#onto Chapter 57

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

Well… I was expecting a second signet from someone… It was not him. Oh how the tables have turned

[acourtofquestions]

“Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay. She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?" Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.”

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 7•\

Former and further chapters can be found here.

You and Johnny kiss. With company. Ghoap/fem!reader, dry humping, kissing, handjobs, exhibitionism, suggestion of blowjobs.

-

Kissing Johnny only gets easier, and it was easy to begin with.

-

The next morning sees you running late for work. After your late night, you had forgotten to set your alarm and hadn’t awoken until the sun spilled in through your open curtains and you could hear the sound of Simon bustling around at the other end of the apartment. You had taken the quickest shower of your life, brushed your teeth, and done your best to make yourself presentable, rehearsing potential excuses in your head for your boss. There was a crash on I-57; my car broke down; a child fell down a well… 

You didn’t even have time to grab a cup of Simon’s coffee before you were wrenching the front door open, but when Johnny calls out sharply for you to halt, you are startled enough into stopping your frenzied rush, turning to blink at his careful, limping approach. He cups your jaw and brings your mouth to his, tasting like creamer and sugar, just the way you like your coffee. 

“Have a good day, hen,” he says when he pulls back, giving you an innocuous smile. 

Your eyes flitter to Simon, who is leaning with one hip against the kitchen island, coffee halfway to his mouth, brows raised—it’s reflexive to check on him, to make sure that Johnny hasn’t made him angry with this sudden show of affection. To make sure that you’re allowed to enjoy it. When Simon’s coffee finally completes its circuit to his mouth, you look back at Johnny and give him a shy smile. 

“You too,” you say for lack of better words. After you shut the door, you mouth to yourself, Oh my god. Then you remember your own lateness and rush down to the parking lot, praying for green lights all the way to work. 

Inside the apartment, Johnny fixes Simon with a smug expression. 

Simon shakes his head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. 

-

When you get home from work, feet aching and a knot in your neck, it all seems to melt away as Johnny sits up from where he was slumped on the couch and draws you onto his lap. You’re careful not to put too much pressure on his bad thigh, gripping his shoulders tightly, eyes flickering around the apartment looking for the looming presence of Johnny’s other half once Johnny’s intent seems clear. 

“Where’s Simon?” you breathe. 

“Out,” says Johnny, taking your chin in his fingers and coaxing you down toward his mouth. He pauses, lips nearly brushing. “Should we wait so he can watch?” 

“What?” 

Johnny grins. He leans up the last few hairs’ breadths and kisses you, and Simon finds you in a similar place nearly an hour later. 

You’ve shifted of course, unable to kneel for so long without your legs falling asleep. Now Johnny lays with his bad thigh braced against the back of the couch, legs opened for you to be nestled between, your arms looped around his neck so you can play with the soft hairs at the back of his head. 

Your mouth feels numb from kissing, your thoughts syrupy and slow, focused only on the softness of Johnny’s mouth, the way his stubble rubs your cheeks raw (and your neck, when he gives your mouth a break and trails his lips down your jaw to the space between your neck and shoulder). Your head feels light and airy, your heart too, positively buoyant with all the affection. The only part of you that doesn’t feel sleepy and slow is that needy place between your legs; there you ache, slick enough for your panties to stick to you every time you shift. 

Johnny isn’t unaffected, either. He’s been hard since he dragged you onto his lap, but he seems completely content to do nothing about it. Anytime you try to escalate your kisses into something a little firmer, a little more satisfying, he drags you back to that soft and slow place where it feels like all your thoughts leak out your ears. 

“Johnny,” you breathe into the crook of his neck, resting your own sore one. He hums in answer. “Don’t you want—more?” 

“Got you in my lap,” he says, hands massaging your hips firmly. “What more could I possibly want?” 

You let your pelvis settle a little more firmly against his own, rocking against his hard cock. He can’t control the way his breath hitches at the stimulation, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

“Oh, him?” Johnny asks innocently. “Just ignore him.” 

“I don’t want to ignore him,” you mutter sulkily. “I want to sit on him.” 

Johnny guffaws. Beneath you, his cock twitches. 

The door opens and Simon enters. He’s dripping sweat from his run, and for the first time you notice the backpack he carries with him, the way it seems to droop against his back, like it’s filled with something heavy. All three of you freeze at the sight of the other. The moment is broken by a buzzing—Simon fishes his phone from his pocket and sighs, pressing it to his ear. 

“I’m listening,” he says, shutting the front door behind him. 

Johnny reaches out softly and turns your chin back towards him. There is something in his eyes, something mischievous, but all he does is coax your mouth back down to his and kiss you again. You sigh against his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he sucks sweetly on your tongue. You hear the sound of Simon’s voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other, the warm rumble of his tenor doing nothing to help the ache between your thighs. 

Johnny grips your hips in his hands and—oh, oh god. He rocks you gently against him, his cock brushing against your soaked sex through your respective layers. It sends a jolt through you, even this small stimulation feeling good after denying yourself for so long. You can’t help the sound that slips out of your throat, the little whine that Johnny swallows whole and matches with a warm, pleased hum. 

You know what he’s doing now. Had he planned it to be like this? It’s hard to imagine that he hadn’t, not with his earlier flippant phrase of waiting for Simon to watch. Respectability wars with your own need, and you find that it’s far too easy to let your need win, to let Johnny’s hands guide you against his cock again and again, stoking that fire in your belly into something transcendental, something too big to be ignored. 

“Johnny?” you hear Simon say to whoever is on the other end of the phone, the name briefly breaking through your stupor. “Being a pain in my ass, as usual.” 

You break away from Johnny’s mouth but can’t seem to stop the gentle rolling of your hips. Instead you bury your face in his neck, hoping for some reprieve from the embarrassment that has your face aflame, from the shame that seems to be doing nothing but whetting the ache between your legs. 

“Johnny,” you whine quietly. “Be fair.” 

“What’s unfair?” he breathes. He jerks his hips up against you softly. “Oh—this? You want me to stop? Just say the word.” 

You chance a glance toward Simon and find that he still has the phone pressed to his ear, but his eyes are focused firmly on you and Johnny, his expression of greater intensity than usual: brows lower, eyes darker, scarred mouth barely parted, like he has something to say but can’t. He meets your eyes and hums something noncommittal into the phone. You wonder if he’s paying attention to the call at all. 

Simon turns his eyes away. He reaches down and grips the hem of his shirt, lifts it up to wipe at his dripping brow, and it gives you a glance of his body: pale and scarred, but so fucking strong, muscled with a nice layer of padding. Fuck, they are both so painfully beautiful. You realize that Johnny has stopped his gentle ministrations on your hips and that now all the movement is due to you: you’re the one grinding against his hard cock. You hide in his neck again, placing sloppy kisses against his steady pulse. 

“That’s it,” Johnny mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear. His hands slip around to cup your arse. “Does that feel good?” 

You nod. Anything would feel good after so much time spent on the most innocent of foreplay, anything would feel good with how swollen and wet you were. Johnny’s hands press against you, lengthening your strokes, turning your hasty, jerky movements into slow, sensual rolls of your hips, maximizing the contact between you both. 

“Sit up, I want to see you,” he whispers. Your head is so full of cotton that you do, forgetting for a moment that Simon is there. He’s watching you again, one hand braced against the countertop, dark eyes watching the way you grind against his husband’s cock, knuckles white where he grips the phone and presses it to his ear, giving the occasional grunt to whomever is on the other line. Johnny says: “Fuck, yer beautiful.” 

You ignore that, unwilling to let him fluster you any more than you already are. Instead you brace your hands against his chest and quicken your hips, feeling the coil inside your belly twist tight. You’ve needed to cum since last night, since Johnny first kissed you with Simon right there watching. All you want is to feel that sweet burst of pleasure, to let it rise up like high tide and drown you. Johnny’s hands smooth along your thighs and up your belly and cup the fullness of your breasts, and that’s all you need to cover your face, mouth falling open as a painfully embarrassing sound is torn from your throat. Your body is wracked with shivers as your pussy clenches tight around nothing, and you’d forgotten over the years just how unsatisfying these kinds of orgasms could be. You needed something inside you, something you could clench down on, if only Johnny had been willing to give it to you. 

A door clicks shut. Your misty eyes open to find that Simon is gone. 

“Beautiful,” Johnny says, drawing you back down into his arms for a kiss. Against your mouth, he mutters: “Yer perfect.” 

“We scared off Simon,” you groan, forehead resting against his own. Beneath you, his cock is still hard, reminding you that he still hasn’t cum yet—likely can’t with just this level of stimulation. 

“Yeah, he’s scared t’ death,” Johnny says, eyes rolling, his hands smoothing up and down the small of your back. “Probably already got his cock out in the next room.” 

You frown. That wouldn’t make any sense. You decide to focus on what does make sense—helping Johnny find his own pleasure. Reaching down, you lightly trail your fingers over his clothed cock, feeling positively electric when he gives a shaky sigh, cock jerking beneath your tentative touch. 

“Want some help?” you ask. 

He just gives you a soft smile. “Actually, I know just the person who’s going to help me.” 

-

When Johnny enters the bedroom, Simon is nowhere in sight. The light coming from beneath the ensuite door tells him all he needs to know. He raps his knuckles against the door and waits, unable to help the grin that stretches his mouth and the way his cock nudges at the fly of his denim. The door opens and a hand reaches out, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him in, pressing him back against the door with enough force to rattle the knob. 

“Hi love,” Johnny coos. “How was your run?” 

Simon kisses him, sucks on his full lower lips, licks into his open mouth like it is a cup he can drink his fill from. Johnny meets him with equal fervor, his hands falling to find Simon’s belt already undone, his cock already free and hard. It’s a warm, familiar weight in his palm as he strokes his lover and thumbs at the leaking head. 

“Not—not being subtle at all,” Johnny warns him. 

Simon just grunts in between kisses. 

“What, can you taste her on me?” Johnny teases. 

Simon groans and buries his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck where you had buried your own. He presses his mouth to every mark you left behind, teases your teeth marks with his own, hips thrusting into the tight fist of Johnny’s hand. 

“You’re not subtle either,” Simon grits out, palms placed flat on the oak door, pinning Johnny in place. “She’s going to catch on that you’re trying to play matchmaker.” 

“I’m not aiming for subtle,” Johnny breathes. He presses Simon back with a palm against his chest and drops to his knees, even as Simon’s eyes tighten with disapproval, knowing Johnny can’t remain in the position long. Johnny just grins, easy and lighter than he’s felt in weeks. “I’ve got about five minutes before my leg starts killin’ me…think you can cum before then?” 

“I think that depends on how good your mouth treats me,” Simon says. 

“I’d better get to work then, hadn’t I?”

[felassan]

Mark Darrah video: 'Dragon Age: The Veilguard Has Shipped. Now What?? #/masseffect'

Video description:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard has shipped. What happens at BioWare now? BioWare structurally finds itself in uncharted territory as it only has a single Project (Mass Effect) active. Chapters: 0:00 Veilguard is out, now what? 0:22 BioWare Structure and History 1:57 Growth 4:45 Consumption 6:28 Sustain 7:27 Contraction 11:14 Leadership Discontinuity 1 12:48 Leadership Discontinuity 2 14:14 One Project At A Time 16:33 Mass Effect 18:50 Will The People Be There? 22:18 FOCUS"

[source]

Key notes from the vid and the comments underneath:

"Up front I should say that I have every confidence that Mass Effect [5] is in fact being worked on and that that project is going to receive all of the support from EA that it might need."

Slowly and painfully BioWare is figuring out that it simply can't do more than one project at a time anymore. It's now a single-project studio. Mark Darrah expects that both Edmonton and Austin will be working on ME5 together

ME5 effectively paused production for 15 months in order to help DA:TV ship

Right now other than some DA:TV clean up/final patches, everyone at BW is working on ME5

However ME5 isn't yet ready to suddenly have a team of 250-300 people working on it, so while some DA:TV devs moved onto it, some DA:TV devs were moved to/are moving to other parts of EA instead. The ME5 team started, but there is a long way between "start" and "ready to scale" up

The ME5 team is figuring out what ME5 is going to be & its structure, then will get ready to ramp up to a much bigger team size

"BW, for the first time really ever, is able to singularly focus on a single project, is able to put everything it has towards a single goal, which is making the best ME it possibly can."

But it remains to be seen whether BW will be able to get its people back when it needs them and is ready for them. There are a few reasons why this might prove difficult. Alternatively, on the flipside, this degree of focus might be exactly what BW needs to move it into the next phase of its life. "Maybe EA is going to prove to be incredibly effective at moving people around and when ME5 looks to start to grow maybe there will be no troubles".

We will probably have hints of what's going on [with ME5] within the next two years. "I have high hopes for ME. I think that once they figure out staffing, BW being focused on one game at a time is probably great for the studio" (though there may be growing pains to get there)

Does Mark Darrah foresee similar issues in the ME5 dev cycle to what DA:TV had? No, because ME5 hasn't had the same two big directional shifts, and it has had no leadership discontinuity (ME5 paused when they went to help DA:TV i.e. it didn't continue without a leader). But we should only really start counting ME5's dev cycle from today. "It really hasn't been that long with a significant team"

The ME5 teases in recent N7 Days were made by a "very small team"

There are still lots of veterans at BW

Mark Darrah doesn't expect to be involved in what BW makes next

More under cut due to length.

BW has existed in different ways/structures through its history. We're currently entering into an "unprecedented time" for BW

The purchase of BW by Elevation Partners, the purchase of BW by EA, when Ray Muzyka & Greg Zeschuk left BW, and the year 2017 in general are the 4 most important events (not including shipping games) that Mark Darrah feels have affected BW the most in its history

BW's strategy over time could be seen as having had 4 different phases: grow, consume, sustain, contract. In the contract phase, though BW maybe didn't realize it yet, the number of projects it was capable of running simultaneously was decreasing slowly/gradually. Why? Projects were getting more expensive, requiring more people/resources/time, and by this point BW had essentially burned off all its 'reserves' from the growth phase i.e. there was no longer any fat left to burn off

After DA:I shipped, Mark Darrah experienced that it was very difficult to find resources if your project wasn't the next project that was due out the door

DLC is a safety valve for processes and staff; a place for devs to work when other projects aren't quite ready for them yet; a place for the next gen of leaders to be grown. These things disappear as DLC does. Mark Darrah is pretty sure that the move away from DLC is coming from EA

In the contract phase, in 2013-14 Anthem was starved out by DA & ME:A. ME:A was also somewhat starved out by DA. Then when ME:A was in the driver's seat, it consumed most of the resources

In late 2016/early 2017 during the push to ship ME:A, as part of that BW began to experience leadership discontinuity. As the DA leader, Mark Darrah led a team of DA people onto ME:A to help it ship (the Dragon Age Finaling Team) for a few months. this sort of thing had happened at BW before but this was the first time when senior leadership moved off the projects they led to do this. this caused a change in philosophy in terms of the way that projects were run

When ME:A shipped and Casey Hudson came back to lead BW, there was then a much much larger leadership discontinuity with Anthem. The Montreal studio was supposed to move over onto Joplin to help kickstart it but it ended up getting taken away and given to the leadership in Montreal. but even if this had happened as it was supposed to, BW may not have been able to be in a place where it was going to be able to ship Anthem and Joplin simultaneously

Three quarters of the senior leadership on Joplin moved to Anthem or left BW. DA continued and became Morrison. The discontinuity had massive consequences for DA4

In 2021/22, this happened again in the opposite direction. The leadership team moved onto DA to help it ship, though rather than leaving some of the team in place, everyone moved. The other project (next Mass Effect) effectively ceased to exist for 15 months in order to help DA4 ship. In 2023 for the first time since 1995 BW was only working on 1 project (DA:TV) & there was nobody working on ME5 or remasters or side projects at that time. Now that DA:TV has shipped, apart from some people on cleanup and final patches, there is no plans for DA:TV DLC and "there is only Mass Effect". "Everyone at BW will be working on Mass Effect."

