#save me grammar police

[heavyheavycream]

feedist kinktober 26 : ice cream dream

[the-moonprophet]

PSA “mortified” is not another word for “terrified”

It is however a synonym for “embarrassed”

that is all have a good night

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

��Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[heavndoll]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒.

pairings — fem!reader and rafe cameron.

summary — after rafe takes your life, he tries to move on, and simply pretends he’s the one who didn’t do so. eventually, hauntings and truths will lay themselves out to remind rafe just how sickening he is.

warning tags — adult language. details of gruesome m*rder & m*rder itself. mentions of DV relationship, (brief) child ab*se & awful parents. talks of religion and god. reader’s pov from heaven (?? just stick w the program). rafe actually going more insane than usual. overall dark content.

author’s note — this is based on and inspired by ethel cain’s song ‘strangers’ and while this song has multiple interpretations to go by, i’m taking mine by the main and common one (just without the c*nnibalism!). this also gets super dark and depressing so if you cannot bear any of it, please click off! this also isn’t revised at all so my apologies for grammar mistakes.

likes, shares & reblogs are very much appreciated ⋆୨୧ ₊ﾟ

you had tears in your eyes, body shaking to point you thought you’d convulse. you tried to be obedient by keeping in rafe’s secret of what he had done on that tarmac. he beat you to make sure you kept your mouth shut for good.

he said, “i’ll kill you if you say one word,” and it took enough fear to believe him, but you didn’t think that day would come.

murder is an evil thing, and everyone can attest to it. rafe murdered sheriff peterkin as if she was nothing, as if she was a problem in the way. bad enough, he let john b. routledge — one of your best friends — take the fall for it.

you continued to keep your mouth shut, but after rafe tried to invade the police, ward killing himself, you didn’t see a reason to keep quiet. ward was the only reason why rafe could stay out of prison, and now that he wasn’t around, you could speak.

your father preached every sunday to live by righteousness and good, to never let evil win.

rafe was that evil. he was the devil himself.

the devil that you danced with, let make love to you, kiss you, but also beat you until stars twinkled in your vision, and your breath kept getting caught in your throat.

your mother would be horrified to know that, your father too. but it was their fault in a way that you accepted this cruelty as love; your father, especially to blame.

if love is not meant to be hit at you, does it even exist? your father showed you that when he’d slap or punch you for falling out of line, but go to church the next day, and preach about being a good servant to god.

you wanted all evil out of your life. it was suffocating, it was drowning you.

rafe had to be eliminated first.

“you killed peterkin, and i’m tired of knowing it,” you said, picking up your car keys. “we are done, and i won’t even show up to your trial when you go down for it.”

rafe just stared at you appalled and puzzled, sitting on the edge of his bed. you were close to being far out enough to your car until strong, violent hand seized you.

you screamed and kicked, not being new to this routine, only knowing that he was going to harm you.

you could never predict that his violence would lead him to murdering you.

“let me go, rafe!” you screamed, being pulled inside, your pleas and cries echoing in the empty home.

expecting to be physically berated, you were being led downwards.

to the wine cellar basement.

and for once in a while, you prayed to god, and hoped he would finally listen to you this time. that he would save his child, and perform a miracle.

but a miracle never came as rafe manhandled you, pinning you down on the cement ground of the basement.

“shut the fuck up! stop crying!” he yelled, a solid punch coming to your cheek, and you yelped, an easy gush of blood rushing out of your mouth. “you’re a fuckin’ backstabber. after everything i’ve done for you, gonna treat me like that?”

you cried, shaking your head. “r—rafe, please! i’ll be good, i’ll stop!”

“don’t trust you, little one. can’t let you ruin everything,” rafe said, reaching for something out of his back pocket.

the more you fought back, the more angry he got; the more you fueled the fire that rested in his hands and body.

before you could let out another plead, a sharp pain was made into your abdomen.

rafe stabbed you — and he wasn’t planning on stopping there.

god wasn’t there. you would show up to his gates in this condition, and ask him why he let it happen. if god is real, why did he bear witness instead of saving you?

rafe doesn’t recall killing you.

he remembers grabbing, and dragging you down into wine cellar basement, but couldn’t be able to tell anyone what happened after that. all he knows your blood was quite literally on his hand, knife shaking in his grip.

your babydoll white dress was now stained with violence and scarlet red blood.

the sight should’ve made him sick, but it didn’t. he just stared at you, breathing heavy, and it didn’t strike him until a while later that he had killed you.

rafe cameron had killed the love of his life.

he only panicked when it came to how to dispose your body, take off any evidence that could trace back to him. he was more than willing to dump your body in the woods, let any gators eat at you for supper.

he tossed your body only hours later in the depths of the woods, and it didn’t take long until you were reported missing.

of course, he was questioned first. it was easy for him to play the concerned boyfriend, crying because he also hadn’t heard from you, saying he had been texting and calling you for hours.

your parents sobbed on the news and asking anyone to come forward with any information, that they’ll give up however much money for their child to come home.

rafe just stared numbly at the television screen, a cup of scotch in his hand.

your best friends, the pogues, sobbed for days, and even started a search party for you. rafe made sure to dig you levels down in those woods when the ground was wet enough to dig up, and cover you up.

sarah cameron had a feeling her brother had something to do with your ‘disappearance’ but it was only just a gut intuition, she couldn’t prove it. she always questioned why you got with her brother, always emphasizing how horrible and violent he was, but you would tell her, “you don’t know him like i do; you don’t know how much he loves me, and takes care of me.”

kiara knew how bad rafe was — for god sake, she momentarily went to the academy around the same time he was a senior. she knew he wasn’t destined to be a boyfriend, let alone even in a fucking relationship.

the boys of the group were beyond furious, the three wanting to round up and take ahold of rafe, beat some information out of him. but they knew you wouldn’t want that, and that rafe would easily get the police to arrest them.

however, months passed, and you slowly became a memory to not only the town, but to rafe himself. he went on with his days like nothing occurred, that he didn’t violently take the life of his girlfriend.

you weren’t on his mind anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about you anymore.

or so he thought.

karma and revenge go hand in hand together; they mingle and burst out, they make sure they arrive at the doorstep of the people who deserve it.

rafe always thought getting rid of you would avoid his downfall, but the murder of you was just the beginning of it all.

he slept peacefully like he had done for a while now, with him about to drown into a deep sleep. he rested with his hands laid atop of his stomach, comfortable and at solitude, a female whisper woke him up.

he peeked around, but saw no one. he assumed he was just sleep deprived and imagining things, his eyes closing again for sleep.

“do you feel sick yet?” the voice that sounded like yours came through, more clearer and visible. he shot up, and turned on his bedside lamp.

nothing. no one. not you.

why would he have to feel sick? you were gone, you were no longer a problem.

rafe shook it off, and was able to go back to sleep.

you were angry in the afterlife. you stared at rafe from heaven, trembling with rage and regret. a man you once loved, had acted as if you never existed. you adored him, and he disposed you like garbage.

you just wanted to be his, wanted him to tell you that you were his only; that he loved you as much as you did to him, that he would change and better himself for you.

that the violence would dissipate, and his rough hands would be nurtured with love and softness.

but no. that never came, and never would.

you were taunted by your murder, burning with the need to remind rafe of how sick he was.

your violent lover let you bleed before him, and without tending to your wounds or simply sitting with immediate regret, he soaked in his actions and dismissed it.

why couldn’t he be gentle? was him painting you blue and purple not enough? did he have to go as far as killing his lover to satisfy the disdain and vexation he held for you?

was that enough? was that enough to make you enough?

rafe’s nights slowly turned interrupted and sleepless. your voice was always there, and time to time, he thought he saw you standing in his bedroom, drenched in blood and with tears streaming down your face as you kept asking him, “do you feel sick yet?”

sick. not regretful. fucking sick.

sleep deprivation was catching up to him, making him more mean and angry than usual, more out of control.

the coke wasn’t even helping either, only making everything worse.

he was at barry’s trailer, snorting endless lines of the white powder, trying to shake off the sight of you from last night.

“country club, you good?” barry asked, and rafe didn’t respond. “you don’t seem well, bro.”

“just need this shit, okay?” rafe mumbled, separating another drop of cocaine. “just… just want to sleep, need it.”

barry didn’t want to push him with more questions, minding his own business as the blond haired boy snorted up excessive amounts of lines.

rafe ended falling asleep on his couch, barry mindlessly scrolling on his own phone as he laid down on his bed.

the cold air from the air conditioner ran around in the basement, making it more freezing and chilling than usual.

rafe could smell strawberry perfume, indicating you were around. he looked around, and saw nothing of you.

“where are you!” he screamed. “you can’t scare me, you bitch!”

“i’m not here to scare you,” you talked, rafe spinning around to find you perched in the corner of the basement. you careened closer, the dim light emphasizing on your mangled body.

rafe stared at your stomach, where immense stab wounds laid on it. he swallowed thickly, his breath shaking and jagged.

“do you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe looked up at you. he couldn’t move in this dream, he was paralyzed and a witness to your lacerated body.

nausea and despair washed over rafe, almost consuming him entirely.

you were finally face to face with him, your hair disheveled and bunched, face stained with tears and runny makeup, all for him to look at.

rafe could feel your physical touch, your soft hand grabbing his, and made his palm touch your abdomen. he almost fucking threw up.

you could see it, you could see he was wanting to vomit everywhere. “am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe shivered, forcing his hand to put more pressure on your stomach, blood rushing out onto it. “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe screamed and lurched up, his eyes opening and alarming barry. “woah, what the fuck, rafe!” barry shouted, and rafe breathed rapidly, his heart thumping against his chest, a need to vomit.

rafe brought his face into his hands, trying to shake everything out of his hand.

your face, your touch, your blood — he felt it all. he was being reminded of you, when he didn’t want to.

barry kept asking him what was wrong, why he was crying, if he was okay, but all rafe could focus on was your voice asking, “am i making you feel sick?”

he was no longer immune to his destruction. he was becoming infected by it. you were a disease that he couldn’t treat, a parasite that ate at his brain.

he would never get rid of you — and you would make sure that he never did.

it was month seven without you, and you became a faded name to the outer banks. the only people who lived on to tell your name was your parents, and your best friends. the pogues carved your name into the chateau’s tree, a ceremonial bench placed at the high school.

your body or you weren’t ever discovered, but the police had listed you as deceased. you weren’t a runaway, you were eighteen, and had nothing to runaway for. when you couldn’t be traced anywhere on the grid, the police pronounced you dead, and that was that.

pictures of you and any sort of evidence remained in a cardboard box somewhere in the police station. you were left to rot in every way.

you were tired of being forgotten, but more exhausted that nobody knew that your boyfriend did this, and you probably weren’t going to be the first girl he killed.

rafe cameron needed to know what he did, and you wanted to do everything you could to make him drag himself to the police station, sit down, and say, “i killed her — and i enjoyed every fucking second of it.”

madness was becoming rafe. he was already an insane, depraved fuck before, but the lack of sleep and memories of the murder were catching up to him for good.

dark circles were around his eyes, hair greasy and messy, his body tired. he felt like he was going to snap any second.

he kept drinking, smoking weed and doing coke back to back, surprised that his heart didn’t give out yet.

a random exhaustion toll pushed over him, laying him down on the floor of his bedroom, and his eyes threatened to snap shut.

he didn’t want to sleep, he was afraid to. he was afraid to see you, with your bloody dress and sad face, making him touch your wounds.

rafe didn’t win the fight of sleeping, and he knocked out cold on his bedroom floor.

he wasn’t in the basement, he was in his bedroom, and he could hear your feet padding away to the front of the house, to your car.

oh, he was reliving the night. and he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t get out of the memory — he was facing everything.

he saw you bloody by his doorframe, and you tilted your head. “why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice sounding as if he was trapped in a void.

you only frowned. “so you know.”

like a reflex, rafe hurriedly rushed over to you outside before you could get away, seizing you away, and taking you to the basement.

he pinned you down to the ground, and screamed at you to stop crying, upset and angry you were willing to betray him when he did everything for you.

you were sobbing, but it became echoes and his ears rang, everything around him becoming silent except his own heavy breathing. he grabbed the knife that sat in his pocket, and he could see your eyes widen with fear to the sight of the object.

“rafe!” you screamed in the first stab. he hit you sharp and right in the abdomen.

he held his knife there for a second, like time was freezing him, and he felt a hot breath at the side of his face.

it was you.

“am i making you feel sick?” you asked, and rafe proceeded to stab you as you sobbed. you cried out his name, trying to fight away the knife, promising to be good and for him to stop.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

rafe couldn’t stop, he couldn’t control himself. he kept stabbing you as you screamed. he was a monster, with the inability to suppress his anger or violence.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

another stab.

“am i making you feel sick?”

a part you thought you were making him feel sick because of how mutilated your body was; that the body he was once desired, was now filling him with disgust. you wondered if how butchered you looked, was making him uncomfortable and sick. he didn’t deserve your concern, but it happened anyway. was it making him sick?

rafe wanted to cry, but couldn’t. he was revisiting the person he was in this moment, and could see life vanish from your eyes, death taking you away.

he took one last stab, and held it there like the first one. you kneeled in front of him, looking over at your corpse for a moment before your eyes settled into his raging ones.

he held prolonged eye contact with you as you inched your face close to his, but kept a safe distance. you placed your hand on top of his murdering one, and with a blank face, lastly asking him, “am i making you feel sick?”

rafe broke eye contact with you to look at your deceased body, and realized and remembered this murder. your organs could be nearly seen, blood gushed and poured out everywhere, your body cold and still.

he dropped the knife, and eyed you. “i’m sorry.”

you shook your head, and sighed. “you will revisit this everyday as long as you live,” you said, sniffling. “all i wanted was to be yours, and be good enough, rafe. was i no good?”

he didn’t have an answer, and with that, you got up, staring over at your body. “i want you to know,” you chuckled softly to yourself, “i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. i forgive you, especially since i’m happier where i’m at.”

“heaven?” rafe asked.

you nodded. “you won’t make it here, but i’ll still hope and wait that you do — because i love you too much to let god be angry with you too.”

“he’s an angry man?”

“he’s angry and unfair,” you responded. “like someone i know. i loved god, i loved you; two men who didn’t view me as much, who don’t deserve for me to believe in them.”

rafe went quiet, and enough time went by for you to disappear for good to let rafe cry, and scream. he cried and sobbed, dry heaving as he vomited everywhere to the sight of you.

he killed you, and as long as he kept it to himself, you would drive him mad and insane with the knowing of it.

rafe cameron confessed to your murder only hours later. he drove himself to the police station, and confessed to every detail, telling sheriff shope where your body was.

they found your maimed body in the exact location where rafe told them it was, your body already decomposing into near bones, eaten by critters and bugs.

the earth was consuming you.

he was hated forever, the town wanted him torched or given the death penalty. it would be a while until he got a trial.

your funeral could be proper with your body in a casket, given a rightful way to be down in the ground, protected and secured by a box stuffed with silk fabric.

you could see your mom cry, and you wish she wouldn’t. your father had to give the prayer at your funeral, your best friends sobbing, and hating themselves for not getting you away from rafe sooner.

however, your death was simply inevitable. if rafe didn’t kill you, your love for him would. he was everything to you.

even when he was murdering you — getting a vile satisfaction from it — you were worried about him, if you and your maimed body was making him feel more nauseous and sick than the actual murder was.

rafe would live with the knowing that you truly loved him, and he took your life every single day that he spent in a prison block cell.

and your ghost would continue to linger and haunt him, never letting him know peace and serenity as he never did to you.

[legostars]

DOGDAY X READER

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PART 3

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Note from Author: Why are you guys being shy to share your ideas with me for the part 3༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

I just asked a friend of mine for ideas since he's got ideas.(⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠) (that truth is I got it from my younger brother. Yeh I'm a loner;-;) And some are from me. And there's also romance and like some... Smooches and dogday is like Uh... Yeh I ain't spoiling it. (⁠⌐⁠■⁠-⁠■⁠)

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Warnings: Bad grammar, bad English, lore?, sensitive lore?, Uh Smooches?

Romance level: 9/10

Lore level: 7/10 or 6/10

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An Unfortunate past

Y/N's past used to be filled with joy and happiness. Till things... Took a turn. Y/N's parents got into a divorce when they were Eleven years old.

Y/n chose to live with their mother, but after she got into a car crash accident. They had no choice but to live with their father but.. (I'm just gonna call you she/her) her father, became an abusive drunk bitch.. Y/n had to get Yelled, Abused and anything that her father does to her. Y/n had to put up with her father for 3 years...

Y/n still love her father despite everything... But her neighbours noticed this and called the police. She was taken to a hospital and she had to be forced to live in a orphanage.

She had no choice. She live in the orphanage with the other orphans, since she was the oldest, the orphans sees her as a mother figure. She cooks, she comforts and anything she does, it convinced the orphans to see her as a mother.

Y/n didn't mind. She loves to take care of them if the caretakers are tired from taking good care of them. The caretakers adores Y/n, the way she helped them is like they are seeing an angel Infront of them.

One day, Y/n told the caretakers that she wanted to apply a job. Of course, they asked why. She explained that she wanted to save money if the time comes for her to leave the orphanage. They were stunned but, they still agree to her wishes. There Y/n applied a job at a Cafe.

She worked hard and do her job everyday. The other workers were stunned to see such a hard working child. Despite the hard past, she still moved on. Because she always remembers what her mother used to say to her. "Even if I'm gone... You still had to move on. No matter how it hurts, I will be by your side." She never forgets her mother's words.

5 years had passed and Y/n was already nineteen. She had to leave the orphanage, she bid farewell to the younger orphans and the caretakers and she had to quit her job and find a new one. Despite the hard goodbyes she will always remember them in her heart.

Y/n kept applying different jobs but none approved her. She kept applying jobs to jobs for 3 years, till. Poppy playtime co. Approved her.

