#just. the possibility that she might still be out there. alive. while the rest of the crew isn't.

[cat0901h3]

Goosebumps Books 1-10

Can't believe that it took me nearly two years to just do 10 covers for the books. Will be posting more Goosebumps in the future, along with other stuff.

Read more to know my personal opinions and critiques on my fanart for each book:

Welcome to Dead House: I wanted to make the house look alive like Monster House, so I gave it more human characteristics (ie: the people in the windows to form eyes, or the finger-like branches.) Also paid homage to a horror film by styling it after The Amityville Horror house.

The Benson children themselves look a bit depressed, that's because the first book is actually more scarier than the rest of the series, so they're a bit angsty.

Stay Out of the Basement: This one killed a lot of my green markers lol. I tried to make Dr. Brewer as menacing as possible while still showing that he is a father with the photos, There were going to be more plants reaching out, but I decided that the leaves hidden on him would be enough.

Though I have to admit my disappointment with the lighting. It still looks a bit too bright, and not dark enough. That's just my own critique.

Monster Blood: Honestly, pretty mixed about this one. While I'm proud of the bubbling ooze that looks like a skull, which is outlined by one of my colored pens. I'm not proud that everything else is so muted with brown. Almost all of Jacobus' works are vibrant and saturated, so it being dull in colors feels like a disservice to him.

Also, Andy's last name was made up by me, she apparently just doesn't have one. It's inspired by Stephen King. Btw, hope you love banana and strawberry dyed hair, you'll see more of it soon in future batches.

Say Cheese and Die!: One of my favorite books, and of course it gets the best fanart imo. The screaming skeleton form of Greg Banks with red bg in the polaroid, contrasting with the dark background is just super cool, coolest shit I've ever done. Though I might be biased, I really like skeletons. Like Curly.

I actually made concept art for a Say Cheese and Die! graphic novel, which includes drawings of the photos and Spidey! Let me know if you're curious.

The Curse of The Mummy's Tomb: Not much to this one honestly. Just a mummy casually busting down a wall filled with hieroglyphics. Though I will say, I was experimenting with shading with purple and blues like Jacobus. As you can see, didn't stick for long.

This is also the book that I discovered that if the protag doesn't have a last name, then there is an official one either in the Presents novels, the mobile app, comics or other.

Let's Get Invisible!: This was pretty tricky to draw. Drawing someone turning invisible maybe easy in Photoshop or Procreate, but this was traditional art. Sure Jacobus did it with airbrushes, but I all had were pens and markers. But I somehow managed to pull it off, which is insane that I even managed that in the first place.

Night of the Living Dummy: Ah, the infamous Pamela Vorhees book, where the main antagonist isn't the mascot, but instead some other puppet lol. I've seen a lot of fanart of Slappy, but never of Mr. Wood. So I wanted to do justice for Wood while still showcasing Slappy. While I am proud for how it mostly turned out, there are two things that bother me. 1. This is the night sky that is black, the rest are either blue or purple. 2. I forgot to add the lines that make the jaw on Mr. Wood, whoops.

Aside from that, I hope guys like that Misfits poster in the background and Kris's cool hair cut. The green was inspired by the comic adaption not 2015 Jacksepticeye.

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Please forgive me for the small thumbnail, I wasn't using a ruler at the time. The design for Mr. Mortman wasn't much of a challenge. I loosely based it off of the French rendition of the cover and gave him a large leech-like mouth.

In my headcannon, the teeth spin like a garbage disposal, making easy work of the turtles.

Welcome to Camp Nightmare: Another one of my favorites, and I think I did a decent enough job, too. The lighting is perfect, the clouds look alien enough, and you can just barely see the screaming campers inside the tent. I do have one issue though, and that is the size of the monster, Sabre. In the original sketch I did, he was supposed to blend in like a bush, but instead he looks like Sasquatch Sr. Oh well.

While they did give Billy a last name in the Presents books, I had to make up one for Dawn. Just based it off Gwen Stacy lol. Also, hope you enjoy the little bonus pictures down below.

The Ghost Next Door: The original Jacobus art was perfectly vague enough to keep the twist there but not spoil anything. Of course to do the same thing, but with a twist of my own. The "ghost" shadow that you see in the street is the Dark Figure that follows Hannah around or when Danny is near. I wanted it to look like it was constantly on fire, since SPOILERS: someone in the book does die in a fire.

Another headcannon is that the Dark Figure isn't actually a ghost or whatever, but instead the embodiment of Misery.

[sheep-from-rad]

Blood Bound (Yandere Batfam x reader)

Note: I forgot I had this written in my draft notebooks for weeks now. I guess this might be part 1

Masterlist

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

You have always lived a normal life. You were raised in a small household where it’s just you and your father. Your mother was absent in the picture and you lived in the house near the edge of the town. Though small and seemingly insignificant in the fast moving town of Gotham, it filled you with contentment while growing up. 

The absence of a mother figure in the picture made your father more protective. At an early age you were taught basic self-defense, survival skills, and even made you remember each escape route in the city. Even now that you’re a student at Gotham Academy, he still doesn’t take chances at public transportation safety. He will wake up early in the morning to make you breakfast and lunch, and then send you to school before going to work. You two won’t meet again until after school where he picks you up and makes you choose whether to get takeout or home cooked meal for dinner. 

It was mid Psychics class when the intercom rang, the principal calling you to come to the office immediately. You looked up from your notes meeting the equally confused look from the professor and your classmates. Whenever some kid is needed for an intervention, the principal would only send a staff to pick them up. The intercom on the other hand is reserved for emergencies or when a student commits a big misconduct punishable by suspension or expulsion. 

Well, you did have your fair share of trouble but all of those combined is not enough to warrant a suspension. You made solid knocks on the mahogany door and waited for the principal to say ‘come in’ before placing your hand on the cold door knob and twisting it open. Inside was the principal and a police officer from Gotham PD. “What’s going on?” you asked, taking a seat as you watched their grim expression. 

“There was a break in at your place. The place was torched down and your father was burned alive” 

Damian glared heavily at the titanium case that they had unearthed earlier on the crime scene. The execution of the crime was well timed. The break in happened just an hour after Duke had made his rounds on the town edge, while Damian is at school, while Tim is being forced to rest, while Jason is out of town with Dick, and while Bruce is at work. The entire house is burned down probably to erase evidence that led to the criminals or erase the evidence of the criminals being there in the first place. 

He was ready to write down the case as a possible mafia related crime until Ace started running around and started digging beneath the ashes that used to be the house’s floorboards. 

The dark fabric inside the now cracked titanium safe was unmistakable. The ideology of creating utopia by getting rid of the filth that is humanity and bathing the new paradise with its blood. Leaving the League of Assassins is a death sentence and a leap of faith but surviving for years after leaving is far more impressive. Still, the desperation of fear for life is present as evidenced by the locks of hair wrapped in paper with Archangel Michael’s prayer and a hastily scrawled note that reads, ‘I never regret taking you away’. 

Taking who away? 

The beeping of the comms echoed inside the batcave, taking Tim’s focus who just entered the cavern. “Barbara, any news?” he asked in between yawns. Barbara sighed on the other end of the line followed by the shuffling of papers and sipping of coffee. 

“The DNA from the hair inside the titanium case didn’t match the victim’s” Then there was a pause. It hangs high in the air before she drops the next set of information. “But it matched Bruce’s and Talia’s”

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Prophecy

Viktor x You When the friend of your youth, Viktor, sees you still living in the Undercity, and working in a strip club at that, he is determined to reconnect, and rekindle a childhood friendship that was rooted in something more. Contents: fem!reader, fluff, angst and smut all in one folks, 18+ MDNI, a few physical features described but still reader insert I think (hair colour and freckles), both Viktor and you POVs, long-ass one shot 8.1k words Taglist: @night-fall-moon @zsuzsu321 @sh1zhu @circeinspace @casualjagodek @retrokatz @am-3-thyst @xlittlemissydjx @sseleniaa @thefandomsfervent Hi guys, thanks for bearing with my while I've been working on this one!! I have been absolutely obsessed with this man ever since I finished Arcane, so I just had to write something about him! I also think a lot of people mischaracterise him, so I tried really hard to get his personality right - let me know if I actually have lol. Anyone who knows my works knows how slutty my smut can get lol, but this is actually quite tender so a new one for me too. Anyway, I'll stop waffling now, I hope you enjoy. TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

DISCLAIMER: while this, in my opinion, is still classified as an ‘x you’ fic, a few physical features are described, namely ‘you’ having burgundy red hair that is, at one point, described as curly and having freckles, alongside a handful of super vague descriptors (eg. fluttering eyelashes, slope of her nose AKA things that can be applied to any and all faces) - basically everyone in the Arcane show has cool hair so I thought this would be a cute detail. It’s possible to ignore if you don’t want to think about have a different hair colour, but if you don’t want to, don’t read it! Almost every comment on this fic has been relating to this which, when I put hours of hard work and effort into something that I was proud of, is insanely demoralising. There has always been a disclaimer in the contents above, but I’m adding it here as well so it’s as clear as possible. Dead dove do not eat and all that. And I’m always open to constructive criticism, but there’s a way to go about it, and a way that will put someone in a slump for months, so please think before you comment! Anyway, not to put a downer before the work, thank you for the reposts and loves so far ❤️

Viktor was lost in thought as he made his way back to Piltover, small tube of Shimmer tucked away in his satchel. He didn’t know what to do. Using it might stabilise the Hexcore, allowing it to keep the plants alive and accomplish everything he and Jayce had been working towards for years, maybe even curing this sickness that had taken over him, or…

Or it could end horribly.

The undercity was as dark and unpleasant as he remembered it. He had never fit in here in his youth - too scrawny, too bookish, and with his leg, he stood no chance. And now was no different.

The neon store signs stood out against the blackened buildings and muddy streets. This part of the city, deep in the underbelly of Zaun, seemed busier than the rest, roads bustling with call girls and salesmen and tourists from Topside taking their pick of unruly establishments. Hundreds of voices layered atop each other in a cacophony of harsh laughter, garish music and argumentative tones. There was barely space to walk, especially with his cane, and he was starting to wonder if this journey was even worth it.

Then something caught his eye. A flash of red, deep and vibrant, moving towards him on the far side of the lane. It was hair, bouncy and curly and his subconscious told him it was shorter than it should’ve been, but it was a colour he knew. Her face wasn’t one he could place at first, but as she got closer, he saw the freckles that smattered across her nose like a constellation, her pink lips that were perpetually curled into a soft frown, her eyes that she always accentuated with brown liner. It was her.

The only friend of his youth. A young girl who used to sit behind the foliage near the water where he tested his inventions. She was shy, even shyer than he used to be, too scared to ask him anything about what he was making for a long time, just watching with curious eyes. But he would never forget the day she moved closer. The way her long, burgundy locks flowed around her, almost touching the floor, the way she was trying her best to be confident, but there was a soft shake in her hand, and a slight stutter as she said hello. Then she produced a small invention of her own - a submarine, the same colour as her hair, designed to float perfectly so the periscope was the only thing that peeked out from the surface.

For years, they were inseparable. She was more artistic than him, always adding a flair to her designs that he didn’t have, so he’d let her ‘improve’ his too. They would play together, and then as they got older, build together, each creation more daring and experimental. And then they started to drift apart. They were in their mid teens when her mother got sick, and she couldn’t make it out as much. Viktor always offered to help, but she refused, not even allowing him to see where she lived. And so, when Professor Heimerdinger found him and offered him an opportunity to be his assistant, he couldn’t even tell her. He left a note, delicately placed under a rock where they would build together, telling her where to find him and how to get in touch, but he never heard anything.

And now here she was. He called out her name softly, not wanting to alarm her in this hostile city, but she didn’t hear. She’d walked past him now, so he turned, following but she was walking fast, faster than he could manage. He called out again, but it wasn’t until then that he noticed the headphones over her ears. She couldn’t hear a thing. He carried on, hoping she would stop but she didn’t. If it was anyone else, he would’ve gone home, given up, but now he’d caught a glimpse of her, he had to see her. To talk to her. To find out why she never got in touch. To apologise for leaving her behind.

She disappeared from view for a moment, and he panicked, thinking he’d lost her again, but he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, entering an alley beside a row of bars and clubs. He grimaced, following her to see the red locks just moving out of sight again, and a bouncer closing the door behind her. He tried to follow her into the building, but the man stopped him.

“Please…” he asked, out of breath, “it’s an old friend, I need to see her…”

“Staff entrance only, pal. You’ll have to go ‘round the front like everyone else.”

“But… she’s right there… I only need one moment, if she just saw me…” The words died on his lips. Would she even recognise you?

“Don’t make me ask you twice.”

It was dark inside the club, the lights low apart from on the stage and around the bar. It was only mid afternoon, but the place was near full of lowlifes just starting their evenings, sloshing their drinks and talking loudly. The neon from outside carried into this space too, strip lights around the platforms accentuating their presence. There were dancers atop each of them, but he averted his eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was so far from his comfort zone, loud and unruly, a long way away from his lab, but he had to see her. He couldn’t let her go again.

He found a stool by the bar, ordering a soda and waiting for her to start her shift. There was no way he could miss her again if he was right here when she started.

And then he saw her at the very edge of his vision, as though his eyes were programmed to search her out in any crowd. She was on stage, cherry red hair glowing in the soft lights, combined with the neon from below making her look like a ghost, ethereal. What was she doing up there?

***

“Afternoon, Joey.” You muttered to the bouncer, and he opened the door for you wordlessly as you slipped off your headphones, replacing your perfectly selected playlist with the sleazy music of the club. Just one of the many reasons you hated working here. You were running late, as per, throwing your things in your locker and quickly changing. Lacing up your shoes always took the longest time, and you barely even had a chance to check yourself in the mirror when you were finished. Your hair looked perfect at least, the naturally burgundy curls sitting at shoulder length. You missed the long hair of your youth, but it become impractical very quickly, and the memories it held… you ended up cutting it all off soon after your mum died. That was when you started working here too. You’d had dreams, of course you did, but growing up in the Undercity made it almost impossible to follow them. There were worse places to work though - for the most part, the patrons were respectful, and everyone who you worked with was kind, but it was still a strip club. At the end of the day, no little girl wanted to be an exotic dancer when they grew up. At least it just about paid the bills.

You had been put on a long shift today - late afternoon until the early hours. You didn’t mind though; it was exhausting, but more time meant more tips. And you needed the money. You were saving, slowly but surely. One day, it would be enough.

These shifts always started slow. Not many tips this early in the day. Not enough drunks - they were all too willing to part with their money, an exploit you knew how to use. After a while on stage, it was your turn to make your way into the crowd. You started away from the bar, smiling at a few, a couple of words of flirtation thrown around, but no one was loose enough for anything else yet. There was something different about the energy today though. You felt… exposed, on display, more than usual. Self conscious in a way you hadn’t been since your first week. By the time you got to the bar, you were already feeling frustrated at the lack of interest. But your favourite coworker was pouring the drinks tonight, and she had one ready for you already.

“Thanks, Katie” You crooned, knocking back the shot quickly and she immediately offered to refill - something you gratefully accepted.

“Thought you might need it. Slow start?”

“Yeah, not the best day so far.” You took your second, thanking her again, when you heard a voice call out your name. Your real name. It made you start, whipping your head around to find the source. You didn’t use that name here. You were expecting to see an ex, or an old boss, but instead you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in years.

His eyes hadn’t changed. Kind but tired, amber in colour and glowing like whiskey in sunlight. The curve of his nose was the same, the curl of his lips, the small moles like points on a map - one beneath his right eye and the other to the left of his lip. There was a cane tucked beside his stool, and he was dressed well. Too well to be in this part of town. A uniform of some sort, something a Topsider would wear: blue shirt accented with a cream ascot and waistcoat. It suited him.

As soon as you saw him, every fond memory of your childhood rushed back to you like a river. The gentleness when he explained his creations to you. His willingness when you asked if you could paint them pretty colours, or add cute designs. The way he held you as you cried about your mum falling ill. How quickly he offered you support, and how quickly you turned him down. You didn’t want to be a burden, but you regretted that choice as soon as he stopped showing up to your usual spot. You kept going for months before you gave up, still trying to find him. The last time you visited was to scatter your mum’s ashes - your stories of Viktor’s designs and the beautiful creek where you tested them out together being one of the last things that brought her comfort.

And now, he was here.

He’d made it out. He’d made it Topside. And you’d only fallen further down.

If there was one person you never wanted to see you like this, it was him. He was the only slither of your youth and innocence left, the only soul in the whole of Runeterra who knew the true version of yourself, the first version of yourself. The version you actually liked. And now, he had to see this. You couldn’t tell what you were feeling. Every emotion was vying for attention: joy, nostalgia, anger, envy…

He repeated your name in a questioning tone, and you realised you’d been staring at him, the rollercoaster of emotions you just went on likely visible on your face.

“Do you know him, darling? Or shall I grab Joe?” Katie asked from behind the bar, staring him down with a protective look. Viktor opened his mouth to speak, indignant look on his face, but you answered for him, never once being able to tear your eyes from him.

“Yeah I… cover for me? If anyone asks, he got a dance.”

“Of course.” Viktor’s gaze had returned you, confused, and you just muttered a ‘come on’, signalling him to follow you, and you lead him across the floor to one of the private rooms. They weren’t exactly the nicest places to talk, the whole room painted a hideous deep purple, a weirdly-shaped black velvet sofa the only thing to sit on. As soon as you closed the door, turning around to see the soft look on his face, every drop of anger seeped from you, replaced with relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that he had done something with his life. Relief that you hadn’t lost him forever.

You couldn’t help it but let the tears fall as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him tight.

***

He was surprised by her warm welcome. After all these years, he had always imagined she would resent him, but here she was, face pressed to his chest as she hugged him, tears falling onto his shirt. He didn’t even have to think about it, one arm naturally surrounding her as she cried, keeping her close, while the other held firm to his cane, ensuring it was stable for the both of them. He never wanted to let her go again.

She eventually pulled away though, wiping her tears with the shy smile he remembered so well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.. on your fancy Topside shirt too.” She laughed nervously, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I… um, I imagined bumping into you one day, finding you again, but I never thought I would be dressed like this.” He finally let himself glance down at her when he said that, to take her in completely, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t meeting his eyes. She looked beautiful - a black two-peice set, solid silk on the areas that counted, but the frills and accents were a sheer lace, stockings too, glittering beads woven into the delicate material. Even if the environment didn’t suit her, somehow the clothes still did, the same style he’d seen her develop in her teenage years. Simple in colour, beautiful in design - the cunning of her inventor’s mind applied to her other passion.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?” She sat down on the awkward sofa, curling her legs up onto it, and he followed suit, resting his cane against the arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.” It fell from his lips before he could stop it, and he winced, expecting her to be offended, but she just smiled sadly.

“You got out.” She stated as a shrouded question, ignoring his quip, and he nodded. He could explain, he should, but not yet.

“And you never wrote me.” He responded.

“Write you? Viktor, I didn’t know where you were.” She never got your letter.

“I left you a note by the creek. You never got it?” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve found you somehow, or…”

“It’s ok, Vik.” She shuffled closer on the loveseat, grabbing his hand and squeezing tight. Hearing the name she used to call him sent a pang of pain to his heart. This is what he had been missing out on all these years, all because of a stupid letter. “If I was in your shoes, I’d have done the same. Besides, I never let you see where I lived, or anything else about me. And when mum… I fell off the face of the earth. I wouldn’t have let you in no matter how hard you tried.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know.”

***

You spent a long time asking about his life now. He was working in the academy, partners with Piltover’s favourite researcher, helping to create the HexTech that kept the whole city afloat… he had changed the fucking world. And you were… here. Still.

He said your name softly, as though trying to broach a subject carefully and you knew what was coming. You had seen the query floating in his eyes since the moment he saw you.

“What are you doing working here? I mean, you’re brilliant, more so than me, and yet…”

“I’m still stuck in the Lanes?” You sighed.

“Well, yes.” You’d never once thought of him as ignorant. Maybe he’d been living Topside for too long.

“I never got my break. You deserved what you got, of course you did, and you’re the smartest person I know, Viktor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you got lucky. And it’s not the same here as when we were kids. Sure, things weren’t great then, but now… There are no jobs, no money, housing is insanely competitive even though most of it is disgusting.. it’s a vicious cycle meant to keep you in the shitter. This is what I could get. It pays my bills and lets me save a little, the other girls are nice, it’s close to my apartment…”

“But…” You knew from the look on his face what he was going to say - a long speech about how much potential you have, and how much better you could have it. You dropped his hand.