DA:TV being a 'direct sequel' would have been an unlikely path

With BW now focusing on a single project, Mark Darrah does worry that EA will get "itchy"

It'll be a [long] while to DA5 [hypothetically speaking, if it gets made]

MELE involved a lot of external devs

Shadow Realms was BioWare Austin and was due to: "partially places for people, partially a desire for Austin to get something new."

Mark Darrah expects that the devs are hearing everything being said about DA:TV

BW focuses more on consoles because of sales numbers

Unreal Engine 5 (which ME5 is on) is moving onto other EA projects as well, which may help

There are reasons why DA:TV is the way it is

BW has had external consultants on leadership and structure over the years

Mark Darrah expects that the next Dragon Age will once again be pretty different to the last iteration

BW Austin were brought in to help make Anthem. "What didn't happen (that should have) is that they should have had more directional control over the live service direction."

BW has had difficulty learning from previous games because at least one title was too far along TO learn. but a single game leads to staffing issues

Mark Darrah pitched a dev structure back in 2016/17 which would have had "3 fast follow games then a period of retooling"

EA doesn't really sell IPs

Chance of DA:TV DLC? "That's an EA question. And I expect EA's answer to be no". "I don't think we will see DLC. A new DA would be in the future."

"DA has been looking for larger audiences in every iteration. EA has never understood the franchise"

Remake DA:O or ME1? "While I think it would do well, I don't expect it to happen at any time soon. Also the skillsets required don't really over lap"

"The 3 previous games DAVe was are leaking through in places"

Diagram from the video which shows the flow of people throughout BW's history, made by a member of Mark Darrah's community.

[source]

[poisonousquinzel]

i think while Ivy's definitely been her rock throughout their relationship over the years and has been the most consistent in her support system, that it can't be understated the key role that Batman has had over the years in that too.

Harley's a wonderful example of exactly the kinda growth that Bruce tries to achieve with members of the criminal underworld inside Gotham when she's allowed to be.

And he's repeatedly over the years given her the opportunities to prove she's changed, even if it's the 12th time over the last decade.

He doesn't lose hope in his rogues (or when he did it was returned by the end of the chapter)

But more importantly, when she's away from Joker and he feels she's sincere, he doesn't just abandon her to the streets with the false belief that that'll be enough, ya know?

Such a common part of abusive relationships is the financial aspect of it, becoming reliant of the abuser and having no options outside of them. When Harley's released from Arkham, if she has no other option for income other than returning to crime, most of the time that would mean inevitably returning to Joker. He would always find her.

If she has nothing she's connected onto post release there's nothing keeping her from slipping, especially because of how manipulative Joker is.

And Batman knows that.

He's so supportive of her and it means everything to me if the new writer takes their dynamic in the 2021 comic away i stg

Look at them!!! they're so neat :')

Detective Comics #1046 Harley Quinn (2016) #57-58 Detective Comics #831 Punchline: The Gotham Game (2022-) #2 Batman: The Animated Series "Harley's Holiday" Batman & Harley Quinn (2017) #1, #5 Harley Quinn (2021 - ) #1, #29 Batman (2016) #100

[hypnagogics]

SUPERBLOOD WOLFMOON → PROLOGUE

read this first! ▪︎ playlist ▪︎ series m.list ▪︎ next chapter

☆: honestly suuuper proud of how this came out ngl, please enjoy!! art in newspaper graphic drawn by the wonderful, amazing, multi-talented, freakin' incredible @sharkthrob ♡ ◇: sfw, both start out as young teens, ends with time skip to "present day", relatively mild (at least imo...idk) violence/gory descriptions, arachnophobia warning (lol), this is also a play on the "left behind" dlc!! ;) ♧: 2.2k wc

Summer, 2035

“60, 59, 58, 57….” The ambient droning of the abandoned mall’s timeworn neon lighting hung in the air as you stood against the old, mold-scented wall, the wallpaper peeling off in chunks, counting down the seconds as your best friend ran to find a hiding place. You could hear her gleeful giggles and pitter-patter of footfalls echo off the structure’s walls while she frantically searched for an effective crevice to stow herself away in, and break her losing streak once and for all.

Unbeknownst to you, Ellie had reached the complete opposite end of the building in no time at all, stumbling upon a crater in the floor, which opened up to the basement. “Fuck’s this?” She mumbles to herself, peering inside the inky darkness of the unexplored space, her sense of danger being overshadowed by the increasing curiosity, and your progressing countdown.

She idles for a moment debating whether to go inside because if she did, she’d definitely win, but there was also the possibility of getting hurt. She chooses to believe the former regardless. Glancing back in your direction one last time to make sure you weren't cheating and spying through your fingers, she hoists herself down, grunting as she falls harshly onto the damaged linoleum tiles.

Ellie winces as she gathers herself to stand, and takes in her surroundings. A long, eerie, brick-lined corridor extends further than she can see. If she is already here, might as well check it out, she reasons.

Stale air fills her lungs almost painfully, the heavy odor of mildew making her eyes water. Through the crack above she hears you finish the countdown and yell out, “I’m gonna get you!” She coughs, collects herself and begins running into the darkness, there was no way you’d find her down here.

“Shit, shit, shit gotta hide- what the…” She reaches the end of the unfamiliar hallway, ending up in a spacious but empty room, the walls covered in some sort of graffiti. She rubs at her eyes to clear them of any debris particles floating around, and so she could fully observe her surroundings once her eyes adjusted to the absence of light.

An abnormally large rat scurries over her feet, squeaking, making her jump and withhold a startled yelp. That was close, she almost gave away her location. Continuing to walk around the space, she observes the graffiti covering the brittle, withered walls. Splashes of vibrant color in an array of abstract forms stretching on, symbols and sigils of all kinds painted within. Jagged, angular glyphs, containing profanities scrawled in deranged strokes, vulgar phallic scribblings earning an immature chuckle from the girl as she continues to inspect the space, seemingly forgetting about the game of hide and seek entirely.

She’s left breathless when she reaches a peculiar piece of graffiti separate from the bulk of the rest, staring at it with wonder. Extraordinary, brilliant hues of color were painted on a mural spanning the whole side wall of the room, with what looked like a gargantuan spider painted in the center of it all. The illustration of the web seemed to sparkle, stand out and contrast the intimidating blackness of the room, the arachnid’s limbs painted with such precision where she couldn't spot a single mistake, as if it was created with machinery or similar.

Out of the corner of her eye she spots some movement, and from the shadows emerges an iridescent spider—the exact one painted—and it crawls along the mural until it stops right in front of her at eye level. She watches as its countless peepers bore into hers, utterly transfixed, unable to look away. Its body shines, reminding her of a scarab beetle. She wonders what kind it is, it’s completely unrecognizable and foreign to her, however big of an interest in bugs she has.

A sickly dread builds in the pit of her stomach, it’s only now dawned on her just how bad of an idea this was. She silently hopes you can hear her telepathic pleas, pick up on the panicked mantras she’s whispering under her breath and come save her from the mutant creature.

Budding panic rises in her chest, paralyzing her with fear, and she can't do anything apart from watch the eight-legged beast suddenly quadruple in size with a sharp crunch of its exoskeleton snapping, thin, twiggy legs turning muscular and strong, dagger-sharp spines ripping their way through the armor-like exterior, jutting out towards every direction. It has changed form entirely, resembling something that only exists in the confines of a comic book or science fiction film.

Ellie sucks in a harsh, shaky breath through her teeth and braces herself to quickly plan an exit, but before she has the chance to begin running, the arachnid’s jaws burst open, the sharp teeth gleaming as if they were made of a metal alloy. She didn't know spiders had teeth, or made any sounds, but she swore she heard it snarl, right before it leapt forward onto her with a speed faster than sound, tackling her onto the ground.

Adrenaline courses through her veins as she wrangles the spider, shrieking as it scratches and pierces her flesh wherever it can reach. It's feral, unlike anything she's ever seen or read about, its movements inharmonious, yet simultaneously neat and calculated. She’s miraculously dodging every strike, although growing weary rather quickly.

Finally, her instincts to fight kick in, and she frantically scans the room for a makeshift weapon. She’s holding the arachnid away from her, the sharp clashing of its jaws around the air echoing off the walls. Ellie squints, and in the dark she makes out some rusted pipes sticking out of the corner of the wall, and in a burst of strength shoves the creature off of her, bolting to grab the metal. It flies and crashes against the wall with a shrill squeal, its hideous form squirming to recover from the blow.

“Goddamnit, stupid SHIT."  She huffs breathlessly as she wrestles the metal, tugging with every morsel of her might to get it detach before the spider lunges again. The way she pushed it away left it stunned and bought her a mere smidgen of time to act, which she utilizes to strike the paralyzed creature. She hits it once, twice, and a third time, the lethal blow crushing it with a jarring smash.

The oversized spider’s limbs briefly twitch before stilling—oily, dark, navy blue blood pooling underneath its corpse. Ellie stands over it unsteadily, trying to catch her breath and process the fight she endured. All that against a spider. Where did that thing even come from? She didn't even wish to know at this point, and was just grateful she was alright.

She sways, before remembering why she ventured here in the first place—the game of hide and seek. You were still searching for her all around the upper floors of the mall, blissfully unaware of the chaos that just occurred below your feet. “Better get out of here.” Ellie mumbles into the dusty air, taking one last look at the ornamented walls of the room, and begins walking back to the main area where you were, emerging victorious in the game being the very last thing on her mind after all that. Even though she still achieved her goal.

With some difficulty she lifts herself out of the basement space into the main foyer of the mall, feeling fatigued, so she resorts to resting on the cool tiles momentarily to recuperate. 

Meanwhile, you were growing concerned about where she was, having searched every single nook and cranny you knew of to check, with no luck whatsoever. Having a bad feeling that something had happened to her, you return to the main area where the two of you agreed to meet at the end of the game if no one won, and were bewildered to find her laying on the ground.

“Ellie, where the hell were you?” You sprint to her side, almost tripping over a stray glass shard on the floor, and fall to your knees right next to her. She’s laying on her back, with a vague smile on her face. She opens her eyes and grins at you, chuckling at the fact she got her victory after all. “Heheh, you lost.”

You’re filled with relief that she’s fine, but beyond pissed at her for worrying you so much. Sighing, you stand up and nudge her side with your shoe, sputtering, “You idiot, I thought you died or something, what were you thinking?” Her expression falls the moment she sees how upset you got, so she sits up and points to the crack in the ground, trying to explain the situation.

“I was just in there, thought I'd go in there and see what's up, since we haven't been there before, but there’s nothing interesting, just an empty storage room. I promise.” She chews on her bottom lip, feeling rather guilty she’s decided to lie straight to your face like that, but wanted to minimize your worry as much as she could. She knows you’d freak if you heard what actually happened down there, and she wanted to just forget it.

Ellie sticks out her arm for you to pull her to her feet, only now taking notice of how many nicks, cuts and scratches she acquired in the ordeal, with some bizarre puncture wounds at the center of her forearm. Did it bite her? During the fight her focus wasn't anywhere apart from the creature attacking her, so she didn't feel it happen.

You notice her injuries at the same second she does, and open your mouth to say something about it, to lecture her for being reckless, but she beats you to it by stammering out a rapid clarification. “I’m fine, getting down there was a pain in the ass. The way in and out was a little sharp, that's all. We’ll just clean these, n’ I'll put some band-aids on, y’know.”

She avoids your suspicious glare and dusts herself off. “Let’s go back, I’m tired. Gotta enjoy my win. You gonna buy me some ice cream or somethin’? Think I deserve it. I'll even be generous enough to give you a bite!” She flashes you the signature toothy grin you’ve always loved so much, distracting from any residual suspicions you have about what she was up to. And so the two of you skipped out of the abandoned mall, never to return again.

Soon after your last time there, the mall was quickly scheduled for demolition due to “unpredictable and dangerous conditions.” You never ended up asking her if she ran into some trouble while hiding in the unexplored basement area, even though it remained a question in the back of your mind that surfaced whenever you caught a glimpse of the strange scar left on her forearm. Four round welts, perfect raised circles, placed as pairs opposite each other. One day you’d make her talk, but for now all you could do was be thankful that she was still with you, whatever may have happened during that game.

Winter, 2041

taggiesssss: @elliesexual @elliesbitchvenus @kawaiibreadbouquet-blog @williamellieslilho @flowrmoth @shestheheadlights @aouiaa @bready101 @shiimer @pascals-doll @boobdrug @starlight-savegery @vqxen @yk2enyx @seraphicsentences @k1ssesworld @lasting-lover @amberputh @syrenada @deliriousrn @corpsebridenightamare @seaseasalts

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Separate Worlds, Chapter Three ⭑

Main masterlist

Pairing: Michael Gavey x Popular!rich!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of alcohol, michael being a horny virgin, michael being desparate, reader being thirsty, mastrubation.

Summary: Living two completely separate lives you and Michael had never really crossed paths and you’ve never really looked at him before. But when your worlds collide, affections arise.

Word count: 1.2k

Saturday, 15th October 2006

You awoke with an awful headache, you didn’t think you had enough to drink to even get hungover but it had been a while since you last had any alcohol. Your mind flashed back to last night, the argument, running in your heels after Michael, breaking into the library, the dusty attic with the starry night sky, and- him of course. His breathtaking eyes, big nose, sharp jaw and chiselled chin. Your mind started to wander, his veiny arms and most importantly his veiny hands, thick fingers, broad shoulders and just his hair that looked so graspable- Christ. Get a grip. 

You got out of bed as the stinging headache and a wave of nausea hit you. A good shower would fix you, maybe today would be a self care day, just to energise for the week. But even in the shower your mind started to wander, and they got even worse- all you could think about was what his cock looked like, how his big hands would look grabbing your hips as you rode him. And with that image you finished. When you had gotten ready for the day, well at least dressed. You decided to get some food and coffee. 

Once in the main courtyard you ran into Farleigh, Maisie and Eloise. “Hey, you okay? You stormed out on your own birthday last night.” Maisie asked, a bit concerned. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just had too much to drink and it had gotten to my head. But I’m fine now. You guys want to grab some coffee with me?” They stopped questioning you at that and you all hit the nearest Starbucks. 

