#if i have to be the one to cut the remaining cords like i had to be the one to break it off so fucking be it

[i-appear-misssing]

Let me be petty in the tags for a second

[alchemistc]

Tommy ignores the knock at his door. He's in day three pajamas and the only person who might make the effort to check in on him is his exes best friend. Which.

The knocking continues.

It's getting louder.

There's a Kings game on in the background and he's been elbow deep in the Jeep manual he'd finally cracked open in some sort of weird, fucked up pattern of mourning.

Tommy's never gonna buy a fucking Jeep. He hates them. You own one for more than five years and more than half the parts are replacement parts.

He's been staring at a diagram of the timing belt for half an hour, at least. The last thing he remembers about the game is Kuemper letting in three goals on five shots and somehow the Kings are up two, now, and there's still 25 minutes of game time left.

Tommy reaches for the remote. Turns the volume up.

The knocking returns less than a minute later.

---

There's a box of odds and ends tucked under the table in his entryway. He avoids looking at it. He knows there are a few things missing from it and he really doesn't want to examine what he'll have to do to avoid giving it to Eddie tonight. He cut the cords, he shouldn't be lingering watching the frayed edges sway in the wind, clutching his line like there's anything braced on the other side of it.

Evan's oldest, softest LAFD hoodie, the one that's technically too small for both of them but has stretched shockingly evenly and is definitely not sitting unwashed at the bottom of Tommy's laundry basket. The program from a recital of Denny's they'd stopped by to support him for, on their way out of town for a long weekend. Evan's stupid keto bread and the milk frother he'd left behind three months ago and never bothered to grab because he had more than one.

Whoever is at his door is still fucking knocking, and suddenly Tommy doesn't feel like being polite. He'll shove the box in Eddie's arms and tell him to fuck off and close the last few remaining open doors he has to this.

Only when he swings the door wide it's not Eddie on the other side, and the box nearly takes out whatever Evan - Buck, Jesus Christ - has in his own arms.

Not a Tommy box - too small for all the shit that he'd left behind. He misses the house slippers that had had a permanent spot tucked under the left side of the bed.

Tommy flinches, reels away, tries to shove the box away before Buck can see its contents.

"What are you doing here?" Even tone. No quiver in his voice. He's been called rude and dismissive for less.

Buck scowls. Hefts the rectangular dish in his hands and shoves past Tommy before Tommy can blink.

It's silly to say he chases after him, down the hallway towards the kitchen, but he's not exactly following along behind at a casual leisurely pace.

The glass pan slams down on his kitchen counter and Buck spends a minute staring at the calendar he was only getting two months out of because he couldn't look at the one with all Buck's notes penned in anymore.

"Wow," Buck says, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"What are you -?"

"Jee and I made you birthday cupcakes," Buck says. His voice is hard. Angry. Hurt. "Happy birthday, asshole."

---

He cracks the lid and there are only three cupcakes inside. Tommy forgets himself. Raises a brow, amusement rolling over him pleasantly, prepared to tease him, but then he catches the set of Buck's legs and the curl of his mouth and the tight way his arm tucks itself back in against his belly, a protective gesture that reminds Tommy very effectively what this is.

"Why?" Tommy wonders aloud, and Evan's scowl deepens.

Buck's scowl.

God.

"We've been planning it for weeks." Something flashes across his eyes before he schools his features. "Jee made me promise to bring you some."

"She must not be a skilled baker," Tommy jokes. "If these are the only ones that made it."

Evan's expression twists. "I ate most of them."

The frosting looks fresh. No creases in the paper cup holding them together.

"I had to make a new batch of frosting because I used some of it for -." He cuts himself off. Looks like he'd like to throw it in Tommy's face but can't quite force himself to hurt Tommy.

It hurts as much as he'd expected, anyway.

The world is a small place. It's not the first time he's had to speak to an ex when he didn't want to. It's never pleasant.

This is worse. The cut and run is supposed to give him time.

Evan Buckley has been an ache behind his ribcage for months, now, long before he'd made that final decision. He'd known it was too little too late. Buck's gonna be the shadow other men see behind his eyes for years.

Buck's apparently found and slept with someone within the week and a half span from Tommy walking out to his sad shitty mopey birthday.

That he'd forgotten about.

Tommy leans in. Picks up a cupcake. Licks a stripe through the frosting and makes a face when he realizes it's buttercream.

"The ones you were supposed to get had the whipped cream one you like," Buck says, accusingly.

That somehow stings just a little bit extra.

Tommy pulls back the paper, takes a bite. There's raspberry filling inside, and Tommy can feel tears prickling at the edges of his eyes, because when he'd told Evan about how his grandma baked he'd been thinking of Evan being a grandparent, the kind of shit he'd forbidden himself from imagining with anyone he was dating years ago.

"Thank you," he manages, and Buck frowns.

"He thought the whipped cream was too sweet." And Tommy probably deserves this but he's not particularly in the mood.

"Cut it out, Buck."

Buck rolls his jaw. "I just figured you'd wanna know how it's going. Maybe I could tally up the hookups for you, count them all up by gender and stamina and opinions on how I should feel and act and fall for someone. Find out if I'm actually gay enough to be a man's last."

---

The rest of the cupcake kind of collapses and oozes as Tommy smacks it down on the counter. He takes thirty seconds to pull the other two cupcakes out before he's grabbing the too-large fake Pyrex and turning heel. The keto bread goes in the pan. Then the milk frother.

Tommy yanks the recital program off the fridge and tosses it in the trash.

Buck almost looks triumphant.

"The box under the side table has the rest. You can see yourself out."

He actually does exactly as he's told, and Tommy listens to his footsteps drift off, shoulders hunched in and the breath tight in his throat. He'd been cruel, it was only fair Buck got a few final kicks in.

Tommy sucks in a breath and blinks away the moisture at the edges of his vision.

The footsteps take a heel turn at the side table and turn right back around.

"This isn't everything."

Tommy half expects some panned comment about how Tommy's got his heart - the kind of silly shit he'd say to a dead outlaw.

"My sweatshirt," Buck says, and Tommy freezes.

He could lie. He could pretend he had no idea where it was. Claim he didn't remember it even being here, because that particular piece of clothing did have a tendency to travel.

He doesn't fucking want to hand that one over.

Buck smirks, like he's caught the crack, and is looking for ways to exploit it.

"I own my own house!" Tommy says, and it's a terrible launching point but Buck latches on.

"You just left, Tommy! I know I jumped the gun, Tommy, but you didn't even - you just left! I'm sorry, okay. I'm sorry I didn't know I was into men until you. I'm sorry you had to be my first, I'm sure that must have been such a burden for you."

"That's not fair."

"You didn't even give me a chance. That was - I'm so angry with you, Tommy. I'm so fucking mad."

"I know."

"But that's what you planned for, right? That's - you ripped the bandaid, Tommy, except there's a whole fucking untreated stab wound right underneath and it's still bleeding, Tommy."

"Did you even make this round of cupcakes with your niece?" It's better to keep his family's names out of his mouth. Just keep those ties cut.

Buck looks livid. "No, you idiot, I whipped up a tiny batch of this recipe just for the excuse to see you and - and tell you what a stupid, awful coward you are."

"That's not f-." He isn't sure whether Buck is being facetious about the small batch thing or not. He doesn't have any time to think about it.

"My sister and Chim are having another baby. Bobby and Athena are probably gonna host Christmas this year. Eddie shaved off the mustache and he's, like, dancing now, I guess. Hen and Karen are good for the first time in -." He shakes his head. Stares at Tommy. Tommy can't quite hide from that gaze. "We were good, Tommy. We were - you loved me."

He'd never said the words. Neither had Evan, but they'd both known. Both felt it. Tommy let it go too far, did it scared for longer than he usually would.

"It's not like that just went away when I walked out, Evan," Tommy hisses, and then regrets it immediately.

Evan has spent most of this visit pushing, pressing, digging fingers into the wound to make it hurt.

Evan goes silent now, reeling back a little. He seems shocked that Tommy had admitted it.

"I want you to go," Tommy says. "I need you to go, Buck."

It was the right dagger the first time, but apparently it's only effective once.

"I love you too, you know." His voice is soft. Tommy can't meet his eye. "And I hate you. I hate you even though I know that's what you wanted but I love you too much to not hate you out of spite."

Tommy knows if he caves it's done. He's signing himself over to whatever fucked thing will end them a week, a month, five years, two decades from now.

"Go home, Buck. Hate me there."

---

He goes in for the kill.

"I called Abby, two nights ago."

Right for the jugular. No survivors.

"She laughed for like twenty minutes, and then she tried to get me to chat about our sex life for comparison, and then she was shocked silent for a full minute when I wouldn't." Because Evan had always been a little too open about those details. "She also told me she forgave you but she doesn't think you ever forgave yourself."

Tommy agrees. For all that they'd been terrible for each other, they'd known how the hell to take care of one another like no one's business.

"I want you to go," Tommy says, steady, quiet, nearly a snark for how deep his voice goes to hide the tremor in it.

Buck cocks a hip against the doorframe. "I want my sweatshirt."

The breath that escapes him is shaky, but her think he hides most of it behind the hand over his face, the finger pinched at the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do this."

"Exactly how many men and women do I have to fuck before you believe the future I'm looking at is with you?"

"All of them! None! It was a stupid thing to say and it's not what I meant and I can't do this."

Buck spins on his heel. Grabs the box he'd set aside and hefts it up into his arms. "I'm coming back for my sweatshirt," he says. "You let me know whether you want to talk about the data points of the sexuality spreadsheet or about us."

"There is no us, Buck." His voice sounds defeated even to himself.

"If that was true you'd just give me the stupid sweater and be done."

Tommy sits in silence. He does not get up to retrieve the hoodie. Buck is still angry, but his smile is wide and bashful.

Tommy listens to his footsteps trail down the hall, towards the door, out of it. He hears the Jeep's ignition catch, the wheels roll off the drive.

He realizes he'd left the goddamn Jeep manual open on the timing belt page, right there on his side table where he'd pointed out the things he wanted Evan to take to clear him from his life.

---

There is someone knocking at his door.

Tommy doesn't quite ignore it.

He hid the sweatshirt in one of his toolbox drawers when Evan texted him this morning to let him know he'd be over with a six pack and a pot of chili.

There's a zero percent chance Evan's getting that sweatshirt back, tonight.

[peachdues]

IN THE NETHERWOOD

2.5 NSFW ONESHOT ♤ KINKTOBER 2023

RED RIDING HOOD!READER X WEREWOLF!SANEMI

This is an absolutely filthy nasty smut scene that I have decided to cut from Part III of In the Netherwood. Part III is going to be long, so this is ultimately for the best, but I shan’t deprive you heathens of your monsterfucking tendencies.

Part III is still in the works but will feature Red Riding Hood!Reader fucking Sanemi in his full Wolf form.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • knotting/mating • breeding • milking • Reader begs Sanemi to knock her up • possessive Sanemi • heat/discussions of heat

“Genya, fuck off,” Sanemi snarled, his arm tightening possessively around your waist.

You whipped your head toward the Huntsman, ready to give him the good verbal lashing he apparently needed, but the young boy smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Aniki,” Genya rubbed the back of his neck. “I forgot.” 

“Don’t apologize,” you chastised the boy, gently. “It isn’t your fault your brother has lost all sense of decorum.” 

Genya flushed. “N-no, it’s not,” he stammered in agreement. “B-but you see — well, when a wolf takes a mate…”

The younger boy’s blush deepened to a near purple, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s as he struggled to find the appropriate words.

Growling slightly under his breath, though more so in annoyance, Sanemi shifted himself behind you, pressing his hips against your backside. You felt his length, hard and throbbing against his breeches, as it dug sharply into your backside. 

Your mate’s silent explanation made your cheeks warm, and you wondered whether your blush matched Genya’s.  “Oh.” you managed to choke. 

Genya rocked awkwardly back on his feet. “I’ll come by later, Aniki,” he croaked. “Y/N,” he added, nodding at you though still unable to meet your eyes. 

The boy turned sharply on his heel, half-stumbling out of the small cottage in his haste to get away, proverbial tail tucked between his legs. 

The door had barely banged shut before Sanemi had you pressed up against the wall, hauling you up so that your legs had to wrap around his waist. 

“I shall explain in full later,” he promised, fingers ripping the cord out of your corset so he could yank it down along with your blouse, exposing your breasts. “But right now I need to claim.” 

“S-sure,” you stuttered, gasping as the Huntsman’s hot mouth closed around one of your mounds, his hands working to shove your skirts out of the way. One arm remained under your backside, keeping you propped up against the wall, as the other moved to shove his breeches just far enough down his hips to free his cock, already standing taut and ready to fill you. 

Sanemi did not warn you before plunging his rigid length deep into your walls, though you were surprised at how readily you took him, your cunt sucking him right in as though it too, had been waiting for him to remind you exactly whose mark you bore on your skin.

The Wolf nudged your head to the side with his nose so he could bury his face into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply. With a low growl, his tongue flicked out and caressed the crescent-shaped mating mark at the juncture between your neck and shoulder before he nipped lightly at your skin. 

“Mine,” he snarled. “You’re mine.” 

Despite being pinned against the wall by his hips, you managed to spread your thighs wider, opening yourself up further to allow Sanemi to pound into you without restraint, but he pulled away. 

You cried out at the sudden, cold emptiness you felt as Sanemi pulled out of you, leaving your core wildly clenching around nothing. The Huntsman soothed you with hot kisses against your throat, his thumbs rubbing circles into your outer thighs as he pivoted you away from the wall. 

Sanemi crossed the small room easily, making quick work in removing you of your skirts and corset. Once the last of your attire had been discarded upon the floor, he tossed you onto the delightfully plush bed standing against the middle of the wall, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced as you settled. 

Eyes lifting back to meet yours, he wrapped one hand around the base of his engorged length and pumped, the other shoving the waistband of his breeches down his hips and legs until he could kick them off. 

“On your knees.”

With excitement fluttering in your stomach, you complied, rolling to your front and balancing your weight on your spread knees, holding your rear high up in the air.

You looked over your shoulder back at your mate, eyes too wide and too innocent as you wiggled your hips at him in invitation. 

Despite having only been intimate with him for a few days, you already had a good read on what made the Wolf tick. 

And the best way was this — to beg for more while offering yourself up in total submission.

He may have been the Wolf, but you held his leash; and you knew exactly how to pull it to get what you wanted. Right then, you wanted him to fuck and fill you until your brain went numb, and your lower belly bloated with him — just like it had in the cave den. 

“Beautiful,” Sanemi crouched behind you, breathing in the scent of your musk. You moaned loudly as the Wolf’s tongue flattened against your leaking folds and dragged up, gathering your pleasure into his mouth.

His hands ran down the backs of your thighs, nails dragging lightly along your skin. “As much as I love when you hold yourself up high for me, I think I want try something new.” He purred, running his hot mouth up your spine. “Do you think you can handle that, Lamb?” 

You ground your hips against the feathery bed, nodding furiously. “Yes, Wolf. I can take whatever it is you give me.” 

“Sweet little thing,” Sanemi praised, his hands easing you flat against his — your — bed. “You’re such a good Lamb, always eager to take care of her Wolf.”

“Her mate,” you corrected, moaning into the blanket. 

Sanemi’s hands smoothed up the inside of your thighs as he pushed your legs wider apart, guiding them into a wide “v” spread across the bed.

 “My apologies, Lamb,” his fingers wound in your hair and pulled your head back, the Huntsman leaning over top you to graze his lips against yours, your neck straining and your throat utterly exposed. “You take such good care of your mate.” 

Sanemi released the hold he had on your hair, allowing your head to fall forward against the blankets. 

You felt him press his engorged tip flush against your entrance, the two of you hissing at the friction sparked as his member met your waiting, sensitive flesh. He nudged forward slightly, just past that first ring of tight muscle before stilling so he could get himself into position. 

Your legs were spread wide, but Sanemi stretched his even further, placing one knee on either side of yours where they laid flat against the bed. One muscled arm wound around your front, resting across your collarbone until his hand could grip your shoulder and the other went to wrap around your middle, his fingers digging slightly into the sensitive skin of your waist.

His torso was pressed flush against your back, every hard groove of his muscles pressing into each sensitive spot along your spine. With his teeth against your ear, Sanemi then allowed his body to relax, his weight pushing his cock in and in until the base of his groin was flat against the soft curve of your backside. 

“It is my duty as your Mate to make sure  I fill you up with pups,” his breath was hot against your ear and it made you shiver, the tremors cascading down your body going right to where you were joined, making the Wolf at your back rumble. 

“And that is a duty I take very seriously, little Lamb.”

“This position,” he grunted, rolling harder into you for emphasis. “Is said to ensure my seed takes in your womb.”

You moaned as Sanemi began to roll steadily into you, his cock so heavy and thick, you thought you could feel him in your chest. “Without your knot?” 