“But what?” You couldn’t help but snap, defensive over the very job that you cursed daily. “But I’m better than selling myself to sleazy drunks? You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I want to be losing my sense of self every day just so I can keep the lights on? You think it’s my dream to feel like I’m a lesser human being because I will let someone pay me to take them into this room and…” You stood up then, starting to pace as silent tears fell. You never let yourself think about any part of your life longer than you had to. Not pondering on it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You know I wasn’t saying that…”

“I know I’m sorry… I just…”

“I know… I know…” He stood up then too, wrapping you in his arms and letting you cry. Again. You felt so stupid. “I missed you.” He whispered, face nestled into your hair, barely audible.

“I missed you too.” The tender moment didn’t last for long though, as a sharp knock on the door startled you, jumping away from him and wiping your eyes.

“Vikki?” Joey’s voice called out, and you breathed a sigh of relief. “You ok in there?” You put on your smiley voice, cooing back to him.

“Yeah, all good Joe, got a paying customer in here...”

“You got it, doll.” You heard him walk away, and turned back to see Viktor looking at you, head cocked, small smirk playing across his features.

“What?” You asked with a shy smile, wiping away the last of your tears.

“Vikki?” Oh.

“Well I couldn’t exactly use my real name.” He laughed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle too. “That does mean we’ve been in here too long though, I should…”

“Yeah, no of course…” he moved to open the door, grabbing his cane, but you stopped him quickly, pressing your hand against the door frame.

“One second…” He frowned as you reached towards him, but he didn’t move, just watched curiously as you took your time unknotting his ascot. Once it was off, you unbuttoned a few of his buttons, trying to ruffle his shirt a little, make it look like you had actually been doing your job rather than talking to an old friend. “There…” you muttered quietly, realising he’d shuffled a little closer to you as you worked, and now his lips were only a breath away. He was looking at you so intently, as though there was something he wanted to say, but he never spoke, just gazed at you in a way that made your heart swell. Your hands lingered on his chest, comforted by the warmth and solidness of him. A reassurance that he was real and here. You didn’t want to move.

“Please, don’t go anywhere just yet…” you muttered, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

She had been backstage for a while now, muttering something about trying to move her shifts around. She came back beaming, and it was infectious, a smile he was trying to fight taking over his own face just at the sight of her.

“Ok, if you’re busy tonight, or you have plans, you can tell me to piss off…”

“Never.” She blushed in response, her wide smile spreading further as she spoke, and he was helplessly drawn to her, eyes scanning her face intently.

“Well, someone came in early for their shift, but someone else is running late… anyway, our schedule is a mess, but good news is I only have to stay for another hour and then I’m free so… I was thinking, maybe you’d want to grab some food and catch up? Unless you have somewhere else to be…” She still sounded so shy, so unsure - the same habit she had when she was young, babbling when she was nervous. He was finding it hard to connect the dots in his mind: the timid person before him now, the girl he used to know, and the dancer on that stage, full of bravado and confidence.

“That sounds wonderful.” The joy in her face was intoxicating, and he watched as relief visibly washed over her body.

“Ok, brilliant.” She spun away for just a moment, trying to track down the bartender she seemed to know well. “Katie, he’s with me, ok? Send him back in like an hour, and his drinks are on my tab.” He tried to protest, but she rested a hand on his shoulder, quickly silencing him. “I insist. It’s the least I can do, considering how long you have to wait around.” Again, he tried to tell her didn’t mind, that he’d wait as long as she needed, anything for her, but she was gone already, slipping into the crowd, his shoulder cold where her hand had been. He sighed, turning back towards the bar on his stool, taking another sip of his soda.

“That’s our Vikki…” Katie mused, slicing a few garnishes behind the bar. “Never accepting that somebody else would want to do something for her.” He let out a dry laugh, half at the name, half in agreement.

“That sounds like her.” A beat of silence passed between them. The club was starting to fill up, but it wasn’t too rowdy yet, and nobody else was at the bar, all relying on bottle service and shot girls instead.

“Drink?” He shook his head politely. “How do you know her?” Katie asked, staying busy but obviously trying to snoop. He didn’t mind. She was a topic he didn’t mind talking about.

“Childhood friend. I haven’t seen her in… a very long time.” Her eyebrow shot up at that.

“What was your name, by the way?”

“Viktor.” A look of surprise flitted across her face.

“Ohh.” She drawled knowingly, smiling at herself as she continued to wedge limes.

“What?”

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all. Her childhood love who disappeared on her while her mother was dying…”

“You don’t know the whole story…” He snapped back quickly. He might hate himself for what happened, but he felt the need to defend his choices. It had turned out well for him, he just wished he could’ve found her. Taken her with him. Their life could’ve been so different. Katie chuckled, continuing her tasks.

“Oh trust me, I do. She’s very quick to defend you, you know. You can do no wrong in her eyes…”

“Not so sure about that…” As he muttered to himself, something she’d said suddenly hit him. Her childhood love…“Actually, on second thought, I will grab a drink please, whatever she usually has. But don’t put it on her tab…”

“I wasn’t planning on it, Topsider.” She saluted mockingly with a smile.

Two down and that was all he was having, just needing something to take the edge off after Katie’s admission. All those years wasted, because you thought childhood love was stupid and pointless. And now, seeing her again, you still love her as much as you did back then…

Katie was on her break, so he twisted in his seat, trying to find her in the crowd. She had never been difficult for him to spot, everything about her so familiar to him, and this time, she was centre stage, which made it even easier. Every part of him was screaming to turn away, to not taint his view of her, but he was instantly transfixed. She danced so fluidly, so gracefully. Every movement she made was purposeful and poised. However much she hated her job, she took pride in it. He was a scientist, sure, but she was a creator, through and through.

***

You were finally finished, and you were exhausted. Even though it wasn’t even half a usual shift, seeing Viktor, all the memories it brought back, it had been so emotionally draining.

You were grateful that the changing area was empty. It wasn’t the usual shift time, and no one ever came here on their break, so at least Viktor wouldn’t have to deal with that. You almost laughed at the thought.

There was a gentle knock, and his voice sent a flutter straight to your heart.

“Vikki?” He called out mockingly, and you laughed at the way he’d latched on to your new name. It was inspired by him, after all. “Are you decent?”

“Yes, you can come in.” You were looking good, if you said so yourself. The fashion and the opportunity you were afforded to express yourself in that way was one of the few things you did like about this place. You’d tried to incorporate the shapes and designs of your ‘work attire’ into a more Lanes-friendly outfit, layering a black organza shirt over the lacy bodice, beading shining through the sheer fabric, pairing it with a bubble skirt and knee high boots, just the right height to allow your stockings to peek from the top. There was only one item that wasn’t black; his neckerchief that you had taken earlier was now around your own collar, tied in a dainty bow. He grinned as soon as he laid his eyes on it, striding towards you and gently holding the hemmed edge between his fingers.

“I guess I’m not getting this back, huh.”

“Never.” He shrugged.

“I’m ok with that.” God, the way he looked at you. It made you melt without fail, warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Are you ready to go?” You muttered, eyes still glued to his, honey tones making you feel as though you were stuck in them. A fly trapped in amber, resigned to its fate.

“I’m ready when you are.”

You’d decided you were going to cook for him tonight instead of taking him out. The places near you either weren’t nice enough, or they knew you for the wrong reasons. Besides, you wanted to show him your place. To show him that, even though you were still here, you had done everything you could to make the best of it, to continue learning and inventing and developing yourself.

That did mean you had to stop by the store, though. Which meant bumping into Angel. He and Viktor would not get on.

You had grabbed Viktor’s arm as soon as you left the club, a habit from the times Joey had walked you home, knowing that you were safer beside a man than by yourself. Even though the Undercity was bustling tonight, there was something so soothing about being here with him. A nostalgia warming you from the inside out. He let you guide him into the shop below your apartment, chatting absentmindedly about nothing and everything, when a smooth voice stopped yoou in your tracks.

“Not so fast, Vikki…” You groaned, turning back the few steps you had made into the entrance.

“Hey Angel.” You cooed, although it felt wrong falling into your usual flirtatious routine when Viktor was right behind you. He was working behind the counter today, thumbing through the till. His long dreadlocks were down, grey peeking through his beard, wide grin as his eyes traced over you, following your arm to where it joined the man next to you.

“Is that a nickname, or…” Viktor muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you responded.

“No, Vik, this is my landlord Angel…”

“Landlord, huh? Thought I was more than that, sugar…” He leaned across the counter, shit-eating smile on his face, clearing noticing and enjoying the fact he was winding up your new companion. Viktor scowled, moving a step closer to you.

“Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming, old man…” You sent him a wink, and he laughed, the booming noise of it always making you smile. “What have you got in that’s fresh? I’m actually cooking tonight…”

You chatted a little longer, grabbing what Angel recommended and some wine, before heading upstairs via the back of the shop. Viktor was still scowling slightly as you were unlocking your door, and you laughed lightly, nudging him with the bag of shopping.

“What?” He huffed.

“I don’t like that guy.” He grumbled, feeling smug that you had called it.

“He’s my landlord, Vik, and a friend. He’s a good guy, don’t worry.” He just shrugged as you finally got the door open, and you thanked the stars that you had remembered to tidy last night, or else it would be a complete tip. There were still remnants from your busy morning scattered all around the studio: scrap pieces of fabric and thread strewn across the kitchen table, the half-finished neglige you were constructing laid over the back of one of the chairs, the cogs and pieces of machinery lie abandoned next to your sewing machine in the wake of the modifications you were trying to make so it could handle more delicate material. The space itself was dark in colour, olive and navy washing the walls, brown leather sofa and black countertops marking their territory in the small apartment, the stain-glass screen in front of your bed the only splash of jewel toned colour. You could feel Viktor’s curiosity at the place, and as he stepped further into it, a smile settled onto his lips.

“It’s so very… you.” He said, and in any other intonation, it would’ve sounded like a bad thing, but when he said it, full of adoration.. it was a compliment of the highest order.

***

She was mesmerising as she cooked, twirling in the kitchen to her carefully selected vinyl, a wide smile on her face as she tested what she was making. He wanted to help but she wouldn’t let him, batting him away and telling him to sit down, and for now, he had obliged. But, as much as he wanted to help her always, right now, he just wanted to be close.

“At least let me pour the wine?” He said, already standing to help, and she huffed, but didn't object. Instead, she handed him the corkscrew and the bottle wordlessly. He smiled, leaning against the counter and continuing to watch her as she stirred. She was always so chaotic when she was creating, something evidenced by the near bomb-site on her kitchen table. It was just so… her. Everything about her apartment was as well, such a perfect and beautiful representation of everything she was, every tiny detail of her life and personality reflected in the space she lived in. The colours, the soft furnishings, the bookshelves lining the wall behind her bed. Then, he noticed something about the stain glass screen that separated the room, soft light from her bedside lamp washing through it and creating a blue ripple across the floor like a stream. It was of their place, their creek. It was abstract, sure, but he would recognise it anywhere. The way certain rocks jutted out, the colours of it all, the small boat floating in the still glass water.

“Did you make that?” He asked earnestly, and she briefly glanced up from the stove to see what he was looking at.

“Yeah, I've been trying out a lot of different hobbies actually, things to keep me busy when I’m not working. That was one of my favourites…”

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled sadly, focusing her attention back to the pan.

“It reminds me of you.”

He poured them both a glass, and she gratefully accepted.

“It’s nearly finished, just a few more… oh I meant to ask earlier…” Her mind was such a beautiful thing, the speed at which it moved so captivating, not even time to finish her own thought before starting another, “why were you even here today? In the Undercity, in my club… I just never thought I’d see you back here by choice.”

“I was visiting an old friend, a quandary about a new gadget Jayce and I are working on, but…” He was going to say something about it, ask her opinion on whether he should follow Doctor Reveck’s advice, what he should do next, but he decided against it. “He didn’t have any insights.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“No, I…” She looked hurt at the speed the word left his mouth, almost recoiling and turning back to her cooking with a frown. “I mean that you probably could, but I don’t want to taint tonight by talking about a project that has been frustrating me for weeks. Another time though, of course I would appreciate your insight.” She sighed in relief, smile flitting back across her face. She grabbed a spoon from the drawer, humming as she did, a flurry of breathtaking movement as she dipped it into the sauce, spinning back around and holding it up to him.

“Taste?” She asked, the look on her face so hopeful it melted him, her joy infectious. But underneath all of it, he couldn't help but notice the cracks: the bags under her eyes, the tiredness set into them, the subtle shake of her hand. But he just smiled, enveloping her hand in his and bringing the spoon to his lips.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.” She looked proud nonetheless, spinning back away from him and he was left to watch again, heart swelling. He wanted this. Cooking with her, drinking wine in the kitchen to her favourite record, letting her order him around. He wanted the… intimacy of it. The domesticity. The realisation of it ached. You could’ve had this. All these years without her, all these years wasted. Precious time that you no longer have to spare. If you’d have just waited, just taken more time to find her, insisted on helping her even…

“It’s ready!” She exclaimed, presenting a plate with a wide grin, and every stress, every regret simultaneously melted away and intensified, a pit forming in his stomach.

“It looks wonderful.”

***

You had eaten, and you were both now on your second glass of wine. You felt closer to him with every single second, drawn to every word he said like moth to a flame. At some point in the evening, you’d moved to the floor, backs to the sofa, as you looked through some of your old sketches you had found. The conversation lulled momentarily, a faraway look in his eyes, and you realised how close you had gotten. Your elbow was leaning on the sofa, supporting your head with your body twisted to face him, knee pressing against his thigh. You moved your head forwards to glance at the sketchbook, and your hand fell, resting on his shoulder. A stillness fell over him at the touch, and he smiled sadly to himself.

“I think you should come back with me.” He stated with finality, and you froze.

“What do you…”

“I think you should come back to Piltover.” He closed the book, placing it gently on the low coffee table. He was serious. “Help Jayce and I with our projects. Let me teach you about HexTech.”

“Vik, I don’t exactly have any actual experience. I don’t have an education. I can’t afford to live Topside…”

“You can live with me.” He said it so simply, like it was so obvious. Of course you would love that. Now you’d seen him again, you didn’t want to be apart from him but… “Professor Heimerdinger can give you lessons, but you have the mind already. There are certain things that can’t be taught. You have the passion, the skill, the creativity…”

“But…” You weren’t trying to pick apart his plan, but it felt terrifying. Even though it was everything you had ever wanted, it felt so far fetched. Like a fever dream. It didn’t feel like your life, your future.

“No, I… I lost you once, I can’t do it again.”

“Vik…” He grabbed your hand that was resting by his shoulder, and you felt yourself relax into his touch. He turned head to meet your eyes, sadness creeping into them.

“I don’t have much time left.” The finality of his statement shocked you, and you couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Did he have somewhere else to be? Oh god, you’d already kept him here too long…

“What do you mean, time left?”

“I’m dying.” It felt like somebody had punched you in the gut, all the air in your lungs gone.

“You’re…”

“Dying.” He repeated factually, and your heart sank further into your stomach. “And if we don’t… Jayce and I are working on something that might help, but if it doesn’t, I need someone I trust to take over from me.”

“Viktor, hold on, I need to think…” Your mind was racing, and you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around everything, hands running through your hair. He was dying. He wanted you to move Topside. He wanted you to work with him. To take over his life’s work. “It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in years and now you want me to… now you trust me to…”

“Of course.” He muttered, speaking your name softly to get your attention, hand gently wiping your face where tears had fallen without you noticing. “You’re everything to me, you always have been. There’s nothing I wouldn’t trust you with.” His hand was still resting on your face, and as you searched his eyes, you saw something else. Something pleading, something that echoed the feeling bouncing around in your heart. It would be hard. It would take a long time to settle in, to learn the ropes, to feel like you belonged. But it was your dream. To help change the world. And if he didn't have long, there was no chance you were wasting any of your time left with him.

“Ok.” You answered nodding, and you watched a smile take over his face, heart swelling at the sight.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… Vik, you’re offering me my dreams on a silver platter, and on top of it all, I get to be…” You nearly slipped, about to say be with you but you knew that was a lot. That you had only just reunited and to spring the whole I’ve loved you since I was 10 and I’ve never loved a soul since thing on him might ruin the dream that he’s just given you. But, fuck, you wanted to kiss him right now. “I get to work with you again.. there would have to be one hell of a catch for me to say no to that.”

“The whole dying thing isn’t too much of a problem then?” He asked with a slight smile, trying to hide a genuine fear beneath a joke.

“Oh, honey, knowing that we don’t have another decade of time to lose… I’m not letting you slip through my fingers this time.” His hand felt so natural resting against your cheek you’d forgotten it was there until it moved to cup the base of your neck, thumb drawing gentle lines across your jaw. His amber eyes were searching your features, looking for anything to indicate that you were unsure, but your resolve shone through, and you could see the moment he realised this was going to work, relief flooding through them.

Then, before you could process what was happening, his hand gently guided you forward until your lips brushed against his—light as a feather. For a moment, you couldn't believe he had just kissed you, that it was real. But as you met those pleading honey eyes, everything else faded away. Every doubt, every regret, every sliver of worry vanished, replaced by such overwhelming care and love that you felt you might burst. Your body gave in without conscious thought, melting into his arms as you kissed him. His hands drifted to the back of your head, tangling in your hair and pulling you closer. You couldn't get close enough, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His fingers traced down your body until they reached your hips, pulling you over him. A soft giggle escaped into his mouth as you swung your leg over his, settling onto his lap. When he finally broke for breath, you found yourself chasing his lips, panting into the space between you with a wide smile.

His lips found yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. Your hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, steadying yourself as his grip on your hips tightened. The feeling of his fingers pressing into your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan into his mouth. He smiled against your lips, one hand moving to cup your face while the other remained firmly at your waist.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. You could only nod in response, too overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being in his arms after all these years.

The record had long since stopped playing, leaving only the sound of your shared breaths and racing hearts in the quiet apartment. His thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, full of warmth and something deeper, something that had been there all along. Something that you had been too blinded by insecurity to notice earlier. Something that you knew all too well, reflected in your own heart. You pressed your lips to the mole on his cheek, and the one beside his mouth, a small smirk playing across his features as you did.

“I still can’t quite believe this is happening.” You muttered softly against his cheek, and he sighed, thumb dancing across your lips.

You eventually found yourselves entwined on your bed, limbs tangled in soft cotton sheets, his back pressed firmly against your sturdy wooden headboard as you rocked onto him with gentle, deliberate movements. Each subtle shift of your hips sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making your breath catch. You panted softly into his mouth as his strong, careful hands helped guide your every motion, his touch both grounding and electrifying. The overwhelming need to be closer drove you to pull him tighter against you, your arms wrapping securely around his shoulders until there wasn't even a whisper of space between your bodies. Your chest pressed firmly to his, feeling his rapid heartbeat matching yours, as your head naturally found its place in the crook of his neck. You pressed feather-light kisses against the sensitive skin, tasting the salt and breathing in his familiar scent. The intimacy of the moment was almost overwhelming - so intense, so raw, so perfectly natural - and you found yourself climbing toward your peak faster than you ever had before, your body responding to his every touch as if it had been waiting for this moment forever. You whined softly into his skin as pleasure built within you, each movement bliss, and he responded with a groan as he pressed his lips tenderly to your temple.

"That feels so good, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice coarse with desire, and your hips instinctively bucked harder against him, drawing a sharp gasp from both of you. His meticulous fingers traced teasing patterns across your hipbones before finding their way between your bodies, circling your sensitive clit with perfectly measured pressure that made your toes curl. His other hand gently cupped your chin, drawing you back until your eyes met his, gilded with desire but still so full of tenderness. His lips ghosted across yours before he pressed his forehead to your own, releasing your face and returning his hand to your hip, guiding you once more. You could feel yourself fluttering around him as your pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, and his eyes rolled back, a broken groan escaping his lips and filling the charged space between you. The coil of pleasure wound tighter and tighter as you approached your climax, desperately seeking more of him, claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that swallowed the stream of desperate moans spilling from both your lips. When your release finally crashed over you, it was like nothing you'd ever experienced - all the pressure, all the built-up desperation exploded like a supernova and pure, white-hot ecstasy consumed every nerve ending, every thought, every sensation except the feeling of him inside you and against you. He followed shortly after, gasping your name like a prayer against your skin as his own pleasure overtook him, his lips finding purchase on your neck as he shuddered through his release. In that moment, it was perfection, hearing him, feeling him, everything you had ever dreamed of and more. But as you came down from your shared bliss, you couldn't quite silence the intruding thought lurking at the edges of your consciousness - that you wouldn’t have him for long.