Sunday, October 16th 2006

You made your way to the library, heart pounding in your chest. All day yesterday you thought about him, after the shower you had to relieve yourself once more when you climbed into bed that night. You didn’t even need to study, but you hoped so badly he would be there. You entered the library with a beaming smile on your face, expecting to see him. He wasn’t there? What?

A sigh left your lips and you turned on your heel. No reason for coming here then. You decided to head to your friend's dorm instead. 

Monday, October 17th 2006

Finally! You felt like Monday couldn’t come fast enough, at last you were able to see him again. Even though it had only been two days since your last encounter, it felt like a week. You knew the second you saw him in class you would bring him the box of crunchies with your phone number and email taped onto it as well as a funny maths pun t-shirt you bought while getting coffee on Saturday. You used your calculator Saturday night and the bastard was right. So of course you had to reward him.

You didn’t even meet up with Eloise like usual before maths, instead you put on your cutest outfit, showered before and wore your strongest and nicest perfume. Surely this would grab his attention. But when you got there a message dinged on your phone. 

Eloise Sinclair: please don't kill me im fucking sick and i cant get out of bed :(((  8:56

(You): No worries, just rest ok? Want me to bring you something after maths?  8:57

Eloise Sinclair: no maisie just got here with supplies. thanks though xxx  8:57

(You): Ok I’ll visit later xx  8:57

Maybe it was the universe sending you signs because when you stepped in the lecture hall you spotted Michael, with empty seats next to him. You almost jogged down the stairs with a huge grin and dropped the box with crunchies, the t-shirt and the note on his tiny desk. He looked at you in surprise as you sat at the desk right next to him. Was he dreaming? “Morning, you were right. You are a genius. So here are the crunchies as promised and also a funny t-shirt I saw when I was out, made me think of you.” You smiled as you nudged the box towards him. 

Michael however was still stunned. Did his dream girl who was way out of his league dump her friends to sit next to him? Did she buy him his favourite treat? Did she think of him while she was out? And most important of all…she called him a genius. Fuck. He was actually hard right now, how pathetic. How does a guy get hard from just some gifts and a compliment? How did- “Helloooo? Earth to Michael?” You snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, it’s pretty early- uhm- thank you I really appreciate it.” He smiled, and for the first time he smiled properly, showing off his cute teeth. And holy shit did that make you fall harder.  Luckily for him, you hadn’t noticed his boner, he swiftly moved the sweater that was hanging from his shoulders to his lap. You wanted to talk to him more and tell him you left your info in the box too but the professor was starting and somehow, sitting next to Michael Gavey made it so much less boring.

The lecture seemed to fly by and the end was near. After the professor made you do some practice assignments she spoke up. “Before next monday I have a little project that I want you to complete, this project will require you to partner up with someone. The project information itself will be handed out before you leave, you can now choose your partner.” The class immediately started to mingle and you turned to Michael. 

“So since you’re next to me anyway, want to partner up?” He looked unsure and turned more towards you. “Uhm, usually I prefer to work alone.” Oh. But when your face dropped he continued. “But I don’t think we really have a choice and I would rather work with you than anyone else here.” He rambled. That made you smile again, the professor handed out the information you needed and you agreed to meet up the following morning since you both had a free period at the same time. 

The second Michael got back to his dorm room he threw the sweater he held discreetly in front of him on his desk chair and quickly moved on his bed. His cock was straining in his pants and he never had needed relief this badly. Your perfume was still lingering in his nose, the way your tits were almost out with that top you wore, the skirt that showed off your silky smooth thighs. It was all too much. He quickly grabbed his laptop that was still on his bed and went to his saved porn, all girls that looked like you with guys that looked like him.

The video started to play and he opened his pants so he could finally relieve his aching cock. He almost came in record time as he released all over his veiny hand, cumming with a loud groan he had to muffle.

Tag list (also want to be tagged in chapters? message me): @sepherinaspoppies

[crossfandomskylines]

In the Space Between: Chapter 17

OTHER CHAPTERS:

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5

Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10

Chapter 11 I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15

Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19 I Chapter 20

Pairing: Glen Powell x OC

Summary: The strain of long-distance hits a breaking point when Glen misses a planned call with Gabby, leaving her feeling hurt and forgotten. The emotional weight of their separation and the misstep creates a rift, but it's quickly bridged by Glen when he plans a surprise for Gabby.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None. A/N: Please continue to let me know what you think with Hearts, Comments, and Reblogs! Also if you'd like to be tagged please let me know, and I will get you added to the tag list! Tag List: In Comments - Tumblr for some reason doesn't like linking more than 5 usernames so I'm just going to use the tags in the comments to make sure you get the notification!

The next day Gabby sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop and notes from the day’s classes abandoned on the coffee table. Her phone rested beside her, the screen lighting up every now and then, but never with the name she was hoping for. 

Glen was supposed to FaceTime her at eight—his idea, she reminded herself with a soft smile. He had promised he’d be back at his apartment after filming, and they’d finally get to catch up. Now, the clock on her phone blinked 8:57.

She checked her messages again. Nothing.

Trying not to overthink, Gabby pulled her knees to her chest and stared out the window. It wasn’t like Glen to forget, but maybe he’d gotten caught up on set. She grabbed her phone and clicked to dial him. It rang, and rang, until eventually his voicemail picked up. Gabby frowned, hesitating before hanging up without leaving a message. Her fingers hovered over the screen, debating if she should text.

GABBY: Hey, did filming run late? Call me when you can. I miss you.

The message sent, and Gabby dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside her. She pulled the throw blanket tighter around her shoulders, flipping absently through a notebook from class. For all her efforts, she couldn’t focus. Her eyes kept darting to her phone, watching for a notification—any sign that Glen had seen her text. It’s fine, she told herself. He’s probably on his way home.

When ten more minutes passed in silence, she sighed and picked up the phone again, deciding to scroll through Instagram to distract herself.

The photos popped up on her feed almost immediately—bright smiles, clinking glasses, and Glen’s familiar face staring back at her. Her breath caught as she clicked through the tagged pictures. Glen was at dinner with some of his co-stars, a group sprawled across a long table cluttered with half-empty wine glasses and shared plates. He was easy to spot in every photo, the center of attention, laughing with the same charm that made her fall for him.

She scrolled further, finding more snapshots from later in the evening—this time at a bar. Glen stood between two of his co-stars, both stunning women. One had an arm hooked around his waist, leaning in with a playful smile. The other held a drink and laughed, her face tilted close to his. Glen looked…happy. Relaxed.

Gabby’s thumb hovered over the screen as something cold settled in her chest. He missed our call for this? She blinked hard, trying to push away the bitterness threatening to creep in. She didn’t want to be that girlfriend—the one who picked apart every photo, overanalyzing things that didn’t matter. But it was hard not to notice how comfortable Glen seemed, like he belonged there with them.

Her eyes drifted to her unanswered text message, still sitting at the bottom of their conversation thread. He hadn’t even read it.

Gabby set the phone down carefully on the table, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach. She trusted Glen—she did. But the nagging thoughts were harder to push away tonight. The photos, the beautiful women, the ease in his smile—it all felt worlds away from the life she was living here, alone in her quiet apartment.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, Gabby leaned back against the cushions and closed her eyes. It’s just one night, she thought. It doesn’t mean anything. But no matter how many times she repeated it, the ache in her chest lingered.

* * * *

The next morning, Glen stared at his phone, brows furrowed as he scrolled through his messages—or lack thereof. Normally, by this time, he’d have a “Good morning, handsome” text waiting for him, sometimes with a photo of Willow curled up on Gabby’s lap. But today? Nothing.

He tried to shake off the nagging feeling as he sipped his coffee, convincing himself she was just busy. But by lunchtime, the unease had settled deep in his chest. He stepped outside between takes and dialed her number, pacing along the edge of the set as the phone rang once, twice—then straight to voicemail.

Glen exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. She’s probably in class, he thought. But the silence lingered longer than it should have, and Glen couldn’t ignore the sense that something was wrong.

Later that night, Gabby finally answered his call. Her voice was soft but distant, and Glen felt the shift immediately.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said gently, hoping to coax her usual warmth back into her tone. “You okay? I didn’t hear from you all day.”

There was a pause on the other end before Gabby sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that?” Glen pushed, his concern deepening.

Gabby hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip as she curled into the corner of the couch. She knew Glen wasn’t trying to pick a fight, but the words she’d been holding in since last night tumbled out before she could stop them. “I don’t know, Glen. Last night kind of sucked.”

Glen’s heart sank. “Last night?”

“I waited for you, you know?” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “You said you’d call, and you didn’t. I tried calling, I texted, and I didn’t hear anything. Then I go on Instagram, and there you are—out at dinner, smiling and having the time of your life.”

Glen closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face. Shit. “Gabby, I—”

“I’m not mad at you,” she interrupted quickly, her voice softening. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but…it still hurt. I sat here all night, waiting for something. Anything. And then seeing you out, surrounded by…” She trailed off, biting her tongue. She didn’t want to sound jealous or petty, but the words were there.

“Gabby,” Glen said quietly, his voice steady but filled with regret. “I’m so sorry. I lost track of time after filming. We all went out to eat, and I thought I’d be home in time to call you. I wasn’t paying attention to my phone, and that’s on me. But I swear to you, I would never intentionally choose a night out over talking to you. I don’t care where I am or who I’m with—you’re the person I want to be with.”

Gabby swallowed hard, her eyes stinging. “It’s just hard, Glen,” she admitted. “I know we’ve done distance before, but this time feels different. I feel so…far away from you.”

Glen’s chest tightened. “It’s hard for me too, Gabby,” he confessed. “I’d trade every dinner, every night out, for five minutes sitting on that couch with you. This job, this schedule…it’s temporary. Just a few more weeks, and I’ll be there. I promise you.”

The sincerity in his voice eased the knot in Gabby’s chest. She wanted to believe him, and deep down, she did. “I just miss you,” she whispered.

“I miss you too,” Glen replied, his tone gentle. “And I’ll do better, okay? No more missed calls. If I’m going to be late or busy, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

Gabby nodded, her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. “Okay.”

“Are we good?” Glen asked softly, his voice laced with hope.

A small smile tugged at Gabby’s lips. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“Good,” Glen breathed, relief washing over him. “Because I don’t think Willow could forgive me if I messed this up.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Gabby, and Glen grinned at the sound. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he said. “But I love you, Gabby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she whispered. “I love you too.”

“Goodnight, Gabs.”

“Goodnight, Glen.”

As they hung up, Gabby curled deeper into the couch, the ache in her chest a little lighter. The distance was still there, but Glen’s words gave her something to hold onto—something real and steady to get her through the nights alone.

* * * *

The next morning it was just after ten o’clock when Gabby stepped out of her apartment, tucking her phone into her pocket and adjusting the strap of her tote bag over her shoulder. 

Gabby locked her apartment door with a soft click and turned toward the elevator, her mind already focused on her plans for the day. 

She had her day planned: coffee run, a quick walk to clear her head after yesterday’s bump in the road with Glen, and then hours spent with her textbooks spread across her kitchen table.

Her breath caught as the elevator doors slid open, and a figure stepped out. For a second, she thought she was imagining it. The broad shoulders, the easy confidence in his stride, the familiar tousle of sandy brown hair—there was no mistaking it.

“Glen?” she whispered, her voice trembling as disbelief collided with a rush of joy.

Glen’s lips curved into a smile the moment he saw her. He held a bouquet of various flowers in one hand, their cheerful color a sharp contrast to the deep, longing look in his eyes. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

Gabby didn’t even think. Her feet moved on their own as she closed the distance between them, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The second she reached him, she threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as though she feared he might disappear if she let go.

Glen dropped the flowers onto the small table by the elevator, his hands coming up to wrap around her waist. He pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The faint scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her body against his nearly undid him. 

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Gabby pulled back just enough to look up at him, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” Glen replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “I needed to see you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile as her gaze flickered between his eyes and his mouth. The tension of the past weeks melted away as she closed the remaining distance, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and fervent.

Glen responded instantly, his grip tightening around her waist as he kissed her back, pouring all of his longing and love into the moment. The world around them seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them in the quiet hallway. His lips were warm and firm, moving against hers as though she’d been waiting for this moment as desperately as he had.

Gabby’s hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palms. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Glen broke away for just a moment, resting his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the weight of his words filled the air between them.

Gabby smiled, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him. “I love you too,” she replied, her voice steady despite the emotion swirling inside her.

Glen’s fingers brushed against Gabby’s cheek as he cupped her face, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles over her skin. He didn’t want to break the moment, didn’t want to let go of her. 

“I really needed this,” he admitted, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

Gabby smiled up at him, her eyes still shimmering but brighter now, filled with a spark he hadn’t seen in weeks. “Me too,” she whispered, her hands lingering against his chest, as though grounding herself in the reality of him being here, with her, and not hundreds of miles away.

For a moment, the only sound in the hallway was the quiet hum of the elevator behind them. The weight of the past few weeks, the missed calls, the aching distance, melted away.

Glen leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he murmured, “I’m here for the next thirty-six hours, and I plan to spend every second of it with you.”

Gabby laughed softly, her smile growing wider. “Thirty-six hours, huh?” she teased, her voice light for the first time in what felt like forever. “Guess I’ll have to clear my schedule.”

“Good,” Glen said with a playful grin, brushing his lips against hers once more before stepping back slightly. “But first, I believe I owe you for making my girlfriend sad yesterday. I was thinking coffee—and maybe breakfast, too.”

She tilted her head, arching a brow. “You think you can just show up out of nowhere, kiss me like that, and bribe me with coffee?”

“Absolutely,” Glen replied, his grin turning boyish and charming. He reached for the bouquet he’d left on the table, holding it out to her. “Besides, I brought flowers. That’s gotta count for something.”

Gabby rolled her eyes, but her laughter filled the hallway as she accepted the bouquet. “Fine. You win. But only because you’re here.”

Glen’s expression softened as he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. 

“I’m here,” he repeated, as if the words alone were enough to make up for all the time they’d spent apart.

And for Gabby, they were.

[beetlesau]

Its Light Still Shines

Chapter 2 - 1.2k

(Chapter 1 here)

haters will say Shadow wasn't even in this chapter. sorry

The grass beneath me is soft. I've never felt anything like it in all my memories. I smell the earth, fresh and beautiful.

I don't know where I teleported away to.

An old abandoned cabin sits before me, and a running stream-turned-river sits not far from it. I can hear its flowing water and the small fish that splash its surface now and then. Morning is breaking just over the horizon, and pink and orange paint the sky as I approach the worn building.

"Hello?" I call out, but no one has been here in a long, long time.

I knocked on the door before opening it in case someone or something was waiting inside. I didn't expect how sturdy and tough the door would be. The outside looked like old wooden logs but resonated like a metal crate. When my knuckles made contact, a small, pin-sized light met my gaze and scanned my retina.

"Welcome, Experiment L2S-03xx. to SafeZone 12." A static voice chimed in the door, which swung open automatically. Dust and dirt accumulated around the crevasses, which were knocked loose and found their way to my throat. I coughed, covering my face, and tried to disperse the debris with my free hand.

