#is anyone seeing my vision here or is it just me

[cognitiveoverload]

I know who you are! (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Knowing a lot about serial killer cases can come in handy when the new resident who asked for your number is a little too familiar.

tags: witness protection era!Hotch, hint of a soft!dom personality, children's book author!reader

It’s an itch in your brain that you can’t scratch. You know that you have seen him before, you just don’t know where. A coffee shop? A grocery store? It’s killing you, driving you crazy, but no matter how many nights you spend thinking, you just can’t remember. How could you forget someone like him? There is something about him, that rare smile, those warm brown eyes that you can’t stop thinking about.

Then, as you are watching an FBI press conference about a serial killer on the loose, you suddenly remember. Of course. Your little obsession with serial killer cases comes with a lot of these press conferences and interviews, that’s where you saw him. And his name… What was his name? Determined to find the answer, you begin to investigate, searching for articles and videos on the internet that luckily doesn’t forget. 

And there he is, standing on the steps of a police station, wearing a suit that seems so strange compared to the casual clothes he wears these days. He looks extremely serious, strict, and in all honesty, you can’t blame him. What he did on a daily basis must have been a lot to handle mentally, especially if he had a son to look out for.

The next day you send him a text to find out when he’ll be home, and to your surprise, he replies in a minute, saying he’s there so you can jump in whenever you’re around. It’s been over a week since he asked for your number at his son’s soccer match, but you only texted and talked on the phone so far. Yet, even those were enough to let you learn a lot about him, and you grew to like this man. 

When he opens the door with that stupidly handsome smile of his, you begin to wonder if revealing what you know is a good idea, but deep down you can’t help yourself. “Hey. So… is this you?” you ask with a cute smile, showing him a screenshot on your phone. 

The blood drains from his face, and his suddenly serious expression tells you maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. He grabs your arm—surprisingly gently, so it won’t leave a mark—and pulls you inside, then presses your back against the now closed door. “Where did you find this?” 

“I knew I’ve seen you before, but for days I couldn’t remember where. Then I saw a press conference with an FBI agent about a serial killer on the loose and bam! It came to me as a vision,” you explain calmly. You’re not afraid of him, because even though he definitely looks like someone who could hurt you, you can also tell that he has no intention to do so.

For a long moment he watches you in silence, but then he lets out a sigh and takes a few steps away from you. “Did you tell anyone about this?” he asks quietly, although his voice is laced with worry. 

Without hesitation, you shake your head. You’re not that dumb. “You recently moved here with a fake name… Must have a reason for that. I don’t want to get involved, it has more to do with satisfying my curiosity. Now your reaction confirmed I was right, and the case is closed as far as I’m concerned,” you explain. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” 

He nods, then inhales and exhales slowly, his eyes carefully studying your face. The serious expression is eventually replaced with a much softer look, but he remains silent, as if he was trying to gather the confidence to say what’s on his mind. But it’s weird, he hasn’t struck you as the type of guy who lacks confidence. Quite the opposite, actually.

And then he speaks up. “Stay for dinner,” he says, his voice gentle and a little hesitant, as if it has been a while since he asked anyone out. Or was it that? You must be seeing a little too much into this invitation.

But then you realize what this is all about. “That’s your way of keeping me silent?”

He flashes a boyish smile at you. “Trust me, if I wanted to silence you, that’s not how I would do it,” he points out with a laugh.

“Was it a threat I should be afraid of, or… Never mind.”

“No, no, say it,” he tells you, the request sounding a little like it was an order. “Or what?”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks, because why would you tell him what you were really thinking about? Hell, you feel ashamed for something like this even occurring to you, you won’t make things worse by saying it out loud. Maybe it’s time to leave, maybe this is the moment when you turn down the offer and walk out of the house with your dignity still intact. 

Sadly, when you gulp and move to open the door, he steps closer to you and covers your hand on the doorknob with his to stop you. You must look like a deer in the headlights as you look up at him, frozen from terror because you feel trapped, but it doesn’t bother him, he just raises an eyebrow and waits for your answer in silence. 

With a soft sigh, you try to pull your hand away from his, but he only tightens his grip around it. “It just had a weird edge to it, like the sentence had a kind of rated R meaning,” you explain, speaking so fast you hope he doesn’t understand a single word. 

But he does. And that smug bastard is enjoying every second of your suffering. “Clever girl,” he purrs as he leans closer. “So, dinner. Now that you know who I am, the least you can do is take the time to one, tell me why you remember stuff like those press conferences, and two, give me some proper adult company.” The end of that sentence shocks you, but he sees the look on your face and quickly shakes his head. “Not that kind of adult company. Just a glass of wine and a conversation after Jack goes to bed.” You let out a sigh of relief, but that peaceful moment doesn’t last long. “Unless you want a different kind of adult activity, because…”

“Hey!” you warn him as you playfully slap his arm. “Just so you know, I spend my time writing children’s books, I need a hobby. Serial killer cases and horror movies are good for me.” He gives you a doubtful look, although there’s a teasing smirk on his lips. “What?”