***

She looked so peaceful curled against him, her head nestled perfectly in the crook of his chest as if she belonged there, her beautiful red hair fanning out like a fiery halo in the dim light. Her beauty was staggering - the gentle slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her lips - and he couldn't help but trace each feature with his fingertips, mapping the geography of her face with tender precision. She sighed contentedly in her sleep at his touch, unconsciously pressing closer to him, one hand curling loosely in the fabric of his sheets that lay across them. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this complete, this profoundly at peace, as if all the jagged pieces of his life had suddenly aligned. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, committing every detail to memory - the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the subtle flutter of her eyelashes, the way her lips curved slightly downwards even in sleep. He wanted to capture this moment, to carry it with him always like a talisman, a protection. A reminder that he would do anything to preserve her peace of mind. To make her happy.

The soft amber from the bedside lamp caught in her hair and painted her skin in warm honey tones, making her look almost otherworldly in her beauty, an ethereal being who had chosen, inexplicably, to be with him. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a feather-light kiss, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, before letting his own eyes drift closed. Despite everything - the illness creeping through his veins, the uncertainty that clouded their future like a torrential storm on the horizon - right now, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[moonselune]

companions and drunk reader crying and cuddling with scratch + owlbear :33

I did this set at the reunion party because for some reason I thought that was part of the prompt but hey ho, some fluff to warm our souls and brighten us up during this darkside of the year <3

Karlach:

The reunion party was in full swing, the lively hum of conversation and laughter filling the air. Music played from a makeshift ensemble, and the scent of roasted meat and ale mingled with the crisp night breeze. You and Karlach had been inseparable for most of the evening, both of you reveling in the joy of being free from the hellish grasp of Avernus - even if it was a brief respite. Friends surrounded you, their faces lit with genuine smiles—a rare luxury in the trials you’d all endured together.

But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed freely, Karlach found herself chatting animatedly with Wyll and Gale about some shared escapades. It wasn’t until a lull in the conversation that she noticed your absence.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the crowd. Where had you gone? You’d been right beside her just moments ago. Her heart sank slightly as her mind played through the possibilities, but then she noticed a faint commotion near the far side of the camp, where the light of the bonfire barely reached.

Curiosity and concern prompted her to investigate.

As she approached, Karlach was met with a sight that was both hilarious and heartwarming. There you were, sprawled on the ground, your cheeks flushed from too much drink, nestled comfortably between Scratch, who was contentedly licking your face, and the owlbear cub—no longer a cub but still unmistakably affectionate. The owlbear had draped itself partially over your lap, its massive body radiating warmth, while you murmured incoherent endearments and occasionally giggled.

“You are such a good boy, Scratch,” you slurred, scratching behind the dog’s ears with one hand while your other patted the owlbear’s soft feathers. “And you—big ol’ fluff monster—you’re my second-best friend in the whole wide world. Don’t tell Scratch, though.”

The owlbear let out a low, rumbling coo, and Scratch wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Karlach leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, and just watched you for a moment, her expression softening. The firelight caught in her amber eyes, reflecting the warmth she felt in her chest. After everything you’d been through—fighting, surviving, struggling—it was moments like these that made it all worthwhile. Seeing you so carefree, surrounded by creatures who adored you, filled her with a quiet contentment.

“Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer, her voice laced with affection. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’ve already gone and replaced me with fur and feathers.”

You looked up at her, blinking owlishly, and broke into a wide, dopey grin. “Karlach! Join us! There’s so much love here, it’s like… like a cuddle explosion!”

She chuckled, her heart melting a little more. “A cuddle explosion, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s the best kind of dangerous,” you declared, patting the ground beside you.

Karlach didn’t need much convincing. With a theatrical sigh, she dropped to the ground beside you, her warm body pressing against yours. Scratch immediately climbed into her lap, while the owlbear shuffled closer to include her in its feathery embrace.

“You know,” she said, her voice low and tender, “I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“‘Cause I’m with you,” you mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder. “And Scratch. And Big Fluffy. It’s perfect.”

Karlach wrapped an arm around you, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

“You’re perfect, babe” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Minthara:

The reunion party was a raucous affair, the camp alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional outburst of song. Minthara had joined reluctantly at your insistence, her usual composed demeanor barely hiding the faint amusement she felt as she observed the chaos.

The Drow paladin rarely indulged in such frivolity, the two of you had an Underdark to conquor afterall, but tonight she allowed herself to linger, even engaging in a deep conversation with Astarion, who had recently returned to the Underdark to settle down.

As the two shared dry wit and sharp banter, Minthara’s keen eyes darted across the camp, instinctively searching for you. When she realized you were nowhere in sight, she narrowed her eyes.

"Where has that fool wandered off to now?" she muttered under her breath, much to Astarion’s amusement.

“Ah, love,” Astarion quipped, a sly smirk on his lips. “It makes us chase after them even when we’d rather not.”

Minthara rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She excused herself, muttering something about responsibility, and began to search for you. It didn’t take long—muffled giggles and low, rumbling noises led her toward the outskirts of the gathering. There, illuminated by the faint glow of the moonlight, she found you sprawled on the ground.

You were nestled between Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it had long since outgrown the 'cub' moniker—and were clearly the drunkest she had ever seen you. Your face was flushed, your hair mussed, and your arms were wrapped tightly around the two creatures as if they were your most precious treasures.

“Listen,” you whispered conspiratorially to the owlbear, though your volume defeated the purpose. “We’re gonna take over the Underdark. Me, you, Scratch, and Minthara. She’s so scary and smart. We’ll rule everything. But don’t tell her—it’s a secret plan.”

Minthara crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she approached.

"A secret plan, is it?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “Taking over the Underdark with a dog and an owlbear? Truly, you’re a visionary.”

You looked up at her with wide, bleary eyes, your face breaking into a sloppy grin.

“Minthara! You found me!” you exclaimed, holding out a hand. “Join us! It’s a cuddle coup.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though there was a flicker of amusement in her crimson eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning to walk away.

But before she could take a step, you staggered to your feet with surprising agility for someone so far gone. With a triumphant shout, you lunged at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down to the ground.

Minthara yelped in surprise, glaring daggers at you as she landed unceremoniously on the grass.

“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped, but her anger quickly gave way to resignation as Scratch and the owlbear cub immediately joined in, nuzzling against her.

She froze, her normally stern expression softening as Scratch licked her cheek and the owlbear rumbled contentedly. She didn’t push them away, though she grumbled, “You’ve turned me into a damned pillow.”

You beamed at her, your face close to hers as you slurred, “You’re the best pillow ever. And the best everything else. I adore you, Minthara. You, Scratch, Owlie—you're all my favorite.”

Her cheeks darkened with a faint blush, though she refused to acknowledge it.

“You’re drunk,” she said curtly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

“And in love,” you replied with drunken sincerity, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, but Minthara didn’t pull away. She sighed, her hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a moment before she let it fall.

“I'm going to kill you,” she muttered, though her tone was more affectionate than irritated.

You grinned, nuzzling against her like a contented cat. “I can't wait.”

Minthara rolled her eyes, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her mouth. As Scratch and the owlbear settled around you both, she resigned herself to her fate, lying back against the grass and letting the warmth of the moment wash over her.

Perhaps you were impossible. But you were hers.

Lae'zel:

The reunion party was in full swing, the air buzzing with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You’d coaxed Lae’zel into attending, promising her that Xan, your precious hatchling, would be fine under the watchful eyes of Voss and the rebels - who were surprisingly more than happy to look after him. Though she had reluctantly agreed, you noticed her gaze drifting toward the camp’s perimeter now and then, her brows furrowed with that familiar Githyanki intensity.

“Relax, Lae’zel,” you teased, nudging her gently. “Xan is fine. Tonight is about us.”

Lae’zel gave you a skeptical glance but said nothing, her hand brushing against yours briefly—a rare public display of affection from her that made your heart swell. For a while, the two of you enjoyed the festivities, sharing drinks and banter with your companions. But as the evening wore on and the wine flowed more freely, you became… well, significantly more inebriated.

At some point, Lae’zel turned to speak with Wyll, who was recounting one of his latest exploits. When she turned back, you were gone.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the crowd, her warrior instincts kicking in despite the harmless nature of the gathering. She stomped through the camp, muttering curses under her breath as she searched for you.

“You couldn’t stay in one place, could you?” she growled.

It wasn’t long before she heard familiar, albeit slurred, murmuring. Following the sound, she found you sprawled on the ground near the campfire, flanked by Scratch and the now nearly full-grown owlbear cub. Tears streamed down your face as you hugged the animals close, stroking their fur and feathers.

“I love her so much,” you sobbed into Scratch’s neck. “And Xan. Xan is perfect. Perfect little hatchling.”

Lae’zel froze, her expression caught between exasperation and disbelief. She crossed her arms and glared down at you. “What are you doing, fool?”

You looked up at her, your face lighting up with drunken joy.

“Lae’zel!” you cried, holding out your arms. “You’re here! You’re so amazing, and strong, and—hic—beautiful. I love you.”

Lae’zel pinched the bridge of her nose, her shoulders heaving with a deep sigh.

“You are worse than Xan when he is hungry,” she muttered. Turning her attention to the animals, she pointed toward the river. “Drag this mess into the water. Perhaps it will sober them up.”

Scratch tilted his head, his tail wagging, while the owlbear let out a soft, rumbling croon. They looked at her, clearly uninterested in complying.

You giggled, stroking the owlbear’s feathers. “They like you, Lae’zel. They know you’re the best. Everyone knows you’re the best.”

Lae’zel’s irritation flickered, her lips pressing into a tight line as she fought to suppress the small smile threatening to emerge.

“You’re insufferable,” she declared, but there was no venom in her tone.

At her words, you burst into fresh tears. “Xan is so lucky to have you as a mom. I’m so lucky! How did I get so lucky?”

Lae’zel knelt beside you, her movements stiff but deliberate as she pulled you upright and into her arms.

“You’re drunk and ridiculous,” she said, her voice low but steady.

You wrapped your arms around her, clinging tightly. “But I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

Lae’zel let out a small, exasperated sigh, but she didn’t push you away. Instead, she adjusted her grip, holding you firmly against her.

Her fingers brushed against your hair as she murmured, “You are fortunate I have patience tonight.”

You snuggled into her embrace, your tears finally subsiding as warmth and exhaustion took over. Though her expression remained stoic, a faint, hidden smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She did love you, she loved Xan, and the feathered and furred beasts weren't too bad either.

Shadowheart:

The reunion party was a vibrant celebration, a gathering of friends, companions, and allies, each reveling in the hard-won peace after so many battles. You and Shadowheart stood together, hand in hand, sharing a quiet joy amid the merriment. The news that the owlbear cub—now a formidable but still affectionate creature—would be coming back to your farm had filled you both with delight. The prospect of a peaceful life on your little slice of the countryside, surrounded by Scratch, the owlbear, your other small army of animals and each other, was everything you’d dreamed of.

You’d both mingled, laughed, and shared drinks, but at some point, Shadowheart turned to grab another bottle of wine, only to find you had disappeared. Her brow furrowed, though she didn’t panic. You weren’t exactly subtle when you were drunk, and it wasn’t hard to follow the sound of your voice, rising in animated, tearful elation.

When she finally found you, Shadowheart couldn’t help but pause, her arms crossing as she observed the scene before her. You were seated on the grass near the campfire, Scratch pressed against your side, his tail wagging lazily, while the owlbear nestled on the other side, its feathers ruffled as you gently stroked its beak.

“And you’re gonna love the farm,” you slurred, gesturing wildly with the bottle in your hand. “There’s fields to run in, and soft places to sleep, and you two—” you sniffed, your voice breaking slightly as you turned to the animals— “are gonna be so happy. So loved.”

The owlbear let out a deep, contented rumble, and Scratch licked your cheek, which only made your drunken tears flow harder. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a small smile.

“You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” she said, stepping into the firelight.

Your head snapped up, your face lighting up as if you’d seen the sun itself.

“Shadowheart!” you cried, scrambling to your feet only to stumble and flop back onto the grass. “You’re here! Come here, come here—cuddle pile!”

Shadowheart sighed but couldn’t suppress her amused grin as you reached out for her.

“You’re hopeless,” she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She approached and allowed herself to be pulled down into the pile of fur and feathers, the owlbear shifting to make room for her as Scratch barked happily.

“This is the best night ever,” you declared, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m so happy, Shadowheart. We’re gonna have the best life. You, me, Scratch, and this big feathery baby.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as she snatched the bottle from your hand.

“You’ve had enough,” she said, taking a swig herself. The wine burned pleasantly as it went down, and she let out a contented sigh. “Though I suppose I can’t argue with your enthusiasm.”

As the night wore on, Shadowheart found herself caught up in your infectious joy. She joined in on your rambling talks of the future—of gardens you’d plant, adventures you’d take, and all the little moments of happiness waiting for you both.

“You know,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned her head against your shoulder, “I think you’re right. This is going to be a good life.”

Your only response was a drunken hum of agreement, your arms tightening around her as the warmth of the fire, the animals, and each other enveloped you both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

Jaheira:

The reunion party was in full swing, laughter and music filling the air as friends and allies celebrated the peace you had all fought so hard to achieve. You and Jaheira stood together for much of the evening, your hand occasionally brushing against hers in a quiet intimacy. She was radiant in her element, speaking with old friends, trading stories of past battles, and offering wisdom to those who sought it.

At some point, she became engrossed in a conversation with Halsin, the two of them naturally drawn together by their shared love for nature and nurturing. Their talk turned to the orphans Halsin had come to care for, and Jaheira, with her ever-compassionate heart, shared tales of her own tendency to adopt and guide wayward children.

“I suppose I can’t help myself,” she admitted with a soft chuckle. “Perhaps it’s the druid in me, or perhaps just the mother.”

Halsin nodded with a knowing smile. “It’s a noble trait, Jaheira. The world is better for it.”

But as Jaheira began to share another story, she realized something: you were no longer at her side. She scanned the crowd, her brow furrowing in mild irritation.

“Speaking of wayward children,” she muttered under her breath, excusing herself from Halsin with a polite nod. “Now where have you wandered off to?”

It wasn’t hard to track you down; she simply followed the faint sound of sniffling and tearful rambling. What she found made her stop in her tracks, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

There you were, sprawled on the grass near the fire, clutching Scratch and the owlbear cub—though it was hardly a cub anymore. The owlbear sat with a dignified sort of calm, its feathers ruffled from your clumsy affection, while Scratch lay happily across your lap, his tail wagging lazily.

“And you guys,” you sniffled, gesturing to the animals with the bottle still clutched in one hand, “you’re the best. I love you so much. You’re good boys. The best boys.”

Jaheira approached, shaking her head as she took in the sight of you, your face red from tears and wine.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, though her voice held a note of amusement. You looked up, your tear-streaked face lighting up at the sight of her.

“Jaheira!” you cried, holding your arms out dramatically. “You’re here! Come cuddle with us!”

“Cuddle?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Darling, you’re drunk.”

“I’m emotional,” you corrected, your voice wobbling as fresh tears welled in your eyes. “And you have to cuddle with us, or—or I’ll never forgive you! Ever!”

Jaheira sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead as though trying to muster the patience of a saint.

“You are worse than Halsin's orphans,” she teased, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “And that’s saying something.”

Your lip wobbled, and you clutched Scratch tighter.

“Please,” you whimpered, the plea so earnest and pitiful that Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh.

“All right, all right,” she said, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “If it means that much to you.”

She knelt beside you, allowing you to pull her into the chaotic cuddle pile. The owlbear gave a soft hoot, adjusting its position to include her, while Scratch wagged his tail even harder at her presence.

“See?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her as you leaned heavily against her shoulder. “This is nice. Isn’t it nice?”

Jaheira let out a long-suffering sigh, though a smile tugged at her lips as she rested her head against yours.

“You’re ridiculously impossible,” she said softly. “But yes, this is… nice.”

For a while, the two of you sat there, surrounded by warmth and fur and feathers. Jaheira found herself relaxing despite the absurdity of the situation, her arm slipping around your waist as she pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she murmured. You hummed happily, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“I know,” you slurred, the wine making your voice thick. “And I love you, too. So, so much.”

Jaheira chuckled, shaking her head as she tightened her hold on you.

“You’ll be the death of me,” she said fondly. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Gale:

The reunion party buzzed with energy, laughter and conversation flowing freely among friends old and new - thanks to Minsc's addition. You and Gale were nestled in a quieter corner of the celebration, a glass of wine in your hand and Gale gesturing animatedly with his own as he launched into an impassioned tale about his latest trials as a professor at Blackstaff Academy.

“…and would you believe it? One of the students thought it prudent to attempt wild magic on their first evocation test! I spent half the afternoon dispelling chaos and putting out fires—literal fires—and the other half explaining why summoning imps in a classroom was hardly conducive to learning.”

You nodded along, smiling as you watched the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work. His passion was endearing, and yet… a mischievous thought crept into your mind as you caught sight of Scratch wagging his tail nearby, the owlbear cub—no longer quite a cub—lounging lazily beside him.

When Gale paused to take a sip of his wine, you saw your chance.

“Fascinating,” you said quickly, standing and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Be right back, love.”

He blinked, caught off guard but easily reassured by the peck. “Oh, certainly. Don’t wander too far.”

You didn’t answer, instead making a beeline for the animals. A few moments later, you were leading Scratch and the owlbear cub away from the main gathering, giggling to yourself as you went. An hour later, Gale finally noticed your absence and set off to find you.

He tracked you down by the sound of your voice, soft and teasing as you lounged in a quiet grove just beyond the party. There you were, sprawled on the grass with Scratch snuggled into one side and the owlbear cub resting its heavy head on your lap. Your cheeks were flushed with drink, your eyes glassy with a mix of affection and mischief.

“And Gale,” you slurred, stroking the owlbear’s feathers as if imparting some great wisdom, “wanted to be a god. A god! Can you believe it? Silly Gale. He doesn’t need to be a god. He’s already… already my god. My love, my life…” Your voice dropped conspiratorially, and you hiccupped. “But he would’ve been a prick as a god. Don’t you think?”

“Do you think so?” Gale’s amused voice cut in, and you turned your head to see him standing there, arms crossed but a fond smile tugging at his lips. You gasped dramatically.

“Gale!” You grinned at him, patting the grass beside you. “Come here! Join us! Cuddle!”

“I think not,” he said, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Someone has to ensure you don’t declare my divine candidacy to the owlbear.”

Your grin wavered, and you pouted, your bottom lip trembling as your eyes filled with exaggerated tears.

“You won’t cuddle with me?” you sniffled, your voice wobbling. “You don’t love me anymore?”

Gale’s resolve crumbled instantly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know I can’t say no to that face.”

With a dramatic flourish, you opened your arms wide. “Then get over here, Professor Dekarios!”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling in his chest as he lowered himself to the grass beside you. Scratch immediately wriggled over to press against his side, while the owlbear gave a satisfied huff and shifted to accommodate him. You threw your arms around him, nuzzling into his chest as if he were the most comfortable pillow in the world.

“See?” you murmured, your voice soft and content. “This is perfect. My god. My Gale.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I suppose there are worse fates than being your god. Though next time, perhaps less wine and more water.”

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against him. Gale shook his head, his heart full as he tightened his arms around you and let the peaceful moment wash over him.

Astarion:

The reunion party was in full swing, with the warm glow of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. You and Astarion had arrived arm-in-arm, though the two of you quickly found yourselves mingling with different groups. Astarion had gravitated toward Minthara, the two of them caught in an animated conversation about how you and he had adjusted to life in the Underdark—a topic Astarion spoke of with a surprising fondness.

You, however, had been immediately distracted by Scratch, whose wagging tail and joyful demeanor were too much to resist. You’d spent some time tossing a stick for him before finding the owlbear cub—now fully grown—lounging nearby. One thing led to another, and soon enough, you’d wandered off, leaving Astarion none the wiser.

When he finally noticed your absence, it was only because Minthara raised an eyebrow mid-conversation. “It seems your partner has… disappeared.”

Astarion sighed, his eyes scanning the crowd. “They do tend to wander, don’t they? One moment they’re here, the next, they’ve likely befriended every stray within a ten-mile radius.”

It didn’t take him long to find you. The sound of your drunken sniffles and delighted murmurs led him to a quiet corner of the grove, where you were sprawled on the grass, your arms wrapped around Scratch and the owlbear cub. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes glassy, and you were mid-sentence in what appeared to be an earnest declaration.

“You’re just… so cute,” you hiccupped, scratching the owlbear behind its feathered ears. “Both of you. The cutest. I don’t deserve you. Nobody does.”

Astarion stepped closer, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms.

“Well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “The drunkest I’ve ever seen you, cuddling animals and crying over their cuteness. Truly, a sight to behold.”

You looked up at him, your expression a mix of delight and indignation.

“It’s not my fault!” you exclaimed, sitting up—though the effort made you wobble. “Scratch… Scratch has been fetching me wine!”