I entered, and to my surprise, I found it looked like a cozy cabin you'd book for a vacation. It was an open floor concept, with a bed on the far left wall, a bathroom ahead of me, a kitchen, and a small dinette to the right. The decor was simple and a bit antique. A frilly duvet on the bed caught my gaze. I rolled my eyes when I realized I could even recognize such small details about something I'd never seen in my real life before—sudden thoughts of watching interior decorating on TV flashed in my mind's eye.

I groaned. I had other problems besides the clashing curtains in the dinette not matching the plates stacked on the shelves above the sink. Namely what the AI system called me.

"L2S? What? What was it you called me?" I asked aloud.

"That is your experiment identification code," it stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Where am I?"

"This is isolated SafeZone 12 erected by Professor Robotnik, Gerald."

"When was this last time he was here?"

"57 years, 8 months, 21 days. Would you like the question answered to the nearest second?"

"No! No, thank you. Do I have a name?"

"You were not assigned a name, only your experiment identification code."

"What is Shadows experiment code or whatever, then?"

"S2L-02xy - or Project Shadow."

I removed my jacket, shuffled over to the bed, and plopped onto the surprisingly soft mattress, caressing little angels into the plush comforter. "Bummer. How come he got a name, and I didn't?" I was speaking to myself now, but the system took it upon itself to answer anyway.  

"Records indicate you were an preliminary project that was not completed under the supervision of the Professor."

"Yeah, yeah. So what is my purpose?"

"Error. Purpose Obsolete."

"Ouch okay, what was my purpose?"

"You are a culmination of the residuals left over from Project Shadow, chaos emeralds, and the restructured DNA of the deceased Maria Robotnik. Your purpose was to serve as replacement parts for an incurable disease within Maria Robotnik. However, key parts of the experiment did not occur due to the ARK's destruction. Your consciousness was triggered and stages of your development were altered by the government organization known as GUN."

"You're kidding me."

"I do not understand; please rephrase."

I wept quietly to myself.

I was never meant to awaken. My purpose was never as divided from Maria as Shadow. If GUN hadn't intervened, there would be no me.

But then Maria may still be alive otherwise.

Did I even deserve to be alive instead?

I pulled one of the pillows close and buried my face into it.

All these memories of her kindness. Her beauty. I have them because she died.

It's too much for me.

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I can lock my tears away, but I can't. They come and soak through everything. The pounding in my head kicks up again. Before long, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of her and all she was. All that I can only hope to be for myself.

Being in stasis and actually sleeping are worlds apart. When I wake, my mind settles, and I better regulate my emotions. It's once again dark outside, and in the night, I see a flashing light coming from the dinette table. I pull myself up, groggy, and shuffle over to check it out.

"What is this?" I ask the system.

"There is an electronic pulse similar to that of the Professor's work in a quadrant of Japan that has recently appeared. Would you like to take a look?"

"Show me." Anything to do with the Professor now could only mean something involving Shadow.

The system flashes, and a small hologram feed floats just at eye level. It shows security footage of a pier in Japan, likely hacked into by Robotniks tech, which is still advanced all these years later. My skin prickles as I watch an immense mechanical crab surface from the water.

I've seen this before, but Shadow isn't there. Not yet. He's going to find the Professor, not the Doctor.

"Can you keep tabs on that crab from here?"

"I can mark it as an object of interest, of course. Would you like to be notified when it relocates?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't plan on staying here much longer, I'm leaving once I figure out where Shadow is."

"I have an electronic bracer in the refrigerator that can be used as a notification hub when you're away from SafeZone 12."

"The refrigerator?"

"It is the red box behind you and to your left, it typically holds items to keep them cool and fresher for longer than if they were left out at room tem--"

Okay! Thank you, that's not really what I meant when I-- you know what? Nevermind. Thank you. I'll be sure to grab that before I go."

"You are welcome, L2S-03xx."

"Could you call me something else?" I grumbled.

"I can reassign your name, yes. What would you prefer?"

I took a moment to think it over. I wasn't stuck to one thing. I could change my name as much as I wanted; it wasn't like I had one. And I wasn't really Maria; keeping hers didn't feel right. Though I could, as an homage. I didn't think this would be that hard, but a name might be a big deal.

"I don't actually know... I guess I should just shorten my experiment name for now. Call me L. I'm sure I can come up with something better later. Maybe." If I couldn't stop Shadow from what was to come, it wouldn't matter if I'd had a name.

I felt drained all over again. Although I've been alone all this time, I was never lonely—not when they occupied my mind. But now I felt the weight of things.

I'd never had Shadow. I was nothing to him, but I would fight for him.

I couldn't be his Maria; I must be something else. I would reach him.

"Its Light still shines."

[differentpostrebel]

Master List! 

A/N: Hi everyone! Here is the masterlist for my work. I will also be uploading them onto AO3. A little bit about me is that I love to write, read, watch anime, and more!. I am 27 years old, and writing has just been my way to get either a message out there or to tell a story. Some stories will have bonus chapters so that we can dive in some more on details that may not have been featured on the main series. Each one will say a bonus chapter on them. I will also write:  Short series,  Long Series,  One shots.  Some of the chapters may contain strong language, violence, smut, etc. Listed below are the works I have done and the new ones that will be worked on once I completed the series or works done.  Lost and Found: A Pirate’s Promise- Sanji x Y/N, One piece x Reader- (On going) Synopsis: 

Y/N is an established pirate and a formidable warrior, with the third highest bounty in the Straw Hat crew. She's not just another member; her strength and skills have earned her a respected spot among the crew. Sanji, our favorite lovesick cook, falls head over heels for Y/N almost immediately. True to his nature, he tries every trick in the book to catch her attention, from cooking her favorite meals to showering her with compliments. On the other hand, Y/N may have a small crush on Sanji, but she’s cautious and focused on her goals as a pirate. As the story progresses, that small crush gradually blossoms into something more profound, but their journey together won't be easy. With the chaos of the New World looming, the dangers they face will test their bond and loyalty to each other. Will their love be strong enough to survive the trials ahead, or will the perils of their pirate life tear them apart?

Chapter 1,

Chapter 2,

Chapter 3,

Chapter 4,

Chapter 5,

Chapter 6,

Chapter 7,

Chapter 8,

Chapter 9,

Chapter 10,

Chapter 11,

Chapter 12,

Chapter 13,

Chapter 14,

Chapter 15,

Chapter 16,

Chapter 17,

Chapter 18,

Chapter 19,

Chapter 20,

Chapter 21,

Chapter 22,

Chapter 23,

Chapter 24,

Chapter 25,

Chapter 26,

Chapter 27,

Chapter 28,

Chapter 29,

Chapter 30,

Chapter 31,

Chapter 32,

Chapter 33,

Chapter 34,

Chapter 35,

Chapter 36

Chapter 37,

Chapter 38 ,

Chapter 39 ,

Chapter 40 ,

Chapter 41

Chapter 41.5 (Bonus Chapter) ,

Chapter 42 ,

Chapter 43

Chapter 44 ,

Chapter 45 ,

Chapter 46 ,

Chapter 47 ,

Chapter 48 Part 1 ,

Chapter 48 Part 2,

Chapter 49 Part 1 ,

Chapter 49 Part 2 ,

Chapter 50 ,

Chapter 51 ,

Chapter 52

Chapter 53 part 1

Chapter 53 Part 2

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57 (New)

Queen of the Night-Halloween special ft Sanji and Usopp

Die with a Smile - Portgas D. Ace x Y/N- (coming soon) 

[ssa-dado]

8 - Law & Self-Awareness

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, sad stuff, fluff

Summary: Hotch and Peter confront a tense situation as they rush to Riverhead, where the unsub is expected to strike next, but conflict arises when Peter wants to warn you, fearing for your safety. Hotch insists on following procedure, though both men struggle with personal fears and the ethics of their choices. At Riverhead, you visit your father's grave, reflecting on past decisions and realizations. In a quiet moment later, surrounded by your team, you come to understand a truth you've been trying to avoid.

Warnings: Grief, CM case

Word Count: 6,1k

Dado's Corner: Here's the sister chapter of the previous one! The narration is still inspired by Suits' 2×08. Funny how Aaron making physical contact with you occupies 57 paragraphs while Peter doing the same thing ½ of a line. Also this is probably the first chapter in which Y/N's physical appearance is mentioned sooo let me know if you imagined her in this way (it's still very vague don’t worry). That said, bring out your finest china, we're celebrating!

previous chapter ; masterlist

“Riverhead,” Hotch said, his voice taut, barely containing the urgency that trembled beneath the surface. “He’s going there next.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his immediate reaction pure instinct as he reached for his phone, fingers fumbling desperately to find your contact. “We have to call her. She needs to know -”

Hotch’s hand instinctively shot out, grabbing Peter’s arm with a force that matched the fear hiding behind his calm eyes. “No, we can’t. If we warn her, we risk tipping the unsub off, causing chaos, panic. It’s not just about her, Peter. It’s about every person in Riverhead. We have to handle this the right way.”

Peter wrenched his arm free, his anger flaring like gasoline igniting in the confined space of the SUV. “You’re seriously going to let her walk right into this? She’s in danger, Hotch! And you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Hotch’s expression remained steely, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a vulnerability he kept tightly under wraps. “This isn’t just about her. There are hundreds of people in Riverhead who could be at risk. If we alert her and it gets out, we’re not just endangering her, we’re endangering everyone. It’s not fair to warn one person and not the others. You can’t let your feelings dictate your decisions.”

Peter’s laugh was sharp and scornful, tinged with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings, Hotch. You’re always hiding behind the rules, always standing on the side of the law like it’s some infallible god. But this isn’t just about following orders - this is real, and she’s walking into something she can’t see coming.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as the weight of Peter’s words crashed over him, each one a blow to the carefully built walls he’d constructed around himself.

He shot Peter a side glance, his voice simmering with restrained anger. “I’m not doing this because it’s easy, I’m doing it because it’s the only way to stop this from getting worse. If we tip him off, if she gets scared and acts on it, it could cause a domino effect that puts even more lives at risk. We have to be smarter than that.”

Peter turned to fully face Hotch, the intensity between them palpable, a charged current of frustration and fear. “You keep talking about doing the job, about being ‘smart,’ but what about being human? What about doing the right thing for once instead of hiding behind procedure? What happens if something happens to her, Hotch? Are you really going to look me in the eye and say we did the right thing?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He kept repeating the same words, not so much to convince Peter, but to anchor himself - to hold onto some semblance of control as much as possible. “This isn’t just about one person, Peter,” he said, his voice a bit strained with the weight of the impossible choice they faced.

“We can’t put her safety above everyone else’s. It’s not how we do things. If this gets out, if people panic, we lose everything. That’s exactly what the unsub wants: to see us unravel, to watch us make decisions with our hearts instead of our heads. We can’t give him that satisfaction. We can’t let him win.”

Peter scoffed, his anger bubbling over as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. His voice rose, each word laced with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re always so damn obsessed with the law, Hotch,” he snapped, his breath coming faster, as if the force of his emotions was too much to contain. “But what about ethics? What about the people behind the profiles, behind all these damn statistics and protocols? This isn’t just a case file, it’s about real people.”

Peter’s tone shifted as he tried to reach Hotch, his next words softening, laced with an urgent plea. “You know Y/N. I know Y/N. And if she were standing here, right now, listening to us argue like this, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d probably quote some damn philosopher she loves - Sophocles or whoever - about how there’s more to this than just sticking to the rules. She’d remind us that the law isn’t the only thing that matters, that there’s a fine line between what’s legal and what’s just.”

Peter’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze searching Hotch’s for any flicker of understanding. “She’d be talking about the balance between law and justice, that sometimes what’s right and what’s legal are not the same thing. And you know she’d be right, Hotch. We’re not just here to enforce rules. We’re here to protect people. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’ve lost sight of why we’re doing this in the first place.”

Hotch felt something inside him twitch at Peter’s words, a sharp, painful pull that he couldn’t ignore. The truth of what Peter was saying sliced through his defenses like a scalpel, precise and unyielding. It was as if Peter’s voice had reached into the guarded, unspoken places of his mind, exposing the doubts he worked so hard to bury. He could almost hear your voice echoing in his head, clear and insistent, the way it always was when you spoke up during team meetings.

You had a way of looking at cases that was different from anyone else, this deep, almost philosophical curiosity that refused to settle for the easy answers.

You’d sit there, arms crossed, eyes locked in that thoughtful gaze, and when you spoke, you’d often pose questions that hung in the air, challenging every assumption. You never just saw suspects and victims; you saw people - complex, flawed, human. You’d remind them all that beyond the evidence, beyond the profiles, there were lives and stories that couldn’t be reduced to simple binaries of right and wrong.

Hotch could almost picture you now, leaning forward in your seat, the intensity in your eyes as you dissected every aspect of the case. You were never satisfied with just the black-and-white - you thrived in the gray, constantly urging the team to see beyond the rigid lines of the law.

At how you’d quote philosophers, pull wisdom from literature, history, anything to make your point. It wasn’t about showing off. it was about challenging everyone, especially him, to rethink their approach. You’d often remind him that justice wasn’t just about following rules, it was about finding the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, about doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy.

Peter’s words hit Hotch hard because they echoed what you would’ve said, what you always said. It was that relentless pursuit of justice, that constant push to go beyond the status quo, that made you such an irreplaceable part of the team. And right now, it was tearing Hotch apart, knowing that you weren’t there to challenge him, to remind him of the bigger picture, to make him question the very things that had once felt so certain.

Peter noticed the crack in Hotch’s demeanor, and he pressed on, his voice softer now but no less intense. “But none of that matters if she doesn’t make it out alive, does it? You can stand here all day talking about rules and duty, but if she’s gone, who’s going to remind us of the difference? The dead can’t debate law and ethics, Hotch. Only the living can do that.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat, Peter’s words hitting him with a force that felt physical, like a punch to the gut. He could feel the fear that had been clawing at his insides since the moment he realized you were in danger, the fear he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay.

The fear of losing you - of never getting the chance to understand what this thing between you could be, of failing to protect the one person who had managed to breach the walls he’d spent years building.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s voice broke, his control slipping for just a moment. “You think I don’t feel it? But it’s not just about what we want, it’s about what we have to do. You want to protect her, and so do I. But again, this isn’t just about saving her. It’s about stopping him. It’s about making sure no one else gets hurt because we let our guard down.”

Peter’s gaze softened, but his frustration remained, an unresolved tension simmering between them. “Maybe you’re right, Hotch. Maybe we have to think about everyone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scared. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t care. So stop pretending you’re above it all, because you’re not. You’re just as terrified as the rest of us.”

Hotch looked away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he tried to regain his composure. Peter was right, he was terrified, but not just for you. He was terrified of what it would mean if he let this get personal, if he let himself care too much and it all fell apart. But as they hurtled toward Riverhead, the truth of Peter’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. But the fear, the aching fear that he was making the wrong call, that he was letting his own walls cost him something irreplaceable, was a battle he was losing with every mile closer they got to you.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of those unspoken fears hung heavy between them, a fragile truce bound only by their shared desperation to protect you, no matter the cost.