“Be here at six,” he says as he finally lets go of your hand that slides off the doorknob. “And wear something nice for me.” 

For a moment you only stare at him, but then you nod. Damn it, you can’t say no to this face. Anything you want, handsome.

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[yerions]

only you, darling.

pair: toxic gf!aeri ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, jealousy, toxic relationship, f.ngering, dacryphilia, slight dub-con ??

[ 💭 ] jealous mean gf!aeri who loves humiliating you and making you feel guilty for spending too much time away from her. it seems like no matter how many times you apologize or reassure her it’s never good enough— she won’t forgive you unless you really mean it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you’re crying out pathetically, sinking your nails into aeri’s arm as she’s fingering you roughly, pounding her fingers into your sloppy pussy at a rapid pace. her other hand is enveloped around your neck, choking you but not enough to fully cut off your airflow.

you felt her fingers trace the inside of your cunt making your face contort messily, your bottom lip held captive by your upper teeth. you wanted to shut your eyes so badly, but you knew you couldn’t— if you dared to even look away for a second you know there would be consequences for it.

“useless fucking cunt,” aeri spat out angrily, looking at you as if you’re the person she despises the most in the world, and yet, here she is stuffing you full with her fingers.

your legs couldn’t stop shaking, and the sound of your juices leaking out from your pussy and dripping down to aeri’s knuckles is making you see stars. your sobs filled the room, the stretch being too painful, but so pleasurable at the same time..

you were just catching up with an old friend that you accidentally ran into while out at the mall, but, you were laughing a bit too much in aeri’s opinion. it felt like walking on eggshells with her, you couldn’t do anything without your girlfriend getting mad or jealous and it’s become tiring at this point. it was unhealthy how possessive she was over you, how she’d track your location whenever you were gone, never letting anyone near you— especially if they’re a female.

“is my attention not enough for you, hm ? i thought you only had eyes for me ?” you try your best to shake your head from side to side, showing your disagreement. “no ?” she wonders, even though she knows she’s enough for you, you’ve told her plenty of times before.

“only... you,” you manage to let out, tears falling from your reddened eyes.

you’re completely naked while aeri is fully clothed, still wearing her dainty tank top with a pair of shorts and the silver charm bracelet with your initial wrapped around her wrist; which only made this situation even more humiliating to you.

she pumps her fingers in and out of you and a slight smile tugs on her lips when you say those two words. she leans in, her mouth just beside your ear. “right, ‘cause you only need me, baby. only me,” she whispers, making goosebumps appear on your skin, the hair on your arms raising up.

you let out a soft whimper at that, letting go of her arm to grope the sheets between your small fingers. she kisses the side of your face, collecting a single tear of yours at the same occasion. your stomach flutters, your pussy quivers around her fingers and your heart thunders in your chest.

her digits skillfully scissors you open, patting the sweet spot inside of you. and when you come undone, your entire body shakes like a leaf and your vision becomes fuzzy.

you cream her fingers and she slowly pulls them out after, sucking your juices off them one by one. “if you can’t settle for me, i’ll find a way to make you stay. understand ?” her hot breath hits the side of your face as she threatens you in the sweetest voice.

you nod your head in compliance, showing her you understood and she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before crashing your lips with hers.

she lies down beside you and you shift yourself closer, hugging her and resting your head between her chest. your hands interlock with hers, examining her pretty fingers that were once inside you, delicately tracing her knuckles, giving them kisses.

i wrote this in like 2 hrs so my bad if it’s shitty LOL, i could write a whole fic on this idea alone but too lazy for allat rn so have this short thought instead ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 122 (The Elusive Rafa Bonilla)

"Conrad? Conrad wake up! Oh man, I'm so sorry, please wake up..."

Slowly, Conrad's eyes adjusted to the torchlit room, which smelled like seawater and wet wood. Coarse grains of sand scratched against the back of his head. His blurred vision subsided as he blinked dust from his eyelashes. Rafa knelt over him pleadingly, gently lifting his head. "Wh-where am I?"

"Inside the abandoned ship. I brought you down here when I realized it's really you. I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while."

"How long was I out?"

Rafa shrugged. "The sun will be up soon."

Conrad struggled to push himself up and Rafa reached out a hand to help him. "I need to call Heather."

Rafa nodded. "Your phone rang a bunch of times," he admitted. "I turned it off after a while."

