#it’s still difficult and sad and hard but! it’s so much easier to deal with all that stuff!! it doesn’t break me like it used to.

[sharkieboi]

it’s my weekend and I don’t have any appointments and it’s been snowing since like 2am so I’m having an indoor day to keep slowly organizing the new apartment and on purpose didn’t take my adhd meds (only have a few left and I’d rather save them for work if I’m going to have trouble refilling with all the weather closures) and Soup Brain certainly hits different when it’s not a workday. the lack of focus and memory still isn’t helpful but at least it doesn’t feel harmful when I forget what I’m supposed to be doing for an extended period of time.

[corpsoir]

im having so many oc thoughts rn i cant stop thinking about them honestly fuck the timeline where solvei dies thats just sad the ancient hook timeline is way funnier and gayer

[onelocket]

cuddles, please?

sick fyodor d. x sick reader

requested by -- sweet anon! (click here for more context)

involves -- domestic relationship, a touch starved gn reader, scenario held place in summer & possible russian mistakes ;_;

headcanons

you feel as if it was your fault sometimes

Because each one brings you a shock, honestly. How was Fyodor also sick with you? One day you just woke up to the sound of him quietly blowing his nose on a tissue, jolting yourself up to sit as you see him sat on the desk, head turned to you in surprise of your wake.

“I’m sorry, milaya. Did I wake you?”

“…Fyodor? Wait- why are you sick?!”

‘Why’ as if he wanted it in the first place. Your sad little face and teary eyes would make him a little startled at first—perhaps even a bit amused as the process went ahead, but eventually would he coo to you how he’s okay, and that it wasn’t your fault regardless if you had the fever first.

endless mutual worry and care

Now that you both were sick, it was kind of hard to balance out who should take over for who. But now, it’s as if the care rocks back and forth a little too quickly… yet who were you to complain? He didn’t seem to complain either.

“Really, (Name). I’ll be okay. I’ll make us a cup of tea, you sit there.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do all the work.” You frown out, peeking from his behind as he was already holding two cups. “Mm.. how about I make you your cup while you make mine? I promise to add your jam..” You deal out, a small smile copying his that eventually came out too.

“Want me to tell you a Russian bedtime story?”

Sometimes, when the nights were difficult to sleep through and boring since you still don’t get to hold Fyodor because of his ‘reasons’, you end up staying awake in these hours. He obviously realizes this, at first just watching you in hopes you’d close your eyes at it. But when you just can’t,

“Mm, (Name). Come closer.” He whispered, catching your attention.

“Yes, why?” You ask, although doing as told whilst you scoot closer, both of you on your sides as you look up at him curiously. “Will you finally give me a hug?”

He shook his head, but before you get to complain again—“I want to tell you a bedtime story. Would you like me to?” he strikes up the question, earning your excited nod.

Those nights end up easier to go through as you hear his lovely, addicting voice. You’d, albeit faint, sometimes hear him say ‘Я тебя люблю’ a lot during the ending of each story, sometimes even hear it add up with ‘так сильно’ after the ‘Я’, which made you really curious about what he actually said. Unbeknownst to you though, your lover was saying ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you so much’.

you’re too cute for him to resist.. sometimes…

Despite how you know Fyodor prefers to be warm, he actually denies your touch still, reasoning that “We’ll sweat together” or “I might cough on you”. Personally you saw these reasons unlikely of him, but instead of arguing, you improvised.

“Fyodor… I want to take a nap.” You whine out, placing your head carefully on his lap as he sits there leaning on the bed frame, gazing at the afternoon sky.

“Then nap,” He replied, tilting his head though still not facing you. “You want to sleep there, don’t you? Just this once, milaya.”

“Hehe, okay.”

You knew he knew your tricks, but if he lets you? You’ll take it all the way. It made him happy too, seeing you want him even if he already said for you to feel otherwise.

scenario

“(Name), you shouldn’t use your phone so often.” You hear whilst you do as digressed—finger scrolling through the endless sea of posts and rants your friends flocked your feed with.

Despite summer being this new opportunity for a big blank canvas to paint with vibrant and eye catchy colors, they’re instead using their time to click through letters upon letters and share rants about how they’d be doing better things right now like ‘making life more colorful’. What irony, huh?

Speaking of, what about you? Why were you scrolling through these rants? Well, you had your reasons. One of which was because of somebody’s state right now.

“I’ll be okay, Fyodor..” You whine out, rolling on your back as the soft mattress hugs it just right, you able to let out a quiet sound of satisfaction from it whilst you kept your hands on the phone.

It’s only been a few minutes since you even had your phone screen unlocked, so you found it quite irritating that he was already telling you to get off. “Meanwhile, I personally think that you stop worrying and get-” You’d trail, momentarily pausing when you hear Fyodor’s coughing interrupt you; “…more rest.” finishing with a sigh.

“Mm, and what does that make you, milaya?” He replied, slowly putting down his hand which was just covering his mouth a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you going to rest?”

“I don’t want to.” You pout, once again rolling against your stomach as you swing your feet up and down, your toes hitting the pillows. But you weren’t that petty to hit your lover, so you also slowed down a bit, turning your head back to him. “I can’t find my eyes sleeping.”

“That’s because you’re on your phone.” He points out with a small gesture, his own head tilting to the side before he sighed—“My.. come here.” patting the spot beside him whilst he carefully sat up. You wondered if you should play around a little with your boyfriend, but because he was sick, you denied the taunt.

So you press your palms on the bed sheets as you get yourself sat up, one hand moving to click your phone shut. You crawl back to Fyodor, pout softening to a normal gaze as you considered to hold him, but his body language didn’t seem to match the thought. Instead you sit beside him, hugging your knees a little.

“You’re upset with me, (Name). Isn’t that right?” He cooed, a finger delicately brushing strands of hair away from your face as your cheeks peach up, although react no further than that. “Why should I be?” You question, fingers finding themselves holding onto your kneecaps.

“Let’s see… because I keep refusing to hold you?” He immediately had a response to, a soft smile on his face. To the normal sight, Fyodor might even be seen as charming and such a gentleman for smiling like that for his lover, but to you—oh you knew… that his smile was definitely a taunting, teasing one.

You groaned at the knowledge, a frown coming back rather than a pout. “I don’t understand why not? We’re both sick.” You tampered, tapping onto the bedsheets like an impatient customer.

“That’s exactly why.” He replied almost in a fake surprised voice, putting his hand down as he picked up the bottle of sanitizer on the bedside table, spraying alcohol on the hand that he coughed on earlier before showing the bottle to indirectly ask if you want to do the same. You take it, mainly so that he can rub both of his hands together. But you also end up spraying a bit on your hands, plopping the bottle on the beside table on your side before facing him again.

“What do you mean ‘that’s exactly why’? I want to hug you, Fyodor. It doesn’t matter if you’re sweaty! Don’t you wanna warm up from the air conditioning?” You contrast, spreading your hands a little in desperate request for his hug. “You know it’s you who’s the main reason why I hug you, not just because of how it feels.” You even add, hoping it’d move his heart.

He quietly chuckles at your claim, which honestly boosted up your hopes… for a moment, until you see his gaze back to normal without even a hint of change in his answer. What- did he seriously just laugh at you because he takes pity on your desperation?

“O-or just forget it..” You scoff out, your arms crossing each other as you turn around, your stuffy nose deciding that now would be the great time to embarrass you as you sniffle, although try to hold it back just to appear more… oh, what even was the proper word?

You were just petty. And upset that you can’t hold your lover. “I don’t need your hug anymore.” You add whilst laying down, to which you wouldn’t know how it’d affect him as your back was turned to him.

He was quiet for a little bit—Fyodor resting on his elbow with a faint smile as he indulged a bit more into your reaction. You were always either so attractive or so cute to him, now being the latter as he moved his elbow away, lying down on his side with his body facing you.

You refused to initiate the talk again, although your arms would slowly fall back from crossing each other, pressing against the smooth mattress as you hum in delight.

At least the bedsheets felt nice. It was one of the more lighter coverings, one silkier and nice to the touch so it’d ease the both of you to sleep.

And it worked exactly as it’s purpose.

Before you and even Fyodor knew, he’d hear quiet snoring coming from you, your body’s tension gone and melted as the cold of your air conditioning eased the sweat off.

His smile fades, although face keeping a soft look on it while he thought, “I couldn’t even get to move yet… but you’re already sound asleep.” left to look at your beautiful hair and your back hinting your slow breathing.

But quickly would he grow sleepy of watching you, his eyes glancing at the door for a bit before they fall back to you.

He planned to go outside the bedroom to get a hot cup of tea, even more so excited earlier as he thought of sharing the sudden idea with you, but found himself discarding it.

“Tomorrow..” Fyodor tells himself, closing his lips as he moves closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as careful as possible without you waking up.

He’d close his eyes at your scent, his love for your smell never leaving even if the both of you were sick. At that moment, he had genuinely hated how his nose was stuffy as well—loathing it to disappear just so he can indulge more in you.

But him in your arms was enough. To see you asleep and peaceful kept him calm and satisfied.

Fyodor scoots closer so his head meets your shoulder, resting it there comfortably as he kept you warm. “Good night, (Name).” He hummed out, pressing a kiss on your shoulder before rubbing your skin softly with his thoughts lingering—“Get well soon for me. Because I’d rather see you feel better than see anything else right now.”

⚘

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! (And sorry in advance for the longread). First of all, thank you for all your hard work maintaining the most ultimate fanfic collection I've ever come across and guiding all the poor lost souls like myself towards their perfect fic solution! Life's pretty hard for me rn and through your lists and recommendations I've found exactly the works that help me keep pushing. And here comes the Second: I have two requests if I may? One is for helping find two works that I've read already but lost them and cannot find them for my life (probably just skipping them somehow, I can miss things right under my nose); first is I'm almost but not 100% sure about Sherlock dealing with withdrawal and John helping him, the one detail that I remember vividly is Sherlock telling John how Lestrade saved him from an od by unexpectedly showing up when Sherlock wanted to take his life 10 days after his verbally abusive father's funeral and that's also how he and Donovan met as Greg brought her with him. The second work is about sick feverish Sherlock and John calling Lestrade to help get Sherlock in the shower so he doesn't have to go to the hospital unless it doesn't help, Sherlock also unknowingly throwing punches when feverish, one landing on John's face, and he apologized afterwards.

And the second request is maybe you know some works that feature John asking Sherlock to dance and them subsequently dancing together, publicly if possible? Not an AU (I mean as a different universe like balletlock or fantasylock or sth, canon deviations are okay, even better if it's 'Mary's a villain') and not a sad ending if possible too. It just broke my heart that Sherlock loves dancing so much and John was apparently very reluctant and ashamed of them training before the wedding, so Sherlock had to help hide that, my poor baby. Would be ideal if it was specifically John wanting to make that right but I'll gorge up on anything except for AUs and sad endings.

Sorry if I'm asking for too much and/or if this whole word sheet is difficult to read since I'm not a native speaker. I hope that for as long as you still feel up to this and have love for the fandom you'll grace us with your presence and effort, it is greatly appreciated! Best wishes and thank you again!

Hi Nonny!!!

First of all, Thank you so much for your kind words!! I am humbled that you think of my blog as an "ultimate collection of fics" hahah. That's SO sweet and makes my tummy all squidgy!! I love when y'all find comfort in my happy place! :)

I'm so sorry you're going through a rough patch right now, but I'm glad that my blog makes the days easier for you 💜🖤

And you can have as many requests as you like!! This blog relies on them!!!! I'll try my best to help you find them!!

Sadly, I don't know what fics either of the two you are searching for are (the OD / withdrawal nor the shower fic) but my Lovelies and Lurkers™ have an uncanny ability to find fics that I don't know, so hopefully they'll come through for us for either of those.

As for the Second Request, best I can do IMMEDIATELY are these lists:

Dancing (updated March 14/23)

Sexy Dancing

Evil / Not-Nice / Villain Mary

Not EXACTLY what you're looking for, but I hope that these will be a good start!!

If anyone wants to offer ANY fic for ANY of the requests for Nonny, please let us know!! I check the notes on all posts and add them to the lists! 💜🖤

Hope you're having a great day Nonny, and lots of HUGS!!!

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 [𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐇]

PAIRINGS —  Bobby Nash x GN!Reader

SUMMARY —  Bobby goes to Venice beach after a hard 48 hour shift

WARNINGS — mentions of death, angst, sadness

NOTE — This is a lot shorter than what I normally write but I had an itch to write something based on My Heart is Buried in Venice and this scene came to my mind hope you guys enjoy being hurt as much as i do ._.

My Heart is Buried in Venice | Ricky Montgomery

The waves crashed quietly against the shore while the water reflected the sparkling stars. Bobby dropped his phone in the sand and sat down facing the ocean. He hadn’t slept properly in 48 hours, the end of a long shift filled him with restlessness and an inability to close his eyes. So he stared at the horizon, where the water met the sky and the stars and moon danced in their reflections.

It had been a difficult few days, the team was all feeling it, he only hoped that after taking the time to speak with each of them they felt a little better than he did.

He felt the sand shift next to him and when he turned his head he saw you squatting down into a seated position to join him.

He frowned, he hadn’t told anyone he was coming here.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked simply, turning back to look at the rippling water.

“You always come here when you’re upset,” you shrugged. “Thought it was worth a try.”

He nodded his head and continued to stay silent. You gave him a moment to adjust to your presence before carefully moving closer to him and holding his hand that was nearest to you, fingers intertwined.

You knew why he came here. Somewhere that seemed so unlike his usual scene. He said his heart was buried here. You never really knew what that meant, but it made it a little easier to find him on days like this.

Bobby leaned a little closer to you, his head finding a comfortable place to rest on your shoulder. His attitude over the years had changed so strikingly compared to the closed off, reserved, and efficient fire Captain you had first met, and for that you were grateful. You held him close and pressed a kiss to his temple,

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” you whispered. “Not like you are for everyone else. You know that.”

He nodded his head slowly, his composed façade cracking with every word and action of compassion and comfort.

“It’s his birthday today, isn’t it?” you asked and Bobby nodded again, a few tears managing to slip through.

“He would have been 17,” he whispered, the first time he had spoken up since you first arrived. “I used to promise him and his sister that I’d bring them here someday.”