Astarion raised a skeptical brow, his smirk widening. “Scratch has been fetching you wine? Darling, I taught you to lie better than that.”

You gasped, clutching Scratch protectively. “Are you calling me a liar? Scratch would never let me lie. He’s too good, too pure!”

The dog wagged his tail innocently, clearly pleased with the attention. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he moved to sit beside you.

“Yes, yes, Scratch is the pinnacle of virtue. Now, move over before you collapse completely.” He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You immediately snuggled into him, still hiccuping slightly as you continued to pet the animals.

Just as Astarion was starting to feel truly settled, Scratch suddenly trotted off.

“And where are you going, you furry little enabler?” he called after the dog. Moments later, Scratch returned, tail wagging proudly as he carried a bottle of blood in his jaws. Astarion’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and then he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Well, I’ll be damned. He really is a very good boy.”

He took the bottle from Scratch, patting the dog’s head affectionately.

“My apologies, my love. It seems you weren’t lying. Who would have thought Shadowheart’s greatest contribution to our journey all those months ago was teaching this beast to fetch drinks?”

You giggled, leaning up to press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Told you so. Scratch is a genius. The cutest genius in the whole wide world.”

"And what about me, am I not cute?" Astarion asked in mock offence as he brushed a rogue strand of hair out of your face.

"Not as cute as Scratch and Owlbear but you try -hey give me back my wine!" You whined as Astarion took your bottle from you, brows raised, suggesting you try again. You huffed and rested your head on his shoulder looking up at him with big wet doe eyes. "You are not as cute, because you are twice as beautiful."

"I don't know if that makes sense, but I'll take it." He said, giving you back your wine with a small smile. He would have taken it off you, you really were the drunkest he had ever seen but your so-called 'wine' was actually water, Scratch really was a genius.

Wyll:

The reunion party was in full swing, a mix of old friends, laughter, and the clinking of glasses raised high in celebration. The air buzzed with the joy of shared victories and the promise of futures finally free of hardship. You and Wyll had spent much of the evening together, arm in arm, swapping stories and indulging in the abundant wine. It was a rare, beautiful moment to simply be—no battles to fight, no worlds to save.

For Wyll, the sight of you laughing and glowing with life was a reward all its own. But as the hours ticked by and the wine loosened tongues and inhibitions alike, you had somehow slipped away.

It wasn’t unusual. You had a penchant for wandering when the drink took hold of you, curiosity leading you to wherever your heart fancied. Wyll, ever patient and knowing, only chuckled to himself when he realized you were gone. After excusing himself from a lively conversation with Halsin and Minsc, who were subtley trying to out-brag the other (nothing had changed there) he set out to find you, his long strides carrying him through the grove as he kept an ear out for your familiar voice.

It didn’t take long. He followed the soft sound of sniffling to a secluded patch of grass where the moonlight spilled down like a spotlight. There, nestled between Scratch and the owlbear—no longer a cub but still affectionately devoted—you sat, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you buried your face in the owlbear’s feathers.

“They’re just… so cute,” you murmured, your voice thick with drunken emotion. Scratch’s tail thumped happily against the ground, clearly basking in your attention, while the owlbear tilted its head in quiet curiosity.

Wyll stopped, the sight making him blink in surprise. His hand rose to cover the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh, my love,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both amusement and affection. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and the moment your eyes met his, a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Wyll!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as though his very presence was a miracle. “You’re here! And you’re so… so cute!”

Wyll blinked, momentarily startled, before laughter rumbled low in his chest.

“I’m cute, am I?” he asked, kneeling beside you. His grin widened as he took in the wine bottle lying haphazardly nearby and the glassy, adoring look in your eyes.

“Yes!” you wailed, throwing your arms out dramatically. “Your smile is cute, and your horns are cute, and your eyes are cute, and your hair is cute!” You punctuated each word with a hiccupping sob, your hand waving wildly as if to emphasize your point.

Wyll’s brows lifted in amusement, though his gaze softened with love.

“I see the wine has been particularly generous with you tonight,” he teased, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so… unbearably adorable. Shall I tone it down?”

“No!” you exclaimed, clutching his hand as though the idea was unthinkable. “Don’t stop being cute! It’s the best thing about you—no, wait.” You gasped as though struck by a revelation. “Everything about you is the best thing!”

Wyll let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You are truly something else,” he said, his voice warm as he reached out to steady you. “Even when drunk, you’re determined to flatter me into blushing.”

Your lip wobbled, and you suddenly looked utterly distraught.

“Even your boots are cute,” you whispered, as though it was the most profound truth you had ever spoken.

That was enough to undo Wyll completely. He laughed, full and unguarded, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently. “I’ll take responsibility for being impossibly charming.”

You sniffled, your tears slowing as the exhaustion of the evening began to creep up on you. With a soft hiccup, you slumped forward, burying your face in his chest. Wyll’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close as he stroked your back.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he murmured, though his tone held no irritation—only affection. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The owlbear gave a low croon and leaned in, its head nuzzling against Wyll’s shoulder as though to share in the moment. Scratch let out a soft bark of agreement, his tail thumping against the ground. Wyll chuckled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“You’ve managed to rally quite the crowd,” he said softly, glancing down at your peaceful face. But when you didn’t respond, he realized you had fallen asleep, your breath even and steady against his chest.

“Oh, my heart,” he said, shaking his head with a fond smile. “What am I to do with you?”

Carefully, he adjusted his hold and scooped you into his arms. The owlbear and Scratch followed as he carried you back toward the firelight of the party. Wyll’s steps were steady, his gaze warm as he looked down at you. Even in your drunken, tearful mess, you were his mess.

And he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Halsin:

The reunion party was nothing short of spectacular. Lanterns hung from the ancient trees, casting soft, golden light over the gathering. Music and laughter mingled with the sounds of the old faithful camp at night, a serene backdrop to the revelry. You had started the evening with Halsin, both of you basking in the joy of seeing friends and allies together again. It was a rare chance to relax, to celebrate the life you had built after the chaos.

Halsin was soon drawn into a conversation about the orphans you and he had taken in. A circle of the more compassionate companions had gathered around him, captivated as he spoke about the children’s growth, their joy, and the home you were creating. His deep voice carried over the crowd, filled with pride and hope. You stood beside him for a time, sipping wine and listening, but your attention was eventually caught by a familiar sight—Scratch wagging his tail and the owlbear, now fully grown, ambling nearby.

"Look at them," you murmured, already swaying slightly as the wine took hold. "Two perfect, fluffy creatures, and they need my attention."

With a mischievous smile, you slipped away, weaving your way through the crowd, wineglass in hand. By the time Halsin realized you were gone, you had already disappeared into a quieter part of the grove. He smiled to himself, fondly amused, and excused himself from the conversation.

“She’s probably plotting something,” he said with a chuckle, following the faint sound of your voice.

It didn’t take long to find you. Beneath a sprawling oak, you were sprawled on the grass, cuddling Scratch and the owlbear. You had an almost-empty bottle of wine in one hand, your other arm draped dramatically over the owlbear’s shoulders. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a bit disheveled, and your voice carried through the night as you spoke with exaggerated fervor.

"Listen here, Scratch," you said, poking his nose gently with your finger. "And you, too," you added, pointing to the owlbear, who blinked at you with wide, curious eyes. "You’re coming home with me. No arguments. It’s decided. We’re a family now."

Scratch barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground. The owlbear hooted softly, tilting its head as if contemplating your declaration.

You nodded solemnly, taking another swig of wine.

"Halsin might say no, but don’t you worry." You leaned in close, your voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that was anything but quiet. "I have my ways of convincing him. Very persuasive ways." You wiggled your eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, giggling at your own implication.

Then, as if struck by the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, your voice wavered, and tears welled up in your eyes.

"But if that doesn’t work," you said, your words thick with feeling, "I’ll just cry! Like this!" You dramatically buried your face into Scratch’s fur, letting out a loud, theatrical sob.

From the shadows, Halsin watched, arms crossed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Finally, he stepped forward, his voice warm and steady. “Tears, my heart, will not be necessary.”

You froze, your head snapping up to look at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Halsin!" you exclaimed, scrambling to sit up and almost tipping over in the process. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," he replied, crouching down beside you. "Long enough to hear your… strategy."

You waved the bottle in his direction, sloshing a bit of wine onto the grass.

"It’s a good strategy," you insisted, pointing at him with exaggerated authority. "Very effective."

Halsin chuckled, his large hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I’m sure it is," he said indulgently. "But I assure you, no convincing is necessary."

“What about the other thing?” you asked, your voice dropping into a clumsy attempt at sultriness that only made Halsin laugh more.

“When you’re sober,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You turned back to Scratch and the owlbear, lowering your voice to a loud whisper. “See? I told you it would work. He may be Daddy Halsin, but we all know who the real daddy is.”

Halsin’s brows shot up, a deep laugh rumbling from his chest. “Do we now?” he asked, scooping you into his arms with practiced ease.

You clung to him, your head resting against his broad chest as you continued to mumble incoherently about your master plan.

"Fluffy family forever," you declared, nuzzling into his tunic.

Scratch barked again, wagging his tail enthusiastically, while the owlbear lumbered after you both. Halsin shook his head fondly, his smile softening as he looked down at you.

“You are a marvel,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As he carried you back toward the heart of the party, you sighed contentedly, your arms tightening around his neck.

“You’re the best, Halsin,” you murmured, your words slurring but full of affection. “The absolute best.”

“And you,” he replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “are an utter wonder.”

I hope you guys enjoyed this, I worked quite hard on it and it was quite a good distraction. Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!? 

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

He’d gotten up, fucked Her until she burst into flames, then made breakfast while She got ready for work. Normal morning. Perfect morning. Ryan had gotten on the bus—She’d be hesitant about him using that thing, worried about bullying, but it was working out pretty damn fine—and She’d come downstairs in a skirt that Ben had wasted no time in ripping off Her body. He’d buried himself between her thighs and tongue-fucked Her until she squirted all over his face, then he’d pulled out his cock and bent Her over the counter until she was screaming his name.

Normal morning.

He needed to buy Her a new skirt. She’d liked that one, and She liked Ben more, but he should still make sure She was a happy as fucking possible, all the damn time, because She was perfect and he fucking loved Her and there was nothing better in the world than taking care of Her and-

The creature yowled at him, and Ben scowled. It was looking at Ben like he was intruder, when this was his goddamn house, that had been bought with his fucking money—technically Her money, but as She frequently reminded him, the thing about marriage was that it was Ben’s money as well—and this thing didn’t have a single fucking say about where Ben did and didn’t go. 

It hadn’t been here when he’d left this morning. He was fucking positive. After the kitchen sex, he’d made Her eat, then driven Her to work. She’d given him a blowjob in the car—Christ, he was the luckiest man alive—and he’d had to go back to the house to change his pants, because of what Frenchie was calling the No Cum near the Chemicals rule. Apparently it was dangerous, and not the fun kind of dangerous. The that’s how Homelander happened kind of dangerous. 

So he’d changed his pants. 

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

This place was supposed to be fucking secure. More secure than the fucking White House, because Singer was replaceable, and She and Ryan weren’t. Hughie had promised this place was fucking secure, and She’d pointed out that even if it wasn’t, none of them could be killed, and there wasn’t a single place in the world someone could take Her that Ben couldn’t find, but She shouldn’t have to be taken. She should get to fucking rest, and if this place could be broken into, even by an animal, Ben was going to brutally maul a lot of people. 

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and- 

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I can feel you, Benjamin. Your throat is getting tight, and it feels like the world is spinning. There was a brief pause. You’re home for the day, right? I know Butcher’s been trying to put together that clean-up mission for some of the stray Vought scientists, but he promised to give me a week heads up before you left-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows. 

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat. 

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat. 

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad. 

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too. 

Good. Explain.

Remember last month, when I said that I wanted a cat, and you said I could have ‘whatever the fuck I wanted’, and I said that I love you, and that’s very sweet, but if you don’t want a cat, you could just tell me?

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

After Parent night, at school. Another Dad was talking about how hard it was to get gifts for his wife, and you got, um- She swallowed down the silent line, and Ben smirked. Her tone was growing softer, the way it only ever did for him. She was flushing, probably tapping Her fingers on her desk, and thinking about Ben with an infinite love he could feel, through his whole body.

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

Ben remembered that. He specifically remembered how She’d wrinkled Her pretty nose and whacked his chest, and how all the dumbfuck parents had looked mortified—good word, maybe MM was onto something with this word of the week shit—at his words, like they hadn’t already all fucked at least once to get their stupid fucking kids. 

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

Yeah. She asked you exactly how you were such a perfect husband, you told her that I was a perfect wife, and after she left I asked you the same thing, and you said that it was what I deserved, and you’d shoot yourself before you didn’t take care of me right, and taking care of me right meant fucking me right and getting me whatever I wanted and-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’- 

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben- 

Lock the door. 

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

You love it. The point I was trying to make is that, after the, um, supply closet sex, I made a joke that you’d never need to get me anything at all, as long I had you and your, um- She coughed between their heads, Her voice suddenly a little breathy, and Ben could really see that flush over Her cheeks. Cock. And you took that very seriously and told me that I’d always have your cock, but you’d also give me the goddamn moon, if I asked. And I said that I’d settle for a cat, and, yeah. 

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting. 

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her. 

No. 

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize. 

Ben let out a long, slow breath. For Her, he’d apologize to the fucking cat, because She wasn’t doing it to make fun of him. She was just perfect and kind and good, and genuinely wanted Ben to get along with this ugly creature on his couch. 

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads. 

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine. 

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body. 

He’d feed the cat. For Her. 

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

Ben didn’t have to look up to the wonder in Ryan’s voice. The kid loved the damn cat. He’d come home and his jaw had dropped, his eyes lighting up the moment he’d seen the ugly thing sitting in the middle of the fucking hallway. 

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen. 

They could fawn over the damn thing all they fucking wanted. Ben would not fall into line like a fucking pussy for an animal. Over the weekend it had eaten all its damn food in a second, jumped up on their bed twice, and—worst of all—managed to distract Her from sex. 

And after She’d let the fucker out into the yard, She’d come right back. Returned to their bed and crawled over Ben’s chest with a sweet, happy smile, laughing when he’d flipped Her over and pinned Her between his body and the mattress, then moaned his name when he’d fucked Her stupid.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

“I’m not jealous of the fucking cat,” he’d drawled Her name, pushing up on his elbows to give her a pointed look. “I just don’t want our fucking neighbors to see all my cum on your face, beautiful.”

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

“She was in the alley, outside my office.” Ben glanced over to see Her scratching the cat’s ear, and tried not to let it knock the breath out of his fucking chest. How beautiful She was. How fucking perfect She was.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either. 

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

There was a brief moment of silence that Ben didn’t understand, and then—like nothing had happened at all—She continued. Explaining to Ryan how rescues were always better than breeders, and She’d been able to feel the cat’s joy when She’d held it, so she figured giving it a good home with them was the best possible option. 

Ryan was asking a lot of questions about cat care, and the apparent fact that She could feel animal’s emotions—She’d explained that one before, something about them being slightly muted, but mostly through a barrier that was about biology or some shit—when the reason for the silence hit him.

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home. 

He wasn’t fucking wrong. She was, in every fucking sense but biological, Ryan’s mother. And the kid’s biological mother was long fucking dead, so as long as Ryan didn’t hate it, he’d keep doing it. 

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“I don’t mind that you called me that, Ben.” She whispered, tapping Her fingers on her knee. “I- It’s nice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing a good job with him, and I’ve been really worried that Ryan’s going to think we’ll love him less, now that we’re thinking of having another kid-“

“That’s fucking insane-“

She shook Her head. “It happens a lot, when someone gets a divorce and remarries, then has kids in the new marriage. And this isn’t that, but it’s adjacent, and I know he still worries about us waking up one day and deciding he’s too much like-“ 

She swallowed, Her heart picked up slightly, and Ben didn’t need Her to finish the sentence. There was only one pussy fuck in the universe who was able to make Her fearful and quiet like that, even when he was long gone.

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze. 

“I’ll talk to Ryan.” He muttered. “Make sure he knows we’re never fucking replacing him, get that just like his father shit out of his head. And you are doing the best fucking job. You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, and Ryan fucking knows it.”

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks. 

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

“Technically Butcher can gargle my balls. You did all the damn work.” Ben wiped Her tears off her cheeks, holding her gaze as he continued. “Ryan wouldn’t want another mom. You’re fucking perfect, Sunshine, so stop losing your damn mind.”

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

And they really fucking did. This was going to be forever, so Ben could unravel Her slowly when she started to almost fall over him and scratch at his back, ripping his shirt off Her body just like he’d promised, taking Her nipple into her mouth until she was moaning his name-

The cat yowled. Outside the door. 

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

He gave up fast. His wife was waiting for him in bed, and She was far more important than the fickle animal—fickle, another good word, he was going to shove that one in MM’s face—so Ben slammed the door closed and returned to his bedroom with a scowl.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his. 

When he woke up, he peeled Her off his body with a kiss to the top of Her head, gave himself plenty of time to admire how fucking beautiful she looked—happy, peaceful, almost glowing in the morning light—and forced himself out of bed.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs. 

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

Ben had the house to himself for the night. She was out with Annie and Kimiko doing whatever women did to have fun—crime? probably crime—and Ryan was back at Butcher’s, so Ben had the whole fucking house to himself.

He hated it.

It was empty. Quiet. Too damn much like life before the Russian’s got him—when the world had been boring and flat and he’d hated every single fucking pussy he had to talk to—and Ben fucking despised it. He’d agreed to a nice, big house in the suburbs because that’s what She wanted. Something simple, and normal, because the rest of their lives would always remain in pure fucking chaos. Ben would’ve lived anywhere She told him to, as long as She was there.

And She’d be back tonight. Ben knew She’d be back tonight, and he could feel Her halfway across the city—and there was no danger or distress down the connection, so everything was good—but he still fucking missed Her.

He should’ve damned the custody agreement and taken Ryan back for the night. It wasn’t even a legal thing, it was just Her being too kind, too good, and giving Butcher alternate weekends. Ben could’ve told Butcher to suck his fucking dick, because he wanted to take Ryan to an arcade, or watch a movie, or just go out in the yard and do some baseball-

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s. 

And Ben was a grown fucking man. He’d fought in a war. Two, if he counted all the shit with Homelander. He could survive for a goddamn night while his son and wife were gone, and then they’d come home, and everything would be good again. 

Bonus, when he tackled Her to the floor and fucked Her dumb in the hallway, then on the stairs, then anywhere in their bedroom that She asked, Ben be able to grumble all the praise and teasing comments he wanted, and She’d be twice as perfect and needy for him than usual. Which was fucking saying something, because She’d already been an hour late to Her dinner, after a hand job, Ben ruining Her first outfit to fuck Her against the door, and fingering in the shower. 

He fucking loved Her. 

He could survive the night.

Dinner was steak, but he made too much and put some in the fridge for Her later. He did some training, and showered, and ended up on the couch, flipping through the shows to try and find something that he could watch alone.

Everything was better when She watched it with him. When they watched documentaries, She’d make little smart mouthed jokes that were funnier than the program, and when they watched dramas, She’d curl right up into his side, where She fucking belonged. If it was something She loved, She’d spend half the time talking over it—telling Ben a million little facts and opinions—and he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear the show, because She was more fucking important by a mile.

The best was when Ben would watch baseball and She’d pretend to know what the hell was happening. She was fucking adorable—trying to act like She understood the rules—and She’d get all damn riled up on his behalf when the ref made a shit call. Then Ben would explain it to Her, she’d stare up at him with parted lips and a slack, wanting expression, and he’d just chuckle, pull Her further into his lap, and kiss Her until she was writhing in his hold-

Ben started with a grunt as the cat jumped up onto his lap. A month living with them instead of the alley had done it well—smoother, cleaner fur, a lighter step, a proper stomach—but it had also seemed to grow, annoyingly, fond of Ben.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him. 

He also let it outside the most, but that was just so She wouldn’t flash the neighbors. She cleaned its litterbox, and pet it more, and it should fucking love Her because everything should love Her, and Ben was not the one who had rescued it from a damn alley.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“It’s a fucking cat,” He’d grumbled Her name, and the cat walked into the kitchen, rubbing against Ben’s ankles and looking up at his like it fucking expected something. “See, it just wants my food-“

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“The website was wrong. I sent MM a new one to use a few days ago. Calamity is for disasters, it’s not intangible with just a bad thing. Like- A hurricane, or a war. Those are calamities. Not our cat loving you.”

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away. 

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood. 

It fell asleep on his lap. Ben fell asleep on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning they’d been joined by Her, tucked into Ben’s side with her arms wrapped around his torso. Still in Her dress from last night.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move. 