The place was half full of sand and the wood beams were falling apart. He looked at Rafa, all grown up, instinctively leaning in for a hug. Even though he'd knocked him out and was a lot bigger than the boy he remembered, Conrad couldn't believe he killed the Brindletons.

"Why are you out here?"

"I don't have to pay rent, and if anyone comes around to play on the old mast, I padlock the door or hide out in the caves."

"When was the last time you checked in to work?"

"Couple days ago. I tried to get in to the villa but I couldn't. Figured maybe the old man and his wife had gone home and no one told me."

Conrad frowned. "Oliana Ngata said you have a key. You didn't go inside? Take your shoes off, find George, maybe step in the blood under June Brindleton's bed, then clean yourself off in the master bathroom and run?"

Rafa tried to protest, but the look in his eyes told Conrad he was on the right track. It was the same guilty look he used to give when he tried to say his homework was done because he just wanted to play video games.

"I didn't kill them, I swear, and those aren't my footprints. I saw a couple guys jump off the villa balcony and swim off, but I didn't see which way they went. I found the Brindletons dead and got scared. I've been ignoring Oliana's calls for days. She owes me a week's pay, but she can keep it. I'll figure it out, but I'm not going down for murder. I never killed anyone."

"The other stuff you've been into isn't great, Rafa. San Myshuno PD would love to toss the book at you just to close the cases they've got with your name on them."

"I know that. I don't want to go to prison. I never wanted to run any of the drugs I ran, and I didn't start that fire. Jimmy's a pyro freak and I tried to put it out. Cops said I was fanning the flames but that's crap, Conrad. I swear."

"Jimmy's dead, Rafa."

The young man's face fell. "How?"

"I think your sister ordered the hit to get my attention. I've been looking for you for years."

"To bring me in?"

"Look...you knew me before I was a cop, and I don't want to bring you in, but I've got a family and Ximena's trying to take me down. We finally got her in handcuffs and behind bars, but we need to prove she was involved in Jimmy's murder or she could walk. Right now all we've got her on is rental fraud, but you might be able to plead down your own sentence if you're willing to give intel on Ximena."

"I don't know anything about Jimmy's death." Rafa scoffed. "I don't want to talk to my sister, but you know what she did for me, getting us out of Selva when she did."

"And then what? She dragged you into a life working for the cartel, anyway. You could give her stories away, Rafa. Separate her from the cartel, paint her for who she is and what she dragged you into. Forget Jimmy's murder for a minute. Let them see your involvement in your own crimes was under pressure from your sister."

"I always wanted to get out, but Ximena needed me."

"She doesn't need you now."

"If I turn on her, she'll turn on me. I don't know what you want me to do, but I just want to live in peace out here. I want to turn this place into a cool SimBnB or something. Renovate it, you know? Maybe I could have more than one, eventually. I just want to live out my life far away from any cartels. Far away from Ximena. If I go back, I'll go to prison just like her."

"Rafa, I'll do anything I can to help you stay out of prison whether you help me or not. I'll talk to lawyers, judges, find you the right advice. I can't promise a plea deal without jail time, but I can try."

Rafa shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, I can't help you. Ximena was always there for me, and you left! As Javier Vargas, I could recognize the guys in a lineup if you find suspects for the Brindletons' murder, but I can't bring down my sister. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I left. I had to, but you're the closest thing to a little brother I'd ever had. It was a lot harder to leave you than it was to leave her." Conrad frowned, shifting a little on his feet. "You're really staying here? In an old shipwreck?"

"I miss electricity and haven't played a video game in years, but this is a good place to hide out. It's not open to the public because it's not structurally sound, but no one ever comes down here. If I can get the place fixed up enough for a rental, it'll be much better. A lot less sand."

"And you're not worried I'll send police to arrest you?"

"You'd have me arrested because I won't help you?"

"It's not just me she's after, Rafa. Heather and I are getting married, and we have a daughter; she's almost three. And I love Heather's son like he's my own. He's the same age now that you were when I met you, but I've known him so long...you and Melissa were still together when I met him."

"Don't talk about Mel. She's not involved in any of this. She never was, and she's better off without me."

Conrad's stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday. "Got any food?" he wondered, as much for himself as he was worried about Rafa.

The young man pointed him in the direction of his small, off-grid kitchen. "There's enough ice in the icebox to keep a few things cool. You can have some yogurt if you want."

Conrad took him up on the offer and considered his next move while he devoured a bowl of coconut yogurt and looked around the dismal digs. Rafa had a bed, a table, the tiny kitchen, and a hole in the ground for a bathroom. He was living far worse than Conrad ever did in his dated old apartment in the city.