(Well, it's not that bad of a past. Right?)

——————————————————————

The present day

It's been 3 months since the day you started working in playcare. "Well, The last task left is... To clean the areas which were around the office area. I guess it's not that bad." You grabbed a broom and started to sweep the floor near your office. You put your headphones on to listen to lady gaga's song called METAL BAT LOVER (HECK YEAH!).

Unfortunately you started to sing while doing your task. But, you didn't noticed dogday and the kids watching you sweep the floor as you sing With ✨ Elegance and grace ✨ in your voice. Dogday just watched you sing and do your task as he stares at you with love in his eyes 🤭

As your song was about to end, you turned around to see dogday and the kids staring at you.

You stood there in embarrassment as your face began to turn red. "..." You put down your headphones on your neck as you slowly backing away and walk inside your office and slam the door. Dogday was just standing there with the kids confused.

Meanwhile in your office. "WAAH!! WHY ME!? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME!? GETTING ALL EMBARRASSED BECAUSE I JUST SING ALONG WITH LADY GAGA!? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS EMBARRASSMENT!?" You screamed at yourself but don't worry. Your walls are sound proof 👍

Because of the embarrassing incident. You kept avoiding dogday any chance you got. Dogday noticed this and tried to reassure you but you always run away. Dogday felt kinda hurt but he was determined, to reassure you. Tho, you know it's making dogday feel hurt but you had to because your brain tells you.

One day. You arrived in playcare, and you started walking to your office. And there, as you closed the door and after you came in.

You turned around to see dogday sitting on the couch legs crossed looking at you with a hurt angry looking expression. You stood there quietly and he started talking to you. "Angel..." You shaken a little bit as you replied back. "U-uh y-yes?" You begin to feel that something bad is going to happen.

Dogday stood up from the couch and walked towards you. You slowly moved backward but he ended up pinning you on a wall, he raised your chin up to his face and glared before questioning.

"Why are you avoiding me, angel?" You began to feel hot seeing how close he is to you. (Oh shit. From Cheerful dog to Hot and cooled mafia dog, Sheesh. You ded fr XD)

You stayed silent as you began to get flustered. "..." Dogday wasn't having it. He wanted answers but you were being too shy to answer his question. He sighed knowing you won't answer him, but he already knew how to get you to talk. 😏 (You ready to have a heart attack? Well, don't die btw💀)

He pressed his lips to yours as you were caught off guard by the sudden kiss. He held your arms to the wall and continued kissing you. And to be honest, Dogday was enjoying himself that he forgot about the question. You tried to resist but you failed and kissed him back. When you finally gave in, he slip his tongue in your mouth as both of your tongues met each other. (HEEELPPP I CANT- I CANT😭😭 ITS TOO HOT HELP😭)

Dogday kept kissing you until you broke the kiss and trying to catch your breath as both of you were sweating and feeling hot. You kept breathing for air as for dogday is just watching you with love in his eyes. "S-sorry angel... I.. I couldn't help myself.. " you looked away blushing insanely.

(Yeh... Im gonna..)

A few hours later after the smooching incident.

Both you and dogday avoided eachother after what happened back at the office. Your heart kept raising, thinking about it. but you kinda like the feeling of the kiss and the same for dogday (hehe boi😏👍)

As you were about to leave your office to go home. Dogday was standing in front of your office door staring at you, you tried to walk past him but he pulled you back in the office with him. You were confused till he held your hand a bit tight and pulled you and kissed you again holding your waist as he kissed you passionately. And of course, you returned the kiss.

The kissing was getting intense every second as he held you in his arms and you wrapped your arms around his neck. But you broke the kiss and looked away as you blushed. "C-can I.. go home now?" You were getting flustered but he understands why you needed to leave. "Okay.. but one more thing." He bent down to your ear and whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow~" you blushed as you rushed out of there and he watches you rushes out with a grin.

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CLIFFHANGER>:]

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PART 4?

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Note from Author: Hello? Are you ded? Ah. I murdered someone. You enjoy it? Or no? Well leave a like I guess. Sorry for making it short but, gotta do my science activities so I won't fall behind. Yeh, I don't like school since I'm a loner and refuses to talk to my classes bc yeah. I get pissed easily on them if they annoy me bc I was kinda advanced from my surroundings that I rather work alone. Well, bye. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

[yourtwistedlies]

❝ women’s hearts are lethal weapons ❞

val ! ✩ she/her ✩ minor ✩ jason grace’s gf (REAL) ✩ speak now obsessed ✩ gracie abrams lovebot ✩ summer baby ✩ certified procrastinator ✩ professional listener ✩ pathological people pleaser ✩ general amaya’s #1 fan ✩ fitz vacker defender ✩ honorary grammar police ✩ kpop stan (mostly ggs) ✩ my moots’ cheerleader ✩ under the illusion i can write ✩ somewhat smart ✩ cabin 13 girl ✩

dni: if you are racist, homophobic, xenophobic, support kill all ___, sexist, 18+ only, religiophobic, creepy, toxic, or literally just a jerk, please leave!

byi: i swear sometimes!! i also adore using cute nicknames and pet names for my moots!! if you don’t feel comfortable w/ that or anything else, please let me know <33

moots - wattpad - ao3 - carrd - follower event (coming soon ⁉️) - save the children!

•̩̩͙⁺ the basics ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

call me valerie/val or twisted!!

she/her, straight (heterosexual), minor (18+ only acc’s please do not follow), 18+ do not interact unless i interact first or we are moots (on my list or to be added- i am the judge of who is to be added), cancer (zodiac, but i don’t believe in them), Christian (i post about it sometimes), << summer baby, entp (mbti), 8w7 (enneagram), ambivert, slytherin, cabin 13, shade (guys i swear i wasn’t trying to be edgy or smth with the past two and this 😭😭 i took the official quizzes i promise lmao), swiftie, kpop fan, staying up writing until 4am gives me life, purple is the best color (this is not up to debate, only yellow even comes close), proud notes app writer, CATS > DOGS (occasionally my verdict changes), bunny lover, chronic platonic sofitzer, i’m either hyperactive or extremely tired (there is no in between), people say im smart, but sometimes i feel like the biggest idiot ever lmao, and ofc dex dizznee’s much needed publicist (my favorite role of mine ever)!!!

•̩̩͙⁺ music ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

taylor swift, olivia rodrigo, sza, conan gray, alicia keys, emei, gracie abrams, maisie peters, sabrina carpenter, laufey, queen riri (rihanna), adele, beabadoobee, tiffany day, le sserafim, ive, newjeans, itzy, nmixx, stay-c, aespa, everglow, txt (baby fan), illit ＆ more kpop, lizzy mcalpine, pheobe bridgers, nessa barrett, pinkpantheress, claire rosinkranz, lyn lapid, alessia cara, reneé rapp, mckenna grace, and more!!

as i hope you can tell, i like a lot of music :)

•̩̩͙⁺ books ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

pjo, hoo, (never read toa, but yes, ik what happens in tbm), the rrverse, kotlc, city spies, ss (spy school), alex rider (not done with rr), the academy for the unbreakable arts,

and my many other fandoms i’ve forgotten about (dead magisterium fandom oop-)

i’ll add more fandoms as i remember them lol

•̩̩͙⁺ ships ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

rayllum, clauderry (stfu they’re adorable), percabeth (otp energy), sokeefe, dexiana, tiana (yes i know im the most indecisive bitch ever shut up you toad /jjjj i actually love u platonically), jason grace x ME (/j but i do love him lol), and more!!

•̩̩͙⁺ blogs ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

side blog: @yourtangledpromises

taylor blog: @iknowplxces (guys this is so abandoned + has my old intro 🤮 ignore this js trust - august 15 2024 val)

and perhaps more?? (muahahaha)

•̩̩͙⁺ side note ₊˚. ↴ ·˚༘

if you’d like to be added to my moots list, or talk, please tell me (by wonder girls)!!

if we’re moots we’re actually bffs now (you just don’t notice it yet)

if i don’t respond to your ask/tag/rb/literally anything immediately i am not ignoring you!! i’m just lazy or busy and will do it later <33

im your biggest fan btw

1 Corinthians 16:14

with love,

valerie

[bnuuys-writing]

Twisted Wonderland's Phantom

Hi! I hope you enjoy this! This is the introduction of the crossover of Phantom of The Opera x Twisted Wonderland. Do forgive me if theres any grammar mistakes or repeating themes. I wrote this with a migraine lol but I have been seeing everyone talking about this for months now, and today was the day I have decided to write it now that I have a small break from school + My job rn. 

If you have any questions, or wanna talk headcanons, or just want to shoot me a compliment; feel free to throw it in my inbox!! &lt;3

Chapter One(You are here!), Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Leona's Ending, Malleus' Ending

~Bnuuy out!

Y/N, also known as the prefect of Night Raven College of Magic. AKA The Dorm leader in charge of the lonesome home named The Ramshackle; or in other words, Y/N the Magicless Human. The story has been told many times in rumors or whispers of the magicless human within the prestigious magical all boys school across the crowds of thousands. How they arrived with the other new years and how life started for them within this new world as a cat sitter, as well not being able to use any sort of magic left a mark within the school. Yet, here they stand, with friends from across all the dorms within the school as they have saved them from countless Overblots.

“Guys, I’ve told you many times, I’m just going to the library to go check out a new book. You do not need to follow me!” Y/N exclaimed tirelessly as their compatriots, Ace and Deuce, followed them with smiles on their faces.

“Cmon Y/N! Lighten up! Its the final school year of Night Raven College! Certainly you don't want to be sticking your nose in some boring books! Right Deucy?” Ace chimed out as he nudged his fellow troublemaker who only grunted at the elbow.

“Well… Y/N can do whatever they would like to do-” Another nudge from Ace’s elbow, perhaps a bit more rougher this time caused Deuce to cough a bit. “-But yes! You could be spending time with us at the unbirthday parties! And plus, the alumni are coming today! Riddle, Vil, Leona, all of your friends are coming to visit the school JUST for this week! Don't you want to see them?” Deuce asked, rubbing his side where Ace had nudged a bit too roughly.

True, this was indeed your third year at Night Raven College with no luck in finding your way back home, so this was your only chance to start studying hard to make your footing and to make a stand for once you are officially graduated from the College. Only making it more the wiser to really get your butt in gear of trying to find what you would want to do after this year. Grim would most likely be on his own, having surpassed both Ace and Deuce in study, but you could’ve guessed it was out of pure power instead of intelligence. Deuce would most likely follow his dream of becoming a police officer and making his mother proud, as for Ace…? You shuddered slightly at the thought of Ace becoming more than just a student at Night Raven College, and couldn't bring yourself to think about the possibilities he might have as an adult-prankster.

“I do but guys, you already know what you will or want to be doing outside of Night Raven, and I don't… So, I have to get started on getting my foundation really set up before I am graduated.” Y/N started towards their two friends, Grim just happily purring away on your shoulder as you argued back and forth before shaking your head. “Follow me or not, but I’ll be going into the library to see what I can do for a living as a magicless person within Twisted Wonderland.” Rolling your eyes while opening the large door to the library with a loud creek, the two could only watch as you walked in and the door shut with a loud slam.

Now the library was impressive, many books dating from all around from history to How To’s books. If Crowley knew anything, it was that he was an impressive hoarder of books- although you doubted he knew that- or doubted if he could even read considering all the slacking he's been doing in getting you home. So much for a Gracious Kind Headmage. Humming to yourself as you began to walk down the countless isle of books, memories flashing within your head as you pass down certain isles.

How Floyd Leech chased you down the history isle, begging to squeeze you while you were ushering a poor certain Riddle to run away and hide. Becoming Floyd’s new toy for the next hour until he got bored.

Rook Hunt recommending some certain weird books about how hunting and survival tactics would be important for you if you ever got lost in the wilderness. At least now, you’re able to tie a knot very well as well as start a fire!

Jamil and Kalim studying hard at a table- Well… Let's be honest here, more like Jamil trying to force things into Kalim’s mind who was more busy talking to you and asking about your day than actually studying.

Lastly, Malleus reaching above you to grab a certain book you were wishing to read for fun and for him to hand it to you with such gentleness, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you called to your friend, Tsunatrou so happily and thanked him for reaching the book for you.

Pausing at that isle as you could almost see the figures of your friends whizzing past your eyes like shadows of long forgotten dreams. Shaking your head slightly, you trudged forward only for something hard to hit your head, causing a familiar NYAH! To echo within your ear as your shoulders become lighter. Grim and this large thick book layed on the ground as you rubbed your head in pain, letting a quiet groan in pain as you collected yourself back together.

“Grim, how many times have I said not to drop things on me?” You questioned out accusingly towards your roommate who only let out a small pout, shaking his head furiously at your accusations.

“It wasn't me this time, I assure you Y/N! This book fell off that really top shelf!” Grim pointed his paw up to the very top shelf that you knew you would need a ladder to reach. Sighing, you picked up Grim and held him close to your chest as you looked down at the book accusingly only for your reaction to turn miffed and confused. The words on the book were swirling around in different languages, if you could assume, for only when you reached out to touch it, it changed to your native tongue.

“Phantom of The Opera?” You whispered out, eyebrows raised as you looked at the book with curiosity and disregarding the whines of Grim who suggested that this book was not a book you two should dig into. Grabbing the book and stuffing it into your bag, you quickly left the library with a newfound of urgency to head straight back to the ramshackle and dig into the book with a profound sense of curiosity. 

Crewel did say to you once while you were trying to find a certain book about potionology within his room, of course with no such luck sadly, that books sensed with magic will choose who will read them next. That sentient books were also very dangerous if put into the wrong hands if the book chose who it got transported to next wrong.

“Y/N! MYAH! I don't think we should dig into this book!” Grim shouted out at you as you set him down on the couch within the Ramshackle, having run home quickly to dig your nose into this book. Grim could feel it, but you couldn't. Something was wrong with this book but he couldnt put his paw on it just yet…

“Oh hush Grim! Everything will be okay! I'm magicless, remember? I don't think I can even wield a grimoire!” You stated out as you rushed up the stairs after having placed your keys, phone and wallet down on the counter. Leaving a very concerned Grim behind your tail with ears folded down and a queasy feeling in his stomach that was not akin to premium tuna fish hunger…

“That's what I'm worried about…”  

It wasnt hard to get yourself settled in your room, book in hand, ready to dig into its contents or find out what this Phantom of The Opera is. The Alumni should be here within the next hour so certainly you had a bit of time to at least get started into the book, right?

A small glimmer rippled through the hard cover of the book, as if whispering you to open it, begging you to turn to the first page. As if you were under Jamil’s special magic, you slowly peeled back the cover and turned to the first page only to find it blank, then the next page, following the next page. All of it was blank! Sighing in frustration, you began to flip through the pages until the book forced you to stop on one. On the page, a glimmer rippled through it only for a large red rose to appear, a mask, and a diamond ring. A message soon appeared underneath the items, a prompt;

Choose One.

Huh… This is interesting.

Humming in curiosity, you reached forward to pick up the rose, it was clean of all thorns and had few leafs on it. A delicate specimen that Riddle would’ve shamed you for plucking had it been in his own rose garden. Yet, once your fingers glazed over the stem, your vision began to get heavy and dark, it was getting harder and harder for your eyes to stay open as you fell unconscious in a matter of seconds.

Meanwhile, Grim huffed and puffed downstairs, waiting for you to come out from your room to feed him. An hour had passed and you promised to feed the Alumni and Grim tonight at Heartsabyul! Yet you were still locked away within your room and here he is, waiting on his henchman again! 

“Y/n! Cmon! Im hunnggryyyy!!” Grim shouted out from downstairs, making his way up to your room now. WIth a hard shove into the stubborn old door, he found himself with the book on your bed and with you nowhere in sight. Stunned and alerted at your lack of presence, he let out a loud MYAH! As he booked it downstairs and out the door to the one place he knew he could go to for help.

Heartsabyul.

The party was already booming, the roses had been painted red, everyone seeming to be enjoying tea and the treats that were brought along. At least Riddle seemed to be enjoying himself back in his seat of Queen. Leona wasn't too far down but he seemed uninterested in all the sweets but more of the meats that Savannahclaw had brought in for the party. Of course, Azul had also brought along Floyd and Jade to sell out merchandise of her flourishing outside of NRC business. Jamil and Kalim were off to the corner, Jamil having brought their own food for Kalim to eat. Iida and Ortho were obviously nowhere to be found but some snacks had been going missing here and there. Vil and Rook were pestering Epel who had flourished perfectly, complimenting their Poison Apple. As for Malleus? My, did he receive an invitation? No one can recall.

“GUYS! I NEED HELP!” Grim’s screeching voice ripped through the garden, causing all fun and festivities to stop. Usually when Grim is screaming, a Prefect is certain to follow afterwards. Yet, As Grim bounded over the table to Ace and Deuce with no Prefect in tail, the air got visibly tense.

“Y/N HAS BEEN ABDUCTED AFTER THEY PICKED UP THIS BOOK FROM THE LIBRARY THAT HIT THEM IN THE HEAD! I CANT SMELL OR FIND THEM ANYWHERE!” Grim screeched out as Deuce and Ace were looking at him weirdly. Suddenly, the sunny day within Heartsabyul got cloudier… And Cloudier… To where it looked like it was about to storm.

“Where is the Child of Man?” An all too intimidating presence made itself known. Malleus, with a decorated invitation personally assigned by Y/N stood by the entrance of the garden. Lilia, Silver and Sebek all standing there alongside him. Leona was not impressed by this showcase of purely a tantrum from a now King of Briar Valley. The air was tense, the cake was suddenly no longer sweet and the tea was ice cold.

“Settle down Malleus, I’m sure this is one big prank from Grim to try and scare us all.” Lilia spoke, a small ‘fufu’ following afterwards as he stared out into the large crowd. Leona was the next one to speak, slicing the tense air with a knife.