---

You had finally arrived at Riverhead.

The cemetery was quiet, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. Each step toward your father’s grave felt deliberate, slow, as if every movement pulled at something deep within you that you hadn’t touched in years. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the sight of his name etched into the stone brought a fresh wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for: grief, anger, regret, all tangled up in the memories you had tried to bury.

You knelt beside his grave, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed a single orchid on the cold, gray headstone, the delicate petals were a sharp contrast to the starkness of the granite. Orchids had always reminded you of the first case you ever worked on at the BAU - a case that had tested every part of you, that had made you realize what it truly meant to carry the weight of other people’s pain.

The purple flower was a fitting tribute, an unspoken apology for not being there when he had needed you most, for choosing a path that had pulled you away from his final moments.

You traced the letters of his name, feeling the grooves under your fingertips, and memories of the past surged forward, unbidden. You thought back to the day you told your parents you wanted to become a profiler - a day that, despite all the tension that often simmered between you, had stood out as one of the rare moments of connection between you and your father.

It had been a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind that kept everyone indoors and made the house feel smaller, the air thick with the unspoken tensions that seemed to linger in every corner. You had been pacing your bedroom, rehearsing the words over and over in front of your mirror, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Telling them that you wanted to be a profiler felt like exposing a piece of yourself that you had kept hidden, especially from them.

You finally gathered the courage, walking down the stairs with resolve. Your father was at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled notes on a report.

He was always working, always lost in something that seemed more important than anything happening in the room. It was his way: work was sacred, an escape, and a duty that defined him. You often resented it, the way he would get so caught up that he’d miss dinners, birthdays, the small moments that you had yearned for as a child. But there were also times when you admired his dedication, his unspoken belief that what he was doing mattered.

Your mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with an efficiency that matched her exacting nature. She always seemed to be in motion, always doing, rarely resting. She was the professor, the academic who had spent her life studying the human mind, dissecting theories, and teaching students who idolized her. To her, intellect was the highest form of achievement, and anything less was a waste of potential.

You stood in the doorway, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest, but you pushed forward, clearing your throat to catch their attention. “Mom, Dad… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your father glanced up first, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table with a raised brow, his expression curious but calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, searching for the right words. “I’ve decided what I want to do after graduation. I… I want to be a profiler. I want to join the FBI.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady chop of your mother’s knife against the cutting board. Your father’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak right away, just watched you, his gaze heavy with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite name. Your mother, however, set her knife down sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned to face you.

“A profiler?” she repeated, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Y/N, do you have any idea what that entails? You’re talking about diving into the minds of criminals, putting yourself in danger every day. This isn’t some classroom exercise, this is real life.”

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know what it means, Mom. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I don’t just want to study the human mind, I want to understand what happens when it breaks. I want to make a difference, to stop people from getting hurt.”

Your father remained quiet, but his gaze never left yours, absorbing every word. There was something in his eyes that told you he was listening, that he understood the weight of what you were saying.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” your mother continued, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. You have so much potential. You could do anything: be a researcher, a professor. You’d be safe, you’d be respected. Why throw all that away to chase criminals?”

It stung, but you had expected her reaction. For as long as you could remember, your mother had pushed you toward her path, believing that academia was where you belonged. But as much as you respected her work, it had never felt right for you.

The endless theories, the dissection of literature studies in sterile classrooms, it all felt too detached, too far removed from the gritty reality of the world you wanted to understand. You wanted to do more than just read about what broke people; you wanted to see it, to confront it, to fight against it.

“I don’t want to be safe, Mom,” you said, your voice firmer now, carrying the weight of all the arguments you’d been rehearsing for months. “I want to be out there. I want to see the truth of what people can become, the good and the bad. I can’t just sit back and write papers about it.”

Your mother’s mouth tightened, the disappointment etched in her features, but your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for the inevitable disapproval. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative, carrying the weight of his own unspoken struggles.

“If this is really what you want,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “then you have my support.” He paused, glancing at your mother before returning his focus to you. “Work is… sacred. It’s a calling, not just a job. I know I haven’t always been there, and I know you’ve seen the toll it can take. But I also know the satisfaction that comes from doing something that matters, something you believe in.”

Your heart swelled, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. It was one of the few times you’d felt truly seen by him, and the memory of that moment, of his quiet nod of approval, had stayed with you ever since.

Your mother turned away, picking up the knife and resuming her chopping, her movements more forceful now. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart,” she muttered, the bitterness barely hidden in her tone. “There’s no glory in risking your life. There’s no reward for choosing danger over reason.”

But you held on to your father’s words, his silent validation, and in that moment, it had been enough. Even if he wasn’t always present, even if his own work often kept him away, he had understood the drive that pulled you toward the unknown, the need to carve your own path, even if it led you away from everything they had envisioned for you.

As you stood at his grave now, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever. You had chosen this life, knowing full well the risks, knowing the sacrifices that would come with it. And yet, in this quiet moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be proud, if he would still see the value in the path you had chosen.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, feeling the rough earth cling stubbornly to your clothes. As you turned to leave, something caught your eye near the cemetery entrance: a line of sleek, black SUVs parked in formation.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the unmistakable outlines of the BAU vehicles, their dark, imposing presence impossible to miss. But what truly made your breath hitch was the sight of Hotch. Even from this distance, you recognized him instantly, not by his face, but by his unmistakable posture, the way he stood with that rigid, commanding presence, his stance was familiar, almost comforting in its certainty, a figure you’d know anywhere, even among a crowd.

It was only after a moment that your gaze shifted and you noticed Peter beside him, standing just as tensely, their expressions hard and urgent. Hotch’s sharp, focused demeanor contrasted with Peter’s more animated stance, but there was no mistaking the tension that hung between them, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of their conversation, the urgency that radiated from them both, and it made your pulse quicken. You hesitated, watching them, knowing that whatever they were discussing, it was serious, and you were about to be pulled right into the heart of it.

A surge of fear shot through you as you rushed toward them, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and confusion. As you got closer, you could see the strain etched across Hotch’s face, the urgency in his eyes that told you something was terribly wrong.

“Hotch?” you called out, breathless, searching his expression for answers. “What’s going on?”

Hotch turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw the raw fear that he usually kept buried deep within. His jaw tightened, the weight of everything he couldn’t say hanging heavily between you, and you knew, whatever this was, it was bigger than any case you had ever faced.

Hotch’s normally composed demeanor was strained, his eyes revealing the fear he had been fighting to suppress all day. Peter, usually quick with a grin, looked torn between anger and the overwhelming relief of seeing you safe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, breathless from both the sudden sprint and the weight of dread that settled in your chest. “Why are you here in Riverhead?”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Peter, an unspoken conversation passing between them before he turned back to you, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “The unsub’s been leaving clues at each crime scene, riddles hinting at his next target. The latest message… it mentioned Riverhead.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in, his gaze unwavering. “We think he’s planning his next attack here.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his revelation hitting you like a physical blow. The peaceful cemetery, a place you had come to seek closure and quiet, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and fraught with danger. You looked around, the once comforting silence now suffocating as you imagined the unsub watching, waiting. You turned back to Hotch, trying to make sense of the layers of fear and determination that flickered across his face, unspoken and raw.

Peter, attempting to cut through the tension that gripped you all, forced a smile, though his voice was tight with the day’s unrelenting strain. “Luckily, Hotch cracked the code before anything happened. Sharp as ever, saved us all a lot of grief.”

You barely registered Peter’s words, his voice a distant murmur against the roar of your own thoughts. Guilt and self-reproach surged within you, crashing over like relentless waves. You were supposed to be better than this: your instincts, your training, everything you had learned should have protected you. But you had been caught off guard, blindsided by a danger that crept too close, too fast. Your eyes flicked back to the gravestones, their cold, silent presence now bearing witness to your vulnerability, each one a haunting reminder of how close you’d come.

Hotch, always attuned to the unspoken, stepped closer, sensing the spiral of self-doubt threatening to consume you. His hand found your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your own unraveling. The contact was startling at first, his touch warmer and steadier than you expected, cutting through the noise in your head like a lifeline.

It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm, grounding you when everything else seemed to be slipping away. Hotch's touch was rare, almost unheard of, he was always so composed with his steady presence always keeping his distance, preferring words over gestures. But this, the solid weight of his hand on your shoulder, meant more than he could ever say.

His touch was warm, steady, a silent assurance that seeped past your defenses. It wasn’t just a comforting squeeze; it was Hotch’s way of saying what he rarely ever said aloud: I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.

The unspoken promise behind that touch cut through the chaos and fear, wrapping around you like a shield against the overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-doubt. It was as if he was lending you his strength, even for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, it was enough to keep you from completely falling apart.

“We’ve alerted local law enforcement,” Hotch said, his voice lower, more gentle now, the usual edge softened as if he was speaking directly to the turmoil inside you. “They’re securing the area. The unsub’s been targeting public spaces to create fear and chaos, but we won’t let him succeed. Not here, not today.” His words were calm, steady, the kind of reassurance that cut through the panic clawing at your chest.

You nodded, the knot in your throat tightening painfully as you fought to swallow the rising wave of emotion. The breath you drew felt unsteady, like the first real one you’d managed in minutes, but even as you tried to gather yourself, the stark reality of how close you’d come to danger clung to you, gnawing at the edges of your composure.

Hotch’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. It was a constant, quiet reminder of your vulnerability, a presence that made it impossible to hide from the fear you so often buried deep.

Desperate to shift the mood, you forced a strained smile, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Since we’re all here… how about we grab dinner?” you suggested, your voice wavering but hopeful. “There’s this local spot I used to go to when I was a kid. It’s nothing fancy, just this cozy little place, but it’s familiar, and… I could really use some company that feels like home right now.”

Hotch’s hand lingered for a moment longer, as if he was reluctant to let go, his touch a silent reassurance that even in your most vulnerable moments, he was right there with you. The smallest flicker of understanding passed between you, unspoken but felt deeply, as if he knew exactly why you needed this, why you needed them.

Peter’s grin was immediate, though it was tinged with the lingering shadows of what could have been. He clapped his hands together, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the moment. “Now you’re speaking my language. Food, friends, and hopefully a strong drink or two. What do you say, Hotch?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind still half-entangled in the day’s events and the potential dangers that loomed. But then he looked at you, really looked - saw the exhaustion etched into your features, the traces of pain you’d been carrying since your father’s grave. He knew this wasn’t just about a meal; it was about finding a moment of respite, about reconnecting when the job tore so much away.

“I’ll join you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice softer than you’d expected. “But I’ll catch up in a bit. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

You watched him turn back toward the cemetery, his figure fading into the sea of gravestones. It wasn’t like Hotch to delay; he was always so determined, so single-minded when it came to the job. But you sensed this wasn’t just about duty, it was about finding his own moment of stillness in a day that had been anything but.

Peter placed a comforting hand on your back, his touch gentle and familiar, guiding you toward the restaurant with an ease that belied the day’s tension. The small, local eatery was exactly as you remembered: warm, inviting, with the kind of worn wooden tables that made you feel instantly at home. The faint hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows, all of it wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

Rossi and Gideon joined soon after, settling in with the kind of camaraderie that came only from years of shared battles and late-night stakeouts. There was a tiredness in all of you, a bone-deep fatigue that only people in your line of work truly understood, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t just about the job - it was about being together, about finding solace in each other’s presence.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with a blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. “So, thesis, antithesis, synthesis,” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement. “Come on, kid. Educate us. What’s that all about in these weird Hegelian stuff you always talk about?”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “It’s about the constant cycle of conflict and resolution. The synthesis - the so-called solution - doesn’t end the cycle; it just becomes the new thesis. Life is always evolving, always challenging us to adapt. Every resolution leads to a new conflict, a new question. It’s never really over.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between you and the empty seat that Hotch had yet to fill. “Sounds like something we could all stand to remember,” he said, his tone softer now, more reflective.

Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Hotch stood alone in front of your father’s grave, the silence hanging heavy and profound. The orchid you had placed there was still fresh, its vibrant petals striking against the cold, unyielding stone.

Hotch understood the significance of that flower, the way it linked back to the very first case you’d ever worked at the BAU, the first time your paths had crossed.

It was the unsub’s calling card, a chilling detail that had haunted the case and marked the start of your journey in this unforgiving world. It was the first time he saw you not just as another agent but as someone uniquely brilliant, fiercely determined, and carrying a burden that ran deeper than anyone could have guessed.

Hotch knelt slowly, the memories of that first meeting mingling with the present, a bittersweet reminder of how far you both had come. He thought of you standing in that briefing room, so composed and meticulous, always immaculate in your appearance.

Your hair, always perfectly straightened, framing your face in a precise way that left nothing to chance. You wore black almost every day, the monochrome only broken by subtle variations in texture: sleek, tailored fabrics that gave the faintest hint of depth but no room for distraction.

He knew it wasn’t just a preference; it was armor, a way to command respect in a field that often doubted you because of your youth. On days when you felt a little lighter, a little braver, you’d occasionally allow yourself the small rebellion of a white shirt, a glimpse of something softer beneath the carefully crafted exterior.

He remembered noticing the deliberate choices you made, how you often wore masculine, tailored suits, sometimes even a three-piece, to project authority and mask the youth that others might use against you.

You were always striving to appear older, tougher, less vulnerable, less feminine, crafting an image that demanded to be taken seriously. And while it worked on most, Hotch never needed the sharp suits, the perfectly placed hair, or the carefully chosen colors to see your worth.

From the beginning, he had valued your insights, your sharp mind, and your relentless drive. He had never looked down on you, never needed you to prove yourself in ways that others did. He saw past the façade to the strength and vulnerability beneath, and he respected you all the more for it.

As he placed the small replica of the Guggenheim Museum beside the orchid, the gesture felt heavy with meaning - a tribute not only to your father but also to the history you both carried.

It was an offering of understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between you. As Hotch lingered by the grave, he couldn’t help but think of the first day he met you, how determined you were to make your mark, and how, even then, he had been grateful for your presence. You challenged him in ways that reminded him of why he had started this journey, refusing to let the darkness win.

For a moment, Hotch allowed himself to feel it all: the gratitude for having met you, the fear of losing those he cared about, and the faint, fragile hope that maybe, he could find a way to let someone in without losing himself completely. As he stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the cemetery, he found a flicker of peace, a rare, delicate solace that, for the first time in years, made him feel less alone.

When Hotch finally made his way to the restaurant, the sight that greeted him was a balm to his weary soul. You were seated at the table, laughing at something Peter had said, your eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing all day. Rossi and Gideon were leaning back, more at ease than he had seen them in a long time, their expressions softened in a way that only moments like this could bring out - rare and fleeting for men who had spent their lives chasing shadows. It was a simple scene, but it was enough.

It was a reminder of why Hotch fought so hard, why he kept pushing forward, even when the weight of his responsibilities felt like too much to bear.

Without hesitation, Hotch took the seat directly across from you, mirroring the way your desks were always arranged back at the office.

It was deliberate, instinctual - a configuration that felt as natural as breathing. There was comfort in this alignment, in the way his eyes always found yours first, no matter how hectic the day had been. It wasn’t just about proximity; it was about connection.