Rafa might be Ximena's sole weak point and he had to exploit it, but Conrad wouldn't be able to live with himself if he exploited Rafa, too. He needed him to want to help, but had no idea how to change his mind.

He turned his phone back on and the device started beeping with notifications - multiple missed calls, texts, and voicemails. He sighed. The best he could do for now was keep Rafa's secret and hope he'd flip. He had to fly back to the mainland...after his impulsive neatness made him clean up a bit of dirt and sand near the small kitchen sink - which didn't even dispense water.

Conrad needed to check in with Heather and with work, and open a new investigation into the death of George and June Brindleton. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

WCIF: Conrad on the floor and Rafa bent over him is another from @yibsimchronicles' Fainted posepack, and probably my favourite pose in the collection!

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: This is kind of a dark request, i was wondering if you could write something about the sister going through a really bad depression episode and she like reaches into the kitchen cabinet to get a glass for water and dean sees her sleeve slide down revealing self harm?

A/N: I hope this is what you were looking for. If not just send me another request no problem! If anyone needs to talk I’m always here!!! Requests are also always open. Thanks everyone!

Warnings: Self Harm, Mental Health Problems

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

The weight had been there for days, an invisible pressure that settled on my chest and wrapped itself around my mind, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. I knew I was spiraling again, but it wasn’t like I could stop it. Some days, I could pretend it wasn’t there. Today? Today, I couldn’t.

I dragged myself out of bed, feeling like a zombie in my own skin, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. It was exhausting—just existing. I knew the moment I woke up that I didn’t want to face anyone, but I couldn’t stay locked away forever. I had to keep up the act, keep pretending. It was the only way to avoid the questions, the pity, the concern that came from Sam and Dean. I didn’t want their pity. I didn’t want them to see how broken I really was.

I stumbled to the kitchen, the task of getting a glass of water so simple, but it felt like I was walking through quicksand. I reached for the cabinet, my sleeve sliding down just enough to reveal the fresh scars on my forearm.

I froze.

That familiar, unbearable feeling of being seen settled over me. I didn’t even need to turn around. I could feel him there. He didn’t have to say anything; I could feel the shift in the air—the way the room seemed to tighten with his presence.

Dean.

“Y/N,” his voice was calm, but I could hear the edge in it, like he was trying to keep it together, trying not to let the worry he was clearly feeling slip out. “What is that?”

I couldn’t bring myself to face him. I couldn’t let him see how messed up I was.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, but even I knew the words were a lie. I yanked my sleeve back down, trying to hide the evidence, but I could already feel his gaze on me. He wasn’t fooled.

Dean’s footsteps came closer, steady but cautious, like he was walking on eggshells, trying to give me space, but not willing to walk away.

“It’s not nothing,” he said, his voice gentle, but the weight of his concern was unmistakable. “You can’t just hide it, Y/N. Not from me.”

I swallowed hard, my body trembling. I wanted to push him away. I wanted to run and hide, to lock myself back in my room where I didn’t have to face this. But I couldn’t. Dean wasn’t just standing there; he was right there, in front of me, watching me like he was waiting for me to fall apart. And I felt it. The tears, the anxiety, the need for him to help me, to save me from the mess I was turning into.

“I didn’t want you to ever find out,” I said, my voice breaking as I finally let the words escape. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

Dean’s expression softened. His eyes, filled with something I could barely name—love? Pain? A mixture of both—never left mine.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick, like he was trying to hold back something raw, something painful. “You’re not weak. You’re not weak, and you never will be. I’ve seen the way you fight, even when it feels like you’re losing. You’ve been through hell, and you keep going. That’s strength. But you don’t have to go through this alone.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. It felt like they were slowly unraveling the walls I had built around myself. I didn’t want to cry, but I felt the tears threatening, my vision blurring. Dean stepped closer, his hand gently brushing through my hair, guiding my head to rest against his chest.

“I know,” he murmured, his hand warm and comforting on the back of my neck. “I know it hurts. I know the darkness gets so damn heavy that you can’t breathe. I know the thoughts are loud and painful and don’t stop. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

I closed my eyes, letting the feeling of his arms around me ground me, even just for a moment. The pressure in my chest eased, just slightly, but enough to make me feel like I could breathe again. “I’m scared, Dean,” I whispered into his shirt, my voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Dean pulled back just enough to look down at me, his hands gently cupping my face, wiping away the tear that had slipped down my cheek. His eyes softened even more, and he spoke with such certainty, such tenderness, it made my heart ache.

“You don’t have to fix everything right now,” he said, his voice unwavering, but full of warmth. “You don’t have to make it all better. You just have to let me help. You have to let me be here for you.”

I shook my head, the words caught in my throat. “I don’t deserve it,” I whispered. “I’m not worth saving.”