“I hoped you wouldn't show, yet here you are. And Grim, if you’re pranking us, its a horrible prank and you need to try better next time.” Leona sighed out, rubbing his temples as he stood up. He didn't need to be here anyway, if it weren't for his brother pestering him to go and Cheka kept getting into his business now as being a little older of a cub. If the only one who was taking it seriously was Malleus, Deuce was also included in the worry.

“What do you mean Y/N got abducted, Grim? Where are they?” Deuce asked out urgently as he stared down the grey haired familiar of yours. Grim looked around the room, hoping other than Deuce and Malleus were worried, he could smell the concern rising from Leona but made no rush to comment about it. Vil and Rook were both on edge as they stared down the cat and Riddle’s eyes were boring into the soul of Grim, as if trying to see if he was lying so he could cast his unique magic on him.

“Well! Like I said, there was a book that fell on top of Y/N and I in the library and the words kept moving-” Grim was cut off by Vil who’s eyebrows raised up in alarm.

“A Sentient book? Did they open it?”

“If you would let me finish- yes! They did! Y/N ran up to our room and when I went in there to collect them to come here, the book was open and they were missing!” Grim started out quickly, ears falling to the sides as they thought of their poor henchman, being kidnapped or even worse! Having gone back to their world without saying goodbye to him!

Riddle stood up abruptly out from his hair and sighed. “Let us go then, if Prefect needs our help, we will give it. Just as they have helped us through our overblots.” Though, he could hear some grunts of displeasure around the table.

“Nehhh~... Whats in it for us though?” Floyd’s voice came out, looking bored as ever as he stood near this little popup cart that Azul set up for Jade and him to run. At hearing a price to help Y/N, others began to agree until a flash of lightning hit the tree not too far and trailed after a large boom of thunder. Malleus was not impressed by the company he was in, and quickly proved to change their minds. The answer was clear;

Help Y/N or get Smited Down by the King of Briar Valley.

It's a good thing they of course all loved you very much! 

So here they stand, Grim pointing down to the book accusingly as he sat on Deuce’s shoulders. Leona, Vil, Rook, Riddle, The Tweels, Azul and All of Diasomina stood within your room. All accusingly staring down at your book with mixed faces of confusion, annoyance, and regret. While the book was still open, still had the mask and diamond ring upon its sparkling surface with the sentence below it

Choose One.

“Do you really think Y/N chose one?” Ace would ask out curiously, reaching forward only for his hand to be stopped by Rook who was smiling at him. 

“Mon ami, you wouldn't want to toy with what you don't know, oui?” Rook lightly scolded Ace who only huffed and pulled his hand away from the blonde frenchman. 

“Its sad that I didnt teach more about Sentient books to our little potato. Mayap they would’ve learned that messing with such forms of magic is forbidden- Especially when it hits your head in the library.” Vil would sigh out as he looked over the items. What could a mask and diamond ring have to do with anything? Did Y/N take something? If they did, what was it?

“I do not see the issue with these items. Certainly it must be easy to collect Y/N.” Malleus would state as he would reach forward and grab the mask. Being a man with powerful magic, he didnt instantly get knocked down but it did temper with his magic. Sebek was immediately alerted by this and attempted to grab the mask to protect his master. Silver reached out to do the same and Lilia was there to catch Malleus’ fall before they all were transported in. Their souls became little wisps that were shot straight into the book while the mask stayed floating before crumbing into dust.

“Well, I understand now.” Deuce would state out and shake his head. The last one was the diamond ring. Leona’s hand was first to grab it. 

“There is no way that damn lizard is going to save Y/N. I’ll be the one to do it.” Yet Vil, Rook, Riddle, Azul and the Tweels were grabbing after him. They wanted their share of glory in helps of finding their beloved Prefect. Afterall, the King and the Prince shouldn't have all the glory now, nor all the fun- Could they?

As their souls turned to wisps, they all shot into the book as Ace, Deuce and Grim watched this debacle happen before their very eyes. With a loud bang, they all came to realize that the book had shut itself and a title appeared before the Adeuce gang.

The Phantom of The Opera.

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Bloody Beetle | Part Nine

Summary: the afterlife is quite what you expected it to be

Pairing: Taweret x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: it's the afterlife y'all... you dead...

A/N: please note as much as I did some research into identity disorders, it may not he 100% factual and is supposed to be taken in context of the story... as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Floating. 

You're floating in dark nothingness. 

Your body weightless. 

Your mind empty. 

Just… nothing…

Then you hear something in the distance. 

A voice. 

A name being called. 

Your name. 

Closer.

Closer.

The voice gets louder, angrier, as it gets closer…

“Y/N!”

— — — — 

Your head slips from your hand as you jump awake from your position, leaning against your work desk. Donna, your boss, stands on the other side of the desk, looking down at you disapprovingly. 

“Is this what we pay you for? Sleeping on the job?” She tuts before continuing to rant at you. You ignore her, looking around the familiar museum inventory room as you try to shake away your sleep. Broken remnants of a realistic feeling dream flash in your mind, like a puzzle missing half the pieces. 

You had been in Egypt, that much is clear. But what were you doing there? Lots of people, unknown faces looking at you with hatred. Scales. A glowing purple light. A crocodile? 

You’ll have to tell Steven about this dream when you see him. Maybe he’ll understand it more than you do. Then you realise, he’s not here. 

“Is Steven not in today?” You ask suddenly, not really caring that you’ve interrupted whatever rant Donna was on. 

“Who’s that?” she looks at you blankly and you laugh. 

“Ste-ven.” You repeat clearly, emphasising each syllable. “Steven Grant? You know, the Egypt guy. Works with me down here like, all the time.”

“I don't know who you're talking about.”

“Steven!” You shout, getting frustrated now. 

“Don't matter how many times you say it!” Donna is getting more annoyed by the second. “There is no Steven that works here.”

“Is this some sort of joke?! I know you don't like him very much but even by your standards this is cruel!” 

“Okay, you need to calm down or soon you won’t be working here either!”.

“I’ll show you, look!” You grab your mobile and open the photos app. To your horror there’s not a single one of Steven to be found. “No! Where is it?! I took one just the other day… he was wearing one of those stupid pharaoh headdress things we sell to the kids. It was right here-”

“Y/N!” Donna snaps, snatching your phone and putting it down on the desk. “I don't know want to hear any more about your imaginary friend, alright? You’re wasting my time as well as your own! So unless you wanna be looking for a new job I suggest you drop it.”

You're about to argue back, but think better of it. Arguing with Donna is like hitting your head against a brick wall. 

“You’re right, sorry..." You say sheepishly, playing along. “I just got confused. I think I might be coming down with something.” 

“It’s alright.” Donna looks at you unconvinced but accepts it anyway. “Forget about it and get back to work.”

“Yes boss.” You say and she walks away, glancing back at you suspiciously before she leaves. 

As soon as she’s gone you pick your mobile back up off the desk to message Steven, but when you search your messages all the ones from him are gone. So you head to the contacts and scroll down to ’S’. Sarah, Shaun, Simon, Stuart… where’s Steven? You scroll up, thinking maybe he’s saved under ‘G’ for Grant. Nothing.

You consider for a moment calling the police. But what would you say? ‘My friend has disappeared, but no one remembers him and I have no evidence he ever existed?’ They’d either laugh at you or lock you up. Maybe you are going crazy… 

No. Steven was real! You remember him. The sound of his laugh as he would tell you a really crap joke he'd heard. The way his eyes would light up when someone asked him a question about Egyptian history. The smell of cologne whenever he bumped into you, which was more often than you’d think. He really was quite clumsy. That was one of the things you loved about him. And one of the things you had in common. 

You decide to go find J.B. Surely he’ll must remember Steven, even if he does always called him ‘Scotty’. If all else fails, you could at least get him to check security cameras. 

But as you step out from behind the desk, you don't notice the large box on the floor and trip over it. You manage to stop yourself falling by clinging on to the desk, but you send the box flying across the room, the contents spilling out everywhere. It's filled with action figures that you sell in the gift shop. You pick one up. 

At first glance you think it’s a mummy but then you notice, it’s a man. A man dressed all in white and wearing a white cape. You take another figure out, almost the same but this one wearing a white suit. 

You dig deeper into the box. It’s full of figures. Some the same as the two you’ve already got. Some with the skull of a bird and holding a crescent moon staff. A lady with dark curly hair. A crocodile... Then you find one that makes your blood run cold. A man, wearing a reddish brown outfit and sandals. He has shoulder length dirty blonde hair, and he’s holding a glowing purple cane. 

“Harrow?” You whisper, the name coming to you out of nowhere.

An image fills your mind; Harrow stood in front of you, plunging a dagger into your stomach.

You look down and realise your clothes are stained red with blood. Your heart and mind starts to race. Something isn’t right. You need to get out of here. 

You run to the door, swing them open and crash straight into someone. You look up and to your surprise see a tall hippopotamus stood smiling wildly down at you. 

You freeze as the two of you stare at each other for a moment. The hippo raises its hand in a waving gesture. 

“Hi!” A female voice. She sounds friendly enough.

“Uh… h-hi?” you stutter, trying to remain calm. 

“You're not screaming.” She says. You're unsure if this is a statement or a question. 

“Am I supposed to be..?”

“No, not at all. I’m just used to people screaming when they first see me. To be fair death can be quite traumatic as it is so I suppose to then come face to face with, well, me… must be quite startling.” She laughs. “You're handling this amazingly. Well done you.”

“Death?” You ask and her face drops.

“You didn’t know?” She says and you shake your head. 

“I thought it was just a bad dream.”

“Oh dear. I am very sorry, but I am afraid you are quite dead. Oh hang on! I have a thing I’m supposed to read…” She pulls a scroll out from her robe and unravels it before beginning to read. “Welcome gentle traveller to the realm of the Duat. I am Tawaret, goddess of women and children and I am here to guide you through your journey to the afterlife.”

“Wait wait wait, if I’m dead then why am I at the museum? Shouldn’t I be, like, in heaven or something?”

“Because the Duat’s true nature is impossible for the human mind to comprehend, you may perceive this realm as something more easily recognisable to you. Was this place special to you?”

You think back through all the happy memories you have here, in this room laughing with Steven.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” You say with a smile. “But hang on, Donna was here. My boss. She was here earlier having a go at me as usual. How is that possible? Is she dead too?” 

“This place can appear as real as you want it to. Whatever would normally be here will be here, that includes people. But rest assured, she is very much still alive.”

“Then where’s Steven? He was always here with me, but Donna didn’t even know who he was!”

“Steven? Steven Grant?” She asks.

“You know him?” 

“I do. Goodness, how do I explain this?” She says, mostly to herself. “Steven Grant isn’t real.”

“Of course he is!”

“No dear, uh…” she pauses, thinking over her words. “Do you know a Marc Spector?” 

“Kind of. Not very well, but we’ve met.”

“Right! So… Steven is Marc.”

“I don't understand.” 

“Marc created Steven when he was young to help him escape the trauma he was going through. He may not have even realised that that’s what he did, but whenever life got too much for Marc he would become Steven instead.”

“No hang on, Steven told me that this Marc lives inside him. Are you saying it’s the other way around?” 

“Steven really believed he was who he was. He had no idea the truth.” She watches you for a moment. Watches as your brain ticks over everything and sadly the truth sets in. “I think deep down, somewhere, subconsciously a part of you knew. That’s why he’s not here. The Duat picked up on it.”

She was right. Ever since that night when Marc first spoke to you, a small part of you had wondered. Harrow had tried to tell you, in his own manipulative way. You just didn’t want to believe it; Steven wasn’t real. 

“I wish he was here.” You say sadly. Taweret puts a caring hand on your shoulder. 

“I know dear, this is a lot to take in. But as I said, you are handling this exceedingly well.” She smiles at you, holding out her hand. “Come, let me show you around.”

— — — — 

You follow Tawaret through the doors and to your surprise you're no longer in the museum. Instead you find yourself on a magnificent wooden boat sailing through sand.

“Where are we going?” You ask, staring out at the the amazing blend of purple, blue and gold that makes up the sky. It would take your breath away, if you weren’t already dead. 

“Hopefully to the Field of Reeds.”

“Hopefully?” 

“Yes, there’s just something I have to do…” she places her hand on your chest and pushes, reaching inside you and when she pulls her hand back out she’s holding your heart. You watch in shock as she away from you and places the heart on a scale. She takes a feather and places it on the other side of the scale. The scales swing a few times before settling in a balanced position. 

“Oh goody.” Taweret smiles. “I would have hated to have to throw you overboard.” 

“Excuse me what?”

“If they scales hadn’t balanced, you would not be permitted entry to the Field of Reeds. The dead would have dragged you down into the Duat where you would have remained forever frozen in sand.” She explains and you stare at her in horror. “But the scales are balanced, so no need to dwell on that.” 

You walk to the edge of the boat and look over at the sand below you. You can just about make out the shapes of human figures half buried in the sands, hands desperately reaching for something to grab onto. It sends a shiver down your spine. Taweret moves to stand beside you. 

“All these people had unbalanced scales?” You ask sadly.

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Do the scales ever get it wrong?” 

“That’s not possible.” Taweret says looking at you, she notices you look troubled. “Are you alright?”

“When Harrow judged me with Ammit’s scales, they were unbalanced.”

“Ammit is wrong. She judges based on things that might happen, what someone might do. We judge on what you have done." She turns to face you completely, putting her hands on your shoulder so you have to face her. She looks you in the face. "Believe me when I say, you are a good person Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“Thank you.” You say with teary eyes as the boat continues its journey. 

— — — — 

Eventually you arrive at the most beautiful place you have ever seen.

“Welcome to the Field of Reeds.” 

It’s indescribable. An endless view of golden warmth. Peace like you’ve never felt before. 

“It’s… I don't have the words…” 

“Enjoy it. You belong here.” 

You smile up at her. 

The peace doesn’t last long however, when suddenly you hear a familiar voice calling from a distance behind you. 

“Hey! Hey, hippo lady! You gotta take me back!”

You turn to where the voice is coming from. 

“Not this again.” Taweret sighs.

“Marc?!” You interrupt as you realise who is running toward you. He stops when he notices you. 

“Y/N? What- what are you doing here?” 

“Same as you.” You respond bluntly. “Harrow killed me.”

A range of emotions flash across Marc’s face. Anger and sadness being the mains ones. 

“I’m sorry.” He says simply, before turning his attention back to the hippopotamus next to you. 

“There’s nothing I can do Marc.” Taweret says before he can even ask. “Steven is gone.”

“What?” You look between Taweret and Marc in a panic, but Marc turns away from you. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“The Duat has him.” Taweret explains. “When Marc died, the Duat split him and Steven into their own separate bodies in order to fairly judge their lives.”

“So Steven is one of those bodies in the sand?” You say in horror and she nods. “We can go back for him though? Right?!”

“It doesn’t work like that. If you leave here you can’t return.” She looks at Marc. “Please, enjoy your peace.”

Marc turns around angrily. 

“Peace?! There is no peace without Steven!”

“You don’t need him anymore Marc. You created Steven when you needed to cope with the worst parts of your life, but that’s over now.” She says, her voice gentle.

“So I get to go on to eternal peace, and he just…” Marc pauses. “Stays lost in the sand forever?”

A tear escapes down your cheek at the thought of Steven being one of those desperate figures you saw in the sand on the way here. Even though you now understand that Steven was only ever a personality created by Marc, he still felt real to you. You only really knew Steven. Your goofy, lovable, Egypt obsessed friend. 

“No.” Marc says suddenly. “I’m not good with that.” 

“Wait!” Taweret calls as Marc begins to walk off. “Think about this!” 

You watch him for a moment before turning to Taweret. She shakes her head at you, warning you. But you ignore her and run to catch up with him.

“What are you gonna do?” You ask. 

“I’m gonna get Steven back.” 

“Then I’m coming too.”

“Are you sure?” He stops and turns to you. It’s still so weird seeing Steven’s face but hearing Marc’s voice. “I can’t guarantee this will go well.” 

“He’d do it for it me.” You say and Marc nods.

The world around you starts to swirl. The golden sky turns dark and the reeds change to sand. Just ahead of you you spot him. Steven. Now one of the figures stuck in the sand. The two of you run over to him. His frozen hand is reaching out in front of him, a look of pain on his face. Marc crouches in front of him. 

“Steven. Looking pretty rough man.” He cries. “I don't know if you can hear me… From the moment you arrived, way back then, we were so young… You saved me. I survived because I knew I wasn’t alone. You were always there, alive, full of hope. I tried to protect that, and I failed. I couldn’t protect you.”

You feel a strange sensation in your feet and look down to see they’ve started to turn to ice, like Steven. Then you notice Marc’s hands have also started to change. 

“You didn’t abandon me.” He looks down at his frozen hand. “You didn’t abandon me. And although that field back there was looking pretty good, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna abandon you.” 

He tried to reach his hand up to hold Steven’s but his arm goes stiff. He looks at you and nods his head to gesture for you to come over. You crouch down beside him, looking into Steven’s terrified eyes.

“Hey Stevo. It’s Y/N. You know, Marc is right. You would never abandon the people you care about. How many times you stayed later than you needed to at work, just so I didn’t have to do inventory on my own.” You laugh as tears stream down your cheeks. “And I know you wouldn’t have left me with Harrow unless you had no choice. Because you are the best person I’ve ever met. You don't believe it, but you are. I should have told you that when we were alive. I should have told you how much you mean to me.” The feeling of your body quickly changing to ice spreading up your legs and arms. You manage to lift your hand to hold Steven’s.

Your body has completely changed now, only your head remains. You look at Marc. He reaches his hand up and places it over yours and Steven’s.

“You are the only real superpower I ever had.” He says to Steven as the ice takes over, freezing his head completely. 

You feel it creeping up the sides of your face. You fix your eyes on Steven and manage to whisper three little words as the last part of you becomes frozen in the sand.

“I love you.” 