Sitting across from you allowed him to see you fully, to catch those fleeting, unguarded moments when the professional masks slipped, and the real you shone through.

It was the angle that felt right, where he could read the subtle shifts in your expression, the small smiles that hinted at unspoken thoughts. It was where he could feel the bond between you most acutely, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and understanding that had grown over time.

You looked up as Hotch sat down, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that said more than words ever could. In that moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the quiet understanding that had always existed between you.

It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, anchored by the familiar rhythm of shared space, the unspoken promises that bound you together. You had always understood each other in ways that transcended words - both driven by the same relentless need for justice, both carrying the weight of lives you couldn’t always save.

“I thought you’d never come, partner,” you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of relief and something deeper, something that spoke to how much his presence truly mattered. It wasn’t just relief, it was comfort, knowing that he was here, that he always showed up, no matter what.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice softened with sincerity. “How could I miss this?”

The words were simple but carried so much more meaning. It wasn’t just a casual remark, not from him. It felt like a reaffirmation of something deeper, a silent promise that went beyond tonight.

It was a declaration that he was there, not just for this moment, but always. His presence was grounding, steady, the kind of anchor you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had unfolded - especially the train journey that had brought you to this point.

Or how the out-of-the-blue conversation with Rossi about Hegel’s thesis, antithesis, and synthesis now felt almost fated, as though the universe had nudged him to ask you once again – to make you acknowledge the truth you kept hidden within you.

Maybe the irony was the point: Hegel’s idea of the synthesis, the resolution that comes from the collision of opposing forces, was exactly where you found yourself.

The journey to self-awareness wasn’t linear; it was filled with contradictions, moments of doubt, and unexpected realizations.

Every step you had taken, every case, every sleepless night, now made sense, as if you had reached a vantage point from which you could see it all clearly for the first time.

It was like standing on the top of a mountain after a long, hard climb, finally able to look back at the winding path that had led you here.

And standing at that vantage point, you could see why you had been hesitant about the date with Peter, why something in you had resisted moving forward with him. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about him - it was because your heart had already chosen someone else.

The truth settled in gently, like a quiet revelation you had always known but hadn’t fully accepted until now.

It was Hotch.

It had always been Hotch.

The connection between you, the understanding, the trust that went deeper than words, it was more than just friendship or partnership.

You had admired him, respected him, but now you could see it for what it really was.

The reason you had hesitated, the reason you hadn’t been eager for anything else, was because the person you truly wanted was sitting right across from you.

You had a crush on Aaron Hotchner.

●

Extras: here are some pics of the Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright! It inspired me to write the case you read in "Thesis" and Aaron Hotchner to show his love support to Y/N in this chapter.

[onas-batlle]

like daylight (part 1/?)

pairing: lucy bronze x ona batlle

warnings: none

synopsis: When you are both eighteen, anything your soulmate writes on their skin will be reflected on that of your own. Words in swirly, glowing, shimmering gold, these markings will link you forever to the one soul that is destined to intertwine with yours.

a/n: the soulmate au begins! this is kind of an intro chapter, so fair warning this first part will have a lot of keira x lucy (while they don't do anything romantic, they are in a relationship), and ona only makes one (brief) appearance. anyway, I hope the whole thing isn't super confusing, and ignore any mistakes lol.

Ao3 Link

When you are both eighteen, anything your soulmate writes on their skin will be reflected on that of your own. Words in swirly, glowing, shimmering gold, these markings will link you forever to the one soul that is destined to intertwine with yours.

It was the 27th of October, and Lucy lay stretched out on her bed on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her mind a mess of thoughts as she grappled with the excitement of potentially being able to get in contact with her soulmate in only a few minutes.

11:57… 11:58…

She knew that it was probably going to be a girl; that realisation had already occurred and been faced head-on several years before that day, and she found that she was more concerned with whether or not her soulmate would also share her love of football than their gender identity.

She glanced at the clock again. 11:59. Lucy flopped her head back down onto her pillow and let out a groan at the slow-moving minutes, it almost seeming like the seconds were trapped in molasses. She hated to admit it, but Lucy had secretly been a romantic all her life and the idea that someone was out there in the world, crafted to fit with her exactly, was something that she had treasured forever.

12:00. Midnight.

As soon as the clock struck midnight, she eagerly grabbed a marker, pondering what her first message to her soulmate should be. She couldn't introduce herself by name - the magic didn’t allow that - so instead she tentatively wrote ‘Hi’, and waited for a response. When it didn’t come for an hour, she supposed that maybe her soulmate didn’t notice, or was busy.

When it had been a few months, she supposed that maybe her soulmate was a bit younger than her, and that was fine, she could wait.

Three, four, five, years passed and soon Lucy accepted that maybe she was just one of the unlucky ones who didn’t have a soulmate. Neither of her parents had lost hope, always having faith that one day her skin would be covered in words of gold, but after the third year ticked past, Lucy had resigned herself to the fact that there was no one written in the stars for her. Not that she cared for that fate stuff anyway, she often told herself.

So she fell into Keira. Keira, who was about as cynical as she was. Keira, who dismissed the soulmate stuff and said that they could write their own destiny. And Keira, whose hands were always covered in golden scrawls of unintelligible German. They loved each other as best as they could, anyway.

Lucy was twenty-five when a word showed up on her palm - bright and glowing gold. She kept it from Keira and hid in the bathroom to study it. It was a simple word - in Spanish, of course - Hola in loopy, curly writing. A small smiley face was dotted at the end of the word, and Lucy knew that it was for her.

So she did have a soulmate after all. One who was likely to be quite a bit younger than her, but a soulmate nonetheless.

Excitement flashed in her gut before she immediately felt guilty. Here she was, crouched in the bathroom, giddy with happiness, while her girlfriend was out in the lounge unassuming. Keira had chosen her despite knowing she had a soulmate of her own, so Lucy ignored the writing on her hand and exited the bathroom.

“You good?” Keira spoke, and Lucy just nodded, tucking her hand into her pocket. And if Keira noticed that she seemed a bit off for the next few days, she didn’t say anything.

A few more words came from her soulmate. A ‘cómo estuva tu día?’, and a ‘espero que estés bien!’ There was even some Catalan, which clued Lucy into the fact that her soulmate was from Catalonia, probably Barcelona. But as much as it pained her, Lucy ignored it all.

After that, Lucy’s soulmate didn’t write again.

A few months later, Lucy was in France. France which bordered Spain. Spain which was where her soulmate was from. She had always been drawn to Spain, even before finding out her soulmate was Spanish, but she urged herself to ignore it and just focus on football. She still had traces of gold - numbers and scrawled words, sometimes a sentence - but most of the time it was kept to a minimum.

She did know that her soulmate had tattoos though, several pieces having been marked into her skin for weeks until they faded, and several weeks where she was forced to wear long sleeve shirts to hide the swirling lines on her bicep that made up a map of the world.

She remembered one time when she awoke and went to take a shower, spotting yet another piece of inkwork. It was a lioness, glowing brightly on her shoulder blade, and Lucy had to choke back a laugh at the irony. She was unsure if her soulmate knew who she was, but their souls were intrinsically linked, so she shouldn’t really be surprised.

Keira eventually found out about Lucy’s soulmate, of course. She always knew when the fullback was keeping a secret, and it was stupid to assume that she could have kept something that big under wraps.

During one of the England camps, Lucy was walking to breakfast when someone suddenly caught her wrist and tugged her down a hallway, the English woman unable to stifle her small scream of surprise. When she finally got her bearings, she focused on Keira stood in front of her, a frown on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy questioned, blinking in confusion at Keira’s expression, the midfielder’s eyes boring into her, unimpressed. Keira just let out a sigh at her question and grabbed Lucy’s hand, turning it over so her palm was facing down, revealing the glittering gold words on the back of it.

“Why not,” Keira read out and dropped Lucy’s hand, who had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Don’t think you went out and wrote this in gold ink by yourself, did you?” the midfielder stated and levelled the fullback with a pointed look. Lucy opened her mouth to respond when Keira sighed again and uncrossed her arms.

“Luce, I’m not angry. I mean I have a soulmate too. I just wish that you would’ve told me.” 

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t really know why I hid it from you, because you told me about yours and it was fine. It was shitty of me,” Lucy responded, hanging head slightly. She never meant to hurt Keira, after all.

Keira graced her with a small smile and shook her head before waving her hand to dismiss Lucy’s words. “Well, at the end of the day, we picked each other, didn’t we?”

Lucy was relieved to hear those words, glad her moments of weakness had not ruined their relationship, and so they went on with their lives, mostly unchanged. There was always that niggling thought in the back of her mind though, the one that belonged to a hopeful little girl who wanted to find the one person that had been made especially for her. But she was not a little girl anymore, and she had Keira now, so Lucy shoved those traitorous thoughts aside and tried her best to focus on her current relationship. The one that she chose .

When was twenty-nine, Lucy found herself back in Manchester. The return was mostly for Keira - the distance having put a slight strain on their relationship, and truthfully, Lucy had felt a little bit homesick anyway.

She’d always enjoyed just simply watching football, and naturally, she loved to take notice of the skills of other players who played alongside and against her.

It was the Manchester Derby when she spotted her , the right back for the other team. She was small but quick and hurtled up the right wing with a passion that Lucy hadn’t seen in a long time. While United did lose the Derby, the unnamed player still marched up to all of the City players, jaw set, and offered them a handshake in thanks.

Something tugged in Lucy’s heart as the short woman made her way around all of Lucy’s teammates, and she watched on until she was standing directly in front of her. 

“Good game,” the player spoke, extending her hand in front of her and tilting her chin up to meet Lucy’s eyes. The English fullback, almost involuntarily,  dragged her eyes over the features of the other defender, drinking in the constellations of freckles that dotted across tanned skin, the shiny brown eyes that were filled with a fiery determination, and the full lips that were currently pressed into a firm line. 

“Oh!” Lucy exclaimed as she realised that had been looking for a bit too long and reached out to grasp the other woman’s hand. “You guys had a good game too!”

As their skin made contact, the English woman flinched momentarily as she swore she could feel sparks pass between them and mentally berated herself at the physical reaction. An odd look passed across the other woman’s face, and before Lucy could even blink, she was gone, but not before the City player caught a glimpse of something tattooed on the departing player’s right hand.

She stood, stock still in shock for a few minutes until Keira came up to her and tilted her head inquisitively, before leading Lucy off the pitch and down the tunnel. She enquired about the player afterwards (“sizing up the competition are we Bronzey?”), and she was told that her name was Ona Batlle and that she was from Spain. The mention of that country caused Lucy’s stomach to twist, and she told herself off for the hope that flickered in her stomach at the idea that she could have just met her soulmate.

When home, she opened her phone to look at Ona’s Instagram, just to figure out if the other woman had those tattoos that had shown up on her own skin for a short period, but one glance at Keira who was washing her hands in the kitchen had her closing the app. She couldn’t go there. It wouldn’t be fair.

The next couple of years passed rather uneventfully, in terms of her personal life anyway, but soon she found herself starting to feel the boredom again, Manchester City not really ticking all her boxes anymore. 

Lucy wanted to win, win something big like the UWCL, and City just wasn’t cutting it. When she got the offer from Barcelona her first instinct was to immediately agree, but she had to pause to weigh the decision that she was facing.

Firstly there was the thing about her soulmate. She hated that that was the first thing her mind went to, but she’d spent several years grappling with her relationship with Keira and with the potential person that was predestined for her, so moving to Spain - which could place her within meeting distance of her soulmate - could cause all sorts of problems. The second thing she had to consider was that she might have had to do long distance with Keira again, but that was quickly forgotten when the midfielder told her that Barcelona wanted her as well. 

After a few weeks of discussion, they decided to make the move to Barcelona.

Several months later, after an amazing Euros that left them Champions of Europe, Lucy and Keira packed up to go to Spain. All seemed to have been going well - they were winning their games, and they were settling in well, but over the weeks, the romance between them came to a grinding halt and they found their relationship evolving into something merely platonic. It only took a few more weeks until it all came to a head.

Lucy came home from the shops one day and saw Keira standing there, waiting for her with red-rimmed eyes and a sniffle. She didn’t even have time to reach out to ask what was wrong before Keira spoke, a distressed look painting her features.

“Lucy, I’m sorry.”

It was silent for a few beats, but Lucy knew what words Keira was about to follow up with before she even opened her mouth to speak them.

“I’ve met my soulmate.”

The words hung in the air, and for some reason, it was relieving. They had only really been glorified roommates the past few months, anyway, and suddenly a weight felt like it had been lifted off Lucy’s chest.

“I know that I said soulmates are bullshit and we can choose who we want to be with but..” Keira trailed off and bit her lip. “Her name is Laura, and she’s lovely, and Lucy I think I would hate myself if I didn’t even try.”

“We haven’t done anything, by the way. I would never. It wouldn’t be fair to you. Even if we haven’t really been all that romantic lately, I wouldn’t betray you like that,” Keira rushed to get out, eyes beginning to fill with tears. 

Lucy offered her a small smile. “Keira, it’s okay. Honest.”

They parted ways amicably, and while she did feel a bit sad that she no longer had a companion to spend her time with, she was okay. And when Keira posted a photo of her and Laura to her close friends’ story, Lucy was the first to like it.

A few more weeks passed, and it was only then that she allowed herself to even think about her own soulmate again. They hadn’t written to each other at all since Lucy had ignored the messages all those years ago, but the random doodles and numbers didn’t once cease. Her mind still lingered on that one Manchester United defender she had shaken hands with while she was still at City, but it had been so long now that she’d kind of abandoned the idea, so Lucy just decided to park that theory for the time being.

And then came Lucy Staniforth’s wedding.

[sunny-ssunset]

Pretty in pink!

Yandere south park x Fem girly reader

divider from pinterest

Chapter five

Masterlist!

♡I'm gonna start getting a bit dark with this, like nothing too bad but i think it'll fit the story yk so if you dont wanna read that scroll away, I'll always add warnings for each chapter though. Reminder you are all beautiful and although Y/n is insecure doesnt mean you should be aswell.

TW: Hints to a deceased character, Stalking.

"Y/n wanna go shopping with us later?" Bebe asked Y/n as they all got in her car, Wendy insisting on driving, Y/n getting in the passangers seat? Carelessly flinging her purse on the back seat, Not realising her phone and makeup bag fell out and onto the seat beside Bebe. Bebe being the kind considerate soul she is, decided to pick them both up and put them in Y/n's- Oh.

Stan

Y/n when are you gonna get here

I miss your touch

Y/n I need you

What the actual fuck.

Bebe wasn't supposed to see that. Wendy wouldn't like to hear this. Bebe was smart. She'd been friends with Y/n since 3rd grade. So She knew Y/n would get away with it if she mentioned it there and then. But, If She were to mention it to Wendy on the walk from Y/n's house. Maybe she'd have a chance at being the new Y/n....

"Thanks for driving Wendy...." Y/n looked at Wendy sheepishly, "Its okay. Better me then you!" Wendy laughs, parking up Y/n's car for her. The girls got out, Bebe giving Y/n her bag. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, Message me on the groupchat about the party!" Wendy beamed walking away with Bebe clinging onto her arm.