Dean’s face hardened with a kind of fierce determination, and before I could stop myself, I felt his hands pull me back into him, wrapping me in his arms, holding me close. His voice, low and steady, rumbled in my ear.

“Don’t you ever say that,” he said, the words like a vow. “You’re worth every bit of love, every bit of care, and every bit of protection I can give you. You don’t get to push me away. You don’t get to hide from me.” He squeezed me tighter. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I’m right here. I’ll be right here, for as long as you need me.”

I clung to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, his strength. His words wrapped around me like a security blanket, something solid in the chaos of everything I was feeling.

Dean pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, his gaze unwavering. “We’ll get through this together, okay?” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but full of love. “You don’t have to fight it alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I nodded, my chest still tight, but the crushing weight inside me seemed a little more bearable with him here, holding me, loving me.

Dean’s hand gently cupped my face again, and his gaze softened even more, like he was seeing me—not just the pain I was going through, but me, Y/N. His sister.

“I know what it feels like,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ve been there, Y/N. I’ve been in that dark place, feeling like I was drowning. I’ve hurt, and I’ve lost myself in the darkness. I’ve been on the edge, thinking I couldn’t make it out. But I did. I pulled myself out. And you can, too. You are strong enough.”

My eyes widened at his words. I had always seen Dean as the strong one. The one who always knew what to do, always had the answers. But hearing him say he’d been where I was—that he understood—made the whole weight of it feel just a little bit lighter. He knew. And if he could get through it, maybe I could too.

“I’m not perfect, Y/N,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve stumbled. I’ve fallen. But I always get back up. And so will you. You’re not broken, and you don’t have to go through this alone.”

I could feel the sincerity in his voice, the way he meant every word, and in that moment, I realized just how much love and care he had for me. How much he understood what it was like to fight those demons, both inside your mind and in the world around you.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered again, his hand gently brushing through my hair as he pulled me back into his embrace, holding me like he would never let go. “We’re in this together. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I believed him.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow X GN Reader

Intertwined

Based off of one of my favorite Dodie songs Shadow has a nightmare and you comfort him back to sleep lot of hurt/comfort with lots of sweet cuddles.

-Enjoy

It was his thrashing that woke you up. with the sheer amount of trauma it was never a bother to you, his nightmares. you were used to them at this point it. Still seeing the love of your life suffer at the chaos in his own mind made your heart break just as much as the first time you saw it.

you learned to proceed with caution, waking him up prematurely could cause him further confusion which would only make the situation worse. sometimes as much as your hand pressed against his back was enough to calm him down no waking up necessary. unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights.

Shadow bolted upright out of bed letting out a cry of agony his eyes shot open as tears began to stream soaking his face and dripping onto the bedsheets below.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm here it's okay." you leaped into action speaking gently as you made your way into his line of vision. "Take a deep breath it was just a dream. you're safe, I promise."

Shadow obeyed as you gently cupped his face wiping the tears from his eyes. He was shaking whatever he was dreaming about really must have messed with his head.

you wrapped your arms around him attempting to steady him. he buried his face in the crook of your neck wrapping his arms tightly around you, as if you were to disappear if he let go.

You waited for him to speak. It always took him a moment to collect his thoughts after a particularly bad nightmare.

"Are you sure you're safe with me?" He finally broke the silence.

"What? Of course I am, What makes you think that?"

"I know that people want me for my power, they can't hurt me, they know that, but what's keeping them from hurting you? Eggman he took you, tortured you, and let you die in front of me. all while I was powerless to stop him."

"That's not going to happen Shadow."

"How do you know?"

"Because, You won't let it, and neither will I, you trained me to protect myself remember?"

"yah but-"

"There will always be a but my love. Being with you, being with anyone really, there is always some sort of risk. I chose you and will continue to choose you despite those risks. Not because I don't care about them, but because every second you're in my life it makes all of those risks worth it. Feel this." You placed his hand on your chest so he could feel your pulse. "I'm still here, see? and you're here with me, which means no matter what even if an enemy crashes through that door right now I am still safe because were together."

"I still worry about you."

"I know, and I'm grateful just relax and lay with me for now, tell me everything I want to hear it you don't have to go through it alone.

You laid down, Shadow following suit placing his head on your chest so he could hear your heart beat, the rhythmic thumping calming him as he wrapped himself around you.

'Skin. Heat. Hair in your mouth, feet touching feet. you and I, safe from the world, though the world will try.'

you stroked the top of his head feeling him melt into you as your hand moved along his silky quills.

"You know you're the only one who can do that right?" He commented

You giggled "Yah, I Know"

You felt him smile against you.

'Numb, Fine, You create the rarity of my genuine smile. So breathe, breathe with me.'