He sniffed and squeezed your hand a little tighter, shutting his eyes so his tears couldn’t glisten in the moonlight.

“I wish I brought them here when they were still alive,” he choked slightly on his words, “But all I ever did was spread their ashes here.”

You shut your eyes, fighting back your own tears while he trembled against you.

“I’m just so tired,” he broke down into tears, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You let go of Bobby’s hand and pulled him closer to you, cradling his head gently.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I-I’m-,”

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bobby was always everyone’s shoulder to lean on, but that never meant he was immune to what came with the job. Just maybe a little better at hiding it than everyone else.

“You’re allowed to be tired,” you told him. “Allowed to not be okay, you’re allowed to miss them, Bobby. But you’re not allowed to deal with this alone. There’s always someone out there who cares for you, whether it’s me, or Buck, Chim, Hen, Eddie. We all love you. I love you.”

It wasn’t an uncommon exchange of words between you and your teammates, but something this time made it feel different.

Bobby nodded his head again and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his sweater.

He lifted his head from your shoulder and turned to look at you. It was clear you could both do with a little rest and relaxation, but this was one of those moments where life goes on, with or without you.

He gently cupped your cheek with his hand and leaned down slightly to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too.”

You closed your eyes for a moment at the sound of those words. It was the best way he knew how to say thank you for looking out for me. You took his hand in yours again and pushed yourself up off the sand.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

He followed your lead and grabbed his phone from next to him, before walking with you, side by side away from the shore.

All those times, spent alone by the water and all he ever really needed was someone to bring him home.

[carefulfears]

how do you see mulder leaving in season 9? scully giving up william? how do they deal with these things? (their guilt, resentment, futility, etc)

i know i have a realllllllly unpopular opinion on all of this but as i've said recently, i just don't think there's anything easier on earth to convince mulder of than "things are safer if you're not here."

i usually come back to doggett's confusion in the beginning, the way he keeps asking and arguing and scully just keeps saying "he's gone" and shutting it down, until the end of the premiere when he realizes: "oh my god. it was scully. scully made him go."

god, it's sad. it's hard to talk about. i teared up trying to write this, as much as i am fonder of the storyline than most. i don't find it unrealistic or out of character or unfitting of the narrative. it doesn't mean i don't feel it's heartbreaking. i have such a hard time thinking of mulder missing that baby. not even having the chance to put up a fight, walking back into empty rooms. the show as a tragedy, finding your burden again, etc. the x-files as the gap between teary smiles at baby kicks to screams in a jail cell. as what it was in the beginning: unknowable answers to insurmountable grief.

and i just think about mulder's dramatic emails, writing that he doesn't think he can survive being away from them. spender looking at the baby and telling scully he's heard "so much" about him. mulder being tortured by soldiers, saying he's just thinking about his son. keeping 1 baby photo for 15 years. "i just missed both of you so much."

scully's fertility treatments and her prayers and her tears and her "last chance" and her miracle. and how deeply unfair it is, what happened to her. i don't think a single one of us could say what we could do if people kept breaking into our homes to suffocate a child we were still nursing. she didn't ever want to do it alone, that was never the plan.

but scully desperately wants to keep everybody safe. she thinks she’s keeping everybody safe. it’s hard to be starbuck. it's this conflict i keep talking about recently where you really start to notice how controlled she is by fear, how difficult it is for her to balance it all. my favorite visual on this is the gate at the house in i want to believe: every day the way she pulls up to it, gets out, opens it, pulls through, stops, gets out, closes it. repeat in reverse. and then she comes home and she says "the truth is, i worry about you." and that he's too isolated. turns around and shuts the door, leaves the house and locks the gate.

i wrote a bit a few weeks ago about scully's protectiveness and it made me think about what a trap it can be, how defending lends to fear and fear lends to defeat. to standing in a church 25-years deep and saying "i failed." in the tags of that post i asked "could they ever recover from her exiling him from being with their child because she was afraid it would kill him?" and said i don't know. and i don't, i don't know.

but i think there's something so brave in saying: i did the best i could, and maybe that wasn't right. it's why ghouli is one of my favorite episodes. scully sobbing to her son that she's sorry. she's sorry he doesn't know them. she wanted him, they loved him. "i was trying to keep you safe. i hope you know that." and she thought she was being strong, but maybe she was wrong.

things don't always shake out the way you want them to. it was always mulder that called their son a miracle, and mulder doesn't believe in miracles. mulder believes in the world, and the search, and the after.

[strayheartless]

I’m thinking of liverpepper… and it’s making me sad.

So here, have a AU brain dump over cloud and his Geostigma:

I know we’ve seen Mako drawn as tablets, but I kind of imagine Clouds Mako days as being either injections like steroids or him having to go to the hospital for specific mako treatment, like chemotherapy.

Cloud was off school a lot. As a result he had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to keep up and graduate. His friends always brought him his homework, but there were some teachers (you know the ones) who made him feel guilty about how often he got laid up.

Like it got bad enough that now Cloud kind of has a complex about it as an adult, and Leon has to keep reminding him that he’s not weak for letting his body heal.

We know (from sora) that Mako used to affect his memory, make him pretty much a zombie. But I imagine that it’s worse straight after treatment. Like he’ll be in bed for two or three days but then for the next week -maybe two if it’s bad- Cloud kind of used to walk around in a haze. Squall, Zack, Tifa and Aerith used to tag team on who would guide him from lesson to lesson.

Squall used to act as a bit of a body guard with Zack. If anyone dared gossip about Cloud or try to make his day more difficult while he was vulnerable, they’d end up having the terrible twosome descend on then. Turns out there a lot of ways you can threaten someone without getting caught.

Cloud didn’t stop taking Mako until age 18. And he absolutely has been hospitalised by it.

He’s had Mako poisoning twice, and each time people truly thought he would die.

He was part of a clinical trial for materia to begin with, and it meant he had to forgo Mako treatments for 4 months (to get it out of his system) before they could start him on Materia.

Those four months were probably the most fraught and painful of his life. He spent most of it asleep and in agony, while Squall refused to leave him ‘just incase’. The entire friend group rallied to try and make it easier.

The first month on Materia was also not fun. Lot of knew side effects while his body got used to it. Some got easier, some he still has. He doesn’t suffer from tinnitus or depth perception issues anymore, but he still has periodic bouts of insomnia. He also deals with almost chronic heart burn.

Materia doesn’t effect his memory like the Mako, but it doesn’t help either. The Mako did a serious number on his brain tissue, and while doctors are sure his brain will recover, it seems to be a long arduous process.

Sometimes Cloud requires a mobility aid. Sometimes a cane, sometimes crutches, sometimes -if it’s bad- he needs a wheelchair to get round a supermarket or mall. It depends on the day, the spoons and the sores.

The first thing Cloud demanded be done when they adopted Sora and Roxas, was that they get them checked for the Geostigma Gene. He knows they are not - biologically speaking -able to get it from him, but Leon agrees just to settle Clouds anxieties about it.

Nowerdays his Geostigma is the most manageable it’s ever been, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Lockdown was scary In their house. It’s no exaggeration to say Squall whipped down every surface, sanitised every piece of food packaging, made sure anybody with even a sniffle quarantined as soon as it happened. And Cloud -for all his griping that it was fine appreciated it.

after lockdown rules started easing Sora and Roxas started feeling super anxious about going out incase the brought something back. Because it wasn’t a joke to them.

Cloud himself dealt with a sudden surge of powerful anxiety even going out the front door.

Squall got him one of those sunflower lanyards, that lets people know you are immunocompromised, and it helps a little, but they all felt different about going outside.

These are just a few thinly thoughts.

[chainoftalent]

would it be a bit much to ask for the whole yandere profile for shuichi? 👉👈

I am NOT late to this ask it is NOT over a month old I am ON TOP OF THINGS forever and ever, (tw: dark content, plus nsfw and noncon themes below the cut)

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Shuichi is mostly lucid accept around you specifically, to everyone else when you're not around he's lucid, sharp, and his usual shy self. However with you he kinda gets...rose tinted glasses. Nothing he does to you is bad, and nothing you do to him is bad. There's always some other thing that's making it bad. You're not the bad one it's your friends making you be bad, he's not being abusive, he's just trying to protect you but he got a bit overwhelmed. It's fine! We're happy. Do not try and tell him you're not he'll get mad

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Decently high, if you're the kind of person who has few friends and never leaves the house he'll probably just move in. However if you're not a shut-in seeing you interact with people who don't do it like he thinks they should will grate on him until he nabs you for a greater good

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

The first attempt is the easiest because of his delusion that you're happy, however once he learns you're gonna try it gets HARD, he's a detective after all. He knows lots of stuff about manipulation, containment, and the like. Prepare for so many secret cameras and bugs!

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Hard, unless you REALLY play into his desires for family and love. He's a sap and weak for you, but he's still smart. Playing along makes him easier to manipulate.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Decently lenient, he doesn't WANT to punish you, and he blames everyone else for your misdeeds. He's more likely to give you a sad puppy look, but he can get serious. He's not afraid to get physical if he thinks he has to, and he's not afraid to take away rights. Speaking of rights, you'd be mostly allowed to just be yourself besides intense monitoring. However, he wants his soft fluffy fantasy, so he's going to feed into that, which means soft clothes for his love, and nothing overly engaging, nothing that's not saccharine sugary sweet. You wanna read a tragedy? Nope. You wanna play a tough game? Sorry guns aren't very kawaii of you we can't have that.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

For what it's worth the rules aren't too complex, let him dote on you, don't try and escape, don't talk to anyone unworthy, and don't disobey him. Simple basic stuff for what it's worth.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He'll either try and make them go away through social manipulations, or just straight up frame them. He doesn't like to get bloody about it, but if they push him hard enough he will.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

His anger is a held back anger, a dark look in his eyes and a wrinkle in his brow from his pinched face. It's a deep calming breath and tightening hands, it's a voice that's trying to sound steady but you know it's not asking why you couldn't just let him do this for you. Do not push back against him and his affections if you don't want him angry.

Do they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

His love is absolutely above him, so perfect and kind, he must have more.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's SO DETERMINED he's DESPERATE to fix his abandonment issues via the person he falls in love with, he won't stop.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

He's more shy, while he gets a bit more firm once he has control over the situation, he's still shy and awkward and likely to hide behind his hat.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's touchy, but a shy touchy. He loves to touch his love, but he's the type to brush a face with his thumb, go bright red, and then pull away because he's too shy. Once he starts to get used to it though, his hands are going EVERYWHERE to make his love feel good, to hold his love closer.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He wants you to want it, but if he thinks it'll make you feel better or happy, your willingness is second to your pleasure.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He's got such a body worship thing and a praise thing, he needs to be slow and soft and tie up his love in silk and ribbons and worship them and praise them and make them feel so sososo good.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

YES YES YES he wants like 2-3 kids and a white picket fence and to hold hid kids close and love them very much and make sure they weren't left alone like he was.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

They don't do those kinds of punishments, the furthest I can see him going is a gag and maybe some spanking from bad behavior.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

They love it all really, but their thighs, their arms, it's all so good to him.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

My friend (who I'll call Kay) who plays TWST actually told me something very interesting but also pretty messed up. I might get some stuff wrong but hear me out.

You know how Trey pretty much never called out Riddle whenever he did something wrong because he believed that Riddle's the way he is because of his parents? Which is true but most (if not all) of Riddle's controlling behavior is Riddle's own choice.

Well, Kay said that had MC and ADeuce not stepped in, not only would this had continued (and most likely gotten worse) and Riddle got a job, married and became a father, he would be a carbon copy of his mother: mistreating his spouse and child, all the while being hailed as a respected mage in his homeland. And Trey would still not step in because he still believes that Riddle's the way he is because he's too busy feeling bad for Riddle and himself for not helping Riddle.

Of course, this is just my friend's theory and I highly doubt Trey would let something like that slide.

***CONTENT WARNING: this post discusses themes of generational trauma and familial abuse!!***

I mean, that’s assuming Riddle doesn’t Overblot from rage and die from it before graduation, right 🥲 He was already in that downwards spiral before Yuu, Ace, Deuce, and Grim called him out for his tyranny…

The “what if” scenario being proposed here reminds me of this theory that someone else posed; basically, it suggests that maybe Mama Rosehearts also had a similar childhood as Riddle, so her treatment of him is her perpetuating what was imposed onto her in her girlhood and feeding into generational trauma and a cycle of abuse. Of course, this theory is mainly speculation rather than based on concrete evidence (since we don’t actually know a ton about Mama Rosehearts), but it’s still an interesting concept to consider 🤔

One point I’d like to clarify is that it isn’t outright stated that Mama Rosehearts mistreats her spouse (although it could definitely be inferred) or in what she ways she mistreats him. Riddle says in one of his Groom-for-a-day voice lines that he wishes the Queen of Hearts would impart the secret to a happy marriage with his own parents, implying that his mother and father have a rocky relationship. Many popular fan interpretations for Papa Rosehearts is that he is meek and cannot stand up for himself (similar to the King of Hearts), but to be honest, Papa Rosehearts could be just as toxic as his wife is; we don’t know for certain.

In any case, that would have been a sad and dark path for Riddle to go down 😔 Having the public image of a respectable and talented mage with a perfect family while that same family is falling apart at the seams behind the scenes… yikes. The more optimistic part of me’s like, “No way would Trey stand for that!! He’d hit a breaking point eventually and do/say something to Riddle!!” … But the less optimistic part of me’s going, “That’s a tough situation to be in. I don’t know what I’d do if I were Trey.”