"Y/n's hooking up with Stan." Bebe blurted out as soon as Y/n was out of sight. "What." Wendy stopped. Like completely fucking stopped, catching Bebe off guard. "Y/n would never, she's kind I'd know her better than everyone I'm her best friend." Wendy giggled, trying to convince herself otherwise. "I saw the messages Wendy."

Bullshit. No way her precious Y/n would be so snakey, She doesnt even like Stan. There is no way. Bebe must be bullshitting her.

divider by @k1ssyoursister

Stan

Y/nnnnn

Seen 4:03

I can't wait any longer

Seen 4:19

Come over

Seen 4:22

I need you

Seen 4:36

Baby please dont leave me on read

Sent 5:07

God he's needy.

Y/n

I just got out the bath calm down

Seen 5:36

When will you be done?

Seen 5:36

I'm doing my makeup idk

Seen 5.44

Can I come pick you up now?

Sent 5.58

Stan took no replies for another hour as a sign Y/n wanted to be picked up. So he got in this truck and drove to Y/n's

Y/n on the other hand was death staring herself in the mirror, eyeing her ugly fucking face and fat arms. And weight. And nose, god she hated her nose. After all the criticism Y/n decided to go downstairs to wait for Stan.

Y/n

You can come pick me up now.

Sent 6:57

"Darling! I was waiting for you to come down!" That was weird. She hadn't heard that voice for a while- Oh for fucks sake.

"Daddy!!!!!" Y/n's expression couldnt be told between excitement or confusion, actually maybe less excitement. She didnt really like her Dad. He was away most of the time, And He tried to take the place of Y/n's mother aswell, Bless her soul. He ended up being pretty overbearing when he was there instead. "I missed you dear. How about I take you out for a nice dinner! Just us?" He cooed at her, "Sorry Daddy, If i had any Idea you were coming I'd have not made plans," That was a lie, "But I'm going out with Stan now."

"Oh Alright dear, How about tomorrow?" He stepped closer to her. "I'll think about it." Y/n smiled as she left the house abruptly, going outside to sit on the stairs outside of her Mansion.

"For fucks sake Stan." Y/n mumbled to herself before calling him, not wanting to be at her house any longer, Just as she was about to call him for the 3rd time, Stan pulled up in his Red beaten up truck. "Stan!" Y/n beamed as she ran up to him, getting in the passanger seat, The two unaware of the girl who was waiting in the bushes outside Y/n's house. Unaware of the pictures She'd been taking of the two's exchange.

This. This was all she need. All Bebe needed as proof, To become the new Y/n. The new Queen bee. The new Saint.

Divider by @k1ssyoursister

[cosmicjoke]

Okay, chapter 57 of Saezuru!

So, we're at an impasse again.

I don't want to see anyone shitting on Yashiro here, though I know inevitably there's going to be people doing that, and probably people shitting on Doumeki, too. I think what people need to constantly remind themselves of while reading this story is that, at it's heart, it's a story about trauma, and the difficulty, sometimes near impossibility, of ever fully overcoming that trauma.

I know some people are going to talk badly about Yashiro's reaction to Doumeki, regarding especially the moment when he pushes Doumeki away from him. They're going to grow frustrated and say he's sending Doumeki mixed messages, etc, etc... But Doumeki is also doing the same.

Doumeki, at this point, seems to me to be operating out of frustration, while Yashiro is still operating out of fear.

I felt like the pivotal moment of this chapter came after Doumeki turns Yashiro around and, for just a moment, lets his mask drop. When Yashiro makes his comment to him about him "making a face like (he) wants to do it really badly", I felt like Doumeki had an opportunity here that he blew. I'm not blaming Doumeki, let me just say right off, so that nobody misunderstands what I mean. But I think Doumeki still doesn't quite understand what's wrong with Yashiro. I think he thinks Yashiro is playing games, but he's not. Doumeki saw Yashiro's earlier moment of pushing him away when he started kissing and licking at his leg, when he was being gentle with Yashiro, and I think likely took Yashiro's comment about the face he was making as a mocking statement.

The awful part here is, it was a statement made in earnest.

So was Yashiro's reaction to pushing Doumeki away.

Yashiro is still triggered by gentle treatment. Look at his face when Doumeki starts licking at his leg, as he remembers four years earlier, to the first time they had sex. His expression is horrified. He's scared. He's traumatized. He's giving a trauma response to what's happening. You can tell by his reaction after pushing Doumeki away that it wasn't even a conscious thing he did. His body just reacted. He has this wide-eyed, shocked look, like he doesn't know what just happened.

And then Doumeki lets his frustration and probably some anger dictate his response, which is to manhandle Yashiro onto his stomach and take him from behind. Again, it's really important to watch Yashiro's reactions here to understand what's going on with him, I think.

Once again, his face is stricken. You can tell he doesn't want this at all. He even looks frightened for a moment, and then in pain as Doumeki pushes into him.

The thing is, Doumeki doesn't want this either, but like I said before, I think he's operating out of a place of frustration and anger. He lets his frustration with Yashiro's seemingly contradictory behavior push him to be forceful with Yashiro. But it doesn't last long. Doumeki then turns him again onto his back, and that's the moment he lets his mask drop, and Yashiro makes his comment about his expression.

Again, I think it's vital to understanding what's going on with Yashiro to also pay attention to his own expressions. He reaches for Doumeki's face, and smiles at him, and the look in his eyes is very soft. You can tell he means it, what he says to Doumeki, and you can tell he genuinely longs for it, for Doumeki to look at him the way he once did, with that gentle kindness and genuine desire.

If Doumeki understood what was really at the heart of Yashiro's issues, I don't think he would have reacted the way he did. He makes a mistake here when he pulls Yashiro's hand away, and even squeezes down painfully on it. Yashiro's reaction is one of confusion. He doesn't understand why Doumeki is suddenly back to being cold. He says "Huh?", when Doumeki tells him "What a nostalgic thing to say.", before once again forcefully pinning him down. Again, I think Doumeki thinks Yashiro is playing games, but he's seriously not. His response to Doumeki's gentility is a trauma response. He's still triggered by that kind of treatment, while simultaneously longing for it. He doesn't mean to be sending Doumeki mixed messages. This is what I mean when I say people need to keep in mind that this story is, at its core, about trauma and the ways it manifests. His responses to Doumeki aren't a conscious thing on Yashiro's part. He can look back at them retrospectively and think about them, like he does at the end of this chapter, but in the moment, I don't think it's voluntary at all. I think if Doumeki had taken that opportunity to just be honest with Yashiro, to tell him how he really feels, it would have been met with honesty from Yashiro in turn, because I don't think Yashiro is being dishonest at this point. I think his responses to Doumeki are all real. He says at the end of the chapter "I'm full of contradictions", a direct callback to when Yashiro was a teenager and he thought the same about himself. He's both genuinely triggered by Doumeki's gentility, and at the same time, wants it desperately.

The heartbreaking thing here is, Yashiro is blaming himself for fucking it all up again. He compares himself to livestock that can't change, and says he's completely incapable of growth. Yashiro's self-loathing is on full display. He really believes he'll never be able to move past the seeming contradictions inside him, contradictions he's felt since he was a boy. The longing for love, the deep desire to be loved, and yet, because of the severe abuse he suffered, his inability to receive that love without succumbing to a terrified, panicked response. It's Yashiro's trauma, rooted in what his stepfather did to him for years, that's preventing him from fully embracing Doumeki's love. He wants to, but he can't.

And that's the thing, too. Yashiro has always been aware of the contradictions in himself. He spoke about it as a teenager, about how he wanted to hurt Kage, but how he knew he would be hurt if Kage rejected him. That's where Yashiro misunderstood himself, though. He never wanted to hurt Kage. That was Yashiro's warped perception of himself, the part of him that thinks he wants to destroy beautiful things. It's not that. He's always just been afraid because affection triggers him, and so he convinced himself he wants to be abused, that it's his fault he's been abused because of that, as a means of coping with the way that abuse has destroyed him.

Exacerbating all of it is Doumeki's refusal to drop his mask of indifference. Again, I'm not blaming Doumeki. He's understandably frustrated, and I think starting to become angry, because he thinks it's simply a situation in which Yashiro is refusing to be honest with him about his feelings. He thinks Yashiro is messing with him, so he responds by pretending like he feels nothing for Yashiro. I don't think he realizes that he's only affirming for Yashiro his own fears that he's managed to turn Doumeki against him, that he lost Doumeki's love for him by pushing him away before, which only makes it all the harder for Yashiro to, essentially, ask for help. And Yashiro needs help. He can't do this on his own. He can't process his trauma and explain what's happening to him, explain what he's feeling, without understanding.

I don't think Doumeki understands Yashiro right now. I don't think he understands what's wrong with him.

Yashiro thinks about Doumeki with Izumi, and thinks about himself as a teenager, alone, and correlates his seeming inability to change with that aloneness. Doumeki has moved on from him, he believes, he's found an emotional connection and partner in Izumi, while Yashiro remains stuck in the same place, forever destined to be cut off and isolated from all, human affection.

He needs help. He needs someone to help him work through this, to cope with the fact that he both longs for kindness, gentility and love, while those things also terrify and repulse him and trigger a flight response in him. Yashiro isn't doing this on purpose. He's not lying. His natural inclination and desire for love and kindness is coming into direct conflict with his trauma, with the way those things, as a consequence of the abuse he's endured, have rendered love and kindness triggering to him.

I don't think Doumeki can help him until he figures out that Yashiro isn't being dishonest, but that he's trapped by his own trauma. Until he figures that out, until he realizes just how damaged Yashiro is, he's going to keep pretending he doesn't care about him, either as a punishment, or in some crude attempt to force him into acknowledging his feelings, which ultimately is having the opposite effect. It's only pushing Yashiro into a deeper hole of self-loathing and fear, only reaffirming for him every negative thought and feelings he's ever had about himself.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Between the Ropes: a Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley fanfic.

Chapter 40: Did I make you understand what the fuck is going on?

Flashback - August 20th, 2024

Rhea’s flight touched down in Orlando, fatigue washing over her as she slid into the waiting Uber. The ride felt long, her mind drifting to thoughts of the intimate night she had just shared with Jey. She arrived home and tiptoed into the bedroom, finding Matt still asleep. The sight of him stirred mixed emotions in her chest.

After a quick shower to soothe her tired muscles, Rhea dressed in a tank top and her underwear, ready to climb into bed. Matt turned as she settled in, instinctively pulling her close. “I missed you,” he murmured, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I missed you too,” Rhea replied, her heart heavy. As she closed her eyes, she forced herself to kiss him back, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at her.

Since going back to Jey, the intimacy with Matt had become a chore. Each moment felt like a betrayal, forcing herself to picture it was Jey instead. She wished she could tell Matt to stop, but his recent cooling off from being overly protective made her wary of igniting that side of him again.

Matt suddenly pulled away slightly, pulling out his phone. “Hold on, I wanna record this,” he said, positioning the camera to capture the moment. He pulled her closer and prompted, “Tell me you love me…”

Rhea swallowed hard. “I love you, Matthew Addams…” she said, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.

Matt smiled, but his eyes held a glint of something serious. “You will never leave me?”

“Not in a million years for nobody…” Rhea replied, her heart racing at the blatant lie she had just told.

With the recording stopped, Matt leaned in to become intimate, and Rhea quickly conjured Jey’s image in her mind once more, desperately trying to escape the reality of her situation. The contrast between her heart’s desire and the life she was living felt like a storm brewing inside her.

As they moved together, Rhea’s thoughts remained with Jey, and she found herself lost in the memory of his touch, longing for a connection that felt genuine and free.

She wished for the courage to break free from the life she had settled for, but for now, all she could do was endure.

—

December 31st, 2024 10:57 PM

With the countdown to midnight ticking down, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the delicious aroma of brisket sliders. Rhea stood at the island, joking with Kayden, Liv, and Trinity as they piled their plates high, reveling in the warmth of the New Year’s celebration. Outside, the children squealed with delight, sparklers illuminating the dark night as the adults prepared to ring in the new year together.

“Hey, Liv, pass me another brisket slider, will you?” Rhea called, her voice filled with cheer.

Just as Liv reached for the platter, the front door swung open, disrupting the festive atmosphere. In walked Anriel Howard, known as Lash Legend, along with Kelani Jordan. The moment their presence registered, Rhea and Liv exchanged quick, disapproving glances, sensing the tension that radiated from the two women.

Trinity, with her arms crossed and a knowing look in her eyes, asked, “Who invited you two over here?”

Kelani smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “It was an open invitation for all superstars,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rhea straightened, her demeanor shifting from relaxed to defensive. “I think you should leave,” she asserted, her voice firm.

Kelani let out a laugh that was more mocking than amused. “What’s wrong? Afraid of Jey being here because of my history with him?” Her laughter echoed around the room, thinly veiling a challenge.

Rhea scoffed, sarcasm lacing her voice. “You think it’s funny to come onto my fiancé?”

“Please, you did the same thing to Takecia,” Kelani shot back, her grin widening with each word. “And guess what? You’re pregnant, so you can’t touch a single hair on my head!” She leaned closer, her confidence unwavering.

Liv and Kayden exchanged incredulous looks before stepping forward in solidarity. “But we can!” they said in unison, determination in their eyes.

Without warning, chaos erupted. Liv and Kayden lunged at Anriel and Kelani, sparklers clattering to the ground as a brawl broke out. Rhea’s heart raced; she knew this could escalate quickly. Trinity sprinted off to find the guys, sensing the need for backup as the tension in the room reached a boiling point.

Rhea watched helplessly as Kelani delivered a headbutt to Liv, knowing the damage it could cause. Without thinking, Rhea grabbed a plastic platter from the kitchen counter and swung it with all her might, hitting Kelani over the head with a satisfying crack.

Just then, the back door burst open, and the guys rushed in, Jey leading the charge. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted, taking in the chaotic scene, his gaze locking onto Rhea.

“Get away from her!” he yelled, quickly pulling Rhea back before she could take another swing.

Damian reached for Kayden, and Dominik grabbed Liv, pulling them away from the fray. “Get out of my damn airbnb sucias!” Damian bellowed at Anriel and Kelani, who took the hint and scrambled for the door.

“Are you okay?” Jey asked Rhea, concern etched on his face as he scanned her for any signs of injury. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Rhea reassured him, brushing off his concern. She could feel adrenaline coursing through her veins as she moved toward Liv, who was still chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“Did that bitch just steal your headbutt?” Liv laughed, shaking her head in disbelief as she caught her breath.

Rhea smirked, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over her for her friends. “Stop fighting my battles, girl,” she said, though her heart swelled with appreciation.

Liv shrugged, a cheeky grin on her face. “I’ll always have your back,” she replied, pulling Rhea into a tight embrace.

As they shared the moment, Rhea felt the tension of the evening begin to fade. Just then, Liv turned to Dominik, a playful glint in her eye. “I need kisses too!” she exclaimed, her tone lightening the mood further.

“Are you sure you don’t have like a concussion?” Dom asked, worried about his blonde ball of energy.

