas for you and Sarah. The conversation revolved mainly around construction work, and you ended up taking your leave before the sun dipped below the horizon. Your dad followed not long after, eager to relax in his own well-worn recliner.

“Alright, nugget. It’s time for bed. We have an early morning tomorrow,” Joel said, swinging the young girl over his shoulder much to her delight. “Say goodnight to Uncle Tommy.”

“G’night Uncle Tommy,” Sarah squealed as Joel tickled her sides.

“G’night nugget.”

Always a good kid, Sarah went right to bed after brushing her teeth, but not before pestering Joel about why they had to get up early on a Saturday. Pressing a loving kiss to her forehead, Joel tucked her in. “We’re going on a surprise adventure. Now, to sleep with you.”

Returning to the living room, Tommy handed him another beer as the brothers watched Sportscenter. “Have you made any progress yet?” Tommy asked.

Matching dark eyes met as Joel shrugged. He knew his brother was talking about you. “Some, I guess. Told ya I took her to lunch on Sunday and that felt a lot like a date. I asked her to go on a hike with me and Sarah tomorrow. I told her it was a date after she agreed, but she thought I was jokin’.” He paused, taking a long pull from the bottle of beer. “Then, this afternoon, I told her she was beautiful and again she thought I was teasing.”

Swirling the bottle of beer in his hand, Tommy shook his head and chuckled. “She’s givin’ you a run for your money, brother. Good on her.”

“Good on her,” Joel mocked, but his tone quickly turned to pleading. “I need more advice. Surely you got something up your sleeve for women like her.”

“Nah, brother. The only way to get someone like her is to be yourself and keep chipping away. It’s clear she has as much self-doubt as you do, so it’ll take her time to believe you’re for real.” Tommy eyed his brother a moment as he mulled over the situation. “Though, I will say this. You need to start bein’ direct – come right out and ask her on a date, for fuck’s sake. Enough hinting at shit. It’s clearly gettin’ you nowhere.”

You arrived on the Millers’ doorstep bright and early the next morning, two travel mugs of coffee and a container of chocolate milk in hand. A pair of binoculars and Sibley’s Guide to Birds were tucked away in the bag you wore over your shoulder.

“Wakey, wakey, Millers! The early bird gets the worm!”

Joel and Sarah were perched at the breakfast bar when you let yourself in, both looking half awake and less than enthusiastic about being up so early on a Saturday.

“Too damn cheerful for this early,” Joel grumbled half-heartedly. His pitiful smile looked more like a grimace, yet you found it adorable. It made you ache to run your fingers through his hair until you drew a real smile from his lips.

“Don’t gimme that. This was your idea, Joel Miller!” you sassed in return, patting his broad shoulders. “Let’s go!”

Herding cats, that was the perfect analogy to describe the next fifteen minutes as you tried to get the Millers moving and into Joel’s truck. Just when you’d get one heading for the door, the other would disappear. Finally, you managed to wrangle them both into the truck and you were well on your way to the preserve. The ride didn’t take long, Sarah peppering you with questions about birds she found in your guidebook as Joel drove. By the time Joel pulled into a parking spot at the entrance to the trails, everyone was wide awake and ready to hike.

The morning was crisp and refreshing as you zipped up your jacket and looked around. You’d never been to this preserve before and wanted to find a trail map, but the mini-Miller was too anxious to wait for that.

“I can hear the birds chirping already, Daddy! Come on!” Sarah exclaimed, charging toward the first trail excitedly.

Joel beamed as Sarah took off, turning to you before following her. “Ready?” He reached out a hand, palm up and fingers splayed, inviting you to grasp it.

Your eyes trailed from his outstretched hand to his heavy gaze, uncertain of what to make of the signals Joel gave off. The feelings you harbored for the man grew stronger each day, yet you couldn’t quite get a read on whether he shared even a fraction of those feelings. Somedays, you thought he did. Yet others, you figured he thought you had a crush on him and found amusing. Your heart sunk on those days, causing the doubt to linger every time he did something to make you think otherwise.

The moment carried on too long, you realized, as Joel’s warm eyes began to shutter, the tender smile starting to slip. Bolstering your nerves, you plunged ahead and grasped his large hand in yours, tangling your fingers with his thicker ones. His hand was warm, skin roughened from years of working with his hands, and it felt wonderful against your smoother skin.

Heat flashed up your chest and neck as Joel led you down the trail to catch up with Sarah. A broad smile never left your lips as you walked.

“I meant it, you know,” Joel’s deep, gruff voice rumbled from deep in his chest and you glanced up to meet his gaze. “What I said yesterday, about this being a date. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

Heart thumping wildly, your mouth opened and closed a few times before you found your words. “Are you sure? I mean, yes. Yes, I’m interested.” You winced at how flustered you sounded, tripping over your words. And, worse yet, why was your voice so squeaky?

“Never been surer in my life,” Joel confirmed, his gaze searing your skin as he watched you, taking in every minute change in expression. His hand squeezed yours gently, steadying the butterflies in your stomach.

“I would really like that,” you replied breathlessly, relieved to finally have confirmation that the moments between you and Joel weren’t all in your head. You were on Cloud 9 until reality smacked you in the face. “But what about my dad?”

Sarah popped around a copse of live oaks, startling you both from. “Come on, you slow pokes! The birdies aren’t gonna wait all day for us to find them!” Not trusting you both to follow her on your own, the little girl latched on to your hand and pulled you along the trail. “You need to help me find the birds,” Sarah reminded you.

Joel’s hand still clasped in yours, you dragged him behind you, grinning over your shoulder at him. “I’m liking this date already, Joel.”

He beamed back at you. The three of you walked in silence for a bit, listening to the sounds of nature around you. When you spotted a bird blind, you handed Sarah the binoculars and the guidebook, challenging her to identify as many birds as she could from that spot. Joel stood next to you, watching Sarah enjoy the activity.

“Let’s see where this goes first before we worry about your dad,” he murmured. “I’d like to take you on a few dates first, okay?”

It made sense and you nodded, pleased at the way things were working out. Your hand remained in Joel’s throughout the birding adventure and though Sarah never mentioned it, her smile grew wide at the sight.

tbc

p.s. we should start building up to the good stuff in the next chapter.

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx @pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr @lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg @ashleyfilm @brittmb115 @lilmizmoz @loveisacowboyyy @shotgun-shelby @deninoe @casssiopeia @caitlynsixxx

[erikftglitter]

Christmas in Winona Springs 🤍🎄

Terry Richmond AU

Created By: Erikftglitter

Terry’s car had been giving him trouble for miles. He was headed north to visit his great aunt. He was also fond of the thought of a change of scenery, but the flat tire had put an abrupt halt to his plans. The only thing that he could see through the hovering clouds were a few cabins nestled among the trees.

Terry figured that this would be the only way to fix his problem in the current climate. He would check the cabin out, take a look, and find someone to help.

To Terry’s surprise, as he got closer to the cabins, he discovered that it was an actual resort. It was home to many different cabins and lodges, as well as camping grounds, tents, and a connecting lake. In the midst of the inconvenience, Terry still took time to appreciate the beautiful scenery.

He was greeted upon arrival within seconds.

The gentleman was older, his face lined with years, but he was as welcoming as could be. He was dressed comfortably and typical for someone who ran a cabin business. He sported a red and black flannel shirt and khaki work pants. He greeted Terry with a warm smile and ushered him out of harsh winds of the evening.

After accepting the man’s hospitality and enjoying coffee, Terry eventually explained his circumstance. He figured that the man would know someone with car services. Terry would happily fix the tire himself but he couldn’t get the tire off without the proper equipment.

“It’s late. Thankfully your car knew where to cause trouble.” The man chuckled. “Why don’t you settle in for the night and we can revisit this in the morning?” He offered.

“Are you sure?” Terry felt hesitant. It was never his intention to expect a hand out. He had took care of himself since a child and wasn’t fond of being a freeloader.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble. I can just call a tow truck or—”

“Nonsense. You’re in a pickle. It happens to the best of us.” The man smiled. His morals refused to allow anyone to struggle in his presence. “Stay the night. Get you some food, and tomorrow, we’ll fix that tire. No worries.”

Terry wasn’t sure what to make of it, but something in the older man’s voice—the calm certainty—made him set aside any skepticism. He didn’t have many other options and at least he’d be warm and safe.

“Thank you,” Terry finally said. He let his eyes roam the longue. It was supplied with wooden tables, warm, brown furniture with blankets topped over them, and the faint smell of apples and cinnamon felt surprisingly homey.

“My name’s Lee, by the way,” the man said as he led Terry to a clean room. “If you’re up for it, I’ll make you a drink.”

After the many hours of driving, and the ultimate disappointment of not arriving at his destination, Terry allowed Lee to make him a drink.

They sat at the small resort bar for hours. Terry found Lee to be an entertaining man. They sat and talked about everything and nothing. Lee told stories about the craziest experiences that he’s had over the years. A runaway bride being the most memorable. He got a great laugh out of eating on the wedding cake for weeks.

Terry shared a little about himself as well, but he didn’t think of himself as really interesting. He talked about his great aunt, who he was going to visit, his brief time in the service, and that is all that Terry Richmond summed himself up to be. Lee listened to everything though, patiently, never pushing, never judging.

He hadn’t expected to find comfort in the middle of nowhere, but here he was—sitting across from a stranger who felt more like an old friend. Lee was a wise man.

That night, Terry sat awake in the small guest room Lee had given him, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the place. Tomorrow, he’d help out around the resort to show his appreciation. For the first time in a long while, Terry felt needed.

[Two Months Later]

Terry never had the chance to see his great aunt before she succumbed to her illness. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer wasn’t an easy battle, and he’s just relieved that she was no longer suffering.

When Lee heard of the news he insisted that Terry stay the week. Being the honest man that he was, Terry wouldn’t allow Lee to house him without helping out. Business was going to become busy again as skiing became more common during the cooler months and Terry was determined to make it easier for Lee. He couldn’t stand the thought of Lee being left to repair cabins in the unforgiving weather condition and snow.

He helped him locate leaks and level the floor inside of the noisier cabins. Lee’s resort in Winona Springs was well-loved. Terry would stop to admire the photos that Lee had around the longue of families who came and went. Some even went as far as sending Lee annual holiday cards. Deep down, Terry wondered how it felt to be so loved.

But just as quickly as the thought came it left Terry’s mind. This is how he operated. He was unpredictable and flexible. He hadn’t seen home in months. How could he be loved if he disappeared from time and time again? This was his thing. He knew that he was a lone wolf and spent his adult years not trying to fight it.