— — — — 

The worst thing about being frozen in the Duat wasn’t actually the being frozen, but rather the fact that you were conscious the whole time. Forced to stare into the frozen eyes of the man you love, but unable to move or speak to him. 

All concept of time goes out the window. You have no idea how long you’ve been stuck like this, when suddenly you're aware of a rumbling sound and bright light shining to the side of you. As the light hits the side of your face its like warmth is being restored to your body. The ice melts away and you take a deep breath as life is restored to your body. 

You look over to see the giant ornate gates have opened, light pouring through them. You turn back to look at Steven, the ice is starting to melt from him.

“Steven…” you whisper and he looks at you, taking a big breath of air into his thawed body. 

“Y/N…” he smiles and hugs you before turning to a now unfrozen Marc. “Marc!” 

“Steven!” He says happily.

“You came back? What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Steven says, smiling as he helps Marc stand.

“Well I did a whole little speech there.” 

“It wasn’t that little.” Steven laughs, pulling Marc in for a hug. He turns to you, holding out his hand to help you stand. “I heard yours too.”

“I meant every word.” You say sincerely, looking into his eyes and he smiles as he gently places a hand on your cheek. 

“I love you too.” He whispers.

“Uh, guys.” Marc says from beside you. “As lovely as this moment is… we have a problem.”

You both turn to see what Marc is looking at. A giant sandstorm wave heading straight towards you. 

“Oh bollocks!” Steven shouts. “Come on, lets go!”

The three of you start to run, Marc struggling as his leg seems to be injured. Steven hooks one of Marc’s arms over his shoulder and you do the same on the other side.

“I’m slowing us down, just go!” Marc shouts.

“We’re not leaving you!” You reply, almost dragging him now. 

“Coming through!” You hear and turn around to see Taweret on her ship sailing towards you. “Osiris you old softie!” She calls as she crashes through the wave, slowing it down to give you time. “Now run!!” She shouts. 

“Hippo!!” Steven shouts, waving his hands in the air before Marc grabs him and pulls you all towards the gates. You run with all the strength you can muster and finally make it through the gates. 

— — — — 

“Where am I?” You ask aloud, glancing at the bright white nothingness around you. “Steven? Marc? Anyone?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” A voice calls from everywhere at once.

“Hello?” You respond. 

“I am Osiris, god of the underworld.”

Part Ten

Taglist :  @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker

(if you want to be added to the taglist please let me know!)

[lvlyghost]

Salvation

Pairings: John Price x F!Reader

Summary: after a few months since his last visit, john finally gets the chance to see the girl.

Word Count: 1.7k

tw: fluff, angst, allusion to human trafficking, NCA, terrified girls. nothing too descriptive. bad english and poor grammar as usual. if i missed anything just lmk💕

A/N: so this took a little longer since it was supposed to come out during the weekend. i was planning on making it longer but didn't, maybe a second part could happen🐸 anyway, i love price✨🩵!

Masterlist✨ | Part 2

She hears it while cooking her homemade cherry pie. As far as she recalls, no one was supposed to come today. No. Officer Davis came that morning at eight o'clock like he always did. He had handed her some new books she's been wanting to read for a few months now and was kind enough to buy for her.

Since she wasn't allowed to give her address to anyone,and let alone type it on some random website, she was always asking officer Davis for favors. He was truly an amazing man. Although, even if they ever let her do such thing, giver her some freedom, who would want to go to the house in the middle of the forest to drop off a package?

Freedom. She scoffs. Such a strange word.

Making her way out of the room she walks towards the front door, but not before taking the remote that was given to her by the NCA. All it takes is pressing the red button twice and she'll have the whole police in her doorway. She stands behind the white wooden door, hesitating. Her heart begins to race, feeling it beat against her ribcage.

What if someone had finally found her location?

I can't go back there.

Frozen in her place, hand barely touching the doorknob and tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"It's me, sweetheart." A deep voice comes from the other side. "It's okay. I'm sorry for not coming sooner."

John.

She mumbles his name, like a prayer, and then opens the door.

He stands there, tall and broad. The same baby blues that saved her a year ago looking back at her. The lines on his forehead soften at the mere sight of the girl. He's wearing that black beanie that once sat atop of her head when the winter had begun that first time he visited her here.

The only other one that knew where to find her. Because she knew, they all knew, he'd do anything for her.

-

John can hear the river outside the old house. The rustling of leaves moving against the wind, soon it'll be dark. The humid weather making his green shirt stick to his skin layered with sweat. He inhales deeply. This mission. This fucking mission has been going far too long. But everything they found les the task force to this very place. He goes room by room, entering with his gun aiming ahead and the safety off. Always.

Despite not having execute authority he wanted nothing more than to put several bullets in their bodies. Whomever they were.

A creak echoes on the second floor so he rushes upstairs stealthily. The place above doesn't look much better that the bottom part of the house. There's a weird smell in the air. Like blood and death.

After checking the first room, the bathroom and all the cabinets just in case he sighs.

"Only got one room left to check. Anything out there?" He waits for an answer, in the middle of the bedroom. The mattress was torn and dirty. He thinks of all the atrocities that must've taken place there.

"Negative, Captain. Got you on my sight just in case." Ghost's monotone voice interrupts the eerie silence engulfing his surroundings.

"Copy."

The radio dies and John walks to the next door across the hallway. Except it's locked.

Of course.

"Last door locked. I'm going in. Gaz, Soap you're in position?" He asks

"Aye sir. Both ready."

Next thing that happens is a bullet. He shoots the doorknob and the door bursts open with a loud sound of his firearm.

And screams.

Terrified screams and cries from... girls. At least seven of them. Price swallows hard, his eyes scanning the room when they land on the girl shielding a younger one. She's terrified, shaking, yet still looks him in the eye imploring to be saved.

-

She's hugging him in an instant, almost making him stumble back on his steps, but embraces her body nevertheless.

"What took you so long?" She asks, her face resting on his hard chest. Price can feel the softness of her skin against his calloused hands.

"Special Ops." She smells like strawberry and caramels. Pulling away so he can look her in the eyes. "How're you doin' love?"

Her heart skips a beat. Never gets tired of hearing Price calling her that.

"Come in and I'll tell you."

Taking his hand she guides him to the kitchen where the pie is almost finished. John drops his duffel bag on the wooden floor, contemplating her small form moving around effortlessly.

"I got some new books this morning. Turns out I've been missing a lot. Davis was kind enough to bring them since... you know." She shrugs.

"They're still not letting you out?" He asks with a serious tone.

"Nah. Might be dangerous." Taking out the pie from the oven she places it on the counter between the two. Price doesn't say anything for a moment, merely looking at her, pondering. "The boys are alright?"

"Yeah." He nods,"Had to drag one or two out of a burning building but that's not new."

She laughs softly, taking a seat, motioning for him to do the same. He obliges.

"How long do you think they'll keep me here, John?" It's a genuine question. It's only been a few months. A year, almost.

"Love..." he sighs. "It's complicated. I don't know much."

"Yeah but, but once they're all captured..." she stammered.

Price could never say he understands what she's going through. What she endured was beyond him. Whenever he thought of it it just made him want burn the fucking bastards. All of them.

"I promise you this. Once it's safe for you I'll personally come and give you the news. And we'll go wherever you desire, yeah?" Although it's not entirely what she wanted, she could wait a little bit longer. John had never let her down. He saved her and in all honesty she'd trust him with her life. "I'll tell you what." He stands up, making the small kitchen look even smaller with his tall form. "Have you heard about the town fair?"

Her eyes light up.

"No... is, is that..."

"Let's go." She doesn't move. "Why don't you go get ready."

"John, I'm not supposed to leave the house you know that, I mean I want to, but... you said..." She's mortified, yet excited. A breath of fresh air. That's what that man meant for her. No one ever cared about her like he did.

"I've got contacts, love. I don't need their permission. For all that matters you're safer with me. Come on, out we go." He points to the front door. "I'm a patient man but don't keep me waiting for too long eh."

-

He was right.

It was a sight to behold.

John watches her eating the snack he got for her. She loved sweets so much therefore he couldn't let this opportunity pass. When was the last time she got to experience something like this? Sometimes so simple.

Something so mundane.

Her eyes are glimmering whenever she looks at the different attractions at the fair. John takes a long drink from his beer bottle. Right hand finding her lower back whenever she's about to bump into some other person when she's distracted.

"You like it huh?" She looks at him confused. He points the stuffed otter in her left hand. A smile crossed her features.

"I do. And I still don't know how you did it... I mean, I guess being in the military does help when you try to shoot a moving horse toy at the fair to win something." She laughs, embarrassed about what she just said. She thinks she sounds stupid, almost making her want to hit her head against the nearest tree.

He smiles, the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes more prominent than the last time she'd seen him.

"I guess it does, love." He agrees wholeheartedly.

"How long are you going to stay?"

Price looks down at her when she stops before the ferris wheel. The wind blows her hair swiftly. What was that in the air? Her perfume?

"For as long as I can, dear." He takes a strand of hair in his hand, and gently put it behind her ear.

There she is.

"John..." she breathes. "I feel so lonely when you're gone." The grip on the stuffed animal tightens. "I've no one. If it wasn't for you..."

"No." He gently reprimands her. "Don't say another word. With or without me you'll be fine, love."

"What if I don't want to be fine when you're not around?" He's silent, yet his mind is so loud. "You saved me, John." She states. "Any other person would just continue with their lives. You were just doing your job. Another one in the endless missions you're assigned." Swallowing, she asks: "Why are you still here? Why do you keep coming back?"

He doesn't answer the question right away, instead looks over her head, lost in his own thoughts as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. He then clears his throat and looks back at her, who's waiting with wide eyes and lips slightly parted. She was right. Any other day John would've turned page. He would sure remember, after all these are stories that will stick with him until his last day. What made this mission different?

"I think you know bloody well why."

-

Price helps her sit inside the helicopter to get medical attention. Feeling her weak body trembling even under the black blanket she was tightly wrapped in. He had carried her body all the way outside from that house when she collapsed. The adrenaline running through her system disappearing when she realized they were being rescued at last.

Simon had side eyed his Captain when he didn't let anyone take the girl from him. Why her? He couldn't say. So he went away and led one of the other girls out of there instead with Soap's help.

"There's nothing to be afraid anymore, kid." He reassured her, voice soft trying not to startle her more than she already was. "We got you. All of you."

Her big eyes once terrified and filled with tears of despair finally saw the light at the end. It was him. What she always prayed for. Salvation.

It was staring back at her.

[alohajun]

♡ PROMISE IT WON'T HURT — YANG JUNGWON

jungwon x reader | wc : 0.3k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, vampire au, mention(s) of blood | loki's lines : reposting! this seemed like a cool idea in my head, hope i wrote it just as nicely hehe

“citizens are advised to remain indoors as the count of victims in the serial murders increased drastically within the last two days.”

you shuddered as you listened to the news, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you nestled on the sofa.

“are you cold, jagi?” jungwon came with your drinks, placing the mugs on the table before sitting next to you, extending his arms as he invited you to his embrace. “what are we watching?” he inquired, turning his head towards the news broadcast that was going on.

you pouted, looking between your boyfriend and the television. “do you think they’ll catch the culprit soon? so many people are dying just like that. i wonder what their families must be feeling,” you thought, snuggling closer to jungwon as he wrapped his arms around you.

“well, the police seem to be working hard.” he nodded, caressing your face with his hand as he watched the police officers give their statements. “the victims don’t have any family, jagi. besides, even if they did, they don’t deserve to live happily after everything they’ve done.”

“hm?” you tilted your head, looking at your boyfriend confusedly. “they mentioned nothing about the victims not having families, though. how do you know?”

jungwon’s grip around your waist tightened, holding you closer to keep you in place.

he watched you in amusement as you squirmed in his grasp, barely affecting him as you kept thrashing around to save yourself.

“wonie, what are you–” your words fizzled out as you noticed the way his eyes flashed, swiftly changing from a chocolate brown to a fiery red. “y-your eyes.” the male easily pushed you against the sofa, gripping your hands to block your movements as he towered over you.

he smirked, making your breath hitch upon seeing the excessively sharp teeth on display. “you talk too much, you know?” his fingers trailing over your face. “will you let me take a bite? i promise it won’t hurt.” he leant in, his fangs nearing your neck.

your gaze met jungwon’s, absolute fear evident in them as you looked at him. he tilted his head, watching you closely before you broke into a fit of giggles, your eyes glowing a similar shade of crimson.

“gosh, that’s so cringey. is that what you tell everyone before you bite them?”

taglist: @xiaosimp3 @wccycc @nanalovesyouuu @enhacolor @heejojo @jaesvelvet @koishua @nyfwyeonjun @aleinasstuff @mushtato @kpoprhia @woooooooosh8 @theoskies @yunho-leeknow @candililac @yogurteume @one16core @soobin-chois @wonluvrbot @acciomylove @idkwatodoanymore @ily-cuz-i @acaiasahi @bobariki @teuranghae

ENHYPEN MASTERLIST

© 2023 ALOHAJUN | PLEASE REFRAIN FROM COPYING OR REPOSTING MY WORK WITHIN OR OUTSIDE THIS SITE

[pengold]

Okay, so this is the anon that pointed out the gloria name (if its okay i just wanna refer to myself as "💚 anon")

I wanted to ask if you are comfortable with us asking questions regarding the AU? Like- The whole thing with Steven having "nothing to do" with Nacha's husband's death. Especially since said husband was his father's right hand man- does his father know? I'd imagine if he did, it was because of some double crossing or something, but then why would Nacha still be under protection? Would she ever find out? Would his father be upset if he didn't know and found out?

Thats just the first thing i wanted to ask. There's some thoughts/questions I've been thinking about regarding Angus, Izaack, Doppelgangers, and the Doctor. As i said. Your AU is tickling my brain in such good ways, but i want to know if asking is okay

And also, thank you so much for the Angus love- i feel the characters are so underrated compared to the milkman (still love him tho)

Hello 💚 anon and yes you can tots ask questions about the Au (and that goes for everybody)!! Angus and the Selenne are my 2 favs and I love that people like me drawing the “less” popular characters!

As to Steven and the situation with Nacha’s husband: he died in a police sting and Rudboys Sr. thinks there is a rat in his organization. He doesn’t know that it was Steven as he was the one that told the org what went down and he barely made it out. So Steven was put on task of finding the mole while hiding himself. He has seen that he has fooled his dad so he is seeing how he could take over sooner.

He is a naughty boy who is trying to get both the girl and the job.

This is were Izaack comes in, he knows something more went down at that sting and is trying to investigate it. He was best friends with Nacha’s husband when they were younger. Even though they went separate ways and didn’t agree with each others career choices, they kept an eye on each other.

So plan is Steven makes his move on Rudboys Sr., ppl think he does but Nacha saves him and brings him to Dr Afton. Nacha was starting to like Steven, thought him a gentleman and was there for her after her husband’s death. It’s her daughter who doesn’t like him that makes her keep a friendly distance from him. She stumbles upon the confrontation between the Rudboys and learns what happens. She goes to Izaack with the info cuz her husband always talked about him.

That’s all I’ll say on this for now but loving the questions makes me think more about it!!

((Also pls excuse and spelling and grammar errors. English is my only language and I’m bad at it))

[bananabread-nana]

Part 1

Spiderman!EthanLandry x Enchantress!OC

Slow burn, Violence, suggestive(eventually?)

past/flashbacks

A/N: I haven’t written anything in FOREVER so please bare with me. Ignore any punctuation or grammar mistakes 😭 comment if you want to be on the taglist and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy 🤸🏻‍♀️

———————————————————————————

An ear-piercing scream ripped through the poor woman’s throat, adding to the burn that only got worse with every breath she took. She couldn’t run much longer the only thing keeping her going was the sound of the man’s heavy footsteps behind her. Taunting her. Getting closer to her. Closing her eyes bracing for impact..

THUD

The confused woman opened her eyes just to catch a glimpse of the alluring emerald haze that disappeared just as fast as it appeared revealing the man that had spent the last two hours tormenting her, robbing her of her belongings and dignity, lying in a pool of his own blood.

———————————————————————————

Loud police sirens roared through the streets of New York interrupting his thoughts bringing him back to reality. Quickly packing his things Ethan bolted out of Sam and Tara’s shared dorm which sparked some confusion and concern within the group for a split second before it faded away due to persistence of this exact situation. As far as they know they just think his control-freak of a dad, Sheriff Bailey is blabbing at him to get home.

In reality, he got straight to work putting on his vibrant red and blue onesie he calls his suit as soon as he turned the corner.

TWIP TWIP

Swinging from building to building with the flick of his wrist all while desperately searching for the crime scene. His attention was quickly drawn by an ear-piercing scream that sent a chill down his spine. Now heading towards the general direction of the call for help, he began articulating his plan. It was just another night as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, web up a greedy criminal, occasionally giving them a taste of his enhanced strength, and leave. There was something about this particular moment that gave him an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Nervous?

Scared?

No, never?

I’m Spiderman, THEY’RE scared of ME not the other way around

The boy tried so desperately to ease his nerves, he had never felt nervous let alone afraid of putting himself in danger but there’s a first for everything.. right?

The scene was quiet, too quiet.. he swore this was where the woman had screamed from, his enhanced hearing never failed him. Right?

Spiderman?

His head nearly snapped by the way his head whipped towards the direction of the voice. He couldn’t believe what he saw, a man laying face down drowning in a pool of his own blood and a woman in the corner with a mix of multiple emotions plastered on her pale face. Before the spider-boy could ask any questions, the woman stared blurting out what had happened prior to his arrival. She spoke too fast and her shaky voice made it hard to decipher her words but one thing stuck out..

..THEN I saw a flash of green and before I knew it the guy was dead! That person or thing or whatever it was SAVED ME! Do you know who it is? Or what?…

She continued to spew unanswerable questions but he wasn’t listening because he was deep in thought..

Who? What? How?