“You’re about to have a concussion if you don’t give me a kiss.”

Jey chuckled at Liv and Dominik, leaning in to give Rhea a quick kiss on the forehead. “No offense, babe, but my buzz is fading fast. If you’re gonna keep fighting off party crashers, I might need another drink to keep up,” he teased.

Rhea laughed, rolling her eyes. “Just keep drinking; I’ll be fine. I promise not to hit anyone with a fridge door,” she joked, giving him a playful shove as he grinned and made his way back outside to rejoin Seth and the other guys with the sparklers.

Once the boys were out of sight, the girls exchanged looks and decided it was time to freshen up. Heading upstairs to the bathroom, they began fixing their makeup, chatting as they touched up smudged eyeliner and reapplied lip gloss.

Liv, grinning mischievously, glanced at her reflection. “You know what? I think I’m going to let Dominik get a little handsy tonight,” she said, winking at the others.

Rhea smirked, raising her hands. “Hey, I am the last person here to judge,” she laughed.

Kayden, unable to contain herself, chimed in. “Isn’t he, like, a baby?” she teased.

Trinity shook her head, smiling warmly. “I think it’s cute. Young love, you know?”

Liv snorted. “I’m 30, guys. This isn’t that young love,” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

Trinity shrugged. “Fine. Mildly young love, then,” she corrected herself with a grin.

Liv suddenly turned to them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Okay, seriously, though…anyone got condoms?” she asked, catching them all off-guard.

The girls burst into laughter, Rhea raising an eyebrow. “Do we look like the type to be carrying those around?”

Kayden raised her hand. “Wait, hold up. Y’all don’t?”

Rhea shot her a look, unable to hold back her laugh. “Let me find out Damian’s getting quickies from you,” she teased, nudging Kayden with her shoulder.

Kayden giggled, cheeks slightly flushed. “Let’s just say…don’t touch the counter,” she replied, smirking.

Liv scrunched her nose, both amused and slightly horrified. “Wait, what’s wrong with the counter?”

Kayden just smirked, letting the implication hang in the air. Trinity shook her head in mock disbelief. “Y’all are nasty!” she laughed, giving Kayden a playful shove.

Rhea chuckled, rolling her eyes as she capped her lip gloss. “Come on, let’s go back downstairs. It’s almost time for the fireworks.”

With that, the girls made their way back down and out to the back patio, where the party continued. The night air was crisp, and the stars glimmered above as the countdown to midnight drew closer.

The chilly night air buzzed with anticipation as everyone gathered in the backyard, laughter and warmth filling the space, creating a sanctuary of togetherness. Wrestlers along with their families and little ones surrounded Jey and Rhea, their voices blending with the crackle of sparklers and the soft giggles of children as they danced under the starlit sky. It felt surreal, like a moment suspended in time, yet the weight of the past year lingered in Rhea’s heart.

The large projector displayed the countdown on the side of the house. At 11:59, the backyard grew quiet, the collective hum of excitement muted by the ticking of the seconds.

Jey glanced down at his two boys, Jaciyah and Jeyce, lost in the wonder of the sparklers in their hands, his hand gentle as he touched Jaciyah’s shoulder. “Watch your brother for me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft yet steady. Jaciyah nodded, and Jey gave him a proud smile before he turned and made his way across the yard, his eyes locked onto Rhea.

When Rhea saw him approaching, her heart gave a familiar, comforting ache. Jey extended his hand and she took it without hesitation, warmth radiating from his touch, grounding her. Dominik’s voice rang out over the crowd, playful and excited: “IT’S TIME FOR THE BIG ONE!”

As people around them began counting down, Rhea looked up into Jey’s eyes, searching for something—something she couldn’t put into words but knew she needed. She squeezed his hand, her voice barely above a whisper. “Promise me something?”

Jey leaned closer, his gaze intense, as if he could see right into her soul. “Anything. Just tell me,” he replied, his words a gentle vow.

She held his gaze, the past months flickering through her mind, all the struggles, the doubts, the aching moments when she questioned everything. But here, with him, it all seemed worth it. “Promise me this year will be different. That… it will be ours. No more setbacks, no more regrets. Just us… moving forward together.”

Jey’s eyes softened, his hand coming up to cradle her face, brushing away a stray strand of hair. “I promise,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his own hopes, his own fears. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, his eyes shimmering with unshed emotion. “I’m not going anywhere. This is our year, Rhea.”

10… 9… 8… The countdown roared around them, but all Rhea could hear was the thundering of her own heartbeat as Jey leaned closer. The world seemed to fade, narrowing down to just the two of them. It was as if everyone else had vanished, leaving them standing in their own little universe, bound together by love, by resilience, by the promise of tomorrow.

7… 6… 5… As their lips met, it was soft at first—a gentle affirmation, an acknowledgment of everything they had been through. But then, the kiss deepened, the months of uncertainty melting away in that single, timeless moment. It was more than just a kiss; it was a release, a letting go of the past and an embrace of the future they both so desperately wanted.

4… 3… 2… 1… The clock struck midnight, and the night sky exploded in a brilliant display of color, the first firework casting a shimmering WWE logo across the heavens. Cheers erupted around them as everyone shouted “Happy New Year!” with an infectious joy that filled the air, but Rhea and Jey stayed locked in each other’s embrace, caught in a bubble of their own happiness.

Breaking the kiss, Rhea looked up at Jey, her eyes reflecting the fireworks, yet her focus solely on him. Her fingers brushed his cheek, and she whispered, “I love you.”

Jey smiled, his eyes misty as he pulled her close. “I love you too, more than anything,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

As they stood there, fireworks bursting above, children’s laughter and joyful cheers filling the background, Rhea felt something deep within her shift. The fear, the doubts, the pain—all of it faded, leaving only the warmth of his arms and the knowledge that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.

In that moment, surrounded by the people that accepted them, Rhea and Jey finally allowed themselves to believe in the possibility of a future that was truly, completely theirs. And as they shared one more kiss, it felt like a promise, an unspoken vow that this would be their year, no matter what.

1:02 AM January 1st, 2025

Rhea lingered by the bedroom door, watching as Jeyce and Jaciyah gave her sleepy thumbs-up, their ears shielded by noise-canceling earplugs to keep out the party’s bass rumbling from downstairs. She softened, whispering, “Goodnight, my loves,” before gently closing the door, leaving her two step-sons to drift into peaceful sleep.

With the boys settled, she turned back toward the staircase, feeling the quiet excitement that only comes when the night shifts from a lively celebration to something more intimate. As she descended, she noticed the energy in the house had transformed. The lights were dimmed, and the group had dwindled to a close-knit circle of friends and family, only the adults now, and the kids were asleep or gone. The laughter was quieter, the music softer, and the atmosphere felt warmer, more relaxed.

Her gaze landed on Jey leaning against the far wall, his eyes already on her, an easy, affectionate smile spreading across his face. The familiar beat of an old song from the 2000s began to play—No Letting Go by Wayne Wonder. Rhea’s heart skipped at the nostalgic melody, a song she hadn’t heard in years, yet it instantly brought back memories of young love, of simpler times.

She approached Jey with a playful grin, her eyes glimmering. “Would you like a dance?” she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

Jey chuckled, pushing himself off the wall. “I’m actually waiting on my wife to show up,” he replied, his tone equally playful.

Rhea laughed, rolling her eyes as she turned, pressing her back against his front. Her hand reached behind to pull his arm around her waist, and she began to sway gently, her movements syncing with the rhythm of the song. As the familiar melody floated around them, Jey’s arms wrapped snugly around her, and he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her neck. She felt the warmth of his breath against her skin, sending a gentle shiver down her spine.

They moved together in perfect harmony, swaying as if the world had faded around them, leaving only the soft beat of the music and the comfort of each other’s embrace. Jey’s hands rested on her waist, secure and grounding, as he pulled her a little closer, his chest warm against her back. The dim lights and soft music made it feel like they were in a dream, an oasis of calm within the lingering echoes of the New Year’s celebration.

Rhea closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, savoring the quiet intimacy. She felt his heartbeat against her back, steady and reassuring. The chaos, the ups and downs of the past year, the struggles they had both faced, melted away in this moment. Here, in his arms, she felt safe, cherished, whole.

As the song neared its end, Jey’s voice broke the silence, his tone low, almost a whisper. “No letting go, huh?” he murmured, his words carrying a weight of promise and meaning beyond the lyrics.

Rhea smiled, turning her head slightly to catch his gaze. “Never,” she whispered back, her hand reaching up to rest over his, intertwining their fingers.

They stayed that way, swaying gently, lost in each other as the last notes of the song faded. In that quiet, fleeting moment, Rhea knew that no matter what this year brought, they would face it together. And she couldn’t imagine a better way to start.

TO BE CONTINUED

Hello, everyone,

Thank you so much for all the love, support, and excitement you’ve shown for this story. I know many of you might be wondering why I chose to end this chapter on a cliffhanger, and I wanted to take a moment to explain. Writing this story has been a journey, not just for the characters but for me as well. I chose to leave things open-ended here because, in a way, I feel it’s a good moment to pause and let the story breathe.

Right now, I need to step back and take a short break. My mom is currently in the hospital, and I want to focus on being there for her and my family. I’ll be taking some time to recharge and gather my thoughts so that, when I return, I can give this story the attention and energy it deserves.

I promise that this isn’t goodbye; it’s just a small pause. I plan to be back in about a week or so, ready to dive back into the world we’ve created together. Thank you all for your understanding, patience, and, most importantly, for being part of this journey. I appreciate every single one of you, and I look forward to continuing this story with you very soon.

With all my gratitude,

Ryan.. aka acute-crash out-jeyuso

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 57)

N watched a Uzi stared down at the scan results in complete silence. Her eyelights hollow, stress lines underneath them and one of her hands covering her mouth. She trembled as she seemed to check and recheck the same section of the blueprint over and over.

“Uzi… what's wrong?” He asked, sitting down beside her on the bed and putting a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes drifted over to him as she gripped his arms tightly, burying her face into his sleeve. He couldn't see her visor, but he could tell she'd started to cry, with the sobs rocking her body.

Worry wracked his being, and he wrapped her in an embrace as she had an emotional breakdown on him, gripping onto him as tightly as she could, Tera was clinging to her leg, also looking worried but unable to vocalize it.

“I-I'm- N…” She choked out, struggling to explain what she'd seen, N was patient, holding one of her hands and squeezing while the other stroked her back.

“I'm pregnant”

He felt his entire body freeze. Shock overtaking him as he ran her words through his processors several times to make sure he'd heard her right.

“W-what?” His voice wavered and he blinked, he only knew what that word meant from his time at the manor, humans could grow other humans inside them, and he'd seen a few pregnant women inside the manor before… which had to mean.

“We're… having a baby?” It was phrased as a question only because he was still incredulous, Uzi looked up at him, nodding, tears in her eyes and looking as if she didn't know weather to smile or look horrified.

“Oh. Oh my robo-god. Uzi… we're… we're gonna have a baby!” A grin bloomed across his face as he pulled her in closer, if she was encompassed by him before, she was melding into him now.

It took a moment of him squeezing her, but before she could react he was pulling back and then leaning back in to capture her lips in his own, and Uzi found herself melting into it, eyelights closed as tears seeped from them, she was… happy? Terrified? It's like she was feeling every single emotion at once.

When he pulled away he was holding both sides of her face, looking into her eyelights with both a smile and golden tears dripping from the inside of visor, he pushed hair out of her face and pet her cheek.

Seeing him so happy with the news quelled her darker thoughts, there was no question if N would be there for her or not (and there should never have been one, either.) But she still felt worried, extremely so.

There had never been a Worker/Dissasembler hybrid before, and drone pregnancies were… mild. Low energy, weakness, core flutters. Those were all normal, and while yes she had all of these, she also had more.

The dizziness, the nausea, the vomiting, the trances, and the hunger. Oh robo-god, was she hungry, oil only seemed to help so much with that, she craved… something. Something she couldn't pinpoint and no amount of drone safe snacks could satiate.

And she was… only eighteen. They had Tera already… but… another newborn? Something that was part her and part N? That was scary… she didn't know if she was ready for that.

“I'm… scared N.” The words that would otherwise be damaging to her pride wasn't so much when only spoken to N. His face fell as he took in her face, realizing that the tears he mistook for joy and nervousness, were actually from fear.

“Uzi… Hey, everything's going to be fine.” He turned to comforting her, his tail finding her leg and wrapping around it, pushing her into his chest as he purred, it was meant to be soothing, and it was.

“I'm- We're so young N.”

“Yeah… but we already have Tera. It's not like we're… stupid kids.” He pointed out, near whispering into her audio receptors, he took a glance at their daughter, asleep, curled up near her mothers legs, gripping onto her bat plushie like a lifeline.

He had a point, it wasn't as if they were going to be flying blind into what taking care of a baby was like, but it didn't seem to slow the flurry of emotions swirling in her systems.

“I shouldn't be- why am I getting so many symptoms?” She wasn't sure why she was asking him, it was unlikely he would know.

“Is this not normal?” He asked cocking his head as he tenderly moved his hand down to her midsection, ghosting over it.

“N-no! I shouldn't be throwing up or… watching the room spin!” His hand resting where it was had a calming effect, the warmth of it radiating off his hand and into her internals.

“No other drone is as… fleshy. You saw what's in there, you're partly organic… maybe it is normal, just normal for you.” He suggested, intended to calm her nerves but it just made her nerves spiral more.

“Is something gonna come out of me?!” She freaked out a little bit, imagining a sort of Alien ‘chest burster’ scenario where some freaky flesh baby exploded out of her.

“Okay, I doubt whatever situation you're imagining is going to happen.” N seemed to detect she was freaking herself out and placed his head into the crook of her neck, now resting both hands on her midsection.

“Look, I don't know how the solver-flesh-mutation thing works, but if you are-” he paused, rubbing a hand over her midsection, making her blush at the contact. “-growing something, then whatever gave you that ability would also give you the ability to get them out right?”

She thought back to her wings, how they grew and pulsed a writhed until her chassis gave way and they burst out of her, and she was about to open her mouth to say ‘it didn't’ before she realized that while yes… her wings coming in hurt like a bitch. She did have new compartments to store them away in, and she'd mostly healed afterwards.

So she could kinda see what he was getting at.

“And we don't know if you even are. Your organic parts could be just… reacting to it like they were in something that does work like that.” He finished, nuzzling softly into her neck.

Uzi pondered his words, spurred on by his purring, his nuzzling, and the attention he was giving her midsection, she felt the spiral she was beginning to plummet down start to lift. She hummed, nervous, but coming down to a manageable level.

“Anyone ever told you you're smarter then you look?” She asked with a wary smirk, causing N to chuckle into her shoulder and lift his head slightly.

“Not until now. No. But maybe some of your smarts rubbed off on me.” He quipped back, kissing into her neck gently and making her smile genuinely for the first time that night. She placed her hand over his and let them both rest there, N was rubbing his thumb over her rubber so she rubbed her thumb over his hand.

“We'll just keep an eye on you, okay? And whatever you need, I'll get it for you.”

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