Terry often filled in the work orders for Lee. He took quite a fall a few weeks before and Terry found himself being more upset than the older man.

“Terry. I’m old. This is the unrelenting truth of age, bud.” Lee laughed, reaching his hand out for Terry who eagerly helped him off the freshly waxed surface.

“Yeah I get that Lee, but don’t you have a nephew or something to help you out.” Terry’s heartbeat quickened at the realization that Lee was in fact an old man. Their unlikely alliance seemingly provided youth to Lee in Terry’s eyes. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was definitely old enough to be his father. Definitely too old to run a rigorous business like a cabin resort alone, where snow and ice were detrimental for someone of Lee’s age.

“A nephew? I wish.” Lee sighed. “My brothers died much too soon. They didn’t have time to have any children.” Terry listened. Lee rarely spoke of his own family.

“It’s just me and my little girl.” Lee smiled and reached into his pocket. Terry watched as Lee rummaged through the thick leather wallet before retrieving his point of interest. He offered Terry a photo of a little girl who was missing two front teeth.

“I’m assuming she’s no longer a little girl.” Terry asked, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

“I’m afraid not. Baby girl’s big time in New York.” Lee sighed. “She visits every Christmas. I just miss the times when we did this together. Just me and her.” Lee looked down. He was starting to remember just how much he missed his family.

“Her mother died during a snowstorm.” Terry took a seat next to Lee. He hadn’t realized that he lost his wife so early on. He gave Lee is undivided attention.

“Car slid right off the road just before Christmas Eve.” Lee still didn’t look up from the floor where his eyes rested. Terry glanced back at the photo and back to Lee. The girl had his exact mocha colored skin tone. Terry wondered how much she resembled the older lad now.

“Is that why you allowed me to stay with you Lee?” Asked Terry. He knew that Lee came from a generation that was built on community, but Lee was more than polite to him. He took Terry in like he was his own.

“Yeah. I feel like she would want me to do that. I wish someone could have done it for her.” Lee admitted. Taking Terry in during a troubled time helped his conscious. He was more than happy to do it. “I had the space and the resources. So why not?” Lee smiled.

“You’re a stand up guy Terry Richmond.” Lee stated. Terry nodded at the praise. He was grateful for the opportunity to listen and learn from Lee.

“Hoping to be like you one day Mr. Parker.” They both laughed at the formality. They sat in silence for a while, silently watching the snow fall onto the ground. Terry wasn’t sure how long he’d be around but he knew that he wouldn’t be leaving his new friend alone anytime soon.

[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Omg I just accidently found your blog and I'm so freaking happy, cause there are not enough writer who writes for Deacon 😭 unfortunately I'm super obsessed with him, with an unhealthy amount of fic ideas in my brain xD so I give it a try and send you one of those, hopefully jot annoying you with this (or with my shitty English, it's not my first language, so I'm sorry).

Well buckle up for my request:

Reader is a new Swat member and instantly everybody loves her, with her bubbly friendly self. She's bonding great with her teammates and especially her and Deacon grow super close (they develop feelings for each other but don't want to tell the each other afraid to ruin their friendship, so their feelings stay hidden). When one day a case goes sideways and it leaves her injured (maybe a concussion or something like that) Deacon blames himself for her injury and the next days he distances himself from her, cause he thinks that it is unhealthy for him to have such deep feelings for her and him constantly worrying for her wellbeing. She notices his change of behavior and she's super sad. He starts to being unfriendly to her and being a little bit of an ass?! Even alerting the other members with his behavior. The whole situation is taking a toll on her and she is starting to effecting not only her poor heart but also her health. (so maybe she falls sick, but keep it from her teammates especially Deacon, cause she thinks that after her injury during a case he thinks of her as not capable or something like that). That is until one day she doesn't show up to work which very uncommon for her, cause she's always on time and the first one at the station. They're all worrried and Hondo tells Deacon that he has to drive to her apartment. Well he tries to refuse and send Stress but Hondo insists, so Deacon drives to her apartment. He finds her suffering from a very high fever..... So maybe with a happy ending like Deacon regrets his shitty behavior, she instantly cries when she recognizes him in her feverish state, asking him why he hates her suddenly, which is now breaking his heart. He cares for her and nurses her back to health, or at first tries to bring her fever down. Later he confesses why he was an asshole.

Soooorry it's so long. There's so pressure for you to write this. Maybe you just want to use some ideas? Well I would be so happy.

Please take care lovely

Here you go, hope you enjoy!

“Nice!” Luca exclaimed as the team watched you send rounds down range from your firearm.

With the increase in officer related shootings, LAPD had decided to provide each team a SWAT medic and you were the newest member of 20 squad. 

“Who knew girls can shoot?” You heard Deacon asked. You turned to playfully scowl at him and noticed him wink at you. 

“Better watch it, Kay, or I’ll show you just how good I really am.” 

You had been a part of the team for just over two months and they were the best guys you had ever worked with in your career. You truly became a part of their family – you had their backs and they had yours. There was one that was different though. 

David Kay. 

You had noticed him watching you on more than one occasion, stealing winks from you, sharing small, flirtatious smiles. You weren’t sure if your attraction to him was mutual or not, but if you had to guess, you would say yes. However, you didn’t want to complicate anything by dating one of your teammates and you didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had developed with Deacon. You assumed Deacon adopted the same mindset because he never brought it up either. 

However, that didn’t mean your flirting with each other fell on blind eyes. 

The entire team noticed it and often gave you both shit over it. 

You both were in the middle of denying another teasing round of friends with benefits accusations from your teammates when you were dispatched to a school shooting. 

The mood immediately sobered up as all of you put on your gear and grabbed your bags and firearms. The ride to the school in Black Betty was quiet minus updates from Hondo. 

“Stay liquid, guys,” He told the team as you pulled up on scene. 

There were multiple reports of injured children inside of the school. 

This call was all yours. 

It was going to be your job to go inside and assess each injured child to see how critically injured they were. It was your team’s job to protect you while you did that. You were going in without any knowledge of where the shooter was, but you knew if you had children, you would want someone to go in and save your baby. You swallowed your fear and prepared to do your job. 

You got out of the armored truck and took your spot in the middle of your team. You slowed your breathing down to get your heart rate under control and keep your emotions in check. 

Deacon made sure that he stayed close to you as you entered the school. He knew his teammates would have your back too, but he felt… differently about you. He cared about you a lot. He had quickly fallen for your smile and your personality. You didn’t let the team’s banter intimidate you one bit from the start. You were quick and witty with your playfulness with them. You were smart as hell when it came to medicine and you had proven to be a solid member of the SWAT team in training exercises and on calls you had run together. He wanted so badly to ask you out to dinner, but he wasn’t willing to change the dynamic of the team by adding a relationship to the mix. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be protective over you – whether you noticed it or not. 

That was why Deacon had taken it so personally when you were knelt down, applying a tourniquet to a fourth-grade student’s leg and got shot by the hidden gunman. His team covered him while he immediately turned to you to make sure you were okay. The round had struck your vest, but you knew it had broken ribs. The pain you felt in your side was unmistakable. Regardless, you threw your body over the child’s to protect her from the gunfire that ensued. Deacon and Luca dragged you both behind a desk behind a wall in a classroom. 

“Are you okay?” Deacon asked without taking his aim from the door way. 

“We’ve got to get her out of here.” You ignored his question as you continued to try and stop the little girl’s bleeding. 

Your voice was forced and you were breathy. 

“I asked if you were okay,” Deacon said angrily. 

“I’m fine.” You retorted. 

You soon heard Tan’s voice over the radio that the shooter had been neutralized. You didn’t know if there was more than one shooter, but didn’t see any signs of one so far. When you got the clear from Hondo, you radioed for another team to come in and get the girl out and get her to a hospital. Once she was safely removed, you resumed your formation in the middle of the team to continue to clear the school building. Deacon could tell you were injured because you didn’t shoulder your firearm correctly, but he didn’t see any blood so he let it go. He was pissed off at you for not stopping and going to get help yourself, but he was even more pissed off at himself for not seeing the gunman before he shot at you. 

It took two hours to clear the rest of the school and stabilize the remaining children. By the time you were done, you were visibly diaphoretic and short of breath. You could hardly manage three words without stopping to catch your breath. 

“20-David to command,” Deacon radioed, “We need an EMS unit to our location, we have a team member who needs to be checked out.” 

You were in pain, you couldn’t breathe, and you were pissed off that Deacon asked for EMS without consulting you first. 

“Why did you do that?!” You managed to asked through clenched teeth. “These children need those paramedics.” You took a few shallow breaths, “Not me! Cancel. Them.” 

If looks could kill, your sergeant would be the one who needed a medic unit, not you.

“Officer,” Deacon said sternly, “You look like hell and you cannot breathe.”

You started to open your mouth to cut him off, but he started speaking loudly again.

“Now, I suggest you shut up and listen to your sergeant. I am not the one who takes orders from you.” 

His harsh words hit you harder than the bullet hit your ballistic vest and left you just as speechless. David had never been so disrespectful to you. If the paramedics hadn’t arrived to assess you, you would have turned in your badge right there. You knew the rest of the team had noticed as well because they were all silent which pissed you off even more. Where was your support?

The paramedics tried helping you onto the stretcher, but you refused it. Despite not being able to speak for being short of breath. You held onto the stretcher for support and walked to the ambulance. By the time you finally made it outside to the ambulance, you were physically unable to get into the ambulance because you were hurting so bad and so short of breath. The EMS providers finally convinced you to get onto the stretcher and they were able to load you into the truck. 

When you arrived to the ER, you were taken to a trauma room due to the fact that you had technically been shot. Your chest x-ray revealed a collapsed lung due to the broken ribs. 

The rest of the team finished debriefing before being cleared to leave for the day. Hondo met Deacon in the quiet locker rooms since most of everyone else had already left. 

“Deac…” Hondo paused, knowing he needed to tread carefully, “What was up back at the school? I have never heard you speak to anyone like that – especially one of our teammates.” 

Deacon slammed his locker shut. 

“Hondo, now ain’t the time, brother.”

The lieutenant raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I won’t press, but I do ask that you consider an apology. It was unwarranted today. We all performed immaculately given the circumstances.”

“No, Hondo. No. We did not all perform immaculately.” His tone was biting. 

Deacon walked passed Hondo and left the locker rooms. He left the station and threw his duffel bag in the backseat of his truck. He climbed in, started it, and drove to a nearby lake that off the road and would likely be deserted after dark on a week night. He parked in the dark and slammed his fists against the steering wheel in frustration. 

