#sasha over here like ''???? be afraid???''

[iunctura-arch]

"...Are they supposed to be threatening or something?" Zamasu and... Goku Black, were they? Sasha didn't really know if she should feel threatened by them.

[sonotpattismith]

i'm still your girl (satoru gojo x reader)

if you have to leave— I wish that you would just leave because your presence still lingers here, and it won’t leave me alone.

word count: 7.5k inspired by: dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan & my immortal by evanescence warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, depression, smut, 18+ a/n: AHHH I LOVED THIS ONE SO MUCH! I really wanted to do something a little spooky for Halloween, even if it wasn't officially halloween themed :( I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts! ILY!

You tried to ignore him at first. He would stare back at you through your reflection in the mirror, just as he once did when the two of you would get ready for bed. He used to smile at you over his foamed toothbrush when he’d catch you staring at him, mumbling unintelligibly with his mouth full of suds. It made you laugh nonetheless, and he would lean over to spit into the sink before repeating himself with a teasing glint in his sparkling eyes. 

Why stare at my reflection when you’ve got the real thing here, sweetcheeks?

But Satoru had been dead for two months, and he no longer had anything to say about the way you stared blankly back at his reflection. 

You cried the first time you had seen him. It was just in your peripheral as you climbed into what was once his side of the bed. His dominating presence loomed in the doorframe, as if awaiting an invitation to come join you. In the haze of your mourning, having only been back at you and Satoru’s shared home for three days since he’d been gone, you thought perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. Still, there was no mistaking those glowing eyes and their tendency to follow you across whatever room you were in. 

That night, you could only pull the covers over your head, too afraid of the fragility of your own sanity to dare take another look. His presence lingered though, the waves of his energy enough to leave you trembling underneath the comforter, tears spilling onto the plush pillow that still held his scent. You never peaked out, but a part of you knew he never left that night, lingering in the doorway and haunting you once you’d successfully cried yourself to sleep. 

It went on like that for a while. You believing your sanity was simply waning in his absence, him believing you simply didn’t see him. So, he watched as you trudged through life— if that’s what you could call your melancholy existence holed up in what once was a shared space— trapped behind the perceived veil of life and death that his abrupt departure had left the two of you in. 

There wasn’t a definitive moment when he determined that you could in fact see his silent figure observing you and feel his energy weighing down the air around the house. It came in waves; Satoru would notice how your sidelong glances toward the corner of the room lingered too long to be considered just a sweep around the room. He took note of the way you’d avoid facing the door at night when you’d pretend to be sleeping. 

One night, as you laid on the sofa, dark-rimmed eyes mindlessly fluttering across the television screen, perhaps your grief had simply outweighed the logical part of your mind that said giving into delusions— no—hallucinations, was not a good call for your already declining mental state. Your feeling conscious enough to turn on the television was a new development, one that Satoru was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how long he could watch you stare stiffly up at the ceiling, only an occasional sigh or sniffle that told him you were still breathing. 

Your thumb ticked over title after title, not even bothering to read descriptions or watch trailers before you passed them up. The gentle clicking noise was beginning to scratch at his ears, and, if he could still bleed, he was sure it’d be covering his jaw and neck by now. But then it stopped. Glancing up from his unwavering gaze on your slumped figure, his cerulean eyes landed on the sight of what once was your favorite Halloween movie to watch together. It had become a tradition, every year around this time, the two of you would pull out the matching pajama pants he’d bought for you on your first fall together just for the viewing occasion. 

You would always pretend to be irritated with him as he leaned into your ear and dramatically recited every line as they were being acted out. Delicate hands would push at his face as you repressed an amused smile. He’d only turn his theatrics up a notch, letting out a blood-curdling scream in tandem with the main actresses— so loud it made you glad you two had moved out of your apartment and into a house just two years into your relationship. Your boisterous laughter would fill the room as he tackled you into his lap, shaking your shoulders dramatically. 

The memory hung in the space between you. On the screen before you, the title lingered, taunting the both of you with broken promises of what would have been your fifth year watching it together. The man’s gaze was pulled from the screen when he saw your head tilt out of the corner of his eye. Your cheek was still smushed against the cushion, but you had angled it just so, and he could swear you were staring at him from your peripheral— waiting, inviting. 

Satoru stepped forward, eyes never leaving your face as he sank down into the spot by your feet. It was the first time the both of you had acknowledged the arrangement fate had thrust upon you. Your eyes, now brimmed with tears, returned to the screen as you pressed play on the movie. 

You didn’t understand what he was. The first thought was a hallucination, but as his energy lingered, and you felt the warmth of his thighs against your feet as the film shot bursts of color and sound throughout the morose living room, you began to think that perhaps he was more real than you were giving your psyche credit for. 

The second theory was a curse, conjured up from the macabre sense of loss and void that had tunneled within your chest since his death. How fitting, you thought, to have your love haunt you in the very form of what brought him to his end. As you pretended to watch the movie, keeping a watchful peripheral eye on the man at the end of the couch, you decided you didn’t care enough to find out. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to exorcize him should your theory be correct. It felt nice to have him here with you, soulbound or not. 

Your subtle acknowledgement of him did nothing to shift the silent stares and subtle invitations into something more— both of you too fearful of what it would mean if you did. So, he still stalked behind you as you brushed your teeth every night, and he awaited your subtle nod as you picked out your nightly cinematic reminder of what you two once were. 

It began eating away at him. He’d watch your phone light up with messages, ring with calls, all from your friends begging to know how you were doing, if there was anything they could do for you. Each time though, you’d barely glance at the device before sighing softly. It felt as though the phone weighed a ton, and it would surely take all your energy to simply acknowledge them. You would get back to them tomorrow, you thought to yourself yesterday, as well as the day before that. 

It was becoming too much— watching the shell of the woman he loved— loves— wither away at the hands of his own demise. Satoru wondered if it would have been easier on you had you been given a proper goodbye, but at the time, he was too cowardly to face you with the notion of it. Although the sorcerer had been prepared to go toe to toe with the king of curses, he couldn’t find it in him to prepare you for the possibility of his own death. 

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you out of your trance— to tell him it wasn’t all because of him. You couldn’t have tossed away your soul because of him. 

The credits of the movie you’d been idly watching rolled to completion, and your eyes remained glued to the screen as though reading each name as it slowly dragged down. The television screen faded to black before the film restarted from the beginning. Satoru watched, waiting for you to grab the remote, change it, move, blink, cry— anything. Lights flashed across your blank face as the familiar title card played, and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Although he wanted to shout, scream at you to snap out of it, nothing would come out. As he attempted to push the breaths up his chest and out his throat with some semblance of a plea, it was as if an imaginary force had its fingers wrapped around his neck, halting any wish he had to get through to you. 

His chest rose and fell dramatically, snowy brows furrowing in frustration, and he kicked at the coffee table, sending it rumbling across the living room to hit the entertainment center with a deafening crack. The television shook but steadied after just a moment. Those gleaming eyes remained transfixed on you though— you hadn’t even flinched. Blinking slowly once, and then a second time, and your head slowly turned to meet his eyes straight on for the first time since his death. 

It caught him off guard. Of course, there were countless moments when your sidelong glances and hitched breaths let him know that you sensed something was amiss. Still, you had never dared look into his eyes— never made him feel as though he was really still with you. 

“Stop it, Satoru.” 

It was a flat demand— a test. Would he listen to you? Could he hear you? Did he care? 

Straightening his back against the couch, he stared unblinkingly at you for a moment before slowly standing up from his spot. His eyes didn’t leave yours once as he crouched down to grab the leg of the table and pull it back to its respective spot. He stood still facing you for what felt like hours. With each second that passed, your lip would slowly twitch, and your eyes would soften— because fuck, was he really there?

And then he held his hand out to you with a barely noticeable hesitance, and you didn’t seem to care any longer if he was just in your mind, or if he was a curse, or a ghost, because your fingers were trembling as they traced across his palm— and he was warm, and he was your Satoru. For that moment, his body hadn’t been torn to pieces because it was pulling yours off the couch. His lips weren’t cold and blue, because they were pressing against your forehead as your tears began to fall in salty, stinging waves down your cheeks. Satoru wasn’t dead, because he was right here, and your arms were twisted around the very torso that had been sliced clean off of him. 

Trembling sobs racked your frame as you pulled yourself up with desperate hands on his shoulders, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside of him and hide from the heinous idea that your lover was dead. His hands grasped at your thighs to pull you up, and you cried into his collarbone, tears and snot mixing grotesquely against him so much so that you didn’t notice the pulse you used to press kisses to was no longer there. 

“You said goodbye to everyone!” You cried pounding at his back as he carried you silently toward your bedroom. “I didn’t get anything. You knew— you knew, Satoru!”

Despite his not being able to speak, he still bit his tongue at your accusations. Slowly, he settled down on his side of the bed, clutching you close to his chest as you fought to pull away in order to glare down at him, venom and grief mixing arbitrarily in your veins. You weren’t sure it was him, if he could speak or even understand what you were saying anymore, but you had so much anger in you for how he left things. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?” Your words were being muffled behind your gritted teeth as he finally released the firm grip he had on the back of your head. Balled up fists beat weakly against his chest, though they never hurt him when he was breathing, so they certainly couldn’t hurt him now. “Why didn’t you say goodbye to me?”

He couldn’t speak to explain to you his cowardice and talk you through that crack in your voice. So, he sat up and pulled you into him, pressing his lips against yours as your salty tears seeped into the crevices of his mouth and coated his tongue with your grief. Those familiar fingers creeped up your neck to grasp at your jaw, prying your mouth open as though he could breathe into you every regret he’d left behind. 

Your cries slowly died out against his open mouthed kisses, and you found yourself messily reciprocating, desperate for any distraction from the reality you’d been living in for weeks. His thumbs wiped roughly at each tear that slipped down your cheek, having had his fill of being the cause of them for so long. 

“I love you.” You cried against his tongue, raking your nails through his feathery hair and inhaling deeply through your nose. He didn’t smell like himself anymore— he didn’t smell like anything. Any supplement of him would do though, and your hands dipped down to pull his tshirt off. Those enrapturing eyes stared back at you longingly once the fabric was yanked over his head, and he wanted nothing more than to say it back to you. For now though, you were okay to fill that void in his unwilling silence. “I still love you, Toru. Please— stay.”

Satoru wasn’t sure the morality of his decision, but he knew it had been weeks of aching to reach out to you, and now you were here in his arms, arching against his wandering hands and forgetting that his body was being eaten away at by worms and vermin. Perhaps, he thought as he slid his old shirt over your head and buried his face into your chest, this is exactly why he had been barred from whatever afterlife had been awaiting him. He’d always heard that old expression, the superstition that no one soul can pass on with unfinished business to attend to. Had he barricaded his own soul to the land of the living when he failed to prepare you for his death? Was your grief keeping him here?

If so, he selfishly hoped you’d never recover, because the man who was once the strongest wasn’t sure he was strong enough to leave you— not with how your soul seemed to mesh with his as he settled you over his aching length, hoping to fill the void your mourning for him had created. If Satoru was bound for Heaven, he wasn’t sure that whatever was promised would come close to the holiness of your sweet moans against his ears and your nails’ stinging purchase of his shoulders. 

He’d never leave again, the phantom thought as he watched you sleep that night, curled around his arm as though he might ascend before you woke. There was a serenity in your soft features that had been noticeably missing in his absence, but it was there in your parted lips and gently settled brows as his fingers continued to rake through your hair. You hummed quietly in the midst of your slumber and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and Satoru vowed he’d haunt you to your grave if it meant you’d never be apart again. 

You woke with a start the next morning, a gasp of your lover’s name tumbling from your lips as you shot up in bed. Tears were already threatening to pierce your eyes at the thought that what you had experienced last night was simply a dream— placed torturously into your psyche to feed the black hole of your grief. Whipping your head to the side, you were met with Satoru’s awaiting gaze as he sat against the headboard. Despite your startled state, his lips still curled up at the sight of your barely conscious appearance.

Your hair clung to your cheeks and swayed into your bleary eyes as you attempted to blink away the sleep. It almost gave an energy of a bear that had just risen from a week long hibernation, but he couldn’t blame you as he’d lain witness to the sleepless nights that had plagued you the past few weeks. The comforter slipped from your shoulders, bearing your silken skin and plush chest to him. Acting on a carnal instinct the sight of you seemed so expert at pulling from him, he grasped at the small of your back to pull you into him. 

Your contented hum drifted into his ears as you settled against him once again, your skin still warm with sleep as it pressed against his own. Satoru didn’t realize how much he had been missing when he was still alive and had the weight of the world on his shoulders— rarely ever having gotten the privilege of lazing beside you as you awoke in the mornings. Most of the time, he was still working when you laid your head down to sleep, and he was already gone by the time you woke up. He’d only steal gentle kisses against your temple and wanton brushes of his palms up your thighs and waist as you slept before he’d slip into bed beside you. Now, he was quickly realizing as you pressed lazy kisses against his chest, trailing up his neck and jaw, that those stolen intimacies and rushed affections were never enough. He’d haunt you forever, the ghost vowed once again. 

Your since somber days were filled with something comforting, and, despite the five years you two had spent together prior to his death, this connection was new and warm— exciting. At one point you had even joked with him that you never saw him this much when he was alive, and he could only smile teasingly at you as he watched you devour your breakfast. You ate with an urgency he hadn’t seen in you the last few weeks, and it settled the guilt in his stomach. No, Satoru wasn’t being selfish in holding onto you, this was for you. 

The two of you welcomed the days that followed with open arms. No matter how morbid the circumstances, it was a relief compared to the atrocities you’d faced when he was still the strongest. You watched the list of movies the two of you had always put off, stayed in bed until the late hours of the morning just to make love to each other, lounged pressed up against the other in the steaming bathtub until your fingers wrinkled and the water was as cold as his corpse. 

Satoru’s lips curled into an easy smile as you shivered against him. His large hands created a soft splash as he lifted them from the water to run them down your trembling shoulders. You tilted your head back against his chest to look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“C’mon, Toru, I need to get under the covers asap.” You laughed eagerly, moving to push yourself up. His brows furrowed, and he pulled you back against him. It was another little moment that he wished he could say he missed from his time of living, but it was an intimacy he rarely had the time to share with you. He curled his fingers around the plush flesh of your arms and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of your neck as if to coax you to stay just like this for a moment longer. You sighed softly, tilting your head forward to allow him more access to the delicate skin you prayed he’d continue to explore. “You’re not cold?”

This gave his ministrations pause. Attempting to erase the distraction of your scent from his senses, he tried to concentrate on how the water felt against his skin. Upon feeling his hesitation, you glanced back at him. His incandescent eyes peered down at you, and he could only meekly shake his head at your question. It was a stark reminder of what he was and what he wasn’t— one you’d gladly forgotten about in place of his presence. 

It was after this instance that you began to notice all the little changes, the parts of Satoru that were no longer there. His typical, overwhelming sweet tooth was eradicated, and it felt almost unnatural the way he watched you eat the chocolate chip pancakes that were once his favorite of your dishes, not once trying to steal an extra bite from your plate as was his norm, much less grabbing any for himself. You chewed uncomfortably, switching the mush of pancake from one cheek to another as he leaned his chin on his fist and watched you with a contented smile. Still, it was better than forcing food down your throat in his absence, so you swallowed your breakfast with a soft smile and accepted the kiss he pressed against the knuckle of your free hand. 

You tried to not think about what all these things meant. The way he didn’t eat, how his usually racing mouth was now always shut, how you’d awake in the middle of the night to find him simply staring down at you; it made your blood run cold. It was better than being alone, you told yourself. It was better than being without him. 

His looming gaze burned holes in your back as you searched through your cabinets for the ingredients to make the festive cookies you typically prepared each year when Halloween was approaching. Usually, Satoru would be hovering over your shoulder, dipping his fingers into the batter as you swatted him away. He’d hang his long frame over the kitchen island as if it were a hammock, head dangling over the side as he shouted random numbers at you in an attempt to throw off your measurements. Those glistening lips would curl up into a mischievous smile each time you’d turn around to glare half-heartedly at him— pleased that he’d stolen your attention back just as he wanted. 

It was silent now though as you turned around to meet his gaze. You puffed out some air, blowing your bangs from your face as you closed the cabinet. 

“I guess stepping out of this place for a little bit wouldn’t hurt.” You commented with a soft sigh. 

It had been months since you’ve seen another human being— much less left the house. Since Satoru’s sudden reemergence, and, truthfully, you didn’t feel you had a reason to ever leave again. There was only so long you could live with what you had at the house though. Looking down at your pajama-clad figure, you stood up to begin your trek to the room to change into something more presentable. Behind you, hurried footsteps followed after you. Just as you were about to shed your tank top, a quick hand caught your wrist. 

The frantic look in Satoru’s blue eyes unsettled you for the smallest fraction of a second— the way his snowy brows furrowed, nose scrunched up as if you’d just told him a joke of the poorest taste. A small gulp forced its way down your throat, but you managed a forced smile. 

“I’ve gotta get some groceries, Toru.” You laughed meekly, tugging your arm from his grasp. He blinked a few times at you as you fished out an old sweater of his to pull on. “Some of us around here still eat, you know.” 

He didn’t like the way you reminded him of his own mortality status. For the first time since his dominating haunting of you, he felt disconnected from you. It was the first time he thought about the fact that there was an entire world outside this house awaiting your return. The people and stories lying behind these four walls were vibrant, loud, alive. Satoru suddenly wondered if your days turned weeks of quiet, domestic tranquility would be enough. 

His feet seemed to move on their own accord as he followed you to the front door, wishing with everything in him that he could yell at you to stop, to not leave him behind. Reaching out in a haze, he slammed the front door that you had opened back shut. You flinched back with a start, turning to blink up at him in astonishment. There was barely a hint of anger or hostility left in his expression though. In its place was fear, desperation, and an eagerness to keep you anchored to the very place he himself was doomed to. There was only one thing that the world outside you and Satoru’s home didn’t have, and it was the only thing his spirit could offer you in exchange for your blind loyalty— himself. 

Easily pushing you back against the door, Satoru kissed you as he kept his own tears and doubts hidden— doubts about what his selfishness made him and what it would do to you, what it was already doing to you. He could feel it as his hands roamed down your waist and hips in their desperate pursuit to your thighs, that you were smaller than he last remembered you being. There was a hesitation in your reciprocating, but it was as if you could still hear him now, whispering to you through the wet smacks of your lips and the clashing of your teeth— 

Don’t leave me. He longed to beg of you as he sank down onto his knees before you. As his white lashes fluttered up and his glittering eyes peered up at you from his place, dragging anguished kisses up the exposed skin of your thighs, Satoru could only smile against your clothed heat. 

It was always his favorite thing to do— something he was so skilled at— drawing your attention right back to him. It was so clear in your wanton gaze down at him, with your brows drawn softly together as your chest rose and fell in tandem with his teasing kisses, that he had drawn you in once again, even if just for a moment longer. 

Your head bumped against the front door you were trying to leave through just moments ago as Satoru peeled the layers from your hips. Despite your angled head, your eyes strained to meet his gaze that had not once left yours since his descent down your body. There was a certain betrayal in them and a daringness that asked you how could you think to leave me behind? 

In the midst of your pleasured gasp as his fingers circled your entrance lovingly before plunging in with gusto, you didn’t notice the way his free hand crept up to lock the door once again before trailing down your arm and locking his fingers between yours. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” The apology spilled from your lips with a shaking gasp, eyes finally falling shut as his lips circled your clit in tandem with his digits’ massages against your walls. You weren’t sure why you had felt the need to apologize— it was your right, after all, wasn’t it? To continue living? To not die along with him? Still, the hungered whines that were pulled from him and fell against you told a different story, one that ended in a happily ever after even if that meant opening his casket to lay beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

They continued to fall from your lips as your high crept over you and molded you against the offending door. Just as you were about to slip past the final layer of sanity that grasped at you by the thinnest of threads, a sharp rap at the door had the waves of your release crashing unceremoniously to a halt in the depths of your stomach. With a startled, choked gasp, you fell forward, hands steadying you atop Satoru’s broad shoulders.

 His lips pried off you with a wet smack, and he tilted his head back to look at you— eyes wide and startled as if just reminded that it wasn’t just you two left in the world. Your chest heaved as you two stared at one another silently, and he shook his head— that familiar feeling of doubt creeping up in his chest. Your attention was drawn from him for the second time that day though as another knock sounded against the wood door, this one more urgent than the last.

Fighting against the guilt in your stomach at Satoru’s betrayed expression, you pushed off of him and quickly adjusted your clothes back over you. Wiping at your face as if it would give away your most recent escapades, you took an anxious breath in as you cracked the door open. 

The familiar sight of a tall, raven haired boy crashed against your anxiety with waves of relief— and it was slowly taken over by guilt with the reminder of the hundreds of texts and calls you’d avoided for so long. His fist was raised as if prepared to knock again, but it fell slowly upon seeing you through the crack of the door. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fall in tandem with the breath he released, his scarred face melting in relief before hardening once again. 

“Megumi—” Your meek greeting was cut off when he abruptly opened the door of your house fully and stepped in without another word. 