Shadow began telling you about his nightmare, all the horrible details of an event that would never come to pass. He told you about the anxiety he felt when he couldn't find you. how he hated himself for letting you get hurt even though it was just a dream. he didn't want his mind to go there it just did on it's own.

'Can you drink all my thoughts cause I can't stand them'

Shadow wrapped himself around you further, as if he were trying to merge your bodies together, so you would never have to be apart again.

"I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you on my watch, I can't lose you, not in the way I lost everyone else."

"I know dear, that's why I won't let it happen."

'Intertwined. Free. I've pinned each and every hope on you, i hope that you don't bleed with me.'

the more shadow talked the more at ease you felt him become, his grip loosened on you as his muscles relaxed, his head grew heavy against you easing you into a relaxed state as well.

When he was done you thanked him for telling you everything, you reassured him that everything would be fine, as long as the two of you worked as a team which seemed to comfort him.

'I'm afraid of the things in my brain. but we can stay here and laugh away the fear'

you hummed mindlessly as you stroked Shadows head lulling him to sleep, you followed suit not long after. The rest of the night was silent as the two of you slept in each other's arms, fighting off whatever nightmares came your lover's way.

[intramoon]

hi aj !! i have a question i dont want to sound rude please know im not trying to be rude. i came back to simblr after a long time and its been really hard not to get discouraged. :/ my account is really dead no one interacts with me anymore. stuff is so different. i remember you used to be kinda popular but how do you deal with people not interacting with you as much as they used to?? i dont mean that in a mean way!! i dont want to quit simblr but idk how to get back to how things were

Hi! Don't worry, I don't think you're being rude, I understand where you're coming from. ♡ My response will be long because I have a lot to say about the topic, hopefully, it will help you.

If you were mostly active when I was in my "prime" (assuming that's what you mean by "kinda popular"), like 2018-2021, things will never be how they were then. The community, trends, and how we interacted with each other was so much different, I don't think it will ever go back to how it was then. I am kind of happy about that. Although my relationship with that time on Simblr is nostalgic (despite being too young and miserable to enjoy it), I think the community is in a healthier place now (mostly). I have had to adjust to a couple of things since coming back. One is that the content looks different now.

In my "prime" people were just getting into editing (that was a time before ReShade). Heavy editing and experimental editing were really celebrated, partly because everyone was learning and learning from each other. We just wanted to see what was possible. Now, maybe partly in reaction to that trend and how demanding it was, people have found an appreciation for the base game, simple screenshots with really only ReShade/gshade, CAS screenshots, etc. Not to say the former doesn't exist anymore because it absolutely does and people have become truly incredible at it. In some regard, it is an acquired taste especially if that's all you do. I've thought to myself many times should I stop editing the way I do, does that impact the way people take in my content? Do I have editing blindness? lol I like how I edit, I enjoy the process and, even if I do have editing blindness, I like how it looks. Even being an alpha creator, they are fewer and fewer as people opt for MM and MMix. I've thought, do people really not like alpha content anymore? Even my story at times felt like it didn't fit into the current story ethos. I thought about stopping it. I bring that all up to say, when you're coming back to a very different Simblr it can feel like what you used to make doesn't "fit in". And it might not. I don't think that should be the goal. The community now is so much more diverse, content-wise, that anything you want to make is possible. If you sacrifice your artistic vision, you'll end up leaving again. You have to make what speaks to you, regardless of the other noise.

Two, you have to find your reason for making your art. For a moment, I really lost touch with what I was even doing here. I took some time to figure it out. I first started because I wanted to tell a story that talked about intimacy through the lens of a sex worker and someone who had no romantic or sexual experience. I wanted to do this without over-sexualizing my sex worker character and infantilizing my other character. I wanted to write some of the dialogue I was having internally. Way back when that was all I wanted to do, I didn't struggle with being seen as much because I was posting with a purpose. That purpose wasn't likes or reblogs, but to tell a story and have a conversation. Everything else came after. Anyone coming back (or looking for a reason to stay) has to find, within themselves, why they want to be here and what they want to get out of it. I promise you if you reconnect with that, posting will be easier regardless of the outcome.

I know I took a lot for granted way back when. Asks about me or my characters, comments, tags, and even people wanting to join me in a Discord server or stream. Sounds like we both, a one point, wish we could go back. That just means it's something to appreciate more now. You can be and make really whatever you want, which wasn't always possible. Maybe think of coming back as a small rebirth and trust that if you keep at it, you will find your people. I am still in the process of finding mine but I trust they are out there. If you're passionate people will feel it. Best of luck and I hope something in this novel helps you! ♡

[hopeforchanges]

okay hot take here don't bash my head in ... Sauron and Galadriel ≠ Orlok and Ellen

idk am i the only one who doesn't see it? i stayed away from speaking on the topic cause i didn't feel i had all the information to engage in any meaningful convo but now that a good amount of time has passed and I have listened and read other people's arguably passionate stances on this (which is great! i love when people enjoy something, it gives me joy too!!) i must say .... i don't get it lol

let me explain myself:

I get that certain aesthetics or vibes might overlap (dark, brooding antagonist vs. a luminous, female protagonist), the comparison completely falls apart when you dig into their actual characterizations.