Tears filled his eyes as he mentally kicked himself in the ass for missing the shooter that injured you today. He didn’t fight the tears as they spilled down his cheeks. What had gotten into him? Why were you different? Why was he so upset? Why did you getting injured bother him so badly? You were okay and you were expected to make a full recovery according to Hicks. Where along the line had he developed feelings and why was he so afraid of talking to you about them?

You spent 6 days in the hospital, 4 of those with a chest tube before being discharged home. During your entire hospital stay, Deacon had not been by to see you once despite daily visits from the rest of your teammates. It made you mad, but most of all, it hurt your feelings. You really liked you sergeant – or you thought that you did. His actions since you had been injured spoke louder than any words that could have been said. 

Luca and Chris were there to take you home and help you get settled. They carried your bags in and Chris helped you unpack your things while Luca cooked supper for the three of you. Chris helped you remove your bra so you could put on a loose, comfy t-shirt. Being the only females on the squad left you two comfortable around each other. 

“That is one hell of a bruise, babe.” She said as she looked at your black and purple side. 

You had to agree – the entire left side of your torso was bruised. It looked awful. Thankfully, the doctors had been able to help manage your pain with narcotics. 

“I’m glad it finally looks worse than it feels… Which is saying a lot because it still hurts like hell.” 

You slipped on a pair of sleep shorts and made your way back into your kitchen with Chris. 

You took a pain pill and joined your teammates in your living room to eat the spaghetti that Luca made. 

“Thank you so much for taking care of me guys,” You said several hours later as you walked Luca and Chris to your door. 

“That’s what we’re here for, love,” Luca said, pulling you into a gentle hug. 

You kissed his cheek, “Supper was delicious, Dom. Thank you times a million.” 

He returned the kiss to your cheek and Chris pulled you in for a hug. 

“Call us if you need anything?” 

You smiled at her after the hug, “You know I will.” 

You settled onto your couch with a glass of wine. You knew the alcohol and narcotic wasn’t the smartest elixir, however, you needed to mask more than your physical pain. 

You couldn’t get Deacon off your mind and your heart had yet to stop hurting. Your emotional pain screamed much louder than your physical pain. 

“Dammit!” You heard through clouded consciousness. “What the fuck?” 

You felt yourself being picked up and carried to your bed. You recognized a familiar cologne but quickly disregarded the scent and winced at the pain in your ribs before drifting back off to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning nearly in tears again as you entered a coughing spell. You managed to get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen where your pain pills were, but you were scared shitless by a man sitting at your kitchen table. As soon as your heart began racing with fear, the fear subsided, realizing that it was Deacon sitting inside of your home. 

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck, David?” You held your chest with one hand and braced your broken ribs with the other. 

He didn’t answer you. 

You ignored his silence and took your morning pain medication. 

“Ya know… I said the same thing last night when I came over and found you unconscious on your couch. So, I can also say, what the fuck? What were you thinking?” Deacon’s voice grew steadily louder as he stood up and turned to you. “Pain pills and alcohol?”

You were angry. “Something to make this shit stop hurting,” You spat as you snatched up the side of your shirt to reveal your black and blue torso. 

You could tell the extent of your injuries caught Deacon off guard. His facial expression softened and he didn’t respond. 

You let go of your shirt, letting it fall back down to your waist and continued fixing yourself a glass of water to take your pain pill with. You took your medicine and continued to ignore your sergeant as you turned your back to him to get the milk out of your refrigerator to fix yourself a bowl of cereal. His hand stopped yours mid-air reaching for your cabinet. He gently held your wrist with one hand and you felt the edge of your shirt being lifted again. He let go of your hand, staring at the bruising that covered you. You could sense his demeanor soften. 

There was a long silence as he took in your injuries. 

“I’m so sorry…” He whispered. 

The tone in his voice felt like a hug to your soul. 

“Deacon-” You turned around to face him. 

“No, listen to me,” he interrupted you. “This…” He grazed his fingertip down your side, “is all my fault.”

The confusion was written all over your face. 

“I should have seen that bastard before he ever had a chance at you.” 

You began shaking your head but you weren’t quite sure what to say. 

“You’ve been an asshole to me ever since it happened, David, what the hell has changed now?” You were beginning to grow angry again. 

“Look, I am so, so sorry.” His voice was gentle. “I should have stopped that guy before he shot you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did. I should have visited you in the hospital. You are a teammate and I failed you, but I really should have told you from the get-go that I have developed feelings for you.” He didn’t take a breath the entire time he spoke so you struggled to follow him, but his last sentence hit you like a ton of bricks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ever since you have been on the team with us, you have become more than just a teammate to me. Truthfully, I have liked you from the day that I met you and my attraction to you has only grown every single day. I like you so much more than just as a teammate. I would dare say that I am falling in love with you.” He slowly reached up to cradle your face with his hand, hesitant, wondering if you would allow him to touch you. 

You did. 

“I am so, so sorry that I have treated you so poorly this week – so wrong. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that I hate myself for not being able to protect you like I should have. I’ve been so afraid to let you know how I feel about you. I’m sorry I was more afraid of affecting the team than I was giving you the honesty that you deserve. Please, please forgive me.” 

He looked into your eyes as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip. 

“Deacon…” You said quietly, leaning into his hand caressing your jaw. 

He took a deep breath and continued, “If you don’t feel the same way, I understand, but I came over here last night to apologize and tell you all of this. When I found you passed out on the couch, barely responsive, it frustrated me. So, I stayed here last night to make sure you were okay. Please don’t be mad.” 

Silence fell between you while you considered how to respond. Given the emotions that you had worked through over the past week, going from feelings for your partner, to physical and emotional hurt, to anger towards David for not visiting, texting or calling, resentment towards yourself for having feelings towards David despite how cruel he had been to you with his absence while you had been hospitalized, you struggled to find any words.

Deacon watched you suffer through a week’s worth of feelings as he watched your eyes. You took a deep breath. 

He decided that you were taken too long to respond and if he didn’t act now, he never would. 

He leaned down and softly pressed his lips on yours. 

You instinctively closed your eyes and allowed David to kiss you. When you didn’t pull away, he parted his lips just enough to run his tongue tenderly along your bottom lip. You opened your lips, allowing him to kiss you deeper. You began to return the kiss when David went to place his hands on your waist, forgetting about your injuries. You stopped kissing him and winced. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, your voice shaky. 

Deacon noticed the tears that trickled down your cheeks. 

He wiped them away with his thumbs and began apologizing to you again. 

You interrupted him with another kiss. You reached up and intertwined your fingers behind his head, softly rubbing his neck with your fingertips. He moaned quietly into the kiss. He grabbed your arm and squeezed it, needing to touch you, but being mindful of your injuries. You enjoyed the feeling of his tall, muscular body, towering over yours. You felt protected. 

“Deacon?” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, brushing a stand of hair behind your ear, “Mmhmm?”

“I love you.” 

"I love you too."

[kybercrystals94]

Taking Up the Mantle

Read here on Ao3

Whumptober 2024 - Day 5 - Alternative Prompt: Forgotten

Rated: G | Words: 1939

Omega embraces him the moment Echo steps off his ship, her chin now able to hook over his shoulder without him bending down at all. “Welcome home, brother,” she says warmly. 

“It’s good to be home,” he says, pulling back, but keeping his hand on her arm. “You’ve grown a bit.” 

Omega grins and shrugs. “A bit,” she agrees. 

“Where are the boys?” Echo asks, noticing their absence from the landing platform.

“Supply run,” Omega says, “but they should be back later tonight or tomorrow morning.” 

They start walking toward the house, Omega linking her arm through Echo’s. 

“The supply run was a three man job?” Echo asks with a chuckle. 

Omega bumps against him playfully. “They get stir-crazy once in a while, so they all make an excuse to go. Sometimes I go with them, and sometimes I get the house to myself.” 

Echo laughs at that. “Well, we’ll get some time to catch up then.” 

“About that…” Omega says, the lightness of her voice vanishing. “I found something you need to see.” 

Echo stops walking, pulling Omega to a stop. “What is it?” 

Omega tries to smile reassuringly. “It’s nothing to be worried about, I promise. I just found something that I think…well, I hope…it will give you some closure.”

The assurance does nothing to ease the tension twisting like a knot in Echo’s chest. In fact, it feels substantially worse somehow. What in the galaxy could Omega know that would give Echo closure. Closure for what? He’d made peace with many tragedies in his life. It had become second nature, to bury and move on. A soldier couldn’t linger in what-ifs, not if they wanted to honor those who had gone before them or save those who would follow. 

“I’ll tell you everything when we get to the house,” Omega promises, dark eyes sorrowful and kind. Wise beyond her young years. But she isn’t so young anymore, Echo remembers, and she has lived longer than any of them, really. 

“Alright,” Echo relents and smiles if only to sooth the concern creasing Omega’s brow as she watches him. 

The rest of the walk to the house is Omega updating Echo on the island and its inhabitants they have come to know as good friends. The Batch have adapted well to domesticated life overall, if their domicile, as Tech would have called it, is anything to go by. A raised bed garden carefully tended, island flowers tamed and climbing the lattice. They are proud of their new life, and it shows. They’ve earned it, and Echo is happy his brothers have found peace. They call it his home too, even if he spends most of his time away. The chaotic brothers who took him in so long ago still keep him grounded like an anchor. 

“I’ll make us some tea,” Omega says the moment they are through the front door. Echo can’t help but smile at that, even with the apprehension looming. Omega is more like him in that way, enjoying a mild cup of tea over the pungent boldness of caf. 

“Sounds great,” he says, shedding his outer jacket and putting it on his hook in the entryway. 

He takes his pack to the room he shares with Hunter when he visits, dropping it on his bed and digging through it until he finds the trinket he’d found for Omega. It is a piece of wire twisted to look like a tooka. He wonders now if she’ll think it’s childish; however, on his way back to the main room, he passes by Omega’s open bedroom door and sees Lula perched proudly on her bed, the worn stuffed animal more faded than it was when he first met Wrecker’s beloved toy. 

He hears Omega clattering around in the kitchen, her voice speaking softly to someone. He goes in and finds the droid, AZI, hovering underfoot, Omega moving around him effortlessly. 

“Echo!” AZI cries when he sees him. “Omega has been upgrading my systems.” 

“That so?” Echo asks conversationally, sitting down at the table where Omega has already put his favorite mug full of hot water. He can smell the aroma of his favorite tea steeping inside. 

“Indeed!” crows AZI, whirring over to his side. “She has found several glitches, as well as lapses in my memory banks.” 

“AZI,” Omega cuts the little droid off, her tone a warning, “We’ll get to that in a minute.” 