Sanemi laughed quietly, the darkness of the sound making you even wetter between your legs. “I don’t need my knot to fuck you full of my pups, Lamb.” He gave deep push of his hips, his cock prodding the spot inside you that made your toes curl and your mind blank. “I can fulfill that duty any time I want.”

Sanemi groaned, loudly. “But feel.”

He rolled his cock even harder and faster into you, and between the sticky taps of his heavy, full balls against your clit, you could feel the tell-tale shape of that hardened gland beginning to swell at Sanemi’s base. 

You gasped. “B-but — oh — I thought!” You choked off with another breathy sigh as the force of Sanemi’s movements made your body buck hard into the bed, the slightly stiff fabric of the quilts chafing against your peaked nipples and giving you much needed stimulation. 

Sanemi’s breath was ragged, little snarls and growls tearing from his throat in time with his deep thrusts. “Apparently my heat is not over,” he said thickly, arms tightening around you. “Not until I’ve bred you full.”

Your eyes rolled back at the term “bred.” Once upon a time, you would have balked at the idea of being treated as little more than breeding stock; you would have rebelled against it, fought it tooth and nail, even if it meant spending your life alone.

But the Wolf promising to fuck his own litter into you was different; he was your mate. You’d claimed him as much as he’d claimed you. 

And you loved him. 

And with that truth echoing in your mind, you lifted your face from where you’d buried it into the blankets. 

“Do it, Wolf — breed me!” You cried, hand flying behind you to tangle in his hair, desperate to find purchase in anything that could tether you to reality the faster your mate brought you closer to heaven. “Give me your children — your pups!“ 

A cross between a growl and a groan tore free from Sanemi’s throat, his arms almost painfully tight around you as his hips rolled faster and harder against you, his balls slapping lewdly against your soaked cunt. 

Your thighs burned as Sanemi’s weight spread them even further apart as he bore down hard against your back. The fat of your ass jiggled with every lurid, deep roll of his hips, his pace increasing as his climax drew closer. 

You thought back to the night you’d spent in the cave den; how it felt to feel him unload rope after rope of his hot, thick seed deep into your womb, so much so that it couldn’t help but drip down your thighs.

You needed it; more than anything, you needed to feel his claim over you, hot and sweet and him. 

“Sanemi, please!” You thought you might die if he didn’t fill you up, if he didn’t push that aching knot inside you to lock his hot, rich seed deep within your womb. 

You felt his teeth sink into the side of your neck, his responding growl deep and vicious. 

Your cunt seized around him with a force that made you scream as you approached the precipice of your release. “My love — please!” 

Sanemi’s eyes flew open as the words my love left your mouth, and with a snarl, he pressed you deeper against the mattress, fucking into you so hard, your breath choked out in broken, strangled gasps.

Two sharp, bruising thrusts later and the Huntsman erupted. 

With a roar, Sanemi shoved his cock as deep as it could go, the hardened member pulsing as you felt the first rush of his pleasure begin to fill you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head and your walls clenched down, keeping him still as your own climax slammed into you with dizzying force. Some choked, broken sound stuttered its way out of your throat, the corners of your mouth turning up in pleasured delirium, satisfied to finally be given what you’d so desperately begged for. 

Still lost in the rolling waves of your euphoria, you felt the hard lump of Sanemi’s knot push against your entrance. Your cunt resisted at first, too busy gripping Sanemi’s twitching length like a vice, but he persisted. With a grunt, Sanemi nudged the knot in and sighed as your walls finally gave way, allowing him to lock his cock — and the seed still spilling from him — deep inside you. 

Your hand blindly felt behind you for him, patting its way to his hip. Weakly, you pulled him harder against you, as though every ounce of his weight was not already seared into your skin as he pressed you deeper into the mattress. 

It still wasn’t close enough; you didn’t think it ever would be. 

The heavy, ragged sounds of your mutual breathing was interrupted only by the occasional soft moan from the wolf behind you as his seed continued to fill you. Eventually, your thighs began to tremble from the strain of having been spread wide, but the way Sanemi was positioned over you, knees on either side of yours, his shins pressed against the back of your calves, kept you from being able to close them. 

You whimpered into the bed, legs vibrating from the strain. 

“I know, sweetling,” Sanemi said roughly. “Just hold on a little longer.” 

A low whine escaped from your throat. “Sanemi — I can’t-“

The Wolf rolled his hips against your backside and you squealed at the slight burn of his knot tugging against your walls.

“Yes you can, Lamb,” his head dipped into the crook of your shoulder to pepper the side of your neck with wet kisses. “You can take it. You’re my mate — my girl.” 

His praise sent a flurry of butterflies rippling through your stomach and made the walls of your spent cunt flutter and clench around his aching length once more.

“Fuck,” Sanemi groaned against your skin, dragging his tongue over the back of your neck before nipping at you. “Fuck, don’t do that Lamb — not unless you want me to keep going.”

Your hips involuntarily twitched as your muscles tightened around him once more. “I can’t — ngh — help it,” you couldn’t stop the whine in your tone, but nor could you be embarrassed by it. “F-feels too good.”

Your muscles continued to spasm around the Wolf’s pulsating length, and the coil in your gut built fast.

“Y/N—“ came Sanemi’s warning growl, but it was too late.

“I-I’m!” It was all you could choke out at your cunt seized around him like a vice. Your scream of pleasure was muffled by the blanket you sucked into your mouth to quiet yourself. Your third climax of the night rocked through you with earth-shattering strength, and a gush of fluid surged forth from between your legs, soaking your groin and the bed below you. 

Behind you, Sanemi whimpered, the sound strangled and uncharacteristically high. Whether it was intentional or purely reflexive, Sanemi began canting his hips against your rear, his dwindling knot still causing your muscles to stretch and pull. 

Your muscles continued to clench and flutter around Sanemi’s length, causing you to reach yet another climax before you were hissing at the over-sensitivity between your legs. After a long while, the knot locking Sanemi within your molten heat finally eased, and the Huntsman withdrew, exhaling through clenched teeth.

The weight at your back disappeared, and you fell into the mattress, your limbs unable to hold you upright any longer. 

For a moment, there was no sound but your mutual ragged panting, as both of you sought to catch your breath. Before long, a warm, calloused hand gripped your hip and gingerly flipped you over. 

“You,” Sanemi accused shakily, though any threat in his tone was undercut by the softness of his expression. “You are an utter menace, Lamb.”

[thesecondhandwoman]

FRACTURED STEEL

Sevika x f!reader

(Part One)

Summary: Without telling you, Sevika had led an attack, ordered by Silco, and resulted in the injuries/death of many people you and her had created bonds with. Ultimately, you confronted her about it, which resulted in a brutal, heartbreaking argument.

The relentless hum of the Undercity filled the dimly lit bar, a symphony of grinding machinery and muffled voices. Sevika sat hunched over her drink, her metal arm resting heavily on the counter. She looked like she belonged here, her broad shoulders casting long shadows under the flickering neon lights, her sharp eyes darting over the room to catch the slightest hint of trouble. But tonight, something weighed heavier than usual.

She took another swig of her drink, her gaze distant. The sharp burn of the liquor did little to dull the knot tightening in her chest. She had faced battles, betrayals, and the constant chaos of Silco’s regime, but none of it compared to the pain clawing at her now.

Because of you.

The door to the bar creaked open, and the noise inside momentarily died. Sevika’s grip on her glass tightened. She didn’t need to look up to know it was you. She could feel it—the unmistakable charge in the air when you were near.

Your boots echoed as you stepped inside, your soaked clothes clinging to your frame. The rain had done nothing to hide the fire in your eyes, though; they burned with an intensity that made Sevika’s heart lurch.

You stopped a few feet from her, your arms crossed tightly as if holding yourself together. “Sevika,” you said, your voice low and sharp, cutting through the haze of alcohol and smoke.

Sevika turned to face you, her expression neutral, but her eyes betrayed her. There was a flicker of guilt there, barely masked by her usual steeliness. “You shouldn’t be here,” she muttered, her voice gravelly.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not staying.”

The tension between you was palpable, a cord stretched so tight it could snap at any moment. Your gaze bore into hers, demanding something—an explanation, an apology, anything—but Sevika remained silent, her jaw clenched.

“You knew, didn’t you?” you said finally, your voice trembling. The anger in your tone couldn’t quite mask the hurt beneath it. “You knew what Silco was planning, and you didn’t say a damn word.”

Sevika didn’t flinch, but her grip on the counter tightened. She had been expecting this confrontation ever since the fallout from the last raid. It had been brutal, the kind of destruction that left nothing but ash and corpses in its wake. And you… you had been caught in the crossfire.

“You think it’s that simple?” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

“It is that simple!” you snapped, taking a step closer. “People died, Sevika. Good people. People who trusted you, who trusted me. And you just… let it happen?”

Sevika stood, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. If anything, you stepped closer, your voice rising as you continued. “You could’ve warned us. You could’ve told me. But you didn’t. Why?”

Her lips parted as if to answer, but no words came. The truth was, she didn’t know how to explain it. Loyalty to Silco had been ingrained in her, a survival mechanism as much as a belief. But with you, it was different. You weren’t just another piece in the machine. You were her anchor, her safe harbor in a world that never stopped spinning. And yet, she had failed you.

“I did what I had to do,” she said finally, her voice flat.

You stared at her, stunned. “What you had to do?” you echoed, your voice breaking. “You didn’t have to do anything, Sevika. You could’ve made a choice. But instead, you chose him.”

Sevika’s expression hardened, a shield against the guilt threatening to consume her. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she said, her tone sharp. “The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve had to do just to survive—”

“And that justifies this?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “It justifies standing by while people like Benji and Mara—people we cared about—were slaughtered?”

She flinched at the mention of their names, but she quickly masked it with anger. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she growled.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “No, you don’t. But I thought… I thought we meant something to each other.” Your voice softened, and for a moment, Sevika thought she could see the cracks in your armor. “I trusted you, Sevika. I loved you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and for the first time, she couldn’t meet your gaze. Her silence was deafening, and it spoke volumes.

You took a shaky breath, wiping at your eyes. “I guess that’s on me,” you said, your voice trembling. “For thinking you were someone I could count on. For thinking you were better than this.”

“Don’t,” Sevika said, her voice low and strained. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” you shot back, your voice raw. “Hold you accountable? Make you face the fact that you let people die because you were too much of a coward to stand up to Silco?”

Sevika’s fist slammed against the counter, the sound echoing through the bar. “You think I wanted this?” she snarled, her voice cracking. “You think I don’t hate myself for it? I didn’t have a choice, damn it!”

“There’s always a choice,” you said softly, the fire in your voice replaced by something colder. “You just didn’t choose me.”

Her chest ached as she watched you turn and walk toward the door. The sight of your retreating figure felt like a knife twisting in her gut, but she couldn’t bring herself to call out to you. What could she say that would make any of this better?

The door slammed shut behind you, and Sevika was left alone with the weight of her choices. She sank back onto her stool, her head in her hands. The bar around her seemed quieter now, the hum of the Undercity distant and hollow.

She reached for her drink, but her hand froze halfway. The thought of numbing herself to this pain felt wrong, like another betrayal. She didn’t deserve the comfort.

For the first time in years, Sevika felt powerless. The steel in her arm, the strength in her body—it all meant nothing if she couldn’t protect the one person who had made her feel human. And now, you were gone.

Note: Part two will be on the following post.

[astralnymphh]

YES PLEASE. BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE?? 90’s?? SIGN ME UP. WHERE DO I PUT MY NAME??😖😖🙏

- 🩵

a/n + cw; OMGG AN EMOJI ANON i haven't seen you guys in a hot minute, but YESSS BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE!! specifically x customer reader. it's a cute duo! and let me relay why from my very scrambled 3 am jot-down. was going to make this a blurb, but it better translates through something more structured. ++ SFW! kinda mean!reader tbh (but ellie likes that), very fluffy you might squeet, quickly written, awkwardness, ellie being a nerd. [first pic from amoaeIIie on pinterest]

Imagine Ellie, in her blockbuster getup, leaning her butt into the edge of the register counter, jamming to whatever is playing on her hand-me-down walkman; earsbuds in, eyes downcast, head bopping slowing - soundly unaware of you awaiting service on your over-due rental. "Hello?" your volume divides the soft ambiance of the store, but it isn't enough to rope Ellie's mindspace from the clouds. Calling out again, "Hell-looh?" you extend beyond the cash register and wave your hand - nothing, nada.

How the hell has this girl not gotten her ass fired yet?

After numerous roadblocks, a brazen last resort comes into play. You cut around the counter briefly to take things into your own hands (literally) because you have not the time, nor the patience, for her slacking off.

Beryl eyes drop sharply to the walkman in her pants pocket when a single earbud is spooled from her ear, assuming it fell - but to her surprise, it hung low from your finger, and a glance above that finger was your face. Risen of one brow, flat-lined of your lips; impatient.

And her entire focus blanks out when you begin to speak, curtly and satirically, "Hey, I know busting out your Dad's old walkman in public makes you feel cool and whatnot, but you're on the clock." handing the slim cord back over to a stunned girl, flushed behind the pop of her freckles. Maybe your tone of voice sent her higher into the clouds, past a coven of angels, because her lips part narrowly and remain still for a single second - save two or three. Or maybe it's 'cause you specified it as her 'Dad's' which was.. spot on.

And whatever excuse she had quickly cherry-picked for you, hesitated audibly in her throat before it split from it, "O-Oh, right, shit sorry - was about to end my shift n' thought the store was empty. My bad." scrambling to stuff the other earplug in her pocket and avert all attention to you. Very eagerly.

"Looks like you've got a late fee on this one.." her pitch pummeled deeper, and coarser as she concentrates on the clunky screen she hunches slightly to use. Scrunching the freckles of her face together, hogging the blue-lit screen. Poor girl probably forgot her glasses at home. "Annnd are you looking to rent the sequel?" she peeks her auburn head from the screen and holds up the cased movie, tracing her index over the plastic cleft, tapping twice. "To this - it has a second part."

There's no denying it: she is cute - and guilt rolls your guts around for being so snippy and sullen to her earlier. But based on her demeanor growing enthused the second she saw what movie you had in hand - she doesn't seem to care a hoot.

"Out of stock," replied you, indifferent-sounding - and strking; crossed arms, bent knee, stiffly-standing. Comparable to a millpond. "Guess I won't be the only person with late fees." you take a breath to jest, shaking loose strands of hair from your eyes.

"Haha," you're no world-class comedian; that joke wasn't all that funny, but the need to hurl any affirming noise at you, was necessary. Relenting to reflex. What can she say? Love at first sight! "Yeah, that seems like the agenda these days," Ellie sighs out, molding the plump of her lip under her teeth and reshapes it into a dorky smirk. Isn't she just a sweet chocolate-box of adorability?

"Hmm, bummer."

That hum and word trips into her ears, knocking some brain-cog, and an idea limns her features; they glow wide. "Actually - um, I've got a copy of the sequel at my place. Technically it's my Dad's, but.." her pitch fluctuates, mindlessly thumbing the case between two fiddly hands. "Maybe you can - if you want, not pressuring you or anything - come over?" she throws a pointed thumb backwards, motioning a potential future. "Watch it? If you weren't planning on watching it with somebody else."

Slick trick to seeing if you're single; of course you'd watch movies with your boyfriend - or girlfriend.

"Hmmm.." you hummed longer this time, and this time it admitted the mushrooming of an almost aggravating anticipation in her belly. Like you meant to torture her with 'hmms' and nothing but 'hmms' as your answer hung high in cloudy abeyance, until, "What's the name on your tag - ah, Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"Ellie," you confirm her name twice, and speak it to enthrall her full-scale attention. Made it sound fucking sugary sweet, through a swirly whisper and a twist of your head. "If you can give me a discount, or a full wipe on that late fee, then yes. It's a date."

Light panic ensues. "Date?" she croaks and laughs it off, "I mean - pshh, guess that's one way to put it." backtracking to her hunched, elbows-on-the-counter pose.

"You put it that way."

"Yeah, I just.. didn't wanna admit that." immediately, she uncurls her spine again, relaxing her muscles to somewhat peer at you. "Sure. No more fees." Rounded eyes lost - adamant on indirectly staring at you and the space below you, because Goddess forbid a stroke of idiocy flickers through her while gawking at you.

The store runs dead-quiet in the background of your conversation, leading you to one golden question. "Your shift over after this?"

Oh damn, her cheeks are pink. "Uh-huh," bet she's oblivious to that red-hot beam nearly bursting the seams to her face, too. Nasal lines fold as a severe smile tugs, shadowed by her bent thumb poking at it. "Takin' my car?"