Unbridled fear gripped you as, for the first time since the start of your morbid affair, someone else stepped into the sacred space you and Satoru had carved out for yourselves in the past weeks. There were so many reasons you had left your loved ones in the dark— no answers about your wellbeing or needs in your time of grieving, but the most notable was the fact that you still didn’t know just what Satoru was now. Bringing someone else in posed the threat of losing him once again should your least desirable hypothesis be proven true— that he was merely a curse manifested in the wake of your grief. 

Watching with bated breath, Megumi closed the door behind him, and he was only inches from your lover. The phantom loomed over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but the boy made no indication that he had seen his dearly departed mentor standing a mere inches away from him, but, just for a moment, you thought you saw his lanky frame shake with the tiniest of shivers. If he suspected anything of the sudden intrusion, he didn’t mention it, instead casting his dark eyes around the house before settling on you once again. You released a quiet breath of relief. 

“You haven’t—” It was clear in his harsh tone that he was prepared to lecture you on your radio silence, but he stopped himself, forcing his hard features to soften a bit before looking back up at you. “I just— are you okay? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

You remained silent, watching the concern pool in his eyes as he assessed you up and down. Since the last time he’d seen you, you certainly appeared smaller, your cheeks sunken in and your collarbones more pronounced. Your eyes, the ones that once gazed at him with such fierce doting and concern for his own wellbeing were rimmed with dark circles that were more apparent against the way your skin had paled over the past weeks. In your silence, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’m worried about you.” Megumi finally admitted gruffly. “When was the last time you left the house? Talked to someone?” 

Your mouth opened and closed, eyes drifted over his shoulder to meet Satoru’s awaiting gaze. The boy in front of him followed your gaze, snapping back to you when he was met by nothing but air. 

“I-I’m fine, Megs.” You reassured with an unconvincing smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He spat as his expression hardened once again. His lashes fluttered angrily across his cheekbones as he blinked away the traitorous tears that threatened to burn at his eyes. 

It was his every intent to come here and be the strong one for you in Gojo’s absence. At the end of the day though, it wasn’t just you that had lost him. Megumi had lost his mentor, the only father figure he ever had. He figured the two of you would be grieving together— as doting on and endlessly embarrassing the boy had quickly become a team effort when you and Satoru got together. You filled the spaces that the six eyes couldn’t, lending an ear to problems your boyfriend never had the tact or grace to help out with himself. 

When Gojo died, Megumi never expected to lose you too. 

“You can’t expect me to go back to normal.” You explained, wanting nothing more than for him to leave. The reminder of how sickly you’d been coping with your loss was eating away at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be confronted by it any longer. “I lost my—”

“I lost him too, okay? Now don’t make me have to grieve you too— because I can’t.” Megumi was no longer looking you in the eyes, instead pretending that the various magnets on the fridge were far more interesting than your conversation. Slipping quickly down the side of his cheek though, you caught a glimpse of a rare tear before he furiously swiped it away. 

Suddenly, the guilt you were feeling was not for Satoru, or the pathetic means by which you’ve been holding onto him, but instead you felt an overwhelming contrition for the life you left behind in the midst of your coping, the people you left behind. You pushed past Satoru, paying no mind to the constricted expression on his face and pulled Megumi into a tight embrace. In his typical, nonchalant fashion though, his arms remained stiffly at his sides. Still, he buried his face into your shoulder for a brief second, allowing the grief to wash over the both of you, reminding each other that neither were ever alone in these uncharted waters. 

With a quick sniff, he pulled away from you in an attempt to collect himself. 

“Come on, let’s get lunch or something.” Megumi’s tone bordered on begging, but the man keeping you tied to this house had you biting your lip in contemplation. The boy sighed lowly at your apprehension. “Please, Gojo would have killed me if he knew I was letting you waste away like this. Come with me.” 

This revelation sliced through Satoru’s chest deeper than his fatal blow ever could have reached. For the first time since his mysterious return in your life, he looked past his need to be someone in your life, past the desire to keep you well past the time fate had allotted for the two of you, and he saw only a shell of the woman he loved. Now, you were shackled with one leg in his grave and the other tethered to your home— never able to stray too far. 

Without a care of how bizarre you appeared you peered right into Satoru’s awaiting eyes to find the stinging acceptance that you had been searching for. As if he could speak, the ghost gulped down any venomous words that threatened to spill out, as he turned on his heel and left you to make your decision. You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the hallway, your bottom lip trembling in fear. If you walked out those doors, would he still be here when you got back? 

“Hey,” Megumi’s voice sounded distant, but the subtle desperation laced in it snapped you from your contemplative state. A tear raced down your cheek as you looked back at the boy. In his wide eyes, you saw the young boy who was blindly following Gojo into the world of jujutsu— the one who was too proud and scared of growing attached to admit that he was so grateful that above all else, you never pushed him to prove himself. There was never a conversation about how strong he had become, in its place were soft questions of if Gojo had given him a break that day, or if he had eaten. You were a rock to him for so long, and he recognized that look in your eye— the one that said you weren’t sure what was worth fighting for anymore. “Come on, I haven’t eaten today.”

Through the blur of your tears, you smiled wobbly at him, laughing tearfully as you reached up to smooth his hair down. This— you decided as you followed Megumi out the door for the first time in two months with your bag slung over your shoulder— was worth accepting grief for. 

Despite your coming to terms with the fact that reintroducing yourself into the life you’d built for yourself might mean truly letting go of Satoru in the process— fear gripped every nerve in your body as you returned home that night. You bid Megumi goodbye with a tight embrace once he’d helped you put your groceries away, and, with a promise that you’d answer your phone every once and a while, he left you alone in the house still haunted by your lover. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and kitchen— Satoru was nowhere to be found. A deep dread settled into the pits of your stomach, and you had to remind yourself that you weren’t at fault for choosing to continue living. No matter how many pep talks you gave yourself though, and how fulfilling it felt to have a purpose once again, even if just for a few hours, there was an undeniable feeling of loss that accompanied the fact that you and Satoru were left with no closure. 

“Toru?” You called out, your careful footsteps being the only, subtle noise echoing through the eerily silent house. The door of your bedroom creeked open under your palm’s hesitant push, but it too was barren. A familiar feeling of helplessness began to rise within your chest. It was the sensation that the very essence of what seemed to hold your world together was slipping past your fingers as though grains of sand in perilous tides. No matter how hard or desperately you squeezed your fists together— it was leaving you to be washed away by a greater power. “Satoru, this isn’t funny!”

The stinging tears that flowed down your cheeks were angry— offended that he’d leave you behind once again like this. Just like the first time, he’d left no warning, no explanation or preparation for his abrupt departure. It was a betrayal like no other, and you kicked open the door of the bathroom with all the anger it burned within you. The knob slammed against the wall, undoubtedly leaving an ugly hole in its wake, but the sight of the empty restroom was a far more grueling vision to behold. 

“Please, I’m sorry I left.” You cried into the empty space as you walked in further to rip the curtain of the shower back as if he would pop out from his hiding spot at any moment. Your knees buckled underneath you, and you curled into yourself against the cold tile flooring. There was a persistent pounding in your skull as your sobs shook your body, and, for a moment, you considered calling Megumi back to take you Jujutsu High— fearing what your mind may whisper to you in the midst of your breakdown. Your nails dug crescent shaped marks into your arms as you tried to grasp onto any sense of reality. “Come back. Please come back.”

There was a pregnant silence behind your shaking sobs that blanketed over the frigid bathroom for just a moment longer before the shattering of glass let you know you weren’t alone. You jolted up with a strangled scream at the sound, your arms coming up to shield you from the shards of broken glass the richocheted from the wall. Once it had finally settled, you slowly lowered your arms, eyes focusing on the larger shard that had fallen in front of you. From its reflection, Satoru’s piercing eyes stared back at you— a certain peace in them that wasn’t there when you’d last seen them. 

You quickly lifted your head, mouth agape at the sight of the phantom, still there, still with you. With your legs moving on their own accord, shards of glass pierced through your knees as you moved to pull yourself up, the unmistakable sensation of blood seeping onto your skin. Satoru squatted down, silently halting your movements. His eyes never left yours as he picked up a small envelope from the pile of glass. You hadn’t noticed it before— too transfixed on his still being there. 

Any words you wished to spew out to him died in your throat as he handed the envelope to you, and after a moment, you finally broke the intense eye contact you had been maintaining with him to look down at it. It had your name scribbled across the front. Without a doubt, you instantly recognized it as Satoru’s familiar penmanship. Your brows furrowed as your trembling fingers grasped onto the paper in confusion. The man before you could only watch, his stillness inviting you to rip open the damned paper, so you did.

You can’t tell anyone that I was too scared to say goodbye to you in person— I’m still supposed to be the strongest, you know (even if I went out like a total LOSER). I’m sorry to have left like this, but I think if you had asked me not to go, I might have actually listened. Quite the accomplishment, sweetcheeks, being the one person Gojo Satoru ever truly feared.

I’ll always love you and the life we were working to build, even if I won’t be around to see how you make it your own.

Please don’t waste the rest of your life looking at my reflection. 

(Seriously, don’t make me haunt you)

Your Toru.

The black ink before you smudged as your tears fell onto the page. You read it over and over again, unsure if the feeling crashing into you was still grief, or if the hint of relief washing over your system was real. Had your closure been here all along— hidden behind the damned mirror you stared mindlessly into for weeks?

“I didn’t want you to let me go.” 

You were sure you had begun hallucinating as Satoru’s melodic voice swam into your ears, filling you with a comfort you had been missing for far too long. Finally tearing your gaze from the letter, you looked up at him, mouth agape. As he stared back at you, there was a certain lightness that seemed to fill the air around him, and he knew his time with you was limited. 

“I figured you’d find it eventually. I just… I wanted you to hold onto me for a little longer.” He admitted before staring up at the now barren wall that once held that damned mirror. With a humorless laugh, he rolled his eyes at his own selfishness. “So much for the strongest, am I right?”

“Toru,” You whispered, fiercely blinking back the tears that dared blur your vision of him. He caught you as you threw your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. “I never needed you to be the strongest. I just wanted to know you were there— that what you left behind meant something to you.”

“It meant everything. You meant everything to me.” Satoru reassured, and as he opened his eyes, he could no longer see the sink, or the tub, the tiles; he only saw your trembling figure crouched beside him. Closure—  he knew what it would mean, but he was now willing to be left behind if it meant you got to move forward. 

“Are you leaving?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. 

“Afraid so—  but do me a favor, yeah?” He pulled back to smile fondly down at you, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You nodded dumbly at him as he brushed your hair behind your ears. “Get a new mirror, and stop looking for me in it, okay?”

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you laughed breathlessly at his words.

“Okay.” You choked out in agreement, closing your eyes as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. A sly smile spread across his lips as he looked down at you one last time. 

“It was never as good as the real thing anyway.”

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

💌🎀

Bitchy popular reader x Eddie, enemies who fuck and idiots in love, jealousy, angst and fluff, 18+ blog so mdni.

❤️

Eddie is waiting for you in one of the disused classrooms in Hawkins High. He's perched on the desk, long limbs stretched out, an endearing goofy smile on his face as you walk over to him, quietly shutting the door. He gets up and tugs you to him.

"You're lucky I was able to sneak away Munson, I'm sure the girls are getting suspicious, not helping with that hickey you left on my neck" you chastise him.

Eddie looks smug as hell as you say this. "Well I could leave them on your breasts or between your thighs instead" he replies in a husky tone which makes arousal pool in your lower stomach. You tug him to you and kiss him.

He backs you up against the wall and you wrap your legs around his waist, moaning as his fingers dig into your backside and he sucked on a particular sweet spot of yours on your neck.

"If you keep moaning like that princess someone's going to catch us" Eddie murmurs as he kisses along your jaw, soft moans issue from the both of you.

"We wouldn't want that would we?" You reply sweetly and your nails dig into his back causing a groan of pleasure to leave his lips.

In public you and Eddie were enemies, the two of you couldn't stand one another so that was fine. Until the barbs, teasing and heavy tension exploded one night into the most mind-blowing sex.

Since then you couldn't get enough of one another and snuck around in private, away from the prying eyes of Hawkins High gossip chain.

Here the two of you could let your desires run wild, you couldn't stay away from Eddie and he couldn't stay away from you either.

"What the fuck?" the door bursts open and Sasha, a new member to Hellfire is staring at you both, her mouth falls open. She's gazing at the two of you stunned.

"You and you" she points to you and then Eddie and then appears momentarily speechless. You sigh and distentangle yourself from Eddie.

"Uh, Sasha hey" Eddie waves and you smirk amused as Sasha's face goes impossibly redder and redder. You fix your clothes and hair and apply your lipgloss, the one Eddie loves the taste of and wait for the kick off.

She's still spluttering and you grow impatient as you wait for her to say something. You give her a little wave and she swears under her breath.

Fuck could she just say something because you were cold and Eddie's lips were still looking very inviting, all kiss bitten and a little swollen. Involuntarily you shiver and Eddie notices, picks up his jacket and wraps it around you.

The gesture is so unexpected and gentle that it surprises you. Sasha makes a strangled sound in her throat and instead of blowing up at Eddie, she storms out and Eddie sighs.

"I'll handle it princess" he follows her out and you wait for him to come back, eventually you make your way to where they are as Sasha's voice raises.

Sasha frowns, "You know I had a bit of a crush on you, that's why I joined Hellfire. Not that it matters now. You're with her" she huffs. You feel a tiny bolt of jealousy and glare at her.

Ah shit Eddie sighs,. Hewas afraid of this. He knows he has to be as gentle as possible turning her down. "Look, I'm sorry Sasha but I only see you as a friend, that's it. I don't feel that way about you, sorry"

"I get that, I understand that Eddie but why are you even with her in the first place, you could have picked anyone else. She's from the dark side, popular and can be bitchy when she wants to be, like what the hell?" Sasha demands to him.

Eddie can't explain it, he can't explain why he's so drawn to you, how he can't stay away.

" It's just sex. It doesn't mean that much" you feel like you've been punched in the stomach when you hear Eddie say that.

Just sex. That's all you were? You will yourself not to cry and walk past Eddie and Sasha, toss his jacket to him and don't say a word. Eddie must be able to read your expression because his own face falls.

"Sweetheart" he calls after you but you ignore him and get in your car. It's only when you're back at home that the tears finally flow freely.

If you didn't mean anything to him then maybe you should just move on, stop this shit between you and Eddie goes on longer and longer.

The longer it goes on it will only increase your heartbreak when it ends. You can't risk that.

❤️

Sasha spends half the day glaring at you and Eddie, Eddie spends most of it trying to to talk to you.

Eventually you grow tired of his attempts and talk to him. "Alright Munson, if you want sex then just say or not" you snap and he looks taken aback.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He hisses, the tension rises between the two of you, it's so thick that you feel like you can't breathe. Stubbornly you hold his gaze and shrug.

"Nothing, what would be wrong? Of course you want to talk about sex or some shit like that. It's all I am to you and good for, right?" Your friends round the corner and you use this as an excuse to get away from Eddie and those stupidly pretty, big brown eyes.

❤️

There's a party at Jason's tonight you'd much rather be anywhere else right now. Jason is acting like his usual douchebag self, which darkens your mood even further.

Not helping matters is that Eddie's here, doing his usual dealings. Not that it bothers you that he makes money this way, it's to lessen the burden on his uncle which you think is sweet.

No, you're pissed at the fact that he's here at all, you've avoided him all day at school and now you have to avoid him here too. What could you say to him that didn't end with him either laughing at you or outright rejection. It wasn't appealing to you in the slightest.

Hurt by the fact that you're nothing but a fuck buddy to him you distract yourself and flirt with Jackson.

The flirting draws the attention of Eddie who stills and watches you and Jackson like a hawk. You ignore Eddie's silent fuming, even if it does give you a little thrill.

But you mean nothing to him so why does he care?

You sip your beer and nod your head to the music, catch up with your friends until a very irate Eddie catches your eye again and jerks his head to the door. He wants to talk.

Swallowing your nerves, you down your beer and walk past him, he follows you and you can see the jealousy written all over his face.

Once you're far away from the party Eddie rounds on you, "What the fuck was that? Jackson Reilly, are you fucking kidding me?" He sneers at you.

"He's nice to me" you shrug and his cheeks darken in anger. Brown eyes flashing dangerously.

"So I'm an asshole to you huh? You want a small dick fucker like him?" you shake your head and fold your arms across your chest, protecting yourself.

"No you dingus, I want you but you made it very obvious how you feel?" he looks to you confused and you move closer to him, frustrated that he's forgotten what he said.

You glare at Eddie and mimic what he said to Sasha "It's just sex, it doesn't mean that much. So you won't care if I'm with someone else then, no?" Eddie swallows and reaches out to you.

"I didn't mean that. I opened my big mouth to try and salvage the situation and I said dumb shit" you pout still feeling down about the whole thing.

"You still said it. So obviously you must think like that" he softens and he tugs you close to him, you smell the faintest hint of smoke and Eddie's cologne. You're favourite scent.

"No. No I really don't" he admits to you and the way he sounds, the affection for you is clear as day in his voice, it does things to your heart. You feel yourself soften slightly. Just slightly.

"How do I know you're not lying?" you murmur and try to hide the vulnerability in your voice. He shakes his head.

"I would never lie about things like this princess" he says sincerely and you believe him, rest your head on his chest.

"Shall we get out of here?" you nod at his suggestion, just wanting to lose yourself in him for a while.

...

Much later Eddie is fucking you on the hood of Jackson's car, his eyes meet yours and his hands tighten in yours as you both reach an explosive orgasm. It takes your breath away.

Eddie's lips shakily press to your forehead and his hand reaches up to stroke your cheek.

"This does mean something to me sweetheart, more than you know" he kisses you again and it sends your heart racing. As do his words, because you know that this means something to you too.

🫶

[picturejasper20]

Looking back the ending of Gravity Falls while thinking about endings of other series like Amphibia and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, Weirdmageddon has a message that is underwhelming when it comes to Dipper and Mabel's relationship and Mabel's potrayal in the show.

This isn't about Mabel getting tricked by Bill. She is a 12-13 years old that in that context she was feeling really bad and not thinking well what she was doing. That isn't relevant to the topic at hand and honestly it isn't a problem she did that, it does makes sense in the episode it happened.

What i have an issue is how the narrative makes Dipper feel bad about considering staying studying with Stanford. This is something that Dipper was interested in and he was very fascinated by anything that was paranormal related. Stanford himself told Dipper he had a lot of potential and the kid was digging into it.

Mabel lashing out and not liking the idea of Dipper staying with Stanford is understandable in the episode Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future. She doesn't seem to have much friends back in her home and her parents are implied to not be the best. She gets scared of Dipper leaving, that's a reasonable fear for a kid to have.

However, as i mentioned before, Dipper is made feel bad about considering choosing something he wants to do. It isn't Mabel who has to learn that things change and sometimes this brings things we don't like. She doesn't exactly consider what Dipper wants for himself, she mainly cares about how ¨she is going to be alone¨ and making her brother feel selfish for choosing his own path or do something that could make him happy.

Yes, she learns that things can't stay the same forever and they are growing up, that itself is a pretty good development for her and overall a good message to teach.

Yet her being codependent on Dipper doesn't get brought up nor addressed, in fact the series seems to praise this behavior of hers. In how Dipper has to do what she wants if not he is a bad brother. Mabel's clinginess and controlling behaviour to an extent isn't called out, which that itself is a problem.

Small edit: I want to add an extra point here that Mabel does have a short scene near the end of the episode that she tells Dipper that she won't get in his way if he wants to stay with Stanford and she was ¨acting nuts¨ in the dream bubble. This is good for her but it does still feel in part that her issues weren't fully acknowledged and it doesn't help she didn't say this until after Dipper told her that he was going to stay with her and not be with Stanford, which is rather questionable in my opinion. It would have been more appropiate in the episode to have this brought up and getting adressed better than for her to wait for Dipper to do what she wanted.

In contrast in Amphibia, Marcy Wu has a similar arc about change. The series explores how she can take her escapism too far and how she can be very selfish in plenty of ways, something that is potrayed as an aspect she has to learn from and realize that it isn't healthy.

Her being too codependent on Anne and Sasha and their overall friendship is potrayed as toxic and the series explores this relationship a lot, having the girls grow over time and think about different aspects they have to work on.

In ¨True Colors¨ it is revealed that Marcy Wu learned about the Calamity Box the same day she got told by her parents that they were moving away. Very afraid of having to leave her friends behind and having to be alone in a new city, she found the Calamity Box and told Sasha and Anne about it. Worth of mentioning she didn't know if it would work but it was a desperate act of her just to not having to move away from her friends yet.

When Sasha and Anne find out about this they are, not surprisingly, very pissed and push from Marcy away for a moment, making Marcy realize her mistake and eventually apologizes for what she did.

In ¨All In¨ Marcy finally comes to terms with how she can't force Anne and Sasha to be the way she wants them to be and that her codependency on them isn't a good thing. She realizes that has to move away to her new home at some point, that things change but that doesn't mean the three of them have to stop being friends.

As you can see, there is a clear difference between how Mabel Pines and Marcy Wu’s characters and flaws are potrayed in the narrative. While Gravity Falls makes Mabel’s codependency and controlling behaviour to be something acceptable and that Dipper should conform to, Amphibia does the complete opposite and presents Marcy Wu’s actions as flaws she has and that can hurt other people, including her friends. She is the one that has to make a change and understand she has to work on herself if she wants to have new friends and keep these relationships as times moves on.