Echo tries to ignore the knot continuing to tighten in his chest. 

Omega slides into the chair across from Echo. She takes a deep breath and begins, “Months before the end of the Clone Wars, Nala Se was gone for several days. Usually, she’d leave AZI with me, but not this time. She told me that he had been tampered with by a trooper and had to be repaired. When I tried to ask more questions, Nala Se got angry with me and told me to leave the matter alone. It was not for me to worry about.” 

Echo frowns, unsure what any of this had to do with him. It will give you some closure.

“When AZI finally returned to the lab, he had no memory of anything that had happened. His memory banks had been wiped, and at the time, I didn’t know how to retrieve lost data. Although, it was more curiosity that made me try than fear of what happened. After all, I trusted Nala Se. If she said I didn’t need to know, then I didn’t.

“I forgot all about the incident, and in light of everything that happened after the war ended, it seemed unimportant.” Omega picks up a data pad that had been left on the table. “Then, a few days ago, AZI was experiencing glitches in his internal systems. I programmed a software update, and went through his data files to find any broken links in his code. That’s when I found this. The file was so small, and had been removed from his main memory banks, so I decided to translate it.” She slides the data pad across the table. 

Echo picks it up, the screen a series of ones and zeroes. Binary. 

01001001 01001101 01010000 01001111 01010010 01010100 01000001 01001110 01010100 00111010 00100000 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101110 01100001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01000110 01101001 01110110 01100101 01110011 00101110 00100000

His grip on the data pad goes slack and it clatters to the table, nearly landing on his mug. 

Echo can read binary as well as he can read Basic. The Techno Union made sure of that. IMPORTANT: His name is Fives.

Omega flinches. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. 

Echo’s mouth feels dry, his throat tight. He tries to regain his composure, but his voice is thick when he asks, “What does it mean? Why did he have this?” 

It is AZI that answers him. “It was important that I remembered his name. He told me that clones do not use numbers anymore. He was my friend.” 

“How did you know him?” Echo asks. “You were on Kamino…”

“ARC Trooper Fives was brought to Kamino for medical observation,” AZI says. His eyes flicker, and he doesn’t say anymore. 

“I recovered as much of the wiped data from those dates as I could,” Omega says. “It seems AZI was able to hide some memory files in his core programming before the wipe.” 

“That is against protocol,” AZI adds, “But Fives was excellent at not following protocol when it was important to do so. I followed his example.” 

Omega smiles. “I found some footage that AZI recorded. There isn’t much, but I thought you would want to see it.” 

Echo nods. He feels numb. Maybe it’s the shock of realizing he’s been so close to this data all along, the files hidden so deep, but he could have found them if he’d looked. But he never thought to, never tried…Fives was so close all along.

AZI backs away from the table, and a holo projector opens in his chest. A recording begins to project, AZI’s perspective following an obviously agitated Fives around a medical room. 

“...a case like this, it is the logical course of action,” AZI is saying. 

“No,” Fives says, turning to face AZI, anger clear on his face even through the distorted blue lines of the projection, “No. We were not created to be disposed of this way.”

“Perhaps you were,” AZI counters calmly. 

Fives whirls around, slamming his fists down on the hard surface of a medical cot. Echo hears his brother’s breathing shudder. An ache in his heart pangs at the sound. 

AZI’s voice continues, “CT-5385 will be terminated so that others like him could survive.”

Fives turns on the droid. “There aren’t others like him!” he shouts, the audio crackling at the input. “Tup doesn’t have to die. You found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” 

The recording sputters and flickers away to nothing. 

“That was the only visual footage I could recover myself,” Omega says softly, “but I found some transcripts. AZI helped Fives remove his inhibitor chip, and they discovered that all clones had them implanted at gestation. He was going to present the evidence that AZI helped him find. He was trying to save our brothers.” 

“But he was killed instead,” Echo says bitterly, fingers curling into a fist. “Rex told me what happened when he got to Coruscant.” 

Omega reaches across the table and rests a hand over Echo’s. “It is because of Fives that Rex found out about the chips, because of Fives that Rex warned us about the effects.” 

Echo can’t lift his gaze to meet his sister’s. The burning sensation prickling his eyes threatens to spill tears should he see the look of earnest empathy on her face. 

When he doesn’t answer, Omega continues, “You’re finishing what Fives started, Echo. You’re helping our brothers. You helped us. I’m sorry I never met Fives, because he sounds like he would have fit right in with Clone Force 99.” 

Echo swallows. 

“And he would have been so proud of you, Echo.” 

A tear slips through the barrier, and Echo pulls his hand from Omega’s to rub it away, trying to erase its track from his face. 

AZI draws closer again. “I have analyzed the data of my friend, ARC Trooper Fives, and I must agree with Omega.” 

“Thank you,” Echo forces out. “Both of you.”

Omega picks up the data pad and opens a file before handing it back. “These are the transcripts I was able to recover.” 

Echo  takes it, finding that the data has already been translated from binary into Basic. Words jump out at him, words his brother said, words his brother said leading up to his death…

“AZI and I are going to the market to pick up dinner,” Omega says suddenly, standing and putting her mug in the sink. As she walks past him, she clasps his shoulder briefly, a familiar gesture he’s received a thousand times from brothers all his life. “We’ll let you get settled.” 

And Echo realizes that the Batch being away on a supply run isn’t just happenstance. 

He reads through the transcripts slowly, absorbing his brother’s words, his determination to do the right thing no matter the consequences. Fives was the same and grown, and Echo was just months from being able to see him again. 

Omega is right. Fives would have loved the Batch, and he would be proud of Echo too. 

But not nearly as proud as Echo is of him. 

Not by a lightyear. 

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[akirathedramaqueen]

Octavia's and Blitzø's potential relationship development

I believe that the show, despite Octavia openly hating Blitzø, gives us some hints that they have much more in common than it seems. I’ve noticed a couple of moments where Blitzø and Octavia are… pretty much in sync, if that makes sense.

Here are those moments I’ve noticed… maybe stretched in some places, but! Hear me out!

1. Here, they don’t hear each other, but both are repulsed by Stolas’s obnoxious language and express the same reaction. It’s funny that Stolas is the one calling them out.

[Blitzø]: WHAT [Octavia]: THE [Blitzø]: FUCK [Octavia]: DAD?! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 4:52

2. They also share a distaste for Stolas’s behavior throughout the episode, albeit in slightly different ways. In fact, this serves as a great demonstration of how deaf and blind Stolas is to obvious social cues at the beginning of the series—he doesn’t stop even when directly asked to do so on multiple occasions.

Blitzø is disgusted by Stolas’s awkward, overly sexual advances and demeaning language towards him and his work.

[Stolas]: You are so cute when you are serious! S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 6:06

Octavia is taken aback by essentially the same. However, she blames both of them, understandably failing to recognize that Blitzø is just as uncomfortable as she is. From her perspective, Blitzø is a homewrecker who contributed to destroying her parents' marriage.

[Stolas]: You know, it's quite thrilling to see you on the job, Blitzy.[Blitzø]: Save it, bitch, I am working. [Octavia]: You both need to get a room. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:20

3. They share the hate for the same clown!

[Blitzø and Octavia]: I hate that fucking clown. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 8:50

4. They seem to have similar tastes in music! The song My World Is Burning Down Around Me, which Octavia plays to tune out Stella’s screaming, is also heard in Blitzø’s van when he comes to pick up Loona in the Queen Bee episode, although it’s only instrumental. Here, have a look. If, for some reason, the service with the timeframes isn’t working, I’ll also provide the timings in writing so you can check it yourself on YouTube.

Octavia turns on the song, and for a while, we can hear the lyrics before it fades into the background as the scene shifts to Stella yelling at Stolas and later to Stolas’s conversation with Octavia. S1EP2, Loo Loo Land, 2:52 - 3:50

The song’s instrumental version can be heard when Blitzø’s van arrives, and the background noise at Queen Bee’s club is different, so there’s no chance for misinterpretation. It is the music Blitzø’s was listening to. S1EP8, Queen Bee, 8:20 - 9:14

5. Haha, they freak out in the same way in the Seeing Stars episode! I know it’s probably just a stylistic choice to transition from Octavia’s initial experience with LA to Blitzø having to contact Stolas and explain what happened. However, I might be indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, suggesting that this similarity in their stress responses could have some deeper meaning.

S2EP2, Seeing Stars, 4:42

So-o... What am I trying to say with all these points I've made?

Like the kind of delulu who yells, "Ghostfuckers, save us!" (we know Viv, we know how trying to put our hopes up ends, haha), I draw a complete unhinged card and I am going to make a very bold claim:

I think that once Stolas and Blitzø finally get their shit and themselves back together, and Octavia realizes there’s much more to the story than, “Oh, it’s just horny dad cheated on my mum with a red lizard dickhead and my dad ruined my family,” Octavia could actually bond with Blitzø quite nicely, and he would make a good second dad to her! Well, don’t get me wrong. She might never want to take it to that level. Also, we don’t know how things will turn out, nor do we know her relationship with her mum, Stella.

But I do believe that their parallels were thrown in for a reason. Despite the circumstances, they can, and maybe will, be on much better terms than they currently are.

Go on, call me delusional and leave me be in my complete denial corner. <3 I admit I do tend to forget the current state of the Stolitz relationship in the series, as in my world, where I’m prioritizing my time working on that fic, they are finally together. I am bitter-sweetly excited that @tealvenetianmask and I are slowly but surely getting close to finishing it. :)

(Yes, yes, it was shameless self-promotion—sue me for the unlawful use of a speculatory-analytical post space to promote our version of Stolitz working hard to sort out their issues post Apology Tour and having some silly and horny fun along the way.)