When I really think about it 😔 I think Trey would not find the courage to intervene (at least not on his own). This isn’t to say that he’s a bad person, but I’m just thinking realistically. It’s difficult for someone—anyone—to stick their nose into another family’s “business”, especially while dealing with the intense remorse that Trey probably is. And the more Trey puts off telling Riddle (which, let’s be fair here, he already has been doing), the easier it will become for him to keep perpetuating those excuses, the more guilt will rack up from him not acting or saying anything before. It’ll get worse and worse, probably to the point where it starts to wear at Trey’s own mental health and wellbeing 🥲 He needs a hard push from an outside force maybe Chenya to really spring into action, because Trey is also in need of a good telling-off 💦

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Xóchitl's home PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw), Mateo (@fearhims3lf), & Xóchitl (@vanishingreyes) SUMMARY: Wyatt and Mateo decide it's time to tell Xóchitl the truth about what they are. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death (past mentions), vomiting (no detail)

—

He’d been unreachable for a few days again. His friends might as well start getting used to that, he thought—Wyatt just dropping off the radar for days at a time. It seemed like no matter what he did, it was always the wrong thing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep himself together. He was unraveling, bit by bit, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

There were only a few things that could make him feel better, and even those paled in comparison to the one thing he knew he wanted, but should not want. It didn’t stop him, though. Kieran had been a saving fucking grace through most of this, offering a peace of mind that didn’t require any legwork on Wyatt’s part. No difficult conversations, no ‘coming to terms’ with one’s predicament, no dealing with the aching sadness that was shackled around his ankles. With Kieran, or more specifically, Kieran’s special blend of magical influence, it was easy. As easy as breathing. When he needed to, he could just… forget for a while. Feel good for a while. Enjoy himself and ignore the cloud that followed him around and the shadow that kept trying to strangle him. 

But now he had Xóchitl and Mateo, didn’t he? What had started to develop with them was new and exciting, and even though it wasn’t quite so effortless as the situation he had with Kieran, he found himself wanting to try. Wanting to do better, to be better, maybe just to prove that he could. God, he just wanted someone to be proud of him, and if anyone was going to, he thought it might be them. But there was something standing in the way. Something big—something he and Mateo both needed to discuss with Xóchitl. At first, he’d been thinking about just telling her himself, but now that he knew Mateo’s truth, it didn’t feel right to open that can of worms without the mare at his side. Maybe together, they could make this easier for her. He hoped so.

As it seemed to have become their custom, Wyatt helped Mateo prepare some food for the three of them that evening with a stiffness in his spine that wasn’t normally there, but managed to persist all throughout dinner and the first round of drinks. They’d discussed how best to bring this up, how to explain it and how to make sure it didn’t freak her out, but Wyatt was nervous. He’d been rejected so many times in recent memory, he wasn’t sure if he could handle Xóchitl turning away from him, too. From either of them, or both of them. Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair, throwing a glance toward the couch where Xó was currently sitting alone, waiting for them to rejoin her with fresh beverages. 

The worry was clear in his expression, eyes betraying the lurking fear. “I dunno,” he said in a low whisper, careful to not be heard over the sound of the television. “Maybe tonight ain’t the night for it.”

—

There was a lot that could be said about the last few months of her life, and a lot of that which could be not so great, but some of it was really good. Xóchitl didn’t like to be overly excitable – after all, that usually ended in disappointment. But she had people who wanted her, and though that itself wasn’t necessarily new (she’d used people wanting her too much throughout her life to distract herself from any number of other trains of thought), it still felt different, somehow. Miraculously. She very much enjoyed the attention, and the addition of Wyatt into whatever was going on felt near-seamless. Like it was meant to be. What had started as casual remarks had turned out to be far more real, and she needed this. Needed the stability that both Mateo and Wyatt provided her. The safety and security. 

She wasn’t stupid enough to believe that this was all sunshine and rainbows. That version of her had died on that same April day that she lost her best friend, her other half, the sunlight to her shadow (that much had been thought of in a particularly angsty middle school mood). What was more accurate was probably that Mackenzie herself was a shadow. Xóchitl’s shadow, more specifically. Something she’d never be rid of, something that was a part of her, that she couldn’t carve off even if she wanted to.

Not that she wanted to, but sometimes she’d wondered what it would be like without the ghost (figurative, obviously) of her best friend over her shoulder her entire life. She had a good feeling that was a good portion of the reason why she was so certain she’d be an awful mother. She already had a child she was watching over (two, if you counted her inner child or whatever bullshit one of her therapists had come up with), and she was doing a pretty crummy job of that.

Mateo and Wyatt were both over tonight, and yeah, maybe Xóchitl had bought a new dress that she knew every part of her looked extra good in, and the two of them were off in the kitchen making something that she knew would be every bit of delightful, and she sat on the couch. Dinner had already been wonderful, and she couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if she should go and offer to help, but ultimately deciding to fidget instead with her glass. She pulled out her phone and looked at the photo-of-a-photo of her and Mackenzie. Tongues sticking out, both bright blue, eyes squeezed as shut as they could make them, arms effortlessly wrapped around each other. “I’m gonna make things right for you, you know?” She whispered at the screen, and then, in Spanish, “I promise. On my life and on every single ice cream sundae you never got to have.”

—

Sticking around in one place wasn’t supposed to happen, let alone growing attached to people. Two, specifically. Doing that was dangerous, the amount of reasons a little overwhelming and mounting. The ones from Mateo’s job alone should’ve deterred him from doing such a thing. 

And yet…

He scrubbed at the dishes while Wyatt topped off the drinks, bobbing his head absentmindedly to the song quietly playing from the speakers on the counter, while something played just a little louder on the television. 

The drums, the bass, and the rhythm kept his brain occupied for the merest of moments, sending them back to the days he felt were so simple. Afternoons after a carne asada at his tías house, all his cousins and his brother congregated at the special club house they made. It was just a detached set of stairs from a thrown out mobile home, but it was theirs. They could sit on it and jump on it and play pretend while their parents talked into the night, playing lotería to top it all off. The memories were so vivid that the dishes in Mateo’s hands turned into playing cards, and the music was just Junior shouting for him to freeze during freeze tag, and the knife—it wasn’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to—His brother—

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, skin on his thumb sliced. Glitter collected in the wound and the mare grumbled just before hearing Wyatt’s hesitancy. Quickly, Mateo pressed a clean rag against his wound in a fist while his other hand urged Wyatt’s chin to turn to him. His expression was as soft and calm as he could make it, reflecting gently on his voice. “If not tonight, then when? We’ll only keep putting it off.” Mateo leaned in slowly, meeting Wyatt’s lips in a soft kiss. Pulling away, he adjusted his red shades and tilted his head down to reveal his glowing eyes with a smirk. “Can’t keep looking like a douche with sunglasses inside, okay?” Checking his thumb, Mateo was happy to see that the bleeding was done, and he patted his hands against his pants before getting himself ready to head to the living room.

“Now get the orange peel garnish onto those drinks. They’ll take off the edge.”

—

The fingertips on his jaw as his head was turned to face Mateo drew a soft groan from him, one that was born both of anxiety and the ever-present need to be touched. His steely blue gaze dropped to the other’s hand, having registered the quiet exclamation and spotting the rag in the hand. “I know, but…” The thought went unfinished as he was offered a kiss instead, which did manage to help calm his nerves a little. But only a little. The following joke chipped away another nugget of fear, making Wyatt chuckle breathily. Mateo was right, of course. This wasn’t sustainable at all, for a lot of reasons. One of which included the injuries that Xóchitl would undoubtedly start noticing, now that he had fewer excuses to keep himself away from her while he healed after a fight. He was… he was going to tell her all of it. He had to. He couldn’t handle the pressure of keeping secrets from her anymore, and he didn’t want to have to. He just hoped that she’d be able to find it in herself to understand.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, picking up an orange from the fruit bowl sitting on the counter, rummaging around in the drawers for a moment before finding the peeler and getting to work making the garnishes. Twisting them into spirals, making sure the vapors landed in the drinks, Wyatt plopped them where they belonged and picked up two glasses, leaving the third for Mateo to grab. “Your finger okay?” he asked as they began to walk into the living room again, hesitating on the threshold for only a moment before entering the space and handing Xóchitl her new drink once he was close enough. He sat on one side of her, Mateo taking up his post on the opposite side, and he could feel his heart racing. How did you even… start this conversation? He glanced apprehensively at Mateo again, clearing his throat and taking a sip of the cocktail before setting it aside and reaching for the remote to mute what they’d been watching. The music still played softly from the kitchen, and he was glad that it wasn’t dead silent. 

“Hey, so… there’s somethin’... we wanna, uh, talk to you about.” He stumbled through the sentence, smiling awkwardly for the briefest of moments to at least indicate to her that it wasn’t bad… at least not in any way that Xóchitl might have been anticipating. Wyatt paused, leaning forward to prop an elbow on his knee, pushing his fingers over his mouth in a thoughtful gesture. He sucked in a sharp breath, but nothing was coming to him. I’m not human. It was that simple, but it wasn’t fucking simple at all, actually. His gaze jumped from the random spot on the floor he’d been staring at to instead find Mateo’s gaze, begging silently for help.

—

She had to admit, all the attention was even better than she’d imagined. Xóchitl was also fairly pleased with herself and with the fact that she didn’t feel jealous about whatever Mateo and Wyatt got up to on their own. She’d wondered if she might, but that was the beauty of this, wasn’t it? They could pair off and do whatever they wanted to with each other, or they could do things all three of them. It left many options open, and she appreciated each one.

Xóchitl could practically feel herself brighten as the two of them entered the room. Taking the drink from him and an immediate sip, she looked between the two men, posture going tight when Wyatt muted the television and didn’t just turn it off. It probably meant nothing, but ever since coming back from Ireland, she had been more easily spooked, and unfortunately and apparently that even included by some of the people she trusted most. She loathed psychoanalyzing herself (she’d hated it enough when people had been paid to do it), and much preferred to just let herself be. Or not be, a lot of the time. Drinking helped with that. She didn’t know if this drink was strong enough, but she wasn’t going to complain. 

She often only complained if it brought her some sort of pleasure, and putting down Wyatt or Mateo wouldn’t do that. Besides, the drink was probably plenty strong. She just had a weirdly high tolerance for these things. If weirdly high was what they were calling it these days. Which, of course, they weren’t, but she wasn’t exactly about to go around naming exactly what it was. It was obvious enough, Xóchitl figured, and she was at least usually careful enough for it not to be any real worry.

Something they wanted to talk to her about. Xóchitl took a deep breath and another giant gulp of her drink, before she set it on the table. “If you two want to just be a duo, that’s… fine.” Xóchitl looked between the two of them, though her poker face wasn’t as well-kept as usual. She knew it said but what about me? And Xóchitl didn’t mean for it to, because she was usually a jealous person, but she liked to think that she was at least seventy percent of the reason why any of this had happened in the first place, and she wasn’t exactly keen to lose either of them. She looked between the two of them. Looked down at her hands. Rubbed her fingers against her eyes in some half-formed attempt to see better, or distract herself, or something. “What’s the matter?”

—

Ah, shit. 

The mare scrubbed at his stubble while the conversation quickly went the absolute wrong direction. “Okay.” Mateo said pointedly, clapping his hands together and seating himself next to Wyatt with a pat to his knee. He reached for one of the drinks and took a giant gulp before lightly slamming it back to the table. “That’s not where this is going, ma. Not at all. So, let’s jot that down real quick before spiraling.” He reassured as best he could with his usual humor and lax flair, but he wasn’t sure if that was the right call. Xóchitl usually appreciated it. 

Usually. 

“There’s a few things we’re trying to air out—like…like things that are important for you to know. Nothing about breaking up. No, uh, nothing like that. It’s just…” Mateo sighed deeply, frustrated with himself at being unable to just say the truth. He felt ridiculous, really. Confidence was something he never had to struggle with, but the truth? Well, Mateo ran from it, constantly. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he was even honest with himself. He knew the answer, somewhere deep down, but that didn’t really matter right then. He needed to focus, and after a squeeze to Wyatt’s thigh, Mateo decided to rip off the bandaid. Or rather, his shades, revealing his glowing red eyes. 

“It’s this.” He gestured to his eyes, swiping his drink and downing the rest of it. “We’re different.”

—

Wyatt looked taken aback at her reaction, not having expected that. At worst, he’d thought maybe she figured he was going to tell her that this situationship wasn’t something he could do, or… any number of other things, but them walking away from her together? He didn’t know what to say, gaze darting over to Mateo when he (thank fuck) grabbed onto the reins to try and stop this runaway horse. (He was a mare. There was a joke in there somewhere, but the punchline got lost in Wyatt’s anxiety.) 

Okay, so maybe Mateo wasn’t having the easiest time with this, either. How did you just tell someone ‘hey, by the way, I’m not human!’ when they were, and they so clearly didn’t believe in that kind of thing? She was going to think they were crazy, or… or something, he didn’t know what, he just knew it wouldn’t be good. He knew it was going to upset this amazing thing they had, he just hoped it wouldn’t be forever. 

“Yeah, it’s not—definitely not that,” Wyatt agreed quickly, hoping that if he picked up where Mateo had left off, the words would come.

They did not. 

Mateo squeezed his leg and he gave him a worried glance, brows raising when he saw him just… take off his glasses. The lamia stared for a few seconds in a stunned silence, then figured… yeah. Showing was way easier than telling. “... yeah. Different,” he parroted the other, dragging his gaze back to face Xóchitl, blinking away his blue eyes to instead reveal his natural yellow ones, complete with vertical slits for pupils. “We just… thought that you should know. And we want to…” his gaze darted briefly over to Mateo, then back again, “...explain it. We’re still… us.” Fuck’s sake, he sounded like a dork. He needed to shut up and let her just have a moment to react.

—

She didn’t know what, exactly, she was expecting them to say.

“Okay.” It wasn’t about breaking up. Which she’d sort of figured out already. She didn’t like to think of herself as self centered, but Xóchitl also knew that except for once, she’d never been let go out of any sort of situation she’d found herself in. She’d made sure of that. Xóchtil wasn’t going to be the one left again. Not ever. It had happened once, and she was going to do everything in her power to be a leaver, rather than someone left. Ideally neither, but she was stupid or naive enough to think that nobody ever left anybody else.

She wasn’t a child. She didn’t know when she’d last really been one.

It wasn’t the time to think about that right now, not when it made her feel sick and she very much wanted to be as level-headed as possible.

Which was becoming hard when both of their eyes changed and Xóchitl couldn’t help but let out at least the start of a scream before biting down so hard on her tongue she was nearly positive it would bleed. “I – what?” She shot up from the couch, side-stepping both of them until she was around the coffee table. “I – what?” She repeated, then in Spanish, “what is happening? What the hell is going on? This doesn’t make any sense.” Back to English, “what – I’ve never seen eyes that do that. Has it been checked by a doctor? Are you – what?”