Since we are on topic, one thing that really bothered me is how Mabel created a version of Dipper that is ¨cool¨ and says yes and goes along with everything she wants to do. (Weirdmageddon Part 2)

This has… interesting implications of how Mabel believes that relationships should work, or at least with her brother twin Dipper. A lot has to do with how she and Dipper have very different personalities and she maybe wishes that he was more like her, but expecting someone else to say ¨yes¨ to everything you want is a toxic mentality to have. And the episode itself doesn’t address this enough, it doesn’t bring up to Mabel she can’t expect people to work like this and she should try thinking more about what others wants.

Lets talk about The Ghost and Molly Mcgee. In this series Molly Mcgee often has episodes where she has to learn certain lessons. One of them she learns over time is that often she has to give up control and let what others want to do instead.

A good example of this is ¨Ready, Set, Snow!¨ in which she is constanly trying to make Libby and Scratch to go and play outside in the snow with her without considering they would rather stay inside and sit near the fire for the moment. She spends most of the episode trying to find ways to make them go outside until she gets angry and goes out on her own. She has… quite of a mental breakdown in a sequence song. Scratch goes to check on her but he tells to her that she can’t do always what she wants and what it is important is for her to be spending time with her friends. Molly realizes she was wrong, goes back to the house and she apologizes for how she acted.

Molly has quite a lot of episodes like this, and all this becomes important in the series finale ¨The End¨ when she sees that Scratch has to go back to be Todd even if that means forgetting the memories he got as a ghost, her included. She tells Scratch that she is going to miss him a lot but she knows that forcing Scratch to stay wouldn’t be right. She encourages Scratch to go and ¨live his life¨ because she cares about Scratch being happy.

Similar to Marcy Wu, Molly learns that she can’t force people to do what she wants and she has to let them choose for themselves. She knows that encouraging Scratch to do what he always wanted to do as human is the right thing to do, even if it means saying goodbye to him.

I do understand the idea that Gravity Falls was doing at with something among the lines of ¨Dipper and Mabel not repeating the same mistakes that their uncles did¨ but that doesn’t mean Dipper has to give up his dreams at expense of what Mabel wants. As Dipper said in VS The Future episode: he can still visit and they can still talk to each other. They don’t have to fall apart the same way Standford and Stan did. Just like in Amphibia, if Marcy still was able to remain friends with Anne and Sasha over the years, the same can be applied to Dipper and Mabel as siblings.

If not, it could be rewritten in a way that makes Dipper reconsider that he would like to wait a few years before joining Stanford in his adventures. That he is still a kid and wants to spend a while longer figuring himself out and be with Mabel before making a decision. That way it feels more like a decision he wants to do for himself and goes along with his character arc that he doesn’t have to rush to grow up.

As for Mabel, she has a lot of growing up to do. She has to learn overtime that Dipper is his own person and he can take is own path. That if she wants to have friends or have in general healthy relationships with others, she can’t make it always about herself and people have their own needs as well. She would have to work on her codependency and clinginess she has on others, specially her own brother. This would help her with being a more mature capable individual when she grows up.

This post on itself isn’t me hating on Mabel’s character since she has moments she can be good and i feel a lot of her behaviour comes from not being taught properly and being a teenager. The problem is that the series doesn’t address this behaviour enough and, as result, it comes off as the series giving an unintentional underwhelming message of potraying Mabel’s issues as something that should be acceptable and not her having a dynamic with Dipper that comes off as toxic. It is important to understand to learn to support others and not always make things about ourselves. That sometimes relationships change and we can’t force people to be in a specific way.

[syoish-aot]

Been thinking about a Ten Seconds sequel lately, and I feel like the fic would open up with something a little like this....

[established Eren x asexual!Reader, modern verse, they're in their mid 20s]

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Eren,” you say, “look at me.”

“Don’t look at her Eren!”

“Eren,” you repeat as you gently hold his face in your hands, forcing his gaze towards you. His eyes are the last thing to move. They stay locked on Armin before slowly, because he can’t stop himself from doing it, they move over to meet yours. “Eren you-...” you start, “you’re the love of my life.”

“OH MY GOD!!” Jean groans. “This seriously has to be against the rules! She can’t just-”

You flip Jean off, still staring intently at Eren from your place in his lap.

“Eren,” you start over, “you’re the love of my life and I would never ever lie to you.”

“She’s totally lying to you!!”

You ignore Jean as Eren squirms uncomfortably underneath you, currently caught between a rock and a hard place, especially with the way you’re looking at him.

His heart is thundering in his chest at the feeling of your soft hands on his cheeks. Your thighs against his. The way your breath ghosts softly over his face as you look at him, your boyfriend of three years, with nothing but pure love and adoration. He feels like he might melt.

“I’m not the werewolf,” you say, “it’s Jean.”

“I TOLD YOU IT IS NOT ME!!!”

“You’re the last villager left, right?” Eren nods along with your words. “So if you do the right thing and say that Jean is the werewolf, then you and I can be the last two survivors. We can win together.”

“Holy shit seriously!?” Jean turns to Armin, who’s holding back laughter at his boyfriend’s competitive outburst. “Armin, c’mon you have to tell her to stop! This is so unfair!”

“Sorry Jean,” Armin giggles, “I’m dead already, I can’t do anything about this.”

Jean groans and turns to Connie. “Back me up here, dude!”

“Nah this is hilarious.” Connie laughs as he leans back against the couch, taking another sip from his drink as he watches the end of their game of Ultimate Werewolf unfold.

Jean just groans again as he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Eren don’t be a fucking idiot! She’s obviously the werewolf!! She took Sasha out last round because she was onto her!”

“Eren, he's jumping to conclusions,” you defend. “I’m your girlfriend, I love you so much and I wouldn’t lie to you like that.”

“You promise?” Eren asks, finally speaking for the first time since you crawled into his lap after Jean started throwing accusations at you.

“Of course I promise.” You lean forwards to give him a chaste kiss. “Besides,” you say as you pull away from his lips, “are you really going to pick Jean over me?”

And perhaps that’s what finally does it.

“Jean’s the werewolf,” Eren proclaims, “she’s a villager.”

“Is that your final vote?” Armin asks, mildly muffled by Jean’s yells of protest.

Eren locks eyes with yours and he nods.

“Alright,” Armin says, “what were you guys?”

Jean pulls up his card to show the group, loudly shouting: “I’M THE FUCKING DOCTOR YOU IDIOT!!!”

The card he was showing was, in fact, the doctor. Which meant….

“I won!!!” You proudly announce as you hop off Eren’s lap and flash everyone your own card:

werewolf

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU SHE WAS LYING!!!” Jean throws his card onto the table as you leap across the room to add a green tally behind your name on the whiteboard, marking another satisfying victory.

“You…. You lied to me?” Eren asks, still getting over the shock of your betrayal.

“Sorry babe,” you tell him as you turn around, snapping the lid onto the whiteboard marker as you do, “that’s just how the game’s played, I’m afraid.”

“You play this game the way I imagine a war criminal would play this game.” Mikasa says.

“Aww…” You place your hand on your heart. “Thank you.”

[kasagia]

Devoted

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem! shadow summoner! reader Summary: Aleksander and Baghra have been your family since you left the house of your father, who blamed you for your mother's death in childbirth. You and Sasha became more; he was your epic love interest and mentor. You wanted to be just like him... until one event radically changed your beliefs and led you to doubt your great purpose. Nonsense from me: This is a request from @justmasblack I hope that you like it! 💙🖤 P.S. I'm so sorry it took me so long. 😅 (Inspired by Vampire - Olivia Rodrigo) Warning(s): angst, mentions of death, blood, violence, the reader and Aleksander are lost, the reader can't go on like this any longer Word count: 6,7k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell

Hate to give the satisfaction, asking how you're doing now How's the castle built off people you pretend to care about? Just what you wanted Look at you, cool guy, you got it

"How do you feel?" you ask, standing in the doorway to his chamber.

It's the first time since you've seen him after… the fold. He has his face down on the ground and looks at his hands. In one of them, he holds a handkerchief… soaked in his black blood.

He doesn't even look up at you.

"Good. How was your mission?" you sigh at his question and move deeper into the room, glancing briefly at the nichevo'yas present in the room.

"They have to be here even when you're talking to me?" you ask mockingly, but instead of immediately responding to your irritable provocation, he tenses up. Something is wrong. He tries to mask it with a fake, mocking smile.

"Are you afraid of them?" he asks, challenging you, looking at the remains of Morozova's stag in his hand.

"I fear nothing but myself." you respond to him with one of the rules you learned from living by his side. He nods his head in appreciation.

"Properly. Do you have what I wanted?" he asks and gets up from his chair, still with his back to you, and walks over to his desk, where his unfinished glass of whisky and bottle are.

"Have I ever let you down?" you ask and walk over to him, putting down all the important and needed notes and books he left in the Little Palace.

"Never. Not you." he replies thoughtfully, swirling the glass and drinking the rest of the alcohol in one gulp. "That's why I have another mission for you."

"You won't even ask about the freed Grishas? About how I managed to steal them from the palace and bring them here?"

"Since you're here, I'm guessing it went smoothly. Besides, I heard horses pounding in the courtyard. Everyone made it, didn't they?" he asks confidently, sorting through the things you brought him. You smile involuntarily. Always confident.

"Good to know the volcra didn't yank your arrogance out of you, but if you're going to mock me, at least look at my face, Aleksander." you challenge him, staring at his back defiantly, knowing full well that he feels your gaze.

"Only you can make fun of a volcra attack with such cruelty. Now I see why people hated you for that." he says, finally turning to face you.

You think he looks at you with more intensity than you do. Always judging, anticipating, and analysing his next move. Oddly enough, his behaviour interests you more than the black scars on his face.

You take a few steps towards him and stop, leaving a meagre, short distance between you two. One small step forward, and you could kiss him.

You hold back, though, and put your hand over his cheek. His rough beard gently tickles you as you run your thumb over the scar on his cheek. He is watching you intently, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels your fingertips on one of his black scars.

"Do you want me to kiss it better?" you ask him, leaning closer to him.

"150 years by my side and I still don't know when you're joking and when you're serious." he says in wonder, staring at you expectantly.

You are smiling. You stand on tiptoe and plant a soft, tender kiss on his cheek, feeling the furrow from his scar on your lips.

He shivers, his eyes closed, as his arms slowly slide around you and wrap around your waist. He holds you close to him, as if afraid that you will run away from him at any moment.

"Aren't you disgusted? Are you not afraid?" he asks, opening his eyes and drilling into yours. His shadows and dark creatures circle you both as he lets his guard down for a moment.

"Your darkness is mine." you whisper before you pull him into a passionate, needing kiss. You let your power flow with his. The room is completely dark as your shadows move to play with his when both of you lose yourself in each other again.

I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes Six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise

"Are you enjoying yourself, General?" you ask teasingly as you approach him at another winter fest.

"Quite. How about you, Colonel?" he asks, the annoyed look on his face after talking to the king softening as he looks at you.

You've been by his side for almost a hundred years. And he always admired the way you looked in black kefta. Something only you and he could wear. Your colours. A clear sign of your belonging to him.

"You look lovely, by the way." he adds casually after looking carefully around to see if anyone is interested in your conversation.

" Lovely enough to catch the eye of some worthy suitor? What do you think about it, brother?" you ask teasingly, making sure the last word comes out as sweetly and mockingly as possible from your lips. You smile at his irritated look.

"This is the last time I let you invent new identities for us." He sighs in annoyance. You laugh genuinely.

"You said yourself that last time I distracted you too much as your wife." you remind him, sipping champagne from a nearby table.

"And now you're doing it as my pseudo-sister when I can't kiss and hold you the way I want. That's why you will be my mistress next time." you sigh, feigning shock, and place your hand on your chest.

"Mistress? You want to make a poor, innocent girl your bed warmer? Aren't you ashamed to pervert me like this?"

"You are already perverted, my little shadow. Maybe you need a reminder? About who do you really belong to?"

"I belong to myself." he licks his lips, giving you a hungry, dark look that would make anyone flinch… anyone except you. You wanted nothing more than to succumb to his aura.

You lean in gently. Enough that anyone who happened to be watching you would assume that you were leaning over to the table for something. But you do all of this only to leave a hickey on his neck. He sighs, not expecting you to be this brave (or stupid) to do such a thing right here and now.

"You're lucky we're in public, my little shadow."

"Oh, come on. You love it when I torture you like this." you tease him, watching him carefully. You envied his ability to hide the emotions on his face, but his eyes... his eyes betrayed his every emotion to you. At least that's what you wanted to think.

"And I like reminding you even more of who's really in charge here."

"Be careful with that… your mother says I'm getting more powerful every day… maybe even more than you."

He laughs, mocking the thought that you could ever be his match, let alone be stronger than him.

"Baghra would say anything to put me down. I wouldn't trust her words so blindly if I were you. No matter how flattering they are."

"Yes? Then why don't you want to prove yourself right and take on me?" you say, pointing out to him your insistent requests to have a real duel with him. Not just the training sessions he personally walked you through when you and Baghra argued so much that neither wanted to see the other.

"For one simple reason, my beautiful, naive, defiant little shadow… I have completely different plans for you than to consume you in my darkness."

"Who said you wouldn't be the one consumed by my darkness?" you ask, staring into his dark brown eyes.

He laughs, not believing that you - the girl he took in less than a hundred years ago - could beat him. "Keep on dreaming, my little shadow. Now, won't you dance with me?"

You took his hand and let him lead you.

Continuing to be his amusement and plaything.

I loved you truly Gotta laugh at the stupidity

"Did you mourn over me?" he asked you, stroking your hair as you two were lying in his bed, taking deep breaths after what you were doing.

"Where did you get that question from?" you ask, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. The hand that was combing through your hair lands on your back, stroking your bare skin with his fingertips. You shiver at his familiar, soft touch.

"Answer... Did you cry for me? You cursed my name? Maybe you were tempted to create an altar for me?" you've never felt more watched than under the gaze of his dark brown eyes.

"I was so scared... when you didn't come back from the fold... I felt like part of me died there with you. I can't live without you, Aleksander. Please... don't do such a thing ever again. You are my only shelter and the only thing I care about in this bloody world. There is no me without you." you think, but you know better to say it out loud. To admit how much power he has over you, how much you've become addicted to him.

"I've been waiting for you to come haunt me as a ghost to tell you that I told you so, and that is all your fault. Maybe I would use your cult and the people who trusted you to take over Ravka and rule by myself." you say and he laughs, turning on his side to look at you.

"My cruel little shadow didn't shed a single drop of a tear for me? What a pity." he says teasingly with a smirk as he wraps a strand of your hair around his finger.

"I was planning a bloody revenge and include a mention of you in my first speech as Ravka's Queen of Kings when I'm done. You should be happy or at least show some appreciation."

"No king by your side?" he asks curiously, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No. You are my only equal. If you were dead, I wouldn't need anyone by my side."

"So you need me after all, cruel queen of vengeance?" he asks, amused, raising an eyebrow at you with a smirk on his face.

"Amazingly, you're a good thing to scare people. The mere mention of your name makes everyone tremble."

He laughs and leans in to kiss you passionately. He holds you tightly in his arms, as if making sure you won't run away from him, that you'll stay with him even when his shadows and nichevo'ya watch over the two of you. Making sure you're as drunk on power as he is.

"I will always be here. Together, we will destroy others with our sahdows. Everyone will bow to us, moya tsaritsa." he whisper in your lips, between the kisses.

"Moi tsar." you mumble as you feel your shadows release, forming a ball around you that completely obscures both of you.

"I have a task for you." he says, stroking your sides teasingly as he smiles and watches you squirm under his touch.

"Good. But I want one thing in return."

"Name it."

He agrees, his dark eyes completely engrossed in the sight of your beautiful face, desperate for him. He chuckles darkly as you straddle him impatiently. He keeps his hands on your hips as you lean in and whisper in his ear.

"You will show me how you create your nichevo'yas." you kiss him passionately, bringing him closer and stroking his black scars on his back.

He moans into the kiss, knowing full well that he will do as you wish. He will enjoy watching you try to create what he did, how you try to match him in his darkness.

'Cause I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night

It was supposed to be an ordinary mission.

Track down the deserters, kill them, and teach the others a lesson so they don't even think about escaping or leaving the Second Army.

And everything went on as usual… at least up to a point.

Of course you tracked them down with Ivan by your side. Thanks to him, you knew which direction to go, and when you both managed to stop in their place, your favourite part was about to begin.

Screams and pleas for mercy, mournful cries, last prayers, and their words before dying gave you a sense of power. Every drop of blood shed through your cut was like a drug to you. It proved that you were in charge of life and death and that you were too powerful to be stopped by anyone.

"Where is your saintly little sun summoner now?" you ask mockingly, and as your shadows cover them all, the sunlight disappears. All they'll see before they die are you and your shadows.

Everyone is too scared to say anything. They know you. The deputy general. His lover, his little shadow. Shadow Summoner. More cruel and bloodthirsty than the Darkling himself. They'd be lucky if you ended their lives with just a cut.

"You betrayed the Second Army. Your General, a future tsar and all the Grishas. And now you will pay for it."

You form a cut by being merciful enough to quickly end their lives. And then you see it…

Little child in the crowd. Girl. Maybe she was 8 years old. You reluctantly remember yourself at her age. A girl abandoned by her father who wandered around the world until she found other shadow summoners like her. The terror in the baby's eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks, and the way she trembles in fear stir something in you.

You've never hurt a child before. That was your only moral boundary. And now you were about to cross it against yourself. For the Second Army. For Aleksander…

You close your eyes and make a cut in the crowd.

After a while, it's quiet again. No screaming and crying. Just you, your shadows, and Ivan faithfully waiting by the horses. You take one last look at the girl's body before returning to your companion and horses.

Deep down, you know this sight will haunt you longer than you think. And you can't quite understand what caused such a change...

Or you pretend, shaking your head as you remember the scared look in her eyes… exactly the same as you had when you were an abandoned child who had to survive on her own.

I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

"So you're still here." these are Baghra's first words to you. She doesn't even look in your direction.

She stares out the window as if the view beyond him will change at any moment. Aleksander made sure you settled down with the Grishas, who were loyal to him, in a remote place. Nobody could find you here... at least not yet.

"So he finally locked you in a cage. To be honest, I felt you were going to cross the line soon, but to betray him? Your own son? I've never felt more disgusted by you." the woman just smiles mockingly. She shifts her gaze towards you for a moment.

"In a few days, maybe months, maybe years, even centuries, you will be in my place and do the same as me. As soon as you open your eyes and see that he's manipulating you."

"He loves me." you start, but you're not sure if what you're saying is entirely true. After all, he never said that.

"He loves your power. You'll see it one day." she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"It doesn't matter. We shall rule together, side by side."

"Once, you wanted to be a protector. A hero. To ensure Grishas' safe future without war or battles. You didn't chase your own people. Look how you have fallen so low. The girl I met would never let her be a plaything in anyone's hands."

"I'm nobody's toy! I am a shadow summoner, more powerful than you or Aleksander. I am his equal, the future queen of Ravka. And I will achieve all this so that no Grisha has to go through what we have. No Grisha will ever suffer again for who he is."

"Then why are you chasing your people? Why do you cut them in half in cold blood? Because they ran away? Because they feared for their lives? What's the difference between you and Otkazat'sya or Drüskelle?" you clench your fists. You don't give in to her. Baghra won't get on your nerves. You're over it.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. Neither you nor Alina can understand our actions." you say, taunting her as you look at her in disgust. She betrayed you and Aleksander the moment she decided to help that little saint-bitch.

"Actions of you both or HIS?" she says, raising an eyebrow at you, not caring about your appalling attitude. She knows you. Just as good as her son. "Haven't you become that? A faithful servant who obeys his orders? Who kills the innocent at his command? Who gets his hands dirty for him?"

You sneer, but deep down, you're considering her question. The eyes of that puppy you cut in half with your cut cross your mind again. And a look full of fear—pure fear and tears in her eyes does not bring you the same satisfaction and sense of power as before. You wanted to be a hero once. Now you were the darkness. The evil parents used to scare their children at bedtime... and strangely enough, you felt like the weakest person in the world.

"At least I'm not rotting in this cage." you say as you walk towards the exit. "Oh! I forgot to tell you the most important thing. We're getting married. He gave me an engagement ring made of your bones as an amplifier, great, right, mom? We will finally be a family."

You walk out of the room with a cruel smile, not feeling as powerful and confident as before you walked in. And that little kid's cursed eyes full of fear will haunt you for the rest of the day.

And every girl I ever talked to told me you were bad, bad news You called them crazy, God, I hate the way I called them crazy too

You enter Aleksander's tent, furious. Your shadows circle around you as you walk to the mirror and undo the intricate hairdo Genya did for you.

"What has bitten you?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the map as he considers his plan one last time. Morozova's stag bone in his hand only fuels your anger.

"Your precious Alinoshka." you snort furiously, trying to let your damn hair out of your bun.

Aleksander chuckles and approaches you from behind. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, his lips against your neck.

"She's definitely not mine... well, only her powers are. Unlike you, my little angry shadow." he says as he kisses your neck. For a second, you think he wants to give you a hickey, but he stops himself. He rests his chin on your shoulder and looks at you in the mirror. "You are all mine, and you look lovely in my coat."