And that's how you pick up girls at a video store in the 90s - the Ellie Williams way.

this isn't even the full idea

[ervotica]

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing; azriel x fem!reader

summary; and so i cry the light is white and i see you

when your wings are taken from you in a brutal act of torture, you see no way to ease your grief. your mate is there to guide you back when you need him most.

warnings; hurt/comfort, ANGST, suicidal ideation, sorta suicide attempt, in depth descriptions of injury

The wind stings at your flushed cheeks where you stand at the edge of the rooftop. It's dark, iridescent balls of light expanding at every edge of your vision as you take a step towards the lip of the roof that overhangs from the house. Wetness clings to your eyes, threatening to spill over your itching waterline when you gaze down to the sea of lights below.

You long to feel the whip of the breeze against your face as you rise and dive into the night sky, to scream and yell at the top of your lungs as your wings flap behind you in tandem with your family.

You'll never feel that again.

You've been a shell of yourself since the day your wings were taken. Had them brutally cut from your body, hacksawed until all that remained were jagged stumps in place of gorgeous, thick corded planes of muscle. Naked. Half the person you once were. Your back is a myriad of scars, still healing and bruised, ripples of broken flesh marring your once untouched skin.

You are broken and ugly and miserable.

It took weeks to even walk again, weeks of rehabilitation, physical therapy with Madja. Weeks of sobbing in your mate's arms as he held you upright, of wanting to claw your way out of your own skin and scream and rage until something snaps you out of this living nightmare. Weeks of Azriel having to force you to eat and drink, to get outside in favour of withering away in your bed.

You're teetering on the edge of the building now, swaying in time with the gusts of air that threaten to send you toppling onto the street below.

"My love, what are you doing?" Azriel's voice breaks you out of your haze, but you don't move; you don't make any effort to step away from the edge. One wrong move from either of you and you're dead.

"I miss flying," you croak.

"I know you do." His voice oozes with pity and it sends rage hurting through your veins like the white-hot lick of a flame. You stumble, swatting Azriel's hands away when he surges forward to wrench you back. Your pulse roars in your ears and you lose focus of his speech, each pleading word blending into one another until you don't bother to decipher the words at all.

"Come back to me," he shouts over the ringing in your ears. "Come back to me, mate."

The name seizes your muscles, pours into your soul like molten lava and solidifies, heavy and unforgiving.

"Why?" you whirl around, heels hanging over thin air, nothing to break your impact were you to fall - or throw yourself - from this great height. Azriel's unnaturally still, not moving, not breathing- calculating how long it would take him to dive after you if you were to slip. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you run from me, leave me here now I'm not of use anymore."

He takes one step, and then another. Sweat beads on your brow despite the frigid chill of the night- his scarred fingers outstretched, waiting for you to take them. The golden thread inside your chest pulls taut like a bowstring. He's calling you home.

"You are my mate." he says. "I need you. Come back to me, my love."

"I'm ruined, Az." The words stick in your throat like syrup. "I'm no good to anyone, anymore. All I'll do is burden you." A sob rips through you. "You won't be happy with what I am now. I just want you to be happy."

The confession almost brings him to his knees.

Something snaps inside of him; eery calm replaces terror as he surveys you with narrowed eyes and a tilt of his head.

This is not your Azriel.

This is the feared shadowsinger- who wears a mask of cool wrath, who bows to no one. A calculated facade of composure.

"You are not ruined," he growls. The glacial fury in his voice has your breath catching in your throat, your insides freezing as if his words have wrapped icy fingers around your throat. "You are my mate, and you will step down and come to me. Now."

You find yourself complying without question, moving away on wobbling legs until your limbs give out and you're tripping over your own feet, hurtling towards the ground. As fast as the mask appears, it slips away, pure, unrelenting relief cascading down the bond.

Azriel's already there, hooking his arms beneath your own to shoulder your weight, a hand atop your head to anchor your body to his own even as you shudder and scream and soak his leathers with angry tears.

"I know, my love. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, the words a whisper into your hair as you claw at him, legs buckled and utterly useless. You're settled against thick muscle, tucked under Azriel's chin where he's lowered you both to the ground.

"I'm nothing," you gasp against his chest. "I have no place here anymore. I'm useless."

His hand is an anchor against the back of your neck, grounding when he squeezes the malleable flesh to draw your gaze to his own.

"You are everything."

The welcome pressure on your neck lulls you into drawing a long breath. Azriel deflates, hazel eyes trained on the rise and fall of your heaving chest.

"I am nothing without you," he continues on. "You are my life and my heart. Were you to die, I'd go by your side with a smile. I can't bear the thought of living in a world where you do not exist."

His wings twitch where they're tucked behind him. Your trembling fingers splay against the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," you croak. "I never want to leave you." His knuckles drag across your cheekbones, brushing away the tears that stain your balmy face. "I don't know how to live like this."

His lips press to your temple, brow nestled against the wisps of windswept hair at the crown of your head. He smears a kiss there and ventures lower. One against your jaw, your chin, in the crease of your brows.

And then he slants his lips over your own. Your muscles go soft, ragged breaths evening as he parts your lips with a swipe of his tongue, a hand splayed against the base of your spine as you sag. He brushes your nose with the tip of a scarred finger.

"Come on," he murmurs, urging you to stand. When you do, he tucks you into his chest, arms slung over your shoulders in a crushing embrace. "I will do anything to make this easier for you, my heart. I know it will be difficult, and I know it's scary. But stay with me."

Your arms tighten around his middle.

"Always."

[justalittlelilac]

Two days.

You had two days to tell Qiu Lin you were in love with them.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Word Count: 7,750 CW: explicit language, references to drug and underage alcohol use, dissociation, avoidant attachment behavior, depression, general angst, and mental health issues related to self esteem (seriously guys, if you're looking for a 100% feel good OL story, this prolly ain't it...at least this chapter lollll)

Recommended listening: deep by Devon Again, and this playlist I made. Use this link if you wanna add your own songs. I thought it could be fun.

The drive to Grayson's Family Tree Farm felt longer than it did in past years, the asphalt stretching in front of your car like a long, worn path. Outside the car, the world was a blur of gray and muted browns sprinkled with the spindly skeletal limbs of bare trees. A few tenacious leaves clung stubbornly to branches as if it was autumn's last breath before the land would be blanketed in a thick sheet of snow.

It was as if the world was hesitating, caught briefly between two seasons, just as we cling to fleeting moments already passing, watching them fade like breath in the biting air. Autumn grasping to what remains while winter sweeps in, altering what we know. Quietly, like falling snow, ending all that was.

Tamarack hummed contentedly from the backseat, following along with "White Christmas" playing through the car's speakers. She had commandeered the aux cord as soon as she had buckled her seat belt, her ruby eyes already sparkling. Who were you to deny her that simple pleasure?

Her enthusiasm for the holiday tradition was as infectious as ever - or at least, it should have been. You remembered when her joy used to spark something similar in you, but now it felt like watching a favorite movie with the sound turned down, all the meaning somehow muffled and distant.

Beside you, Qiu sat in the passenger seat, their fingers drumming lightly against their thigh in time with the music. However, there was something off in their rhythm, slight hesitations in the drumming of their fingers that matched the occasional furrow in their brow. Their gaze was fixed on the passing scenery, eyes distant and reflective as if lost in a world only they could navigate.

You observed them from the corner of your eyes, noticing the far-off look about them. It wasn't uncommon for Qiu to seem so scatterbrained, even now, as an adult. Still, it felt out of place for them, and you made a mental note to inquire about the change later on.

The car smelled pleasantly of Tamarack's signature perfume—a blend of vanilla and cinnamon that felt like coming home—and something more subtle and earthy that continued to cling to your coat.

Yesterday evening, the three of you had trekked through the woods behind the Lin's house, your breath misting in the chilly air as you and Qiu passed a shared blunt back and forth. The ritual was an old one, a relic from teenage years when the world felt too big and too small all at once.

Tamarack hadn't participated, but she still tagged along, happy for the company. She'd always said the woods were enough on their own to relax—a sentiment you could appreciate but never quite feel. For you, the haze took the edge off, softening the sharp corners of your thoughts that threatened to cut too deep.

But even that familiar comfort, a ritual years old, felt distant, like the smoke tendrils floating to the dark sky. The buzz had faded too quickly, leaving behind a restless tension coiled beneath your skin and continued to pull taut. You could still picture Qiu's heavy-lidded eyes illuminated by the moonlight, their laughter echoing in the dark, cutting the silence of the sleeping forest around you.

It used to be enough—those stolen moments of teenage rebellion, when it felt like you and Qiu were against the world, to feel that world narrow down to just the two of you. Now, it was a reminder of how temporary everything felt—moments like smoke pluming into the sky.

Even this morning, the familiar ritual hadn't provided its usual escape. Instead of dulling your senses, it had somehow made you more aware of every subtle shift in Qiu's behavior — the way their laughter seemed to catch in their throat, how their eyes would drift away when talking about school, the slight tension in their shoulders when Tamarack mentioned winter break plans.

You felt like an exposed nerve, sensitive to every word from your mouth or theirs. Nervous doubt coated your tongue and brain in a viscous goo until the high began to thankfully ebb.

"You're not gonna get lost again, right, Tamarack?" Qiu's teasing voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, though something in their tone felt forced like they were playing a part they'd rehearsed too many times. From the corner of your eye, you saw the faint smirk tugging at their lips. In the review mirror, you witnessed Tamarack's theatrical eye roll.

"Are you going to bring that up every year?" she groaned. "Plus, I was not lost. I just went off-path to find the best tree. Something you couldn't relate to because the trees you always pick are sad," she harrumphed while crossing her arms.

"They are not sad!" Qiu spun in their seat to glare daggers at Tamarack. Your mutual friend had the best track record of taunting and challenging Qiu, even unintentionally. If it was an Olympic sport, Tamarack Baumann would win gold every time. "They're just… Smaller than yours, that's all!" Qiu protested.

"You mean scrawny, " Tamarack shot back with a self-assured smirk. You huffed a small laugh, keeping your eyes on the road.

Qiu whipped around, and you could practically feel the fire in their faux glare. "I see you snickering!" You couldn't stop the laughter that abrupted from you. One of your hands shot up from the steering wheel in defense.

"Sorry, sorry!" You defended, still laughing. Qiu's eyebrows furrowed.

"You don't think the trees I pick are scrawny, do you?" They asked pleadingly.

"No! They're uh…practical," you tried. The back of the car erupted into a boisterous roar of laughter. With a pout, Qiu crossed their arms and turned their attention back to the window.

"Whatever. I like my trees; they have character," they muttered, but they couldn't hide their smile and pleasantly closed eyes as they rested their head on the glass.

Leave it to Tamarack to turn the tables on Qiu's teasing. The car settled back into silence, save for Tamarack's holiday playlist, and you allowed yourself the smallest of smiles, letting the jolly music fill your ears. Letting the moment of nostalgia somehow ground you in the present.

You knew you were approaching Grayson's tree farm when the black asphalt running beneath your wheels transitioned to dirt and gravel. The familiar sun-bleached sign for the farm came into view, welcoming you into the gravel parking lot.

You pulled in, parking next to the Lin's vehicle and others. The area was full of cars that had carried other families here to complete their own tree-cutting tradition.

Killing the engine, the three of you shuffled out of the car, and you were immediately hit with the strong scents of sap, pine, and wood smoke. Around you was a sea of pine, spruce, and evergreen trees ranging from Charlie Brown specials to towering giants that seemed to scrape the heavy grey sky. They swayed in a slight breeze that carried a sharp bite, the smell of frost, and the promise of possible snow.

You were glad you'd layered up —the morning's weather report had warned of temperatures dropping below freezing, nature's way of announcing winter's impending arrival. Like everything else lately, whether you were ready or not, autumn was slipping away. Rocks crunched under your shoes as you followed Qiu and Tamarack, a route practically worn into the dirt to the small wooden shack that served as the farm's entrance.

It was a quaint old structure with a concession window bordered by twinkle lights and wreaths hanging from the eaves, adding to the rustic charm. Wood smoke plumed from the small cylindrical chimney where a wood-burning stove was likely in use.

There, you would retrieve your tools for the tree, and when you returned with your bounty, you'd share hot chocolate and sit by the campfire nearby. It was, as traditions go, the same every single year.

Your mom, Granny, and the Lins waited bundled in coats and scarves by the entrance. They waved you over with cheery smiles.

It was a rhythm that had been set in stone. A little dull and repetitive, sure, but reliable and comforting in a time when so much had changed. Even when both you and Qiu couldn't have been bothered to do something "so dumb" in your angsty youth, you still partook in it.

Now, when you felt like your world had been turned upside down in a short few weeks, seeing everything in place made you feel…at home.

"Finally, you three showed up. It's about to snow!" Granny's voice carried that familiar mix of chiding and affection as she rubbed her hands together against the cold. From beside you, Tamarack's eyes lit up like the Christmas tree that would be in her living room that night.

"Really? That would be perfect!" She grinned. You found yourself glancing at the heavy clouds above, debating whether that was actually true. It wasn't uncommon for Golden Grove to get snow by now, but the perfect scene it would have created made you doubtful.

"Yes, I suppose, but we should hurry if we want to avoid the brunt of it. I can't stand the cold like I used to," Granny sighed, her joints clearly protesting the chill. The Lins and your mom sighed in agreement, their bones and joints not as impervious to the seasonal change as well You wondered when you would be joining the 'I'm too old for this' club with them.

"We were actually thinking you kids would be okay to go off on your own this year. We trust your judgment," Mom explained with an amused, encouraging smile. The three of you balked at the older adults. In years past, you'd always performed a divide-and-conquer mentality.

"We'll stay here by the fire," Mr. Lin added cheerfully. "That way, we can help with the trees when you get back—and sample the hot chocolate quality, of course." He winked, earning round of laughter. Qiu chuffed slightly with a smirk.

"Sitting with some hot cocoa while we do all the work? Gotcha." Mr. Lin responded with a confirming grin and nod.

"Works for me!" Tamarack exclaimed, ever the optimist. "We'll find the most amazing trees and be back before you know it." Tamarack had already started pulling on your coat, urging you to the shack window to get your things.

"Okay, okay! We're coming," you laughed.

"Just stay within the marked areas," your mom cautioned lightly. "And keep an eye on the weather."

"Yes, ma'am," you replied with a mock salute, earning a smile.

With saws in hand and sleds in tow, you set off into the labyrinth of evergreens. As you stepped into the field of trees, the first snowflakes began to dance down from the sky, almost like falling stars in the daytime. It seemed Granny was right after all.

Although it was quieter in the field, you could hear the sounds of other families searching for their perfect tree. Their distant laughter and excited calls floated through the air like music, and you couldn't help but smile at a small child racing past, their purple boots leaving tiny tracks in the gathering snow. Tamarack excitedly vibrated next to you, shot ahead, and began walking backward to address the two of you.

"Just wait and see. I'm gonna get the best tree, and I'll be the first to do it," she nodded as if she'd already completed the task. Without waiting for a response, she spun around and disappeared down one of the rows, dragging her sled with her.

It was always amusing to see Tamarack like this as an adult. Even though she was careful to not dirty her nice clothes or mess up her hair these days, that spark of a younger Tamarack Bauman refused to be completely snuffed out.

One can never fully get rid of the child inside them.

You and Qiu meandered deeper into the grove, still chuckling over Tamarack. The trees grew together thicker, and the scent of pine was stronger. It brought back memories of all the years before —when things were simpler, when next year felt like a distant concept rather than an approaching reality. A companionable silence fell between you. A quiet that wrapped around you made you feel comfortable if you didn't let your mind wander.

"Hey, if we head to the back, I bet there will be some really good ones," Qiu suggested, their breath visible in the cold air. They were smiling, but something in their voice sounded different—hesitant maybe, or tired. You pushed the observation away, not wanting to crack the pleasant surface of the moment.

"Are we—dare I say—competing with Tamarack?" You asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Maybe not for time, but I think I'll rise to the challenge," Qiu replied with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

"Well then, lead the way," you gestured grandly, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you walked, the rows became less picked over.

The snow was falling steadier now, dusting Qiu's dark hair with white flecks that caught the weak sunlight. They were quiet, staring at their feet as they walked like they would trip without diligent observation. As if the answer to something important was written on their shoelaces.

"You okay?" You nudged them with your shoulder, spurring them out of their thoughts. Qiu blinked a few times and gave you a sheepish smile.

"Oh, yeah. I'm just thinking about this project due on Monday. I haven't started it yet." Something in the way they said it made you wonder if that was the whole story, but you played along, rolling your eyes.

"You should get on that when we get back," you said, trying to keep your tone lightly teasing despite the subtle reminder of their other life, the one that was pulling them away. Even out here among the trees and memories, their thoughts were there instead of here with you.

Qiu laughed, pulling out their phone. "I will, I will. Look—" their thumbs swiped across the screen. "I'll put it in my calendar and set an alarm right now," they explained.

Over the years, Qiu's loose notes had transitioned to reminders and alarms set in their phone. "See? Happy?" They showed the phone to you. The calendar reminder read, Do your damn schoolwork Qiu!!!