———————————————————————————

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

Taglist: @tuktuk34 @netey6m

Comment if you want to be added

[goosewriting]

I've been meaning to request a scenario where Raph has to help a yokai reader escape the hidden city's cops after they stole an important jewel. This would be where the 29 blue prompt takes place (to specify Raph would be the one to say "you should not like to be wanted by the police!"). After the situation was resolved, the reader admits they stole the jewel cuz they wanted to ask him out with it and he accepts 🥹 could i also ask for the 28 blue prompt? (Reader: you won't regret it! Raph, playfully: already am)

Partners in crime (rottmnt Raph x reader)

prompt 29: “I like being wanted.” “You should NOT like being wanted by the police!” prompt 28: “You wont regret it!” “Already am.”

summary: Raph helps reader steal a jewel; turns out it was a gift for him.

relationship: Rise!Raph x GN reader

warnings: crimes being committed lol, fluff!

word count: 1.1k

A/N: sorry there isn’t really anything specifically making the reader a yokai; i didn’t find a good way to incorporate it :’v it can be still read as one! hope you like it^^

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Raph questioned all his life decisions as he was running down the Hidden City streets. He could hear the cops’ voices behind him, yelling at him to stop, and he remembered how he was already arrested once here (although it had been a misunderstanding, but still). He did not need this again. Next to him you ran as well, as fast as you could, trying to stabilise the weight of your loot in your backpack that swayed up and down with each step you took. 

You heard the voices behind you call out one more time as you cut a corner, Raph almost losing his footing at the tight turn. All of a sudden you’re pulled rather forcefully into a narrow and dark alley. Raph had essentially grabbed you mid-run and pulled you in there with him. You both tried to calm your panting, holding your breaths as you heard several steps getting closer. 

There was a large, partially torn piece of fabric that had probably been an awning at a better point in its life, and Raph quickly pulled it up to hide you from your pursuers. It did not cover as much as expected though, so he pressed you a little bit tighter against the wall behind you. Luckily you had had half the mind to slip off your backpack as you were pulled into the alley or your precious loot would be digging into your back right now. You looked up at Raph’s face, which was directed towards the street listening out for the passing cops, and that’s when you realised how close he was. His chest pressed into yours, the brick wall behind you stopping you from getting more distance between you and the turtle. 

You felt heat starting to rise to your cheeks, but you quickly pushed your feelings back down. This was not time for such thoughts. You were about to be in real trouble if you messed up now. So you decided to ignore the warmth radiating off him, as well as his pounding heart, which you could feel beat against your own. You assumed it was because of the earlier sprint. 

After a moment in silence, the cops having long gone in the wrong direction, Raph let out a deep sigh and separated himself from you, mumbling an apology for suddenly pulling you away like that. You were about to tell him it was no big deal, since he essentially saved you, but his eyes shot up to meet yours, his brows furrowed in worry (and maybe anger. Justified anger, really).

“What were you thinking?!” he asked, running his hands over his face with a groan. “When you asked me if I wanted to be ‘partners in crime’ with you, I thought you meant you’d tell me a secret or something, not that you’d actually commit a crime!”

I know he’s scolding me but why does he still look so cute?, you asked yourself. Unable to stop yourself, you decided to tease him.

“Tee hee~” was all you responded to his disgruntled question, with a playful wink and bringing your hand before your mouth.

“Don’t tee hee me!” Raph looked like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it for the moment. Instead he sighed again, gesturing to your backpack. “What is it anyways?”

It’s for you, but you can’t know that yet. You pulled your lips into a straight line and looked away from him.

“Oh, so you’re not gonna tell me?” 

At first you feared he’d be mad or insist, but then he actually chuckled with a shake of his head, visibly relaxing now for some reason. 

“Well, it better be worth being wanted people for” Raph said with a playful smile, and looked back towards the street to make sure you were safe to leave your hiding spot. 

“I like being wanted” you mused, and his eyes shot back to yours in mock exasperation. 

“You should not like being wanted by the police!”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh at that, and gestured towards the exit of the alley with your chin.

“C’mon, let’s get going.”

– – –

After making your way out of the Hidden City back to the turtle lair, you excused yourself and disappeared for the rest of the day. Before you left, Raph had asked you to at least tell him what it was he helped you steal, but you stood your ground and gave him only vague or joking answers. So he gave up.

He did not expect to see you again that evening, but there you were. You had changed clothes into something nicer, and were looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

When you got Raph alone, you told him you’d finally show him what you stole and handed him a little box. He took it delicately and opened it to reveal a necklace with a stone pendant. No, scratch that, it wasn’t a stone, it was a jewel. Picking it up from the box, he held the gem against the light, mesmerised by how the colours refracted through it.

As he was about to ask if all the trouble was worth it for a necklace, you pulled out a thin chain from under your own shirt, showcasing the pendant against your knuckles: it was the same jewel.

“I made matching necklaces for us” you confessed. The nervousness of the whole day, knowing this moment would eventually come, made your body tremble slightly in anticipation. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, and looked up to him with flushed cheeks. “Because I really like you. Will… will you be my boyfriend?”

Starting from his neck upwards, Raph’s face turned the colour of his bandana. He blinked a couple of times, trying to process what had just happened. Out of all the things you could have said, that was not what he was expecting. But it certainly was a very pleasant surprise, since he felt the same way!

“Yes!” he said, looking at you with soft eyes, but then he raised a warning eyebrow at you. “But you don’t have to steal anything to impress me.”

“You don’t like it?” you asked, unsure.

“No, I love it!” he responded and immediately slipped the necklace over his head. “But please, no more crimes?”

“Hmm” you tapped your chin as if you had to think about it. “I’ll try my best.” And with that you leaned forward and pecked his cheek.

“You won’t regret it!” you said with a grin.

“Already am” Raph said playfully and brought you in for a hug.

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[hazeleyedbutterfly]

What IF ... TW: Violence

So after fighting my anxiety and self doubts for a few days, I am finally creating a post in which I will share with you a WHAT IF scenario for Nathaniel's route in MyCandyLove.

As we all know our beloved blondie sometimes gets the worst of it in his storyline, suffering through a lot. The drama!

Since we got some angst in Campus Life, yup I am referring to the time he was stabbed by the gang members. I believe there could have been much more depth into that storyline OR the fact that he becomes a police officer later on. Beemoov could have done so much more with the storyline in Love Life.

I am sure I am not the only one on here that has been wondering about a scenario where Candy gets hurt either by the gang members or finds herself in the middle of a mass shooting, since when it comes to Nathaniel she always jumps in to save him. At least during High School and Campus Life she did. I wish we had that in Love Life a little more as well, in my opinion we had too little of it. And instead had a lot of other drama going on. (I will wholeheartedly disregard the whole "cheating" plot because...NOPE)

So here goes nothing. A little warning, I am not an English native speaker so there might be some grammar errors. Please have mercy with me. This little scene just popped into my head as an idea or inspiration while writing my Fanfiction.

Enjoy! Feel free to share your own thoughts on scenarios like this.

Xo Haz~

TW: Violence

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ 

I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth as my knees buckle, and I collapse to the floor. The stabbing pain courses through my body, leaving me gasping for air. 

“NO!” Nathaniel's agonizing scream jolts me back to reality. As I look down at myself, I notice how my shirt is already smeared with blood. 

I had been shot. Holy fuck, I had been shot!? 

The commotion in the room fades into the background as strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off the ground. The faint scent of cologne briefly masking the smell of blood. I gaze up and meet Nathaniel's amber eyes, I wish I hadn't. The pain in his expression overwhelms me. He looks at me as if his life depends on it, as if he might die if I do. His face is bruised, and my blood stains his clothes. 

"Nath...", I croak. 

"You'll be okay. I promise. I've got you," he whispers. 

He carries me away from the ongoing shooting, and I close my eyes, resting my cheek against his chest. He's breathing heavily.

Seconds later, I feel the cool breeze on my face as I open my eyes and gaze up at the night sky, filled with countless stars. It's a beautiful sight. 

“Keep your eyes open. I need you to stay with me, baby," Nath pleads, the desperation in his voice tearing at my heart. 

I touch his cheek, and he takes a tight breath, conveying so much with his eyes that I have to look away. Feeling hot, cold, and unsteady, I find solace in his embrace. He holds me tightly, one arm around my back, rubbing it to warm my skin. Then he kisses me and whispers, "I love you." Over and over, his lips trail across my temples, cheeks, and jaw as he repeats those three words. 

"I love you too. Always" I say, gripping his back as if to freeze this moment in time. The thought of possibly dying in his arms, with my last words being "I love you," feels oddly serene. 

Sirens approach, and unfamiliar faces gather around us. Nath barks orders to them while I gaze at his beautiful features one last time. With all the strength I can muster, I brush my fingers gently along his jawline, trying to etch this image into my memory forever. The stars in the sky seem to surround him like a halo. Then everything goes pitch black. 

 ~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ 

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | viii

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Word Count: 18.5k

Warnings: abusive/toxic romantic relationships, mentions/memories of choking/strangulation, mental illness/descriptions/behaviour of borderline personality disorder, mentions of previous OD, heavy descriptions of addictions/addicts/addict behavior, heavy mentions/descriptions of drug use (stimulants/narcotics), heavy mentions of relapsing, trauma bonds, descriptions of toxic/abusive parents, death of family members, PTSD/CPTSD behaviors/reactions/explanations, dissociation, trauma, triggered trauma responses, mentions of death/dying, absent parents, death of a parent, parents with active addictions, missing persons, police stations/reports, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, crying, mentions of blood/bleeding, mentions of cheating, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, fighting, yelling, drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, sorry if I miss any 🤍

As always, please feel free to reach out to me if you need an ear, and know that you are not alone in whatever troubles you are facing. I’ve also included a list of helplines and resources for anyone who may be in need of them. I love you all so dearly.

Emergency substance abuse hotline (US): 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Canadian Mental Health and Addictions Phone Line: 1-833-553-6983

Virtual NA meetings and support (worldwide)

Canada’s complete comprehensive list of addiction helplines, inpatient/outpatient programs, and family support per province | UNITED STATES

Canada’s comprehensive list of domestic and family violence helplines and resources | UNITED STATES HOTLINE

Canada’s guide to mental health help and crisis intervention | UNITED STATES

If you are struggling with addiction or know someone who is, remember to inquire about Nalaxone kits at your nearest pharmacy, as many in Canada are active participants of the program. At participating locations and clinics, Naloxone kits are free of charge and accessible without a prescription or healthcare card. It is a fantastic and life saving tool to have on hand while waiting for EMS. There is also free online courses for Naloxone training to anyone who is interested.

Remember, no matter what is portrayed in fiction or media, the safest course of action for anyone suffering from an overdose (accidental or intentional) is to call 911.

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Hi guys 🤍 if you’ve stuck with me this far, I am certain that you now know why this story means so much to me. It’s hard to write, it’s gritty, it’s gruesome, and it’s not typically what you guys read on here. I still believe it is imperative for me to tell this story in hopes that it helps someone who is stuck in a silent battle, facing these issues with nowhere to turn like I was at one point in my life. I love you all so so much, and you have no idea what you all mean to me. As always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻

July 11th, 2022 - 7:13 AM

Suffocating.

You didn’t know of anything else, but you knew that for certain.

Your vision was spotty, flickering light fading away as you felt the pressure increase over your windpipe. You were clawing at the hands wrapped so tightly around it, fingernails threatening to pull free from the skin with every violent attempt to free yourself. Your chest was filled with fire, searing and burning the longer you went without air.

This time, there was no end in sight.

No savior, no doubt, no chance.

Death was yours, whether you welcomed it or not.

You tried to scream out, to plea for him to stop, to beg someone to help, but not a sound passed your lips. You could feel the life fading, the urge to fight dwindling, but you weren’t ready yet. You still had so much to do, so much to see. Hopes, dreams and desires that you wanted to attain before your time on earth was through. You couldn’t bear the burden of death before you had the opportunity to complete them.

For the first time in your life, you wanted to keep going, to persist and not just survive, but to truly live.

A taste of love, a taste of liberation, a taste of freedom that you never once believed could be yours.

It all seemed so unfair, so sinister to succumb when something better was just within reach. Had you lived your entire miserable life just to die with a teasing hint of serenity?

For some reason, that idea seemed the most evil of all. Not your life force bleeding from you with every passing second, not the man you once loved standing before you with intent to finish you, but the fact that you got to experience a moment of love, but did not get to live with it. That you got to experience someone as fantastic as Daniel, but he was never truly meant to be yours.

What is the point in trying if it always ends the same? If happiness is ripped away before it ever truly gets the chance to blossom? Why do we as humans reach for things we’re never meant to possess?

Why did it matter?

As you bargained with the lack of air in your lungs, you knew you could not change it. You could not stand in the way of fate, rewrite a story that was set in stone. As much as it hurt, you knew it would always end with misery. As the last little bit of your vision began to flicker, you tried to force yourself to be grateful, to be happy that in your last days you at least got to feel a loving touch and a warming soul, that you did not die unloved and unknown.

Someone in the world would defend your honor, would love you long after your mortal body pushed daisies to the earths surface, and would remember you as something, rather than nothing.

If death was meant to be yours, at least you could be grateful you could love Daniel in what little time you had with him. If death was meant to be yours, at least you would not die without knowing the serenity of his company, the peace of his heart.

Even in your last seconds, you could not swallow down the burgeoning selfishness that ravaged your soul, knowing that even if you got to experience it once, it would never be enough.

“Fuck,” you panted, your eyes shooting open as you drew in a sharp breath. You blinked a few times, still feeling a slight tremble in your limbs as you tried to come-to. After a few agonizing seconds of confusion, you noticed a sleeping body next to you, wrapped up so delicately in the white cotton sheet as the early morning sun illuminated the beauty he always carried around with him, conscious or not. The warm summer breeze floated through the open window, the smell of grass reminding you that you were not where your dreams stemmed from.

Your hands, ever so slightly closed around your neck in some inadvertent protective fashion, were taunting you further the longer they remained there. Slowly, you ran your fingers over the bruises that stained your skin, noting the tenderness and the rawness of the fresh scratches you must have left during your sleep. Noting how dry and scratchy your throat was, you wondered how long you had been stuck in the dream.

Carefully, you slid from under the blankets, feeling the itch of the hospital bracelet against your skin as it slid up your wrist. Annoyed and embarrassed at your current state, you climbed from the bed as carefully as you could so you did not wake Daniel. When you were on your feet, your eyes remained glued on him, ensuring the even rise and fall of his chest continued. When you were certain you didn’t disturb him, you slid on his sweatpants laying on the floor and tied your hair back, noticing the tickle of the strands doing nothing to alleviate your discomfort.

The Airbnb was eerily quiet, and you knew Sam was also likely still sleeping away the earliest hours of the morning. You tip-toed to the kitchen, noticing the chill of the floor on your bare feet as you approached the refrigerator. Swallowing back nothing, intent to rid yourself of the rawness, you noticed it only ever seemed to make it worse. Clearing your throat ever so gently, you poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. Sipping away at the beverage, you opened the freezer and located the gel-filled ice pack the emergency room had provided you with, placing it on the counter as you searched through drawers to find a dish towel.

As you wrapped the ice pack, preparing to place it on the injury to soothe the ache in your muscles, you felt a general sense of heaviness lay upon you like a blanket. Since leaving the hospital, it had come and went in sporadic intervals, never giving a warning before taking over completely. Your shoulders slumped, the pit of your stomach filling with lead as your eyes fluttered closed.

It would pass, just like always, but surviving it was difficult. It always felt like it would win, that you would be forced to lay down and let it become you, that you would never escape it.

Raising the glass of water to your lips with a shaking hand, you pictured in your mind the very scene that left you in the state to begin with, the one that haunted your dreams and forced your eyes open every few hours. It tormented you, the sinister feeling that burrowed itself into your body, recalling the lethal force and the evil expression in his eyes. A man you trusted, whom you once loved with your entire heart and soul, someone who you would have sacrificed yourself for without a second thought, who believed your life to be expendable when his emotions were too hard to handle. The grief of the physical trauma was nothing compared to the emotional pain you seemed to be stuck in.

Maybe the lump in your throat was not an ailment from your injury, but your inability to swallow back how little you meant to the ones you cared most about.

You felt tears fill your eyelids, dripping through your lashes as you kept your eyes tightly shut, wishing you could hold them back. “Fuck, Y/N. Get yourself together.” You whispered aloud to yourself, your voice raspy and so unlike how it usually sounded. It made you feel worse, furthering the stake between you and the constantly fading perception of yourself. You felt like a stranger in your own body, like every bit of you had been stripped away and left you as nothing but a pile of flesh and bone, blundering without direction. You were trying to piece yourself back together, to remember who you were and that you were better than this, than him, but it was hard.

The last twenty four hours had been taxing, calling out of work and leaving Dylan to come up with something to explain the broken chair and your sudden absence. Being at a hospital, being treated for an injury brought back a whirlwind of memories you never wanted to remember. Even if the situation wasn’t the same, even if you were sober, sitting in a firm bed with a scratchy blanket below you, staring at the stark white walls and listening to the rhythmic beeping, it flooded you like a storm you could not control.

Every so often, trauma or not, you seemed to go through something similar. Like you had no sense of self, no sense of belonging, nowhere to be and nothing to do. Even if you did, you didn’t want to. Emptiness had become a close acquaintance over your lifetime, and it didn’t seem keen on leaving anytime soon.

Mental health had always been a tricky subject for you—of course you were a sufferer of mental illness, but you had never been diagnosed, which made you hesitant to even admit to your struggles. An addict, of course, but that seemed to be the furthest you were willing to confess to. You had quirks, odd habits and strange ways of going about daily life, adverse reactions to seemingly simple things and a general sense of off-ness, but to you, that’s all it was. You were just odd.