[duckieduccss]

✨Kaiju Siblings!!✨

Did something small & simple just to take things easy & also while having fun. I often enjoy drawing these two interacting with each other. At least in my version of things, they are in fact siblings. They both share a lot of things together & of course are the future heir to Godzilla’s name & status. However, each are very different in their personalities. At least how they treat & do things:

Junior is the more curious outgoing type. She loves meeting new friends & generally seeing/learning new things. More so, she’s the one to start conversations & ask a lot of questions. To her, she likes getting to know others better (for that reason she has a lot of friends). Junior can also even be more confrontational whenever necessary to be. Putting her skills as a kaiju to the test & being able to stand herself strong. She’s not afraid to intimidate (she can be pretty brutal with downsizing the other if deserved (I’ll provide an example later ^^:). But for the most part, she’s very sweet & overall very adorable in how she does certain things (making her more serious moments more unexpected lol)

Minilla on the other hand is very awkward & less outgoing like his sister (pretty much the opposite; an actual introvert). He always wants to prove that he can be just as strong & be a great kaiju like their dad. But in the end, he lets fear overcome him or suddenly the thoughts of failing already overwhelm him into thinking it would happen. Along with the thing that he doesnt exactly like confrontation or being outed as much. If anything, he prefers if all could get along peacefully (which isnt anything easy in the kaiju world. But however, he still wants to work on being more confident so he often looks up to others he sees as role models. Minilla’s own role models happen to be: Godzilla of course, Ultraman (he happens to be Ultraman’s biggest fan actually), & even his own sister. He’s still very much going at it. No matter how many times he fails, he still keeps going. Shows that he’s got a very strong will & pretty sure he’d be great as the next Godzilla

Junior very much deeply loves her own older brother (Minilla’s the oldest & Junior’s the youngest btw). She understands his struggle more than anyone, for that reason she’s more than willing to helping him out. She’s quite literally his biggest supporter & always brings to his attention whenever he did something well or showed improvement. As a matter of fact, Minilla has their own burst of celebration whenever they’re able to successfully accomplish something (think of it as a lil happy dance he does). She hugs him as a reward as a good job & despite her being younger than him, she has the big heart to care after him too (as a way to show her love). Minilla always loves watching Ultraman whenever on tv (in this universe, Ultraman both doubles as a celebrity superstar & actual hero for both the humans & kaiju; well, more of just a celebrity to the kaiju at least) & taking inspiration from his favorite hero. That way to boost his motivation & even getting ideas on how to be a more powerful kaiju. Minilla does in fact have to deal with Gabara in this version too. Despite of how much Gabara has made him feel afraid from being bullied by him, Minilla’s ready to fight back thanks to the help from others with him

Well those were just some of my own thoughts. I also gave them some outfits that i felt matched perfectly with their described personalities ^^

[If there’s anything specific you guys would like to know about my headcanons, feel free to lemme know :D ]

[omgrachwrites]

Date Night - Carmy Berzatto

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You and Carmy go on your first date.

Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this, please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

part two

Natalie glanced at you as you walked into the living room to show off your outfit, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Her facial expression was the same as you twirled in front of her, showing her the outfit from all angles.

“What do you think?” you asked as you smoothed your hands down your dress.

Nat laughed, “sweetie, you look beautiful.”

You pouted at her, “you’ve said that about every single outfit I’ve chosen,” you look down at the dress.

She rolled her eyes with a smile, “because it’s true, you’re beautiful. You could wear a bin bag and Carmy would still be crazy about you.”

You smiled as you sat next to her, your date with her brother wasn’t until later on tonight but you were nervous. You really wanted this to go well and you didn’t want to do anything that would screw this up.

“I’m nervous, Nat,” you admitted and she smiled at you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Carmy really likes you, Y/N,” she sighed as her phone buzzed and she checked it, “damn, I gotta go, they need me at the restaurant. Good luck tonight, you’ll do great,” she smiled and pulled you into a hug.

All day you lounged around, doing nothing, last night you’d had the shower where you scrubbed and shaved everything and everywhere. You weren’t expecting anything to happen, not on the first date – Carmy would be too shy to make a move – but you just wanted to be prepared. Finally, it was time for you to get ready, you curled your hair and applied your makeup light and pretty, with the help of a large glass of wine.

When Carmy knocked on your door, you slipped your heels on and grabbed your bag before pulling open the door. Your throat went dry as you looked up at him. He looked so gorgeous, he was wearing a tight white button down shirt that accentuated his muscles and over the top he was wearing a black suit jacket. He was holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers. His cheeks were flushed as his eyes drank in the sight of you.

He smiled as he ran a hand through his curls, “you look amazing.”

“Thanks Carm, so do you.”

The redness on his cheeks only deepened as he held out the flowers, “these are for you.”

You smiled as you took the flowers, “they’re beautiful, come in and I’ll put them in some water,” you let him in as you arranged the flowers in a vase, “you want a drink?” you glanced over your shoulder.

He shook his head as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, “nah, don’t want to miss the reservation.”

You smiled as you finished arranging the flowers and took his hand, “then let’s go,” you flushed as he linked your fingers together.

The restaurant was just an uber ride away and Carmy held your hand as he helped you out of the car. The restaurant looked beautiful – and fancy – you felt a little out of place. Carmy must have noticed because he squeezed your hand and you looked over at him.

“You okay?”

You smiled as you leaned over and kissed his cheek, “yeah, as long as I can take you to my favourite dive bar afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he grinned.

At first, you thought it was going to be awkward but as you were sat at the best seat in the house the both of you launched into conversation just as easily as you always did.

“How’s the restaurant?” you asked as you took a swallow of wine.

Carmy rolled his eyes with a quick laugh, “everyone’s at each other’s throats but they seem to be working together well enough. How’s the pasta?” he grinned with a twinkle in his gorgeous eyes.

“It’s good,” you nod as you eat a forkful, “but your pasta is my favourite.”

He grinned as he nudged his leg against yours, “you’re my favourite.”

For dessert the both of you shared a dish of lemon sorbet with a couple of vodka shots poured into the bottom. By the time you reluctantly let Carmy pay the bill – he wouldn’t let you split it – the both of you were pretty buzzed as you stumbled to the bar. The bar was a typical dive, the floor was sticky and it stank of beer but you felt comfortable, and you could tell that Carmy was too.

He thanked you as you handed him a pint of beer and he nodded over at the pool table, “you wanna play?”

“I’m rubbish at pool, I can barely hold a pool cue,” you laughed.

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” those big blue eyes talked you into it and you relented as he led you over to the pool table.

He set up the table and you couldn’t stop watching as his tattooed fingers rearranged the balls and he gave you a lazy, lopsided grin, “you wanna break? I’ll show you how.”

You smiled, “sure.”

Butterflies shot through your stomach as he took your hands in his, he stood behind you and showed you how to properly hold the pool cue. He leaned over you, just like they did in the movies and with Carmy’s help you managed to break.

“There you go,” he whispered in your ear and tingles shot up your spine as he kissed your cheek.

It was hard to keep up the pretence and you slipped up when you pocketed a ball. Carmy stood there staring at you with his mouth open.

“You lied! You’re hustling me!”

You laughed at his accusation, “fine, I’m not as bad as pool as I made out to be. And hustling is when you do it for money.”

He rolled his eyes with a grin, “you owe me.”

You ended up winning the game of pool and Carmy looked at you with a look of mock disappointment on his face as he shook his head, “I am so disappointed, that you won by cheating.”

You giggled, “you’re so dramatic. How’s this, I’ll let you pick your consolation prize?”

Carmy grinned as he pulled you closer by your waist and kissed you deeply, you were in shock and you hesitated for a split second before you kissed him back. You placed your hands on his firm chest as you pulled away just a little, “wow that’s funny, that’s exactly what I was gonna pick for my winning prize.”

He smirked as he cupped your cheek, “what an amazing coincidence,” he chuckled as he wrapped a hand in your hair and kissed you again, this time he snuck his tongue into your mouth. That’s how you spent the rest of the night, playing pool and making out.

He walked you up to your apartment, his fingers laced through yours, “I had a really good time tonight, Carm.”

“Me too, even if you did cheat at pool.”

You laughed, “I did not cheat!” you got your keys out of your bag and you looked at Carmy, “you want to come in?”

Carmy smiled but shook his head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N, I’d end up doing something we’re not ready for,” he chuckled as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, “but I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll see you soon,” you nod and he leaned in to give you another breath taking kiss that made you feel like you were a teenager all over again.

[delayed-affection]

can you do a jealous hughes brother (any of them) where trader is really getting along with the other brothers and he gets kind of possessive

You’re mine

Navigation Oneshots

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

A/n: I was in Luke mood😊

Warnings: possessiveness, Jack being the devil he is, I don’t think there’s any cursing, isolation tactic?

Word Count: 2.3k

Luke’s biggest fear was his family not liking you, more so his brothers. You’ve talked to his parents over the phone and met them at his games countless times.

However when it came to his brothers it was just little hi’s shared here and there when he’s on FaceTime.

He likes to think that you’d get along with them, just like you did with his father. Who scared you at first but welcomed you with open arms.

So when he invited you to stay with him over the summer it made him worry. He gave them a stern talking to about how to act around you. The two of them not seeing what he’s so worried about.

When you sent him the text saying you were outside he basically burst out the door, his brothers following him at a slower speed.

He pulls into a hug, “Don’t let them scare you.”

You laugh hugging him back.

Pulling away you are met with Quinn and Jack.

“I’ll get your bags.” Luke tells you

Jack watches as his little brother walks to the trunk.

Quinn sticks his hand out to you, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, “Likewise.”

Jack looks at you then to Luke, “Hey why don’t we show you around while Luke gets the rest of your stuff.”

You look over to Luke, silently asking if it was okay.

He gives his brothers a weird look but answers, “It’s okay you can go, I got this.”

Jack puts an arm around your shoulders, “Great, maybe we should start by showing you Luke’s famous hockey fails.”

Quinn shakes his head but follows.

~

It was honestly going better than Luke expected, he didn’t think they’d get along with you so fast.

But as the week went on the less time he got with you and the more irritated he got with his brothers. It’s like they were taking you away from him.

Everything they did they wanted you to do with them. From wake surfing to just setting the table for dinner.

Luke wanted to talk to you about it but he didn’t know how to bring it up, it looked like you were having fun and he didn’t want to ruin that.

~

When Luke got up this morning he was expecting you to be right by his side, except you were no where to be seen.

Slipping on some random shirt that he found, he goes to find you. Down the hall and into the kitchen he finds you… and his brothers.

The three of you were sat at the table, you’re leaning in close to Quinn to watch something off his phone.

Luke grumbles to himself before making his presence known.

The three of your heads snap in his direction and as he clears his throat.

“Morning.” He says walking over to the fridge.

“Morning.” You three reply

Jack picks up his phone, “Hey, Z’s coming over later.”

Great another person Luke has to worry about stealing you away.

Making himself a bowl of cereal he sits across from you at the table.

“Who’s Z?” You question

“Oh it’s Trevor, remember the guy I was telling you about.” Jack answers

You nod, “Oh, yeah, okay.”

Jack stands up to put his bowl away, “We’ll probably go boarding when he gets here. You guys wanna come?”

“I’m down, Luke?” You ask looking at him.

He shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

His voice carries a slight attitude, one that everyone notices.

Quinn looks at you then to Luke, “Well I’m going to get ready.”

He picks his things up and leaves you two alone.