"Ridiculously so," you replied with a genuine smile that made them chuckle.

The moment felt so normal, so them, that it made your chest ache with how much you'd miss these small interactions. But the joy of being here, of participating in this tradition together, was real, too. Both feelings existed simultaneously, like the warm sunlight breaking through the cold winter clouds above.

A traitorous thought that turned your cheeks pink said, It could be like this all the time.

You continued your journey, eventually stopping at the edge of the tree field. Ahead of you was the dark of an actual forest, not suitable for Christmas trees. It was nearly silent there, aside from the breeze rustling the pine branches, causing the now heavier snow to dance around you. It had begun to settle on the trees, a dusting of white against the green.

You approached a promising spruce, testing its branches, but you were disappointed to see that it had shed a good amount of its needles from the jostling.

"Y'know, I forgot how quiet it is here," Qiu said thoughtfully while circling a tree a few feet away. "I kinda miss it," they added. Your heart gave a little jolt at the comment. Qiu missed it here?

"Yeah? That's surprising," you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral as you moved to examine another tree. This one had too many dead branches, nature's small imperfections revealing themselves upon closer inspection.

"How so?" Qiu tilted their head in genuine curiosity. You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

"You hate Golden Grove," you stated simply, moving on to the next candidate. "You always said that once you could get out, you're never coming back." The words came out more pointed than you'd intended, hanging in the cold air between you. Qiu frowned, following behind you.

"Well…I mean, yeah, I know, used to say that all the time when we were younger," they objected, absently running their fingers through the needles of a nearby branch.

"It's going to be great, y'know? Finally, get out of this stupid town. You should come to see me for spring break. Get some sun and stuff." They'd said enthusiastically.

The memory of the previous spring hit you suddenly— walking through the park downtown after a movie, the night air warm and full of possibility. It was the first warmer night of the spring season.

The trees had finally burst with their new leaves, and the scent of wet dirt and mulch was constant as you strolled through the empty park. Qiu's acceptance letter to Prism Vista University had come in the mail recently, and it was a common conversation topic.

At the time, you were all smiles, happy to share their excitement, the situation not dawning on you. A distant reality seemed so alternate that it might as well have been science fiction.

"Just this spring, you were talking about how you couldn't wait to leave everything behind," you scoffed the reminder, still examining the tree.

Leave me behind.

"You know…Golden Grove isn't so bad…there's still some good things here," you murmured as you stood, brushing against the lush foliage. You weren't sure what made you say it. The words felt both true and false simultaneously. On one hand, the town was like this tree—imperfect but familiar, rooted in memories.

Qiu laughed, but it wasn't their usual carefree sound. "Okay, you got me there," they admitted.

They were quiet for a moment, seeming to be gathering their thoughts. You knelt to examine the base of a particularly full spruce, brushing snow from its lower branches.

On the other hand, that was the problem. Golden Grove offered nothing except memories and stagnant change that you clung onto like a lifeline. A knot of selfish guilt burrowed in your gut like you were trying to sell them on the too-small pond that they were clearly too big for.

That their hesitation meant something.

The silence that followed felt heavy with unspoken words. You could feel Qiu's eyes on you, knew they could see through any pretense you might try to maintain. They'd always been able to read you like that, even when you couldn't read yourself.

The gentle rustle of the pine needles and the soft crunch of the snow beneath their boots filled the air until you felt the warmth of Qiu standing next to you. You heard the smallest laugh from them, and as you turned from the tree, you were met with an amused smile.

"You uh…got something—"Qiu started, their hand gentle as they reached out and brushed the snow and pine needles from your hair. The casual touch made your skin tingle. Briefly, your eyes met, and something in Qiu's smile looked different from just a few moments before.

"You're right, though," they said, shoving their hand back into their pocket. "There are still some really nice things in Golden Grove."

The way Qiu rocked back on their heels made you pause, something vulnerable in their posture that reminded you of younger days when they'd try to make it seem like they didn't care as much. They crossed the snowy path to investigate another tree, their voice carrying a too-casual tone.

"I mean, duh, you're here," they said, then quickly added, "And Tamarack, mom and dad, friends from school. But that's what makes leaving worthwhile, right? You get to value what you leave behind more." They weren't looking at you as they spoke, their attention seemingly fixed on the tree's branches. "Like, I wouldn't appreciate the quiet here if I wasn't living in the city."

"Right," you replied, turning away to hide whatever expression might be betraying your thoughts, hoping that would end the conversation. Unfortunately, Qiu wasn't finished.

"Just like being here makes me appreciate Prism Vista all over again, makes me excited to go back," they added quickly, then hesitated. "Sure, it can be lonely sometimes, but it's not all bad."

That made you pause, your hand freezing on a branch. It was the first time they'd admitted to any difficulty. You turned to look at them, really look at them, and noticed the slight tension in their shoulders, the way they were still avoiding your gaze. Hyperfocused on their tree.

"Well, you know how it is," they shrugged. "It's easy to be invisible around so many people in a place like that. But, you can reinvent yourself in a way, though." They gave you a small smile, like that would reassure you.

"Lonely?" you echoed. The possibility that Qiu felt lonely turned the knife in your chest deeper because that awful part of you had hope that they felt the same way you did. You hated it. You hated yourself.

Snow continued falling around you, each flake carrying its own silence. The holiday cheer from other families felt distant now, muffled by the weight of the moment.

"Qiu…" you started, your heart hammering against your ribs, "do you ever sometimes wish things were different? Like things had ended up different for us?" The quiet words came out before you could stop them. Now, they hung in the air like precarious icicles. Threatening to fall and cause damage any second.

"What do you mean?" Qiu's question was tentative, their brows furrowing.

You stared at your boots, watching as snowflakes disappeared into the leather. "Just… I don't know, maybe things could've been different." The veiled words felt both too heavy and too light, carrying years of unspoken thoughts.

Qiu was quiet for a long moment, their breath visible in the cold air. "I mean, sure, for some things," they finally said. "But I don't know; it seems like everything happens for a reason. Like, if I'd never gone to PVU, I wouldn't have met Micah or got to see Baxter again. If you had never come to Golden Grove, we wouldn't be friends, and I definitely don't want that to be different," they laughed.

You knew it wasn't exactly rejecting your unsaid proclamation, but it still paused you. Still hurt.

You tried to smile, to match their lightness. "Right, that would have been terrible." But the words tasted sour, bitter like pine needles on your tongue. Qiu's eyes lingered on you a moment longer before their attention was pulled away.

"Hey! What about this one, huh?" Qiu pointed at the tree they had been circling. Thankful for the distraction from the uncomfortable tightness in your chest, you followed their gaze.

"That could work. It's not too scrawny," you teased, managing a genuine smile when Qiu rolled their eyes. The familiar banter felt like stepping onto solid ground after walking on ice. You considered the tree you'd been absent-mindedly investigating.

You patted its branches affectionately. "I think I'm going with this one." The tree was full but manageable, perfect for your mom's collection of mismatched ornaments that you both had picked out from second-hand shops and discount stores over the years.

"Nice!" Qiu's enthusiasm brightened their face, making your heart skip. They unlooped the sled strap and dropped the saw at the base of their tree. "Let's cut 'em down!" Qiu's enthusiasm was contagious, and you found yourself laughing along with them. The two of you got into position, kneeling on the ground and readying the saw.

The first few minutes were easy. The saw glided smoothly through the wood. You worked in comfortable silence, falling into the rhythm you'd developed over years of sharing this tradition. The teeth of your saw bit and caught, making it difficult to go halfway through.

"There you guys are! I thought I was going to have to leave you," Tamarack said brightly. You could hear the crunch of pine needs and snow under her boots as her sled came to a stop not too far behind her.

"You left us in the first place!" Qiu's voice was muffled under their tree branches, but their laughter was clear.

"True. I didn't think you'd go so far, though. Need any help?" Tamarack offered, already moving to assist without waiting for an answer. Her presence filled the space with warmth like she always did.

When both trees finally lay on the ground, you all stood back to admire your work. The success of the hunt filled you with that particular satisfaction that came from completing something together, even as part of you wondered how many more times you'd get to share this kind of moment.

You and Tamarack worked together; the rhythmic push and pull of the saw synced up with your breaths. From behind, you heard Qiu's tree come free, and they released a sigh of relief.

The saw cut through more smoothly now with Tamarack's help, bringing you closer and closer to your prize. The sharp, sweet smell of sap filled your nostrils, and your muscles burned pleasantly, two very welcome distractions from the thoughts swirling in your brain.

"Too bad you were last in the race," Tamarack nudged you playfully, "but we got there eventually." Her smile was teasing, and you scoffed, gathering up the rope of your sled.

You and Qiu secured your trees to the sleds, the ropes familiar in your hands from years of practice. The gathering snow made the paths slicker, but your trio moved back toward the lot with practiced ease. The sound of your trees gliding over the fresh powder mixed with Tamarack and Qiu's chatter about evening plans.

"So, I want to start with the special ornaments first this year," Tamarack was saying, already planning the tree decorating party at her house. "And I found this new cookie recipe I want to try—they're supposed to look like little snow globes!"

Another part of the Tamarack Holiday Special. The three of you would decorate the evergreen with Granny's antique heirloom baubles, eat more sweets than you could handle, watch corny Hallmark holiday movies, and have a sleepover.

Despite everything, you were looking forward to it and allowed yourself a genuine smile, thinking about the event ahead. As you neared the entrance, Qiu pulled out their phone, a small smile tugging at their lips as they read the screen.

"Who's that?" you asked curiously.

"Just Micah," Qiu answered, thumbs moving quickly across the screen. "They're checking in about this project we are doing. It's part of this year-long freshmen seminar class we have to do for our major." They slowed their pace to finish typing, the gap between you and them growing. You nodded the word, "Micah," making your eye twitch slightly.

"Oh, Micah?" Tamarack's voice brightened with recognition. "I remember you telling us about him. Maybe he can visit during Christmas break, and we can all meet then!" Her suggestion was genuine, full of her characteristic openness to new friends.

You blinked a few times and swallowed the sudden dryness in your throat. You were not jealous of Micah. That would be ridiculous and incredibly immature.

They were just classmates, sharing the same major, same classes…same daily life that you couldn't be part of anymore…and responding immediately to each other's texts…

Qiu's hesitation was subtle but unmistakable.

"Well, maybe. Micah actually suggested staying on campus over the winter break with our group to iron out some ideas for the project. There's just a lot to do…and I want to make sure it gets done."

The words hit you like how a cold blast of air can steal your breath.

"You're not coming back for the holidays?" you blurted without thinking, your sled coming to a crunching halt.

Qiu glanced at you, a hint of hesitation in their eyes before they pulled their gaze away from you to look at Tamarack, who had also halted. "I haven't decided yet," they explained with a careful plainness. "They're depending on me, and everyone else said they could stay. So…it made sense. I dunno…" they said, trailing off and offering a shrug.

You watched Tamarack's smile fade slightly, her usual brightness dimming like a candle in the wind. She looked between the two of you, reading the tension with the intuition she'd developed over years of being caught between your occasional storms.

"It'll be here when you come back," she offered diplomatically, though her voice carried a note of disappointment. For a moment, the shy, unsure Tamarack Baumman returned.

A flash of annoyance washed over you as your eyes snapped to Qiu. It was one thing for them to make you feel brushed aside, it was another to make Tamarack feel it. Your friend who'd spent most of her life trying to find a place when it was like she had none.

"It's not like that. We're just…working well together."

"Right. Sounds like Micah's got you pretty wrapped up," you bit, unable to keep the pointed edge from your voice.

Qiu's eyes narrowed before softening into that maddeningly gentle look they sometimes gave you, like they could see right through your defenses. As soft as the snow falling around you…it upset you now. How could they look look at you in such a way when they were leaving you?

"Sure," you muttered, picking your pace back up and quickening it. Bitter bile settled in your throat, but you couldn't swallow it back. You passed the rest of your waiting families without stopping, heading straight for the payment shack. Behind you, you could hear Tamarack calling out.

"Woah, wait up!" She met you halfway between the shack and your car. "What's the rush?"

"Just want to get this tied down," you said, not meeting her eyes.

She searched your face with concern before she nodded softly in understanding, not pushing it further. Behind you, you could hear Qiu's footsteps slow, the distance between you stretching.

The rest of the afternoon blurred at the edges, like looking through a frosted window. You went through the motions—securing the tree to the car, drinking hot chocolate that you barely tasted, and adding half-hearted laughter to your mom's jokes. But inside, a numbness was spreading, dulling the edges of everything until you felt disconnected as if watching someone else's life unfold from afar.

Of course, Qiu wouldn't come back. Of course, they'd choose to stay with their brilliant new friends, working on important projects. You desperately wanted to be understanding, but that darker part of your head was insistent.

You wished you could be surprised. But you felt stupid because the last few weeks had shown that you were just a remnant from their past they'd eventually outgrow. Like the trees in the farm that sprouted too tall and strong for their original plot, Qiu had flourished beyond the confines of Golden Grove while you remained rooted in hard soil, too afraid to reach for something more.

If they weren't coming home for Christmas, maybe they weren't coming home for spring break. Then, if they weren't coming home for spring break, they may decide to stay for the summer, too.

You couldn't choose which would be worse, that Qiu would never come home or that they would, and you would be strangers.

The sad, small tree with the spindly bare branches too weak to hold cheerful baubles.

The drive back to the neighborhood felt endless. Sensing the tension, Tamarack filled the space with nervous chatter, but eventually, she even fell silent. Qiu stared out the window, their reflection a blurred silhouette against the darkening sky.

The cheerful Christmas music that filled the car's silence felt mocking now. It was sound coming from another universe entirely, one where everything made sense, people didn't leave, and you weren't slowly disappearing into the static in your head. Your hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, but the pressure helped ground you in your increasingly foggy reality.

The tension continued as you parked in the cul-de-sac and even through the unloading of the trees. Your mom paused to look at you as you both propped your tree against the porch. Her gaze drifted to Tamarack and Qiu, who were waiting quietly in front of the Baumann's house. She smiled softly at you but didn't mention the expression you must be holding. Even if she knew something was wrong, she knew even better to let you come to her about it rather than push.

The warm light from the front window of Tamarack's house illuminated the darkening neighborhood as you approached and stood with the other two awkwardly.

"So… I'm gonna go get stuff ready if you're still coming in," Tamarack started, her voice careful, like she was talking to a spooked animal. She'd seen you like this before, during those harder years when everything felt too much, and escape seemed like the only option.

As she disappeared through the front door, the world around you grew impossibly quiet. The kind of silence that only comes with falling snow. Each flake drifted down like a tiny secret, gathering on Qiu's hair and shoulders. The yellow porch light cast long shadows across the snow, and you watched your breath cloud in the air between you, counting the seconds like heartbeats.

"Yeah, you can get started without us for a moment," Qiu answered, their gaze steady on you.

You could feel them trying to read you, just like they used to during those nights when you'd both sneak out before they'd learned to spread their wings and you'd learned to build higher walls. Tamarack's eyes swiveled between the two of you, and with a small smile, she nodded and headed inside.

"Can we talk?" Qiu asked softly, their voice barely carrying through the heavy stillness.

You could hear the muffled sound of Granny talking inside, Christmas music floating faintly through the windows, but it felt like you and Qiu were miles away from it.

Qiu shifted their weight from one foot to the other, their boots making soft impressions in the fresh snow. The nervous gesture was foreign to you. You'd seen Qiu nervous, but different from this.

Your mind was already racing ahead, a familiar static building behind your eyes. You recognized this feeling—the way your thoughts started to scatter like startled birds, how your skin felt too tight, and how the world began to take on that distant, dreamy quality that used to signal the beginning of another bad decision.

"About what?" you replied, though you knew exactly what they wanted to discuss. Your voice sounded strange to your ears as if it was coming from somewhere far away. You fixed your gaze on the snow gathering on Tamarack's mailbox, watching it build up crystal by crystal, anything to avoid meeting Qiu's eyes.

"About what's going on with you. You've been distant, and I feel like," Qiu paused, searching for words in the space between snowflakes. "I don't know."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the heat rise up your neck despite the cold. Anger was familiar territory — an old friend that had gotten you into trouble more times than you could count. It started as a spark in your chest, spreading like wildfire through your limbs until your fingers tingled with it.

This was better than the numbness, better than the fog. Anger made you feel solid and real, even as some distant part of you recognized it as a defense mechanism, a wall to hide behind.

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing." The words came out sharp and hot like sparks from a fire. You shoved your hands in your pockets, curling them into fists. The plastic fin of your dolphin keychain practically pierced your palm.

Without really deciding to, you turned toward your house, muttering something about getting clothes for the sleepover. It was a paper-thin excuse, and you both knew it. Your heart was pounding now, blood rushing in your ears, drowning out the peaceful quiet of the falling snow.