—

Okay, so she didn’t scream, not exactly. Which had to be good. She didn’t run when she stood, but the fact that she placed distance between them and herself, albeit small, still managed to sting. After months of being what he thought was at least a decent boyfriend, Mateo was still likely now a monster in her eyes. It shouldn’t have hurt because he had lied to her the entire time, but it did. 

Regardless of that though, Mateo stood up and made a ‘calm down’ motion with his hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay, cariña. Doctors can’t check them.” When Xóchitl switched her tongue, so did Mateo. “No one we don’t know or trust can check them or know that we’re different.” He kept his voice as calm as possible, extending a hand to Xóchitl, palm faced up. 

“That’s why you get to know though. We trust you and want to still be…” Gesturing to himself and the other two with his free hand, Mateo worried his lip, only continuing after a breath. “Us. If you wanna hear us explain, it would mean a lot. And-and we’ll answer any questions you have.” He swallowed thickly, exhaling shakily as his eyes met Xóchitl’s and spoke in their native tongue. A small gesture only she was allowed to hear, like a language between lovers. Because it was. “I love you. I know it’s scary, but I needed to show you the truth. Couldn’t hide it from someone I love anymore.”

—

Wyatt wasn’t sure why he’d hoped that she’d be surprised but okay. His anxiety over having this conversation came from a place of truer understanding that it wouldn’t be okay, but still he had foolishly hoped… but she was drawing away from them, fear in her eyes and a tremble in her voice. It was expected. It was, but… 

The lamia stayed put on the couch even after Mateo stood, running a hand through his hair. He kept his gaze focused down on the floor, trying to follow the parts of conversation that switched to Spanish, but his comprehension was pretty lacking. That damn Duo owl hadn’t exactly gone over the ins and outs of having a conversation about coming out as supernatural. He felt suddenly out of place in the room and had to fight the urge to get up and leave, bouncing his leg nervously where he sat and wringing his hands. Would she kick them out? Would she never speak to them again? It was her choice, of course, and it wasn’t one Wyatt could really fault her for, even if it would hurt like hell. 

Honestly? He worried more for Mateo than he did himself. Wyatt had grown used to the rejection over the last decade and a half, he had already resigned himself to being the worst option for anyone who showed an interest in him. And while that’d always been in the back of his mind even with these two, it had been a particularly blissful blanket of ignorance that he’d wrapped himself in every time they were all together. He knew that their future almost certainly had no room for him, but now he worried that it didn’t have room for Mateo, either. This had been a joint decision between the two men, but he still felt responsible, somehow. Like his mere presence had necessitated this conversation that was forming a rift. He didn’t want to do that to them. 

But… he also wasn’t going to abandon Mateo in this, so he stayed put, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

—

Her whole body was still tense. She didn’t like it. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one that she was used to having around the two men who were sitting across the room from her. With either or both of them she usually felt safe, incredibly so. It was something she took for granted – that much she was well aware of – but she hadn’t figured the alternative was something like this. Xóchitl tugged on the ends of her hair in some falsified way of trying to ground herself. It was, at least, a better alternative than collapsing onto the couch.

Mateo was speaking to her in Spanish and that, at least, helped her focus, just a bit. She reached out, put her hand in his, her chest rising and falling with desperate, quick breaths. Mateo and Wyatt could usually calm her down easily. Wyatt had dealt with panic attacks that she’d had ten-odd years ago, in clubs or even when they went out for burgers and she saw a family with a little blonde girl. “But it’s — we’re – us?” She bit the edge of her tongue as hard as she could, forced herself to think at least a bit before she spoke.

She looked up, looked at the two people who she was completely in love with and she felt herself burst into tears, tearing her hand away from Mateo’s. “I – but what are you? What is…?” Xóchitl thought to her conversation with Emilio, to how much she still didn’t understand and still didn’t really believe. Except now was it anything other than willful ignorance? Emilio didn’t lie, Emilio knew about this stuff, and yet… her thoughts kept bouncing around, entirely out of control. “Not – I – you’re…” she shook her head. “Not – you’re not whats. Did you – do – Mackenzie – she –” This time, Xóchitl did collapse onto the floor. “She – I – she – ” she dug her nails into her thighs. “I – she was – something killed her. Not r-rocks. Not– something – something evil.”

—

It felt wrong. Everything about what was happening felt like the axis of Mateo's world had been skewed entirely too far. For the first time in a long time, the mare felt like he needed to breathe, dust rolling off his lungs as something disturbed the space and constricted uncomfortably tight in his chest. Mateo choked on air at how strange it was to not have the relief release him from his panic, and the world twisted as hard as his lungs did. 

“I…” Mateo fell back into the couch behind him, accidentally pulling Xóchitl along with him as he braced himself on Wyatt's thigh. He looked back at the man, and then back at Xóchitl, until he decided he preferred to look at the floor instead when he heard the name of a girl that never got to grow up. Killed by something evil, and Mateo didn't know how to feel about that fact now that he was airing out his truth. 

He killed all the time, and that was bad, but there was a difference to what he did. Right? There was a code to follow, morals to adhere to. Mateo would never hurt a child. Hell, he killed people that did. So there was a difference. That's what he told himself when he looked back at Xóchitl and squeezed Wyatt's thigh for reassurance. 

“I'm something called a mare-not like a horse. Like…nightmare.” His posture stiffened, “I make people have nightmares and take that energy. It's-it's why you're able to sleep through the night. I can make people sleep.” A trembled sigh stuttered past his lips, and Mateo squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and focused. “Can be evil, but I'd never hurt a kid. I…I actually go after people who do, but, uh, yeah. I'll let Wyatt say his piece.”

—

Wyatt wasn't sure what to say. He couldn’t sit here and pretend like he adhered to a strict moral code. If Xóchitl was worried about them being evil like whatever had killed her friend… he wasn't the perfect antithesis to that. Mateo might be, under a certain lens, but Wyatt? 

He sucked in a long breath, frustrated to find that yet again, he could not be his true, authentic self. But that was okay. He was used to being a pretender. At least he'd spilled every last bean to Caleb. At least he had that. Whatever they were… they were honest. And he wanted to be honest with Xóchitl too, but… how could he? How could he, when she was so fucking scared? She had every right to be. Every reason. Things like Wyatt didn't deserve innocent girls like her. It wasn't fair to her. It wasn't right. He should walk away. 

But instead, true to his own selfish nature, he stayed. He put a hand over the top of the one on his thigh, fingers curling beneath Mateo’s palm to give it a quick return squeeze. 

“There's a lot of evil things out there, cher. The best way you can make sure you're safe from ‘em is to.. to know ‘em. Learn about ‘em. Accept what you never thought was possible as bein’ true.” He paused before continuing, his attention drifting somewhere into the middle distance. “I was born different. Hell, I weren't even born like either of you.” Saying out loud that he'd hatched from an egg felt like too much right now, so he just left it at that. “I'm a… shapeshifter.” The obvious example to make to help her understand was, of course, a werewolf, but he was nothing like a werewolf. “A lamia. I don't really got any cool abilities like Doctor Sleep over here, but… I'm scrappy. Hard to kill. And it's a bit on the nose what with the bayou redneck of it all, but… I look somethin’ like a big alligator.” He dropped his chin, thinking about how he'd been lying to her all these years. “That’s… who I really am. This is…” he looked down at his human form and shrugged, “Well, this helps me fit in. I'm sorry I never said nothin’ before. Didn't know how. Still don't.”

—

In all her panic, Xóchitl realized that she hadn’t entirely taken into account their reactions. Which was unlike her – she wanted people to be happy, especially those she loved, and she did love them both. Deeply. In ways that, on a clichéd level, she didn’t think possible. But she was always meant to lose those close to her, wasn’t she? It wasn’t death, but there was no way that she could handle this, could she? Even she wasn’t sure that she could, because this was all too much.

Xóchitl wasn’t even sure that she could process what the both of them were saying. Mare-not-horse and giant alligator. Which weren’t real, but Emilio had told her things about shape-shifters and stuff like that and Emilio wouldn’t lie and she didn’t really see a reason why either Mateo or Wyatt would, either.

She was going to be sick. That much she knew. So she shook her head, darted toward the bathroom and let herself be sick into the toilet, three times over. Then she washed her mouth out with mouthwash and made her way back into the living room. “I– sorry.” She didn’t know exactly why she was apologizing, but it was all she could manage to get out.

“You – you’ve always been that, then?” She looked directly at Wyatt. “Back in Boston, too? What’s – who – Doctor Sleep?” Her brow furrowed in deep confusion. “You made me sleep? But you’re – how is that possible? How are you,” she turned back to Wyatt, “an alligator? You look like – well, you know – you look like you. This you. Is it some sort of mirage?”

—

Wyatt was talking, but the mare didn't really hear anything while anxiety crept over him. Having to explain the nitty gritty details felt uncomfortable, which was strange to Mateo because he rarely felt that way. He liked who he was, he enjoyed his abilities and the possibilities that came with them. Not aging was pretty baller, but explaining it all came with a dread Mateo had been avoiding since he died. Regardless of how much he wanted to be a mare, he had to accept the horrors that came with that decision. What it meant to die terrified. 

His own brother killed him. 

His brother killed him, saw the deepest and darkest fears that he tucked away for no one to find, and killed him. And Mateo let him do it–begged him to because he wanted the life he was currently living. He could do without some parts, but those feelings were tucked away now too. Only this time, no one would be able to find them. Mateo hoped he wouldn't either. He didn't like looking within often, and it felt like hours before Xóchitl came back after getting sick. Sitting there with a grip he didn't realize was tightening while too in thought. Mateo let out a shaky breath and cleared his throat, removing his hand reluctantly to give Wyatt's thigh a break. 

Mateo blinked and stared through Xóchitl, pausing way too long after not realizing there was a question pointed to him. His mouth opened and closed several times before something finally cracked its way through. He swallowed, “Uh, yeah. I don't sleep so I just keep an eye on you and when you, uh…” Mateo nodded his head side to side, trying to broach the next part of what he was. “When you get restless and start to wake up, I just touch your arm and you usually calm down. I mean, I don't just watch you all night either. I get up and dick around for a while and slide back in before your alarm goes off.” His voice lowered, saying the final part with fear weighing his voice. “‘Cause undead don't sleep.”

—

“Yeah.” It was said quickly, Wyatt’s voice laden heavy with guilt. “Back in Boston, too.” He was quiet while Mateo explained his own part of this a little further, leaning back on the couch and running both hands up through his hair. This sucked. This sucked a lot. 

“I mean… this is me, I guess. It ain't a trick, just… not how I was born. Not how I grew up. I learned how to change my appearance, how to look human. But I ain't ever really been human.” Dropping his hands back to his sides, he finally forced himself to meet Xóchitl’s gaze. “I know… I know this changes a lot for you. I get that. It’s weird n’ scary, n’ I get that. We both do. But…” He glanced at Mateo, his expression pained. “But it don’t change anythin’ for us, you know? We still feel the same. And we… we wanted to tell you ‘cuz we felt you deserved to know.” Clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward to rest his forearms onto his knees, the shifter dropped his gaze to the floor again. “But if it’s too much, we understand. We were ready for that. Just didn’t feel right keepin’ it all a secret no more. If it’s too much, we can leave you be.”

—

“Undead. Right. Shapeshifter…” The more she repeated the words didn’t help to make them make any more sense. “Right.” If anything, it was like when she said or wrote a word so many times that it seemed to become totally fake. Except both of those were things that Emilio had brought up, and didn’t he kill the undead? Did that mean that Mateo was in danger? Was she supposed to panic about the two men in front of her being in danger, when they were bad – because all of that sort of thing was. Except they were people and the things – the leprechauns – that had killed Mackenzie weren’t. That didn’t mean that Xóchitl was any less uneasy.

“Okay.” Xóchitl moved to go sit on the edge of the couch. Not ready to go and sit in her usual spot, in between the two of them, somewhere where she had found such an intense sense of comfort she would’ve called magic (even though it wasn’t real) but now she felt shaky, and she felt like she was going to break, nearly. She’d made it her goal to not become close to people – because she could lose them – they could die, so easily, but somehow this almost felt worse than if they’d died – which wasn’t fair to say, considering her grief hadn’t truly gotten better in twenty-two years – and she wasn’t sure how she’d deal with directly watching other people she loved die.

Her head was spinning again.

“Why now?” She picked at her nails, not caring what sort of damage came to her cuticles. Or anything. Hardly even paying attention that she was causing any sort of damage. “This is – it’s so much.” Was it too much? Probably. 

—

The mare nodded absentmindedly while Wyatt spoke, and he took the opportunity to sit back on the couch. Every now and then, Mateo's gaze would drift to Xóchitl, and they would hover over every one of her features. He was memorizing the curve of her jaw, the rise and fall of her breath, how her nose led to her brow, and the way he missed her eyes the moment she blinked. 

It felt ridiculous to feel that way, but love wasn't exactly logical, was it? That's why he was taking the risk of telling Xóchitl everything. Logic had flown out the window, and Mateo put love first. That meant being honest, even if it was at a cost. “Because if we're going to be serious, and really do this, it wouldn't have been right to not say something.” He sighed blearily, scrubbing his face. “It was the right thing to do, and like Wyatt said, we knew the risk. We just felt like you were worth that, regardless of it.”

—

Where his counterpart was taking her in, memorizing her features in case he wouldn’t be allowed to see them anymore, Wyatt was pushing himself away from the crack in their foundation, being careful not to let himself be swallowed by it. It was a familiar struggle, one he’d been through several times already, even here, in this fucking town. He remembered that night at Caleb’s, and how he’d pushed back the moment he was met with resistance. With lack of understanding. It hadn’t been Caleb, but he didn’t know that at the time, and it was just a familiar role for him to fall into. He’d stepped back, he’d let the walls rise up again and cut them off from each other. He’d grown cold and angry. 

He didn’t want that now, but it was hard to stop himself from returning to old habits. He wasn’t mad, but frustrated and anxious, and he couldn’t sit still any longer. The shifter rose swiftly to his feet, moving away from the couch to instead pace at the other side of the room. His eyes scanned their surroundings, finding the front door and lingering there. Something screamed at him to bolt, but he bit down on his tongue and focused on putting one foot in front of the other, back and forth, back and forth.