You scrunch your brows, “Are you okay?”

He dismissively waves his spoon, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

~

Trevor spots you outside talking to Ellen, “Is that your little girlfriend Lukey?”

Felt like you were more his brothers girlfriend than his lately.

However he nods, “Yeah.”

“I honestly don’t know how he bagged her.” Jack jokes but to Luke it’s not that funny.

“She’s honestly cooler than you, Luke.” Quinn chimes with a chuckle.

“So she’s got the stamp of approval from you two?” Trevor asks

“Oh, yeah.” Quinn answers

“For sure.” Jack says

Hearing that his brothers liked you that much wasn’t as comforting as he thought it would.

~

Now being on the boat made him feel even worse. The first couple of times you were on you had been been in your clothes but now you’re in bathing suit.

He was counting the seconds that went by every time one of them looked at you.

The jealousy was eating at him, whether it be you laughing at one of their jokes or them helping you on and off the board instead of him. Everything they did and said just bothered him.

When you sat down he was quick to sit next to you, pulling you close to him. He leans back into the seat, letting you lay on him.

You shields your eyes from the sun as you look up and smile at him.

Looking down at you he feelings of jealousy are subsided. Until he hears Quinn call your name.

“You wanna another go before Jack takes over?” Quinn asks pulling the line back in.

You go to sit up but are pulled back down by Luke.

“She’s good.” Luke answers

You and the boys all give him a weird look that he brushes off.

“I’m fine, go at it.” You tell them

~

Dinner rolls around and when everyone goes to sit down. Luke goes out of his way to make sure you sit down at the end of the table with him next to you.

He wouldn’t even let his mom sit next to you.

After dinner he sat on the couch with you letting his arm rest around your shoulders.

When everyone else comes into the living he basically pulls you on top of him. Wanting you to be closer to him than anyone else.

You honestly don’t mind it, you’ve always liked being close to him.

~

Waking up the next morning you could barely move. Luke’s body acting like a blanket, fully covering yours.

You try to push him off to no avail, but you know he’s awake. You can feel and hear him as he tries not to laugh.

You brush his hair out of his face, “Can you get off of me?”

He groans flips the two of you over, so that you’re now on top of him.

“Better?” He asks smiling to himself.

You roll your eyes at him and try to sit up.

He tightens his grip on you, “No, don’t leave, not yet.”

You reach over to his nightstand checking your phone.

“It’s nine o’clock.” You inform him

He kisses your cheek, “Okay, and your point is?”

~

An hour and a half later he finally lets you go.

However an idea pops into his head to keep you away from the boys, letting him spend more time with you.

He grabs your hand pulling you to stand in front on him.

“You wanna go on a walk?” He asks playing with your hands, “We could go get donuts or something.”

You give him a confused look, “You never wanted to go on walks.”

“Because I was always tired.” He claims

You laugh softly placing your hands on his face, “Oh so you’re no longer tired?”

He sets his hands on your waist, “Nope, so what do you say? You wanna go?”

You kiss him softly making him smile.

“Sure pretty boy.”

~

Luke hands you one of his AirPods, placing the other in his ear.

He throws his arm around you, shaking you with word he sings.

“Cause when I hear your name I can not stop cheesing. I love you so much that my heart stops beating when you're leaving. And I'm grieving and my heart starts bleeding. Life without you has no goddamn meaning.”

“Please stop shaking me.” You plead trying to steady yourself.

~

Your short walk to get donuts turned into a two hour walk around town. By the time you got back no one was home besides his parents.

Ellen’s voice greets you as you walk through the door, “Hey guys! Where have you been?”

Luke takes your hand, pulling you over to the couch with him.

“We went for a walk and got donuts.” He answers plopping down on the couch gently pulling you down with him.

“And you didn’t bring me one?” She jokingly asks

The both of you let out small laughs telling her that you’ll bring her one the next time you go.

Jim walks in from the back door and gives you two a confused look, “I thought you two went with the boys?”

You two share the same look of confusion.

“Where did they go?” You question

He rubs his forehead trying to think, “Um… To get stuff for the bonfire tonight.”

~

As the day went on Luke was still attached to you, everywhere you went he was not far behind. It was only a matter of time before he had to actually leave alone for longer than a minute.

And that time has come.

Jim asked him to come inside and help him something. He was reluctant to leave you outside with them but couldn’t say no to his dad.

So now you sit outside with his brothers and their friends.

His brothers take notice in his absence and move to sit next to you.

Jack nudges your shoulder with his, “What’s up Luke?”

You shrug, not too sure yourself, “I don’t know.”

“It’s like he’s afraid to leave you alone.” Quinn comments

“Maybe he sees us as competition.” Jack snickers making you and Quinn laugh.

“Competition?” You ask

You hear the door open and close making you all turn your heads to see Luke walking over with a not so happy look on his face.

Jack and Quinn share a quick look and nod.

Quinn leans into you and whispers, “Watch.”

Watch what, you ask yourself.

Jack looks up to Luke from where he’s sitting and smiles, “Hey man, hope you don’t mind that I took your spot.”

Luke gives him a tight lipped smile, “It’s fine.”

He looks over to you, giving you a more relaxed smile, “Can you help me get the stuff for s’mores?”

“I’ll help you moose.” Quinn says getting up from his seat.

Luke snaps his head over to him, “Huh?”

He pats his shoulder, “Come on.”

Luke looks between you and Jack before slowly following Quinn.

You turn in your seat, “What are you doing?”

“Being a big brother.” He answers with a smile.

“Well please keep me out of your big brother activities.” You tell him

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asks with a light chuckle.

He takes a quick look around before scooting closer to you and asks, “Do you like my brother?”

“No, I hate him.” You answer sarcastically

“Because of that I’m committing to the bit.” He tells you

“What bit?” You question

He quickly shakes his head, “Nevermind.”

He stands up and offers you his hand, unsure of what is happening you take his hand.

He pulls you to your feet, “Come on.”

“Where you two going?” Trevor calls out seeing you two part from the group.

He waves him off, “To talk.”

Trevor furrows his brows then gets up to go inside.

The two of you only move a couple yards away.

“What are you doing?” You ask coming to a stop.

He shrugs, “Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

He looks over your shoulder, “Him.”

Turning around you see Luke stomping over.

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” Luke asks putting emphasis on ‘my’.

“We’re just talking bro, calm down.” Jack tells him, “You’ve been with her all day.”

“Yeah because she’s my girlfriend.” He argues, “I should be able to spend time with her.”

Jack continues to push his buttons, “And I can’t?”

“You’ve spent more time with her this past week than I have, so sorry if I wanted to spend the day with her.” He barks

“Are you jealous or something?” Jack snarks

Coming to the realization that this is the bit Jack was talking about you decide to put an end to it, not liking the way Luke looked.

Grabbing Luke’s hand and you start tugging him away from his brother.

Luke doesn’t give in right away but lets you pull him away, “Where are we going?”

His bad attitude still there, not going away anytime soon.

“Inside.” You state

You’re basically dragging him through the house and into his room.

Closing the door you turn to look at him, “Okay, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He throws his hands up, “Ever since you got here it’s been Jack this, Quinn that. The entire time you’ve been here you’ve been with them. And it’s driving me insane.”

He continues on, "I've gotten no time with you whatsoever. You're always off doing something with them. It's like you like them more than me, that you would much rather be with them than me."

Now everything is starting to make sense to you, especially with how he's been acting with you three.

He huffs moving closer to you, “You’re dating me. No?”

“What?”

He crosses his arms, “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“So, tell me.” He says, “Tell me that you’re mine, that you’re not Jack's or Quinn’s or anybody else’s.”

“I’m yours, Luke.” You assure grabbing his face, “I’m not interested in anyone else but you. And I'm sorry that I made you feel like that.”

He uncrosses his arms and wraps them around you, pulling you closer to him.

"Look if you ever feel that way just tell me, don't keep it to yourself." You tell him.

He sighs, "Okay."

“Good.” You say giving him a quick kiss.

[freesia-writes]

Ch 44: Full Circle

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.5k

Last chapter, friends. 🥹💕

This is a song that my husband and I love, and it’s so pretty, but the lyrics aren’t quite what I was going for this chapter, just the longevity of love. 😊 Death Cab For Cutie - I Will Follow You Into The Dark +Lyrics (youtube.com)

. 

A number of months later…

"The balmy sea breeze ruffled the tablecloth and made the string lights dance merrily above the jovial scene below as the clinking of silverware on plates punctuated the steady hubbub of conversation that rose and fell with the emotion of what was being shared. Some overly-optimistic sea birds hovered above on a swell, fastidiously watching for any dropped crumbs before swooping gracefully into another updraft. The setting was the same, the voices and faces different, but a shared sense of gratitude and contentment prevailed over all."

“I know,” Wrecker said dramatically, gesturing broadly with the drumstick of meat he was holding. “Right after I finish my porch, he comes up with this.”

“You cannot assume that his timing was intentional–” Tech protested fruitlessly.

“I’ll sit on your porch for you so someone can enjoy it while you're out working,” Echo interrupted, flashing a grin at Tech to release him from the increasing indignation Wrecker was goading out of him. “It’ll be great. I’ll put one of Hunter’s dusty old quilts over these creaky old legs and just watch the birds fly from tree to tree.”

“Your prosthetics are hardly creaky–” Tech returned, having gotten no more than two words out in a side conversation with Phee before being lured back in by his brothers. “Nevermind,” he said, more slowly now. “I see the caricature you are attempting to paint.”

“Paint? Oh, that sounds good. I’ll paint on the porch too,” Echo continued, undaunted. The Zygerrian beside Crosshair was smiling broadly at the interchange, his distinctive leonine face relaxed into inquisitive openness. Finally, he spoke up.

“You can paint?” His sibilant tone caught Echo’s attention, and he pointed an unthreatening scomp in his direction. 

“Anyone can paint, Ky’tal. Might look like kark, but–”

“Language, Echo!” Omega teased, giggling from her seat beside Breslin. His eyes sparkled with unspeakable depths of affection as he met her playful gaze for a moment before flashing a rude hand signal in her direction, much to her delight. Echo looked at Hunter, who was staring at him with an entirely flat affect, and opted to return to the main conversation. 

“Anyway,” he said, taking a leisurely sip from his wooden cup. “If you and Crosshair want to come paint on my porch, you’re welcome anytime.”

“It’s not your porch!!” Wrecker laughed, smacking the table with a bit too much gusto and causing a few utensils to clatter off their plates. Lyra jumped, her hand quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment – she still wasn’t unfazed by Wrecker’s jubilant outbursts. Hunter’s hand found her leg, giving her knee a soft squeeze, and she covered his fingers with her own, casting him a grateful smile. 