You didn't know why you were choosing now to be an asshole and to Qiu of all people, but the pulling ache of anger and subsequent guilt in you was overstimulating now. A feeling that had your skin itching.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Their voice held a note of frustration now, but underneath it was something else - concern maybe, or hurt. You couldn't let yourself think about that too much. Couldn't let yourself soften around the edges when anger was the only thing keeping you upright.

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "Y'know, honestly, it doesn't matter since you're so concerned with not even being around to find out," you stated in a tight voice.

The silence that followed felt like glass about to break. You could see Qiu's reflection in your car window, their face a mixture of surprise and something else that made your chest tighten further, making the anger burn hotter. Did they pity you?

"Is that what you really think? That I'm trying to get away?" They took a step toward you, snow crunching under their boots. The sound seemed too loud in the quiet, making you flinch internally even as you held your ground. You turned and gestured to them casually as if it should be obvious.

"It seems pretty clear to me," you said, feeling the hurt and frustration vibrate through you and bubble under the surface.

Qiu stared at you for a long moment, their brows furrowing. "Y'know, you can act really stupid sometimes."

The words hit like a slap, and the anger that had been simmering beneath your surface exploded into something white-hot and dangerous. It was the kind of anger that used to lead to sneaking out windows, bad decisions in worse company, and nights you still couldn't quite remember.

"Stupid? You think I'm stupid? Qiu Lin, you're the stupid one! Fuck off," you hissed, the static in your head reaching a crescendo. Your vision seemed to tunnel, the edges of the world going soft and dark while the rage remained crystal clear at the center.

You knew you were being unreasonable, that your anger was misplaced, but you couldn't stop it. It felt better than the numbness, better than the fear, better than admitting how much it hurt to watch them outgrow you. Better than accepting your love for them was doomed from the start.

"I'm sorry," they said, running a hand over their face. We just haven't fought like this in years, and it just reminded me of how dumb we used to be." Their expression softened. "Is that really how you feel? What you said before, I mean."

To your surprise, Qiu laughed.

It wasn't cruel or mocking but soft and genuine, cutting through your anger like sunlight through storm clouds. The unexpected response made you falter, the rage momentarily giving way to confusion. The white-hot iron inside you cooling.

"You're my best friend," Qiu said simply.

The gentleness in their voice made your anger waver, threatening to expose everything you were trying to hide beneath it.

"I—I just miss you, I guess," you managed, your voice smaller than you intended. You stared at the ground, watching snow collect on your boots, unable to meet their eyes.

"Am I? Am I just that?" The words escaped before you could stop them, your voice cracking slightly. "Or is the better question, am I even that anymore?" Shit. This was dangerous territory, the kind of vulnerability that made your skin crawl. The static in your head grew louder, urging you to run, to hide, to do anything but stand here, exposed in the snow.

"What? Of course, you are," Qiu's eyes widened with concern. "Please, can we just talk about this?" Something in their tone made you pause—a note of desperation you weren't used to hearing from them. "Why are you shutting me out?" they asked gently, and the softness in their voice felt like sandpaper against your raw nerves.

You swallowed hard, tasting copper. "Because it hurts too much, I think." The vulnerability in your quiet voice was a razor's edge, and you hated how true the words felt.

"You can talk to me. I'm right here," Qiu insisted, taking another step closer.

You scoffed, the sound bitter in your throat. "For now." The fire of your anger was cooling, leaving behind something worse - that hollow feeling you'd been trying to avoid.

"I…" They hesitated, snow gathering on their shoulders and sticking like second thoughts. "I honestly thought going away would help me figure things out," they admitted.

"Figure what out?" you asked, surprise momentarily overriding your defenses.

Qiu looked away, their gaze drifting over the now-dark neighborhood. "Everything. Who I am. What I want."

"And have you?" The question was barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding.

They shook their head. "No. Honestly, if anything, I'm more confused."

You wanted to reach out, touch their hand, bridge the gap between you. But fear held you back, holding you in place like ice blocks attached to your feet.

"Maybe we both are," you whispered loud enough for them to hear.

Qiu turned back to you, their eyes meeting yours and warming.

"Then maybe we can figure it out together."

The silence that followed felt different, charged with potential and unspoken words. But just as you opened your mouth to respond, Qiu's pocket illuminated. Their phone buzz shattered the moment, pulling both of you back to reality.

They pulled their phone out, the blue light casting shadows across their face. "It's Micah. I should…"

"Of course," you said tightly, feeling the walls slam back into place. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting." The bitterness in your voice surprised even you, but you clung to it like a lifeline.

Qiu sighed, pressing their lips into a thin line. "That isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair," you retorted, the childish response tasting like gross ash in your mouth. The static was back, louder now, drowning out whatever Qiu started to say.

They finally said, "We can talk more later tonight," but the words felt hollow, like promises made to children to keep them quiet.

Something in you snapped, a rubber band pulled too tight. The numbness was creeping back in, but it felt almost welcome this time.

"Actually, I'm kind of busy tonight. So, I think I'll pass," you stated bluntly, turning away from them and reaching for your car door. The keys felt cold in your hand, grounding you in your decision.

"What? Where are you going?" Their voice carried notes of confusion and concern that you could not bring yourself to acknowledge in the moment.

You waved a hand dismissively, not looking back. "Out to see some friends. You know how it is." The jab fell easily from your lips.

"What about Tamarack?" Qiu protested. You ignored them with determination. "Come on, don't do this," they added, though with a growing resignation.

They'd seen this version of you before and knew better than to chase after you when you got like this. It was also not in Qiu's nature to beg someone to stay, to be the one to blatantly request one's presence.

"Fine."

The single word from them carried more weight than it should have, falling into the snow between you like a stone as you threw open your car door and escaped inside.

In your rearview mirror, you watched Qiu turn toward Tamarack's house, their shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. Or maybe against something else. You started the car, the engine's rumble drowning out whatever thoughts tried to surface.

That old restlessness was crawling under your skin now, electric and demanding. You recognized it like an old friend - the same feeling that used to make you climb out your window at 2 AM, that used to make you take whatever was offered at parties just to feel something different, anything different. Your body hummed with it, every nerve ending alive with the promise of escape.

Your brain was already three steps ahead, mapping out the night like you used to - which backroads to take, which parties would still be going, which faces would welcome you back without asking too many questions.

Once around the corner, you pulled over, your hands shaking slightly - not from fear, but from adrenaline. That old electricity was running through your veins now, making everything sharper, more immediate. You remembered this feeling, how it used to make you feel powerful, untouchable. How it used to make you feel anything at all.

You scrolled through your contacts, muscle memory guiding you to a name you hadn't touched in a year: Jordan. The last message thread was short: "Nah, maybe next time" from you, left on read like so many things in your life. Back then, you'd started trying to be better, to be the kind of person Qiu wouldn't worry about, that Tamarack wanted to be around.

The phone in your pocket felt heavy as if it knew what you were about to do. How easy it would be to text those numbers you never deleted but pretended to forget. After all, some part of you whispered, isn't that what everyone expects anyway?

Funny how easily old habits come back.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, and that delicious recklessness made your skin buzz. You could almost taste it - the sharp bite of whatever cheap liquor would be passed around tonight, the burn of borrowed cigarettes, the beautiful numbness that came with letting go.

"Hey, what's going on tonight?"

The response came faster than expected as if they'd been waiting for you to crash and burn again—maybe they had.

"At the usual spot. You pullin' up? It'd be cool to see you."

You knew it was a bad idea. Probably the worst. You knew sending this reply would only lead to trouble. But honestly? Trouble felt like exactly what you needed right now.

"Sure. See you soon."

With finality, you started your engine and pulled away from the curb, putting as much distance between you and Qiu as you could as quickly as possible.

[thegnomelord]

Shark Merperson reader is real gud.

- 🦈

(HOLY FUCK. THANK YOU TO WHICH EVER ANON REQUESTED THAT BECAUSE I FUCKIN LOVE SHARKS.

Now Im thinking of a Price x Reader, because shars are the oldest species known to exist. Obviously sharks arent immortal, they've just been on this earth way b4 tress bloody existed.

So Im thinking the readers an eldritch creature, they represent sharks as a whole, as long sharks exsist they exsist. Heck they mights of even of been Prices mentor when he was in his draconic 100s? (Late 20s?).

Imagine Price missing his friend calls him up to see hows hes doing. Reader elated to meet an old friend, accepts the invitation to meets up with him. Reader definitely scolds him for lossing a wing, honestly is pertrified Price lost a piece of himself and thought he was retiring due to it. Cut ahort to him smacking him slap dab on the head when he learns he's lost it a long time ago and didnt tell him.

Cue wholesome interactions th 141 and etc. Heck maybe some romance with Price.

Just a blurb i had yo tell you abt)

Okay, this tickles my eldrich abomination trying to act human itch

CW:SFW, eldritch reader, kissing

Price knows you're there the second he steps onto the old wooden pier, able to smell seaweed and brine and something in the air — what he thinks the bottom of the ocean smells like, old rot of decaying whales and older heat of geothermal vents — the soft wind billowing his hair like the breathing of an elderly beast.

He knows you're watching him, passively at least, washed up mermaid purses dotting the beach to give you a glimpse of the world above the waves through the yolks vital for the pup's survival, able to dream of the warm sun and course sand while you slumber beneath the waves.

"Oi, ser, yer look like a wee lass waiting for her sailor." Soap's sharp voice cuts through the air, the werewolf far too energized for his own good, the sand in his fur not dampening his mood when he can just shake himself off and flick the grains on Simon.

"Hah," Price snorts, "Maybe I am." He tilts his head back to the sea, sharp eyes watching the breaking waves. "Time to wake up old friend." He mutters your mangled name under his breath, mortal lips and vocal cords unable to replicate your own voice.

The young ones in his team lack the sight needed to notice your form slowly rise from the sea like a submarine breaking through the ice, only the visible flicker of air and the receding water keying them in. Price old enough to see you without needing the inner surface of his skull to be dotted with eyes. Though even he sees your real form like a man having a stroke — vaguely familiar at first yet the details are undefinable — flesh and sea melding together without rhyme or reason, long strings of seaweed bearing miniature eyes with pups wriggling inside, cookie cutter sharks boring holes through finless corpses so long eel sharks may form ever reforming sinews, fossilized bone and old rock giving giving support to the massive insult to reality's laws; birth and life wrapped up in death.

You're an affront to logic. And with one sneeze from existence itself you're human standing in front of him.

Eerily human.

Perfectly human.

Almost.

"What the fuck?" He can faintly hear Gaz's voice, all of them only now noticing you stand where you weren't previously.

Your hand touches his back before he even registers you move, always slightly damp, "When did this happen?" You ask as you trace the spot where his wing used to be. "What did this?"

"And a 'hello' to you too sweetheart." He clasps a hand around your waist, purring softly in greeting as he pulls you closer to his chest. Even if he sees you once every few centuries, even if you don't possess the ability to reciprocate, his love for you is as youthful as it was when he was but a wyrm.

Your facial features remain neutral like the ones of sunken statues, but you blink, and for a few seconds he can see that yawning abyss in your eyes. "Hi." You say, your hand still tracing the bump created by atrophied flight muscles, trying to judge how fresh it is. "Explain."

Your tone sounds like a predator baring it's teeth, but he knows you wouldn't harm him. "In a lil' bit." He snorts, puts pressure on your back until he forces your legs to move. "Come, want you to meet my boys."

The introductions are odd on both ends considering you hadn't spoken with people other than Price since that Icarus of a passenger ship mistook your fin for an iceberg and they've never met an old one like you. But you like them, they compliment Price just like the small scale he gave you makes the pearls and gold offered to you through the ages shine more.

Even if your face is unreadable, somehow they can figure out you're not too amused when you hear he'd lost his wing during a mission. "I told you arrogance would cost you." You at least you can mimic a sigh as you rub your head, "At least you retired." You say,

"We wish!" Soap snorts before he can help it, and the next thing they hear is a horrific crack that has them jumping out of their skin.

Your head had whipped 180 degrees with the rest of your body remained in place, the laws of nature nothing more but blurry guidelines. "You. . .did retire?" You ask, voice like the roar of a whirlpool.

"About that," Price starts, unable to finish his thought as you slap him upside the head as if he's still the whelp who thought he could brave an ocean storm.

"You'll put me in the grave." You growl, holding him by the ear, words spilling from your mouth like seawater filling the empty bowels of a ship. "I swear your scaly hide hasn't learned a single thing-"

"Should we help?" Gaz wonders as they watch you chastise their captain like he's a boy.

"No, this is great entertainment." Ghost chuckles.

"Want me ta grab the popcorn?" Johnny ads, already snacking, tail thumping against Simon's leg and growling playfully when Gaz reaches for the snacks.

Eventually your anger relents, mood changing as swiftly as the tide. You spend the time they have left learning about the men he's chosen as his hoard. Kyle's a bit weary of you just due to his harpy nature, but soon enough you two can be found sitting on the pier and fishing, and if you purposely make the waves flow so a big fish snags on Kyle's line, Price never says anything about it, not when his boy has a smile as big as the sun when he looks at the gigantic fish flopping on his hook.

You attempting to help Soap cook the barbeque, but you're fine motor skills are rusty after all these years of slumber, so the food is slightly burnt but Price loves when his food's basically charcoal and eats it with a smile, especially as it keeps you from telling all the embarrassing stories you have of him, from when he got his ass bit by a squid to when he was so horny he ended up rutting against an extra curvy piece of rock, though the rest have already heard enough dirt to bury him for the next several decades.

Unfortunately for Price, you and Ghost hit it off like a house on fire, and Ghost ends up learning far too many ways to hurt people without killing them that most definitely are against the Geneva conventions but you pull seniority on it. Simon in turn, teaches you how to play cards, which, when you're literally a god that can see almost everything including your opponent's cards, means the shmucks Simon ropes into playing you and Simon end up with empty pockets.

As the sun stars to dip behind the horizon you wind up sitting next to Price by the fire, the others splashing in the water.

You feel his wing spread behind your back to pull you closer to him, "I missed this." He says, knowing you won't comment on the 'I missed you' hidden behind his vellum words.

"Last time we met like this Napoleon was still emperor." You hum, a small yawn escaping you, sharp tips of shark teeth peeking from human gums. "And you had two wings." You can't help but point out, making it clear you've not forgiven him about not informing you.

Price pointedly ignores your later comment, his hand tentatively, almost shyly, reaching down to sit on top of yours. "Afraid I'll forget about you?"

His pulse picks up when you shift your hand to hold his, fingers lacing together when you don't have a tail as a human. "You wait for me." You shrug, holding your free arm up, reality wheezing for a few moments before his scale is suddenly in your hand, shiny and unharmed just as it was when he'd given it to you all those years ago. "And I dream of you."

His eyes widen and heart melts, a purr rumbling in his chest "C'mere sweetheart," He rumbles and pulls you into a kiss, free hand holding your chin stable.

You taste of salt and blood, of chilling cold and boiling heat, of something ancient and familiar and Price drinks it all down like a babe, tongue licking in your mouth and fangs nibbling on your lip, feeling you respond, the touch of hungering god as soft as silk, just to him.

But he knows this won't last.

A shark has no reason to stay on land, and a dragon can't survive underwater regardless of how much he wants. Soon you'll return to slumber, and Price won't know when he'll see you again, if he'll see you again, or if you'll learn of his passing when your waves swallow up his ashes.

He doesn't notice the prickling in his eyes but you do, wiping a stray tear with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still wrapped around his. "Don't worry John," You say, statue features finally cracking into a small smile, "I'll stay for a little while." You say and lead him into another kiss, the other members of TF141 leaving you two to catch up on lost time...

[regular-dog]

Hey @five-rivers, happy truce! I decided to go with your prompt about danny attending a cultural ritual or event, and themed it around the far frozen. My explanation for it got a little longwinded so I've included it under a read more, along with a little extra art!

(tumblr’s probably gonna crunch all of these up a bit, so click for better quality)

I'll be honest, I haven't actually thought out the exact details of what this event would be, just the broad strokes - I tend to gravitate towards food as a source of celebration in my own worldbuilding, and I guess that bled through here as well in the form of “ice = water = probable fish based diet = important fish event?”

During drafting I couldn’t really decide between “event centred around observing fish migration and/or other seasonal habits” or “Danny being invited to come fishing with Frostbite and the other yeti”, but honestly I think either of those would probably fit. Originally I had planned to have one or two yeti characters swimming around with him to make the piece more dynamic, but a surprise attack from a migraine kind of cut into my plans a bit and I decided to downsize.

...at least until I got annoyed by the lack of a visible ghost friend in the piece and decided to paint a “small” “”extra”” “””doodle””” which rapidly turned into a whole other Thing,

There are shockingly few ghost fish in the show, apparently, or at least I could neither remember nor find images online of any examples, so I just kind of winged it. Their design is partially inspired by a short story you wrote a while back, although I ended up drifting away from the zebrafish motif as I was drafting them. I started thinking of them as maskfish as a stand-in name, and then promptly forgot to think of a better one, so. Maskfish it is. Here's some random notes I made while conceptualising them, because I constantly have specbio on the brain and couldn't not think about it

Maskfish flesh turns an opaque pale colour when cooked, and remains translucent when raw

Their eyes are covered in a clear, hard exterior, and can be hollowed out and sterilised for use in various crafts; along similar lines I could also see their bones being used to make glues, paints, and other such resources.