"The idiots lost my clothes chest. I have to steal from you, you don't mind, do you?"

He purrs against your neck, shaking his head. With one hand, he unhooks his coat from you and lets it fall to the floor, leaving you standing in his black kefta that's only held on by a belt.

"How could I when it makes you look so gorgeously mine?" you snort with laughter as he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your neck. "What has our sun summoner done to make my beautiful little shadow angry?"

"I went to her tent to convince her of our cause… she of course, started to argue. We shouted at each other a bit, like girl to girl. She called me a stupid, cruel bitch and said you manipulated me as much as you manipulated her."

"You threatened her with your shadows and almost killed her, didn't you?"

"Of course not… we need her, I was being completely careful. I didn't even get her close to agony."

"My good little doom." he praises you, stroking your cheek tenderly as he stares at you with a dark smile. "Once we've expanded the fold, you can do whatever you want with her. Even if you killed her, I wouldn't particularly care."

"Thank you." you say, turning to kiss him passionately. Your tongues intertwine, and your shadows merge, dancing in a familiar dance as you both feel the other's power and the empowering abilities that his touch brings. you are addicted. From him and his taste, the feeling of power that he gives you. You don't want to be anywhere else. Only by his side. "You know what… I think I know how you can help me forget about this crazy bitch."

"I will be more than happy." he says, pushing you onto the bed.

You're so convincing How do you lie without flinching? (How do you lie, how do you lie, how do you lie?)

"You lied to them without flinching. I'm impressed." you say when he returns from meeting the royal family. You took on a new identity. A Darkling's son and his wife (a distant relative) who both can summon shadows.

"A matter of habit. In a few centuries, you will be able to do it too." he assures you as he leads you to his chambers.

You snort when he puts his hand on your back. "I'm offended that you think I don't have that skill yet, husband." you say, teasing him. You didn't get married. However, that didn't stop the two of you from pretending otherwise. Maybe someday…

"I know when you're lying, wife." he says, also teasing you. Your black kefta billows behind you as you walk to the Little Palace.

"Because you know me well. If you lied to me, I'd know you did too." he laughs, incredulous at your ability to spot his lie.

He leads you through the familiar corridors of the Little Palace. You just hope they assigned him the same chambers. You loved going out on the balcony in the evening.

"Let's try." he stands in the middle of the corridor. "Baghra contacted me. She wants to meet. Am I lying or not?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

"Partly. Baghra wrote to you, but not about the meeting. It was about something else."

The amused smirk disappears from his face. He looks at you with a twinkle in his eye, surprised and a little excited at the same time.

"How did you know?"

You take his hand and pull him to you. You kiss him, enjoying the feel of his lips on yours. "Your eyes tell me everything." you say, making sure he doesn't look at you.

Actually, it was completely the opposite. He was the one who could easily read from your eyes. That's why you're not going to tell him you know what he lied about just because you read the letter. You won't give him the satisfaction of not really knowing when he's lying.

Ooh, what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked-up little thrill Can't figure out just how you do it, and God knows I never will

You loved the thrill of power when you used your shadow. Now all you could think of was those damn scared eyes every time you summoned your shadows.

That's why when you and Aleksander went to destroy Karemzin with his men, you "allowed him" to do the honours. Using your shadows has become traumatic for you.

You hoped it would pass. That Baghra's words, that fucking terrified look from the girl, and the growing doubts inside of you kept you awake in the night.

Fortunately, Aleksander didn't notice any change in you. Maybe he didn't want to, maybe he didn't care, or maybe his own problems were too big to notice yours.

Anyway, when you told him to destroy the town, he was at least... surprised. You always fought him to show off your powers, to show how powerful you are. Now you were standing back, watching him. His thoughts wandered towards you as he sent his shadows directly at unsuspecting people.

You, on the other hand, watched silently as the town collapsed under his shadows and listened to the screams of the people as they quickly came and disappeared. There was complete silence. And you trembled. Not the excitement or the wonderful thrill of seeing how terrifying and ruthless your Aleksander is. You trembled in fear. Aleksander blamed this on the exceptionally cold weather.

"We're setting up camp here." he announced to his men, and he walked over to you. Seeing this, you shifted your gaze from where Karemzin used to be to him and gave him a small smile.

"Nice show. I almost forgot you could still do that." you say, remembering the countless times you've destroyed villages for each other to save each other from discovering your little secret of immortality.

"Thank you, are you sure you're okay? You look pale."

"Maybe I need tea… and your arms around me in our tent." he giggles and immediately hugs you.

His coat and arms surround you, creating a safe bubble of warmth. However, all you can do is hear the screams of those people from a moment ago… and see behind your closed eyes blue, innocent irises looking at you in fear.

"Do you want me to show you how I create nichevo'ya?" he asks, pulling back to look at you intently. You pretend you're okay and smile back with a quick and excited nod of your head.

You hope this will bring back your power-hungry nature. That old Y/N would finally get out and play with her shadows again. That Aleksander will help you overcome this growing guilt within you and take away from you the burden of the sins you have committed in his name and out of fun.

However, when you manage to create your own nichevo'ya, to your and Aleksander's shock, you don't feel that relief and excitement. Guilt grows inside you, and your throat tightens as the nichevo'ya follows your every command.

Aleksander is speechless. Enough that he can only whisper: "My talented little darkness." before he pulls you in for a hungry kiss.

A little shadow turned into a little darkness. And instead of feeling overwhelmingly happy that he's finally seen your potential, you start to fear your power and about what he wants to do with it.

Went for me, and not her 'Cause girls your age know better

You used to mock Aleksander for how initially he was fascinated by Alina's light and what she could do as a sun summoner.

You also didn't know why he was so concerned about losing his connection to her through Morozova's stag bones. You knew how inconvenient this had become for your plans, but you couldn't understand why he was so easily engulfed by her light and worried about losing the ability to summon it.

You changed your mind when you faced her. As you watched her light scatter your shadows. For a moment, a small, fleeting moment, the sinner in you wanted to pray to Sankta Alina for forgiveness and help. For her to get you out of your darkness.

But then she attacked Aleksander. And you didn't hesitate for a moment to send a shadow barrier at him and create nichevo'ya to attack Alina.

And again, you saw the same terror in her eyes as in that little girl's eyes. And you came back to that clearing for a moment—to that moment when you sent a cut at them... when you closed your eyes in shame, not wanting to see what you had done.

You froze so much that Aleksander managed to save you from Alina's attack at the last moment. The roof above you collapsed, leaving you and Aleksander alone on one side of the corridor. You both ran outside.

"What were you thinking? What happened to you there?" he asks furiously, looking at you. This was your chance to grab her. You knew he would be furious with you. But instead of blaming you, he walks over and locks you in a tight, almost painful hug. "You are mine. I can't lose you, my little darkness."

And the worst part is, you don't know if he's holding you and clinging to you because he's hurt at the thought of losing the only person he cares about or if he just can't afford to lose your powers as well.

One thing is certain.

You can't go on like that anymore.

And in his arms, as you both cling to each other, you promise yourself that this will be the last time. You don't want power. You don't want the throne. You don't want everything you've wanted so badly... you don't want to be like Aleksander. You just want to finally feel at peace... just this once.

I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you've made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

You remembered that day, like today. How you left your own house without looking back. When, after discovering that you were a shadow summoner, you decided that you could handle yourself. That you no longer have to live at home with a cruel father who blamed you for your mother's death in childbirth.

Luckily, you weren't alone for long. One day, you met them. Two people just like you, who welcomed you with open arms and welcomed you as one of their own (after a long time of both gaining each other's trust. Fate hurts both you and them.) But now you have your own little family.

You weren't Y/N Y/L/N, you were Y/N Morozova.

And that night, you were supposed to erase all traces of your past once and for all.

You told Aleksander and Baghra that you were going to visit your relatives. It was partly true. You think as you enter your father's house.

You don't tell him anything. You don't have to. From the determined, stern look in your eyes, a man knows why you're here. Aleksander taught you how to form the cut on objects. You decided a long time ago who would be your first living victim.

It's different than you imagined. When your shadows cut it in half... nothing happens. You don't feel regret, anger, or sadness. The blood on the wall and the blood that forms under it does not arouse any emotions in you. You just feel your shadows buzz inside you, wanting to get out, wanting to destroy everything around you, the last evidence of your old life and who you used to be.

But now you were Grisha. Shadow Summoner. Morozova's powerful ancestor.

And you had a goal. Destroy those who wish evil on you and your people. Anyone who dared hurt Grishas. And you started with your father.

You're leaving the house. You walk backward, watching your shadows crush the building to the ground. You feel a strange feeling of power rising in your veins.

And then you bump into someone's chest.

You don't scream. You don't attack.

You know this smell, especially the feeling of those strong arms around you. Only one person could just hold you to his chest in a situation like this.

"How are you feeling, little shadow?" he whispers in your ear. You don't know how he knew he'd find you here, how he tracked you down, or if he followed you from the beginning.

But it's good to feel his arms around you. They surround you almost like his shadows.

"Good. Free." Powerful. Invincible. Almighty.

You're not going to tell him. Not now. Not when you don't know how he'll react to it. But when he turns you around in his arms to look at him, you know you both share this thirst for power.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. His gaze penetrates your eyes deeply, making you shiver. You feel that he can reach into your deepest, most secret dreams. And that he finds there a reflection of his own desires.

So you stand on your tiptoes and lean forward to kiss him.

And when you feel his lips on yours, his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you as close as possible to him, and the way he amplifies the shadows inside of you that are already buzzing with excitement, you feel like you can do anything by his side. And you both know this is just the beginning.

You and he were going to change the world.

You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart I tried you help you out, now I know that I can't 'Cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand

"Aleksander?" you ask him when you enter your chamber and see him engrossed in books and maps.

"Come here, Y/N! I need to show you something." He says excitedly, and the fact that he's called you by name only proves that how important it is.

You sit on his lap and study the maps he has spread out. There are red crosses in some places.

"The places of the amplifiers. We are so close to everything we have planned. I can't wait to see you in the crown by my side, my little darkness. They will worship us. The new saints and rulers of Ravka. Saviours of all Grishas." he continues excitedly as he holds you in his lap and looks at all the papers on the desk.

"What about Alina? Her tracker? The Grishas who followed her… your mother?" you ask. He stops stroking your hair and shifts his gaze towards you.

"You don't know? They will kneel before us. Traitors will be punished accordingly. I promise you, my little darkness. No one dares to oppose us. No one will be brave enough to fight our darkness." he places a tender kiss on your forehead. "We're both in it. We don't need anyone else, my little faithful, pretty darkness."

He glances back at his maps and plans. He doesn't notice your nervous look or swallow. And you realise more than before that you don't want it. You don't want to be queen through fear and violence… you don't want to see again, in dreams, behind closed eyes, and on the faces of others, that frightened look of the little girl you cut in half with your shadows.

You do not want to be like Aleksander.

You spent 150 years striving to be where you are now. By his side. His equal. Just like him. His matching darkness.

And now you would do anything to go back those 150 years… not to commit so many sins in the name of power and love for a man who can't love anyone because his heart died ages ago before he even met you.

"You and I will finally change this world, Y/N. We're so close, my little darkness." he says, pulling you closer to him.

You shudder at the nickname, which has become a sweet curse, uttered by him with tenderness. A curse that was another thing to remind you of your wickedness… that you had become a monster.

Aleksander frowns for the first time since you entered his tent, noticing that there is something wrong with you. That you don't have that excited twinkle in your eyes when he talks about his plans. That you don't have that dark smirk on your face that drove both of you to action.

"What is this? What's in your mind?" he asks, caressing your cheek tenderly.

You lean in and kiss him. Aleksander does not realise the importance of this kiss. He doesn't realise that this is your last attempt to get back at him. One last attempt to hold on to him with the last of his strength. Last try before you put your own plan into action. Before you make a final and irreversible decision about both of you.

You kiss him with everything you have. With all the passion, love and affection that he has instilled in you over the last 150 years.

Your mentor. Your saviour. Your great, epic love. Your sweet villain. Your worst doom and greatest happiness.

Your Aleksander.

You pull away from the kiss and rest your forehead against his. He notices your tears, but he thinks they are tears of joy, that you, just like him, are glad that your long journey is coming to an end.

"I love you, Aleksander." you whisper with tears in your eyes, silently begging him to say back those three words you've been missing for ages. To prove that he cares about you, that he's not completely consumed in his darkness.

But he smiles only and kisses you on the forehead again, stroking your hair as he whispers softly: "I know."

You kiss him again. You don't want to show him that you're broken. That with his answer, he sealed your fate… that you had completely lost all hope of saving yourself and him. Because there was no you without Aleksander. And you couldn't go on like that anymore.

I've made some real big mistakes But you make the worst one look fine I should've known it was strange You only come out at night I used to think I was smart But you made me look so naive The way you sold me for parts As you sunk your teeth into me, oh Bloodsucker, famefucker Bleedin' me dry, like a goddamn vampire

He was preparing for his… your quest for the amplifier. His men were assembling the camp; his tent was just your suitcases and a few key reports and plans he had yet to go through.

He planned everything perfectly. It's a shame you were about to ruin it all.

"Aleksander. We have to talk." you say, hiding the tremble in your voice.

"Now? We're about to leave, can't it wait a while? We'll talk on the way." he says without taking his eyes off the papers in his hands. Saints, if only he knew how hard it is for you to do what you have to do right now.

"I have a feeling that I wouldn't be by your side to witness your victory, Aleksander." you say to him, playing with the sleeve of your black kefta. A ring made of Baghra's bone has never weighed on you more as you let your shadows step out for a moment and roam the tent.

"Where would you be then?" he asks, finally interested in you as he looks up at you with a surprised and panicked look.

You just smile. Aleksander is trembling. It's not that smile that warms his dead heart, it's not that dark smile that makes him shiver, his shadows are eager to play with yours.

Your smile is empty, without hope, sad and as if… resigned. Tears form in your eyes. Aleksander takes a hesitant step towards you.

"Y/N..." he whispers, watching your emotions finally surface.

"I love you, Aleksander. I always did. You were my epic love. My shelter. My mentor. Everything I've ever known. The only constant in my life. I've always wanted to impress you, to match you. Stop being just your little shadow… I'm sorry I didn't love you properly. Not enough. Maybe it would be better if you ended up with Alina. She is… the light. And we are only darkness. Maybe it's my fault… that I went deeper into this darkness with you, that I pushed you into it myself and enjoyed it more than anything…" you say, no longer holding back tears. This is the first time Aleksander has seen you in such a… vulnerable state. And he's terrified.

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry, Sasha... but I can't do this anymore." you whisper with tears in your eyes and start to form the cut.

"Stop. No, please stop! No! Stop!" he screams, terrified. He runs to you to stop you, but his nichevo'ya holds him in place. He can only watch, screaming in horror and great grief, as one of his shadow monsters crushes your neck before his eyes.

He screams louder than ever. And you close your eyes, unable to see the terror in his dark brown eyes.

When his nichevo'ya finally releases him, he runs over to you. He takes you in his arms, holding you close to him on his lap.

"I... I never meant for this... I-I swear." he cries, cradling you close to his chest in his arms. He knows there's nothing he can do anymore. He has a few moments left with you. And you realise that, unlike you, he can't control them. It's his shadows that control him.

"Sh... sh... I know... I love you, Sasha."

"Please… no… I love you, I love you so much, Y/N. Please..." he cries as he leans his forehead on yours. "I can't do it without you… I can't live without you. You are... my everything. Please... don't leave me..."

You taste his tears as he kisses you one last time, as if trying to keep you by his side. With the last of your strength, you take advantage of the connection between you and give him your power. So he will no longer be controlled by his shadows.

"I'm so sorry, Aleksander." you whisper into his lips, and you feel all your strength starting to leave you. Only loud screams and Aleksander's tight, aching embrace keep you in this world.

After a while, you feel nothing. It's just you and blissful emptiness.

You feel at peace.

And deep down, you feel that you and Aleksander will meet again on the other side… this time, maybe you'll both enjoy the light.

[fleurywiththesave]

Hello! Mattdrai or Matthew/Sasha and sleep deprived please 💙

Ohhhh I love this one! You know I had to make it Mattdrai.

9. Sleep deprivation

Leon promised himself that he wasn't going to allow himself to look at any evidence of Cup celebrations. Nada, zip, zilch. No on-ice interviews, no celebratory photos, no coverage of the eventual parade. He swore, up and down, that he would have enough common sense not to torture himself.

But the thing is, as shitty as Leon feels right now...and make no mistake, he feels shitty. He and Connor cried on each other for what felt like hours, he still has no appetite, he's afraid to touch social media for fear that hearing everyone's disappointment and judgment will rip him apart all over. He is not having a good time and he would very much like never to be in this position again.

But he's still so. goddamn. proud. of Matthew. Of how hard he worked all season, of everything he does to bring his team together, of how incredibly happy he's made his family. And there's even a part of him, that he would never ever ever tell Connor about, that's even happier for Matthew than he would've been for himself. Seeing him get so close to the end last season, seeing him literally break his body doing everything he could to win and it still not being enough, hurt Leon almost as much as it hurt Matthew, and he's not sure that Matthew ever would have really recovered from suffering the same fate twice in a row.

So he lied. Sue him. He gets onto his stealth Instagram account, where he won't see any mention of his own failures, and watches from afar while Matthew and his teammates live it up at Eleven. That stupid WWE belt is going to be so gross by the end of all of this that Leon might have to burn it. Though Matthew's definitely going to want to frame it.

He's running through around the tenth cycle of wanting to smile and also kind of wanting to cry when his phone starts to vibrate and Matthew's name pops up. He accepts the call before he's had a chance to consider whether or not it's a good idea.

"Leo!" Matthew yells, as chipper as a children's TV host. Leon's amused in spite of himself.

"Are you drunk?"

"You'd think so," Matthew says agreeably, "but I mostly just haven't slept in two days."

"Yeah, I noticed," Leon answers.

"You've been watching?" Matthew's voice has gone considerably softer and he sounds genuinely surprised.

"I have," Leon tells him. Matthew sighs.

"Fuck, I miss you, baby."

"Matty—"

"I know, I know. But I already told you I'm kind of delirious and it's true, I fucking miss you, and I hate that me being so happy means that you have to be so miserable, and I just wish you were here with me, you know? And I know that's not fair, I know you should have your space and you needed to go back to Edmonton—"

"I didn't," Leon cuts in.

"You didn't what?"

"I didn't go back to Edmonton," he admits. "I'm still at the hotel in Florida."

There's a long pause.

"I can be home in half an hour," Matthew says, words tripping over each other. Leon's heart swells.

"I'll be there."

[allthelovenina]

can u write smth about levi and seven minutes in heaven?🤭🤭

Hi bestie! Here's your request. I hope y'all enjoy it.

Modern AU! College! Levi x reader

Slightly not sfw I guess?

Excuse my broken English in advance :")

Levi had been done with college parties after the freshman year, yet he found himself in Hange's stupid party.

Hange was a close friend of Levi, the party was supposed to be a "small birthday party" which he assumed there would only be the sophomores. The thing is, Hange already knew Levi had a crush on you for a year and half now and of course, Levi never confessed this but he didn't have to do so for someone as sharp as Hange to understand. Plus, teasing Levi has always been Hange's favorite hobby, so they invited you and your group of friends as well.

There sat on the floor Levi, Hange, Mike, Erwin, Nanaba and Moblit, the Juniors and You, Jean, Mikasa (Levi's gloomy cousin), Eren, Sasha and Connie, the sophomores, playing seven minutes in heaven.

If Levi was doubtful that Hange had it all planned out, the fact that they made him sit infront of y/n during playing game left no place for any doubt. Before he knew it, he was in a dark room with you. Levi was a simple man, he was left in a room alone with you his heartbeat would fasten. Of course, you had no idea how nervous he was so you broke the silence by a question that had always been stuck to your mind.

"Do you hate me, Levi?" You asked.

Levi felt his heart dropped by your question "Huh? Why are you asking such a dumb question?"

You let out a sign "You always look away when I look at you. I remember you would talk to me a lot more at the beggining of my freshman year, but after a while you...cut me off. What happened?"

'Idiot piece of shit, look what you've done'

Levi cursed himself in his mind. In reality he never meant to ghost you or ignore you, he was just scared of his feelings. Afraid that his non platonic, totally romantic affection for you would ruin your friendship. So he ignored his feelings at first and still talked to you for a week after his realisation but then, he saw some dude trying to hit on you which you had no idea of this guy's intentions but that was when Levi decided to go out of touch with you. You clearly had no feelings for him and it hurt him more to see you with another guy when he was just a friend. So he left, he didn't think it would be this long though. He assumed it would take him a few weeks to move on and then he could come back to you again with no romance involved as a friend.

But his anticipation was far from reality. The distance only lead him to crave you more and fall deeper, so he never came back.

But...you sounded so hurt and he hated it. He never thought his avoidance would hurt you.

"That's completely the opposite."

'Quit being a coward, Ackerman.'

"Huh?" You asked in confusion.

"The reason why I cut you off was that I was trying to process my feelings for you and...shut them down I guess."

The little light that entered the room through the small space beneath the door was enough for Levi to see your eyes, wide shut in surprise.

"Are...you saying that you ignored me cause you had a crush on me?"