Ellen as a Symbol of Maidenhood vs. Galadriel as a Warrior

Ellen is basically a paragon of feminine virtue: she's all about purity, innocence, and ultimate sacrifice. She represents a kind of moral ideal that aligns with the trope of the "selfless maiden." Sure there is darkness in here but like ... where? lol in the words of one of my favorite complicated female characters of the silver screen: "I can't see it, I can't touch it, I can't feel it. I can hear it, I can hear some words but I can't do anything with your easy words."

Galadriel is a warrior, a soldier, a power-hungry monarch. She was born a princess into a life of great privilege. Galadriel is ambitious, vengeful, and actively pursuing power. She definitely embodies characteristics that are more commonly associated with male domination. I love both the feminine in Ellen and the masculine in Galadriel. They just don't overlap imo.

Orlok’s Selfish Awareness vs. Sauron’s Delusional “Vision”

Orlok is unapologetically monstrous. He’s a selfish predator who knows exactly what he is and doesn’t care. He’s not trying to justify himself or claim he’s “saving” anyone—he just feeds on people because that’s what he does.

Sauron thinks he’s doing the right thing. In his mind, his actions are about order, preservation, and the “greater good.” That lack of self-awareness is huge—it makes him a completely different type of villain. Orlok leans into his evil; Sauron justifies it - doesn't even think he's the evil force - definitely not in his story.

The Core Dynamic Feels Wrong

Ellen and Orlok’s relationship is built on fear and revulsion. Ellen sacrifices herself to stop Orlok—she lures him to his doom. There’s no room for ambiguity there; he’s the predator, and she’s the prey.

Galadriel and Sauron are equals. None of them can land the killing blow because they don't want to, not because they can't. Their dynamic is tangled up in grudging respect, power struggles, and even a weird sort of kinship. Galadriel isn’t diminished or destroyed by Sauron like Ellen was by Orlok; quite the contrary. Galadriel was empowered by Sauron, healed through him (at least in the show which is the medium i am basing my opinions on, not necessarily the tolkien legendarium). That's why it's so funny to me that in season 2 he can't figure out why she won't say yes to him when she used to drool over his mortal form and so he transforms into Glambrand as his big fix cause he thinks THAT is what the issue is lol you were her friend, dumbass, that's literally it. you supported her and believed in her when no one did and couched her so she could achieve her goals - helped her self-actualize.

There are no such layers and complexities in Ellen and Orlok's relationship. Plus, the fact that he came to her first when she was a kid gives me the ick, sorry. it's giving phantom of the opera. and i HATE phantom of the opera (the original book by Leroux, the musical kinda slaps tbh)

TL;DR:

Yes, Ellen calls Orlok a deceiver, but that’s where the parallels end for me. Ellen = pure, selfless sacrifice; Galadriel = complex, power-driven warrior. Orlok = evil and knows it; Sauron = evil but thinks he’s the hero. Their dynamics are fundamentally different, and the Orlok/Ellen comparison just doesn’t hold up under scrutiny.

If I’m missing something, feel free to convince me otherwise, but for now? Nah, I don’t see it.

[eusuntgratie]

2025 wips

thank you for the tag @anincompletelist <3

i am a perpetual too-many-wips disaster so i'm always grateful for an opportunity to lay out what i'm working on.

malex pretty woman au (roswell new mexico)

my next big project is the malex pretty woman au. alex is the rich, detached businessman, michael is captivating in tiny blue shorts and thigh high boots. do you see the vision? i need to make a banner and pick a title!