Believing that you had PTSD from your childhood, from the men in your life who took more than they gave, from the near death experiences and grief itself and abuse, was not something you were keen on. Never facing it seemed easier, because in your mind, if you did not believe something was true, it simply could not be. In addition to that, you did not deem yourself worthy of the title, believing your struggles were just that: struggle. You didn’t think you had been through enough, suffered enough to don such a title, and you feared that you were taking away from others who had it much worse.

What you did know is that you struggled terribly with knowing who you were. Oftentimes, you felt like a void of nothingness, a black hole where a soul used to be. When you were around others, it felt like you fed off their emotions, unable to feel them, unable to remember them, or even unable to know them when you were alone. Even your sadness felt like emptiness, numbness, nothingness. It was your most frequent state, until you were around those you loved, then the world seemed bright and shiny (until they did or said something that hurt your feelings, then it felt like the whole world was ending and it would never get better). When you loved, you loved so hard it brought you to destruction. You were committed until the very end, loyal even when they were not loyal to you, and would die at their hand if they asked you nicely. You stayed until the point of resentment, and even then, you came back once the smoke cleared unless you found someone else to bury your soul in.

You lashed out when the right buttons were pressed, with no second thoughts or worries about the matter. Vincent, as it seemed, used this to his advantage. He knew exactly what to press, just what to say to cause that sudden shift or split, doing it only so you would look insane when the story was told. You cycled through your emotions so quickly when you felt them, rapid enough that when it came to an end you were exhausted and ready to meet your end. You engaged in reckless behaviour just to feel something, but it never worked. Instead of learning from it, you did more in hopes the outcome would change, which was the exact thing that led you to your current situation.

Your highs were euphoric and your lows were detrimental, and they happened so often that a constant state of anything was foreign to you. You were so scared of abandonment that it was nearly crippling, yet you poured your heart and soul into everyone you met, whether they deserved it or not. Self-harming behavior was all you had ever known, whether directly or indirectly, and you couldn’t seem to stop it no matter how hard you tried. You were paranoid, dissociative, and most often completely out of touch with reality.

But that was just you.

You had always been like this, so you never really knew that most people didn’t feel that way. Since meeting Danny, it even seemed to bother you less. You didn’t have a disorder, and you were fine. Quirky, maybe, but nothing worthy of medical intervention or diagnoses.

If you truly believed it, why did you think about it so often? Why did you wish so badly to be normal, to change? Why did you always feel like something was wrong with you?

Life wasn’t horrific all of the time, but it always seemed to show with most severity when you suffered through something emotionally taxing or traumatic. Like now, quietly sobbing in the kitchen of an Airbnb that didn’t even belong to you while your perfect, beautiful, amazing boyfriend slept soundly in the other room. Crying so stoically you barely even realized you were doing it, so detached from reality you barely noticed the searing cold of the ice pack laying on your skin.

You knew no other way to deal with the horrors, so you submitted to the same cycle without even recognizing it.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open just ahead, leaving you out in the open to be perceived in your most vulnerable state when you were least expecting it. You rushed to wipe your cheeks, to hide your misery and push a smile on your face so nobody else had to deal with your endless and relentless list of problems. It was nobody’s responsibility but your own, and you hated that you seemed to force them upon Daniel. You hated that you couldn’t just fix it, that you couldn’t stop being a burden on everyone around you.

“What’s wrong, Utah?” Sam asked from the doorway, unclipping Rose’s leash from her harness. With her newfound freedom, she raced towards you, already sensing your upset and doing her part in cheering you up. You reached down to greet her, still sniffling back tears.

“Oh, I'm okay, Sammy. M’sorry—thought you were still sleeping.” You raised the back of your palm to your eye, cooling the irritation with the coolness of your skin. He watched you for a moment, his expression neutral as if he was barely phased by your deflections.

“I’m not him, you know.” Sam said, nodding towards the hallway.

“What?” You chuckled, distracted from your misery momentarily by his odd statement.

“You know,” he shrugged, placing his keys down on the marble countertop. He stopped by the island, not progressing any further as he spoke again. “He’s your person. It’s not a bad thing, obviously, but he probably wants to try and fix everything… he feels it all with you.” He explained further, kicking out one of the bar stools to take a seat. “I’m your friend, Utah. Can vent, bitch, or complain all you want, and I’ll listen. If you want advice, I’ll give you some. If not, I’ll just listen.” You watched him carefully, wondering why he was extending such kindness. He didn’t owe you anything, and he certainly didn’t need to care about your problems. You hadn’t offered him anything at all, hadn’t done him any good. If anything, you’ve been a hindrance to him since the very beginning.

“That’s so kind of you, Sam, really…” you stopped to clear your throat, wincing at the sharp pain in your muscles as they tightened. “But you don’t have to—“

“Christ, Y/N, you gotta know by now that we want to.” He cut you off, shaking his head ever so slightly. “We love you, and we care about your feelings, and your well-being, and all of that stuff.” He gestured his hand vaguely around, motioning to you to solidify his vague notion. “I care about you ‘cause I do, not because of him, and not because I have to. If you know me at all, you’d know I don’t really do anything I don’t want to do. Kinda live to serve me.” He shrugged, teasing you gently to make the profound nature of his comment less intense. “Now I’m not going to force you to do anything, but you are upset and in the kitchen, and I also happen to be in the kitchen. If some talking, or venting happens… I’ll be here, listening.”

He was trying his very best to act as normal as he could, but you noticed his eyes flickering to your neck every so often, trying so desperately to not make it obvious yet unable to ignore it. He didn’t know, and you couldn’t blame him for his concern. You knew Daniel told him something happened, but it was perfectly in character for him to never give out information that wasn’t his to share.

“And offering a Tylenol, ‘cause you look like you’re in pain.” He continued, gently nudging the bottle sitting atop the table closer to you. “And something to eat, to help it go down.”

You stayed still in your place, Rose still sticking close to your side. Your eyes studied Sam, wondering if he was being genuine or if there was some hidden intent, like he wanted to hear your darkest secrets just to convince Daniel that you were a terrible person and no good for him.

‘No, Y/N. He’s not like that.’ Trust was not something you came by easily, but for the two boys who had opened their heart and their home to you, you needed to harness some of it.

“What if we just… had a conversation?” You offered the alternative, knowing that in all honesty, it was just a different word for the same outcome. Still, it made you feel better about the whole idea, even if it was stupid. “Nothing special, just us talking… like usual.” You hoped he understood what you meant, nervous and still stuck in fight or flight, praying he did not give you any special treatment.

“Okay, Utah. Like usual.” He agreed, giving you a half-smile. He knew what you meant without you having to explain yourself, and that in itself was a blessing you did not often encounter in another person. You didn’t want to be coddled, nor treated with caution. You didn’t want him to see you as broken, and you did not want him to extend sympathy on your behalf. He knew that, and because he cared about your comfort, he would abide. “Can we start the conversation with you telling me what happened?” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering down to the finger shaped bruises staining your skin. You shifted on your feet, suddenly wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“S’pose it all boils down to the fact I have terrible taste in men.” You crossed your arms over your chest, your lips pressed together tightly as you leaned back against the counter. “Can’t love someone enough to make them better… no matter how hard you try.”

“Think we all try to do it anyway. Human flaw.” He extended the relation in hopes that you didn’t feel too shamed by the fact.

“A long time ago, when I first moved here, I was running.” You explained, appreciating his input but knowing he only said so because he did not know the story. “From a lot of things, but mostly the version of me that I thought only existed in Utah. Hopped on a bus to New York to chase a dream that I wasn’t sure would ever come true… I had been at rock bottom for so long I knew that there was nothing else to lose. Wanted to get away from my mother, from the reputation I built for myself, from the people I surrounded myself with. Thought I could start over, get better.”

“Did you?” He asked, his voice calm and gentle. Your eyes flickered to meet his, a sad smile on your lips as you gave a small shrug.

“Not really, I don’t think.” You confessed. “I spent some time at homeless shelters, searching high and low for a job… then I landed at the Fox. Then I met Vincent.” You paused, the name alone striking a painful surge in your heart. You took another sip of water to curb the raspiness of your voice, and to have a moment where you did not feel obligated to speak. “Way back then, he was different. In the very beginning, he tried. He cared. Guess maybe it was an act… he’s always been the kind of guy who loved the chase. Anything to make his life a bit more interesting, but god forbid he has to put in work to keep it that way.”

“But I was stupid, and when you spend your entire life only ever wanting to be loved, you jump at the chance when someone offers it.” You carefully formulated your words, ensuring you got the point across efficiently. “I loved him, but he never really loved me. If he did, it was violent and cruel and cold. We never actually dated, just went through all the motions. I was invested, cause that’s just what I do, and he couldn’t give less of a fuck about me… unless I stopped paying attention to him.” You have a dry chuckle, swallowing hard with a wince.

“Take some Tylenol, princess, and sit down.” He tried again, hating that he wasn’t able to do more to help.

“Okay.” You hummed, popping two of the extra strength pain relievers from the bottle and into your mouth. You swallowed them down with struggle, then rounded the island to take a seat beside him.

“You hungry?” He asked, watching as you got yourself situated on the tall stool.

“Not really, no.” You shook your head, placing the ice pack to the most tender spot on your neck. You noticed Rosie follow close behind and take a seat at the foot of your chair, not daring to move away from you. “Hurts to eat.” You mumbled, so quiet he barely heard you. When he finally realized what you said, he stood from his seat and walked to the freezer, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for. Realizing what he was up to, you began to panic. “Sam, really, I’m okay—“

“I know you’re okay, Utah. Is it such a bad thing to want to do something nice for a friend?” He cut you off, pulling a bag of frozen fruit out of the freezer. “Was gonna make one for myself anyway, so it’s no big deal.” He continued to gather ingredients, completely unphased by your objections. “Keep talking—I’m listening.”

“Yeah, okay.” You breathed, finally feeling the ice start to soothe the aching muscles. “He kept me on his hook for a long time, always mad when I tried to put boundaries in place, never fully letting me walk away, and getting upset when I tried to move on. We fought more often then we got along, but Vin and Dylan were the only friends I had for a long time… ‘till I met you two.” You flipped the ice to the other side of your neck, closing your eyes in relief as the coolness offset the burning of your skin. “It was hard to let go, even if I wanted to… even if it was for the best.”

“I get that.” He affirmed your feelings as he popped the top off the blender. “Being alone is hard, even if you’re okay with it. I’m lucky that I never really had to experience that, but even I know how much it sucks.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You murmured, watching as he dumped the frozen fruit into the blender as you got lost in thought about the two boys. The plunking noise brought you back to reality, placing another thought in your mind. “Will the noise wake him up?” You asked, your eyes flickering to the hallway as you remembered Daniel, sleeping soundly in his room.

“Please,” he nearly laughed. “That guy could sleep through anything. Don’t you know him by now?” You did, but the worry never stopped. You were always worried about him, in every way you could. You figured that went hand in hand with being in love, yet never fully understood it until you said it aloud.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You gave a small chuckle, looking down to the table below. One of your index fingers traced the pattern in the marble as you tried to forget about the ever growing emptiness in your chest. “The three of us were partners in crime, thick as thieves… life is miserable, but they got it, lived it with me. It was hard to let it go, to suffer alone when I knew how well we got along. When Vincent wasn’t in a bad mood, he was a great friend… he’s just unpredictable and unbearable when he is. That, and I don’t think he was ever able to draw a line between friends or something more… and because he struggled with it, I was always caught directly in the middle of the uncertainty.”

“Nearly put him in the grave when I started talking to Danny, and he was never able to get over it, I guess. Ever since, I’ve been on edge and afraid, never knowing when he would be okay with me in his life or when he wanted nothing to do with me. It sucked, because I did really care for him as a person. He just couldn’t see me as anything other than his property.” You paused, swallowing your uncertainty as you prepared to tell him the worst of it. “On my birthday, he overdosed at the bar next to my apartment complex. Wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Dylan called, and I ran to the rescue… just like always. Got him to the hospital, got him cleaned up… and that’s why I haven’t really been around lately. Buried myself in taking care of him so I wouldn’t have to have any harder conversations with Danny. Just wasn’t ready to face it yet, I guess.”

Sam didn’t say anything, instead flicking on the blender after placing the top back on. He didn’t have to, though. You knew he was smart, that he was able to connect the dots without any extra information. The conversations you weren’t ready to have had little to do with Vincent, and everything to do with the overdose.

“On Saturday night, we were all working together. All week him and I had been hanging out at my apartment, really and truly friends for the first time, and he was sober. I haven’t seen Vincent sober… Well, ever. He wanted to talk to me, so we sat down and I let him talk. Spewed a bunch of bullshit about how I deserved better than him, how he was so sorry for every horrible thing he did to me, how he wanted to be better for me and he’d be waiting if I ever wanted to try again. Basically gave me his blessing to be with Danny, which I didn’t need. I never needed his permission—I just wanted him to care enough to want me to be happy.”

“You want the people you love to love you back. Don't think that’s a crazy idea, Utah.” Sam made quick work at splitting the smoothie between two glasses, sticking a reusable straw in each of them before sliding one across the island to you.

“Thank you.” You gave a soft smile, taking a sip from it and closing your eyes in bliss. Something as simple as a smoothie managed to turn your entire day around, knowing someone cared enough to make two instead of one, knowing someone cared at all, even when they didn’t have to. “I guess it just pressed the wrong buttons… brought two whole years of suppressed anger out at once, so I told him how I felt.”

“Mhm,” he sat back down in his earlier seat, turned towards you to continue listening. “People like that typically don’t want to hear how others feel.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You agreed, feeling shameful about the entire situation seeming to frame you in a positive light. “I’m not innocent either—I started it, actually.”

“Yeah, but reacting to someone else’s terrible behavior, especially when it affects us so badly, doesn’t make us evil, Utah. It makes us human.” You weren’t sure what it was, but something about sharing your sorrows with Sam made it seem less harrowing. Instead of unrealistic optimism and a surplus of apologies he had no business spewing, he had a tendency to be real, to frame things in a way you could not see before.

“Yeah, s’pose so.” You shrunk back in your chair, sipping away at the smoothie as you thought over his theory. “He’s always had this thing… where whenever things don’t go his way, or when I piss him off, he knows exactly what to do or say to me so I explode and I look crazy, so he’s not the bad guy.” You scowled at the thought. “That’s what he did last night… I threw it in his face, and he did it again. We started to argue, and he said some terrible, awful things. Things that I told him in confidence, because they still bother me… stuff I’ve worked so hard not to believe, he basically confirmed. He said it in front of everyone, in front of Danny. He wanted Danny to believe it was all true, to think I was this horrible person so Danny would leave and I’d be stuck with him because I had nobody else. He always does that.”

“You know that would never happen, right?” Sam almost laughed at the idea. “He thinks you’re the whole world and more. Even if you don’t think so, you are, to him.” You gave a sad smile, logically knowing Daniel did think of you that way, but wishing you could actually believe it. You tried not to think of it for too long, moving back to the main topic as if he never said anything at all.

“I don’t know what it was… was like I flipped a switch in his brain, turned him into an entirely different person. He did it to me too, I guess. Pushed me so far that I hit him, and he still kept going, like he wanted everyone to see how crazy I was, how easy it was for me to lose control… guess I pushed him too far, and he can’t handle disrespect… so he did this.” You vaguely motioned to your neck, a hollow feeling in your chest and a far-away look in your eye. “I don’t want to be that person, Sam. I really feel like I’m not, most of the time at least.”

“What person, Utah?”

“The crazy one… the hot head… the violent one. I don’t like anger, and I don’t like violence at all. I really feel like I’m not, like I’m a person who loves to love and would do anything for anyone, but when he says that stuff about me… not even just that stuff, but it’s like he has this secret list of things to say or do when he wants to bring that out in me, and it always works.” You felt yourself getting worked up just thinking of it, taking a deep breath to calm down before you spiraled. “I don’t want to be a bad person, Sam. Especially not with him.” Sam knew who you were talking about, without a doubt, but he stayed silent for a moment. Eventually, he tapped his fingers against the countertop, leaning forward to respond, to show you how invested he was in the conversation.

“Utah, bad isn’t even a word that comes to mind when we think of you.” Sam made sure you understood exactly what he was saying, keeping firm eye-contact as he spoke. “You love him better than anyone ever has. You’re not bad, you’re not evil, and if you are a violent person, you’ve done an excellent job at hiding it.” At that, you both shared a small laugh. “What are the things that trigger that? What makes you feel that way?”

You had to stop and think about his questions, ensuring you gave him the most accurate answer possible. You relaxed back into your chair, feeling a little less on display, less watched and more seen.

“A few things, I guess.” You deducted. “Certain insults, like being called crazy.” You started, a small smile still stuck on your lips as you said it.

“Yeah, think that would do it for anyone, to be honest.” He returned your smile, but spoke no further in hopes that you would keep talking.

“Things about my mom… comparing me to her, or him saying she was right.” He hummed a noise of agreement, allowing you the floor still. “When he talks about my dad dying… anything bad about my brothers. Stuff about me being a bad person, about nobody caring… about people leaving.”

“Okay,” he took everything into consideration, still drumming his fingers against the table. “Anything else?”

“Feeling unheard, or unimportant. Feeling stupid, especially if it’s for feeling a certain type of way. Being belittled, people threatening to leave.” You continued, finding yourself at a loss for any other examples.

“Obviously there’s a reason why those things specifically hurt so bad.” He tried to point you in the right direction, hoping you could draw the conclusion on your own.

“Yeah, cause some of that stuff is the worst things I’ve ever been through… the other stuff, probably because I’ve felt that way my whole life. Or because everybody always made me feel that way when I was a kid.” You swirled your straw around your glass.

“I mean, when people use that kind of stuff against us, say something with intent to get a reaction, I think it’s normal to want to react, Utah. How exactly does it make you feel?”

“Like the whole world is ending.” You breathed a sigh of relief as it came out of your mouth, feeling lighter just by admitting it, by someone caring enough to ask. “When I hear it, it feels like nothing else matters. It takes over and I can’t hold myself back. It’s the only thing I can think about.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded.