Thank heavens the room was dark enough for you to see Levi blushing, playing in favor of Levi with the little light exposing your expression to him while as the same time the darkness prevented you from seeing his. "Yeah...I'm sorry never meant to hurt your feelings"

'This idiot.' echoed in your mind.

You grabbed his collar and pulled him close, giving him a kiss on his lips. Oh no one knows how badly you wanted to taste them all this time.

Levi was shocked, but after a second or two, he just let the flow take him wherever. He kissed you back, closed his eyes as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you even closer. He felt his cheeks burning, the heat was taking his body. It felt like he was a teenager once again. He placed one of his hands on your nape, he ran his hands all over it. Gently massaging your nape.

You pulled back to catch breath. "W...what was...that?" Levi asked.

"You're a fucking idiot...you know that?" You replied as you were still panting.

"I had a crush on you too."

This time, Levi's eyes were wide shut. There were so much he wanted to say right now. He just couldn't find the words. He wanted to tell you more about his feelings, like how he was slightly sad all the time ever since he had cut you off and how badly he wanted to punch anyone who talked shit about you, how many nights he got drunk alone only to find himself starring at your pictures on social media or your contact number, debating whether to call you or not

He didn't say a word, instead pulled you back in his arms and leaned his head to your neck, kissing it passionatly like a thirsty man who just found water. You placed one hand on his shoulder and another through his undercut, then through his sculp, tugging his hair playfully as he found the sensitive spot on your neck which made you moan quietly. "Levi..."

Maybe it was the alchohol in his system or maybe the dopamine in his body that made him so brave and courageous. "You still like me don't you?"

You rolled your eyes as you were trying calm down from his earlier touch. "No shit Scherlock."

"Be mine then, I'll make you happy, I promise."

So blunt, no poetic line. Typical Levi, you didn't expect him to be anything different anyways. What you didn't expect was what he'd just said.

You remained silent, trying to process the whole thing. Never thought the night would turn out like this, in fact you did dream this situation a few times in sleep.

Before you could say anything, the door was opened, the sudden exposure of light hurt your eyes that had already got used to the darkness. Hange let out a loud laughter as they found you two clinging to eachother.

"My, my! Look at you guys!"

You blushed, felt embarrassed as you were cought in 4k. Levi let out an annoyed groan and frowned. "Shut up four eyes!"

#

[bonefall]

How do you feel about "character joins bloodclan" aus? Im curious about ur thoughts since youre really in tune with the themes of the series but personally i just hate them bc its ALWAYS aimed at 'unfortunate' characters and always ALWAYS ignores the fact that bloodclan is a horrible place in-canon and that they're just reflavoring the abuse and trauma the characters qent through to be more emo or goth themed.

Ravenpaw is ALWAYS a prime target for this and its like. Great. You took the character being abused by their mentor figure and is being harmed from the violent culture the clan has generated... and giving them an EMO mentor figure who will inevitably abuse them and harm them as a result of the violent culture the emo clan has generated. Sasha is another one I've noticed- you've put the woman who lost her kit and is struggling to survive with the others while being controlled and abused by someone who sees her as an outsider (aka alone and easy to isolate), and are gonna put her in a faction who specifically separates kin from one another to easily control them and who have canonically tried murdering those who stick with their family. What was gained here.

Like i know bloodclan is revamped in ur au (thank god for it) but in canon bloodclan is HORRIBLE. People ignore that in favor of putting their favs into bloodclan bc bloodclan is cool and killed tigerstar that one time bc of revenge. Ravenpaw becomes Scourge AUS are SO SO SO much worse bc of this too- sure you manage to point out how scourge and raven has roughly similar stories in their youth but you could also do something interesting and make an au where raven and scourge are FOILS and do a firestar/scourge thing, while pointing this comparison out!! Instead you just went "Ravenpaw emo now and is sad about beating up Firestar his friend" and basically kept everything the same.

Sorry im basically venting here but i just dont like how people forget that scourge in canon does NOT look out for the 'little guy', he's a murderer and abuser who wants to keep his subjects afraid and separated so that he alone has power over them. Bloodclan is not the cool strong goth group, its the group where two cats slaughter eachother over a piece of twoleg scraps, only for the survivor to die bc the food was poisonous to cats and no one knew bc theres no cohesive group that can pass that knowledge around. its a fucking horrible place to live. Im not saying that you cant do interesting "character in bloodclan" aus (a Rusty who lives in bloodclan who STILL wants to do good but is shaped by the horrid reality of bloodclan would be fun imo) but its so often used with already traumatized characters as a 'solution' or 'fix-it with some emotional issues involved' that i just foam at the mouth and howl like a rabid animal on principle at this point.

Hmm... I think for me, it doesn't tend to read that way for me when the fandom makes AUs for it. I'm coming at BloodClan from a point of really deep critique and frustration.

BloodClan's not a REAL place, and what that means is, every speck of how horrible it was is a choice the writers made to justify its treatment. It was something they actively decided, because, BloodClan was a tool to suddenly invalidate the previous 5 books of TPB so that the series could comfortably conclude there was no need to upset the status quo.

If you haven't read it before, I recommend this post I made on how Darkest Hour Is A Personal Disappointment, but anyway;

We spend a whole series on how Fireheart challenges a broken society, because he is different. Their xenophobia, how isolationism and glory get people killed, the way that Tigerstar's greatest asset is how respected he is... these are bad things. They're things that Fireheart fights for several books.

But then, in the LAST book, in the 11th inning, they introduce BloodClan. They're just evil. They have no nuance. The narrative bends over backwards to stress that this group of evil foreigners LOVES murder, hates friendship, and doesn't believe in our good god.

Suddenly, the Clan cats have to be EXTRA xenophobic and glorious to kill these filthy, murderous foreign hordes. Clan cat belief in their good god makes them stronger than the bloodthirsty barbarians. Firestar kills Scourge and we can feel happy and triumphant about it, when Tigerstar was killed a few chapters ago and given a tragic sendoff.

So, I encourage you to step back from an emotional response to how Filthy and Murderous this group was portrayed, and look at it as a writing choice.

When Tigerstar, known cat-racist and murderer of mixed-race people, is killed by Scourge in self-defense, he is grieved by Firestar and commended for his "good qualities". (and then they retconned in that it was actually secretly revenge all along, not just self defense, so this killing is extra evil)

When Scourge is killed, Firestar just thinks about how it's cool he's not going to heaven, and how all of the previously ferocious BloodClan warriors look so inferior to the forest Clans.

And so, with all that said,

I'm 100% in favor of how the fandom widely looks at this, says, "fuck that" and just makes them the Cool Goth Group. I'd argue pretty strongly that the least nuanced idea of that is still infinitely better than canon.

There was nothing there. It was literally just Xenophobia-Is-JustifiedClan. They literally hated love and friendship and banned families so that Clan cats would look good in comparison. Banned families. You don't get this level of stupid evil from anything else but an 80s cartoon.

Maybe I just don't see the AUs you tend to see (I curate my Tumblr experience very well and generally hang out in more adult-oriented spaces, I can imagine a place like Amino being mostly kids who tend to be immature. Edgelord Angstpiddle is just a normal part of growing up), but every project I see that gives me a glimpse of BloodClan Ravenpaws and Sashas come with such tweaks already assumed.

Like, these are examples I've seen,

They'll have Raven be involved with the formation of BloodClan

Scourge will actually be a character with some pity and mercy, like how he was in Rise of Scourge when his abusive siblings begged him for food, and he fed them before sending them away.

no ban on love and friendship. Lol. Lmao, even.

More of the social structure will be based around acquiring food for people in a 'harsh' environment, leading to that battle, instead of just Evil Foreign Greed (which canon!scourge only had after being almost killed by tigerstar, because he said "actually, in light of new information that you are a murderer, i need to reconsider our deal.")

BloodClan will be overhauled completely. I've seen this a few ways. Connecting them to SkyClan, or the Oakstar raids on Chelford, or even as a positive entity; a surprise ally. (VERY common with BloodClan Ravenpaw AUs I've seen).

Anyways... (Shrug), I dunno dude, it doesn't bother me that much.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in March 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Struggling to keep up with all the amazing queer books coming out this month? Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Remember to #readqueerallyear! Happy reading!

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Shift: A Memoir of Identity and Other Illusions - Penny Guisinger 🧡 Tempting Olivia - Clare Ashton 💛 Monilinia - Free Mints 💚 Guillaume - Aurora Dimitre 💙 The Marble Queen - Anna Kopp & Gabrielle Kari 💜 The Baker & the Bard - Fern Haught ❤️ Rainbow! - Sunny & Gloom 🧡 The Safe Zone - Amy Marsden 💛 The Weavers of Alamaxa - Hadeer Elsbai 💙 The No-Girlfriend Rule - Christen Randall 💜 A Different Kind of Brave by Lee Wind 🌈 Cirque du Slay - Rob Osler ❤️ Wizard’s Debt - Niranjan 🧡 One Last Breath - Ginny Myers Sain 💛 Nothing Special - Katie Cook 💚 I Feel Awful, Thanks - Lara Pickle 💙 The Tower - Flora Carr 💜 Be the Sea - Clara Ward ❤️ What Grows in the Dark - Jaq Evans 🧡 Heirs of Bone and Sea - Kay Adams 💛 The Haunting of Velkwood - Gwendolyn Kiste 💙 Thunder Song - Sasha taqwšəblu LaPointe 💜 Mona of the Manor - Armistead Maupin 🌈 Like Happiness - Ursula Villarreal-Moura

❤️ Ellipses - Vanessa Lawrence 🧡 Saint, Sorrow, Sinner - Freydís Moon 💛 Blood & Brujas - Mikayla D. Hornedo 💚 Infinity Kings - Adam Silvera 💙 Really Cute People - Markus Harwood-Jones 💜 How You Were Born - Kate Cayley ❤️ These Bodies Between Us - Sarah Van Name 🧡 Icarus - K. Ancrum 💛 The Emperor and the Endless Palace - Justinian Huang 💙 How Not to Date an Angel - Lana Kole 💜 Enemy Colours - R.M. Olson 🌈 Broken Parts Included - Alyson Root

❤️ Who's Afraid of Gender? - Judith Butler 🧡 The Duke’s Cowboy - Andrew Grey 💛 The Secret Something - Emily Wright 💚 Colstead & Andie - Olivia Janae 💙 Play It Again, Ma’am - Sienna Waters 💜 Love Is…? - K.J. Wrights ❤️ Welcome to Forever - Nathan Tavares 🧡 Just Another Epic Love Poem - Parisa Akhbari 💛 The Phoenix Bride - Natasha Siegel 💙 These Letters End in Tears - Musih Tedji Xaviere 💜 Truly Home - J.J. Hale 🌈 Monster Mixer - Robin Jo Margaret

❤️ The House of Hidden Meanings - RuPaul 🧡 Promised to the Queen - Barbara Winkes 💛 A Conclave of Crimson - Nicole Eigener & Beverley Lee 💚 A Hunt of Blood and Iron - Cara Nox 💙 The Fealty of Monsters - Ladz 💜 Ariel Crashes a Train - Olivia A. Cole ❤️ Those Beyond the Wall - Micaiah Johnson 🧡 Dancing Toward Stardust - Julia Underwood 💛 Heir to Dreams & Darkness - Ben Alderson 💙 Comet Cruise - Niska Morrow 💜 Dead Girls Walking - Sami Ellis 🌈 Blackout - Carlos E. Rivera

❤️ Monster Crush - Erin Ellie Franey 🧡 Blessed Water - Margot Douaihy 💛 These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart - Izzy Wasserstein 💚 Kiss of Seduction - Rawnie Sabor 💙 Sunbringer - Hannah Kaner 💜 Evacuation to Love - C.A. Popovich ❤️ Sin - Brooke Matthews 🧡 Falls from Grace - Ruby Landers 💛 Lean in to Love - Catherine Lane 💙 A Small Apocalypse - Laura Chow Reeve 💜 Cascade Failure - L.M. Sagas 🌈 The Mars House - Natasha Pulley

❤️ All This Time - Sage Donnell 🧡 The Romance Lovers Book Club - MA Binfield 💛 View from the Top - Morgan Adams 💚 Number Call - Nagisa Furuya 💙 Crossing Bridges - Chelsey Lynford 💜 The Boyfriend Subscription - Steven Salvatore ❤️ Love the World or Get Killed Trying - Alvina Chamberland 🧡 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💛 The Prince & His Stolen Groom - J.E. Ridge 💙 Chrysalis and Requiem - Quinton Li 💜 Where Sleeping Girls Lie - Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé 🌈 A Botanical Daughter - Noah Medlock

❤️ Wednesday Nights - by Donna Jay 🧡 The Woods All Black - Lee Mandelo 💛 Song of the Huntress - Lucy Holland 💚 Rainbow Black - Maggie Thrash 💙 Spirits & Sunflowers - A.D. Armistead & Austin Daniel 💜 Floating Hotel - Grace Curtis ❤️ Far From Camelot - Rylee Hale 🧡 This Way to Change - Jezz Chung 💛 Mexican Bird - Luis Lopez-Maldonado 💙 Android Affection: Unveiling - Beau Van Dalen 💜 Welcome to the Damned - Astraea Long 🌈 She Came for Blood - Darva Green

❤️ Cover Story - Rachel Lacey 🧡 The Poisons We Drink - Bethany Baptiste 💛 The Perfect Guy Doesn't Exist - Sophie Gonzales 💚 In Walked Trouble - Dana Hawkins 💙 Never Leave, Never Lie - Thea Verdone 💜 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Priest ❤️ All the World Beside - Garrard Conley 🧡 Rainbows, Unicorns, and Triangles - Jessica Kingsley Publishers 💛 The Feast Makers - H.A. Clarke 💙 Synthetic Sea - Franklyn S. Newton 💜 All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny 🌈 A Hard Sell - Jennifer Moffatt

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

How would the aot girls react to their S/O proposing

mikasa ackerman is in quite disbelief. she’d go nonverbal and just blink at you, processing everything. she whispers a quick yes and waits til you two are home to really celebrate.

sasha braus bursts out into tears near immediately. she doesn’t even wait to hear your speech or anything. as soon as she sees you on the ground, the floodgates open. and she basically tackles you to the ground.

annie leonhardt is so embarrassed when you ask her. her cheeks turn bright red and she rubs her arm sheepishly. she really loves you and of course she says yes, but she can’t wait for the attention to be off of her.

ymir doesn’t like the fact that you proposed to her. it doesn’t feel right in her opinion. she basically rips you up off the ground and takes the ring from you so she can ask you herself.

historia reiss totally tears up and later claims that she did in fact, not cry. she puts her hands over her heart afraid it might beat of her chest. she says yes and goes in for the biggest hug in the world.

pieck finger just gets this shit-eating grin on her face. she’s so happy and totally had a hunch it was coming. she’s sure to tease you later about whatever way you chose to ask her. despite that, she thought it was perfect and replays it in her mind.

hange zoe bounces up and down in place. then, they totally milk the entire situation. i’m talking she’s showing off her ring, calling all her family members and getting free desserts at restaurants.

if anyone’s interested in my jean x reader fic, here’s the link. it’s pretty ymir heavy in the beginning but i’m exploring a lot of friendships/relationships :)

[comma-tose]

Rhyiona fuels me so here's what I think the most compelling argument for it is.

For Rhys:

When something goes wrong, when he's afraid, when he sees the ship leaving him on Helios, the first person he thinks about is Fiona. Every time.

She's the one that he can choose to trust over Jack. Shes the one he can try to call out to for help when Jack begins taking over him, and she's the one that Jack threatens to strangle when he's taunting Rhys. When he thinks the group ditched him on Helios, what was the first thing that came out of his mouth? It was HER name. Because it was her that he couldn't believe left him.

For Fiona:

She refuses to leave him until she's forced to, she doesn't listen to Sasha telling her that they should leave, replying with "that is not an option okay? We're waiting for Rhys".

Even if he chooses to side with Jack she doesn't want to leave, outright refusing to believe he would do something like that. Even when the Gortys upgrade drops down from the trapdoor, she still doesn't want to leave because Rhys isn't with them. It's not until Helios goes into lockdown that she gives in, because she really has no other option at that point.

Then there's all that stuff when they break away from the group and rush towards the vault, with Rhys saying that it's "almost like it's meant to be" referring to them being the ones to go into the vault together.

I mean for crying out loud despite spending who knows how long thinking the other was dead or that they abandoned them, those two STILL hold onto one of the first major moments they had together. Saying the exact same line as if it had been replaying in their heads since the beginning. They didn't even have to TRY to remember, it just came naturally to them.

"it's the last one, it's only right that we both open it... It's the best part"

"...kinda hoping you'd say that"

They may not be canon but damn it I will not abandon this ship.

[horatio-fig]

is it bad I want to read more about kallus brother? I can't imagine Zeb's reaction to it

Is it bad I love writing awful characters like that 😅

“There's a Twi-lek over there, that one’s for me. Sasha, I know you prefer human women.” Nick said as he looked around the tap-cafe at the poor women who were just trying to enjoy a drink after work. Kallus felt Zeb turn to look at him, and there was an unsaid question on whether Kallus was going to correct his brother. Kallus did nothing, just grew hotter and sweatier as he watched his brother leer at women. “Umm, I can’t see any lasat here? You good with a Wookie instead?” 

“No thanks. I’m into humans.” Zeb said casually and he leaned back in his chair. Kallus felt his mouth go dry at the sight. Zeb was not a very subtle man, even if you didn't work in intelligence. The lasat had many tells and giveaways and it was no surprise he lost at Sabacc as much as he did. One of his tells was leaning back in his chair with a smug grin, a sign he thought he had a winning hand.  

Nick turned his head slowly back to Zeb, his eyebrow raised in surprise and his lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a sneer but could easily become one.

“If you think you can find a human who wants to do that with you, then knock yourself out.” Nick said, a hint of a cruel laugh bubbling beneath the surface and Kallus hoped no one looked at him. If Nick looked at him right now, he was sure he would burst into flames.  

“I already found one thanks.” Zeb grinned and he turned his head to catch Kallus’s eye and for one awful moment Kallus was afraid he was going to wink or put an arm around him or something.  

“Well then she’s into some interesting stuff, that’s all I can say.” Nick said, taking a desperate swig of his drink and looking a little shaken. Kallus was sure there was plenty more Nick would like to say on the matter, but his brother was being uncharacteristically quiet right now.  

“Yeah.” Zeb said, leaning in as he spoke and looking like a predator about the make the final strike. “He is.” 

Nick froze on the spot, some of his drink trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he did, and his eyes went as wide as dinnerplates as Zeb's words sunk in. A small laugh slipped out, likely from the shock and Kallus could see him searching Zeb's face for some sign his was joking.  

“Kal, you’ll be back me up right.” Zeb said, turning to face Kallus and giving him those big loth cat eyes Kallus could never say no too. Kallus sighed in defeat and nodded back, finally accepting his fate.  

He sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat as though it was some great speech he was about to give. In a way it was, he’d been preparing this speech in his head for a while now. He’d thought of every possible outcome and won all sorts of pretend arguments in the shower.  He could do this.  

So why wasn't he saying anything... 

[edgessunflower]

hiya! I was wondering if you could write some becky lynch x female autistic reader ? I feel like becky, especially as The Man, would be protective of reader. Maybe the reader struggles with social cues or is sometimes nonverbal?

Thanks have a great day/night!

Friend of the man

Pairing: Becky Lynch x Fem autistic reader

Description: Becky always stands up for you when you're always misjudged by others and is a true friend

Becky turned the corner only to see you against the wall while Nia towered over you which made you afraid as she walked up to her and got between the two of you with a pissed off expression across her face. "You're not gonna mistreat her because she's different, she can't control it and it's not her fault for being who she is" nia walks off before becky handed you a granola bar as the two of you watched a tag match between Sasha and Bayley against Liv and Rhea, you stood in the ring challenging Charlotte Flair for her WWE championship only for charlotte to insult you as it was part of the promo as she accepted your challenge not expecting a familiar theme to blare throughout the arena as becky climbed in the ring and yanked charlotte's hand of your arm that made you go completely silent since you didn't let many people touch you and you weren't expecting the tight grip to your arm, "Listen here you can do a lot to the rest of us but whatever you have in mind don't even think about doing it to her" you climbed out of the ring leading becky to find you in the corner of your locker room swaying back and forth as she calmed you down from being overstimulated by what charlotte did a long with the noise from the crowd along with her insults. A few of the girls were talking while having lunch which you joined in with bayley mistaking a comment that Alexa said to rhea thinking she was talking to you only to earn a scowl and a rude remark in response making you go quiet while fixing your jacket, "Hey, don't glare at her because she misunderstood what you said which you should have made clear to her" you look up at becky before she walked out of the room leaving everyone quiet before you leave with a cup of coffee only to see becky with one of your favorite snacks from catering leading to the two of you in her locker room watching Rey and Edge's match smiling when she hands you a charm of Remy from Ratatouille which was one of your favorite movies only smiling as she watched you lightly shimmy side to side drinking an energy drink while talking with edge who was like a dad to you and Dom who became your first friend other than becky, rhea, the Uso's, Rey, and their cousin Roman who made up a small group of friends who weren't just friends but family who accepted and supported you more than any of the people who had been in and out of your life for the past few years and you could never thank them enough by them understanding you and never judging you at all.