This conversation was so much easier when the person he was coming clean to was also non-human. Like with Mateo — it’d been, what, five minutes of discussion? Some surprise, and that was it? This was miserable. He hated making Xó feel so conflicted. Wouldn’t it be kinder to just leave?

“You don’t gotta figure this out now,” he blurted, coming to a halt to face them again and crossing his arms over his chest. “You can — if you need time to figure out how you feel, that’s okay.”

—

She’d been so angry for so long.

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t reacting with the anger she would’ve expected, the anger that was so tightly wound up inside of her that sometimes she wasn’t distinguishable from her sorrow.

Wyatt got up and her mouth opened to tell him to sit back down, but no words came out.

It wouldn’t have been right to not say something, Mateo said, and Xóchitl’s head spun. Maybe so, but it was also terrible to have said something. They’d decided not to lie to her any more, but she wasn’t sure if this was any better.

Her breath was unsteady and all she really wanted was for someone to hug her and squeeze her so tight that she didn’t have to think about anything else. Except she wasn’t sure she wanted either Wyatt or Mateo to touch her right now. She needed some sort of human contact – which, she supposed, they weren’t. She wanted them to be. She wanted everyone to be, and for that to make Mackenzie alive again.

“I – ” Xóchitl began. Slid off of the couch and onto the floor. “It’s so much.”

—

Wyatt rose unexpectedly, and Mateo flinched, for whatever reason. He could see the lamia eyeing the door, and for the first time in a long time, Mateo wanted to cry. There was a very real chance he'd end up alone again. It was probably for the best, if he were honest with himself. He always dragged down the people he loved, and who knows what would happen next if Mateo were to tell either of them about his even bigger secret? 

He decided to not dwell on it too much, keeping his mouth shut to not beg Wyatt to stay. To take him into consideration, despite rarely giving others a chance. Mateo knew he deserved to be alone, but god, he was also selfish. He always had been, his father made that clear. “Yeah,” He said deflatedly, moving his gaze back to the floor, “It's a lot. We don't have to stay here if you don't wanna. I wouldn't hate you for that.”

—

This wasn’t getting anywhere. They seemed to have all hit a wall, and it was making Wyatt’s anxiety spike higher and higher. 

There was a reason he was never able to maintain a romantic relationship. This was it. At the first sign of conflict, his gut reaction was to flee. Fight or flight, that was all he knew. There was little room for compromise, for bargaining, for patience and understanding. He needed people to understand him first, because he was incapable of rising above his base instincts and making time and room for someone else to decide whether or not they still liked him. Any time they showed doubt, he left. He wasn’t going to beg for love, for affection. As desperately as he wanted it, he wasn’t going to beg. 

And that’s where he always went wrong. Still, Wyatt managed to keep his feet rooted in place, but his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt lightheaded. He looked to Mateo, unable to observe Xó as her world fell apart around her any longer, unable to put his own selfish needs aside for one more second. So he focused on Mateo, and what he saw on the mare’s face didn’t make him feel any fucking better. He looked close to tears. 

He couldn’t take this anymore.

“What do you want?” he asked Xóchitl pointedly. There wasn’t malice in his voice, not exactly, but it was clear that he was stressed to hell and just wanted to get out of there if nothing of value was going to be said. “What do you want us to do?”

—

“Then leave.” She said, a whisper at first. 

“Leave!” The shouting came abruptly and too quickly in succession. “Get out.” Back to a nearly monotone voice.

Xóchitl had never had many friends, but that had always been by choice. She’d even been somewhat popular back in high school – and middle school too. She supposed being able to shop at Limited Too as much as she wanted and get one of those Coach wristlets everybody had wanted. Basic-as-fuck white girl shit, and it had somewhat been because Mackenzie had never had the chance to do that, but all the same. She’d been popular, but she’d never tried to hold on to friends.

But now she’d had people and she was going to be all alone again.

She’d had love, twice over, even, and now she was going to be alone.

“I –” Xóchitl did her best to steady her voice. “Don’t want to see either of you. I need you to get out. I – you can’t be this. I don’t…” there went her goal to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know how to puzzle this all together. I don’t know if I can, right now. So just go. Leave your keys.”

—

Mateo's world shattered with two simple words, and in his nature, he had to act out. Quietly or loudly, it didn't matter. He stood up quickly, forcing himself to not shed a tear as he finagled with his key ring to place the key to her place on the table. It slammed softly, and scraped against the wood as it slid across. Without another word, he left in a blink, disappearing without a trace. Back to where he belonged. Alone. 

—

Wyatt sighed. He wasn’t surprised, this was the end result he’d expected, but it hurt more watching Mateo flee like that. And flee he sure had. The anxiety that’d had him ready to bolt for the door leveled out pretty quickly once he had his answer, once there wasn’t any more fear of the unknown. She was done with them. He didn’t know if that meant Mateo was done with him too, but he’d figure that out later. 

With an unbothered nod, he tried not to let his anger seep through. She didn’t deserve anger, he just had too much of it inside of him, always springing at any opportunity to be let loose. His hands worked to free the key from its carabiner clip, fished from his pocket. He tossed it onto the table beside Mateo’s, then turned and left without another word, gathering his jacket near the front door and shrugging it on before stepping out into the cool night. 

Without much thought, as he started to walk out toward the road, he pulled out his phone and went to find Caleb’s name in his list of contacts. 

“... hey, you busy tonight?”

—

They both left, and it had been just what she’d asked them to do, and so then why did it feel so wrong and hollow once they were gone? It was another loss, and she’d directly brought this one on herself, but that didn’t mean that Xóchitl had to like it at all.

Their keys reflected her living room lights and she pushed them off, suddenly – off of the coffee table and onto the floor. She made her way over to the kitchen, to a fresh bottle of something – when she finally cared to look, the bottle said whiskey. She drank it all, holding onto it once again like a life preserver. Didn’t bother making it to her bed, spent a good amount of the night scrolling on her phone, wondering if maybe they would text her back. But they wouldn’t, she’d told them to leave her alone, and they were doing that.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? It had to be.

She sent an email to her work, saying she’d be out the next week, personal reasons. She had enough days banked.

[rocketyship]

That poll is so hard to vote for cause on one hand, it feels like Tiff would fit the best because of her incredibly unreliable narration matching Ted's while it would still be a subversion of the original because of the reason why she's unreliable(rose tinted glasses and extreme devotion to BE as opposed to the stuff Ted's got going on) and her pov on and relationship with BE would just be so fun to see explored and the horror of the situation being a subtle thing thats swept under the rug could be so cool.

But on the other, Evan would also kinda match with the original due to his open emotional distance and disconnect from the girls, AND it would bring a lot of fun, fresh stuff! Seems like Evan is the one who pays most attention to AM, and seeing what's happening there from his pov would be so interesting! He, just like Ellen if she would've narrated could bring up how things like being the only one of the opposite sex and gender in the group and (from what we know from the short story at least) only dark skinned person would like.. idk change perspectives on things?? I'd also love to find out more about him!

Oh, not to mention Naomi!! Having narration that is pretty damn reliable would make worldbuilding and exploration much easier and she's also got that disconnect due to her age and crystal clear memory, being able to see things as they are and were could be really refreshing in a ihnmaims universe and i really want to know what her whole deal is! Being born toward the end of the war must've made quite a difference to how a person would process everything, Ted's whole "I'm youngest so my experience is different because i barely had time to live as an adult before the nukes" wouldn't have shit on someone who wasn't even like... done w puberty.

Ooooh they'd all make for such fun narrators 😭 It's really too bad that writing takes so much time and effort or it would've been amazing to see all three's povs! I still don't know what to vote for or how the results are looking so far but im really looking forward to seeing what the results will lead to!

Maybe you have a character you have the most ideas for or would like to write most? Cause if so, that'd def help me choose what to vote.

Sorry for the wall of text(would you believe me if i said i wanted to write more? This is me trying to show restraint, didn't even write about the potential AM could have as a narrator), and i hope you have a good day!

Okay so first off, I love-love-love this response. You have such fun perspectives on these silly little au characters of mine and it makes me a little sad that you didn’t write anymore cause I definitely would have read it, especially what you were thinking about what an interesting narrator AM could be.

As to which character I have the most ideas for, is such a difficult thing to answer cause well I have so-so many. But I do want to put them out there for you so here they are:

Tiffany: narration wise, I imagine the stuff she says can and does come across as nonsensical and border line trigger happy, however sometimes she occasionally lets something slip that clues into her true feelings and that a part of her may indeed be aware of the gravity of the groups situation, however she shuts it down as she has severe attachment issues and cannot fathom how she could possibly survive without BE. Another thing I pictured is that she very often quotes the bible and other religious texts, as BE doesn’t present herself as machine and genuinely as a divine entity. I also have been toying with a scene similar to the one in the radio drama, where AM is talking to Ted about bumblebees and getting high r something. Where it is set up as the reverse. BE showing Tiff the horrors of what the radiation and world has come to (in a way that is seriously deceptive) and claiming that all she has to do is snap her fingers for it to return. It would definitely read as a story where there is total tonal whiplash from one scene to the next, so that is something to consider.

Evan: I have come up with so many pasts for all these survivors before they were “rescued” by BE, however one thing to note is that I don’t really think of these characters as just “genderbent versions of the originals”. Evan is one of the key examples of this, as in this au he is technically the original Ellen’s older brother, however he left home when she was around 12-13ish, as he didn’t like the life, college and job his family set out and tried to push him into. Unlike Ellen who was a successful engineer, who may have been a hopeless romantic based on the original text. Evan was and very much still is kind of a massive party animal. I picture him very punk but like the old kind of punk. Like he was the kind of guy to go motorcycling around the country (even into war-devastated bits, cause it was a thrill), he went to underground clubs and concerts, and sure as heck slept around and had no shame in it (both women and men if you are curious). He doesn’t want to get sentimental, he wants to live his life on the edge and BE doesn’t allow that. He constantly tries to upset her, get some kind of intense reaction from her. He tries to escape, he kicks and tries to tear open parts of her internal network. This man has tried to kill Gloria (Gloria kind of deserves it thou) and the only reactions he gets from BE is her finding him cute, amusing, or as if he just needs to be put in a corner to calm down for a bit. Truthfully he is someone who just wants to go back and experience life again, recognising that BE’s utopia isn’t living and refusing to buy into it.

Naomi: I won’t lie, Nimdok is so boring in the og story, and they definitely tried to do “something” with him in the game. I don’t like it, again different ramble. So like Evan, she is a different person. Like you said she has barely started puberty and because of BE neither her body or even her mind has really aged in anyway and she is horribly aware of this. Due to the war she has had her childhood taken from her, but now because of BE she shall never experience adulthood or growing up. Her memory hardly anything particularly helpful. She remembers exactly what BE did to the others when they first got brought to the compound, she has seen what goes down in the labs, she knows what pills are and aren’t sleeping pills, developing a habit where she will pretend to take one and spit it out if she is able to. As stated in the survivors master post, she knows BE’s blind spots and will often go there on her own. Not really to do anything, just kind of sit around. Further more, she and Evan have a way of communicating, number of blinks, which fingers moved when you spoke to them, that kind of stuff. Still she doesn’t want to escape, she knows she’ll die if she does, generally she acts more like a mediator in the group. As a narrator, I did have this idea for a few odd habits she has learned over the years. Example is that she constantly counting, time and routine is import to her, as she notices when something is wrong and that freaks her out. She also has this habit of just staring at the others for very long periods of time, especially Gloria. She clearly remembers seeing her on tv during her old life, and also remembers how she attacked her when Naomi attempted to mention it to Gloria.

Writing does take so much effort, especially for me, cause truthfully I’m always jumping back and forth on what I’m working on. On top of this au and the fic, I’m also in the process of finishing the final script and sketches for a different web comic I’ve been planning for a while, as well as a completely unrelated world building project that I’ve been at for two years now. Anyhow!! Tell me more please

[alarrytale]

“They refuse to break up though, they'd both be miserable and all they've fought for over these years would be for nothing.“

A couple days ago there was a discussion at Gina’s asking her opinion about their relationship and she said something like even she doesn’t know if they are still together, she believes they are and would be sad if they manage to break up after everything they’ve been through. And it make me think and came up with some theories. First of all, I’m optimistic in the believe that after all they’ve been going through and how 1dhq/sony/syco whatever tried to tear them apart but they made it (literally like Louis is singing haha) what would be a point of those fights, surviving multiple stunts/beards and inventing such a way of communication like were rainbow bears if at the end of the day they call it quit after some sort of disagreement? I believe being on this long relationship you just rather find compromises and solutions and work for your relationship than just throw the towel into the ring and give up. And another reason, from learning a bit from local gay community (my close friend is gay), I believe when you find your perfect match, you just work for your relationship because it’s also possible you won’t find your soulmate in years and maybe never again because a) it’s still a minor community, b) let’s be honest, they are very promiscuous and I just see how hard is to find a serious relationship for my friend. And if I’m not wrong, most of famous openly gay men are in long term relationships because (i believe that since they) once found their soulmate, they just lock it up than date for a year f.e., break up and move to another relationship. That’s my theory I made after thinking about them and how they are just perfect for each other literally getting it all serious while still being teenagers. What are yours, Marte?

Hi, anon!

I've said this a million times before, but it bears repeating. If they'd broken up we'd know. Not just a hunch, not just a feeling or a notion, but we'd know for sure. I've talked about the signs before of a break up between them so i'm not going to repeat myself.

I agree with some of your points (without perpetuating stereotypes about the queer community). I agree that gays have a more difficult time finding life long partners and that they face more scrutiny, and it's more challenging for them to maintain a relationship. So if you've found the one, the love of your life, the one that just gets you, the one that makes life easier and your days brighter, the one you call first when you're happy or sad, and you have made it though challenges, made it though good times and bad, funerals and births, and think you can deal with everything that comes your way as long as you stick together, then you fucking fight for that relationship. In H and L's case they've faced so much pressure to break up. Their careers would be a hundred times less stressful and difficult if they just broke up. But they refuse to. Not only because they love each other, but because they shouldn't have to break up in order to have a career in music. They have faith in themselves and the world. They would be accepted and so loved if they were allowed to be out. So they stick together and continues their career, despite the attempts to break them up and break them down.