“It also feels like I’m leeching that emotion from him… like when he’s angry, I have to be too. Maybe not always that intensely, but it’s hard not to feel the same way he’s feeling… or anyone, for that matter.”

“Do you always feel the same way as the people around you?” For some reasons, his questions didn’t seem invasive. You weren’t on the defense. You felt just as safe with him as you did with Daniel.

“Yeah, pretty much.” You replied. “Kinda why I was crying when you came in. I had a bad dream, and like, I know it was bad, obviously, ‘cause it bothered me enough to wake me up. I came out here to get some water, but I couldn’t really be upset about it. When I’m alone, I just feel empty, and not even, like, lonely or whatever… genuinely empty, like I’ve never felt emotion before and I don’t even know what it’s like. I barely even realized I was crying, cause I didn’t even feel sad. Think that’s why I’ve gotten myself in so much trouble, picked up so many bad habits… I always just wanted to feel something.”

“You ever been to therapy, Utah?” He asked, nonchalant as he tipped back his glass and finished off the last of his beverage. The question took you by surprise, but didn’t bother you.

“Uh, no.” You shook your head.

“Ever?”

“No, never.” You confirmed. “My mother never really believed anything was wrong with us as kids… when I grew up, I could never afford it. Kind of a luxury when you’re poor.” You laughed, but he did not join this time.

“Would you go to therapy?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. If things were different, I’d try it. Right now, I don’t have insurance, so I can’t even go to the doctor without bankrupting myself.” You grimaced at the thought, remembering the likely consequences of your emergency room visit. “But I don’t know if I really need it. This stuff… the way I feel, it’s always been this way. Think it’s just me.”

“Sure, it may be you, but it doesn’t mean you have to suffer because of it.” He gave a gentle argument. “If money weren’t an issue, would you try it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded. “I want to get better. I want it so bad.”

“Okay.” He hummed, a smile on his lips after hearing your answer.

“Okay?” You raised an eyebrow, placing the ice pack down to relieve your frigid skin.

“Yeah, okay.” He repeated himself, giving you a subtle wink.

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you were sure about the unease rapidly growing in the pit of your stomach. Whatever Sam was scheming, you were certain you wouldn’t like it.

July 25th, 2022 - 1:51 PM

“Are you sure about this, Michigan?” You asked, hesitation clear in your face as you sat idly in his passenger seat. He was already unbuckling his belt, preparing to answer the same question he had faced a hundred times already.

“Yes, Utah. Positive.” He replied, the same sweetness in his tone as the other times he said it. You looked out the window from the parking spot where the two of you sat, your stomach churning and your palms clammy. “Are you okay with this?” He asked, his hand reaching across the center console and resting on your thigh. You looked down, studying the sight before looking up to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, I am.” You nodded, giving him a soft smile. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. It’s a lot. A whole different world, actually. The people that come here… are a lot to take, sometimes.” You explained, your eyes flickering back to the shabby old church, specifically eyeing the rotten steps that were pooling with puddles from the rainy day. You watched as a few people trickled in, slow moving and somber-like expressions stuck on their faces.

“I’m here for you, Utah. For us.”

A future including the two of you suddenly made everything seem so much more beautiful, so much more wonderful. To ensure that it would remain, you would do anything.

“Okay.” You gave him a soft smile, snaking your fingers between his as you laid your hand atop his own.

The two of you had not uttered another profession of love, but since the night it first came to be, it had been lingering on the tip of your tongue begging to be spoken aloud. It was moments like these that made it difficult to hold back, but you did so anyway, even if you were not sure why. Maybe you were still inadvertently trying to protect your heart, pathetically trying to cover your tracks even though you had already placed your heart directly in his hands. You wished to be able to say it with confidence, freely, whenever it came to mind. Unfortunately, it was not so simple, and he was forced to love the version of you that many others had broken. He was trying to glue pieces back together that no longer fit.

Perhaps the worst part of it all was that he did not even seem to care. He did so happily, willingly, and without a second thought about it. That was one of the things that made him so fantastic, yet the very thing that made you feel undeserving.

“Liam’s a good guy… the coordinator.” You explained, realizing he had no idea who any of these people were. “He’s helped me through a lot of tough shit. I owe him a lot. Even if it’s his job, he does a damn good job. There’s lots of people who get paid a lot more and care a whole lot less.”

“That’s for sure.” He chuckled, not needing to be an attendee to know that. “Are you ready to head in?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded, giving him a small smile. The ache in your muscles were nearly gone and the brunt of the bruises had faded away, leaving a yellow tinge where they once existed. The broken blood vessel in your eye was still quite apparent, but the doctor had advised you it may take a little longer to fade. You unbuckled your seatbelt, grabbing your bottle of apple juice from the cup holder and popping the door open. He followed suit, waiting until you climbed out to do the same.

You tried not to pay any mind to the growing fear looming over your head, but it only seemed to worsen as you stepped onto the wooden porch. The waterlogged planks, now rutted with a puddle lying in the middle of it, soaked straight through the holes in the sole of your converse. You took in a deep breath, settling your nerves as your fingers clasped around the large handle, the hinges on the oak door letting out a quiet groan as you pulled it open.

“Mondays and Fridays are open discussion days, so you’ll probably hear a lot of yapping… and crying.” You warned Danny, barely turning your head to speak. You could feel him close behind you, the energy he omitted brightening your spirits as you stepped into the musty, dimly lit hallway.

“S’all good.” He assured you, placing a hand on your lower back as you progressed forward.

With echoing footsteps, the two of you entered the main hall, first seeing the fold out chairs arranged in a circle. Half were filled with bodies, some sleeping, some stoic, and some crying (Carol had never attended a meeting with dry eyes, and she was there every single day). For the first time since beginning your sessions with this specific NA group, you did not immediately flock to the individually wrapped pastries arranged messily on a fold out table. You and Daniel had shared breakfast together at the Airbnb, where he and Sam taught you how to cook some obscure dish that you would never even remember the name of (that seemed to be how every meal went at the Airbnb, but complaining was never your forte). You didn’t even stop for coffee, feeling energized solely by your anxiety. You were sure the Redbull you had topped off earlier that morning played a helping hand, but you were certain the nervousness was far more powerful than any other factor.

Slowly but surely, you made your way to Liam, who had taken post at the end of the food selection. His nose was buried in his clipboard, his glasses sat on the very tip and making him look even more like a tool than usual. Although, you had come to know that looks don’t reflect character, and although it seemed upon first glance you would not get along with him, he was one of your most cherished acquaintances.

“Good afternoon, Liam.” You greeted him, watching as his eyes flickered upwards from the checklist he was tediously crossing off. For a moment, his eyes studied you, first noting the redness of your eye and the yellow hue that still whispered about fingertips on your neck. Before vocalizing his thoughts, his eyes moved to Daniel, who was so close behind you his shoulder was pressed to yours.

“Good afternoon Y/N… and friend.” He raised an eyebrow, still sizing up Daniel as he tried to piece together the story. You knew he was asking himself the same question over and over again, if this was the boy you were so afraid of letting in. When his gaze flickered back to you, a half-smile told him all he needed to know.

“This is Danny… my boyfriend.” You corrected, feeling Daniel’s hand tighten on you ever so slightly. He could never express how truly and genuinely he loved to hear you refer to him as such, but he hoped you would give him ample time and opportunity to try and do so.

“My bad… and boyfriend.” Liam’s lips turned upwards into a smile. He extended his hand to Danny, speaking again as he shook it. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too.”

“You guys can have a seat… just about to get started, anyhow. Think this is all we’re gonna get for today.” He looked out to the crowd, pensive as he surveyed the bodies in the circle of chairs. Taking the hint, the two of you began to step away, ready to join the others and get on with the meeting. “Oh, uh… Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You responded, turning on your heels to see what else Liam had to say.

“Just out of curiosity… I know I’m not typically supposed to ask you this, so I’m hoping it stays between us.” You let out a chuckle, giving him a nod.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Vincent… hasn’t been coming to his meetings. Haven’t seen him in a few weeks, so I was wondering if you knew what was going on?” At the mention of his name, your expression soured, your heart aching and your palms sweating. You felt Danny stiffen beside you, feeling the same when it came to the boy who nearly ruined everything.

“Not a clue.” You shook your head, your tone short as you got the point across as effectively as possible. “Uhm, from here on out, I believe it would be better to advise his parole officer of his absence.” You gave a tight lipped smile, seeing the emotion in his eyes shift, remembering the day you stopped by with a new found anger at life, speaking of an overdose but unwilling to tell him who. Then, his eyes flickered back to your neck, a small frown on his lips as he pieced it all together. Typically, you were the first to jump to his defense, to make up an excuse so he wouldn’t notify his parole officer. Now, you couldn’t be any colder if you tried.

“Yeah, okay.” He hummed, nodding to show he understood. “Thanks anyway.”

“F’course.” You nodded, swallowing back the bitter taste on your tongue as you guided Daniel towards the chairs.

The two of you took a seat near Liam’s chair, the scratching of the metal legs against the wood grain sending a shiver down your spine. Not long after, he followed suit, settling his clipboard on his lap as he cleared his throat. After a few minutes of him droning on about the key tags and the meeting times, he eventually opened the floor to whoever wanted to speak.

Carol went first, blubbering about a grandchild she never got to meet, villainizing her daughter for refusing to let her visit. Like always, you bit the tip of your tongue until you could taste metal, always finding it difficult to hold back when it came to her. You had little sympathy for parents who treated their kids like trash, little sympathy for addicts who loved to play the victim card. Although her struggled was valid, the way she treated the people around her was not.

So strikingly familiar to a boy you had been far too kind to for far too long.

Next went a man named Arthur, who was so dried up by his opiate addiction you were surprised there was anything left for him to give. Forty years spent repenting for the first time he ever picked up the needle had left him broken, battered, and tired. Still, he persevered, trying his best to kick the habit so he could die sober. As much as it inspired you to see him so dedicated to healing, it hurt you just the same, knowing that he might never experience the end he so badly wanted. It also scared the shit out of you, wondering if you too would fight to the very last breath, only to be bested by substance yet again.

Eventually, Liam turned to you, forever intrigued by your input and knowing that even if it was little, you would always have something to say. Although, that day, you seemed a little bit more choked up than usual. Perhaps it was the weight of Danny’s hand in yours, reminding you of all you had to lose if you were too vulnerable. Maybe, it was the memory of Vincent’s cruel words, about how you had always been the problem, making you wonder if help would ever be worth it if you were as terrible as he thought. Still, you knew even if you were the horrible person you tried so hard not to be, there was still help for you, people who still believed in you.

As much as Daniel’s presence made you nervous, it helped you just the same, reminding you of all those who did care and wanted to help. You weren’t alone, and you didn’t have to carry the burden all on your lonesome anymore.

“Hi, everyone. It’s been a little while since I’ve been here.” You started, your voice nervous as you adjusted yourself in your seat. You heard a murmur of greetings before you started again. “I’ve been an addict since I was fifteen… opiates and cocaine are my biggest vices. Almost ten years later, they still have a hold on me.”

“My parents were addicts… my dad found solace in the same things that I do… or whatever he could get his hands on, really. My mom always loved the bottle—so much so that she always picked it over the three of us.” Your eyes flickered to the floor as you took a deep breath. “Guess my dad picked substance over us first, though.” At that, Daniel gave your hand a gentle squeeze, showing his support silently. “But you don’t really need to know my parents to hear what I’m saying. In my opinion, I don’t think anyone needs to know them at all.” At that, a small chorus of humorless chuckles filled the room, many of the attendees agreeing wholeheartedly with the sentiment.

“I’m more concerned with the cycle. The generational trauma, the recognizing yet still repeating, the want to be better but never knowing how. When I was a kid, I remember being so angry at my parents… so sad that they didn’t want to get better, not even for us. I used to go to bed sick, wondering if my dad would come home the next morning, if he was alive. I remember wondering, always asking my brothers if my mom was just bad, or if it was the drinking that made her so mean.” You paused, a wave of sadness washing over you for a moment. “My dad never came home, and eventually, I had to face the fact my mom was just bad. Back then, it was so easy to think that I would never turn out like them, that I would never hurt someone I loved because I wanted to get high… or because I was high.” You felt yourself instinctively reach for the hand held so tightly in Daniel’s, your fingertip in search of the scarred black ink that brought you so much comfort. “It sucked when I realized that wasn’t true, either.”

“My addiction was the only gift they ever gave me, and it was a pretty rotten one. I don’t want to get into the nature nurture debate, or anything, because it went both ways. I think genetically, they did pass that on to me… worse yet, it was so easy to fall into the habit because it was the only thing they ever taught me. To be crude and vile to get what you want, to give up everything for a high… for nothing.” You closed your eyes, finding your head begin to ache the longer you thought of it. “I’m still afraid that I am my parents, even if logically I know getting sober was never something they were willing to do.”

“I just couldn’t imagine… I couldn’t fathom having a child, bringing a life into the world and hurting them the same way my parents hurt me, which is why I want to get sober. I want that life for me, the kids playing in the yard and eventually the grandkids doing the same. At the same time, it pisses me off that they never cared enough to want that for us.” You frowned, never recalling a time where you played in the yard, carefree and happy, healthy and loved. If kids were in the cards for you, you also knew there was no chance in hell your kids would ever have the opportunity to play in your mothers front yard, because she would never even get the opportunity to meet them. Not like she wanted to, anyway.

“I see a lot of people who never succumbed to the same mistakes their parents made, who put the work in and healed themselves, no matter how difficult or daunting it was. It makes me happy when I see it, proud of people I don’t even know, simply because it’s a task so many fail to do… so many hurt kids in adult bodies, fucking up their own children the same way their parents did to them.” Your eyes flickered to Danny, feeling a rush of courage flood you upon noticing his glimmering eyes and supportive smile. “As fucked up as it sounds, it always made me jealous. I want that so bad, for me, for my future kids, for everyone around me. I don’t want to suffer and make others suffer because of what my family has done to me. It kills me that I do, or that I have, but I spend every day trying to be better and do better, to end the cycle before anyone else gets hurt.”

“I used to think that change was impossible, that I would be stuck in the past, suffering in the present, because that’s how it was always meant to be. I didn’t have faith in anything—no god or higher power, not the system, and certainly not myself. When you don’t believe in better, better can’t happen. Just another hard lesson I’ve had to learn in my time on this earth. Yearned for something different, yet reverted to old habits because they were comfortable, because I thought knowing what to expect was better than taking the chance. I was throwing myself a pity party every night, wondering why I couldn’t have what others had, why I couldn’t be what I wanted to be.”

“It was a miserable cycle, and I never put in the effort to change because I thought it was a waste of my time. Wanted to think that if things were meant to be, they would be, that I didn’t have any power to change the outcome. By doing so, I did the same thing my parents did… and that, I think, was the worst part of it all. Being like them, acting like them, living like them… was never something I wanted for myself, so why did I let myself get there?”

“My brothers lived through the same horrors that I did, survived the same atrocities… and sometimes, I think they had it worse than I did, because they always tried their best to protect me from everything. Even so, they didn’t turn out like I did… never submitted to an addiction, never even abused the bottle. For a while, it had me thinkin’ I was a bad seed, that I just turned out worse than they did, but that isn’t the case. It’s never been the case. I’ve always had the power to change, to help myself, to create a better future despite my past and my present being miserable. Maybe it wasn’t my fault entirely that I went down that path, but it’s always been my choice whether to change.”

“I had a couple pushes in the right direction, by people who love me, and even by people who hate me. Things started to look less bleak, less terrifying. Once I opened my eyes a bit, allowed myself to see the bigger picture, I understood that I had to put in the work. I had to be the change I wanted to see. It was never going to get better if I kept using, hurting the people I loved, if I kept cursing people who did something with their lives. I had to move on, move forward. In all honesty, I’m still struggling with it sometimes, but not nearly as bad as I used to.”

“So, in short, even if everything is out of control and horrible, even if it feels that way all of the time, I know I can keep choosing to get better. It’s hard, some days. Was hard three weeks ago when I was holdin’ a bag of Oxy in my hands and wanted it more than anything else in the whole world, but I chose to put it down, to walk away. We fuck up sometimes, make mistakes, do the wrong things or say the wrong things… but that’s just part of being alive, living for the very first time. Choosing to continue doing it is not, which is why I'm not choosing it any more. Instead, I chose to lean on the people who love me, to let them in so they could help me fight this battle, ‘cause we all know it’s hard to do it alone. I chose to come here, to stay sober, and to keep fighting, to be the person I’ve always wanted to be. Some days it feels like I’m failing, but another hard thing I’ve had to learn is that sometimes success and defeat can look the same in the mirror. I’m proud of me for coming here today, and I’m proud of everyone else who chose to drag themselves out of bed for a meeting instead of searching for a fix. I know we ain’t got much, but we do have each other, and that has to count for something.”

At that, a slow chorus of applause filled the stale air, so powerful that it swayed the cobwebs hanging from the corners and threatened to burst the old glass straight from the windows. This time, instead of shying away, you let yourself hear it, let yourself feel it. You were proud of yourself—even if you had to start over a few times, you still did it. You fought off the demons that so many others succumbed to. It did count for something, and on your worst days, it was everything. You, out of your mind with worry and insane from the urge to use, on your knees in the bathroom of the Pony, chose to put it down. With Dylan’s help, you stayed sober, you stayed straight, remembering the most important things were never tied to a high. In the Fox, an inch from death at the hands of a man you once thought was your everything, you didn’t even think about turning to drugs to take that pain away. Even at the hospital, being checked for any major injuries or lasting damage, you refused every painkiller and prescription they had to offer.

You chose to abstain, and every moment after that, you continued to choose to be better. Two years ago, washed up out of that run down rehab center, you couldn’t even fathom that you would ever be here.