[nathaaaan]

Concept; danne au, but Anne has more control(the core is pushed back/can only influence but not control her)

In my humble opinion, that’s a great idea! I can see Anne forcing The Core to either be trapped in her subconscious, or force them back by will (both are by will tbh). I feel like the helmet’s eyes will be blue, or maybe black like it’s turned off, if there’s even a helmet at all. What if she rips it off or something? That would be cool.

Anyway.

Anne would be sick and tired of being controlled and manipulated to the point where she technically just becomes a worse version of Sasha

Sasha was a huge influence in her life, she was bound to learn from her, but because of her kind and understanding nature, she never really did what Sasha did. Until now. Anne doesn’t understand anymore, and she can’t afford to be kind. She doesn’t understand why Hop Pop hid the box and then lied to her about it (in this AU she never really got over it despite forgiving him), why Sasha tricked her [twice], and she doesn’t understand why Marcy lied to her.

I feel like Andrias and Anne would actually have a semi-good bond here. Due to the fact that Andrias understands what Anne is going through. I think he might actually try to reach out and talk to her, but Anne is confused. Confused on why Andrias seems so genuine, so trustworthy, but the problem is that she doesn’t trust him—she can’t. Afraid that his tender gestures are just another ruse for her to let her guard down. Somehow, Andrias manages to coax her out of her shell and talk to her a few times (like twice), as Anne is just a child. A child who has been crossed far too many times by the people she care(d) deeply for.

Anne would probably also get information and what not from The Core. The opposite happened. Instead of The Core getting Anne’s memories, Anne basically gets The Core’s. Or they just tell her because they’re desperate. Anne likes these ideas because if she has all of this control, nobody can hurt her again. It’s a win for her because she can’t be fooled again. And since she has all the information she needs, she just needs to execute everything properly.

The Core is just a whiney voice in the back of her mind lmfao.

Enough about Anne, what are Sasha and Marcy doing? Marcy goes home, and Sasha starts a rebellion. Of course, it can go differently, but I can’t think about how Sasha would ever get through the portal with the Plantars, or even Grime.

Also, The Core could probably convince Anne to give them control sometimes. Anne would be fine with this because she can just take back control if The Core does something she doesn’t approve of. It’d be especially useful for fighting because Anne would go from “I don’t want to hurt you,” :( to “Let me kill you,” :)

Anne’s hurting, yeah, but she doesn’t really want to hurt others, because she’s Anne, so she’ll let The Core do all that.

i kid you not, i stared at that ask for 10 minutes, then took an hour to think/write about this. :)

[gerrydelano]

SKINDEEP

Rating: M Words: 13.3k Characters: Jon Sims, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Danny Stoker, Sasha James, Melanie King, Caroline Brodie, Callum Brodie, Gerry Keay (in memorium)

Relationships: Gerry/Tim, Martin/Danny, Sasha & Tim, Melanie & Caroline Brodie, Danny & Tim

Synopsis: Alternate ending for Pharos by Right (inspired by this anon) where Tim doesn't manage to stop Danny from swinging the hammer while Gerry read the incantation to start the Change — i.e., Gerry is killed to save the world, and then the world goes quiet.

(Actual ending of PBR will commence after posting this because I needed to get it out of my system. Got possessed.)

To those unfamiliar, PBR is my massive Archivist!Gerry series, and this requires the context of most of it, but especially my most recent chapter. If this intrigues you at all, there's 430k more words where this came from!

CWs: Character death; Head trauma; Severe injury; Grief; An intense breakdown ft. drowning imagery; Mention of drug use

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

Jon opens his eyes to the sound of screaming, burning, and a loud ringing in his ears. He coughs against the ash in his mouth, halting in his attempt to roll onto his side as his ribs clip a hard object underneath him. He must have been thrown backwards into something when the—

When the bombs went off. The bombs went off. It’s must be over.

But the screaming. Oh, the screaming, it’s louder than the ringing and the burning and the voice that he can almost hear saying shhh, it’s alright, I’m right here! Oh, G-d, somebody help! The voice calls his name. His name is Jon. His name is his name again.

Stiffly, he rises to his elbow and coughs again, his chest sore and his legs weak and oh, G-d, his leg— there’s a gash in his leg, a large one, and he can feel the blood running down into his sock.

His name is called again, and he’s almost afraid to rub soot into his remaining eye even on the off chance that he might clear it and find the source of the sounds, the screaming, the voice. Bleary, he stumbles forward onto his less-injured leg, peering around in the smoke for a shape he might recognize.

There is a shape, tall and upright, but it’s silent. A spire in the fog. Not the source of his name.

He keeps looking. He keeps listening. He crawls.

“Jon, where are you! Judith? Tim! I need help, somebody help me!”

Martin? That’s Martin’s voice, high and desperate and rough with smoke, too, there’s smoke everywhere, they need to get out of here. They need to leave, before the police arrive, before the structure collapses, before—

The screaming has transitioned into bawling, deeply pained cries for help, and only when he finally sees Martin’s shape hunkered over a spasmodic, outstretched body does it click. Danny is hurt. He was hurt in the explosion, and Martin needs help with him. Jon drags himself over to Danny’s other side and reaches out for his arm to find his sleeve wet with blood, but not torn. Danny screams again at the contact of his hand, startling Jon into letting go.

“How—” Jon coughs again. “Where is he hurt, what—”

“I-I don’t— Everywhere!” Martin panics, his hands on Danny’s chest like he’s about to start compressions. He doesn’t, of course, because Danny is horrifically alive, and there is blood seeping through his ringmaster’s jacket like the fabric has just been lain upon a dark puddle.

Jon reaches out for his hem to lift it, earning a smack from Danny’s frantic, bloody hand. He persists. He gasps.

The open wound is a perfect split down the middle of his stomach, disappearing at his groin, and most certainly extending up his chest into a V. He’d heard about the autopsy seams. He could never have imagined they would split open again.

Quickly, Jon lowers the shirt again and presses down on the wound, earning another guttural sound of agony. Martin is weeping but trying not to let it slow him down, trying to pin Danny’s arm to his side with his knees. Jon tries to do the same, but then who will get his legs? They surely go down his legs, too.

“Tim?” he hears himself croak out. “Tim, where are you?”

No answer. He could assume the worst, but he remembers that tall shape and turns around. It’s still there, standing a distance away in utter stillness, like another wax statue that hasn’t been taken down in the blast or a troupe member that refused to be exterminated, but Jon knows that sound. The sound of phantom water.

“Tim!” he shouts. “Tim, come over here and help your brother!”

No answer.

Jon turns around again and waves a hand through the smoke. There is daylight shining through a busted out window, casting beams onto the filthy, ruined floor. Tim is hovering a few yards away, staring down at the ground and soaked to the bone as water pours from the top of his head all the way down his body. He doesn’t look injured — why would he? He’s still clenching his fist around what Jon can only assume is the detonator.

“Tim!” he shouts again. “Tim, we need you to— oh.”

At Tim’s feet, there is a dark pool. It creeps slowly across the floor towards Jon’s own extended shoe, glinting red in the dusty daylight. Jon traces the seeping to its source, and meets Gerry’s open eyes.

“Oh, no… No, no, no.”

The blood is pouring fast from his head, spreading out from under the mess of his hair. His mouth is parted almost in surprise, frozen around an unspoken word, like he’s been interrupted from a dream.

This has to be a dream.

“Jon, could you please focus!”

Jon realizes he’s let go of Danny entirely. Jon stutters back around, stutters his next half-words. Nothing comes of his violent nausea. He almost wishes it would. Maybe it would wake him up.

“I— Martin, Gerry is—”

“I know!” Martin snipes, and then takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know. I know, and I can’t think about that right now, not when— Danny is still alive, please, help me keep him that way!”

“We need… We need an ambulance, we need… Where’s my phone…?”

Jon pats at himself, feeling the tack of bloody handprints on his clothes as he goes. When he finds his phone, he finds the screen cracked, but it still works when he presses his sticky thumb to the sensor. His free hand moves back to Danny’s arm, squeezing his bicep hard.

“Y-Yes, hello? We’re at the House of Wax. Yes, that one, in— in Great Yarmouth. There’s been— There’s been an explosion, people are hurt, we need… please, send an ambulance. Send two. Send all of them! I don’t care, please, just— please, help.”

Jon doesn’t realize he’s started to cry until he’s bowed forward enough over Danny that the next time his arm flails, it clips him on the face. He recoils and nearly drops his phone, barely catching it to put it back into his pocket before he secures his hands around Danny’s arm again and holds tight. He dreads turning his head again, but he has to.

“Tim,” he says more carefully this time. “Tim, you need to move. You need to do something.”

No answer.

“Either help us, o-or go find Judith, or the Hunters, or see if any of the troupe are still alive.”

No answer.

“Anything, Tim! Can you hear me?”

No answer.

“He can’t hear you,” Martin sniffs. “I don’t— I don’t think he can hear anything.”

The water in his ears may be too much. He may be frozen in his avatar state, consumed by repulsive satiation. He may be lost, too.

When Danny’s screaming dies down into whimpers, his thrashing into mere twitches, Jon finds himself just as worried as Martin. He lets Martin take up the mantle of trying to keep his attention — Danny? Angel, can you hear me? Stay with me, stay awake! I can’t lose you here, not like this! — because what could Jon possibly say? What could he offer to either of the Stoker brothers now?

A clattering sounds from afar. Jon snaps his head up to look for the source of it, spying Judith stumbling over a pile of rubble to reach them. She’s covered in soot, clutching her arm and limping. When she reaches their pocket of the room, her eyes go to Gerry first.

“Oh, G-d.”

Jon swallows hard. “Where are the other Hunters?”

“Dead. Think they fragged each other.”

Her voice is dreamy and distant. She crosses over to Tim, and bends down to pick something up off the floor. Gerry’s walking stick, forgotten in between the two scenes. She doesn’t wipe the blood off of the handle, inspecting the head of the hammer in the light for something Jon can’t see. He watches her study Tim like a marble statue in a museum, until his eyes drop once again to meet Gerry’s.

This has got to be a dream.

“What happened to him?” Judith asks of Danny.

“I— I don’t know,” Martin struggles. “I think a lot of his old wounds opened up, but I don’t know how, I don’t see why they— Jon, how long until the ambulance gets here?”

Jon blinks. “I didn’t ask.”

Martin doesn’t chastise him, instead nodding with a tearful sound. He’s come to lean his forearm across Danny’s collarbones, his other bent to cover as much of the vertical line down his chest as he can. Like he’s holding together some little paper art project, waiting for the glue to dry. His wrist is angled strangely, and for the first time, Jon notices his gritting teeth. He’s hurt, too, and he’s fighting through it.

“I’ll go wave them down,” Judith says, starting to step over the growing lake of Gerry’s blood. A thin branch of it is close to touching the edge of Danny’s.

“What’s our plan?”

“Plan?” Jon almost mocks. “What can— What can we even do now?”

“You were all about contingency plans before,” she says dryly. “You didn’t plan for something like this?”

“Well, obviously not, Judith! Of course I didn’t think—”

Didn’t think… what? That only some of them might die? That the rest of them would have to live with it? Of course he didn’t plan for that.

“I say… let it get sectioned.” She shakes her head at the scene. “Let it all get put away.”

“How do we do that?”

“Tell them that something unbelievable happened, that they got caught in the crossfire, that you don’t know what happened to them because something was happening to you, too. Isn’t that the truth?”

It sounds too easy. “Won’t we be detained anyway until they decide we’re not lying?”

“We all need a hospital. I have a feeling we’ll be fine, when they see the rest of the scene. The choir’s dead, too.” Judith turns to Tim once more. “…I’ll put this in my car before they get here.”

She leaves with the help of the walking staff, calm and direct, and Jon doesn’t think he has it in him to be a Hunter, after all.

Tim pays her no mind, still staring stone still at Gerry’s body. He’d landed on his back, mostly, one leg tipped to the side and his hand delicately curled in the puddle. The other is resting serenely on his hip, almost like he’d been posed that way. One of his eyes is severely bloodshot, grey shining up through the darkness of it like a coin. The longer Jon looks at him, the clearer the sunlight is through the window. It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s the middle of summer. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“How did— How did this happen?”

“There was an explosion, Jon,” Martin mutters.

“No, I know, but— but the rest of us… We’re fine, we’re… Why him?”

“I don’t have an answer for you. I didn’t see what happened.” Martin lifts an arm for a split second to wipe his nose, leaving a smudge of red on his face. He stares down at Danny’s face, paler than fear has ever left it, one-track minded as ever. It’s not as if Jon can blame him. What else in this room is worth worrying about now? It’s all over. They were just in time, and they were too late.

Jon forgets until the sound of sirens. He spins around to face Tim again, to tell him that he needs to control his leaking before someone sees, but the only evidence that Tim was ever standing there in the first place is a small disturbance in the blood where it has been thinned and expanded with water.

Firefighters first, police, and then the paramedics with their stretchers and their questions and their back away, let us take over. Martin tries his best to explain the extent of Danny’s wounds, launching into the true lie that Judith encouraged without rehearsal.

“We were just walking around, and something weird started happening, there— there was music, and dancing? But it was terrible dancing, not bad to look at but bad to be a part of, we couldn’t stop, there are— there are more people lost in here somewhere, I just know it, but I don’t know where they are. There was—” A sob. “There were people without skin.”

Danny can pass very well as a mere victim of whatever supernatural nonsense had taken place, certainly. His wounds are too severe and his clothes too close to pristine over them to make any sense to the ordinary eye.

Jon is asked about Gerry.

“I—” His throat stops up with a cry. “I didn’t see. I think… I think the blast must have… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Should he mention the Magnus Institute? Will that hurry up the Section Eight process? He doesn’t know what to do. When a paramedic asks to see his leg, he’s powerless to do anything but obey, limping out of the building with the help of a firefighter.

Martin isn’t permitted into Danny’s ambulance, the paramedics too frantic to stabilize him. Jon catches one of them noting the texture and colour of his blood in confusion, in distress, and looks down at his hands to find them more maroon than crimson in the sunlight. He sways.

While he’s being bandaged on the back of an ambulance, a stretcher carrying a body bag is rolled by and loaded into another. He watches as a series of dark, wet spots form on the ground leading up to the step into the back before the doors close.

Good. Someone should stay with him until the end. Jon only knows Jewish funerals, the strict customs that being sectioned might not care to honour. Perhaps Gerry wouldn’t care one way or another if someone were to guard his body, but he still shouldn’t be alone.

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

They bring him straight to the morgue.

Tim follows behind the man with the stretcher in silence, in absence, and cares nothing for the mess his footsteps leave behind. When the swinging door shuts in his face, he steps right through it. He watches the man handle his lover with ambivalence, with some anxiety, and waits as long as it takes for him to leave. He is going to be alone with Gerry if it kills someone else.

When there’s no one left in the room, he releases his grip on disappearance and watches the perfect stillness of the black bag. He doesn’t feel that old sense of being observed anymore. It’s his turn to stare.

He reaches for the zipper.

Pulling it down takes an eternity, his hands numb with hate. When he’s peeled back the sides to free Gerry’s face, to let his body breathe, he takes in the sight without so much as a shaken gasp. Gerry’s eyes are still open, the one damaged with the impact to his skull, the other clear as day, but catching no light. Not anymore.

Tim reaches out to shut them with his fingertips. To wipe a speck of blood from his forehead. To stroke dust from his cheek.

Gerry’s head lolls with the touch, no control left to be had. The fluorescent lights cast a shine on the blood-matted depression in his skull.

Tim’s eyes catch on the purple bruise on the side of her neck, nestled sweetly just above her collar. His fingertips drift down to touch it, to beg for a pulse. He remembers why he never bothered with prayer.

Gerry never bothered with it, either. What would he want to happen next? It’s up to Tim now. One decision he never wanted to make for her.

Tim remains by his side until the morgue doors open again, at which point he makes eye contact with a startled hospital employee. Water pours from his head and shoulders to spread across the tile floor at his feet, his hand still resting on Gerry’s lifeless breastbone. The worker doesn’t scream, staring back and breathing hard, until Tim forces two words past the outpouring of water from his mouth.

“Get— out.”

Now, they scramble to run, and he turns back to his love for one last, long glance. The next time someone interrupts him, he’ll have to leave. He can’t keep Gerry like this forever. It wouldn’t be fair.

He needs to be out in the waiting room as family when someone finally comes looking for some. He needs to be composed. He needs to be human. To handle this like a husband.

Tim reaches for Gerry’s chin to straighten his head again. Dignity.

Gently, he reaches his hands behind her neck to feel for the clasp of her collar first, and then the chain that holds her padlock. He can get the rest of his jewelry and his jacket back when they strip him for cremation. No one else should get to touch these. Not for anything.

Gerry would choose cremation. He wouldn’t want to be locked in a pine box, slow to decompose. He wouldn’t choose to leave remnants for desecration should someone feel like fucking with the Archivist just a little more. He feared the sink even more than he feared burning. He wouldn’t choose to be Buried.

That doesn’t mean it sits right with Tim. For there to be nothing left of her, just like that. Like she was never here.

He knows what Gerry wanted. He knows exactly what happened.

Tim tucks the collar and padlock into his pocket, no regard for the blood on them, and looks down at Gerry’s bloodless, peaceful face. Carefully, he bends down to place his lips over hers one last time, as if he had a final breath to give her. All he’s ever had was a kiss. He’s still colder than she is.

He zips the bag shut, but lingers just that moment longer.

When the doors open again — the same worker, this time with reinforcements and a right there, see! — Tim lets himself be seen before he revokes the privilege, disappearing with all that he can take with him. He walks past them as any live man ordinarily would, sure to brush shoulders with the one that he knows now will never forget his face. The shudder makes him stronger, and he needs it. There is nothing else left in him.

He walks back into the world in an empty hallway, and keeps going until he finds Jon and Martin in the waiting room. Jon shoots upright when he sees him, stumbling on his new injury. Tim takes a seat beside him. Jon’s questions are a blur of sound and disinterest, until a long silence passes and Tim hears him say:

“I don’t understand.”

“It was the bomb, Jon,” Martin tries. “Something must have hit him when it went off.”

“No,” Tim says, his voice foreign in his throat and his own ears. They need the truth. “It was Danny.”

Martin recoils with a curled lip, disgusted by the notion. “No, that’s not true. You don’t know that.”

“I do know,” Tim refutes. “They had an arrangement.”

“An arrange— what?” Jon shakes his head. “You can’t be serious.”

“You knew about this?” Martin demands. “You knew and you just—?”

“Choose your next words very carefully, Martin.”

Martin shuts his mouth. Jon’s better leg bounces with tension. He breaks the next silence with a question that Tim wishes he couldn’t hear.

“What do we tell the others? When, h-how?”

Tim stares at the floor. “In person, when we get back. I’ll do it.”

“We have no idea how long we’re going to be here,” Martin tells him. “Danny’s in bad shape. He might be stuck here for a long time.”

“If you want to stay with him, you should. I won’t.”

Martin almost looks offended, hurt, before he reins himself back in with a cleared throat. “They won’t let me see him yet.”

“It takes a long time to suture the entire body,” Jon contributes. “Those wounds went down to the muscle.”

Tim would wince if he could. Martin does, leaning forward to scrub at his face with the one hand not in a sling. He’s washed the blood off of his hands, but his clothes are still soaked in it. Jon’s are, too. Tim doesn’t feel the need to tell them that their bags are in the trunk of the car they drove here. They’ll change when they remember.

“It feels wrong to be so calm,” Jon says suddenly. “I feel like I should be throwing the biggest conniption of my life.”

“That’d be a pretty big conniption,” Martin mutters.

“It would be, yes. But I can’t seem to… access it.” His brow creases, as if in confusion. “This still doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s real,” Tim says simply. “Gerry’s dead.”

Jon’s face scrunches up in refusal as he turns away to lean into his hand. Martin stares at the floor at Tim’s feet for a while before he speaks up.

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

Tim has nothing else to say.

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

Martin bolts out of his chair when Danny stirs, fingertips to the edge of his bed.

“Danny?” he asks, tentative. “Danny, can you hear me? It’s Martin, I’m right here.”

Danny whines in protest. His arm shifts barely a centimeter before he seizes up with pain again, eyes flying open as he gasps. Martin freezes; he learned from the sore spot on his cheek. Don’t get too close.

“Look at me, over here. That’s right, right over here. See? It’s only me.”

At first, Danny says nothing. His eyes are bleary with the frankly lethal amount of sedatives they’d given him after the last time he’d lashed out at an orderly when she tried to change his bandages, his mouth slack and weak. His chest heaves with shallow breaths, but he looks at Martin and keeps his eyes locked on him. Martin will take that.

He sits back down in his chair, pulling out the magazine he’d gotten from the waiting room. It’s hard to turn the pages one-handed, his left arm still in the sling. “I was just reading this trashy thing here, but none of the gossip is all that good.”

Not that he expects a response or anything. He just wants Danny to get used to the sound of his voice again, to his presence in the room. Eventually, it feels stupid to make this kind of small talk, though. He tosses the magazine down at the very foot of the bed and leans forward on his knees.

“Can I… get you anything? Water?”

Danny licks his lips, but says nothing. Martin can hear his breath trembling.

“Okay… when you change your mind, you let me know. The doctor said we might try to sit you up a little bit today, if you’re up for it? Just a little bit, not too far. Only until you’ve had enough. I… I think it’s a good idea to try.”