We're the greatest

It's you and me until the end

Life for us is never over

[justinewt]

For the Greater Good - TMR REWRITE Chapter Ten

[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: After Teresa called WICKED on them when the group had just reached the Right Arm that same day, Minho and Grace were both abducted by the organization while their friends barely made it out. Thomas had to watch his sister and one of his closest friend get dragged onboard of the helicarrier, unable to do anything to help them. For 6 months, they were locked up in a facility and experimented on until Thomas, Newt and a back-from-the-dead Gally came to their rescue.

Words: 7.3k

Warnings: TMR Death cure spoilers, angst, mental torture, medical experiments, needles, restraints, violence

Grace tilted her head back and she stared at the overhead lights with a heavy sigh. Her muscles felt so sore. She pulled at her wrists in frustration, but she was handcuffed to a chair, in a small room with a table and another chair facing each other like the one where Janson had briefly questioned Grace and Thomas back when they got to the facility, except this room was bright and white. Her heart ached as she remembered her brother struggling against Jorge, trying to get to her and Minho to save them, calling out their names, yelling at the top of his lungs. She feared what they were going to do to her and Minho here. It had only been a day since they were taken from the Right Arm camp, which went up in flames after WICKED came. All because of Teresa. Grace heard the handle move and the door open. A guard held out the door to no other than Teresa. She dared to greet Grace with a friendly smile. She was met by a death stare.

“How are you feeling?” She sat in front of Thomas’ sister as the door was closed behind her. Grace stared at her without saying anything. Teresa sighed softly, joining her hand on the table. She was trying so hard to come off as welcoming and agreeable, but Grace would never let her forget what she did to all of them by betraying them. “If your muscles are still hurting a little, it’s normal. It should be gone in a couple days.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Grace finally spoke, though her words were referring instead to the knife she had stuck in their backs. She was bitter and resented Teresa. Straightening up, she asked, “Where’s Minho?”

“He is being checked by a doctor. Just like you were, when you were still passed out.”

“I want to see him.”

“I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t think Janson and Chancellor Paige will allow that.”

“Do you like that? Huh? Being WICKED’s dog?” Grace asked. She didn’t have to raise her voice very much to let her anger show. Teresa looked at her like she was sad to see her react like this, as if it was surprising after what happened.

“Look, Grace, I came here to tell you something. I’m sorry it had to happen this way, really, but… we need you to help us.”

“You need my blood, not me. Why are you even here acting like you’re trying to bargain with me? Why do you act like you care?”

“This could all be so much easier if you agree to help us.” As she was talking, the door opened, and Janson walked in. He sized up Grace and stood by the table, hands behind his back.

“She’s right. This could all be so much easier if you just agree to help us. Because you know, that if you’re being too difficult… we will take what we want from you anyhow.” He threatened her with this annoyance in his eyes contradicting the smile on his face. “We have much to do right now. We’ll deal with her later, take her to her room.”

He waved nonchalantly at Grace, and she was grabbed by two soldiers who entered as he left. They grabbed her by the arms and not giving her time to get support on her feet, she was dragged out of the room and brought down the corridors. They passed many people in white coats and continued without stopping until they reached a door. At eye level along the wall was a window that looked out into the room within. It was a small room with a single bed with white sheets and blankets and a small light wooden table against the wall, with a chair. A guard slipped a card in a slot provided for this purpose, next to the door and a beep signalled the opening of the latter. She was pushed inside. They left her in handcuffs, and she turned back to the door, which beeped again as it locked. She also realized that the window was obscured from inside the room. They could see her, but she was cut off from what was going on in the halls. She sat on the bed and let her head fall on the pillow. She had no idea what Teresa wanted to tell her. Janson had cut their conversation short after probably being too annoyed by Grace’s behaviour. She was way too angry to comply and be obedient anyway.

As the days passed, Grace felt more and more on edge. She was locked in a room in which we could observe her without her knowledge and the lights were never turned off, which made her have a lot of trouble sleeping. She wasn't doing anything the whole day and the time seemed excruciatingly long. She thought that maybe they were trying to wear her out and push her to the edge so she would be too exhausted to fight back, or maybe they were just preparing the next tortures she would be subjected to. The only time she had some interactions was when she was brought food, and even then, the guards weren’t the most talkative, or when she was taken to get some blood drawn. It was really bugging her how they were just leaving her alone. She knew something was coming, and she also knew that she wouldn’t like it, whatever it would be. After a couple weeks, she was visited again by Teresa, directly in her room this time. The door buzzed loudly, and she sat up on her bed. The woman walked in, followed by an armed soldier.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling the chair away from the table and sitting down.

“Are you going to ask me that every time you talk to me?”

“I’m just being mindful. You might believe me, but I care about your wellbeing, and Minho’s.” Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t fooling Grace. “I really need to have this talk with you, and I would prefer to do it myself. Janson won’t be as patient.”

“Oh, you’re so kind.” Grace rolled her eyes, pulling at the handcuffs, looking away from Teresa.

“We have been running tests on the blood samples we collected from you, Minho, and the others. You must have notified we weren’t taking you out of your room very often. We compared—”

“Get to the fucking point already.” Grace cut her off, sighing.

“We discovered something in your blood. The enzyme your brain produces is 110 percent more efficient against the flare.” She sounded excited and happy about what she was telling her, but it was all gibberish to her ears. “Not only do your body fights off the flare, but it also controls it. It’s as if it was assimilating to your system, rendering it harmless to you. You’re more immune than anyone else we’ve seen. Even more than Thomas.”

Grace instantly looked back at Teresa when she mentioned her brother. What she was saying was somehow not very surprising. This was a theory she had ever since she saw them draw so much blood from her at the facility in the desert. And now, she had the confirmation that there was something more about her and her blood, something that was very interesting and precious to WICKED. They probably already knew about it but needed a lot of her blood to run a few more tests and be sure. In any case, they took their time doing it.

“So? What now?” Grace enquired, holding her hands tightly to keep from fidgeting with her fingers.

“We are on the right track to synthesize a cure, thanks to you, Grace.” The latter glanced at Teresa. She would never get out of here if she was their golden ticket to a cure. They would never let her go and it made her grow anxious. So anxious about what they would do to her to get it that she was petrified. “We still need to conduct a few tests, and we need to find someone to try it on but we’re positive we can do it.”

“And why are you telling me this? They don’t need my permission to make me their lab rat.” Grace spat through her gritted teeth.

“I don’t want them to hurt you, that is why.” This made her let out a chuckle. She didn’t believe her anymore. She didn’t believe she actually cared, because she jeopardized the safety of everyone to get here and to get to this. Grace surprised herself when she spoke.

“I’ll agree to help you.” She turned her head to Teresa. “But I have a couple conditions.”

“Tell me.”

“I want them to conduct tests and shit, only on me. Not on Minho, or the others. I won’t fight back… if they leave him alone. Torture me not him.”

“You won’t be tortured, Grace—”

“Don’t bullshit me, please. Just go tell them and get on with it.” She looked away, gulping quietly. Teresa said she would go talk to Paige and see what she could do, promising her to do her best but she didn’t care about her worthless promises. She didn’t meet Teresa’s gaze again when she left and had a gloomy face, staring into space, as if she had signed her death certificate. To ensure Minho’s wouldn’t be tortured by WICKED, she had negotiated that everything be done to her, without having the slightest idea of ​​how far their experiments would go and that thought alone made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew that if Minho was here, he would have never let her do this, but he wasn’t, and she didn’t want them to hurt him for the sake of science when they already had what they needed to make a cure with her. If she could ensure he would be safe, she was ready to do anything, even if it led to her death, though she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She wanted to see her brother again. She wanted to Newt and all her friends again. She wanted to see Sonya again and get to know her, which she would never be able to do if she died at the hands of WICKED. It took until the next day for Teresa to come back. She talked to Chancellor Paige, and she had agreed to leave Minho out of this, the only condition was for Grace to never be difficult and agree to every test they would need to do. She agreed and knew it was going to be a long way to hell.

Her bare feet sinking into the snow, Grace walked on without really knowing where to go. Strangely, she didn't feel the cold, despite the fact that she wasn't wearing shoes or a jacket. Her clothes were thin, but she didn't seem to mind the temperature, which was probably in the negatives given the snow that was falling nonstop. She saw a forest straight ahead. There was nothing else on the horizon, so she headed there with a quiet step. As she approached the edge of the forest, she heard someone calling her, which caused her to go deeper into the woods, so that soon she found herself in the shade of the trees and of their tall, thick foliage. She walked blindly, following the voice that echoed around her. She only realized after getting too far into the forest that the snow had disappeared around her. She stepped on a branch that creaked under her foot. Suddenly, everything became silent, and the atmosphere changed drastically. The air became heavy and thick, and she found it harder and harder to breathe. Gasping for air, she held her hands to her throat and collapsed.

She was choking and there was nothing she could do. She closed her eyes for a second and as she tried to take deep breaths, she felt water seep through her nose and mouth and found herself banging furiously against a glass wall. This time, she felt the coldness in the water she was immersed in, right down to her bones. She wanted to hold her breath but the water she had already breathed made her cough and take deeper breaths. His vision was blurring. She no longer had the strength to hit the glass in front of her and her body shook with a brutal spasm, then another and she felt like falling into an abyssal void. Everything was dark around her. She let go and opened her eyes when she heard the heartbreaking cry of a Griever. Without thinking she took a deep breath and felt air fill her lungs, but the relief was short lived. She got up and quickly realized that she was in the labyrinth, in the middle of the night. She didn't even try to understand the meaning of everything that was happening, as if it seemed normal. There was a second screech that echoed through the corridors of the maze, and she began to run at full speed, not even knowing if she was getting closer to the monster or if she was moving away from it. She didn't care about being barefoot, she just ran breathlessly, terrified of coming face to face with one of her half-machines, half-organic creatures.

Taking a turn, she slipped and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her body go to the side and she slid into a wide gap between the platform and the wall. She screamed at the top of her lungs and fell silent when she realized that she was glued to the stone wall. She felt like her whole body was trembling from the inside. Her breath was shaky as well and she heard the metallic clinging of the Griever climbing up the wall. The creature covered her body and she found herself only inches from his head. He opened his mouth, letting out a squealing scream, bringing up a foul smell from the bowels of the earth. She closed her eyes as hard as she could and turned her head to the side, her face distorted with fear, and screamed. When she opened her eyes again, it took her a few seconds to stop and realize where she was. Her throat hurt like hell, but with a quick look around reminded her that she was not back in the maze. She heard the voice of a scientist rise in the room. She was barely catching her breath, her eyes wide from what she had been put through. After a minute, she was taken out of whatever machine she was in and carried to a bed. Her whole body felt drained of any ounce of energy that she ever had, as if she had turned into a ragdoll. She was strengthless. Her arms hanging loosely along the bed, she stared above her, breathing weakly.

The bed she was moved around on was pushed against a wall. Her vision was still blurry, but she could make out the shapes of several people, busy around her. She felt her arms being lifted and then rested on the sides of the bed. Her eyes moved slowly, and she tried to focus and follow some of the movements. She watched as plastic bags were hooked to IV poles on each side of her bed. One of the pouches contained a liquid that appeared to be translucent and the others a dark red liquid. She guessed the many tubes she could see linked the bags to her body, but she couldn't feel anything. The noises of machines and the words exchanged around her mixed in an incessant buzzing as if she was surrounded by a thousand bees. She saw someone lean over her and place a mask over her face. She took a breath, and her eyes grew heavier and heavier, until they closed completely, and she let herself sink in the dark again.

She did everything they asked of her, and she was still not allowed to see Minho, but Teresa assured he was being taken care of and not tested on. She didn’t trust her, but she had to take her word for it since she couldn’t check for herself. The only thing to do was hoping they were keeping their word. With Grace in their hands, it didn’t take the scientists as long as she thought to try and see if their vaccine actually cured people from the flare. What would take a little more time would be to see how long the cure they made was effective before they got sick again, if they got sick again at all, because there was a world where it did work out perfectly and in which Grace turned out to be the source of the cure for all of humanity. If it was the world they were in, Grace would be condemned to serve as their supply for the creation of this vaccine and would never see the light of the sun ever again. She would be sucked dry by these vampires, but they would act as if they were so grateful of her sacrifice. The sacrifice of a 17-year-old girl who happened to be more immune to the flare than others. To her great misfortune. But if they had gotten Thomas as well, he would be subjected to the exact same treatment and she didn’t want that, though she didn’t want to die for those greedy, selfish people either. While she was plunged into a vegetative state for months at a time, she only dreamed of one thing.

Getting out of there and seeing her brother and friends again.

She wanted to have another chance at life. She wanted to be more than what they saw in her. Maybe, if she could make it out of there alive, she could also see if anything could come out of that spark she felt when meeting Sonya.

Grace wasn’t really being told anything anymore and she couldn’t even get out of bed. She had been transferred to a bigger room where she was strapped to a sort of hospital bed, her arms stretched out to the sides. So many tubes were connected to the crooks of her elbows, the backs of her hands and really, wherever they could stick a needle, they had. She was bedridden and fed through a tube that had been inserted in her skin and into her stomach and an oxygen mask was sometimes slapped on her face to put her to sleep. When she was conscious and awake, she wasn't even fully aware of what was going on around her anyway. She just had this blurry, constant vision of masked people in white coats bustling around her. Usually, it was pretty quiet and when they did speak, she couldn't make out half the words, but she guessed they might be speaking way more when she was asleep, which she was most of the time.

“Can you hear me?” Teresa spoke to her softly, sitting across from her. Grace did hear her. She was physically unable to respond, her whole body feeling numb like she was still feeling the effects of the aesthetics and drugs that they used on her even though she had been brought here for some time already. She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they put her in this room, on this chair with Teresa. Grace looked terrible. She looked exhausted and sick, a dull grayish complexion on her face. It looked like she was asleep with her eyes open, her cuffed hands stretched out in front of her on the table. If there hadn't been a backrest on her chair, she would have collapsed to the floor without a doubt. Even though she couldn’t react very much, she listened to Teresa.

“There’s a little girl here. Her name is Shai Lun. She’d been infected for three weeks but, Grace… you saved her.”