(i make ONE comment to @bigassbowlingballhead about craving a certain type of fic and suddenly i'm being enabled into my next longfic 🙃). i am genuinely so excited about this one. i've got about 5k written and the whole fic is plotted. i'm thinking this will be in the 25-30k range? maybe? honestly jon is better at estimating my word counts than i am so who knows. still not sure if i'll finish writing this one and then edit and post chapter by chapter or what i'll do, but i think i'll be able to get this one up this year.

firstprince exes (rwrb)

if i have another big project in me i would LOVE to finish my outsider pov firstprince exes fic. i love love love this weird little fic but it is a real challenge to write.

sequels & additional chapters

part 3 of conformation (rnm) will be just alex and michael after their fun with maria at the club. maybe alex will make good on his idea of tying michael up and seeing how much he can take. i could write millions of words of sub!michael please do not tempt me.

chapter 3 of after hours (first prince/rwrb) aka mechanic alex will be alex and henry's first date.

one shots

come back inside is a malexa morning after the airstream scene fic...what if michael convinced alex to stay? this is probably more than half written. malexa my beloved 😍

hunting guide au (tknp, men's hockey rpf). tk hires pat for a guided hunt with his young daughter.

these might not happen 😐

shadow is a buddie fic that was gonna be a big bang fic (which will never happen) but i *could* finish and post the first few chapters as a one shot. featuring baby eddie having his mind blown by a slightly older, extremely gay buck at a college party while visiting his sister.

i wanna be adored is an elliott/marco, marco gets dropped into crystal valley fic that i've written about 5k for but can't quite get to do what i want. when i started writing it there were no kissingchambers fics, but there are lots now! so if you like them you should probably just read those bc this bad boy probably won't see the light of day even though i've got about 5k written.

dumotanger omegaverse college au (men's hockey rpf) - y'know i really love this one and i am unhinged about dumotanger but i think there's just something missing here that i haven't been able to figure out. i'd love to finish it if i do though! i've got maybe 3k written.

okay those are the ones with something significant written. i have LOTS of other abandoned wips and ideas, plus i always like to do some kind of short prompt series. i haven't done femslash february in a while so maybe i could write a few ficlets for that? maybe do some shuffle prompts again? hmmm. we'll see, we'll see.

my askbox and dms are always open for questions about my fic, wips, ideas, etc. <3

open tag for anyone with wips they wanna share!!!

[baldurspeen69420]

I love Bloodweave as much as the next gay but purely in terms of what's funniest I think the most hilarious Gale-Astarion dynamic is Astarion genuinely shooting his shot, fumbling catastrophically, and then fuming for the next one and a half acts while trying to pretend he doesn't care

The dude straight failed to rizz up a big beautiful man who lived in a tower for a year with his cat and reads encyclopedias for fun I would throw myself into the ocean

Astarion just insanely bitter after Gale says he prefers their walks together in silence, Astarion at the tiefling party being like "God I'd love to fuck right now, just anyone EXCEPT GALE WHO SUCKS and is GROSS and BORING!!! BY THE WAY!!"

You can't tell me Astarion isn't the type of guy to send someone a text like "heyyyy I kinda like you btw haha" and when they respond "oh thats nice but im not into you like that" he just goes "ACTUALLY I WAS JOKING . . . . . . YOU'RE ACTUALLY UGLY ASF . . . can you believe you thought I was serious LMFAO" while looking like this fucking image

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[babychosen]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

8pm, Friday. Red dress. Booth near the end of the bar, by the dart board.

She forgot how demanding the text felt, but it had only encouraged her to want to show up even more.

[murdockhawkeye]

yk i kinda wish miss chatham was in the later seasons still. like imagine if we got an episode of them visiting the retirement home

i can see it now. they lose miss chatham somehow while in there, and then end up on their own side adventures

lewis is acting like he's found his people and he's invited to the next bingo meet by a gladys. or multiple gladys's. while on the opposite end of the spectrum, rikki gets into a fight/rivalry with some old lady

and cleo and emma end up being wrangled into helping one of the seniors, only for emma to end up transforming into a mermaid and for the senior that they were helping, to see it

and then because for whatever reason this came to mind, it turns out said senior is julia's ex karl, who apparently lives at the same retirement home as miss chatham

he almost gets his camera out for old times sake, because he hasn't changed much since they were teenagers, but then miss chatham gets her tennis racket out

suffice to say. they end up walking out with pocketful of old people candy and also a bunch more lore/info from miss chatham. idk

[jonathanbyersphd]

Jonathan Byers - You're On Your Own Kid

Inspired by this post from @messrsbyler

[crossbackpoke-check]

Dysprosium, Mary Soon Lee

dysprosium, AN 66, is a silvery-white rare earth metal. its name is derived from the greek dysprositos, meaning “hard to get at”, owing to the difficulty in separating and isolating this rare earth element. dysprosium is used to measure neutron flux, to fuel reactors, and to activate phosphors. terfenol-d is a magnetorestrictive alloy, meaning that it changes shape when a magnetic field is applied, and is used to manufacture underwater acoustic systems.

jason “robo” robertson, dallas stars #21 for @simmyfrobby’s nhl periodic table poems <3

[nerissalmao]

guys, can we..

..talk about this? The reddish glare on the one eye that later falls off and has a red sensor underneath?

Can we talk about this movie, period, because I really like it and Justin Pin is a horrifying idea of a character.