It’s difficult to look Danny in the eye when he’s still so drugged out, so silent. Martin regrets looking away, though, because then all he can see are his heavily bandaged limbs. The padded cuffs around his wrists.

“I wish I could just take these off of you, but… but you hit an orderly, so—” Martin lets out a curt breath. “It’s for your own protection, too. So you don’t rip your stitches. It’s been a few days, though, and you’re doing a little better, so maybe they can start weaning you off the morphine, a-and if you’re more alert, you won’t get so scared anymore when somebody comes by to help.”

“Tim.”

Danny’s voice is wrecked from screaming, reduced to a small, thin whisper. Martin looks down at his laced hands. “Tim isn’t here.”

He takes a long moment to form a second word, licking his dry lips again. “Where?”

“He’s— Jon is… teaching him how to sit shiva.” If Martin could lower his head any more, he would. “They’re about halfway through.”

Danny’s eyes glaze over as they drift up to the ceiling. Martin gives him a moment; that might have been a confusing thing to say while he’s still only partially in his head. It was devoid of context, it was a stupid way to answer that question, dammit, he’s going to need to start over.

“What, um… What do you remember?”

There is another stretch of quiet while Danny seems to think. The sound of hospital machines chews on Martin’s bones. In the end, Danny only comes up with one murmured, deadened word.

“Crack.”

Martin’s stomach solidifies into a brick inside him. He fights the way his leg wants to shake, running his hands over his thighs and pressing down hard. “You remember that?”

Danny nods minutely. “The dancer… thanked me.”

“…But you didn’t do it for her,” Martin suggests. “You did it for Pharos. Right?”

“Right.”

An empty little echo, barely an exhale. Danny’s eyes slip shut, finally, and in the bright light from the window, Martin can see the faintest glint of a tear stuck in the corner of just one. It doesn’t dislodge to fall when he looks up again, clinging instead to his lashes. Martin aches for him in a way that perhaps no one else has it in them to ache.

“I won’t… claim to know what sort of ‘arrangement’ you and Pharos had, or why, but… I know you. I know you wouldn’t have done it without an honest reason.”

“Honest,” Danny huffs.

“I know you,” Martin says again. “I know you’d never—”

“Stop. Stop it.” Danny shifts and shock-stops again, a pained sound caught in his throat. He keeps his eyes screwed shut tight. “Please, don’t. Just stop. Stop.”

“Okay,” Martin murmurs. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

He sits in helplessness as Danny fights the pain of trying to turn away and hide, as he struggles against the wave of grief and regret that Martin can see written plain across his face. Tears build up in Martin’s throat, too; he’s only cried in private since that day, too set on being strong for Danny. No one else could stay in Great Yarmouth just to wait around for Danny to wake up or become a more cooperative patient or explain himself. Tim couldn’t stay in the city that rushed to burn Gerry’s bones.

To be so absent from the mourning process back in London makes Martin feel like a terrible friend. He can’t cite feeling less than close to Gerry as a reason for it; of course his death makes Martin want to curl up into a hole and stay there, but there’s— there’s another factor in the situation, and if no one else can stomach it, then he will. Why stop now?

“Can I hold your hand?”

Danny makes a disagreeable noise. Martin accepts the rejection as gracefully as he can, sitting back in his chair to diminish the temptation to reach out anyway.

“Maybe I could get you that water—?”

“Leave,” Danny spits out on the tail ends of a sharp breath. “Just… please, go. Go home.”

“Well, no, I won’t be doing that much. I can leave the room for a while, I’ll go down to the waiting room again, but… No, Danny, there’s no way I’m just leaving you here. It’s a three hour drive, and you’re in no shape to be by yourself. You need someone to bring you home when you’re ready.”

It must hurt like hell to cry. Martin can see the tendons in Danny’s neck standing out with how harshly he’s turned his head away, his body jolting painfully as he tries to keep himself quiet. How could anyone possibly be expected to hold all this in? Martin isn’t judging him. He wants to cry, too.

“I love you,” he says, even knowing it might even make things worse. Just on the off chance that it doesn’t. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

He stands up without waiting for a response, grabbing up the magazine from the foot of the bed. The waiting room is a better place to check his texts.

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

Every desk in the bullpen filled, but an empty Head Archivist’s office. Sasha glances towards it every now and again, still half-expecting it to creak open and to see Gerry yawning in the doorway. They haven’t erased the nap counter from the white board. They haven’t been touching the calendar, the last blue dot left behind on the day before they all left for Great Yarmouth. It’ll simply gather dust, she suspects, because what function does it serve now? No more estrogen. No more joy.

There is no joy left in Tim. It’s been wrung out of him in a way that Sasha has never seen before. Never in his wildest depressions or losses has he ever looked this grim. His eyes sink into shadows when he turns his head the right way in the light. The wet spots on his shirt could almost be mistaken for sweat if he didn’t radiate such a coldness that sitting across from him makes her want to tighten her cardigan around herself. She hasn’t seen him smile since their meeting in the safehouse, when the corners of his mouth turned up in a halfhearted attempt at saying I’ll see you soon before she hugged him goodbye the second time.

She joined in on Jon’s attempted shiva. They all had, except for Martin. Jon explained the rules; only some of the restrictions, as Gerry was not a Jew, but he said that for the time being, they were to see themselves as Gerry’s immediate family. Who else would mourn him properly? It not being his custom hardly mattered in this case; it was something where he would otherwise have nothing. According to Jon, shiva was meant to contain the grieving process into something manageable. To allow for the full depth of it to sink its teeth in, to truly sit in it, and then when the time came, face the world again with renewed strength. It was the only way he knew how to grieve, and so it was all he could do to share it.

Tim had followed the rules in silence. Sasha watched him from her low cushion and waited for an opportunity to touch him, to console him, but he never gave her one. On the morning of the seventh day, Jon took it upon himself to say play the visitor and recited a blessing in front of Tim, bidding G-d to comfort him among all the mourners in Jerusalem, and reached to help him up off the floor. “Arise,” he’d said, and Tim had.

It just wasn’t Tim’s custom, either. It’s been a week since they returned to work, and he’s still a stone gargoyle in his desk chair, empty of light and effort. Jon told her that for spouses, the mourning period will be considerably intense for at least a year.

A year. Two years. Three years, four. Eventually, the years without Gerry will outnumber the ones they had with him, and Tim will feel it like no one else. Sasha looks at him, and she feels moths crawling underneath her clothes, trapped there in her own grief.

Sasha has lost enough sisters. This one is especially cruel.

“So…” Martin begins, breaking the long silence. “What exactly are we going to… do now? Here, I mean, at the Institute.”

“The same thing we’ve been doing, I presume.” Jon sets a pile of papers off to the side. “The Unknowing was only one ritual of many potential rituals. I think it’s only natural that we should keep trying to stop as many as we can.”

“But—” Martin bites his tongue for a moment. “I mean… sure. But something has to happen next, right? I mean, Elias—”

“Elias is mine.”

Tim’s voice doesn’t even sound like his voice anymore. Sasha shifts in her seat.

They’ve talked about this already. Judith went back into the rubble to find Begging the King and bring it to her father, who studied page 77 with a thoughtful face. There was only so much he could speculate about the incantation, but the long string of words at the end made him surmise that it was an attempt to bring forth all of Smirke’s Fourteen at once, and that the results could have been catastrophic. None of them knew how far Gerry must have read, or if he’d even been reading it at all by the time Danny swung the hammer, and so it’s difficult to say that the sacrifice was worth it.

But it looks like they wiped the chessboard entirely. Elias can’t come back to the Institute and reinstate himself as Head, he can’t ‘promote’ anyone to the Archivist position and start over whatever the hell he’d been doing with Gerry the whole time, he can’t show his face while it’s still Faraday’s. Whatever game he was playing, he’s lost.

Sasha doesn’t know if she’s allowed to feel triumphant or if she should just settle for being afraid of the retaliation that could creep up on them should he switch bodies again, or send something after them, or pull another gun. She wants to believe he won’t risk it; not with Tim still around to want revenge. She’s willing to bet he’s more afraid of Tim than he ever was before.

“…Okay, but, after that.” Martin’s skepticism is hesitant, but reasonable. “I just feel—”

“Lost,” Jon suggests, sounding far away.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sasha repeats, too. Tim has the right idea, in his almost-vow-of-silence. There’s not a whole lot else to say.

Another length of quiet sweeps through the Archives. Sasha can’t bring herself to touch her laptop, or get up for a box of folders. She can’t imagine recording statements onto her phone. She can’t imagine moving, paralyzed into her chair by the crawling sensation at the small of her back, the bend of her knees, in her sleeves.

“Hellooo?”

Sasha, Jon and Martin all jump in their seats as Divshah elbows her way into the Archives. She’s carrying a tray of coffee cups with both hands. Dread drops into Sasha’s stomach like a cement block.

“Oh, um—” Jon swallows. “H-Hello, Divshah.”

“Hi!” she chirps. “I haven’t seen you guys in a while, so I thought I’d bring something by! Scoot, scoot!”

She hops over to the bullpen and sets the tray down in front of Sasha and Tim. Sasha numbly accepts the biscotti as Divshah passes it to her, watching the cups as she distributes them by memory until there’s only one left in the very middle. Divshah takes it into her hands and straightens up to look around the room with a smile.

“Where’s Gerry?” She gasps gently. “Is he asleep?”

Sasha looks up at Tim to find him entirely unmoved. There is a droplet forming at his hairline. One glance at Jon and Martin tells her that she’s going to have to get up from her chair after all, because this conversation can’t happen in here.

“Um… Divshah, come with me really quick.”

Confused, Divshah places the last cup down on Sasha’s desk. “What’s going on?”

Sasha doesn’t respond just yet, shaking out her clothes a bit as she stands. If she doesn’t look down and around for the moths, they may just fade away.

Divshah follows her to Basira’s old room down the hall, her cheerful smile traded for something more apprehensive. Sasha shuts the door and sighs, catching her own face in both hands for a moment before she bites the bullet.

“You don’t have to bring cocoa for Gerry anymore,” she begins.

Divshah wilts. “Oh, no! Does he not work here anymore?”

“No, he doesn’t. Because, um.” Sasha swallows roughly. “Because— he died, Divshah. About two weeks ago.”

For a moment, Divshah just stares at her. She’s not like them, though, and she’s quick to blink. “What?”

“There was an accident. He… took a bad blow to the head. It happened really fast. There was nothing anyone could do.”

Instant are the tears. Divshah covers her mouth with both hands, shaking her head. “No, that’s— How could that happen? That’s not right, I don’t— He couldn’t—”

“I know,” Sasha interrupts, her own throat stopping up again. “I know, come here.”

Divshah slips into her arms like a river, clinging tight to the back of her cardigan. If there are moths around, she doesn’t seem to notice them, or care. Why would she? She’s been touched by the Corruption, too, and nothing seems to faze her. This is the first time Sasha has seen her look anything less than simply happy to be alive.

It takes a while for her to stop crying, pulling back to sniff so hard it must hurt. “How’s Tim doing?”

“Not well,” Sasha admits. “He’s really not himself right now.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine,” Divshah says nauseously. “I’m so— I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse with the— with the cocoa, I just wanted to—”

“I know, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Sasha pets her hair; her dark roots have grown out past her ears, the bleach-fried ends freshly lopped off. “Just… He needs some space. They all do, they were all there for it.”

“Oh, G-d.” Divshah hides her face again, letting out another round of tears. “That’s— That’s awful.”

“Yeah, from what I gather, it… it was.”

She could be more comforting, probably. She could be better. Or she could be honest, and cry a little bit, too. Divshah hugs her one more time, and Sasha plucks off her glasses to bend and bury her face in her shoulder. She hasn’t done this with Tim yet. She doesn’t know how much longer she can take it.

“I’ll, um… I’ll go.” Divshah wipes her face, stepping away and towards the door. “Enjoy your biscotti.”

Sasha steps out after her, watching as she pauses in front of the Archives doors and looks in through the window with a tearful face before she carries on towards the stairs at a brisk walk. Good that she didn’t go back in. She has some tact after all.

That was mean to think. Sasha taps her own cheek in reprimand, to shock the tears back inside, before she goes back into the Archives with a straight face. Tim is still sitting with his back to the door, the cocoa still sitting in front of him. Jon meets her eyes with concern, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. His kurta today is pink.

“She’s gone,” Sasha tells them, sitting down.

“What did you tell her?” Martin asks.

“What else? I told her the truth.” Sasha stares down at the cocoa cooling in front of her. “She didn’t take it very well. Cried a lot.”

Jon and Martin both nod, but only Jon voices his opinion. “Good. Someone ought to. S-Someone other than us, I mean. Anyone, really.” And then he gasps. “Oh, G-d, someone has to tell Tazia.”

Sasha winces. “You do it. I can’t. Not after Divshah just now, I— I can’t.”

He pulls out his phone to scroll through his messages for the large group chat they’d made back in Venice. The only way that anyone would even have her number. The only other person that Sasha can think of that knew Gerry, really knew him, and will care that he’s gone.

Tim moves, suddenly, to take the cocoa from the desk and swipe it into the bin.

The remainder of the day moves like molasses. The moment the clock strikes 5:00, Sasha stands up and requests that Tim follow her. He rises and does, and the drive home is silent. He waits on the doorstep for her to find her key and use it, perhaps consciously stopping himself from walking straight through. Without another word, he retreats to his bedroom and shuts the door.

Sasha doesn’t know what to do with the rest of her evening. She spends most of it on the couch, texting Melanie. Danny got home yesterday, having left the hospital against medical advice, and is largely immobile in bed. He still won’t speak much, either, apparently. Sasha can’t wrap her mind around the fact that she currently lives in a world where the Stoker boys — of all people — have gone speechless.

It’s half past midnight when she hears the crash. It jolts her out of bed and into the hallway, towards Tim’s room, before an even scarier noise halts her worried footsteps entirely. A garbled wail, like a scream underwater, interspersed with loud, hacking sobs. She looks down at her feet; there’s water seeping out from under his door. When she knocks, the only response is another item shattering — the bedside lamp? A picture frame? Sasha reaches for the doorknob to find it locked.

“Tim?” she calls out against the door. “Tim, can you hear me?”

The drowning noises don’t stop for her. Every image her mind conjures up of what he might look like right now only serves to split her heart further apart. She almost doesn’t want to see, but it feels like she needs to know. She needs to know in order to fix it. She needs to be able to hold him, to shush him, to simply be with him until the pain eases. She needs him to want her to.

“Tim,” she repeats, pleading. “Open the door, let me help you.”

“No!” comes the shout, hysterical. It’s barely intelligible as a word through the slosh of water that must have spewed from his mouth alongside it. “Go— away!”

Fine, then. If he wants her to do this the hard way, then she will. Sasha leaves the hall to dig through her room for the new lock-picking kit Melanie got her for her most recent birthday. The lock on his door is simple and plain like all the others in the house’s interior, so it barely resists when she fits the tool inside it. The phantom water is cold under her bare feet as she stands in the growing puddle, until the lock pops open and she ventures inside.

The floor is almost entirely flooded, and there’s a large wet spot on the center of the bed. She was right, the bedside lamp had been thrown to the ground, pieces of glass scattered in the water. She can’t see yet what else had been broken in the dark, but she can see Tim’s shape in the moonlight through the window, curled up between his side table and the edge of his mattress on the floor. He grasps at his chest like he’s suffocating all over again, water cascading down his body at an almost threatening speed. It’s a wonder there’s any room for him to cry through the outpouring.

There is no splashing sound when she walks through the flood to reach him, the water only as real as they believe it to be. Sasha chooses to believe he could breathe through it if he wanted to. That he will, eventually, when this has run its course. It’s been such a long time coming.

She sits down on the floor under the window, her dressing gown skimming the top of the puddle. Tim jolts like he’s in the tank again, his head banging against the side table, and Sasha lets herself wince because he’s not even looking at her. He can’t yet. He’s not ready.

So, she waits. She watches as it all comes rushing out of him at once, until he’s reduced to trickles and trembling and softer cries that finally sound more like weeping than a waterfall. He leans against the mattress and she finally sees what he’s been clutching in his fist; Gerry’s padlock on its chain.

There’s still nothing to say.

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

Melanie zips up her backpack with a sigh. “Martin, come on! You’re coming with me!”

“No the hell I’m not.”

“You have to! I’m down an assistant, and you know Callum. You went to his birthday party this year!”

Martin slams his mug down on the counter hard enough that she sees some of his tea splash out of it. “I’m not going to be a part of this video, Melanie. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”

Melanie crosses her arms. “You’re really not even going to give me a statement for it, either? You don’t have anything to say about our dead friend?”

He whirls around with a vengeance. “What do you want me to talk about, Melanie! The time I stole his keys and went behind his back and got Leitner all NotThem’d, so he compelled me and made it really clear that he’d never trust me? Or the time I nearly strangled him to death and proved him right? Or maybe for something lighter, how about the time we went to a flesh witch’s house and he hacked up his tonsils in front of me, that was a blast!”

“Okay, I get it!” Melanie cuts him off. “Fuck you.”

“Just— go do your thing, and don’t bring this up around me ever again.”

With a scowl, she turns around to snatch up her bag and storm out of the house. She hates this Martin. He’s worse than punctuation-user Martin, because now he uses punctuation all the time and he’s mean in person. Even when he had that bullet inside of him, he wasn’t quite so cutting.

She knows it’s because of Danny leaving, but it’s been three bloody months. He should be starting to level out again. He should be starting to— well, to get over it would be unrealistic to expect of him. How are any of them supposed to get over any of this?

Maybe she’s faring better because she’s the one Danny said goodbye to. The only one, because she was the only one he could trust not to beg him to stay. She’s the one who gets pulse check texts now and then, and sometimes the name of whatever continent he’s made it to. When he said he was in South America last weekend, she almost called him a liar.

Melanie doesn’t want to be angry at Martin, but it’s hard when he’s angry at her. For harboring something that he’s been deprived of. For persisting in the face of the paralysis that’s taken over the entire Archives, still, to this day. For being almost relieved by it, because Danny’s absence gave her enough space to breathe to decide on her next, long overdue project. One that he could never have helped her with.

It starts snowing halfway through her bus ride, speckling against the windows to dissolve into droplets. Melanie watches them trickle away, going over the intro to her video in her head again and again and again.

This is a video I’ve wanted to make for a long time, but it’s also one I never wanted to have to make at all. I’m going to start this by asking for some basic courtesy, because while I know this is the internet and I’m broadcasting from a channel about supernatural crap that a lot of skeptics like to make fun of, I’m going to be telling you about that close friend of mine that passed and I will not tolerate disrespect towards his memory. There will be times where I can only give so much proof, because some of the events I’m going to outline are from a long time ago, and yeah, have to do with supernatural crap that didn’t exactly leave behind a lot of clues. Long time viewers will know that the real stuff can’t always be captured digitally, and I want to finally tell you who opened my eyes and changed my entire career path with that knowledge: his name was Gerard Keay.

It was hard to deliver the lines into the camera when she first started recording. Took way too many takes, and she’s still not sure about the script. She might have to rewrite it a third time, maybe a fourth before this is over. This is going to be a big project. It’s going to be all the more difficult without Danny’s help.

One thing that makes it easier are the number of witnesses willing to appear on camera and speak on it.

Divshah wanted to tell her story the very day that Melanie asked her if she would, eager to tell the world the truth about how Gerry saved her from an abusive relationship without even knowing her name, and how he was never unkind to her, or dismissive of her disposition. She knows she’s a lot to handle, but Gerry never put out the idea that she was too much. He was accepting, and friendly, and he always put something in the tip jar.

Melanie sent Timothy Hodge an email. She plans to put a screenshot of his reply in the video, too, with his permission; he wants to put Jane Prentiss behind him, but he will admit with no hesitation that the only reason he’s alive today is because of Gerry. Gerry noticed, Gerry saw the signs, and Gerry personally saw to it that he was brought to a hospital. Gerry did that.

Next on her list is Caroline Brodie.

The snow is sticking to the grass a little bit as she walks up to the door and knocks. Caroline answers quickly, expecting her at this time. She ushers her inside and to the living room, where she sits on the couch to wring her hands in anxious hesitation.

“Thank you for doing this,” Melanie says after she’s taken out her camera and tripod. “I know it’s… out of the blue, after all this time.”

“No one could have predicted that this would have happened.”

“Still, it’s been… what, a little over a year? Since—”

Since Basira took the umbra from Callum. Since Gerry scared him to save him. Since the worst time of this family’s lives finally came to a tentative end.

Caroline nods. “Just about, yes. It feels like so much longer ago, but… also like it was only yesterday. Do you ever get that feeling?”

“All the time.”

Melanie offers a small smile, and then turns on her camera. Caroline shifts to sit up straighter, presentable, nervous.

“So, you’re making this video as… a memorial?”

“Sort of. But also… there’s a lot of people out there who have some really wrong beliefs about who he was. And people who did know him only got him in passing, he was like some… mythic figure, even to me at first. So, now that he’s not here to have his privacy invaded more, I figured it’s finally time to shed some light on the situation and kind of… clear his name.”

Tim had granted his assent, though not in so many words. He knew she wouldn’t be exploitative about it, but the real root of his reason was clear: everything is pointless now, so it didn’t matter what she did. Jon and Sasha had already given a few accounts each, full of stories and love. They’ll surely think of more to add as time continues to pass, in the absence of any contribution from Tim. Melanie won’t press him the way she pressed Martin earlier. It’s different.