Although her body remained still, her chest heaving at each weak breath she took, Grace looked up tiredly at Teresa. Hearing this, a glimmer of hope passed through her eyes. If what she was saying was true, maybe her sacrifice would have served some purpose, and saved this little girl. Teresa saw the way she looked at her and gave her a smile, nodding.

“We’ve had her here for observation for weeks now. You saved her. And you can save so many others. Everything we’re doing here, it’s working.” Her smile stretched at the joy that this statement brought her. “Do you understand? That’s why this is so important.”

Hoping that Grace would say something to her made Teresa greatly disappointed when the later just looked down at the table again. She sighed and stood up.

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Teresa.” When she turned her back to her, Grace called her name so softly it almost sounded like a whisper.

“Grace?” She asked as if she thought she had dreamed being called out to. She approached and leaned gently towards her. The girl lifted her head slightly, looking up at Teresa. Grace swallowed harshly, her throat feeling so sore and parted her lips.

“Minho… let me see him… please…” She had to speak directly into Teresa's ear, the sound of her voice being so low. Pronouncing these 6 words had already almost made her breathless. Teresa straightened up and nodded, unable to promise her that this meeting would actually happen. Two guards then came in and grabbed Grace by the arms, lifting her up from the chair and moving her out of the room. Her body hanged from their hand like she was just a rag, and she was brought to a single room which she recognized to be the one she was in before they started actively experimenting on her. The guards put her on the bed, lying on her right side and connected her handcuffs to chains tied to the feet of the bed. The chain was so short she couldn’t even think of rolling over, but she didn’t have the energy to do so anyway. She stared at the window across the wall. She couldn’t see what was going on in the hallways but anyone stopping by could watch her in the room. It was the least of her worries. Grace closed her eyes and she was so tired that despite the bright, white lights on the ceiling, she managed to fall asleep almost instantly.

When she woke up, Grace let out a yawn so big it felt like her jaw was dropping. She winced. Her mouth hurt. She straightened up with difficulty leaning on her forearm to bring her face closer to her hands and touched her mouth with her fingertips. She hissed when she touched actual wounds. Her lips were so dry and irritated that the corners of her mouth were cracked. Maybe that played in why Teresa looked at her with so much concern in her eyes when they met. Or maybe this was just an impression and Teresa didn't care about how awful Grace looked. Her eyes then went down her hands and arms. She knew they had been drawing blood from her for a while now, sticking needles wherever they could but she hadn’t realized how bad it was. There were large, dark blue-purple bruises all over her skin. A squeal escaped her lips, and she felt her body shake. Seeing those bruises covering nearly every square inch of her skin shocked her and she felt her stomach churn. She felt sick and a sudden wave of heat came over her upper body. It was as if she was burning up and she collapsed onto the floor with a grunt, staring at the ceiling, in pain. Her breaths fastened.                                                            

From the corner of her eyes, she saw a guard being hurried inside the room to detach the chain from the handcuffs. Seeing these two people come in gave her an idea. She felt something cold being pressed against her shoulder and she quickly felt her body and breathing relax.

“How long did I asleep?” She asked faintly.

“You’ve slept since your meeting with Teresa, this morning. You needed the rest.” The woman gave her a smile and helped her sit at the table against the wall. She showed no resistance and let herself be handled, swiftly stealing her access card from her pocket. Surprisingly, the doctor then told the guard to remove her handcuffs as the girl wasn’t going anywhere in her state. While she had her back turned, Grace let herself fall against the backrest of the chair and slipped the card at her waist, held in place by the elastic of her pants. If she tried to escape from this place, she might need this card to even get out of this room in the first place. The guard took her handcuffs off and remained in the room to watch her while the woman walked to the door. She reached for her card but didn’t find it and she patted her pockets, not understanding where it could have gone. She motioned for the guard to open for her and left. A couple minutes later, someone came in carrying a food tray. It was placed in front of Grace and after she ate, the doctor came back, this time sending the guard on his way so she could check on Grace’s bruises. A kidney plate on the table caught his eye. His arms were outstretched, one on the table the other in the doctor's hands. Grace pushed the tray over the edge of the table, exaggerating the exhaustion she was in to make it seem accidental. Cotton balls rolled on the floor.

“Sorry.” Grace breathed out.

“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.” The woman turned her back to her and bent over to gather the cotton balls and the other stuff that fell from the tray. Grace had a sudden burst of energy, and she immediately grabbed a syringe from another tray and a small bottle of drugs. She didn't take the time to read the label and just filled the syringe with it before stabbing the needle in the woman lower back. She injected the liquid and watch her body drop to the floor. Grace had no idea if she was really unconscious, but she stood up. Her legs almost gave out beneath her, and she caught herself on the table before straightening up and dropping down beside the woman lying there. She took off her white blouse and shoes. The teenage girl then put all that on and got up, not without much difficulty, leaning on the back of the chair.

“This is useless, you know?” Grace glanced over her shoulders and shrugged, breathing heavily.

“I gotta try.” She said standing at her full height facing the door, trying to hide the colossal amount of effort that it took her not to fall right here and there. She slipped the card into the slot next to the door. It buzzed open and she stepped out in the hallway of the medical wing, where she had spent day after day for the past few months. She had never put so much focus on something as basic as walking but placing one foot in front of the other while standing without any support seemed so hard. She felt her legs shaking and the thought of collapsing in the hallway terrified her, so she forced herself to keep going when she heard the doctor's voice coming from her room. The latter was shouting at a guard to go after her and in the blink of an eye she was pinned down, the guard's knee pressing against her back while he held her bruised arms with a strong grip. Being on the floor was almost relaxing after trying so hard to walk, if it weren't for the pain she was being put through. The fatigue came back in a second and she didn’t even realize when she passed out. She opened and closed her eyes without being able to move a finger and that blurry vision was back. She heard voices around her but the words were confused and sounded deafened and all she could really tell was that she was lying on some sort of bed, in a room she didn't know. Her eyes half open she saw an orange light swirling in the corridors, not knowing what was going on. It was as if not only was her body asleep again, but her mind and senses were also functioning in slow motion. She felt a pressure somewhere on her body, but she was so numb she couldn’t tell where it came from though, she recognized the pressure of a syringe. She slowly realized she was coming out of whatever they had used to sedate her a moment prior when she heard glass breaking sharply on the floor and loud grunting as if there was fight going on. The sounds became clearer as the grunting turned into yelling and she almost fell off the bed when she tried to get up. She felt strong hands catching her in her fall and as she was helped up, she saw Thomas’ face and couldn’t believe it.

“Thomas.” She didn’t care about the pain that continuously shot through her bruised limbs and wrapped her arms around her brother with a sob. Newt and Minho were panting from the effort the fights required, standing there a few feet away from the siblings just reuniting. They joined in the hug after Grace gave them a look when she noticed them in the room. She also gave them each a hug and upon turning back to Thomas, she saw him staring at her arms in shock. Taking a step back, she hit the bed and looked at the three boys. Newt and Minho had also just seen the state in which WICKED had left her and she couldn't help but look away. Seeing what her arms looked like made her sick to her stomach but seeing the guilt in their eyes made her feel even worse. She thought of telling them she was fine, but she couldn’t even resort herself to saying such blatant lies. She felt dizzy and her body was weak, barely able to stand on her own.

“Grace—”

“It’s— I didn’t want them to experiment on you.” She said in one breath, wrapping her arm around her stomach, holding her side. She patted lightly when she felt a bandage under her T-shirt. For a split second she wondered what they had done to her, and she quickly remembered that she had spent most of her last months hooked up to machines, a tube in her stomach to feed her. Not one of them really said anything. All three of them were at an abyssal loss of words. Thomas looked around and grabbed one of the doctors lying dead and lifted the body, grabbing it by the collar to pull off its white coat and put it around Grace's shoulders. She couldn't hide the pain that shot through her arms as she tucked them into the sleeves and closed her eyes so as not to see the way the boys were staring at her.

“Let’s get them out of here.” Thomas glanced at Newt and nodded. He helped Grace to walk out of the room but as they came around the corner of the corridor, a bunch of soldiers spotted them and yelled in their direction. Grace barely had time to realize, she let out a gasp when she was suddenly lifted off the floor and found herself in Thomas's arms as the boys ran in the opposite direction. She clung to Thomas and watched the soldiers chasing them with dread on her tired face. As they fled, she met Janson's gaze and felt her heart skip a beat, holding her breath until he left her field of vision. They were desperately trying to shake off Janson and the soldiers but came to a halt when the latter came from in front of them. Grace ducked her head in Thomas’ neck when they fired in their direction. Minho urged them to get into the room to their right and slammed the door shut and locking it. Janson could be heard grunting as he banged on the door furiously. Thomas took a look around the room while Newt and Minho knocked over a piece of furniture across the door to block it. They backtracked against the large bay window overlooking the rest of the city. Grace stared at the door anxiously, trying to stay calm but with the fatigue and pain she was in, she was kind of all over the place.

“Oh, shit…” Thomas swore as they heard loud steps on the other side of the door. Janson really wanted that door open for the sole reason that he felt so entitled to what was in their blood and the cure that could come out of it. Though she was scared shitless, Grace knew that now that Thomas had her back, WICKED was going to have to keep their claws off her. Grace gulped as she heard a drill whirring. They were trying to saw through the lock on the door to open it.

“Any ideas?” Minho enquired while he and Newt stared at the door, sparks flying inside the room. Grace followed Thomas gaze as he turned to the window and looked down. He showed the pool beneath them and stepped aside, still carrying his sister in his arms while Newt and Minho threw a huge canister at the window, shattering the glass. He put Grace on her feet, holding her firmly by the waist and all four of them stood on the edge, watching the canister fall heavily into the water.

“It’s doable.” Thomas said, glancing at his sister and friend. In other circumstances, Grace would have laughed when she saw Minho’s doubtful face. “Just need a little running start.” Thomas was the first to walk towards the middle of the room, swiftly taking his sister back in his arms since she couldn't run, even for such a short distance. He told her to hold on tight and she clung to him, ignoring the pain that shot through her bruised hands, staring fearfully through the window, taking breaths to try to calm down.

“You sure about this?” Minho asked.

“Not really.” He saw the look on Grace’s face and added; “it’s gonna be okay.”

“Nice pep talk.”

“Yeah, we’re all bloody inspired.” Newt added sarcastically.

The sound of the saw stopped, and Grace turned her head towards the door. There was a silence for a couple of seconds before they started ramming the door. The door banged open, and Janson stepped over the furniture on the floor to get in the room. Thomas swore under his breath and the three boys ran for it and jumped out the window. He shouted, telling Grace to hold her breath but she didn't have time to process what he said and what was happening. She screamed her brother’s name as they fell. She opened her eyes underwater, blinded by this cloud of bubbles and this deaf sound that was her voice. In a matter of less than a second, the nightmares she had of herself drowning came back and she panicked. She was pulled out by Thomas and desperately gasped for air, coughing dryly, and wincing at the sensation of her nose and throat sore from breathing in water. He tightened his grip of her and pushed the hair sticking to her face, reassuring her. She calmed down but had no control over the cough she was seized with. Thomas gave the middle finger to Janson, who was watching them from the windowsill and the group swam to shore. Grace let Thomas pull her with him, out of breath. Only when he put her on the edge of the pool before he even got out of the water, did she realize she was sobbing, panting, coughing and shaking all at once. He pulled Minho and Newt out of the water and helped Grace get on her feet when soldiers ordered them to stay where they were, their machine guns aiming at them. There weren’t many options, so they obliged. While staring at the soldiers, Thomas whispered to Grace to help her calm down. He tried to reach for the handgun at his thigh, but they saw him, advising him not to do that.

“Get on your knees with your hands in the air.” Grace gasped loudly and widened her eyes when one of the soldiers started firing at his peers, stunning them with the electric shots. Once they were all down, he came towards them and took off his mask. Her jaw dropped when she saw Gally standing right in front of them.

“Minho. Grace.” He nodded at them before looking up the building. “You guys are nuts.”

“I’ll explain later.” Thomas then told Minho and his sister, who looked at each other in shock before walking away. Grace heavily relied on her brother’s support to walk along them. She could feel her legs almost giving way with every step. It took so much energy from her; she would have never been able to walk on her own. She barely managed to take deep breaths. Sneaking through the city was really not easy on her. They slid on the ground, hiding from the soldiers looking for them. Thomas sat her down against the grove's half wall, in between him and Gally. She held her arms with a low moan of pain through her teeth. She almost felt even more drained than back there.

“Well, they’re definitely pissed.” Gally declared.

“How far are the tunnels?” Thomas enquired as he took off his soaked gloves, looking at his sister with concern. She was way calmer now, but he could tell she was in a lot of pain, on top of being exhausted.

“Uh, maybe blocks from here.” They all looked ahead of them upon hearing Newt, who was a few feet away, sitting next to Minho, started coughing his lungs out. Grace stared at him, not understanding what was wrong with him at first but when it clicked, her face dropped, and she felt her heart and stomach sank to her feet. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be infected. They were supposed to be immune to this. Gally looked at the two siblings. “We can make it.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. Him and Gally crouched behind the wall, on the look out but she kept staring at Newt. She had just reunited with her friends, and she was faced with the realization that one of them was dying and that she could save him with all the fucking vaccines or whatever that they made using her, but they needed time to get said cure. She was so focused on the fact that Newt was dying that she completely overlooked the reappearance of Gally. Minho came towards them.

“Hey. How long has he been like this?”

“He’ll be okay. We just gotta get to Brenda.” Thomas said, taking off his jacket. “She’s got the serum. Come on, let’s go.”

Thomas tried to help his sister get up, but she pushed him away, telling him to take care of Newt. Minho and Gally, or either of them, could help her. They watched him catch Newt as he almost fell over and walked away. Until then, she hadn't really cared about the sticky feel of her soaked clothes on her skin, but she suddenly couldn't bare it anymore and leaned forward, moaning from the pain as she tried to pull the blouse off.

“Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy, Grace. Don’t hurt yourself.” Minho hastened to stop her and helped her take off the blouse. Gally's eyes slid down her arms as she fell back against the low wall. Like every single one of them when they saw all the bruises, he couldn’t help but stare in shock, though he tried to control his expression, she could tell in his eyes. He was taken out of his stupor by Minho’s voice. “Why you helping us, Gally? I put a spear through your chest.”