“Well it sounds like it’s my porch now…” Echo was relentless, and as the two of them dissolved into pointless arguing, Ky’tal shifted his gaze back to Crosshair. 

“What do you think? Want to paint the sunset?” He chuckled at the faintest of blushes that tinted Crosshair’s cheeks, then quickly rearranged his features into seriousness as the sniper fixed him with an entirely harmless glare. “Or perhaps we should paint guns instead…”

“Now wouldn’t that be just precious…” Phee interjected as Crosshair snorted, relaxing into his mirth and allowing the warmth in his eyes to show. “We can hang them all over our walls. Right, Brown Eyes?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmm. Well, I tried,” she sighed, shrugging and offering a belabored sigh of solidarity. Ky’tal laughed, a rich, deep sound, and draped his arm across the back of Crosshair’s chair. Hunter kept his mouth in a straight line to restrain his smile as he watched his brother’s shoulders relax a few inches.

“...a good find in a relatively abandoned sector,” Phee was saying, continuing her conversation with Tech.

“Allow me to gather some supplemental information and we can leave in two days, if that is acceptable?” he offered, trying and failing to hide the spark in his eye that always appeared at the opportunity for exploration and discovery. 

“Sounds good. I’ll prep the ship and update MEL’s interface,” she nodded, patting the back of his hand. 

“More pirate adventures?” Hunter asked, watching Tech’s eyebrows lower a bit as he regarded him from behind his spectacles. 

“It is not piracy,” he objected. “It is–”

“Liberation of ancient wonders,” chorused half the table.

“We know,” Omega added with a grin.

“If you’re looking for some more ‘respectable’ work, you can expand your module for the Defense Training Academy,” Echo interjected. “There are a handful that seem to be particularly interested in that field, and the more well-rounded they all are, the better.” 

“That would be enjoyable,” Tech answered, perking up again quickly. 

“Yeah. It’s been great getting more of our brothers here, where they can live their own lives and pursue what they want instead of being puppets,” Echo said.

“They do seem to thrive in their autonomy," Tech agreed. " "You’ve created an excellent opportunity for them to continue in their desired purposes while also allowing ample rest and rejuvenation.”

“Well thanks,” Echo said, a touch of surprise in his voice at the rather effusive praise. 

“Have you showed them the new armory yet?” Lyra ventured. Hunter chuckled, giving her a wink before turning to Echo for his response. 

“Armory??” Wrecker interrupted. “Where?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Echo feigned innocence. “Well… Lyra had an entire room of long-range communication equipment as well as a ridiculous amount of weaponry, remember? Apparently she’s not going to need it for her gardening and baking or whatever she does… So she passed it on to me for the DTA.”

“What! I’ve gotta see this…” Wrecker’s face was alight with glee, and he rubbed his hands together as though he couldn’t wait to get them on the goods. 

“You can look, but no touching,” Echo teased. 

“I would also like to inspect the communicators,” Tech added, index finger in the air.

"Sounds like getting conned by a pirate worked out in the end..." Crosshair's comment slithered across the table, and Lyra laughed, meeting his gaze with the tiniest flash of a smirk.

"Listen... He was very persuasive..." she began, but gave up quickly at the chortles that broke out. "Alright, I know... Silly mistake. But hey -- if you all think it's so funny, I can take back my arsenal."

Wrecker gasped loudly, and whether it was feigned or genuine, it was difficult to tell. Hunter laughed, resting his arm across the back of Lyra's chair and giving her opposite shoulder a little squeeze.

"Okay, Wreck. You can keep the goods," Hunter grinned.

"Oh, now they're yours to give?" Lyra teased, beaming as Hunter's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise and admiration, and he lifted both hands in temporary surrender.

"Alright, alright... I guess I'm just--"

"The snack. The eye candy. The trophy..." Lyra interrupted, trailing off at the end as she wasn't sure what word to use there.

"Hunter is the trophy?" Crosshair mused, peering across Ky'tal's broad chest to peer at her again.

"Hey. Eat your peas," Lyra returned, earning a guffaw of delight from a few of the group. Hunter shook his head, eyes on the plate before him but mind far away as he marveled at the depth of her personality that had been gradually unfolding in the safe, steady comfort they continued to build.

"Yeah, Crosshair," Omega joined in. "Got to get your vitamins!"

"It's true," Tech interjected, a touch of mirth on his solemn face. "Peas are a fantastic legume made up of complex carbohydrates and quite a variety of vitamins and minerals. They also offer a significant amount of fiber, which can be helpful with digestive issues--"

"Ohhhh, so that's what's up his--"

"I wasn't finished!" Tech was unstoppable, brimming with the incredible nutritional breakdown that he was far too eager to share. "While often considered vegetables, they are obviously not, as I previously identified them as legumes. But they do stand out from vegetables with their high protein content--"

"You've got to be kidding me," Crosshair muttered.

"Furthermore," Tech continued, "They are rich in polyphenol antioxidants, which--"

"Okay, Tech," Hunter stepped in. "Why don't you save that kind of talk for the bedroom?"

"Peas and polyphenols?" Phee said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "We might need to leave right now..."

"I'm losing my appetite," Echo muttered.

"Alright, alright," Phee grinned. "You give us something better to talk about, then." And off they went.

“Hey, thanks again for all your help at the cottage.” Lyra turned to Wrecker, offering a warm smile as the group's conversation continued without them. “I can’t believe how easy that seemed for you. You’re incredibly strong!” Wrecker blushed and grinned bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aw, it was nothin…” 

“Are you kidding?” Lyra continued. “To combine two rooms, maintain the structural integrity, AND make it look even better than before? It’s a huge gift. Really. Thank you.” Her face was earnest, voice sincere, and she rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment to convey the depth of her appreciation. 

“I’m strong too…” Hunter muttered, shooting her a roguish grin behind lowered brows. She laughed, leaning toward him instead and resting her head on his shoulder before looking up at him with unabashed admiration. 

“So strong,” she purred, only partially teasing. 

“Ha! I could throw you from the docks to the Archium!” Wrecker snorted.

“That is a physical impossibility, Wrecker,” came Tech’s taunt from the other end of the table, but Wrecker ignored him. 

“Besides… How are those office ladies doin?” Wrecker asked, waggling his eyebrows at Lyra as Hunter rolled his eyes with a groan.

“Oh, you left quite an impression,” she smirked. Hunter had brought a large crate of steaks, sausages, and roasts to the school for the end-of-term staff party with Lyra proudly on his arm. He’d given them one last opportunity to get all of their innuendos and flirtation out of their system.

A few of them had taken him up on it, but when they’d laid eyes on Wrecker carrying the huge crate on one shoulder with a single arm around it, Hunter had been instantly forgotten. They’d mobbed the large clone like gaja birds on a pile of mantell mix, squawking and fawning over how massive his muscles were and how wonderful his charitable generosity was, and Hunter’s allure seemed to vanish as quickly as the selection of meat.

His undecipherable mutter about their fickleness had been quickly quelled by the shock of Lyra grabbing both his arms and kissing him firmly, and when she’d released him, she hadn’t been able to stifle her giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his face. 

“Guess I’ll have to make deliveries more often then, eh?” Wrecker grinned. 

“Well you can find your own stuff to deliver now,” Hunter muttered with a harmless scowl.

“I’m sure they’ll find plenty of ways I could help out,” came Wrecker’s playful jab, resulting in a sigh from his brother. 

“Do you want their attention?” Lyra said, poking Hunter in the side so unexpectedly that he jerked in his chair and turned his joke of a scowl onto her. 

“No…” he said, softening as she reached up to stroke the backs of her fingers along his cheek.

“Maybe I’ll just have to keep finding ways to show you…” she drifted off, casting a surreptitious glance around the table, too embarrassed to finish her sentence. He leaned in, nudging her cheek with his nose. 

“Hmm? Go on… You were saying?”

She turned to nestle her face against his, whispering something in his ear that made him press his lips together tightly in a barely-restrained smile, but he couldn’t hide the faint redness that colored his cheeks. He pulled back to look at her, equal parts desire and love on his face, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing his plate away. 

“I think we’re gonna call it a night,” he announced, winking at Lyra, who dropped her head to hide her own blushing grin. “As Tech would say, we’re going to tackle a new endeavor together.”

A cacophony of responses broke out, everything from “gross!” to “oh yeah!” as Hunter pulled Lyra to her feet, ignoring the hoots and taunts as they made for the door.

They began their stroll down the familiar path, weaving through the homes of the island, and when they came to a flat, grassy knoll that overlooked the sea, they came to a halt. Lyra’s questioning glance was mollified as she watched him gazing far into the distance, both present and far away in his thoughts, and she leaned into his side, snuggling her arm through his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

He sighed contently, as though years of stress and turmoil were gently being washed away by the sea. Wave after wave settled his shoulders more and more, and he was struck by a sudden flashback of his encounter with a native Xyloan upon their arrival to the island. "Fragmented," she had said, assessing him with a keen eye that saw much more than just the surface, and she'd left him with some rather cryptic words: But even shattered shards find smoothing and settling in the steadiness of the sea.

A bit of mirth touched the memory as he remembered Tech’s delight at the “astonishing alliteration” when he’d shared the details of the encounter, and he continued watching the waves in silence, Lyra leaning lightly against him in quiet solidarity. He hadn’t understood it then, but now the sentiment seemed to settle into his soul, a comfortable, familiar weight that grounded and reassured. The sea was never still; it was constantly shifting with the winds and tides, and yet it was consistent, dependable, beautiful. With a steady roll between sand and stone, it softened the edges of even the sharpest fragments of glass, pieces that had been broken by the abrasive relentlessness of life.

Like him. 

And yet, throughout a process that seemed arbitrary or tumultuous at times, something was being formed. Something with a new purpose. Something to be treasured. 

A light breeze caressed him, brushing tendrils of hair out of his face and providing a cool contrast to the balmy rays of the setting sun. He closed his eyes. Inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Let it out slowly through his mouth. Then opened his eyes with a relaxed smile. 

He turned toward Lyra, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and regarding her fondly. She said nothing, simply gazed at him with radiant affection, and moved her arm to rest around his waist. He pressed his lips to her hair in a long, lingering kiss, murmuring gratitude and love before pulling away. 

Perhaps he could allow himself to settle into a new purpose. Perhaps he could allow himself to be treasured. Perhaps he could rest in the deep sense of reassurance that invited him to be at peace. 

Their eyes met again, and with a simple, small nod from each of them that spoke volumes, they continued on their way, hand in hand. 