Caroline wraps her mind around it, and doesn’t pry about what his name needs clearing from. “What is it you want me to say?”

“Just… the truth of your experience, I suppose? This video is about Gerry, about the person he really was, everything he did to help people… So, whatever you remember about him, I’d really like to hear it.”

Caroline nods again, clearing her throat. Melanie gives her a thumbs up when the camera starts recording, gesturing for Caroline to look at her while she speaks. It takes a long moment and a deep breath, but she does.

“I didn’t know Gerry very well. I only met him a few times, and the most prominent of those memories was the scariest moment of my life. Even scarier than losing my child was watching him— tied to a chair, and afraid. It worked, is the thing; the scary thing worked. I-I couldn’t even begin to recount it for you, what the process of… freeing him, was like, but it saved his life. It gave me my baby back.

“And just before the scary part began, I remember Gerry… sitting in front of him, just talking to him. He showed him a scar that I can still see in my mind if I think back on it — a big, black handprint on his leg — and told him that he wasn’t alone in what he was going through. That letting people notice that he’s hurt and letting them help him was the only way to heal. I remember him pulling his rucksack into his lap and showing him all these little trinkets he’d gotten from people over time, and one of them was—” She laughs wetly. “One of them was from Callum. They’d met before on a bus one day, and my son flicked a paper ninja star at him. Something I might’ve scolded him for had I been there, but then… maybe Gerry wouldn’t have flung it back. Maybe they wouldn’t have had their fun, and my son would have one less fond memory of a kind stranger who paid attention to him. Gerry kept that ninja star pinned to his bag that whole time, because he must have been short on fond memories, too. I didn’t know him well, but I know that’s the kind of person he was. The fond sort.

“And Callum listened to him. He has friends, now. Good friends who come over and stay the night sometimes, and lightbulbs don’t break in our house anymore. He’s happy. He’s healthy. He’s safe. And we’re closer than ever, we’re in a good place. That whole time was… very dark for us, so dark, and if you’re asking me about Gerry… I’d say he did his best to shine just a little bit of light on the future he wanted for my son. No one made him do that, no one made him care. He just… did. And I wish I had taken the chance to thank him for that.”

After a hesitant hand motion from Caroline, Melanie shuts off the camera and dabs at the corner of her eye. She hadn’t been there for Callum’s rescue, or his second saving, but she’d heard the stories of their respective horrors. She didn’t know about the sentimental part of it, but she believes it. She knows it.

“Thank you, Caroline,” Melanie says again, and she’s taken off guard by the swelling of pain in her throat that comes with the words. She turns her face away to roll her eyes up to the ceiling, bouncing a hand on her leg. She’s not supposed to cry, not here.

Caroline gets up and rushes back with a box of tissues, handing the whole thing to her. Melanie laughs, and accepts it, letting herself let just a bit of it out before she forces it all back inside. Another mumbled thanks, and an equally quiet you’re welcome.

“Are you done already?”

Melanie jumps, snapping her head back around to see Callum standing at the foot of the stairs. His hair is in need of a trim, his shirt baggy around his arms and hanging low past his waist. He stares at her sullenly, one hand on the banister as he sways with the clear desire to enter the room.

“I don’t know,” Caroline says to him, and turns to Melanie. “Are we?”

“I, um— I think that’s just about all I needed, yes. We can watch it over and you can tell me if you want to do another take, but I think… I always think interviews are best kept organic, you know? We never recall things the same way twice, and we can’t… replicate the same emotion.”

Caroline agrees, looking down at her folded hands before she glances back up at her son. “Were you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to come and talk with us?”

He gives Melanie a wary look before he slumps over to the couch to sit beside his mother. He doesn’t react much when she runs a hand through his hair and rubs his back once, his eyes tracing the camera and Melanie’s belongings.

“Why can’t I do one, too?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Caroline says. “We’d be telling the same story, wouldn’t we? I don’t want your face on any more… computers, or televisions, or any of that.”

“But he died.” He says it so plainly. “Shouldn’t I say something?”

“What would you say that she didn’t say already?” Melanie prompts.

He looks at the camera again. “Turn that on.”

“Why?”

“Because if I have to say it twice, I’ll get it wrong.”

Melanie looks at Caroline for permission. Caroline hesitates a moment longer, petting Callum’s hair again.

“Are you sure, honey?”

He nods. “A lot of people… have died, for me. And maybe he didn’t die for me, but he died, and I knew him. I want to do this.”

Caroline’s eyes well up again, and after another beat, she relents. She scoots over to the other side of the couch to let Callum take her seat in front of the camera, and Melanie starts to fiddle with her equipment again. Before she hits record, Callum asks her a difficult question.

“When’s Danny coming back?”

Melanie swallows. “I don’t know yet, kiddo. But I’m still in touch with him, so when I know, you’ll know.”

“Okay.”

She readjusts in her seat and angles the camera a little lower to focus on his face, and starts recording.

“Whenever you’re ready, go ahead.”

───── ⋅◆⋅ ─────

He listens to the rumble of the train around him in place of any sort of music, no headphones on his person since he left. Self-deprivation, perhaps, but that was almost the point. Instead he’s filled his life with the sounds of the world around him, voices to mimic and borrow, the machinery of travel and distance. No nice little daydream to get lost in. He hasn’t earned that.

His bag is light on his lap. He’d only brought enough with him that he could carry on his person at all times, replacing things when he needed to the same way he’d swindled his way onto planes, boats, trains like this one, when he wanted to take his time instead of traveling through mirrors. Excuse me, that’s my seat. Oh, you already punched my ticket. The same way he’d grifted their way to Greece the first time he left home with Martin and—

Home. What a lost notion.

It’d be a lie to say he didn’t still daydream. His dreams are different now; no longer limited to the Circus the second time, no longer Watched by that haunting pair of silver eyes. They’re broader again, now with new hammersplat sounds and Tim is there, turning away from him. Sometimes they’re not about anything at all, ordinary dreams that he didn’t realize he could still have. Ones that leave him emptier than the ones that wake him up with chills or a shout, because he hasn’t earned those, either.

But some mornings, he would wake up in a motel without arms around him and sincerely wonder where they went. Had Martin gotten up to get them coffee? Was he showering, or off finding a vending machine? Will he be back soon?

The illusion never lasted very long. It was always a source of stinging while the rest of him stayed numb and distant, removed from the experiences he could be having in Zimbabwe and Costa Maya and Sydney if this were a vacation. If this were anything but a chance to think. Mostly, he wandered.

He’s finished, now.

The train comes to a screeching halt, and he rises with his bag to exit. His legs have had eleven months to heal, nearly ten of them spent walking, and still they ache with each step. He doesn’t need a taxi for the rest of the way, or a bus. He’ll bide his time now that there’s so little of it left.

It’s the first of July. The crickets are loud in patches of grass when he reaches the start of the lawns, and the sun warms the back of his neck. He doesn’t count the minutes on a watch, or pull his phone from his pocket. He wouldn’t search for a mirror to jump through even if he thought he could land right inside the house. He still doesn’t even know if he’ll be welcome there.

Try as he might to stay numb, his stomach twirls up into tighter and tighter knots the closer he gets to the street. The more his legs ache for him to stop and rest, just for a little bit more time. The more he wants to turn around and go back to somewhere, anywhere, that no one could ever have the chance to know him.

He can’t, though. It’s been long enough. He can’t let the world creep into August; hah. August. The worst time of Tim’s life, and death. He must have replaced the losses in his heart by now. Danny keeps coming back, against all odds. Gerry never will.

Danny stops walking to breathe against the memory, the knowledge. The shame that builds and builds heavier and heavier with every day that passes, no matter how long he’s taken to deconstruct it. Maybe that was another one of Gerry’s gifts; all that Weight. Reva told him all about the sink. Whenever they were out instead of him, that’s where he would be, without fail. That was his home in their head.

So maybe that’s Danny’s punishment, too. Every morning, he is lowered back into that tank, and he thrashes all day until someone has their twisted idea of mercy and pulls him out to let him sleep, only to start all over again tomorrow. He never drowns like Tim did. His fault, too.

It doesn’t feel like punishment enough.

He leaps away from a speeding car before it has the chance to honk at him for drifting into the road. Adrenaline tingles in his limbs, his lungs, just the barest little taste of something alive. He looks ahead at the street signs and knows he has to keep going, he has to turn left, and to do that, he needs to forget how to feel again. Just until he gets onto the doorstep.

When he does reach it, he stands there for a while. He hasn’t earned the right to knock on the door and say hello, certainly not to smile and wish for one back. But he’ll be standing here all day if he doesn’t, and he can’t waste any more time. It feels like taking, but he does it.

Melanie answers the door. Her face falls in an instant, her eyes wide and skipping over his body as if in search of wounds or changes or evidence that he’s only a mirage. He lets her process his presence in silence until she finally finds it in her to speak.

“Holy shit.”

“Hi.”

“Hi!” She laughs, backing up to usher him inside. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s— Well, I won’t say anything is fine, but I’m just… really glad to see you. You haven’t been texting.”

“Sorry.”

She makes a piteous face, pausing on her way to the kitchen. He knows she’s going to offer him tea in the mug with the holographic telly on it and he’ll accept it to be gracious, not because he thinks it’s fair. For a moment, they hover in place at a distance from each other, equally at a loss for words, or affection, or mending.

“Um…” she recovers, pointing towards the hallway. “I’m… going to go get Mar—”

Again, she pauses, this time in a cold startle. Danny turns his head to face the music; Martin is already standing in the mouth of the hallway, staring at the pathetic scene with the flattest expression Danny has ever seen on him. Danny keeps his own face just as empty, careful not to betray the depth of how that expression makes him feel. It wouldn’t be fair. He has no right to beg.

“…Ah.” Melanie clears her throat. “You know what? I’m gonna— I’m actually going to head to the store, we don’t have… milk. I’m going to go get some milk.”

“Sure, Melanie.” Martin doesn’t bother to look at her. “Go get some milk.”

His voice is different. Not in tone, but in quality. His hair is different; shorter, in an unfamiliar stage of hopefully-growing back out. It was only a matter of time before Martin cut his hair. Danny remembers stopping him the first time he held scissors down to the scalp, convincing him it wouldn’t be worth it to cut it out of anger. He’s been angry, and Danny wasn’t here to stop him.

Of course he’s been angry. That is something Danny deserves.

As Melanie grabs her keys and leaves the house, Danny turns his body to face Martin fully, his bag still on his shoulder — he can’t set it down yet, he can’t make himself at home. He braces himself for the tirade, the accusation, the hatred. All things he’s earned.

Martin takes a step forward. Danny doesn’t realize he’s taken a step back until the look on Martin’s face is more hurt than hollow. This conversation will be held across the room.

“Happy Birthday,” Danny tries.

“What were you thinking?” Martin says instead of ‘thanks.’ “You disappeared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How could you do that to me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop— saying you’re sorry, and tell me what was running through your head!”

“I couldn’t be here, Martin!” The confession leaps forth without another hesitation, prompted forward by Martin’s demand. “I couldn’t just— exist here, waiting for Tim to be able to look at me again! I couldn’t just wait around for him to feel obligated enough to forgive me, and you know my being here would have put that pressure on him. I couldn’t— I couldn’t think here!”

“So you went to Tanzania?”

“Yes! Yes, I did, and I went just about everywhere else, too, and did almost every drug known to man, and I didn’t have a lick of fun because I was running! You have to know Elias is probably after me, too, after I fucked up his plans. I couldn’t stay anywhere for more than a few days, I had to just keep moving, I barely— I barely processed any of what I was seeing, I just needed to think.”

“About what?”

“About why I did it!” The bag slips from his shoulder, and he hardly notices the sound of it hitting the ground past the blood in his ears. “You said in the hospital that I did it for Pharos and I agreed with you, but was I just agreeing because you said it? Or did I do it because I knew it’d be the best thing for Nikola?”

“You wouldn’t have—”

“But what if I did!” He can’t fight the smile as it pulls at his mouth. “What if I did, Martin?”

Martin stops arguing. Danny battles to neutralize his face again, and fails. The best he can do is continue to explain himself.

“I had to figure it out on my own, I couldn’t just— let your belief in me influence how I remembered things.”

“No one really— remembers the whole Unknowing, I mean. It was the Unknowing. You can’t try and force yourself to recall every single detail of an event like that, the whole point was to confuse us.”

Danny scoffs. “Don’t you think I know that? I soaked in that for years before you people dragged me out of it by the hair. I learned to navigate it, I learned to cause it, and you think I wouldn’t have been able to coast on that during the ritual? You think it’s that impossible that I could have just slipped back into my old role? Seriously, Martin? You still love me enough to lie to yourself like that?”

You still love me at all? Danny can’t take the words back. Martin crosses his arms, leaning against the wall to look down at the floor.

“And what conclusion did you come to?”

“A different one every day.”

He sees the minute shake of Martin’s head, the disbelieving desire to scoff as he turns his eyes back up to the ceiling. “So, what you’re saying is that this was pointless. You didn’t come back with some big epiphany, you didn’t have your come to Jesus moment in Cambodia, it was all just— a waste of time.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. “I still couldn’t just be here. I need you to understand that.”

“What I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tell me.”

“Because you would have tried to stop me, or asked to come with me, and I wouldn’t have been able to say no to you! I needed to be alone, Martin.”

“Since when has ‘alone’ gotten anyone anywhere good? You said before you did every drug known to man, h-how is that a good thing? How did that help you?”

“It helped me forget sometimes.” Danny curls and unfurls his fists. “You don’t know how hard it was to look any of you in the eye before I left. Any of you, even you.”

“I never blamed you for—”

“Maybe you should have. Maybe I wanted you to! Maybe I needed someone to blame me, because it can’t just be me blaming myself! I can’t trust myself, you know that.”

“But if no one blames you, then isn’t that a signal that it wasn’t your fault?”

“I swung the hammer, Martin! I did that. And I still don’t know for certain if I did it for Pharos or not, so no, it’s not a signal that it isn’t my fault. It just tells me that no one takes my actions seriously, even when they’re catastrophic.”

“You saved the world, technically.”

“Don’t.”

“You did, though,” Martin insists. “Adelard said that incantation could have been the end of everything—”

Danny shakes his head. “We have no idea how accurate that is.”

“And we’ll never know! Because it’s over, and because Pharos saw it coming. He trusted you.”

“And what about Gerry, then, huh? What about the one all of you actually miss? The one I took away from Tim without a second of hesitation because Pharos decided that the collateral would be worth it?”

“That sounds like a Pharos problem. And it sure sounds like you put a lot more thought into what Pharos was asking of you than you were probably thinking of Nikola in the moment.”

“G-d, you’re not even listening!” Danny can’t control his gestures, arms frenetic and jerking to grab for his own head. “Martin, I murdered the love of my brother’s life! I killed him, he’s dead because of me! No amount of justification is going to change the result! I don’t care about the incantation, I don��t care about the end of the world, I care about the world I have to live in now! I always have, that’s all that matters to me! There needs to be a consequence for what I did!”

“Is that another reason why you left without so much as a note?” Martin asks. “Inviting some kind of consequence?”

“Maybe it is! Now, are you going to deliver one or are you just going to— forgive me?”

For a long time, the adrenaline of raising his voice had kept the tears at bay. He doesn’t know precisely when they started to burn in his throat, but all at once, the notion of forgiveness creates such a deep longing in him that he can’t help the way it jumps out. He can’t retract the way it sounded; like a lie, like bait, like pleading. Danny does his best not to drop his head, muscling through as his eyes water, looking Martin in the face as if he stands a chance of challenging him. He feels like the frenzied bull in the arena, while Martin stands calm and resolute in the distance, daring him to come closer.

It’s Martin who steps forward again. Danny backs up one more step, instinct over impulse, but there’s only so far he can go before his back hits the wall. Martin is slow in his approach, reaching out with his hands first to show that they’re empty, they’re open, they’re safe. Danny is powerless to him, then, when Martin pulls him down into his arms.

“I’m going to forgive you, Danny.”

Danny sobs into his shoulder. “Why?”

“I don’t— I don’t like being angry, it makes me mean. Just ask Melanie, I’ve— I’ve been awful to her this whole time. I don’t see the point in holding a grudge against you for… for what happened to Gerry, or for you leaving to sort out your thoughts. I can’t punish you any more than you’ve punished yourself. I refuse to even try.”

“Why?”

Martin cradles the back of his head as he shakes. “It wouldn’t do any good. Not like… actually trying to fix things might.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“You’re home. That’s a start.” Martin kisses the spot behind his ear. “And don’t get me wrong, I’d love to keep you all to myself as long as I can, but Melanie’s going to be back with that milk we don’t need, and… I think the person you really need to talk to is Tim.”

For a while, the most Danny can do is weep. He hasn’t cried much since he left, if at all — hell if he remembers anymore. The wall behind him and Martin’s sturdy frame in front are the only things keeping his legs from giving out underneath him, the Weight still there and still suffocating and still too oppressive to dig himself out from. He lets Martin hold him until it makes more sense to let him lead him to the couch, and then time distorts until he’s lying with his head in Martin’s lap, breathing slower.

He hasn’t earned this, but he’s selfish. He needs it.

They decide to text Sasha, not Tim, just to make sure he’s home, and leave it at that. Danny takes a shower before anything else and changes into a fresh set of clothes from his dresser, still full of his things. He looks at himself in the mirror and wills it not to crack. The scar on his forehead. The scar on his lip. His identity in seams. He can’t face his collarbones, or his wrists.

Martin offers to go with him, and he finds the strength to say no. The most he can give is leaving his bag in the house, a promise to come back. Today, he thinks he keeps his promises.

Tim’s house is too far to walk to, so he takes the bus as close as it’ll bring him. He hopes that Sasha doesn’t answer the door, too tired for another round of what happened with Melanie and Martin. He wonders if he’s earned the right to want this to be direct. To the point. Not painless, but bearable. He can bear quite a lot before it breaks him. He could take any comeuppance Tim has to offer as long as it isn’t forgiveness, too.

It won’t be. It couldn’t be. Not this time.

With hands unfeeling, he knocks. He listens for the heaviness of the footsteps that approach the door, for a moment forgetting if Tim’s are still audible at all. When he doesn’t hear anything, he figures that no, they aren’t, and why would they be? Tim is more of a ghost than ever. Danny doesn’t know how to prepare himself for what he’ll see when the door opens.

Tim is dry, at least. His hair is down, no longer or shorter since the last time Danny saw him. They’re the same, in that regard; Danny’s hair still hasn’t grown a centimeter since he first encountered the troupe. Tim can’t cut his for anything now because there’s every chance it’ll never grow back.

His eyes are vacant, empty black holes in his head. Frightening to passersby, no doubt, but to Danny, it’s something else. Something words can’t describe, so he doesn’t try.

“Hey,” he starts, because Tim doesn’t say it first.

For a long moment, Tim doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move to let Danny into the house, or step onto the porch to join him. Simply stands in the doorway like a statue, studying him for change the way that Melanie and Martin had. Studying his eyes for traces of… what, guilt? Shame? He’ll find it in abundance.

“I just came by to tell you… I’m done running, now.”

The calm question comes up from inside a deep well. “Where were you?”

“Um… around.” Danny looks down at Tim’s shirt and shrugs. “All over.”

Tim hums, and still he doesn’t move. “Have fun?”

“Not especially.”

“Alright.”

Danny thought he could handle the comeuppance. “I just didn’t… think it’d be right to tell you over the phone.”

“When you left, or when you got back?”

“Either.” Danny tucks his hand behind his hip to fidget in private. “…Tim, I’m sor—”

Tim holds up a hand.

“What’s done is done.”

“Which part of it?”

“All of it. You can’t take it back. I don’t want you to try just to be disappointed that I can’t forgive you yet.”

“I don’t want you to forgive me yet,” Danny admits. “…Or at all, if you really can’t. I know Pharos said that I’m the only one you might be able to—”

“Might.”

“Exactly. And I left because… I didn’t want you to feel obligated to honour that just because he said it. I left so you could have some time to yourself, without me… pressuring you to move on.”

“You left for yourself.”

“That, too. I needed time, I thought… I thought we could both use the time. I didn’t expect to walk back into welcoming arms.”

Tim doesn’t need to say good for the sentiment to come across. He’s silent for another long while, unmoving in the doorway. A barricade between the outside world and his private space, so empty now with his loss.

“What’s done is done,” Tim repeats. “And I don’t forgive you yet. But… you’re back now. Which means we can start to try and get there someday.”

Danny’s throat closes up. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. And you didn’t have to come back, but you did.” Finally, Tim’s eyes shift to look over Danny’s shoulder at the street. “You did the one thing I couldn’t do for him.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny rushes out before Tim can stop him again. “If I could go back—”

“You can’t. He wouldn’t even want you to. What’s done is done.”

Danny drops his head. “What’s done is done.”

“Yeah.” Tim turns his eyes back to Danny’s face, his stare so deadened that Danny can feel the blood on his hands. “We can talk about this some other time.”

“Okay.”

There is a beat of quiet before the door is shut in front of him. Danny swallows the rejection and forces his eyes to stay dry, forces himself to turn around and step off the porch and head for the bus stop. One step at a time, one speculation after another; when will some other time be? What will tomorrow look like?

There’s so much left to say.

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