Their cores are located at the top of the spinal cord, in the head; their mouths are located on the underside, beneath the "mask", which makes up the entire top part of the head, and is a singular piece of a shell-like material.

Though they aren't particularly agressive hunters, they also aren't picky about their food, and will generally eat anything smaller than themselves.

Aaand finally, here's a bunch of isolated scans, since procreate ate a lot of the fine details in the collaging process.

[hardbeingcasual]

better off — lottie matthews. . . fem reader

warnings. plane crash, blood, losing a limb, typical yj stuff, angst, first fic in like 10 months so dont judge plssss, not proof read

summary. before the crash lottie shut you out, the only time she spoke to you was for soccer, until… you get hurt in the crash and she starts to regret her actions.

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A few hours ago you were nervous for nationals, but now you were nervous for your own life.

You were perched up against a tree, Misty right in your face trying to convince you that you were going to be okay as you clutch your arm thats bleeding… badly.

But you didn’t believe her. Why would you believe Misty?

Your arm was soaked in blood, it was disgustingly unfixable.

You knew it had to be amputated, like Coach Ben’s leg moments ago. You suck in a deep breath, tears falling freely down your face as you look up to see that most of the team (the alive ones) were stood there looking at you sorrowfully.

Your eyes land on Lottie, and you don’t even fight the eye roll. Your eyes move to Misty, more tears falling down your cheeks from the pain you’re feeling.

“Do what you’ve got to do.” You tell her in utter defeat. You just wanted the wilderness to swallow you up whole right here. Misty nods at your words.

You scream so loud at the pain, your vocal cords straining as the pain in your arm increases as Misty begins to amputate your arm. The group can’t help but just watch as Misty hacks your arm off.

Lottie wanted to go over and hold your remaining hand but she was frozen. A frown on her face as she watches you squirm in pain.

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A few days had gone by, you still hadn’t been rescued, it was getting tougher and tougher to get used to having one arm.

You were currently sat on the grass away from everyone to get some peace just for a little bit, you liked to take breaks from the group, just sitting alone with your thoughts when the group got too much.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard a twig snap behind you, whipping your head around you were face to face with Lottie.

You ask, “What do you want?” In a not so kind tone, but the tone was honestly deserved.

Lottie shrugs like she was a deer in the headlights, “Thought you would’ve wanted some company.”

You scoff at her. “Didn’t think you were talking to me.” You honestly felt offended, now that you had no arm she wanted to speak to you? Whatever.

She sits next to you on the grass, picking up with a stick and starts poking it in the mud anxiously. “How is your arm?”

“Still gone.” You say bluntly to which she nods awkwardly.

“Sorry.” She mutters, still digging holes into the ground as she never held eye contact. Your lip trembles, from the pain of your arm but also your heart.

“Why did you stop talking to me? Why did you shut me out?” You questioned, swallowing the lump in your throat as she finally lifted her eyes from the ground to look at you.

“I was ashamed.” She confesses.

Your eyebrows raise “Of me?”

“No, of me. Of what I was feeling. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship—”

You cut her off. “But you already did that, by shutting me out and ignoring me, Lottie.” Her name felt like venom on your tongue.

“When you kissed me, my parents saw us,” Your face falls at that, Lottie continues, “They told me not to see you again, so I listened, because I was scared on what was going to happen and I’m sorry, okay?” A few tears slip down Lottie’s cheeks as she tells you, tears pool in your eyes also.

“I thought I did something wrong.” You frown at her, as she holds your hand.

“You could never.”

[ghostboneswrites2]

I really resonated with Daryl x abused reader could you maybe do one where the reader doesn’t let their past define them and shows little signs of abuse like they’re super cheery and happy and doesn’t let their past get them down and but maybe reader has a ptsd attack by Daryl after he confronts her about being so happy especially in an apocalypse and they just realize they relate to each other even if they’re personalities are so drastically and Daryl just comforts reader 🫂

The Painted Bunting

Era: Greene Farm

Summary: Daryl is paired with you on the search for Sophia and snaps at you after growing tiresome of your seemingly endless kindness.

Note: No more laptop for now since the cord broke so I hope you’ll all forgive the lack of my usual post formatting :(

Warnings: profanity, mentions of past abuse, grumpy sassy asshole Daryl (the man we originally fell in love with)

Banner credits on this post

        Shining hair in the rays of the sun, an infectious laugh, a beaming grin that never seemed to dissipate. A glowing beacon in the dark. That was what you were. And, admittedly, it got under his skin a little, so Daryl tended to avoid you. You weren’t oblivious to it, but you accepted it for what it was. After all, you couldn’t win them all, right? 

        You had always been that way; soft, gentle, graceful, kind. If you had never let the past change that for you, you certainly wouldn’t let present day events change it, either. Maybe the world had become a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. 

        Daryl thought that what really gritted his teeth about you was that through everything that had happened, you never changed a single bit. Not like the others had; not like he had. 

        After the world fell, after the camp by the quarry was overrun, after the CDC, after Sophia had gone missing, you remained exactly the same. For all of the afore mentioned, Daryl found you to be one of the most vexing people he ever had the displeasure of interacting with, second only to Shane, who could have easily been traded off for his own brother, Merle.

        Needless to say, he was peeved at the idea that you were sent on search duty with him after he hurt himself in the ravine. Rick decided a buddy system would be beneficial to all of the search party participants, and you volunteered to tag along, because of course you did.

        You weren’t so much looking forward to spending so much one on one time with the man, yourself. You didn’t necessarily have an issue with him, but you were all too aware of the issue he seemed to have with you. Really, you couldn’t relate to him at all. Not everyone around camp was perky and sweet, and rightfully so, but Daryl was such a brooding presence and you just couldn’t put yourself in that frame of mind.

        The two of you had set out just after dawn and the hours ticked by as you made friendly conversation and Daryl occasionally offered you a measly grunt in response. 

        “Do you think we’ll find anyone out here?” You asked. “I mean, aside from Sophia. I know we’ll find her.”

        “Pro’ly better if we don’t find nobody else.” Was his first verbal response all day. You shrugged. 

        “I don’t know. Could be good. I’m sure there are people who could really use some help.”

        “Ain’t our problem.” He argued. “Gotta look out for our own. The hell you worried about helpin’ strangers for when we ain’t even found the little girl we’re after?” 

        “Oh, no.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s not that I was just —“ You cut yourself off, sensing an oncoming ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

        “Mm.” He hummed, pausing his footsteps to take a breath and scan his surroundings. After a moment, he continued forward, and you followed without question . Admittedly, you had no clue how to track, so if anything you were there in case he got hurt.

        “So, if someone needed your help… You wouldn’t help?” You asked innocently.

        He whipped around to face you, the aggression behind his motion drawing you to a dead stop.

        “The hell’s your problem, huh?” He snapped. You blinked. “It’s the end of the goddamn world and you’re askin’ me about some hypothetical moral dilemma? Let me tell you somethin’, girl; ain’t no damn morals in the apocalypse. Ain’t no more law and order! It’s just us,” he paused, sending an arrow through the skull of a walker that had crept up behind you. You flinched and turned to watch its carcass thud on the forest floor. “And them.” He concluded. 

        “I—I was just making conversation.” You mumbled timidly. 

        “Why? It’s not a social call! We’re out here to find that little girl. This is why I didn’t need no damn babysitter.” He complained.

        “I was just trying to be nice.” You defended.

        “Nice?” He scoffed. That simple word seemed to trigger something in him as his eyes lit up with aggravation. “Don’t you get it? It ain’t about bein’ nice anymore. It’s about survival. Got dead people standin’ up and eatin’ people and you’re worried about bein’ nice. Walkin’ around passin’ out water and food and gigglin’ with everybody like we ain’t got a bunch o’ dead bodies stumblin’ around us just waitin’ to take a bite out.” 

        Maybe it was the way he raised his voice, or the way his eyes shot flaming daggers of fury right through your chest, or the way he threw his arms down and spat words at you like you were some puny, wretched little thing. You didn’t know what it was, but somewhere in the whirlwind of heated exchange, his voice slowly blended together with the other voice — the one that still lived in the back of your mind and ate away at you every day.

        The voice that belonged to your own father, the one person who struck true, genuine fear in you. Before you knew it, that old sensation of real terror, the one you’d buried somewhere deep inside you and covered with cement, was breaking free and engulfing you. 

        You were frozen, like a fawn under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. The humid air felt like a thick paste as you struggled to gulp it down and catch a breath. At first, Daryl felt inclined to criticize your tears as a show of weakness, fragility, inability to handle a little raise of the voice. He quickly noticed, however, that this was no simple burst of reactionary emotions. No, this was something much deeper and it was rattling you to the core. There was a distant look in your wide eyes, one that he came to recognize, even if it took him a minute. 

       He shifted on his feet, scanning you, unsure how to intervene. 

        “Hey.” He eventually called out, but it was clear his voice wasn’t reaching you. This was the final piece of confirmation he needed. You were having an episode, the kind he experienced a few times when he first got out of his father’s abusive home. 

        He sighed and grabbed your trembling shoulders. You jumped but you didn’t flee or strike out. His touch seemed to dry you out and shrivel you up like a raisin. You shrank into yourself, hyperventilating. 

        “C’mon.” He said softly, ushering you done to your knees. “Hey. Ya gotta breathe.” 

        Your breathe only became more shallow and forced. Tears poured down your cheeks as your chest got tighter. 

        “Just breathe. That’s the only way it’s gonna stop.” He urged. He went to grab your wrists but you panicked, snatching your arms away and falling down on your back. 

        “No! Get away! You can’t do this anymore! I’m not a little kid!” You cried out.

        You were making quite a bit of noise by this point, between the gasps for air and the sobs. He crouched over you and grabbed your shoulders. 

        “(Y/N), ya ain’t there anymore. Wherever it is, it’s gone. In the past. It’s just you and me right now, and we ain’t there. We’re here.” He soothed, hoping his voice could find you somewhere in the abyss. “Just listen. Ya hear that? It’s a Painted Bunting. Look,” he pointed up into a tree at a bright multicolored bird, similar in its beauty to a parrot, only much smaller. “It’s right up there. Ya see it?” 

        Your breathing had started to slow down now, those shallow inhales finally reaching a little deeper within. Your eyes lazily followed his finger to the bright little bird singing a flute-like melody. 

        “Ya see it?” He asked again. You managed to nod once, still holding your arms tightly to your chest as you laid flat on the bed of leaves and twigs. He took a moment to see you, to really take you in, and he realized you were beautiful. Not just in the way a pretty girl with a nice personality was beautiful, but in a way that left so much of who you really were unsaid.

        “Just watch it.” He whispered, glancing back up at the feathered creature, hoping it would stick around long enough to bring you back down to earth. “They take two years to look that pretty. Did ya know that?” He asked, glancing back down at you. Your eyes were still on the bird, but you shook your head no. “Yeah. Only the males, too.” He added. “Otherwise, they’re just kinda greenish and yellowish.” 

        Once your chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm, you finally looked over at him. Humiliation began to set in. You quickly sat yourself up and brushed the dead foliage away from your clothes and hair. 

        “I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.” 

        “‘S okay.” He shrugged, standing himself back up as well. “Happens.”

        “Yeah, we’ll, it shouldn’t. Not nowadays.” 

        “Can’t help it when it does.” He assured you. “I get it.”

        “Maybe I should head back.” You suggested.

        “We both can. If ya wanna. It’ll be dark soon anyways.”  

        “I don’t wanna make you lose your trail or.. Ya know.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

        “Nah. Ain’t no use after dark, anyways. We’d just be stumbling in circles and bumpin’ into each other.” He insisted, contrastingly soft in comparison to before your episode. 

        “Oh. Right.” You nodded. Just as you got ready to turn back toward the farm, he cleared his throat.

        “Ya wanna talk about it?”

        “About what?” You turned back to him. He shifted his weight anxiously, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Offering an ear to listen was at least ten yards outside the perimeter of his comfort zone. “About that?” You asked. “That was nothing. Just something stupid that happens sometimes. That’s all.”

        While his tone was much kinder and warmer than before, yours was cold, dull, and tired. Those episodes could take a lot out of a person, and he was no stranger to that fact. 

        “Sometimes it helps.” He said. “Talkin’ about it. Makes it a little less…” He trailed off, searching for the word he wanted. “Less, uh… Consuming.”

        “It never gets less consuming.” You argued.

        “It does.” He insisted. 

         “And how would you know?” You asked, impatience lacing your words.

        “I used to get ‘em too.” He admitted. “Been awhile but… I just get it. That’s all.”

        You studied him. In all the weeks you’d spent around the man, you’d never seen him so genuine, or really so open. He never seemed to look at you like another person. You were always just another load on his shoulders. 

        “My dad.” You finally spoke. He nodded.

        “Me too.” 

        “I’m sorry.” You sympathized.

        “Me too.” He agreed. 

        “We should go.” You sighed, turning away again. 

        This time you didn’t wait for him, you just started walking, until he called out behind you; “‘M sorry.” You stood still, but you didn’t look back. He knew he had your attention, though, and he knew he had to say something else. “I know I did it this time. I shouldn’t’ve yelled at ya like that.”

        “It’s okay. Maybe you were right.” 

        “Nah.” He shook his head, taking slow steps to catch up to you. “I wasn’t. It’s good. Ya didn’t let none of that shit make ya bitter. Keep it that way. Else you’ll end up a grumpy redneck.” He joked. You suppressed the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

        “Maybe the grumpy rednecks of the world got it figured out.” You said, walking again once you felt him catch up. 

        “Nah. I don’t know shit about shit.” He admitted, eliciting a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

        “I don’t think anyone does.” You reasoned.

        On the hike back to the Greene farm, you two shared some light banter, some stories of the past, some laughs and extended looks. He grew finder of you that day. The critical glares he’d send you from a distance were replaced with admiration and respectful nods. You’d often catch him looking and flash him a big smile, waving at him before you attention was drawn elsewhere. 

       You both learned that maybe the two of you were differently colored fruit, but you grew from the same tree, and you weren’t so different after all. And, that sentiment was never lost or forgotten. It carried with you for as long as you two knew each other. 

Taglist || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

TW: self-harm (reader scratching herself as a coping mechanism to calm her emotional distress).

A foreign language fills your ears, but the high-pitched, rapid sound feels awfully familiar. Your eyebrows furrow in your sleep as you try to make sense of the noise. You blink open your eyelids, your half-conscious mind struggling to piece together the source. Oh, birds. The melodic chorus drifting through the window is a sweet birdsong that rouses you from slumber.

Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings, along with the warm sensation surrounding your naked body. The breath of another person tickles the back of your neck. Bleary eyes flutter open to find yourself nestled in the embrace of a pair of strong arms. Light streams over the corded muscles of his forearms, picking out the golden hairs dusting his skin and his intricate tattoos.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, you twist in his arms and start to slip away. But before your toes can reach the floor, a tug forces you to fall back onto the mattress.

“And where do you think you're going?” He said, rough morning voice rumbles next to your ear.

Simon buries his face in your shoulder, and you laugh at the ticklish stubble grazing your skin. He plants a kiss, turning you to face him.

Gently, you run your fingers through his short locks. "I have practice early, remember?" He acknowledges your comments with a grunt, but remains unwilling to release you. You chuckle lightly, tracing the shell of his ear. “Your hair's gotten longer. Time for a cut, don't you think?”

Simon hummed, nuzzling into your chest. “You should do it. Last time turned out decent enough.”

“Well, first, you’ll have to let me up.”

Once more, you try to slip out of his arms, only for Simon to wrap them around your waist even tighter. He presses his face into your skin again. In this comfortable silence, your eyes become heavy once more. A mischievous voice in the back of your head tells you to go for the phone and call in sick so you can spend the whole day with him. Five more minutes, you tell yourself.

“Stay with me.” His words were muffled, barely audible to you. But, after years of being with Simon, your ears had become accustomed to hearing even his whisper. “Just like this, forever. You think that’s possible?”

Forever. As in: to many more walks and giggles with you, to many more sunrises and sunsets. The image of Simon leaning the ladder against the wall of a remodeled old house, as you directed the picture frame to be set straight. With ballet performances every weekend, and he would come to pick you up in his Ford. And after more years with him, he'll paint the blue you handpicked while his head kept turning in fear that you would enter the fume-filled room.

To stay forever is to outlive the sun. To lie down and be shaded on your lap as he listens to your story.

“It can be,” you whispered, a shy promise but one that you intended to fulfill. Your lips parted again to say the next words, “Fore—”

CLANG!