“Yeah. Nobody’s perfect, man.” He shrugged it off and was about to help Grace up but a quick look from Minho was enough to make Gally understand that he got this so the latter just stood up, patting him on the shoulder and walked off.

“Can you stand?” She nodded and he put her arm around his shoulder, holing her by the waist and they just started following Gally and Thomas when she spoke with a faint voice.

“Minho… did they do something to you?”

“They put me through a bunch of simulations, but they only did it a couple of time.”

“Okay. Good…” She nodded, resting her eyes as they walked. She was relieved to hear that Teresa did keep her word and stopped the experiments on him and the others.

“What did you do, Grace?” His question got her to look at him from the corner of her eyes and the silence that followed pushed her to say something. Her brother and Newt were far ahead but not Gally. She knew he would hear but it wasn't that much of a problem. She just didn't want Thomas to know about all this. For now, anyway. On the way, she proceeded to tell him about the day Teresa came to talk to her, trying to get her to cooperate, and she ended up agreeing to do all this and that her only condition to this was for them to leave Minho alone and not use him for any experiments of any kind. She could tell he was upset to hear all this, but the guilt outweighed it. He came out of this safe and sound because she took it all on her. She didn’t have to tell him about how they drew her blood almost every day, leaving her bedridden and in a medically induced coma for a while. She didn’t tell him about the anxiety-inducing nightmares of her drowning or about how sick she gets when she looks at her arms now.

“Anyway… I’ll recover from this.”

“They tortured you—”

“And I agreed to it. It was a shit decision, but it doesn’t matter…” She shook her head, letting out a sigh. “You should go help Thomas with Newt.”

“Grace, you can barely walk on your own.”

“I’ll help her.” Gally turned to them and pushed by Grace, Minho went ahead and put Newt’s arm around his shoulder. She took a step forward and it was enough for her to lose her balance and catch herself on the arm that Gally held out to her. They resumed their walk and stopped in their tracks again, watching an explosion occur further ahead of them. “We’re supposed to take down WICKED, not the whole damn city.”

“Gally, come on.” Thomas urged him to continue on their way and Grace had to wait for him to follow them and looked up at him observing the fire left by the explosion. He didn't seem so thrilled with how far this was going but she didn’t really care. She already had a hard time with Gally back in the Glade and she still wasn’t too fond of him, but he seemed nicer than he used to be. If someone had told her that she would stop hating Gally one day and that he would even go so far as helping her out, she wouldn’t have believed it. When you remember how he ran after her and she taunted him from the top of a tree after she tried out for the Builders during the first week, she would have never thought she would even accept help from him.

[To be continued…]  

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Published (26/06/2023) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405​ @kika64

[dollfaceksj]

I genuinely felt everything that y/n said. Even though I'm not a mother, I'm 100% sure all of us felt like that at some point if not all the time.

I never speak about this ever, but I've always struggled with my weight ever since I was a little girl, I wasn't even a tiny baby, I was just over 4 kg which usually isn't considered to be small for a baby. And I've never been thin ever in my life from then, right until now and I can truthfully say that sadly, most of the time (or in my case), your family is usually your biggest bully. Girls generally grow up always having to hear people comment on their weight, and it's sad that we have people body shaming us as literal CHILDREN. No child or person should ever have to experience something like that. And because I've constantly had people pick on my weight and make jokes about it, it became a fear of mine to even have someone comment on their own weight in front of me because I immediately think that they're gonna say something about me and I try my best to never engage in those conversations with them or I try to change the topic because I'm always so afraid. It became so bad that I actually avoid even going to see a doctor for something as common as a cold or flu, because I'm always scared that they're going to tell me something about my weight or that they will weigh me. I don't even like meeting people that I haven't seen in a long time because I'm afraid of what they're going to say. Both my siblings are also extremely skinny so I always questioned myself as a child and I still do. This developed into such a huge fear for me that I associate it with every single thing that goes wrong in my life. This has and will always be the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with in life, even if i finally manage to lose weight some day, because it's caused so much of damage to me already that I already know that even if it does stop one day, it's still going to be apart of my story as the most difficult thing I've ever had to deal with. Especially when you keep everything bottled up inside because I could never find the courage to ever speak up about this. It's so sad when it isn't even something you have control over, if we did every single woman and man on this earth would have ideal bodies and faces and everything that we want. But I've come to realize that no one is ever happy with the way they look, we're all human beings and we all have flaws, we just have to realize that we are all beautiful in our own way and that what other people think of us should never matter.

So I really understood y/n so much when he asked her why she couldn't just speak to him about it instead of hiding, cause I know exactly how she feels, it's not something you can just speak about openly because there's sooo much shame that comes with it even though it shouldn't be that way. It's like you're constantly embarrassed about these things even when it's not our fault.

This update of cal really hits very hard because it's a sensitive topic and you portrayed it so well Clover🥺

I'm so glad I found your account when you first started writing cal. And I'm so glad that we get to interact with you.

I know that i dont know you personally, but i know that you're not only an amazing author but you're an even better person ❤️ Thank you for always trying your best to interact with us, you truly are my favourite.

And if you ever struggle with these feelings as well, just remember that you are so beautiful and sooo loved Clover💜

Ilysm :) ♡

you worded it perfectly! i hope it gets easier as you go on because i agree, it is the most difficult thing i’ve had to live with as well so i 100% know what you’re on about.

i struggled with the same things all my life until i started losing weight. the difference in the way people treat you (and yes, even family!) is nauseating. they’re a lot nicer to me now that i fall into the beauty standard. it’s such a slap to the face and really makes me mourn the me that once was because she didn’t deserve any of that

so when i took on the idea to write yn as a mother, i knew i couldn’t brush over the one thing so many mothers struggle with. i’m not a mom but i’m surrounded by them! and as someone who has lost a lot of weight, these are things i relate to (minus the baby lol)

craving validation, affection and love isn’t wrong, never will be. how you go about it is definitely a debatable topic but i still think people who have never gone through this specific thing will also just never understand. they will never understand how it is just embarrassing to admit that you feel this way sometimes. it’s embarrassing to have to tell others that someone else made fun of your body, it’s embarrassing to have to tell others that the clothes they got you don’t fit, it’s embarrassing to admit that the world puts majority of your worth into how you look.

these things combined with isolation and years of self hatred make you do stupid things, things you regret. i wanted to portray that without painting yn out to be the villain, because wholeheartedly, she’s not. i feel like people who were upset at yn even after seeing the world through her eyes have just never experienced it. not approving of her actions does not mean we can’t understand. learn. have empathy. it’s just another example that people don’t take mental health seriously

society is not easy on people and their appearance, especially women and afab ppl.

so it’s okay if you’re still struggling with it. how can you learn to uplift yourself overnight when the world is still treating bigger people like a disease or less worthy? not deserving of respect?

i hope you continue living life to the fullest and always be happy with yourself, cause if you aren’t, who will be?

love, clover

[finniestoncrane]

Finnie ILU congrats on your follower milestone 💓 you absolutely deserve it! I am constantly in awe of your talent and ability to conistently put out such amazing content. May I please request a lil 500 word somethin with 🐧😤🤍 please? Specifically The Batman Oz. Thank you 💜💜💜

Inadequate

farrell!penguin x female!reader/jealousy ty so much ;-; ily and i appreciate you and omg but uh...oop this made me think of the deleted scene and my heart hurt a lot! 💜 minors DNI!! 🔞 500 words, cw: so much angst, made daddy oz sad, i am sorry requests are closed • kofi link • minors DNI • tag: finnie500

A tense moment, pausing before you knocked on the door to the office of Oswald Cobblepot, your boss at the Iceberg Lounge, notorious kingpin in Gotham’s underworld, an ex-flame from a brief and really, non-existent fling. You took a deep breath in, trying not to think of the possible, although admittedly exaggeratedly negative, reasons you thought he had called you in for.

Two knocks, swift, purposeful, but still quieter than they needed to be. He heard though, and called you in.

“Come in, sweetheart.”

Walking in, you were greeted by the top of his head, his face buried in some paperwork on the desk as he gestured his hand, without looking up, showing you to the seat in front of him. Taking your position, back up straight, trying to stabilise your breaths, you waited until he was ready to speak, but he sat in silence for a few minutes longer.

You didn’t mean to be nosy, but you couldn’t help but wonder what he was looking at so intensely. A quick peek revealed that it was your employee records. On top of the pile, your latest request for time off. Confused, you decided to speak first, out of turn.

“Mister Cobblepot, is there someth-”

“I’ve been good to you, huh?”

The question knocked you back. Professionally? Personally? You couldn’t tell what he meant. And in the stunned silence, mouth open and moving, no sounds coming out, he finally looked up at you.

“Vacation time. Emergency contact updated to…who is this guy?”

“He’s who I’m going with…my boy-”

He shook his head, putting his hand up to stop you, pressing his fingers to his temples, then rubbing the bridge of his nose between his furrowed brows.

“This is how I find out, kid? What? You ain’t got the decency to come and say it to my face? Who do you think approves this shit?”

“Oswald, I swear to you, I thought this was something that middle-management would deal with. I never realised…it was difficult to…”

“You’re busy, you ain’t got time for a relationship, you can’t see yourself with someone right now.”

You recognised the words as your own, thrown back into your face.

“So what is it then? Because that was only two months ago. What’s changed?”

His tone was condescending, a self-satisfied, but deeply hurt, smile spread over his scarred face as he waited for your answer.

“It wasn’t like that…you’re just…it was…”

“What, am I not good enough for you?”

“Oswald…I-”

His large hands were up again, both of them, pushing the air, pushing you away.

“Save your breath, kid. You can go, I’ll approve this. No hard feelings, huh?”

That was easier than you expected. But as you stood, turning to walk to the door, he grabbed your forearm and held you back.

“Oswald…”

“You remember this moment, when it all inevitably comes crashing down. I’m good enough, sweetheart. I’m better than good. Remember that.”

You left without another word, breathing out finally when the door was closed behind you. The silhouette of Oswald in the window panel, elbows on his desk, head in his hands.

[folansstuff]

I'm bored, and you’ve been super kind, so here's a present for ya. I'm gonna try to come up with some genuinely good questions regarding Atticus. Some will be simple, while others will try to dig deeper. Here we go:

1. What is the most important thing in the world to Atticus? His undisputed #1 thing?

2. Would Atticus give this thing up if it meant saving mutantkind?

3. What angers Atticus most?

4. What saddens Atticus most?

5. What is Atticus' biggest flaw?

6. What is one regret he will carry for the rest of his life?

7. What made you follow the official timeline for his story instead of making your own?

8. Who do you think Atticus would be with if Illyana did not exist?

9. Is Atticus a genuinely good person to you? What dark traits does he have deep down, if any?

10. What could potentially turn him to a villain? If anything?

11. If you had to change his powers, what would they be?

12. How much of you has been reflected into this manbear?

And that is all for now! Hope you enjoy.

Thanks for the questions! I appreciate the questions, especially when they're thinkers like these ones. That being said, there are a lot of them so they're gonna go under a read more.

His books. It's Illyana. Of course it is. We are talking Illyana as number one, and then his students and team mates at second.

2. Absolutely not. This has more than once gotten him punched in the face for his stubbornness. His loyalty to Illyana is more than a little bit self-destructive lmao.

3. Atticus is an incredibly laid back dude, but literally any moment when he is forced to interact with Xavier makes him want to rip his hair out. Years of watching the egg-man ruin his friends, students and others lives because he think he knows best drives Atticus up the wall. Also Sinister, he exploded when he found out Sinister was on the Council.

4. SAD! KIDS! As a former traumatized teen and currently mildly traumatized adult, nothing upsets him more than seeing a young person having a rough time. This why he has so many (unofficial) adopted children (consisting of ever single student he has ever had).

5. A combo of stubbornness and, in a smaller sense, cowardice. Atticus has spent most of his adult life avoiding the superhero community, and until Krakoa, he was very committed to never getting involved. This has made him difficult to deal with, especially when he talks to people like the X-Men or Avengers. It also applies to his convictions, cause good luck getting him to budge once he's made a decision.

6. 3 big ones. Not stopping the Avengers from putting the Phoenix into Illyana, Piotr and Emma (he doesn't care enough about Summers or Namor to worry about them.) The other one is not being in Sydney when Australia's Sentinel program killed his mother accidentally. Notably he couldn't actually stop any of this from happening, but he still regrets it. Finally, he regrets leaving his job at Avengers Academy, since the events of Avengers Arena led to the deaths of a bunch of his students. (No wonder he's so protective.)

7. Honestly? It's easier LMAO. Not having to think as hard about the timeline of everything means that I can focus more on character work, which is really my area of expertise. And it's not like I can't mess with canon (the timeline I write in splits off after the 2023 Hellfire Gala) since comic canon is already so bullshit.

8. Uhhhhhhhhhh. I actually don't know? He's kinda crafted to fit well with her so much now that I have a hard time considering it. Maybe Emma? That could be a similar and cute relationship. Same thing with like, Lorna. Maybe there's a cursed timeline where he ends up with Boom-Boom. IDK, Atticus is drawn to people with Issues (and blondes), so that's probably your best bet.

9. Woah, big morality question. The boring answer is yes because I say so. But I think removing myself from that position as his creator, I do think he's a good dude. He definitely has his issues, but ultimately he just wants the best for himself and the people he cares about. If anything dying and coming back fused to a living garden has probably made him even nicer.

10. There's def an alternate universe where he's swayed to Magento's Brotherhood for a while, and I've looked at Beast's descent into villainy as a fun What If? thing. It would have to be if Illyana had died, or he let his more controlling elements take over.

11. Plants or making him a Telepath (of the unwanted voices variety). Honestly every time I write Atti's powers in action it gives me a headache, even though I think they're legitimately cool.

12. Uhhhhhh, some amount. As he developed he's actually gotten pretty far away, but it'd be silly to say nothing about Atti is similar to me. I'm Australian, and am currently in Uni for teaching, so there's the ones that 100% still apply at least. I wish I was as much a bear as Atticus is tho, I'm a little chubby, not quite as cuddly as he is (or hairy.).