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered. 

The cuckass had said four days. This mission would take four days. They’d fly out, finish it in two, clean up whatever mess they left behind, then fly back home. The pussy scientists wouldn’t know something was wrong until Ben was punching them square in the face, they might catch a rogue supe or two in the process, and then Ben could go the fuck home.

But then the FSAB agents got fucking cocky, and tried to join in, and they’d had to spend a whole fucking day reworking the plan. Then they’d gotten into the lab, but one of the head scientists had seen them coming—none of the team had said it aloud, but they’d exchanged sharp looks of we did our damn jobs, this is the government’s fault—so they needed to track the pussy down. And the scientist had hid all his research, so they had to fucking find that as well, and if one more pussy suit from the FBAA asked Ben about a single goddamn thing, he was going to start throwing nukes out and crushing fucking skulls-

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He sat taller in his chair, and the radiance in his chest growing white-hot, because nobody was allowed to fucking touch Her, not a single fucking pussy in the universe, Ben didn’t give a shit about them trying to put him back under, but She’d been held and broken too many fucking times, and Ben would be damned if he let it happen again-

“I’m fine, now, Ben.” She gave him a soft smile through the screen, and Ben really wished he could touch Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her and let Her melt into his arms, where She was fucking safe. “You’d feel it if I wasn’t.”

He would. That was true. 

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“I-“ She let out a long breath, and Ben could see Her fingers tapping on the table. “We’re the most dangerous group of people on the planet, Ben. And we’re all friends and co-workers and it’s been established based on previous patterns that we’d do anything for each other. To the government, that’s a threat, especially because we haven’t exactly played nice with them historically.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

She continued, Her voice a little lighter than before. “Yeah, but to them it’s just not playing nice. It’s the threat thing. Butcher’s a known loose cannon, and now he can shoot laser out of his eyes. Annie’s sweet, but she can still fly and create electrical storms, and she killed the Deep. Kimiko can’t be killed, and she does have a terrorist background, and they-“ She cut Herself off with a long sigh. “I know for a fact that a lot of top officials in Singer’s cabinet are still trying to get Ryan taken away from us and locked up.”

“I won’t fucking let that happen, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, his hands moving forward on a useless fucking instinct to touch Her, but She was just an image in a screen. He did the second-best thing instead. I’ll fucking kill them, all of them, before they lay a single goddamn finger on you or Ryan-

I know. She gave him a small, sad smile. But they know that. We’re the biggest threat, Ben. They know what you’ll do for Ryan and I, they know Ryan’s attached to us and won’t voluntarily leave, and they- I’m the problem. The big one.

Ben scowled. She could be a problem, but only in the way where She’d get on Her knees and beg Ben to suck his cock, or become a pleading, needy mess below him. She gave him a million fucking problems every goddamn day, and he fucking loved it, but the goddamn government didn’t know that, so-

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me. 

Good. 

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off. 

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling? 

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

What, that I’m going to fuck you so good you’re never going to empty of me? Ben smirked, leaning a little closer to the phone so he could see Her flush. That I’m going to make you so cockdrunk you never come down, that I’m going to take such good fucking care of you while you’re carrying our kid that they’ll come out fucking glowing-

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush. 

He’d won. She was distracted from thoughts of the government, and looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes through the phone, and nothing was wrong in the entire world. Our babies could glow. Frenchie said they’d be supes-

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Brat. I’m going to fuck you so good when I get home, He drawled Her name between their heads, and could fucking feel Her want for him through his whole goddamn body. Make you fucking stupid on my cock-

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“The Ben’o’phone.” He grunted, leaning forward in his chair to see what she was looking at, Her attention remaining on the floor. The movement wasn’t helping. The image wasn’t moving. “Answer my damn question-“

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife. 

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background. 

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened. 

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might. 

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home. 

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

The flight had been too fucking long. Too many goddamn hours stuck on a plane sitting next to fucking Butcher, because the pussy was somehow the only person on the whole goddamn plane that wasn’t either talking shit about how dumb those scientists had been—Frenchie and Kimiko had holed up in the corner, and Ben wasn’t good enough at that sign language shit to keep up, so he couldn’t participate in the conversation if he wanted to—or trying to hit on him.

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him. 

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

Ben didn’t have to follow Butcher’s gaze to know that he was talking about the giggly FSSB agents in the corner of the jet. He could fucking hear them, hear them talking about him like he was fucking meat, and he missed Her-

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

It was impossible to stop the grin on Ben’s face. She would kill them. She was a lot more fucking possessive than people gave Her credit for, and She’d burn them all to ash, looking fucking beautiful doing it, then jump into Ben’s arms and ride him until She was moaning his name and cumming all over his cock-

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

Ben didn’t really give a fuck. The conversation moved on to Ryan, and some book the kid was reading, and he got boners about Her around the team all the damn time. This was a lot better than when they had brain sex in front of everyone, so Butcher could fucking deal.

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat. 

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were really brave out in the field today.” The agent batted her lashes at him, and Ben almost felt fucking bad for her. She wasn’t ugly, but compared to his wife—more beautiful than all the fucking stars and planets and works of art in the universe, holy and sacred and fucking perfect—she was nothing. 

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing. 

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Gov’s gonna go home, ain’t he. Gettin’ his dick wet.” Butcher was grinning as the agent blushed, and the pussy was looking far too fucking amused for Ben’s liking. “Or he’s just knockin’ right out to bloody hell-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

“Sweetheart.” Butcher cut the woman off with a bored, amused tone. “I’m tellin’ you from firsthand experience, they’re the two horniest cunts alive, that marriage is a sham just as much as my tits ain’t real.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

Ben snorted, and he was almost home. So fucking close, Her presence over his skull calling him closer, because he was almost fucking home, and it didn’t goddamn matter what some pussy agents thought, nothing in the world was fucking better than going home, to Her.

Although he might have to start fucking Her in public more. Or at least kissing Her stupid and dizzy where the world could see it. That agent wasn’t the first to doubt, for some stupid fucking reason, that She and Ben weren’t really together. It was one of the hundred reasons why he never took his ring off, so everyone fucking knew, just a little more, that Ben was Her’s. That the tabloids and useless fucking gossip websites could talk all they fucking wanted about how She and Ben were just a front marriage, and Ryan was actually Her biological son with Homelander—that timeline didn’t fucking add up at all, but none of the damn idiots seemed to care—or that Ben was Homelander, in fucking disguise or some shit, but the truth was pretty damn plain and obvious.

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

And when he got home, Ben knew She was already asleep. Ryan was as well, when Ben poked his head in the kid’s room, and Ben was a little fucking thankful about it. He’d hug Ryan and make him breakfast in the morning, but it was late. They needed sleep. 

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it. 

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs. 

She rolled over in Her sleep, and Ben grinned. Christ, She was beautiful. A little drool falling out of Her pretty mouth, wearing his fucking shirt, a little makeup still on Her face that told Ben she’d been waiting for him. To come home.

Back to Her. 

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her. 

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone. 

And he could deal with that. Work with it. 

When Ben crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Her, Maeve was still letting out soft hisses. Right up until She rolled over and buried her perfect face in Ben’s chest with a small, happy sigh.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life. 

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

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[pinkeoni]

Will is Going to Die by Sacrificing Himself

...and come back to life. To me, it seems pretty obvious, but I'll explain why.

Will has been characterized as someone who puts others before himself since season one, even if it means costing him his life. The entire series starts off with Will casting fireball instead of protection during their Dungeons & Dragons game, putting his character in danger for the sake of the rest of the party.

This self-sacrificial nature is echoed in season two, but two a much more extreme end, when Will instructs everyone to close the gate to stop the Mind Flayer, despite knowing that doing so will kill him.

While we don't see this same self-sacrifice from Will in seasons three and four, we do see two related characters make their own sacrifices, possibly hinting at Will's future fate.

First we have the other character named William, Billy, sacrifice himself at the end of season three in order to stop the meat flayer.

Then in season four, we have Eddie sacrifice himself while the same song that played for Will after he came back to life in season one plays in the background— "When It's Cold I'd Like to Die" by Moby.

There are also little ways that we are told/shown of Will's selfless nature, such as giving a girl his tonka truck because she was sad, or giving Mike his painting under El's name. While this trait could be seen as admirable, I think it will ultimately be his undoing.

But why would Will need to sacrifice himself?

Well, we know that despite all of this time, Will still holds a connection to Vecna, and likely to the Mind Flayer and the Upside Down himself. Putting a stop to all of these things is going to be intrinsic to Will's arc next season.

I don't know how many people know about Noah's letterboxd, but he has been rewatching the Harry Potter movies.

Perhaps for personal enjoyment, or perhaps to study for his character?

The comparisons between Will/Vecna and Harry/Voldemort have been made before, and the Duffers are derivative of other sources if anything.

I think that this could be likened to a horcrux situation. At the end of season four, we saw Vecna be totally flambéd by the older teens, and yet, he's still kicking, and Will is the one to tell us this.

If the brain dies the body dies, but also, could the brain latch on to another body in order to keep it alive? Similar to how Harry had to die so that Voldemort could be defeated, I believe Will might have to die (at least temporarily) in order to take down Vecna/MF/UD.

We know that the show is bringing back "Should I Stay or Should I Go," which is going to prompt an important question that Will needs to find the answer to, should he stay or should he go? While this could also relate to his romantic endeavors for the season, I think that the song could be alluding to Will's choice to sacrifice himself in order to save everyone else.

What I think will probably happen is this: At some point in the season, Will is going to learn what has to happen, and he is going to go off to sacrifice himself without telling anyone so no one can stop him. (I'm guessing that Will can't just off himself, there's probably a specific way that it needs to be done).

Something I realized while making this post is that Mike is always the one who figures out what needs to be done, or brings up Will's sacrifice to others. My guess is that Mike is going to find out what Will is up to, and try to stop him. Emphasis on try, because I think this death is inevitable. However, bringing the show back full circle to season one (and because ST can never keep a main character dead), he will come back to life.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Panic

A few days had passed since dinner with your parents. Marshall was on the floor with the kids, half-watching a movie while Hailie and Stevie argued about the plot. It was a rare, normal afternoon—one where his mind wasn’t running a hundred miles an hour, where he wasn’t gripping you too tight just to feel you. He'd sent you on a perfectly normal grocery run. Something people do everyday.

And then his phone rang.

He almost didn’t answer, thinking it was some random call, but something in his gut told him to look.

Unknown Number.

He frowned, answering with a clipped, “Yeah?”

“Hi, is this Marshall Mathers?”

His stomach dropped. The voice was too calm, too professional.

“Yeah,” he said, already standing up, already knowing. “Who’s this?”

“This is St. John’s Hospital. Your wife was in a car accident.”

Everything inside him froze.

The room blurred, the sound of the kids talking fading into static.

“She—” His voice cracked, his throat closing. “She okay?”

“She’s stable, but she sustained some injuries and was brought in by ambulance. You should come in as soon as possible.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, already grabbing his keys, barely registering the way his hands shook. “Yeah, I’m—I’m coming.”

He barely remembered getting to the hospital.

Somehow, he had gotten the kids to his brother’s place, told them something vague enough not to scare them but firm enough to let them know he had to go.

Now, he was standing in the middle of a too-bright hospital hallway, demanding answers from a nurse who was trying her best to calm him down.

“She’s in recovery,” she said patiently. “She had a mild concussion and some bruised ribs, but she’s awake.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Before she could finish, he was moving, pushing past the door, his breath short, his chest tight.

And then—

There you were.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, looking exhausted, looking a little battered—but alive.

His legs nearly gave out.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhaled, closing the distance in seconds, his hands cupping your face, his lips pressing against your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere he could reach. “What the fuck happened?”

You gave him a weak smile. “Car ran a red light. Hit the driver’s side.”

Marshall’s stomach twisted. He could see it in his mind—the impact, the way your body must have jolted, the way you must have been thrown—

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking. “Fuck,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, grounding him. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “I promise.”

He pulled back, his eyes scanning every inch of you, his hands running over your arms, your waist, as if he had to make sure for himself.

“Never letting you go anywhere alone again,” he muttered.

You huffed a soft laugh. “That might be a little extreme.”

“I don’t care.” His voice was shaking. “Could’ve lost you.”

You cupped his face, tilting his head so he had to look at you. “But you didn’t.”

His chest rose and fell, his breath still uneven, his heart still hammering—

But you were right here.

And he wasn’t letting go.

---

Marshall refused to let go of you.

Even when the doctor came in to check your vitals, even when the nurse needed to adjust your IV, even when you tried to shift a little in bed because your ribs hurt—his hands were on you, gripping your arm, your thigh, your fingers, like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear.

And the truth was, you weren’t sure you could convince him otherwise.

The accident had shaken you, of course, but Marshall—Marshall was unraveling right in front of you.

His leg bounced anxiously as he sat on the edge of your hospital bed, his fingers twitching against your knee. His jaw was locked, his eyes darker than usual, like he was barely keeping himself together.

“Marshall,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

He let you, but his grip was tight—too tight.

“You’re crushing my fingers,” you teased gently.

He let go immediately, cursing under his breath, running his hands through his short hair. “Fuck, I—” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to turn this off.”

You frowned, brushing your fingers along his wrist. “Turn what off?”

He shook his head. “This. This thing in my chest that won’t fucking go away. Like I can’t breathe right. Like if I close my eyes, I’m gonna see you in that car, all fucked up and—and—” He clenched his fists, his whole body shaking.

Your heart ached.

You had seen him angry before. You had seen him shut down, lash out, lose himself in his own demons.

But this—this wasn’t anger.

This was fear.

Raw. Unfiltered. Uncontrollable.

You sat up as best you could, despite the ache in your ribs, and cupped his face in both hands. His skin was burning, his jaw tight under your fingers.

“Marshall,” you whispered.

His eyes snapped to yours.

“I’m here,” you said, slow and firm. “I’m alive. I’m talking to you. Feel that.”

His hands flew to your sides, gripping your waist like he was grounding himself in your touch.

You exhaled, pressing your forehead to his. “You didn’t lose me.”

His breath hitched. His hands shook against your ribs.

“I could’ve,” he rasped.

“But you didn’t.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

He let out a breath, ragged and unsteady, and pulled you into his arms.

You winced slightly at the pressure, but you didn’t stop him. You knew he needed this—to feel you real and solid in his arms, to reassure himself that you weren’t slipping through his fingers.

His lips brushed against your temple, lingering there for a long moment.

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly, threading your fingers into his hoodie. “Figured.”

And as he held you, as his grip finally loosened just enough for his shoulders to relax, you knew—

You weren’t going anywhere.

Neither was he.

---

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

Marshall hadn’t moved from his spot beside you, his hands still gripping your body like you’d slip through his fingers if he let go. His breathing had evened out, but his jaw was still tight, his leg still bouncing—a nervous tic he never lost, no matter how many years sober he was.

And that’s when it hit you.

The last time Marshall was in this hospital… Proof died.

Your stomach twisted.

You had been here, too. You had sat in the same waiting rooms, walked the same halls, felt the same sterile hospital air clinging to your skin while everything fell apart. Before your life fell apart. Your family almost fell apart.

And now, here you were again, hooked up to a damn machine, while Marshall sat beside you looking haunted.

You swallowed, your fingers brushing over his. “Marshall.”

He barely reacted, just blinked at you, his grip flexing slightly.

You took a shaky breath. “This is where Proof—”

His whole body locked.

Like a rubber band stretched too tight, about to snap.

You felt his pulse spike beneath your fingers, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

You knew he hadn’t made the connection—at least, not consciously. But now that it was there, now that it was in the open—

“Fuck,” he exhaled, suddenly standing up, running his hands over his face. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Your heart ached at the panic in his voice, at the way he paced the room like he was caged in, like his own mind was trapping him.

You shifted, ignoring the sting in your ribs, and reached for him. “Baby, come here.”

He shook his head, his fists clenching. “Nah, I—I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he turned away, gripping the edge of the hospital counter like he needed something to hold onto. His panic finally making sense.

You could see it happening—the way his body was reliving it.

Sitting in a hospital, waiting for news. Helpless.

Losing the person he thought would always be there.

Terror clawed at your throat because God, what if the roles had been reversed? What if that car accident had been worse? What if he had been sitting in that waiting room, waiting for someone to tell him you weren’t coming home?

You couldn’t let him spiral.

Ignoring the pull in your ribs, you carefully slid out of the bed, making your way over to him.

“Marshall.” Your voice was soft but firm.

He didn’t turn around, his breathing still uneven, his knuckles white against the countertop.

You pressed your chest against his back, wrapping your arms around him. His whole body tensed—but he didn’t pull away.

You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I’m here,” you whispered.

His breath hitched.

“I didn’t leave.” You hugged him tighter, feeling his muscles tremble beneath your touch. “And I’m not leaving.”

For a long moment, he was silent.

Then, slowly—finally—he turned, his arms crushing you against his chest, his face burying into your hair.

His breath was shaky, his grip too tight, but you let him hold you.

Because this wasn’t just about tonight.

This was about everything—Proof, the fear, the grief, the way he had spent years burying it all until he thought it couldn’t touch him anymore.

Until it did.

And as you held onto each other, standing in the same place that had once shattered him, you knew—

This time, he wasn’t facing it alone.

[yuriisclumsy]

Hi im still not sure if this is how you request😅😅

But can you please write a scenario about a reader who is very flirty with cale and always having a way to insert flirty lines into their conversation while cale just ignores it (secretly liking it) but one day he had enough and responds to a flirty line that the reader just said which leads to the reader being shocked. Also bonus if the fam also actually sees it HAHAHAHA

Thanks for reading🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Who's The Teaser Now?

»»►In this scenario I like to think [Name] has been a servant of Cale’s for years. Like, she saw him when the two were teens , and was like “Well damn, hot momma. You lookin’ fine tonight,” like a high school girl drooling for her crush. And the rest is history.

»»►Having [Name] flirt with you for YEARS makes you unreactive to her remarks; immune to any of her advances. But one day, because he was feeling festive, he decided to reply to one of [Name]’s many flirty lines.

»»►And let me tell you. [Name]. Was. SHOCKED. Pikachu style.

»»►Now we jump to the present.

Cale was on his way to relax in Heris Village, where his villa resided, after the battle with Arm in the Hais Islands. Only to have it disturbed not even two minutes into the carriage ride back to the Henituse Territory, by none other than [Name] the Simp.

She first started soft, asking if he was alright after the battle: “You didn’t get injured, right?” To: “Well, just WHO would even hurt such a refined gentleman such as yourself, Oh young and handsome Master Cale?”

Now Cale was starting to get pissed. He just wanted a nice, AND QUITE, ride back. But no, he just had to hear your annoying voice…. 

Oh. An idea just crossed his mind.

Let’s see if this will resolve his problem, even if there is a possibility of it backfiring. 

“Y’know Master Cale, every girl in the Henituse Territory is now DYING to see your pretty face. Especially after getting that fancy title of yours. A title, which I must say, is rather fitting of you, young master. Honestly, I’m so lucky that I can just admire it whenever you call me. If you asked me to marry you I wouldn’t even think for a second and just say yes. Truly, a dream come true!” [Name] was making his, On’s, Hong’s, and Raon’s ears fall off with how much she was talking.

Ah! Wait a second. This was the perfect opportunity! 

“Oh yeah?” Cale started, “If I were to fall on my knee and ask you for your hand, would you accept in a heartbeat?” He asked as one curious gaze and two unsure gazes fell on him.

[Name] just looked at Cale, unsure at why he was asking. Usually he just orders her to do something to get her away, or simply ignores her altogether.

“Uhh-uhh..yeah?” She answered.

“Then you don’t mind if I do this then,” he said, getting down on one knee in the moving carriage. 

At this point [Name]’s eyes were wide, almost to the point they might pop out her sockets.

Cale took her right hand and looked up to meet her eyes. With a wide smile he asked, “[Name] [Last Name], will you do me the honor of making me the happiest man alive, and give me your hand in marriage?” He finished.

The children looked at him like he had a loose screw. Had he finally a lost it after not getting a break to be a slacker? Was this his limit? [Name] had an unreadable expression. Almost concerning.

Did I go too far? Cale asked in his head while assessing her expression. What scares me the most is that she isn’t saying anything cheezy inturn, a sweat drop apparent in his face, falls.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

A screeching yell was heard from inside the compartment. The carriage stopped and those outside came running to aid–in what their opinion was a threat–those inside the carriage.

“Young Master Cale! Is everyone alright?! What happened—!?” Choi Han asked in a hurry, swinging the door of the carriage wide open, sword in hand. Only to see Cale kneeling on the floor of the carriage with a [Name] crunched up on the corner of the seat opposite to the door.

What happened? 