The crashing sound startles you awake, eyes snapping open only to be greeted by darkness. For a moment, disoriented, you recognize the same bedroom, except for the presence of a certain man behind you. The cold air hits your skin as reality sets in—it was all a dream.

Behind the curtains, the dark sky still stretches; the pale silver light of the moon creeps right into the long hand of the wall clock. It's three in the morning. You sit on your bed, trying to gather more consciousness while listening for any further sounds. When you hear another—this time louder—you immediately jump out of the blanket to check.

The floor lamp in the living room area is on, casting long shadows. But, the rest remains cloaked in nighttime gloom. Glancing around, you nearly let out a scream at the massive figure hovering over the open cabinet.

“Simon?”

Simon stands in the kitchen, peering at you nervously before relaxing his stiff shoulders. You reach over to turn on the light switch. He's holding the dolphin mug you purchased from IKEA with his left hand, and his right hand is stuck in midair.

“Just after some water,” he says, holding up the broken mug in his hand. You glance at the shards of ceramic on the counter, and Simon notices. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Or break the mug.”

At his explanation, you do a quick scan of him. “Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I’m alright, just clumsy is all.” Simon bends down to pick up his dolphin head piece. He places it on the counter for you to see. “Pity about the mug, though. Dolphin didn’t make it seem.”

You let out a small laugh at his lame joke. Stepping closer to examine the mug, a familiar sweet scent enters your nostrils. You look up at him, noticing that his tall form looks surprisingly put together despite the late hour. His hair is half-damp, having been towel-dried a little before leaving the rest to the air.

“Did you use my shampoo?” you ask.

“Didn’t have much choice, did I?” he says, turning to pick up the broken ceramics on the counter.

When his back is turned to you, you notice more details about him. His shirt, while wrinkled, seems freshly smoothed. And there, on the stool, sits his leather jacket, as if just waiting to be tucked back in at a moment's notice. The two combine and prompt an assumption.

“Are you leaving then?” The question slipped from your lips easily as an eel.

He looks back at you. “Captain needs me back at the base.”

A hollow ache bloomed in your chest at his words. Though separation was expected, some selfish corner of your heart wished to keep him here, beneath your gaze, within the reach of your hand. But, there was always a world to snatch him away—a world he had to save. He would return to being a ghost, coming and going as he pleased through the grip of your fingers.

“A busy man, you are.” Despite the burn, you try to force lightness into your intonation.

Simon huffs out a chuckle, and you consider that your temporary compensation. “Not as busy as you, from the looks of it.” He nods toward the fridge where your scribbled schedule hangs on a magnet.

As he steps past you, your eyes follow his movements. He retrieves his leather jacket from the stool, shrugging into it. Your fingers ache to reach out and smooth the material over his form, but you simply tighten your grip on yourself instead. He searches his pockets; he digs out a cigarette and his black face mask, but a puzzled expression creases his forehead.

“Phone’s missing.” He mumbles, scanning the kitchen and retracing his steps to where he had been standing. Nothing.

You offer, “I could try calling it, if you’d like?”

Simon nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your own phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand. You’re back at his side in a flash, thumbs dancing to type in the passcode, and you open the call app.

“What’s your number? I’ll ring it so we can hear where it’s hiding.” Your fingers hover eagerly over the keypad as you watch him expectantly.

He rattles out his phone number, and you swiftly tap it in. Your phone starts to dial; the two of you wait in silence, attempting to listen carefully. A muffled ringtone draws both of your attention to the living room, and Simon extends his stride to collect the small device hidden between the couch cushions.

A flip phone. Simon snaps it open to silence the call, and you can't help but note how small it is in his palm. He presses the thin buttons with his thumb, gaze fixed on the retro screen, reading the text message.

"I didn't realize they still make flip phones." You teased.

Slipping it into his jeans pocket, he shrugged. “It gets the job done,” he said. “Lot harder to trace than one of those newer ones.”

“You sound like some wanted criminal on the run.”

“Well, maybe I am.”

Simon turns and fully faces you, locking his gaze on yours. Those brown eyes, deep and intense, hold you captive like the pull of the moon on the tide, like rain on your parched soil. You wish him to stay, to not walk through that door and return to a place where he believed he belonged, so he wouldn't have to get hurt again. So that he wouldn't add more bumps and bruises to his already battered body.

The human heart swells with the desire to be reciprocated for all its longings. The urge to stretch onto your tiptoes and press your lips to his overwhelms you.

But before you could act on it, Simon had put a polite distance between the two of you once more. That moment, whatever it held, was over, and reality had returned to its uninvited seat.

“Best be off then, love.” He said, slipping his mask into place, ready to leave.

“Will I see you when it’s over?” Simon stopped walking when he heard your question. Shifting uncomfortably between your legs, you licked your dry lips. “Your duties, I mean. Do you know when you might return?”

Turning to you once more, he let out a sigh. “Can't say for certain, darling. You know how it is.”

"Will you at least call?" You ask again. “Or text, if you can. You have my number now..."

Simon stared at the distant wall as he considered your request. “Yeah, alright. I’ll send you a text.”

A smile came across your face where hope had once been extinguished. "Okay."

Interpreting your response as the end of the conversation, he turned and headed towards the door. Like fog dissipating into the air, Simon disappeared behind it, leaving no trace except the broken dolphin mug lying discarded in the trash, the only reminder of his presence. You lingered by the door for a while, secretly hoping he would come back, but deep down, you knew he wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

Simon’s disappearance period always leaves a bitter taste on your tongue—a sensation of longing for something that is out of reach.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you drag your feet to tidy up the little messes around you. You straighten the cushions again after fluffing them, then fold the blanket and set it on the sofa arm. Simon must have spent the majority of the night sleeping here. It's baffling that, despite seeing you naked multiple times and uncovering ecstasy-inducing parts of you, the idea of sharing a bed is where he draws the line.

Perhaps it’s the sense of belonging—he doesn’t feel like he deserves to belong on the other side of your bed any more than you do in his arms. If you say you’re not disappointed, you’ll just come off as a big, fat liar.

However, that promise. That first promise he made to you—the “Yeah, alright. I’ll send you a text,” promise that he uttered acted as some kind of hazy, ephemeral illusion that dulled the ache in your heart chambers. You view it as more than an oath—symbolic of something growing strong; roots taking hold. And like a diligent gardener, all you can do is patiently wait.

You drift to the kitchen to continue tidying up. After placing the bottle of bourbon in the cabinet, you return to the stool and shove it under the counter. Glancing around the room, your eyes fix on the spot where, just a few hours ago, you were laying on your stomach with his tongue buried deep inside you.

A secret smile grows across your face, but the warmth that comes with it goes unnoticed as you walk to the bathroom. There’s about three hours until the alarm goes off. You consider making sure everything is in its proper place one last time before going back to sleep.

Taking a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo lingers in the air, and your sight shifts to the shower drain. Bare feet touch the damp tile as an empty thought forms. Though longer than last time, Simon’s hair is still considered short—a military regulation he has to follow—so none could have been caught and tangled there.

The man has been exceptionally dedicated and consistent in never leaving anything behind on his visits other than longing and the need to see him again. It’s silly, sentimental, maybe even pathetic, but the urge to search for crumbs—for even a strand of his blond hair—compels you to kneel and check the shower drain, your hands spreading the grating to verify what your irrational mind has been fantasizing about.

Nothing. There is nothing left behind except a phone number that is certainly inactive most hours and an ever-widening emptiness—as if it's gradually spreading, searching for what once filled it. You feel irritated, almost angry—but you realize that you have chosen this, willingly signing your name and scribbling your signature on something uncertain, something wild that keeps drawing your gaze to the door.

As you rise from your crouch, planning to turn back to the bedroom, something catches your eye in the living room.

There, on the coffee table, sits the ashtray you bought two months ago but never found a use for. Ash scatters the rim in the most unsatisfying manner. But instead of being empty, now in its ceramic bowl are the butts of about three cigarettes. Your breath catches in your chest, and your heart skips a beat. This is clear evidence that Simon was really here.

Your fingers itch to tidy it up, to scrub the ashtray until it sparkles like you always do. Yet another part of you resists. This is the sole memento you must cling to in his absence until he returns to leave more behind. With a last glance, you tear yourself away and rush to your room, leaving them untouched.

“And one, plie… two, tendu to the side… three, rise up… four…”

The coach's count serves as a consistent metronome during morning class, allowing your warm muscles to fall into a familiar rhythm as you flow through the opening combinations. You focus on your reflection in the mirror, striving for perfection in your stance. Lean muscles extend and contract. Your hair is tied neatly back, not a strand daring to escape the tight confines of your bun.

“Thomas, keep those arms rounded; don’t let them drop.” She corrects someone behind you. You take the opportunity to glance at the clock on the wall – ten minutes until class ends and rehearsal begins.

“Claudine, you’re late again. This is the third time this week, you know punctuality is important.”

The coach's scolding causes you to glance around, and you see Claudine murmuring an apology as she rushes to find a spot. She turns her gaze to you, eyes filled with a venomous twist that churns your stomach as she takes up position at the barre next to yours. Determined to keep your focus, you fix your gaze on your reflection in the mirror and the coach's voice in the background.

However, Claudine has a knack for spotting vulnerabilities, even in your attempt to appear emotionless. “How’s Odette coming along? Still not feeling her yet?” she says, voice saccharine.

“It’s fine.” You replied curtly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice her smile widening, as if she’s found a tender spot to poke with her weapon of choice. “That’s not what I’ve heard from Jacob.”

Jacob. Of course. Your dance partner, and no doubt her latest beau. You blink away the stinging sensation in your eyes, your shoulders heaving slightly in your attempt to take a subtle breath. “I’m working on it.”

Claudine lets out a derisive chuckle as you move through plies and tendus. When your eyes meet in the mirror once more, hers are sparkling with challenge.

“If you can’t cut it, you know I’m always ready to step in,” she turns her head to you, lips curling into a mocking smirk. “All you need to do is say the word.”

Your chest heaves as humiliation climbs up your throat. Before you could form a reply, the coach called an end to the class, announcing a ten-minute break before rehearsal began. With a smug smirk, Claudine's sly eyes returned to you as she pursed her red lips together and blew a parting kiss in the mirror reflection. She swept out of the room with a rustle of tulle and lace. Out of sight. She won the competition of having the last word.

Dancers line the long, dim hallway, lined with doors, as they take this opportunity to rehydrate before diving into another round of rigorous dancing. However, unlike them, it seems you have your own agenda. Instead, you briskly stride towards the restroom, push open the door of one of the empty stalls, and hastily drop your duffel bag on the floor.

Your head is tilted up, and your eyes are blinking incessantly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision. The thumping in your heart persists. Feeling your legs start to buckle, you close the toilet lid and sit down. The grimy bathroom floor tiling is the last thing you want to concentrate on, but anything other than you seems more appealing right now—your way of escaping the awareness of your own existence, of being a being who cannot conform to anyone's expectations, anywhere.

The words uttered by Claudine aren't new; this is hardly the first time another dancer has taken a jab at you. “Robot Ballerina” is a title you’ve been given since you joined, courtesy of the gossipy whispers that trail you wherever you go. It has always been so.

And yet, something has shifted, tearing away the veil that shrouded you, pulling you forcefully out of a long, empty dream. Suddenly, everything is overwhelming, and you become hyper-aware of every stare, every criticism, every scrap of talk thrown from one to another—from your dance partner to the person who could potentially replace you if you still fail to live up to the director's expectations today. One side of your head is throbbing with pain.

Your breath hitches as a sharp pain shoots up the back of your neck. Instinctively, you reach back to massage the area, your fingernails digging into your skin, leaving faint crescent shapes and a momentary calm that smothers the burning sensation within you like water dousing a flame.

In the next second, the turmoil was back under control, and your mind was clearing from the thick red fog. Breathing felt so much easier.

You dig around for your phone in your duffel bag. The screen lights up automatically, and your eyes wander to look for a text message or missed call.

But, of course, there’s nothing. He just left this morning—he couldn't possibly text like he promised in such a short amount of time. You swipe to your call history, his number staring back at you from the brief call you made when he misplaced his phone.

A sigh escapes you. Rehearsal begins in three minutes. You took your duffel bag and rose up. You turned on the faucet and ran water over your hands, scrubbing under your nails to make sure there were no stray bits of peeled skin left underneath.

Casting a final glance at your reflection in the mirror, you swiftly removed the smudge of mascara and tended to a few stray hairs before making your way out and into the rehearsal room.

The same music resounds once more, harmonizing with the same steps. Following your pre-practiced movements, you and Jacob take your own positions. Yet, something about the room feels quieter. As muscle memory guides you through the motions, your mind sinks into a tiny bubble of awareness—of each piano note, of the curl of your fingers coming out with precision, of Jacob’s slender fingers intertwined with yours.

Which then distorted into a pair of calloused hands belonging to someone. Your eyes widen, and you stare right into brown irises shaded by pale lashes.

Simon lifts and spins you through the act, the warmth of his palms sending goosebumps down your vertebra. You let yourself to feel –your lifeless spine arching against him. Higher, he lifts you into the pale light, and you stretch your wings like extensions of his very being. His lips ghost your brow. You feel exposed—an unveiling of a girl with grand, sweet dreams. You twirl like a ballerina in a music box.

A man in love—and like all men in love, Simon took your hand in his as he bent his knees before you. Brown eyes stared at you expectantly; on the tip of his tongue was the sacred confession of his devotion to you.

Your heartbeat thunders as the music swells to a crescendo. The moonlight touches his bottom lip as he sputters out a brave vow. Yet, before you can comprehend the words, a force separates you from him. You feel Simon’s arms loosen reluctantly from you.

Your fingers stretched to their maximum in their attempt to reach for him again, and yet it was all in vain—something was yanking you apart from him, opening up a gaping chasm between you and Simon. Alarms blared in your head. Hopes were starting to rot in the lake, swept away by glittering silver and erased from existence altogether. Know your place, my silly little girl, something seemed to whisper. Who put these sickening ideas in your head? I knew this would happen—this is exactly why I told you to stay where I could watch over you, because I know the kind of girl you are.

Simon persisted in his pursuit, desperation in his eyes. His face was twisted with anguish, body extended taut as if bridging the distance between you two. But you were drawn too far now to return to him. The mocking laughter surrounded you; her cruel voice hissing in your ear.

As if the coalescing of the melodies infuse her with fresh determination, the cruel presence’s hold around your soul tightens, her hold tight and oppressive. Your limbs move of their own accord, stretching out your imitation swan wings. Despite the blurred features, you can sense her satisfied smile. The tug of the puppet master pulls you further from the light, a hapless marionette in its malign grasp. 

In a flicker of a moment, your eyes meet his across—an unconfined determination written on his face. You’re caught like a captive moth on a funeral pyre, your wings aching to be saved. The shadows thicken and thicken. Before you know it, they’re engulfing you.

“Finally! C'est ça que je parle!"

A loud voice snaps you back to reality. You peer up and find Henri's face, his features illuminated by a smile so wide it hurts your jaw. He claps his hands together as he walks towards you.

“This is what I have tried to tell you, non? You BECOME Odette! C’est magnifique.” he gave a hearty cheer, and everyone around him began to clap as well.

But, how?

Almost deriliously, you glance around, half expecting to see Simon standing there, answering confusion. Only Jacob watches you with a small smile that brings a flush to your cheeks. You are flustered, but in a nice way, for the first time. And if Henri is right, then this is a good thing—a major breakthrough.

Henri declares, “Ten minutes break!” as the dancers begin to disperse with chatter. You stagger dazedly towards your water bottle.

The mineral water slides down your parched throat, its slightly salty and earthy taste slowly sharpening your focus. Yet something felt amiss. As you dart your eyes around, first toward Jacob and then toward Henri, you notice the two engaged in an inaudible conversation. Then, Henri catches your gaze and responds with a broad, relieved smile—the first you've seen in a long while. From his expression, it's evident that whatever he's witnessed has pleased him.

A few hours later, the rehearsal is over, and you go through one more routine before calling it a day. Facing the mirror, you relive the results of the previous private coaching, spreading your arms wide imagining wings of feathers flapping from your shoulders.

“Good extension… keep the line… reach further." Your coach’s voice guides you as she scans your form from behind. “Alright, that'll do for today. Keep practicing that fluidity.”

You empty your lungs with a sigh of relief. Turning your head, you walk over to the chair where your duffel bag sits and start gathering your things. Your coach takes out her journal, scribbling a few notes before shoving it back in her tote bag.

“You're getting there, sweetheart. Just need more flow, like the swans in the park. You might need to observe more.” Your coach said from behind.

"Okay," you affirm, placing your water bottle back in your bag and preparing to zip it closed.

“Heard from Henri you finally sorted it.”