Hunter found himself looking forward to the future, whatever it held, knowing that he was where he was supposed to be. Beyond the shadow of a doubt.

.

A little animation from one of my favorite artists, @thattoothpick, that I thought of when writing this:

. The End.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List

.

Y'ALL. It has been SUCH a treat sharing this with you after working on it for months. 🥹 THANK YOU for all the reblogs, comments, delight, and enjoyment along the way.

If you enjoyed this, I have two other full-length fics: a Howzer x OC and a Tech x OC. Both are PG-13 and similar to this one. I also have a full-length spicy Crosshair x Reader over on @spicy-clones.

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[togrowoldinv]

Devout

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You meet Wanda Maximoff at church and she later approaches you with a special request that you just can’t refuse

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, uh public sex, fingering (W receiving)

Note: I just think that milf!wanda. Happy love and death week! Enjoy this one!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You’ve seen her around town. This Wanda Maximoff that the old ladies in the church are whispering about this morning.

You don’t usually attend, but you were asked by a friend to come today so you got dressed and trudged your way to the building.

Wanda stands with the choir; her hair is in perfect place as she hits every note. She’s devout, you hear the women say. She is crazy, another one adds in. She is having an affair, the last one says. But then the music stops, and the gossiping is put on hold until the preacher has finished.

The choir walks out a side door, and all of them return to their normal church pews. Except for one woman. Wanda. You wonder where she disappears to. You pay no attention to the preacher, not that Wanda is all to blame for that. The sermon is boring, and you’ve heard the same thing before.

So, when the final ones are spoken and prayer is prayed, you are itching to get out of the church. On your way outside, you see her again. Wanda. Swallowing your nerves, you approach the woman.

“Hey there! Welcome to our church!” Wanda greets you like she would any other visitor.

“Oh, I’ve been here before, but thank you, ma’am.” You smile at the way she steals a quick glance over your entire body. You wonder what rumors about her might be true. “You were great up there today.”

“It takes all of us,” Wanda says. “But that’s mighty kind of you.” There are people behind you seemingly waiting to talk to Wanda. “I’ll see you next week?” She asks.

“We’ll see,” you tell her. With that, you leave her to greet more people.

Over the next few days, you try to get Wanda out of your head, but you just can’t. You shouldn’t be thinking about a married woman so much, but Wanda is clearly someone special.

It’s like the prayers you haven’t even prayed are being answered when you run into Wanda at the grocery store.

“Hi, I know you,” Wanda surprises you when she approaches you first.

“Yes, you do. I’m y/n,” you offer, and she smiles.

“It’s so nice to meet you again. I’m Wanda.”

“Right. You’re something of church royalty around here,” you say.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Wanda remarks. You stand there for a few moments without saying anything. Wanda thinks of a way to break the silence. “Has anyone invited you to the cookout on Saturday?”

“No ma’am, but I didn’t expect an invite. I’m only a once or twice a-year churchgoer.”

“Well come on by, alright? Saturday at 6 in the parking lot.”

Something in you, practically your desperate attraction to her, makes you say yes. She goes about her way and you grab a few extra things at the store. You can’t show up empty-handed, you remember that much about church events.  

Saturday comes quickly and you drive to the church. Never once have you wanted to be there as much as you do this time. You still can’t deduce if Wanda is this nice to everyone, or that she feels the energy between you two as well.

You catch sight of her telling people where to put the food and drinks they brought. She is wearing a blazer with a blouse that goes up her neck. Her glasses frame her face perfectly and she looks cute. You wonder if anyone told her that today.

“Hey Wanda,” you approach the woman. She grins and excuses herself from talking to another person.

“Well, hi! What do we have here?” Wanda asks, gesturing to your pie.

“Apple pie. My mom’s recipe. The best you’ll ever have.”

“I believe it. Thank you for sharing it with us,” Wanda says. You hand her the pie, and she sets it down carefully on the table right where she wants it to go. “Please grab a drink and we’ll get the food out in just a bit.”

“Alright. Are you in charge of this shindig?”

“Oh, I don’t know about in charge, but my Bible study group does help,” she answers.

“Ah, so she’s humble. I like that in a woman,” you dare test the waters with your statement.

Wanda’s cheeks blush a deep pink as she gets pulled away into another conversation. You end up finding some old friends that you used to know, so you spend time catching up with them and enjoying some food once it’s ready.

Wanda stays busy and you keep wishing you could find time to talk to her. She is the only reason you’re here, after all. You see a small window when Wanda slips in the church door. Following after her, you keep a respectable distance as she walks into the sanctuary. She sits in a pew and leans her head back.

You feel bad for following her, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. Instead, you purposely walk loudly into the room. Wanda hears your feet echoing but she doesn’t turn around.

“Hey, I’m sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left,” you say when you get to the pew.

Wanda stands up to face you.

“I’m attracted to you,” she admits. You try not to have a reaction to her boldness. “Would you be interested in having an affair?”

“Oh, Wanda. You’re so beautiful, but I don’t know if I could-”

Wanda cuts you off by surging forward and kissing your lips. Practically all of her body weight is against you as she deepens the kiss. Her tongue mingles with yours and she sucks on it the second she gets in the right position to do so.

“Wanda,” you whisper, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. “We can’t do this.”

“Please, baby. I’m so lonely and you’re so hot,” Wanda says. You can’t pretend the way she calls you baby with that accent gets to you.

“Just this once,” you tell her.

It’s enough for Wanda. She kisses you again and you push her blazer off of her shoulders. You unbutton her blouse as you kiss down her neck. You’re not careful about leaving marks, no one will see them with her blouse anyways.

“Keep going, darling,” Wanda pleads as you leave hickeys on her neck. Her shirt opens wide, and you grasp at her breasts. She gasps as your fingers work deftly to play with her nipples.

“Do you like that, ma’am?”

“God yes, please I need you so fucking bad.”

“Devout Wanda needs me so bad in this church,” you tease her. It turns her on further. You slip your hand into her pants and relish the slickness you feel in her folds. Kissing her again, you keep one hand slipping around in her panties.

“We don’t have time for you to tease me,” Wanda says.

“Yes ma’am,” you agree. Anyone could walk in and ruin this moment.

You slip a finger inside Wanda. With her pants still on, the pressure builds quickly, and you touch her in all of the right spots. Wanda bites your neck when you add another finger.

“Be good for me, Wanda. Come for me right here, mommy,” you say. The term makes Wanda release a guttural moan. Anyone near the area would hear it, but she doesn’t care.

Your thumb brushes over her clit and Wanda comes so hard that her body threatens to fall over. You keep her steady.

“That’s it, Wanda,” you say, kissing her as you work her through her orgasm.

“Fuck, baby,” Wanda whimpers.

You kiss her a few more times before you help her get dressed again. The blouse covers her neck and there’s no visual evidence of what you did. But the knowledge that you left marks all over her makes you smile.

“Please come back next week,” Wanda says as she fixes her hair clips.

“How about I come back tomorrow?” You counter.

“Yes please,” Wanda says. “Meet me in the choir suite?”

“I’ll see you there, ma’am.”

Wanda leaves you with one more kiss and you watch her leave the room. You glace at the cross on the podium and smile to yourself.

Wanda just might turn you into a regular churchgoer, but it’s worth it to worship her perfect body.

[cakepoppresent]

I Don't Stress About Losers

Poor Luna. Malcolm is a bitch her dad is a bitch now she has this weirdo hoe trying to mess with her bag

Transcript under the cut ~

Luna: So you’re telling me a few of my contracts have been cancelled?

Destiny: Just small ones like commercials and billboards, but they all called and said they would pay the termination fee. Apparently, they don’t want to work with you because of the news

Luna: Is that so?

Destiny: There’s more...

Luna: I’m listening...

Destiny: Chantel still wouldn’t share who gave her the information about your family but some of the people who cancelled said they were “persuaded” to replace you with that Akito girl. I pressed a little harder and they said her assistant was working real hard to take your resources by any means necessary

Luna: I beg your pardon?

Destiny: They’re purposely targeting you Luna! and I don’t understand why!!

Destiny: This is crazy! Do you even know who she is?? Why is she attacking you? Luna this is serious!! She’s trying to take your resources! She’s most likely the one who exposed your brother! and spread those lies all over SMZ!

Luna: Hmm...No need to freak out. Just a small time loser eating more than she can chew

Destiny: Luna!! We can’t just ignore this! We have to do something

Luna: Why do I need to stress about a loser?

Destiny: Yea Yea Yea you're THE Luna Villereal, you don’t need to worry about anything but this is about the principle! If she starts attacking you, others will think they can do it too! We have to nip this in the bud right now!

Luna: This is more funny than anything. All she did was spread some rumours and take a few low-level jobs. I still have the Vogue spread right?

Destiny: Yea...They said we don’t need to worry about it

Luna: Great. Ignoring the fact she’s spreading lies about my family, her trying to steal my work is much funnier don’t you think?

Destiny: Funny???! Wheres the joke!!? Im fighting for my LIFE trying to make sure SMZ stops reporting LIES on your name. And you think this is funny?

Luna: And I love you for that. Expect a big winter bonus.

Destiny: Luna!!

Luna: Its been so boring. Why don’t we have some fun yeah?

Destiny: Fun?

Destiny: Oh...How could I forget she tried to switch your name card with hers so she could sit next to Thorne Bailey. What about her?

Luna: Just a little. Remeber a few years back that simstagram influncer tried to take my seat at the starlight awards?

Destiny: Hmm...What do you need me to do?

Luna: Akito is just like her. A small time loser who doesn’t know her place. Lets use the Vogue Spread to show her where she belongs!

Luna: Just get her a spot, she can be on the full spread but not the actual cover. Let me know when that's done, then I’ll figure out the rest

Destiny: Other than that. Do you need me to do anything for you?

Luna: Yes actually. If you could clear up all the work I have lined up for the rest of the year that would be great. I’d like to put my focus on other things right now

Destiny: Already done. Are you...okay?

Luna: I’m okay...I have some family things I need to deal with. You don’t mind do you?

Destiny: Of course not. I’m just worried

Luna: Don’t worry Destiny I’m fine.

Destiny: Is Malcolm still being a bitch....

Luna: Yeah. He is but don’t worry I can handle his piss ass attitude...

Destiny: I know its not my place but don’t let him punish you or make you feel bad about wanting to get in touch with your older brother okay? He’ll come around once he sets some sense

Luna: I know. Just keep me updated on the Vogue spread and ignore SMZ they’ll get bored eventually

Destiny: Alright. I’ll call you later