All everyone could see was a girl that looked like she was dying slowly in a corner, and a young Master that probably fell from his seat after the carriage suddenly stopped. 

To not make things more awkward, Cale spoke.

“Ah, you guys,” he got their attention, “go back. [Name] just saw a bug. So there is no need to worry.” He skillfully lied, sitting back up.

“...if you insist,” getting a hesitant response from Choi Han, and some worried looks from the others. 

All the while Ron is just smiling in the back. We all know he knows what happened.

Going back to their positions, the carriage started moving again. Only this time, it was quiet. Just how Cale liked it. He looked at the source of the blissful peace to see the girl still in a crouched up position.

“Huff, where did that ‘say yes in a heartbeat’ go?” Cale asked the girl, getting that last remark for his triumph.

In response, all he heard was a muffled “Shut up…!” from her.

Red hues adorned her ears, indicating she was blushing. She was trying so hard to hide her face with her arms and legs too.

How cute.

No wonder [Name] enjoyed doing this to him, being the one on the teaser end is certainly amusing.

He smiled, looking out the window, deciding not to tease her anymore to save her from more embarrassment.

He should turn this into a hobby after seeing that expression on her face.

Hello, lovelies! I hope you enjoy this. Surprisingly I wrote this in two days...fascinating.

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Lout Of Count's Family Master-List

Master-List

[sunderwight]

Honestly fascinated trying to figure out how both of Ambessa's kids ended up being diametrically opposed to her whole jock spartan might-makes-right mentality.

Tthe obvious answer, of course, is that Ambessa's husband (Kino's dad, and the guy Mel thought was her bio dad until recently) was way more of a diplomat and way less of a fighter, both philosophically as well as in terms of skill. And that he's the one who passed this on to the kids.

This fits well enough as an answer. The guy in the portrait certainly looks more like a talker than a fighter, and we know that Ambessa has a thing for pretty, submissive men thanks to her whole introduction in S1. Also, regardless of Mel's genetics this is presumably the man who raised her and is her father in the "nurture" sense of the equation, so it would be completely reasonable for her to take after him.

However, there are a few issues here.

One is the fact that even when Mel is talking to who she thinks is Kino about the possibility of one of them being a bastard, or of a bastard half-sibling existing, neither of them mention their father at all. While I doubt either of them would hold illusions about Ambessa remaining faithful to a spouse (for all we know the guy's still alive while she's off carousing with twinks), you would think that if both kids were close to their dad or took after him particularly, there'd be at least a passing mention of him in the midst of this discussion.

Maybe Mr. Medarda died a long time ago, though. Perhaps it's a topic so buried that it's an established habit to simply never mention it. Or maybe there is an issue of estrangement between him and his children for other reasons. He doesn't seem to have factored into Ambessa's decision to send Mel away, nor is his potential grief brought up around the subject of Kino. Despite confirmation of his existence, he seems (ironically) to be out of the picture, though it could also just be that the writers wanted to leave their options open for what he might be like in case another Arcane-adjacent series comes into production. I am fairly sure that Mel is the most likely character from Arcane to create continuity into a show about Noxus or Demacia or something, if we get another LoL series, especially since her story feels the most unfinished.

However, there's another possibility, which is that Mr. Medarda up there was such a nonentity in his kids lives that he doesn't come up because there's not much of a relationship to acknowledge. In which case, even if he is more of a diplomat (and he and Ambessa were a political marriage, presumably?) it'd be hard to credit him with influencing the kids so significantly.

One of the interesting things about Mel and Kino is that even though they are at odds with their mother on a lot of topics, topics that even seem to tie into prevailing Noxian cultural ideals (so, things they'd have been overall raised to believe in by the rest of their house and not just their mother too), they are also kind of astonishingly confident in expressing themselves?

So, somebody must have been supporting their alternative viewpoints and validating them as opinions worth expressing, even if they weren't things Ambessa approved of or actually wanted to foster in them as opinions/philosophies.

I think an interesting option is that it was Ambessa herself who did this, actually.

Ambessa's lore mentions that she figured out really early on that Kino did not share her temperament at all. Also, that she started searching about for ways of ensuring not only her house's domination, but the survival of her children specifically. Because the succession in a Noxian noble house doesn't seem to be guaranteed by birthright, which means that Kino and Mel would probably face rivals from their own family if they seemed too weak or vulnerable to lead, and someone else contested it. An easy way to remove a "weak" leader would also be to just kill them off. That's even apart from external rivals (like the ones who actually did kill Kino).

Which means that even if her kids had different values and priorities, Ambessa would probably have wanted them to still present those opinions with ferocity and confidence. If they cower to her, they will cower to others, and that's worse than them just not being aggressive combatants or warlord types. If you're gonna be a peacenik weirdo (by Ambessa's standards) in Noxus then you better damn well still be an assertive one.

I like this idea partly because the image of Ambessa trying to balance her kids having totally alien opinions about things like the value of life and importance of compassion, with trying not to actually beat down their spirits about it. Just spending a lot of their formative years being like, ugh, I have to listen to my nerd ass loser children tell me why they think mercy is a good idea. Such a fucking chore. Anyway great job presenting your arguments kids, lots to think about, let's go get ice cream. Then Mother has to fire one of your military tactics instructors for daring to call you a couple of wieners. Again. Even though she's right.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (II)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You only have a few days to convince Adar that he should keep you alive and choose you as his companion. You get to know him better, which makes you start feeling sorry for him – but not sorry enough to forgive him for defeating your lover. In the meantime, Adar's suspicions about Sauron's comeback give you hope.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hello! 🤗 Thank you for liking the first part of this story and I am sorry it's going a bit slower than I expected but I am job hunting at the moment and I might actually get one, which is an opportunity for me. Because of that, I was pretty busy those past few days + I have started a different multichapter fic as well. Please, keep your fingers crossed! 😊 Although, if I don't get the job, I will have more time for writing... 🤣 Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🥰

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 5,120

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (II)

You spent the rest of the day in your chambers, watching the courtyard carefully from your window. The orcs were walking around it carefreely as if the saint trees did not grow there. They could not care less about anything holy. And at night they started a fire to sit around it while talking and laughing loudly in the most obscene manner. But because they went to sleep so late, they also were not up early – unlike you.

You got dressed in a black mourning gown, which was a beautiful piece made of velvet and lace. You were grieving in many ways after all – you were grieving your life that you could lose very soon and you were grieving the downfall of the fortress that had been your home for such a long time.

When you were finishing getting dressed, you looked out of the window and furrowed your brows at the sight of Adar approaching the holy trees and sitting on a bench underneath them. Was it possible that he prayed? You highly doubted that – even you were finding it difficult these days after the time you had spent with Sauron. An Elf as corrupted as Adar just could not pray, of that you were sure.

In that quiet moment in the early morning, you found your first chance to approach him but with a different attitude than on the day before. However, you were aware that the change of behaviour cannot be too sudden – otherwise, it would reek of falsehood.

Taking light steps, you walked up to Adar and even though he had to hear you coming, he did not even flinch. Only when you were very close to him, he turned his head around to look at you without a word. You did not say anything either and took a seat on the other side of the bench, clasping your hands on your lap and staring at the tree above you. He eventually stopped observing you and went back to looking at the tree as well.

“Do you pray to the Valars?” You asked calmly but with a hint of curiosity. Your eyes still remained on the benches of the tree, though. You refused to lock your eyes with him. Not yet.

Adar was not answering for a while, which made you grow nervous. But, thankfully, he eventually answered your question. Well, kind of.

“Do you?” He inquired without looking at you either.

“Nobody listens to my prayers,” you said, “but I like to come here and think.”

Adar nodded and the long silence occurred again. You were fidgeting with your fingers nervously throughout all that time but you didn’t mind him noticing that. You knew what kind of person you had to play – tough, mysterious and intriguing in a way. With a hint of darkness that would make him curious but also with a hint of innocence and nervousness that would make him feel compassion. You were sure he was still able to do it since he could treat the Orcs like children. You wanted him to pity you in a way – to pity you enough to keep you alive. And to intrigue him enough to make him want to keep you with him.

“You wore black today,” he pointed out with a smirk and finally looked at you. You turned your head around to meet his gaze and you felt your cheeks heating up. His eyes were intense and so far you caught yourself feeling all the things you wanted him to feel towards you – you were intrigued by him but you also felt sorry.

“I mourn Ostirith,” you informed him and watched his reaction but there was really none. He was as cold as a stone on the outside like he was on the inside.

Adar looked up at the benches with leaves. You looked there, too, following his gaze and from the corner of your eye, you spotted him staring at your exposed neck. You wondered what was going inside his head. Was a man like him ever thinking of women in the same way as other men did? Was he ever craving someone to be by his side? He had to be lonely.

Perhaps, you had to make him realise how much. And that he did not have to be anymore.

“What happened to you?” You broke the silence and looked at him again, which made him furrow his brows with a hint of anger. You expected this sort of reaction, so you quickly backed out. “Forgive me…” You lowered your voice and looked down, nervously.

You hoped he wouldn’t walk away and indeed – he did not. That was part of the success already, you thought. You waited patiently for his next move.

“Morgoth happened to me. Sauron,” Adar explained after a long while of silence. At the sound of your lover’s name, you felt shivers go down your body and you moved uncomfortably. You hoped he hadn’t noticed but why would he suspect you to know any of these men personally? You were only a naive daughter of the Lord Guardian of the Southlands.

“What do you mean?” You laid your eyes on him again and batted your eyelashes, trying to show him compassion with the way you looked at him. Adar hesitated before answering more of your questions.

“I followed Morgoth out of my own curiosity and thirst for knowledge and power. And then I paid the price,” he explained, sparing you the details. You wondered if it was because they were too painful to talk about or was it because he found you too delicate for them.

“Is it justified to blame them for your downfall, Lord Father?” You dared to ask. “Was it not your own pride and greed that caused it?”

Adar chuckled at that as he tilted his head to take a better look at you. You did not shy away this time, showing your inner strength.

“You are not afraid of me, my Lady,” he pointed out.

“Why would I be? I only have a week of life to live,” you reminded him. “For an Elf, that is nothing. It makes no difference to me if you kill me then or now.”

“Why would I kill you for asking questions?” Adar shook his head. “Curiosity is no stranger to me,” he added and looked away, sadly. You remained silent for another long moment, allowing him to make a decision if he should keep talking or not. “I know I have only myself to blame for what happened although I have to admit I was naive. I hoped for more than suffering. There was only pain,” Adar’s voice turned into a whisper and he looked away. 

You felt sorry for him now. You knew Sauron’s nature and you knew it was a result of Morgoth’s training of pain and suffering. You were not surprised to find out that your lover could inflict the pain on others as well. Everyone Morgoth had ever hurt turned out to be broken creatures who wanted nothing but revenge.

“Well, they are gone now, aren’t they? Morgoth and Sauron?” You asked, playing naive.

“Morgoth, surely. I cannot be completely convinced about Sauron. He is of a cunning nature. I have defeated him once but I shall defeat him again if I must,” Adar’s jaw clenched as he explained and your heart skipped a beat.

So there he was – the murderer of your beloved, right in front of you. And even though you hated him with every fibre of your being, you had to play it cool and bat your eyelashes, hoping to seduce him enough to make him want you as his companion.

But the fact that even Adar did not believe in Sauron’s disappearance from this world was giving you hope. He would come back… Of  that you were sure. He would come back and make you his Queen.

Adar’s eyes were filled with fire and hatred whenever he spoke of Sauron, so you didn’t want to continue this conversation for now. You nodded and you stood up to leave after hearing that some of the Orcs were already entering the sacred courtyard and approaching their Lord Father.

“I shall retire for now,” you explained. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, Lord Father.”

“You do not have to lie,” he snorted.

“I do not lie,” you lied. “You are different than what I thought. Forgive my rapid judgement but I was driven by fear. Have a good day, Lord Father,” you bowed your head and walked away.

On your way out of the courtyard, you walked past the filthy Orcs. You were trying your best not to flinch or wince as their eyes were following you with curiosity that was deeply uncomfortable. You did not want creatures of this sort to have any interest in you.

Even though you were trying to view them as any other species of Middle-earth, you simply couldn’t. They were too hideous and too disgusting. You knew how unfair was your judgement but you were sure that all Elves would agree when it came to the Orcs. And so would humans. Perhaps some species had only been created to make others feel unsettled.

You spent the rest of that day with your mother, cheering her up. You felt bad for her because she would pay for the sins she had not committed. You were not pure anymore and in many ways you deserved to die. Your father had turned out to be a vile creature of no backbone. But your mother was pure and innocent and she had been begging for you all to run away. She could have run away alone but she would never abandon her family. And now – because of how dutiful and loyal she was – she would die…?

You could not let that happen.

On the second day you were informed that Adar was in the library, looking through your father’s ancient collection of manuscripts. You pretended that you had not known about it and you entered the room very naturally, without paying any attention to your guest. You picked up some random volume and sat by the table, a few chairs away from the Lord Father. You were wearing your black dress again.

Adar looked up at you for a moment but when he realised you were not in the mood to talk, he just decided to ignore you as well. In the meantime, you were looking through the pages of the book you had chosen and pretended to read it in silence but in reality you were observing him from the corner of your eye.

“Are they your children because they remind you of yourself?” You asked all of a sudden while biting on your lower lip. Adar froze and looked up to lay his eyes on you. He did not say anything, so you explained. “They are damaged and do not belong with any other species. Nobody loves them but you because you know what it is like to not be loved at all,” you pointed out.

“Your father was right about your nature,” Adar cracked a smile. “You have a great intuition, my Lady,” he bowed his head to you and you smiled at his compliment. “That is not all, though. My children and I have more in common. We were all hurt by Sauron,” he explained.

“How?” You asked and titled your head.

“He wanted to enslave my children and use them like mindless tools but they are not… They deserve to live in freedom and peace,” Adar explained to you. In many ways, you felt as if he was your father who was explaining things to you in a gentle and soft manner. He was explaining to a naive daughter how the world worked.

But that was not the dynamic you were aspiring for.

“You speak of peace as if you haven’t burnt villages on your way. As if you haven’t killed the men and women who had denied to follow you. And those who had bent their knees, you have marked them like cattle. Do not talk about peace to me, intruder, when you are the one who brought the war to these lands,” you spat out and closed your heavy volume angrily.

The sound echoed through the walls as the dust raised up and danced in the air. When it fell down and the echo subdued, Adar spoke again.

“If we came in peace and asked for a piece of land to live there, would your people accept us?” Adar asked and you pursed your lips. You knew very well your answer would be a lie. Elves and humans would never accept the Orcs. Even the dwarves would not do that. “Some creatures are born with their right to live and others must fight for it,” Adar added and went back to the manuscripts.

The doors opened with a squeak and one of the Orcs entered the library. He was the one you had spotted many times before around the Lord Father and you assumed he was the closest to Adar.

The Orc took a step back at the sight of you and lowered his head a little. You could not blame him for that because you were staring at him with so much intensity and anger that it would intimidate many. Still, it felt oddly nice to see they respected you just because they could see that your kin was equal to their Lord Father. 

Despite Sauron’s corruption, you still were the bearer of the light. Nobody could tell just yet that the very root of this light was rotting deep inside of you. Especially not a common Orc. To him, you were the beacon in the middle of the ruins.

“What is it, my son?” Adar asked him but the Orc only shook his head, refusing to speak. You spotted his small eyes staring at you and you only smirked. “Do not fear her. She is a friend,” Adar explained and you furrowed your brows at that but you did not say anything.

“Well, then, my Lord Father, I just wanted to bring you the message from our scouts,” the Orc walked up to the table and handed Adar a small piece of paper.

“Thank you,” Adar took it from him gently and read it. The Orc kept staring at you with curiosity.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you stood up and walked past them to approach the doors.

The Orc bowed his head down after you and Adar looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing, my son? She is not your master,” he pointed out but you didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because you walked out of the library. You wished to hear the rest of it but it would be too suspicious.

You wondered, though, why the Orcs really treated you this way. Perhaps it was not because of the light you were carrying – perhaps it was quite the opposite. What if it was them who could smell Sauron on you? Your lover had been the one who had tried to enslave them in the past. Sauron would never treat them like children and he would never be their father. He had wanted to be their master.

Seeing their fearsome and filthy army profanating your home, you somehow wanted to be their master, too. You understood Sauron now – having such an army could make you feel invincible. They respected nothing and they were hungry for blood. The only thing you could not understand was how Adar was able to trust his own children. Perhaps that should be the next question you would ask him.

On the third day you approached him in the courtyard again, still in the same black dress. This time he was sitting by the fire with the Orcs but when you walked up to him, you froze at the sight of a baby Orc sitting on his lap. You kept staring at this strange little creature with a mix of emotions – the baby was still innocent but it was not pure by any means. Because of its kin, it was doomed like the rest of them.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” Adar’s voice made you snap back to reality and you cursed yourself for not being the one to ask him a question first on that day.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Father,” you nodded and took a seat next to him that was empty. At the sight of you getting near the baby, the father approached Adar to take his offspring. It was the Orc from the library.

“He does not trust me,” you pointed out, although you would not trust yourself either if you were them.

“His name is Glûg,” Adar told you. “None of them trusts you. 

“Do you?” You asked and batted your eyelashes while laying your eyes on him. Adar turned his head around to look into your eyes but he was visibly confused, so you changed the tactic. “Do you trust them?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They are my children.”

“I would not trust them if they have so much in common with you,” you teased. “Do you trust yourself?”

“They are all I have,” Adar opened his hands to show you the emptiness of them.

“You are lonely,” your voice saddened as your eyes filled with compassion. It was forced but you were a trained actress and your greatest power was that no one knew about your studies or your teacher.

Adar did not like your insinuation. He moved uncomfortably and sighed as he shook his head.

“I thought higher of you, my Lady… But you are here to help your father’s agenda, are you not? You are trying to convince me,” he smirked. “I am not interested.”

“My father’s agenda is not my own. It has never been and never will be,” you clenched your jaw as your eyes filled with anger and hatred. You despised him being even mentioned and you had been successfully managing to avoid him those past few days. In fact, every reminder of being his daughter was making the blood in your veins boil. “I simply wanted to say I know what it is like to be lonely. I am, too. I have always been,” you looked into the fire, following the dancing flames with your eyes.

That was not a lie – not fully. There had been a time in your life when you hadn’t felt lonely and that was the time you had shared with Sauron. But it had not been a long time, especially compared to your whole long Elven life.

“It must be lonely for a young Elven woman to grow up in Ostirith,” Adar admitted. “Isolating.”

“It was,” you nodded, refusing to look at him again. You were scared that your current vulnerability would reveal your true self to him. “I understand you… In some ways. To have so many children, to be loved… That would surely feel good,” you admitted.

“No,” Adar shook his head. “You do not understand me. You would, if you were able to see them as your children, too. You would not preach to me about war and peace then but you would feel the need to protect them no matter what price,” he said.

“We protect what we love,” you agreed as you nodded. All you could think of was him – Sauron. Dying somewhere, all alone, killed by his own army, betrayed. And you had not been there to protect him but even if you had been… What would you do? You were not powerful enough to do anything but watch. “Even if it is a hopeless case,” you finished.

A short silence occurred and you could feel the Lord Father watching you with curiosity.

“My children are not a hopeless case,” he only said.

You stood up and wiped the single tear that had escaped your eyes before. The Orcs around the fire stopped their conversations and they looked up at you, observing your movements.

“I shall go to see my mother now,” you informed Adar and he nodded at you but you could feel his eyes following you out of the courtyard.

On the fourth day you wore a crimson red gown that had been a gift to you from Sauron. It was a risky move but your parents had believed it was a dress you had gotten yourself in Eregion so why would Adar question it? 

You felt somehow powerful while walking down the hallways of Ostirith with all the Orcs moving out of your way, staring at you with a mix of curiosity, hatred and respect. You were on your way out of the fortress because you had seen through your window Adar walking out earlier. He was probably taking a walk in the forest surrounding the fortress and you missed walking, too.

The Orcs standing by the gate did not want to let you pass, though.

“Lord Father says your family can’t leave,” one of them drawled out as he looked you up and down, pointing his dagger at you.

“I am going to him. To your Lord Father,” you tried to reason with him in a calm manner.

“I don’t believe you, Elf,” he spat out as if your kin was an insult.

“Let her go,” another voice interrupted you. You turned around and spotted Glûg. His small eyes found yours and nodded before looking down again. “Lord Father says Dark Lady is a friend.”

“Dark Lady?” You asked, surprised, but there was no time to question it because the Orcs standing by the gate hesitantly let you pass, so you just decided to use the opportunity to walk out of the fortress.

You knew they were observing you, so after crossing the bridge, you went down the same forest path you had seen Adar taking before. But when you found yourself deeper inside the woods, you actually considered taking another turn and disappearing forever.