You paused, and you turned to face her, finding her gaze fixed on you, waiting for confirmation. For a moment, you considered your response. It felt oddly undeserved, as if the praise was misplaced—because despite Henri's approval, you still weren't certain what had changed, what had “sorted”. This... breakthrough, you couldn't promise it would last.

“Maybe.” You said.

The older woman gave a gentle smile. She walked towards you, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “You're going to do great things, my darling. Just don't lose what's making this happen, alright? Keep nurturing it.”

Oh.

You try to put on a thin smile. “I’ll try.”

With a casual wave, she takes her leave early, mentioning plans with friends to go out for drinks. Must be nice, you thought. The dance studio falls silent in her absence. Soft evening light filters through the window, gilding the mirrored walls in a mellow glow. Returning to your duffel bag, her voice continues to echo in your mind.

The zipper of your bag remains open, presenting an opportunity to take a furtive peek at your phone, still sitting atop your pouch. The screen is dark and silent—tempting. Infused with agitation, your fingers, almost of their own accord, close around the cool metal. Taking a steady breath, you swipe it awake.

Nothing.

Disappointment settled like a heavy load on your chest, only this time it felt just a touch lighter than the first. The dull ache settled in your heart, teaching it to adjust to his absence, even in something as simple as a text. He's a soldier, not unemployed, you reminded yourself. Another rationalization, another excuse—and what you allow is what will continue.

Slipping the device back into your bag, you shoulder it and flick off the last lights. You walk down the dim, empty hallway, passing slowly through echoing corridors alone. Ahead is the overly familiar, dull street you always take to get to the station. Craving a bit of variety, you decide to grab a coffee before heading home.

But it was the tech store a few blocks away that caught your eye.

The newest models of devices, boasting advanced specifications, gleamed beneath the bright lights. Advertisements for durable aluminum phones with promises of long-lasting performance. However, it was the memory of Simon's voice that held your interest instead. The things he had mentioned about his flip phone—how it was harder to track, harder to find.

He's not wrong, of course. New technology offers possibilities—subtle ways of leaving breadcrumbs.

And you, like a hungry pigeon, are eager to follow every trail you can unearth.

You take a deep breath, firming your determination, then stride towards the shopfront. The employee greets you with a sour face—a long day at work, you assume. No matter. Your mind is made up. It'll be a swift transaction.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

I'm gonna say it; Hiccup did nothing wrong. We're treating him as the biggest problem of THW when literally his worst crime in is somehow losing his freckles and that's not even something he has control over. Oh and that kind of incredibly stupid plan of literally moving an entire people by going "let's just fly straight until we hit something :) even though I, Hiccup Haddock, somehow don't believe the world is round."

The entire rest of the movie is everyone else around him being horrible and out of character.

Berk is a mess in the beginning of the movie, yes. But it was also just a year ago that his father was horribly murdered in front of him because Draco Bloodyfist-Or-Whatever decided to sent his mind controled best friend after him. Everybody expects Hiccup to be put together and solve all problems immediately and remain a Dragon Rider when he should be buying a therapist a mansion and a yacht with all those billed sessions.

Then there is being told more than once that he's putting Astrid second when he literally isn't. And told he should meet her standard.s

There is all that stuff about how he's been a horrible pet owner to Toothless when he had legitimate and real fears about Toothless not making it out in wild and about the Light Fury turning on him and about him not coming back. (Like... he's a disabled dragon, for Gods' sake??? Toothless will literally NOT make it without human intervention)

He's called out for not embracing change when his name was literally synonymous with change before THW and every bit of change he proposes in the movie is met with backlash unless Astrid, their not-chief, says it's okay.

His mother, who abandoned him for 20 and came home with him after the traumatic loss of his father spends most of the movie not being the mother she promised him to be in the second movie and even advocated for the Riders to be less dependent on dragons when she was with dragons for the entirety of those 20 years.

And then there is all the bullying. Making fun of his voice, telling him- a disabled person- to LOSE THE LIMP, telling him he's not worthy of Astrid the warrior goddess (completely forgetting how Hiccup is both parts warrior and diplomat in at least the previous two movies, let alone the movies and the shows) and these three things are all said by Tuffnut! "Forgets he has a sister in THW" Tuffnut!

And let's not forget Snotlout's "who died and made you chief?!" when Snotlout was literally crying at Stoick's funeral. And then proceeds to hit on the dead man's wife and his best friend's mother while also putting said best friend down!

Like... none of the things said to him in the first movie were as bad as some of the things said in THW.

The entire movie is also basically Hiccup being pulled from one direction to the other.

It's "You're a bad chief because you're not changing anything" yet it's also "how dare you make this change!"

It's "you should step up as chief" yet it's also "we will only listen if Astrid says it's good."

It's "you were literally keeping Toothless captive for 6 years :/" yet it's also "Uuuhhh, time to cut the umbilical cord, don't you think? 🙄"

It's "you let Toothless go free, what did you expect?" yet also "uh, you let him go???"

It's "you are literally nothing without Toothless, sorry :/" yet it's also "Toothless only showed you what was already inside."

It's "you should put Astrid first for once" yet it's also "I, Hiccup, will literally listen to every single word you, Astrid, says even if it's hurtful."

It's "I, Astrid, will suggest to you, Hiccup, that we go find Toothless in the hidden world" yet it's also "I, Astrid, will blame you, Hiccup, for deciding to go to the Hidden World, making the Light Fury, who you have no control over, to follow us back home"

It's "hey man, can you help me with this dragon tail? :(" yet it's also "I will literally not listen to you when I'm about to break this branch that I and the dragon tail are on."

I mean, my God! I'd sent the dragons away if I had to listen to that for the past year after I watched my father die a gruesome death.

And that's not even the worst part. The worst part is Toothless abandoning Hiccup for the most shallow reason there is; chasing dragon tail that doesn't even want anything to do with him unless he does something that impresses her when he's the king of the dragons.

So yeah, probably an unpopular opinion, but besides one bad plan, Hiccup did nothing wrong besides listen to what all the people around him were saying, no matter how much they contradict themselves.

Really, what he needs is a hug. A Real one. :(

[tinytalkingtina]

Fancy Falling Into You Here

Written for the August @steddiemicrofic prompt, using the word "plug" and 437 words.

437 words | Rating T | Ao3 link

On their first date, Steve and Eddie come to realize they had first met under much more embarrassing circumstances.

Tags: EMT Steve, Coffee shop owner/clumsy Eddie, first date, minor injuries (nothing described in detail), modern AU, embarrassment, BBC's Sherlock haunting all of us when plugging in our phones

Inspired by @dreamwatch for making me think of steddifying this post! Author's notes under the cut

"G-d damn BBC Sherlock," Eddie grumbled as he fumbled plugging his phone into its charging cable for a third time. "Stupid Benedict Cumberbatch and his weird attractive cheekbones." 

A snort from the couch reminded him he actually had company, oops.

Eddie gave his date a grin. "Sorry, I'd love to say that I'm normally as graceful as a swan or something, but as you've seen, unfortunately abject clumsiness is par for the course. It's a miracle my coffee shop's still standing."

It was fine. He could still salvage this and come off as less of a disgruntled sad wet cat man to Smooth Hottie with Glasses and That ButtTM of daily matcha latte with oat milk order fame. Still, Hottie (who went by "Steve", apparently) didn't really seem turned off by Eddie's whole deal. He just laughed.

"Oh, trust me, I've seen much worse. My first year as an EMT, we got a call to a college dorm. This unlucky dude fell off the top bunk and somehow broke both legs and an arm.”

Eddie froze, his quest to charge his phone completely forgotten.

“Plus the guy managed to down the shade on the way too, honestly it was an impressive amount of damage from a 4 foot drop," Steve continued on, oblivious. “One of the funniest calls me and my partner have gotten, and we once had to take care of someone who accidentally fell on a Buzz Lightyear toy and somehow got it stuck up their—you okay man?"

"I panicked and thought the cord would hold my weight." Eddie hid his face in his hands.

"Oh shit. You're 'broke all his bones man'?”

This was a nightmare. "Oh my G-d, I was so woozy. Please tell me I didn’t say anything weird.”

“You asked if I could ‘kiss your booboos better.’ Guess you’ve grown out your hair since?”

"I had to buzz it all off that semester because I had an Incident with some gum," Eddie groaned. "You can go now, I won't hold it against you."

He heard Steve slide closer. "And what makes you think your whole 'Bambi on ice' thing isn't working for me?"

Eddie cracked open an eye. "You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure," he said with a wink. "Plus, if you meet my friend Robin, she's known me since high school. Which means she unfortunately has photos of my braces years. You’re gonna have to stick around long enough to see em."

Eddie stared. Smooth Hottie still wanted him somehow? "Okay Big Boy, looks like I will." 

Steve smiled back. “Good. Now, lean back, I owe you a few kisses.”

Authors notes:

In case you weren't on Tumblr in the early-mid 2010's and remain blissfully unaware of BBC's Sherlock, please watch this clip to understand why Eddie is cursing Benedict Cumberbatch when he fails to plug in his phone fully sober

Eddie, Jeff, and Chrissy run a little coffee shop (complete with monthly open mic/karaoke nights) that EMTs Steve and Robin frequent. Not to worry, Robin will eventually meet her future wife Vickie at the shop after Vickie wins her heart with a rendition of "Before He Cheats."

Originally I had injured Eddie ask Steve about his biblically accurate angel form, but since I decided that Eddie's accident took place around 2010, and the angel meme only took off in 2020, I rewrote the line to be about kissing his booboos. Let's pretend this happens after a separate accident befalls Eddie (he'll be fine): Eddie: Ouch, I was out of it after they gave me the painkillers. I think I called you an angel? Steve: Yeah, you asked if my biblically accurate form had eyes as pretty as my human ones.

[velarisdusk]

Whispered Echoes

Day 5: Begging | Nesta x Reader word count: 1k author’s note: ok omg there are a couple firsts for me here. have never written a wlw reader insert, or wlw in general, and have never written a dom!reader. i was nervous but i had a lot of fun, and i think i didn’t do half bad tbh ;P ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

Your fingers trace the curve of Nesta’s hips, hovering just above her skin, never quite touching, as you circle her slowly. She watches you, that sharp, calculating stare pinning you in place, but you see the tension coiling in her body. It’s always like this—her trying to cling to control, even when she knows it’s slipping.

“Lie down,” you command softly, and though she follows the order, shifting against the pillows with deliberate, lazy grace, her jaw is set, her defiance clear in the lift of her chin. You bite back a smirk. She thinks she’s still in charge.

You take your time, settling between her thighs, slowly parting them with your hands. She lets you, but her body is stiff, the tension thrumming through her muscles. You lean in, your breath hot against her skin. “Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “So pretty, laid out for me like this. Do you want me to touch you?”

Her lips part, just barely, but she remains silent. Her stubbornness bleeds into every inch of her, even when her body is practically begging for you.

“Nesta.” Your voice is firmer this time, with a quiet edge to it. “I asked you a question.”

She meets your gaze, that unyielding fire blazing in her eyes. “Maybe I don’t need you to,” she says coolly, though her voice wavers, betraying her.

You raise a brow, dragging your fingers higher, letting them brush lightly against her inner thighs, teasing but not satisfying. Her breath hitches, hips tilting ever so slightly toward you.

“Oh?” You murmur, lips curling into a slow smile. “Doesn’t feel that way.”

Her nostrils flare, and she narrows her eyes at you as if daring you to push her further. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her thigh before grazing your teeth lightly against the sensitive skin. She shivers, but her pride keeps her silent.

You glance up at her, voice soft and dripping with authority, “Beg.” 

A flicker of something crosses her face — anger, lust, frustration. “I don’t beg,” she spits, her voice sharp, cutting, even as her body betrays her, her chest rising and falling faster now. 

You hum, pretending to consider her words, and then shake your head. “You will.”

With that, you dip your head between her legs, your tongue tracing a slow, tantalizing line up her center, savoring the way she gasps, her back arching slightly off the bed. It’s reward enough, but you don’t linger. One teasing lick, and you pull back, leaving her gasping.

Her glare could burn holes into the walls. “Don’t play games,” she growls, her voice rough with need.

You sit back, unbothered by her fury. “Games? You started them, Nesta.” You brush a hand over her knee, up to her thigh, and then — nothing. You leave her hanging there, so close yet still just out of reach. She’s trembling beneath you, tension coiling through her body like a wire about to snap.

“You want me to stop?” you ask, tilting your head, your voice all innocence. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t–” she starts, but the words die on her lips when you lean down again, pressing another fleeting kiss against her heat. This time, a strangled moan slips from her throat, and she slams her hand into the mattress, fisting the sheets in frustration. You press your mouth to her again, this time lavishing her with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue. Each movement is calculated to build the pressure within her, to drive her to the brink without ever quite letting her fall over the edge. 

“You want to come, don’t you?” you ask softly, kissing the inside of her thigh again. Her skin is hot, flushed, and she trembles under your mouth. “Say it. Just say ‘please,’ Nesta. It’s simple.”

Her jaw clenches, the cords in her neck standing out as she fights against the surrender building in her body. “You’re insufferable,” she hisses, but her voice is ragged now, her breath coming in shallow pants.

You smile against her skin, fingers trailing dangerously close to where she needs you most, but not quite touching. “Maybe. But I think you like it.”

For a moment, you think she’ll stay silent, clinging to that last thread of defiance, but her hips arch toward your hand, a soft, needy sound escaping her lips. She’s close, so close, and she knows you know it.

“I–” Her voice cracks, her pride warring with the desperate need coursing through her. She bites her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and then, with a sharp exhale, she finally breaks. “Please,” she breathes, so quietly you almost miss it.

You lift your head, raising a brow. “What was that?”

Her eyes flash, but this time it’s not with anger — it’s with pure, desperate need. “I said, please.” The words come out strained, as if they physically pain her. “Touch me. Make me come.”

A thrill of satisfaction hums through you, but you don’t make her wait any longer. You press your mouth to her, fingers sliding inside her with a smooth, practiced ease. She gasps, her head falling back against the pillows as you work her toward that sweet, inevitable release. Her thighs tremble around your head, her breathing growing ragged, uneven.

Nesta’s hands fly to your hair, gripping tight as you take her apart piece by piece. When she finally comes, it’s with a shattered cry, her body bucking beneath you, her muscles clenching around your fingers as wave after wave crashes over her.

You ride her through it, your touch gentle, steady, until she collapses back against the mattress, utterly spent. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if she has to focus on catching her breath. 

You shift up beside her, brushing a strand of damp hair from her flushed face. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Begging suits you.”

Nesta turns her head, glaring at you with the last dregs of her strength. “I hate you,” she grumbles, though the small, satisfied smile playing on her lips says otherwise.

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Hate me all you want. You begged for me.”

Her only response is a soft, tired huff as she rolls onto her side, her body pressing instinctively closer to yours.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

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@elenapri0502 @randomgurl2326 @90angiex @sizzlingstarlightsky

[sofipitch]

Thinking about body horror in The Locked Tomb, specifically how the bodies of the dead are treated. Wake's skeleton tilling the fields, using her to feed an empire she hates even in death. Abigail's death not having anything to do with her but more just the inconvenience that she was there, evidenced by Cyth stashing the key in her as if she were a box. Protesilous is particularly good because you meet him as a person after you have seen his corpse used against his consent in the first book. After Cyth tells Palamedes she tossed his girlfriend and her bodyguard in the garbage she says "Don't look at me like I'm a monster". How ppl's remains are treated matter, when Crux threatened Gideon he threatened her with just that, being treated as parts.

I just have specific feelings about dead bodies and how they should be treated. I could never do anything involving cutting them without thinking this was someone's grandmother, or lover, or best friend. I distinctly remember what did this was going to see The Bodies Exhibit where you get to see a lot of preserved organs and such. I thought I would be fine, I was even super excited, I liked anatomy and physiology. But I remember looking at a sagittal cut of a head and torso meant to show off the brain and spinal cord and Idk why but I turned my head side ways and got level with the display and there was the man's face. That horrified me more than anything, his face mostly hidden so you don't remember this was a person. The ppl in this exhibit never consented to be a part of it, they are unidentified persons, no one came to get their body so it meant anyone could do what they wanted with it. Even worse popular myth for a while was that these were the bodies of prisoners, as if that made it okay to treat them with disrespect. There was writing on the wall as we left saying the bodies had been handled with respect but I would never want to be put on display in a museum, so how could we know they didn't feel the same? I also wouldn't want my index finger on display at the Vatican museum. I understand it's meant for worship but there also seems to be something rude in the piecemeal display of saints.

I feel strongly about respect for remains and idk how Muir does but there's something particularly good about Gideon being aware of her remains after death. The argument for a lot of bad treatment of corpses is "the person isn't going to know". So Muir created a character that becomes BOE's body farm experiment, until finally she has to go back into and haunt her corpse, embarrassed at her wounds and the way others can see her meat. Her first interaction is objecting to someone sticking her corpse with a needle, even though she can't feel