Where would you go, though? To Gil-galad? He would immediately sense the darkness inside of you because he was made of pure light himself. And you would never forgive yourself for abandoning your mother.

No, because of her you had to follow the same path Adar had chosen. And so you did, until you found yourself by the cliff. He was sitting on the edge and staring at the Southlands below him. Those were the lands he still had not conquered.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps but he did not question how you had managed to get out of Ostirith.

“Are you not mourning anymore?” He asked at the sight of your dress.

“I have accepted my fate,” you took a seat next to him and took a deep breath at the sight of the Southlands. “Are you going to conquer it all?”

“If I must,” Adar nodded and you looked at his hands. He was holding a piece of paper there like the one Glûg had brought to him on the second day.

“Why do you send the scouts? What news do they bring?” You bit on your lower lip. You were not scared of asking questions anymore because he was not angry at you for being curious, which he had proven already.

“I have reasons to believe that Sauron is back,” Adar looked at you and you flinched. Thankfully, he must have taken that reaction as fear or disgust instead of blooming hope inside of your chest.

“And what about it?” You raised your eyebrow.

“I shall destroy him again. And again and again until my children are safe,” he answered with anger as his eyes filled with rage. Sauron was his weak spot.

“You hate Sauron more than you love your children,” you risked the statement. “You would do anything to avenge what he did to you, no matter the cost. Many of your children will die while you chase him,” you explained.

“I shall not watch him turn my children into slaves!” Adar squeezed his fist with the paper inside of it. His anger did not scare you, though. Somehow, the news about Sauron made you feel more fearless and more peaceful. Everything would be alright, all the pieces were coming together.

“Because if he does… You will be alone again. All alone,” you only pointed out softly and you stood up to walk away and go back to the fortress. “But you do not have to be.”

“Why would you follow me if not to save your life?” Adar asked and you froze after turning around already. You smiled to yourself nervously.

“Why do your children call me a Dark Lady?” You asked.

“They have not met an Elf like you before. You are different. Dark,” Adar explained.

“And you?” You turned your head around, confused.

“I am an Uruk,” he explained and you nodded.

“If I died now, I would still see Valinor. It would heal me and save me,” you revealed, “if I followed you, I would be doomed forever. Following you is not cowardice. It is an act of courage and a sacrifice.”

“Why?”

“I have always wanted more,” you admitted and turned your head around again to take the first step towards the forest but Adar wanted to ask one more question before you would go:

“If you could save only one person out of the whole fortress, who would it be?”

You did not hesitate with your answer. She was the reason for this all.

“My mother,” you told him.

On the fifth day you were sitting in the courtyard on the bench under the holy trees while the Orcs were sitting behind you by the fire. You could feel their eyes observing you but they were not bothering you and you were not bothering them. You were waiting for their Lord Father to join them to continue your game. You knew that you were running out of time.

Sitting there and looking up at the leaves, you were lost in your thoughts. You sighed and then you felt something pulling on the fabric of your dress. When you looked down, you saw the baby Orc staring up at you. At first, you winced out of disgust but you quickly hid that expression and the baby was too little to snitch on you later.

You looked around but you could not spot any worried parents looking for their offspring, so you assumed they still had not realised the baby was gone and you did not want to raise the alarm and bring everyone’s attention to yourself.

The baby Orc tugged on your dress again and then it lifted its hands up. You decided to give it a chance… Perhaps it would make you understand Adar better.

You picked the baby up gently and put it on your lap. The little Orc was actually interested in the leaves of the sacred Elven trees and it made you chuckle. You reached your hand to pick one of the leaves and use it to tickle the baby a little.

You heard familiar and heavy footsteps behind you so you turned your head around and you spotted Adar with Glûg beside him. They both froze at the sight but you did not care about the Orc at all, you focused on the Lord Father. You were staring into his cold eyes intensely as if you were challenging him.

“Forgive us, Dark Lady!” Glûg ran up to you to take his child from your arms. “Forgive my son for bothering you,” he bowed his head down.

You did not say anything to that but you handed the leaf to the baby so the little one would still have his new “toy” for a while longer. When Glûg walked away with his son, you laid your eyes on Adar again and he approached you slowly and sat next to you.

“I spoke with your father,” he started and you winced at yet another reminder of whose daughter you were. “Tomorrow at dawn by this tree,” he said and you could not understand the meaning of his words at first and then you realised he was handing you something.

A silver ring.

You nearly gasped at the sight. He claimed to be an Uruk but the traditions he followed were Elven. Where had he even taken it from? You assumed your father had given him one. You, however, were not prepared.

“I… I do not have one,” you admitted in a whisper.

“That is alright. Just have the golden one for tomorrow,” Adar attempted to actually make a joke and you cracked a nervous smile as you reached your hand towards him. “Are you sure, my Lady? There is no going back from this.”

“I am sure,” you nodded, trying to sound as firm as possible.

Oh, you were sure. You were sure that Sauron would come for you soon and he would be pleased with your cunning schemes that would help him in the end. That he would kiss you again like in the old days, that he would put the crown onto your head and make everyone in Middle-earth to bow down for you. And that he would be grateful for your sacrifice just to bring him justice… You were sure.

Adar nodded and put the ring onto your finger. When the act was done, long silence occurred between you two. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and he eventually held your hand in his, which nearly made you feel sorry for him for a moment.

“The days of loneliness are about to be over for us,” you tried to sound sweet but not too much because it would be suspicious. “I shall serve you with advice and companionship, Lord Father.”

Adar nodded at those words and his cold hand squeezed yours even tighter.

“I shall build a new life for us where we can be ourselves freely, Dark Lady.”

And when he let go of your hand to stand up and walk away, you truly felt bad for him. You hated him for hurting Sauron but he was more than that – he was hurt and sad. His pure Elven nature was twisted and the light of Valinor was gone from his soul. What he truly needed was healing even though it was too late for him now.

You would not bring that to him, though. You were a treacherous bearer of death and all you could think of on that night before your wedding was the moment when Sauron would save you and put a crown onto your head.

MASTERLIST

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 7

part 1, prev part

Hospitals brought a sense of comfort to Dustin that he didn’t quite understand. Or felt he could even admit. Somewhere among the bustling doctors and the constant beeping, he’s reminded that people are being saved every day. That the people inside these walls are doing their best to make sure his friends stay alive. And at the end of the day, or week, or month, he’ll be able to talk to them again.

That’s what he tells himself every time he walks through the hospital doors. When he goes to the front desk with a smile and asks if it’s ok he visits his friends. When he reads to Eddie as many days as he can and sits next to Lucas in Max’s room. That this place is the best possible place for them to be. That they will be home soon.

It doesn’t matter that they will be changed, it doesn’t matter that they might not be the same. At the end of the day, their alive. Their still here. Dustin doesn’t have to attend another funeral for his friend. Doesn’t have to get dressed in a stuffy suit and hear words of sorrows from people who didn’t care that much when the person in the ground was alive. Instead, he’ll throw a party so big it will shock the smiles right back onto their faces.

Make the bleak seem light again.

Deep inside though, something he never will admit, his own smile starts to fade every day. Seeing his friends lie unconscious on the bed in the same position they were the day before. Nothing changed. Nothing noticeably different. The same tubes still attached. It’s disheartening seeing the bravest people you know stuck somewhere they can’t leave.

The only difference this time is that Steve is there walking beside him. Discharged the day before, wearing his own clothes. Given an ointment for his scars to make sure they heal right and reduce any swelling that might still occur. One to numb the phantom pains when they come and help when they inevitably itch so bad it makes him want to scratch his skin off. Out of the three people who spent the night in the hospital, Steve was the one with the best outcome.

Which is strange to say, since he did pass out from blood loss and lost a good bit of flesh to those damned bats. Has a scar around his neck from their tails that make people’s head turn to look a second time. Think Steve did something he would never even think of. Couldn’t think of. There was too much here that Steve couldn’t leave behind. That any of them could leave behind.

This group of theirs, it was a family. The biggest and best one that ever lived. Where people stepped in to the roles that were given up. Lost. Never had. People come into each other lives just to make them better. It didn’t matter how they met. Everyone had to meet somehow.

It’s why Dustin keeps coming back day in and day out. Insists that he is family when the receptionist asks. This is what real family does. They stand by each other until the end. Give strength when it’s needed so they can get back up again.

Max is the first stop today. An intensity Dustin’s never felt before waiting for him in the room. Like a cloud of misery rests above their heads. Smacking his smile right off his face.

Lucas’s chin rests on his hands, while his elbows dig into the hospital mattress. He looks at Max with tears in his eyes. She’s asleep, the heart monitor attached to her fingers. Breathing tube still resting in her nostrils, just for assistance. Looking stiff with the casts wrapped around her limbs.

“What happened?” Dustin asks bluntly, pulling a chair to sit next to Lucas. He’d rather get to the point that wander around the subject.

Lucas swallows. “You know they scheduled a bunch of tests now that she’s out of the coma. Well, the eye tests were not that intensive, and she wouldn’t have to stay awake for longer than a few hours to get them done. And-.” He gets cut off when a shaky sob crowds his throat.

“And?” Dustin presses. Trying to be gentle but he’s starting to fear the worst. Already making a list of everything that could go wrong, getting ready to check them off.

He’s done research for this. Went to the library and checked out as many books as possible about nerve damage, eye damage. Scars and PTSD. Anything to make him prepared for any diagnosis. To be the best he could for his friends. Ease his own mind while he’s at it.

But nothing he could have done would have prepared him for the words that leave Lucas’s mouth. How they are so pressing that Lucas has to leave the room. Dustin watches as he steps out with tears streaming down his face. Steve pulling him into a hug before the door shuts behind him.

With all of the possibilities, this was the one that none of them wanted. The one that was the worst of his list. Written last in his mind because of how bad he didn’t want it to happen. Proof that none of them were as invincible as he liked to believe. Wanted to feel.

Max was almost entirely blind.

The room starts to close in around him as he stares at the hospital bed. As the heart monitor persists, getting louder with every thump of Max’s heart. Proof that she’s alive, but not proof for how well she is going to live. The life she will face that is so different than the one she had a week ago. Two years ago.

When they brought Max into this hellscape of a situation, Lucas presented her with a choice. To live happily in ignorance, or face the bitter truth that hides underneath this town. Max made her choice. Dustin has never wished she chose differently more than he did right now.

It was easy to believe that everything would be ok, when nothing really bad ever happened directly to you. Sure, he’s lost people. Almost lost people. But the ones he cared the most about were still here. Still above ground. In the end, Dustin could still walk away smiling.

He doesn’t quite feel like smiling anymore.

Next part

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[rea-grimm]

Phoenix Marco

You were sitting on a swinging bench on the porch of your little house. From there you had a beautiful view of the beach and the sea only a few metres away. 

In front of you was a small table with homemade iced tea and a book you had just put to one side. 

Now your gaze was directed towards the green-carpeted garden and the fruit trees with palm trees, among which Marco was playing with your daughter. They were playing tag, with you lagging, as they both had wings and were chasing each other for a while on the grass and for a while in the treetops. 

Their merry laughter echoed through the garden and at one point Marco almost caught her, but she flew away. 

"Just you wait Little Flame, I've almost got you," Marco laughed, and even though he looked like he was giving it his all, you knew he was giving her a head start. That it was just a game. 

"Never!" Your daughter laughed before heading in your direction and flying full speed into your arms. 

"I'm safe!" she laughed and climbed into your arms. 

"That's cheating," the phoenix laughed as he flew towards you and sat down on the bench next to you. He reached for a glass of tea and put one wing as a blanket around your shoulders. 

"Will you tell me how you met?" Your daughter asked as she took a sip. 

"You know it by heart," you laughed lightly, ruffling the hair on her head. 

"I know. But it's my favourite story. Pretty please," and she made the biggest eyes she could at you and winked innocently. She had rehearsed that expression very well, as she knew it was paying off for the two of you. 

"Okay," you shook your head, smiling. It was just a story after all. 

"It all started a few years ago, when you weren't even born yet and you were still flying in the sea of space, preparing to come to us. 

That day, the several-day storm that had swept through the island and surrounding area finally died down. It was the kind of storm that churned up the sea and nothing was safe before it. 

I lived in this place then, as I do now, and I saw the disaster the storm wrought. Uprooted trees, fish and debris washed up on the beach... 

I went to investigate. At the time, I thought the sea might have washed up something interesting or even treasure. At the time, I had no idea what kind of treasure it really was," you said, and you saw Marco chuckle slightly at that sentence. 

"As I was walking through the debris, I noticed a faint movement. As I walked closer, I found a man washed up and injured in the scribble, with a nasty cut on his head and his arm at a strange angle. 

I couldn't just leave him there, and after finding he was still alive, I dragged him to my house where I could give him proper treatment. 

I wasn't a doctor or a nurse, but I had basic first-aid skills. And as I cared for him, I got the impression that there was more to him than met the eye. 

It wasn't until later that I realized that the elevated temperature and rapid healing were part of the fact that he was not human. But he kept it a secret as much as possible, but eventually, as we spent more and more time together..."

"'You've fallen in love!' your daughter jumped in. 

"Exactly," you giggled. "And we did fall in love, and one night, at a romantic dinner he prepared, he revealed to me what he really was. A legendary phoenix whose flames could heal, and that he was one of the famous pirates..."

"Whitebeards pirates!" "She jumped in again." Is Grandpa coming to see us again? "She turned to Marco. 

"Maybe if you're nice," he smiled. 

"I am. How about we fly out to see him? And to see Uncle Ace?" She suggested, full of enthusiasm. "Maybe when you're a bigger Little flame," and he ruffled her hair. 

"But I'm already big. I can fly as far as you!" She protested. 

"I know, but for one thing we don't know where they're anchored right now, we couldn't take Mommy with us, and besides," he put his hand on your enlarged belly. "Mommy needs to rest now and keep an eye on your little brother or sister. Someone has to protect her. Besides, what if the baby wants to go out when we're not here?" He said, one reason after another, and you could see in her expression the wheels in her head going full tilt. 

"I understand. They'll just have to come to us," she said firmly with a nod of her head. "And how was the rest of it?" She asked, turning her attention to you. 

"Next? After that we got married, he introduced me to his family and most importantly we had you," you smiled. 

Your daughter grinned contentedly at that and settled herself between you. 

"This is my favourite story. Hmm, do you think my little brother will have wings like Daddy and me?" She asked. 

"It's possible," Marco replied. 

"I'm sure of it. Then my brother and I will fly and chase each other through the sky," she smiled as she imagined it. 

"With your brother?" You asked. 

"Exactly. I'd like a brother. I could go on adventures with him. Although, maybe with a little sister too. I could lend her clothes. But not everything. Maybe not this dress. That's my favourite... " your daughter blurted out and you just laughed lightly at that. Such a little phoenix and such plans. But you knew whether she was a girl or not, she would be welcome in your family.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Undying Stupidity

Summary: After raiding a strange facility, 141 takes you back to base with them, where they interrogate you, and after shooting you in the head, quickly discover that you’re an immortal.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

Warnings: blood, mentions of abuse, dead ppl, being shot in the head?? gaz being pretty

A/N: was giggling while thinking abt this today at school, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

They needed information, and where they got it from didn’t particularly matter.

A strange facility filled with what looked to be mostly dead or dying patients, the rest of the guards taken care of once Task Force 141 arrived. And they found…you. Locked in maximum security, malnourished with marks of what seemed to be abuse, but still able to walk.

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look as Ghost yanked you to your feet, dragging you along. You looked more annoyed and offended than afraid. An odd response for a teenage girl locked in enemy territory. You had a hint of a British accent, but also other accents as well. Weird.

“Uh…can we not yank on my arm?”

You said, looking in mild pain. Simon sighed, throwing you over his shoulder instead as the entire team began moving out. Price shot Ghost a warning look at the little ‘oomph’ you made. They needed you alive for the possible information you could have, and if he was too rough, he might break you.

Oh, how wrong they were.

Eventually opting to knock you unconscious once they got to their exfil, they put a white bag over your head. Couldn’t have you waking up and seeing where you were. Wouldn’t be great in case you escaped.

When you woke up, you were tied to a steel chair in a dark room with gray walls. The paint was peeling. In front of you was a table, and across the table, one of the men from earlier sat. The prettier one of the group. When you woke, he gave a little faux sympathetic smile, glancing over at what must’ve been a watch concealed within his sleeve.

“Right on time.” He said, putting his elbows on the table. A gun was in his holster and a few pairs of pliers and knives were on the table. You felt a bit mildly uncomfortable in the situation you were in.

“Look, I don’t think you know what you’re doing-“

You began, but he cut you off with a raised eyebrow.

“Really? I think I know exactly what I’m doing, now what’s your name, hm?”

You sighed, glancing down at the rope bindings chafing against your wrists, leaving angry red marks behind. The ones on your wrists weren’t any better.

“Y/N.” You said glumly, and he pulled a small notepad out from his jacket, writing things down on it with a small pen.

“Good, always easier when they cooperate.” He said, seemingly talking to himself, before glancing back up at you with deep brown eyes.

“Now, can you tell me why you were at that facility?”

You frowned, nose scrunching up slightly as you tried to find a way to explain it. He waited patiently, and you could hear his foot tapping against the floor.

“I was an…experiment?”

You tried with a little shrug. And he looked at you point blank, eyes running over your small form.

“Just shoot me. It’ll make sense after that.” You said with another uncomfortable look. It seemed to be your default. The strange man seemed a bit surprised at your words, but his features quickly tightened.

“Why would I shoot you?”

“I mean—I’ll come back, promise.”

A pause on his end and his gaze turned almost concerned. He stood from his chair, turning to face the door, and as he walked out, you heard him mutter under his breath.

“Didn’t think she was a crazy one. Could’a fooled me.”

Before he closed the door and left you in the room alone again.

It must’ve been a few hours before the door opened, except this time, it was the bearded man coming in. You’d decided that he wasn’t as threatening, not as the giant skull-faced one, anyway. The pretty man from earlier followed, looking panicked.

“Cap, you can’t just-“

A man with a Mohawk filed in after, a confused frown on his face, and the man with the mask stood by the door, silently watching.

“Anyone wanna explain wha’ tha hell is goin’ on?”

Mohawk-man spoke, with a Scottish accent. It made sense, you supposed, since he had a Scottish flag on his uniform.

“I’m gonna test somethin’, is what’s gonna happen.” The bearded man spoke, his voice gruff and low, and pretty-boy tried to stop him, but the man grabbed his gun from his holster, pointed it straight at your head, and fired.

You faintly heard yelling and fighting, your vision blacking out not too long after, and a warm liquid dripping down your face, dripping into your mouth. It tasted like iron and copper at the same time. Your senses faded to nothing, and then….

Groaning, your previously limp body straightened back up as you sat up in your seat, an empty bullet shell falling from a rapidly closing wound in your head.

Bearded-man watched, only nodding as if that had confirmed his suspicions. The pretty boy watched, mouth slightly agape, pure confusion and disbelief clouding his features. The Scotsman stared for a while, before letting out a breathy laugh and clapping you on the shoulder from where you were still in the chair. You winced.

“Well, that was one helluva show,”

He said, and the masked one just stared from his spot in the doorway, uttering the one thing most of them were thinking right now.

“Wot.”

The bearded man put his gun back in its holster, undoing the rope bindings on your hands, and the Scotsman followed his lead, taking a knee to free your ankles.

“Captain John Price.”

He said, shaking your hand. His grip was firm. Mohawk-man grinned and took your other hand.

“Johnny, but you can call me Soap.”

Your hands were limp in their grasp, still trying to recover from the bullet to your skull. Pretty-boy still gaped, mouth opening and closing, before Price explained, probably having known the shock the poor team would have.

“Immortal. Injuries don’t kill ‘er, she jus’ heals.”

A moment later, a skeleton-themed glove was in your hand, shaking it.

“Ghost.”

Was all he said, before the pretty boy came up, hesitantly shaking your hand.

“Kyle, but just..call me Gaz.”

He backed away quickly, still eying you like you might bite. Instead, you groaned, head falling against the chair.

“M….hate getting shot in the head.”

You mumbled, one hand going to rub your head where the bullet hole had now closed up. Your head was pounding, your mind swimming, and generally, it was not a good experience.

“I’d imagine,”

Soap said with a snort, and Price gestured to Soap.

“Walk ‘er to a room. Might as well get her acclimated. Laswell’s gonna want to hear about this.”

Soap gave a nod, a little grin remaining as he approached you, cocking his head slightly as he glanced down at your legs. Injuries didn’t remain on you, not much at least, but some scars did. Little indentions or light pink circles from bullets pockmarked your skin.

“Can ya walk?”

You glanced down at your legs, a doubtful frown crossing your face.

“…maybe?”

“Good enough excuse for me.”

He said, using one large arm to lift most of your body. Your arm slotted around his shoulders surprisingly easily as he carried you in one arm like a rag doll. He walked down endless hallways, until he stopped at one door, opening it up. It was mostly empty, with a thin mattress on the floor in the corner, a small window that was more like a slit on one wall, and a small dresser.

The bare necessities, but more than enough.

Soap set you gently down on the mattress, and your body relaxed into it, eyes nearly shutting from pure bliss. You’d had enough of stiff chairs, sore joints, and achy limbs. Just because you could survive almost everything didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

“I would say we’d get you medical, but…”

He glanced down at the spot in your forehead where the bullet had been, and you shrugged.

“I just wanna sleep.”

You said, and he chuckled, ruffling your hair before stepping towards the exit.

“We’ll get ya some food in the morning,..and maybe a bed frame. Wouldn’t count on the bed frame, though.”

Your lips quirked into a tiny smile at that, amused. He must’ve considered it a victory, because his grin widened, and he gave a little jerk of his chin upwards that looked like a goodbye.

“See ya la’er, kid.”

You knew one thing as you drifted into some much-needed sleep that night.

Life was going to get much more interesting from this point forward.

[deadlymistletoe]

Fears and Bandages

Pairing: Thranduil x F!reader

Request: @frustrated-kitten asked: I thought maybe I could request a Thranduil x FemReader where she returns with several injuries after fighting a bunch of spiders with Legolas and some other elves? Some small wounds, some more serious, but in the end she survives and everything goes well?

A/N: I hope it’s what you wanted - I was going to make it more angsty but this is what came out and it stuck.

Genre: slight hurt/comfort

Description: Thranduil’s composure cracks as he waits for you to come home from battling the spiders. He’s only able to put his fears to rest once he’s bandaged you up himself.

Warnings: Mentions of blood/injuries. Stitches.

Word count: 1582

Thranduil’s foot tapped against the ground, fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest of his throne. Besides the two guards posted at the entrance to the room, the rest of his subjects were steering clear of him.

He didn’t blame them for avoiding him while he was like this - after all, had it been someone else fidgeting he would have been annoyed himself.

It was rare for the composed elvenking to fidget as he was, to betray any hint of apprehension, but today was the exception.

It was well known that there were two people on this earth that Thranduil would do absolutely anything to keep safe, and it just so happened that both of them had gone headfirst into a dangerous situation.

The first, his only son, Legolas. Since the elf had first looked up at him from his mother’s with those wide blue eyes Thranduil had known that he would do anything for him.

After his wife had died that feeling had only strengthened, as the meaning in his life centered around the elfling who was quickly becoming one of the realm's best archers.

For a long time, nothing had changed, until he met the second person he would come to care about more than he would have thought possible. You.

Thranduil had never even considered that he might love again after his wife passed, but then you’d come into his life and he’d found himself falling faster than should have. And he just knew that he couldn’t lose you too. History couldn’t repeat itself. He wouldn’t let it.

Of course, that was easier said than done since you, much like Legolas, continuously risked your safety to fight the spiders that continued to invade the Greenwood.

Thankfully for him, you’d stepped back from the danger once the two of you fell in love and you took to the role of Thranduil’s consort - soon-to-be-queen, but the latest nest was bigger than usual and the spiders began to get more bold so you’d insisted on joining Legolas for the raid.

So now Thranduil sat, fidgeting like an impatient elfling, waiting for news. 

He felt something he hadn’t felt in a very long time - helpless.

Yes, Legolas had promised to make sure you both came back in one piece, but Legolas was also known for saying he was ‘fine’ when he had a gaping wound - Valar forbid he find out what his son’s definition of ‘one piece’ was.

Thranduil let out a frustrated sigh. He knew better than to doubt the abilities of you and his son, but sometimes he just couldn’t help but worry. After all, the last time his son had left the palace with a mother-figure, only one of them had come back - granted, that was when Legolas was a child with none of the skills he had now. But still.

He immediately straightened up, movements freezing when Galion ran up the steps leading into the room. “They’re back, my lord.”

Thranduil wasted no time making his way down the steps, Galion rushing to keep up with him as they made their way to the front gates. “Is everyone okay?” Are they okay?

“Everyone’s alive.” Those words were less reassuring than they should be. The mirkwood elves had a habit of using the term ‘alive’ rather loosely.

When he reached the entrance, those gathered around instantly parted for him to make his way towards the glimpse of pale hair he’d noticed through the crowd.

None of the patrol had been completely spared, that was certain, as scratches adorned each of their complexions, the darker blood of the spiders splattered over their uniforms.

Healers had already dispersed amongst the warriors, vials of antidote in hand just in case, and he was relieved to see that Legolas had no obvious signs of injury as he drew closer.

Legolas saw him coming and turned to meet him, voice low as he spoke. “There were more than we expected. We weren’t prepared, a second lot ambushed us after the fight had already started.”

Thranduil placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze - a show of affection that still kept a semblance of formality. “You did well.”

He hesitated, not wanting to brush his son off but at the same time needing to see you. Legolas saved him from asking, nodding towards where a healer was bent over a figure on a bench. You, he realized.

“She’s okay.” Legolas murmured. “Just a bit more cut up than the rest of us.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “I’ve been on guard to make sure she didn’t injure herself more running off to find you before the healers got to her.”

Thranduil’s lips twitched, holding back a smile as he made his way towards you, Legolas following behind.

It didn’t take long for you to look up at the familiar footsteps, a smile spreading across your lips despite the sting as the healer cleaned up a deep wound across your shoulder.

When the healer took her hands from you to rummage through her supplies you immediately took the chance to push yourself to your feet, moving around her and meeting Thranduil half way, his arms naturally finding their way around your waist as you stumbled slightly.

He smirked slightly looking over your shoulder. “I do believe Lothael is about to scold you for using her distraction to your advantage.”

Your healer, Lothael, had followed you, rolling her eyes. She gave Thranduil a wry look. “Yes, well, I can’t imagine that the king wants his queen-to-be to bleed out on the floor.”

Thranduil’s eyes quickly ran over your wounds, double-checking that you weren’t in imminent danger of bleeding out, and lingering on the deeper ones before looking back at Lothael. “I can take it from here, thank you.”

He knew that technically the healer had more better skills than him in the art, but at the same time, he also knew that the only way to completely reassure himself that you weren’t about to bleed out was if he did it himself - he needed to know that he’d checked and taken care of your wounds with his own hands.

It was only when the two of you had left the view of the other elves, leaving Legolas in charge, that you let yourself lean against the wall with a groan, the pain that had been throbbing in your leg since the adrenaline had worn off on the walk home forcing you to give it a break.

Thranduil, whose hand had been resting on your back, ready to steady you at any moment should you need it, gave you a worried look as you pulled away from him to use the wall as support.

“I’ll be fine,” You muttered, grimacing. “It’s just demanding a rest.”

Thranduil gave you a calculated look, and before you could say anything or even begin to wonder what he was thinking, he swept you off your feet, your arms automatically going around his neck as he carried you bridal-style down the hall.

You couldn’t help but let out a giggle, a smile crossing his own face at the sound. “What are you doing?”

He glanced down at you, a small smile dancing across his lips. “Why, I’m carrying to your chamber’s, my lady. Valar knows you’d collapse halfway there if I didn’t.”

You laughed before quieting down and leaning your head against his chest. “I’m tired, Thranduil.” You murmured, the toll today had taken on your body catching up to you.

He looked at you with a soft look reserved only for you. “I know, Meleth. You can rest soon.”

You sighed, staying silent as he reached your shared chambers and laid you on the bed, letting you sink into the silks and furs that covered the mattress.

You had started to drift off when you suddenly felt something cold seep into one of the deeper wounds, pressure keeping it there. You jerked away from the cold sting, but a hand held you in place, and you felt Thranduil’s silky hair brush against your skin as he lent over you to brush his lips against your forehead.

“I’m just cleaning them.” He murmured. “Relax.”

You let out a shuddering breath as he moved the cloth, a few tears slipping down the side of your face as he continued on to stitch the wound closed.

Your strong facade you’d kept up in the entrance and on the journey home hope had dissipated, as had your energy now that you were with the one you didn’t have to act strong for.

Thranduil whispered apologies and reassurances as he cleaned and bandaged the rest of your wounds with a gentleness that could only come from a lover’s hands, occasionally wiping the tears from your face and running his fingers through your hair at a particularly harsh sting.

It felt like hours later when the last wound was taken care of and you heard the quiet clink as Thranduil set the glass bottle of ointment aside.

He remained seated at your size, gentle fingers brushing over your face and hair as he gazed down at you, his own fears put aside now that he’d tended to you.

You held his gaze, relishing the cool touches until you felt your eyes begin to droop, and the last thing you were aware of was the feather-light lips that brushed against yours and the whispered, “Sleep, Meleth.” as you drifted off, Thranduil’s fingers soothingly carding through your hair.

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Nova-Part 4

Jay Halstead x Reader (Nicknamed Nova)

Everyone awaits news on your condition

Warnings: mention of torture, injuries

Jay sat in the waiting room staring at the photo of you and him that was the wallpaper on his phone. It was from your last birthday. His arms were around you, you were leaning back against him with a broad smile on your face. God, you looked so happy being in his arms. What if he never got that again? 

He hadn’t wanted to risk your life but now? He wished he would’ve just told you the truth. He was facing losing you and you dying thinking he didn’t want you when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You were everything to him. You were his partner, his best friend, the love of his life. Every dream of the future had you front and center. That was why he went along with the feds plan, why he’d put his life in their hands to bring down Eurely, because even if it would’ve gone south..him dying would’ve been worth it if that meant they would’ve stopped the hit that had you on it.

“She still loves you just as much” Adam spoke sitting down next to him and he cut his eyes up “I hurt her man, I thought I did the right thing by protecting her but now I might..” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the fact that you might die.

“She’s not gonna die Jay. She’s breathing on her own, you heard your brother. She’s strong man. She’ll wake up” Adam tried to assure him and Jay smiled slightly “I must be pathetic if you’re trying to comfort me” Adam laughed lightly and bumped his shoulder “Naw, just trying to look out for two friends at one time. I’m not saying she’s gonna wake up and be her usual self but this isn’t gonna take her out. I have to believe that or else I failed her”

Jay glanced at Adam and shook his head “No, you didn’t. You got the plates. You got the extraction as fast as you could” Adam held his eyes “Jay that wouldn’t help me if our roles were reversed” Jay shrugged “Me being angry with you isn’t gonna help matters, especially not when I couldn’t possibly be angrier with you than I am with myself”

“She’ll understand, I think” Adam tried and Jay shook his head, trying to get the image of your broken body out of his head. That image would never leave him, no matter how this turned out. Seeing the woman you love, bloody and beaten to the point of unconsciousness that she didn’t even react to your presence? That would always haunt him.  

“I don’t need her to understand. I just need her to wake up” Jay whispered, eyes never leaving the photo of you and him on his screen. “I just need her alive” Jay muttered more to himself than Adam that time.  He could handle being tortured, beaten, shot and stabbed but this? Sitting and waiting while you were fighting for your life and knowing he could not possibly help you? It was killing him with every second that ticked by on the clock that rested on the wall overhead.  

“Hey, remember that damn takedown when Nova stopped mid chase because that kid almost ran into the street?” Adam asked and Jay smiled slightly, he still didn’t know how you spotted that kid down a freaking alley but when you skidded to a stop and peeled off everyone had been screaming over the coms until you yelled at them to keep going, that you’d catch up.

It turned out the kid’s mom was diabetic and her sugar had spiked and landed her in a coma. If you hadn’t spotted that kid, him and his mom could’ve died that day. “Still don’t know how she spotted that kid” he whispered and Adam smiled “Nova does the impossible. That’s why Nadia nicknamed her that, shines the brightest. She’s gonna pull out of this Jay” 

“Thanks Ruz” Jay told him and Adam nodded “You’re welcome man” 

A couple hours passed before Will walked into the room again. Jay jumped to his feet just seeing his brother “Is there any news?” Will nodded “We did a CT scan, everything looks good. I think we can start backing off her sedation and see if she’ll come around. I came to ask if you wanted to be in the room when we do”

Jay shrugged helplessly because he honestly didn’t know how you would feel waking up after that much hell to him. Would you be happy to see his face? Would you assume he was there out of guilt? 

“Jay” he looked up when Kim called his name “She’ll want you, even if she won’t admit it” he nodded then looked at Will “Lead the way”

___________________

Jay followed Will down the hallway. “How bad is it Will before I walk into her room?” he asked quietly and Will stopped walking, turning to face him “She’s been beaten and tortured Jay. It’s as bad as you think. The swelling has gone down in her face so it’s more so just shades of purple now, she’s got some stitches on her right cheek. Her left arm is in a cast, luckily it was a clean break so that will heal in six weeks time or so. Her right arm is wrapped due to burns. Her torso and legs suffered burns and puncture wounds so she has a mixture of bandages and stitches throughout them. Her breathing is going to be a little off too due to us having to pump the water out of her lungs. She went through hell Jay. I’m not going to stand here and sugar coat anything for you. I know why you did what you did but the woman you love is going to be in a lot of pain physically for the next six to eight weeks and mentally? She’s probably going to need some therapy because while she’s suffered on duty injuries before she’s never been tortured”

“I won’t let her go through it alone” Jay promised and Will nodded “Good, because even if she pushes you away. She’s going to need you” 

_________________

The two continued walking and when they got to your room Will hesitated before he pushed the door open. Jay took a deep breath and followed him. Even being warned didn’t prepare him. Your face was bruised, the stitches a contrast against them. Your arm was casted, forcing it back to the right angle and it didn’t look like a single inch of your body was untouched. 

“Will, did they…” he swallowed hard at the thought but luckily he didn’t have to finish it because Will understood. He shook his head “No, the assault was only physical”  Jay nodded slowly, walking over to your right side “Will it hurt her if I touch her hand?”  

Will shook his head “No, just mind the bandages” April and Connor were already setting up what was needed to start bringing you out from under the sedation. Jay slipped his fingers into yours “Hey baby. I’m here” he wished you’d move, squeeze his hand. Anything.

“You ready Jay?” Connor asked and he nodded “As ready as I’ll ever be”

________________

Pain, just pain. Everywhere hurt. Your legs, your abdomen, your arms, your head. There wasn’t an inch of your body that didn’t hurt. Every breath burnt. Consciousness started to slowly find its way back to you…. Yvette…they killed her…they were trying to get her to admit you were a cop…they were trying to get you to turn over undercover cops…did they still have you?

Your eyes flew open and you tried to scramble up the bed…wait bed? It took you a few seconds to realize you were in a hospital. Connor and April were on one side of the bed, Will and Jay on the other. “Am I safe?” you asked in a voice that was so rough to your own ears it made you flinch.  

Jay nodded “You’re safe” you looked down and his hand was in yours so you pulled yours away. You didn’t need his guilt. “Yvette, she tried to protect me” you felt tears slip down your face and April grabbed tissues, patting your face gently “They’ll burn if they hit your stitches”

You looked from Connor to Will “How bad?” they shared a look before Connor cleared his throat and went down your list of injuries. “Is Adam ok? They didn’t get him too did they?” you asked and Jay shook his head “No” “Good” you laid your head back on the pillows, a grimace on your face “I’ll get you something for pain” Will offered and Connor and April excused themselves.

Will walked out of the room and you looked back at Jay. “When did you get back?” you winced when you spoke. “I got back in enough time to be walking in my front door when Hailey called to say you’d been abducted” “Sorry” you whispered and he shook his head. “I’m sorry baby, I never wanted to hurt you but I had a reason…” you cut him off by raising your right hand “Jay, everything hurts. I can’t do this right now. Please?” 

“Ok, I’m staying here until they let you out” you sighed “I can’t tell you what to do but don’t stay out of guilt. I’ll be ok” you saw tears come to his eyes “Nova, I love you” you blinked a few times, trying not to cry since April said it would burn if it got in your stitches but it was useless. Jay got the tissues and did the same as she had. You watched him and looked away “I love you Jay, I just don’t know what I did”

“Let me stay with you please. I just want to be near you, I want to see that you’re ok. I’m the one that found you. Seeing the love of my life like that…baby that will never leave me” you shook your head “How can I be the love of your life Jay when you walked away?” “I did it to protect you” he whispered and you looked back “What?” he nodded “I had a price on my head baby. Half a mil, you were on the hit as a way to get at me. I couldn’t let you get hurt”

“You lied to me” you whispered and he nodded “I did” you felt more tears but snatched away from him when he tried to help you “No, you made me think I did something wrong. Why not trust me?”  “You never back down from a fight, Nova! They told us they planned to snatch Adam too but you put up too much of a fight. Was I really supposed to think you’d be afraid of a hit?” he asked and you turned to look at him “You were supposed to trust me enough to at least tell me the truth. Jay I love you but baby please just go. I need something for pain and to think”

He nodded slowly as the door opened and Will walked back in “I’ll be in the waiting room. I’m not leaving” 

Will looked from you to him “Am I interrupting something?” you shook your head “No, just give me the medicine please Will. Everything hurts” you looked back at Jay “Everything”

Jay sat in the corner of the waiting room, watching as the members of the unit all went to talk to you after Will cleared it. You talked to them all, even Voight. He remained rooted to the spot. He wasn’t leaving. Fuck “visiting hours” As long as you were here, he was here. 

Hank  walked over to him after he talked to you. “Jay” he cut his eyes up “Yeah?” “Everyone tossed some time your way if you need it to take off to be with her” he nodded slowly “I don’t know if she’ll let me” 

“Word of advice?” Hank asked and Jay shrugged “Why not?” “I told her not to turn her back on you. You don’t turn your back on her. She’s gonna need you. You’ve been through similar shit. I told her about the hit, why you went to New Mexico. She’ll come around and when she does and when she starts looking at this head on she’s gonna need you. Now I gotta go meet Yvette’s daughter. She’s getting her money off this plus some”

“She tried to protect Nova. Make sure she knows that. She doesn’t need to just remember her mother as a C.I. She protected the woman I love and I will forever be grateful for that” Jay told him and he nodded “I’ll pass that on” 

After that the unit kind of scattered out to head home once they all knew you were awake and that Jay was going to be there should anything happen. Kevin offered to stay but Jay told him he’d be ok. After that it was just him in the corner of the waiting room by himself. 

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos of you. He couldn’t look at half of them the same because in a lot of them you were wearing that blue henley and his brain kept flashing to your broken body in that field. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. It would be ok. You were awake, you would talk to him in time. That’s what mattered.

It was probably close to three in the morning when one of the CNAs came in to take your vitals. You had dozed off and hadn’t realized your brain had slipped into that space where it didn’t register you were safe. When she touched your right hand to slip the oxygen monitor onto it you flipped your hand around and grabbed her wrist, twisting it.

When she gasped your eyes flew open and you dropped your hand “Oh my god. I am so sorry” she shook her head “It’s ok Detective. You didn’t hurt me. I should have announced myself after everything” you didn’t notice your hands were shaking until she rubbed her fingers across them “You’re safe, I promise. It’s over”

You nodded slowly and she smiled “Would you like me to go get your partner?” “Adam?” you asked and she shook her head “No, Dr Halstead’s brother. He’s asleep in the waiting room” 

Your heart screamed yes, your brain screamed no. Your heart won control over your mouth. “Please” you whispered and she nodded “Let me take your vitals and I’ll go get him”

_________________

“Detective Halstead” Jay jolted when a CNA shook him “Yeah?” she smiled “She’s asking for you” 

He was on his feet and moving without another word. If you wanted him, you were getting him. No questions asked. When he got to your door he knocked lightly and you called out “Come in Jay” he pushed the door open and you smiled at him “Can you stay in here so I don’t hurt anyone from getting scared?” “Who scared you?” he asked and you ducked your head “The CNA when she tried to take my vitals. My brain didn’t register that I was safe. If you’re here, it will” 

That made his heart flip. You still felt safe with him, even after everything you went through. “Where do you want me?” he asked and you stared at him for a moment “I’m not over it Jay, my heart can’t bounce back like that. You get that don’t you?” he nodded “Of course baby. I’m not going anywhere though, I’ll earn my spot in your heart back, I will”

You nodded slowly “Will you hold me, please? I know I’ll be safe then” you sounded so damn scared it broke his heart “Of course baby” he walked across to your right side and gently slid into the bed, slipping an arm under you. You curled up to his chest, tucking your bandaged right arm against you. “I love you Jay, I know you love me and thank you for trying to protect me but this is gonna take time. Us and me healing”

He kissed the top of your head “I’ll be here. No matter how long it takes” 

Part 5 (Final)

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