The rest of the meeting wrapped up not long after, a few anecdotes from some of the other attendees, but nothing substantial. When Liam finally announced that the hour was up, it didn’t take long for everyone to stand up and leave. You noticed Carol followed Liam to the edge of the room, waiting as he fished out a 30 day key tag from his bag. Sobbing out a thank you, he gave her a firm pat on her shoulder before sending her on her way.

“So, what did you think?” You turned to Danny, still tracing the stick and poke to calm your nerves.

“I think… it was very eye-opening.” He concluded, giving a nod to show he agreed with his own statement. You gave a small chuckle, finding his cuteness irrefutable, even when he was not trying to be. “All that stuff you said, Utah, I agree. I’m proud of you. I always am.” A small smile crossed your lips, the words weighing heavy on you as he spoke them, but washed away and left warmth behind rather than dread. You took a sip from your apple juice, a sweet little reward for conquering one of your worst fears and letting him in. Now that he was here with you, you realized you never should have been scared at all.

“Y/N!” A voice echoed through the room, breaking you from the sweet moment and turning your head over your shoulder. “C’mere.” Liam nodded his head backwards, motioning for the two of you to join him. Looking back at Danny for a brief second, you knew he was just happy to be with you no matter what you were doing. You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking the short distance to meet him. Danny trailed behind, a little more relaxed than he was when you first stepped foot in the building.

“Yes?” You raised an eyebrow, a grin on your face as you watched him toss his clipboard on the table.

“What a speech.” He commended you, a small smirk on his lips as he reached into his bag. “And from you? That was like striking gold.”

“Yeah, yeah… aren’t you supposed to encourage us? Not make fun of us?”

“Anyone else, yes, but you… not so much.” He chuckled to himself. “I’ve learned in my two or so odd years of getting to know you, that’s the only thing you’ll respond to.”

“Maybe so.” You shrugged, finding a laugh stuck in your teeth, too. You saw him pull out a little plastic package, extending his hand towards you. Between his middle and his index finger was something that came as a shock to you, and you were certain it was written all over your face.

“Already?”

“Yep,” he nodded, watching as you hesitantly reached to grab it. “And you never thought you’d see it.”

“Fuck, I guess I did.” You smiled, looking over the blue key chain with the golden logo encased in a circle. “The last three months flew by.” You admitted, barely comprehending how the time had passed you by. Peeking to the boy beside you, you knew exactly why the struggle seemed so much easier to overcome.

“Well, six months sober was definitely worth it, I think. For what it’s worth, I'm proud of you too.” You slipped the tag into your pocket, feeling a little lighter than before. “And I see you brought apple juice with you.” At first, you thought it might be code for the boy who took post next to you, then you remembered the half-empty bottle held tightly in your hand. “Was that on purpose?”

“No, actually… never even thought twice about it.” You confessed.

“What’s the deal with apple juice?” Danny asked, so gut wrenchingly innocent and sweet. You looked to the label, then to Liam, and finally your gaze landed on him.

“It’s, uh, this thing that Liam and I kinda came up with to help me. I always bring up the fact that I was addicted to apple juice as a kid, ‘cause I was. I used it as an example for how addicts were born that way. He picked up on it and used it as a euphemism.”

“For?”

“Well, as I’m sure you know, she can be quite stubborn at times. Stopped herself from drinking it because she didn’t want to ‘trade one addiction for another’.” Liam chimed it, a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he thought back on that day. If only he knew how much he helped, how much he changed by opening your mind to the idea. If he didn’t, Daniel very likely would not be next to you learning the importance of apple juice at all. “So I told her to drink the damn juice and get over herself.” At that, the three of you shared a laugh, the joy so unusual in the space that held most of your sorrowful soul.

“Yeah… some things are just apple juice.” You explained, your gaze lingering over Daniel for a moment longer than it should have. “Not the big complicated mess I turn everything into.”

“You’re in control, Y/N. You always have been, and I’m so glad you can finally see it too.” Liam gave a sigh of relief, knowing after so long he was finally able to make a difference. You were sure it was just as rewarding to him as it was for you. “I’m also glad you finally listened to something I had to say.” Jovial laughter bounced around your heads yet again, even if you knew his joke had truth behind it. You landed a gentle smack on his shoulder as you rolled your eyes to let him know he was right.

“That’s so cool…” Danny hummed, his smile blinding as he looked at the bottle in your hand. “Should get that tattooed, so you always remember it.” Looking down at the exact same bottle yet seeing a completely different picture, with a ghost of a laugh still sugaring your lips you gave a small nod.

“Yeah, maybe I should.” You whispered, more to yourself than anything else, thinking that was a fantastic idea.

July 25th, 2022 - 2:27 PM

“Where do you want to eat, Utah?” Danny asked, one hand on the steering wheel as the engine idled quietly. You were still parked outside the church, regrouping after helping Liam pack away the chairs and dump the extra coffee in the canister.

“Can head to the Fox. Cheap and quick… I’m pretty beat, anyway.”

“Sounds good to me, beautiful.” The simple term of endearment made your stomach erupt into butterflies, but you tried your very best not to let it show. He put the car in drive, pulling out of the spot and back on to the main road without needing any direction.

“Seems like my map finally paid off.” You grinned, crossing your legs as you glanced over at him.

“I don’t think your map did anything, baby.” You let out a gasp of shock, appalled that he would make such a bold claim.

“What, I’m your girlfriend now so you don’t have to keep being nice?” You huffed out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest as you kept up the charade. A laugh shook his shoulders as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Just telling the truth.” He corrected, trailing his thumb over your thigh as he kept his protective hold on you. “But, that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.”

“Whatever, Michigan.” You rolled your eyes, turning to look out the window.

“No, really.” He tried again, moving his hand from your leg just to flick down the sun visor. As he did so, he grabbed the white sheet of paper that was concealed behind it, handing it over for you to see for yourself. Carefully, you plucked the page from his hand, unfolding it to reveal the map in question. You felt your heart begin to beat a little faster, a rapidly growing warmth filling your chest as you realized he truly did care that much.

“Danny… you kept this? All this time?”

“F’course I did.” He chuckled, almost appalled that you would think otherwise. “You gave it to me, so obviously I kept it.”

“Oh.” You whispered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. You couldn’t believe that he thought to care so much about the stupid piece of paper, about you, but you were slowly growing used to it as the days passed you by.

“I’d keep every map you drew for me… even if they all sucked.” He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze, assuring you he meant what he said.

There it was again, on the tip of your tongue, the dreaded profession of love that made everything seem so real. You wanted to say it again, to feel how good it felt to hear it again, but instead you folded the paper back up neatly, reaching up and tucking it back in its hiding place. If you distracted yourself from it, it was much easier to hold back.

“Is it okay if I call Dyl? I’ve been meaning to ask him to get my shit back from Vincent… figured if we're going to the Fox, he can meet us there. Gives him a couple days to get over it before I have to be around him again.” You changed the topic, still feeling your cheeks burn and your stomach churning.

“Yeah, that’s cool. He can hang out with us if he wants… s’long as—you know.”

“Yeah, no. I’m on the same page.” You hummed, not needing him to finish his statement to know what he was thinking.

“I like Dylan.” He confessed, his fingers drumming a beat against the wheel. He did that often, not necessarily as a nervous tick, but more of habit. It was like he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore. “Just don’t know why he chooses to spend his time with that guy.”

“Don’t really think it's a choice, anymore.” You explained, fishing out your phone from your bag. “Can’t afford to live on their own. Their history… it’s way more complex than mine. Known each other for forever, been with each other for forever. The only thing they have is each other, most days. Don’t know if I could ever comprehend a bond like that. Not sure if they really even like each other anymore, but they stick together, cause they’re all they’ve got.” Danny let out a hum, showing he was listening, but you knew he didn’t understand. It was okay, because he didn’t have to. You understood, you knew the person that Dylan was, that Vincent’s behavior didn’t reflect Dylan’s personality. You knew why they still stuck together, even if they didn’t really want to anymore.

Instead of dwelling on the subject, you dialled Dylan’s number. The dial tone rang for a few seconds, then you heard a surplus of static. Eventually, a hum of background noise filled your ears and the familiar sound of Dylan’s voice followed.

“Hello, gorgeous.” His tone was gravelly, likely from a spliff he had just topped off on his front step.

“Hey, Dyl.” You smiled softly to yourself, the routine of it all making things feel normal again, even if they were far from it.

“Why ya wastin’ your time callin’ me?” He teased lightly, the smile in his voice clear even over the phone.

“Nothin’ better to do.” You lied, knowing talking to him was higher on your list of priorities than most things. “Just finished up at NA, headed to the Fox for lunch. You busy?”

“For you? Never.” He assured you, the sound of his creaking bed frame filling your ears as he stood to his feet. “Whatcha need, doll?”

“Was wondering if you could do me a favor, if it wouldn’t cause you too much trouble.” You nervously twisted a frayed thread from your shirt around your finger. He let out a hum, giving you the floor to ask. “Couple things in Vin’s room I’m gonna need back… not sure I’m welcome to come and get it.”

“Nah, sweetheart—you’re always welcome in my house.” He made that abundantly clear, putting his foot down on the matter. “But, I get what ya mean… prolly don’t wanna be here now, which is cool. S’long as you’re happy and okay.” He said, seemingly cutting himself off from saying anything more, understanding that things weren’t so easy now. “You just text me a list of what you’re lookin’ for, n’ I’ll head down and meet ya.”

“Thanks, Dyl.” Your tone was sad, feeling guilty for making him run any errands for you. You knew he didn’t care, but you hated having to use him to do your bidding. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t ya know it, baby.” He chuckled to himself, soaking up the compliment and holding it close to his heart. “You know I’d do anything for ya, whenever ya need it. I’ll see ya soon.”

“See you soon… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” With that, the call ended with no further comments. You sat, staring at the contact on your screen, studying the picture of him and noticing the goofy smile on his face. You wondered if things would ever go back to normal, if what you and Vincent did would permanently alter the friendship you had with Dylan and the life you had grown so used to.

For some reason, that thought hurt a million times worse than losing Vincent entirely.

By the time you had finished constructing the list of items you wanted Dylan to retrieve for you, Danny was pulling into the lot of the Fox. The place was busy for a Monday, a constant flow of customers in and out of the door and the waitresses rushing around the dining room. You led him inside and then to a booth in the back corner, quiet and out of the way of the brunt of the business.

Sitting across from him, admiring him as he read over the menu, you began to realize just how lucky you were to have him in your life. Although you always knew this, the day's events made it even more apparent to you. Not many would stay after all of the things you had put him through, all of the shit he had seen, yet here he was, happy to be beside you and willing to do whatever he could to help you. He sat through that NA meeting, opening his mind to a struggle that he never needed to be privy to. He listened, he supported you without hesitation, and every minute he continued to stay by your side, he was learning.

He gave you the patience and the love that you had always begged for someone to give. He was the very person you used to write in your journals about, staying up late at night to pray for, the one you used to dream about. To know that all you ever wanted was sitting across from you, feeling the same way you felt for him, was almost overwhelming, almost unbelievable. After all the horrible things the world had thrown at you, you finally had a chance to start over and do things right, to break the cycle that had you bound by chains.

“You know what you want to eat?” You asked, trying to pick his brain to distract yourself from the endless stream of thoughts plaguing you. Although the feeling of being loved was beautiful, it was still terrifying. You wished so badly to be unafraid, but fear was the only thing you had ever known.

“Not sure… you?”

“Nacho’s are always a good choice. They’re pretty good here, all things considered.”

“What are the things that need to be considered?” He looked up at you, a twinkle in his eye as he laughed at your words.

“Still want to believe that this place is a fine dining establishment?” You joked, tucking your foot under your opposite knee as a smile took hold.

“Right… rotten foundation and shit food, as you guys would say.” He remembered back to the very beginning, recalling how appalled you were when he came back a second time.

“Guess it does have some charm.” You shrugged, your eyes gazing up at the art on the walls, taking note of the outdated wallpaper and patterned floor tiles. “Maybe outdated, but still charming.”

“Plenty of charm, Utah. Mostly because it has you.” He confessed, watching as you reached across the table to slip your hand into his own. You had grown comfortable with the comfort of his touch, finding yourself missing it desperately whenever you could not feel it. Your cheeks turned crimson, finding his sweetness all the more effective than usual.

“You got nothing better to do than flatter me, Michigan?”

“Plenty to do, but that one’s my favorite.” With a cheeky smile, he stacked his menu on top of yours, knowing that Linda was on her way over to take your order so you would have no time to respond.

When your order was placed, a comfortable silence fell over the two of you for a little while. You listened to the buzz of chatter in the room, happy to be on the other end of it for once instead of running around to fix everyone’s meals. The sun had started to peek from behind a rain cloud, giving you a breath of hope for a warmer day. As you watched out the window, you failed to notice Daniel watching you, studying every intricacy of your face and committing it to his memory indefinitely. Every now and then, you took the chance to peek at him, feeling your heart race every time you saw the outline of his big nose and the rich color of his hair framing his face. For a brief moment, you wondered how someone could walk around with so much beauty, like every higher power had blessed him and he carried the burden effortlessly. Then, you found yourself curious, wondering if he even knew how beautiful he was, if he knew how easily he took your breath away.

Had you told him enough? Did he know how much he meant to you, or had you kept so much locked up that he felt as fearful and inadequate as you did?

“You’re very beautiful, Daniel. Did you know that?” You breathed, finally deciding that there was no more room for silence in your relationship. There was no point in keeping quiet, because he deserved to know how deeply you appreciated him.

“What?” He asked, the bridge of his nose turning red as the words washed over him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” You giggled, arranging the salt and pepper shakers so they were perfectly in place, doing everything you could to keep your hands busy so the fear couldn’t creep back in. “What, you can flatter me but I can’t flatter you?”

“No, you can.” He smiled, just enough that his teeth were showing, perfectly straight and white. The sight alone sent lead straight to the pit of your stomach. How could someone so perfect feel so strongly about you? “Just a little surprising coming from someone as beautiful as you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You mumbled, smiling to Linda as she dropped off your drinks and straws. You tore the tip of the wrapper from your straw, pulling it off and slipping it into your orange soda. You couldn’t find the courage to look up and meet his eyes until he spoke again.

“All things aside, Utah, I’m so happy you trusted me enough to let me tag along today.” He took a sip from his coffee, starting slow while he collected his thoughts. “I know this is all new for you, and it is for me, too. I’m just glad that you want me to be a part of it. I want to help, and even though I don’t really know how to do it yet, I want to learn.” You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, guilt eating away at you as you listened to his words. You never wanted him to feel like you didn’t want to tell him, that you didn’t want him to be involved in your life in any way. You wanted him to be a part of everything, to be so delicately intertwined with every aspect that you couldn’t possibly escape him. You wanted it so bad it made your head spin and your chest ache, but you never knew how to express it. Fear once again stood in the way of every single moment of your life.

“Danny, you know I never wanted to keep it from you, right?” You caught his eye, holding him hostage with your stare for a moment. “I mean, yes I neglected to tell you, even when I should have, but it was never because I didn’t want you to know. I always wanted to be honest with you, and you’re the only person in the whole world I’ve ever wanted to know me so… completely.”

“Why didn’t you?” His question wasn’t accusatory, rather just genuinely curious about the matter. You shifted in your seat, a small frown on your lips as you thought of the best way to explain it to him. Eventually, you leaned forward ever so slightly, catching his attention and pulling him back in.

“You know… addicts have this awful reputation. They always have. People think we’re liars, cheats, thieves. For a long time, I believed that we were all included in that narrative, that we were all awful people who didn’t deserve anything good, but it always came back to the fact that I hated myself. I know it’s not true now—I’m not a liar, I’m not a thief, and everything I have ever gotten has been earned honestly. As I’m sure you saw today, there’s a few different kinds of addicts, and we all fit a different narrative, even if everyone wants to put the same one on all of our heads. We have our own history, our own struggle, even if we can relate on certain points.” Danny nodded, showing he was listening, encouraging you to keep talking.

“When I used to tell people, or when they would figure out that I was an addict, it always felt like things changed. They would treat me differently, look at me differently, even though I was the same person I was twenty seconds before they found out. I always try and act like things don’t bother me, but they do. Everything bothers me—the way people view me, the way people treat me. For a long time, it made me feel like that’s all I would ever be, that everyone would always see me as an addict before they saw me as a person. I get that people are afraid of what they don’t know, but it always seemed like nobody was ever willing to learn.” You paused, saddened at the idea for a brief moment.

“I was worried that would happen with you, Danny. I couldn’t handle the thought of you thinking poorly of me. I didn’t want you to find out and then leave, or stay and treat me differently. I fucked up, made my fair share of mistakes, but since the very day I met you I have only ever been genuine with you. How I feel… I mean it. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, and I guess I was just afraid of losing it. For the first time in my life, I was happy. Genuinely, wholeheartedly happy, and nothing really changed except for meeting you. I was worried if you left, all of those feelings would have been for nothing, that life would be bleak and boring again, and I really, really didn’t want that to happen.”

“Utah, that was never even a possibility.” He reached across the table, tucking a lock of hair safely behind your ear. As he withdrew his hand, his thumb grazed your cheek, lingering there just long enough for you to turn your head and place a kiss to the pad of his thumb. “I mean, yeah, you’re right. People do have a horrible way of viewing it, but I never want you to think it’s possible for me to feel that way about you.”

“Do you know how many times I wanted to tell you?” You chuckled to yourself, wishing his touch remained as his hand settled back on the table in front of him. “Every time I saw you, it was on the tip of my tongue. I wanted you to know me, from the very beginning. I’m sorry I was so afraid. I know there was never a reason to worry, because you’re different than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Different in a good way, I hope.” He smiled, watching as your eyelashes tickled your skin every time you blinked. He tried to connect the freckles on your cheeks in his mind, wanting to lose himself in the constellation and never return.

“Different in the best way, Michigan.” You assured him, noticing Linda approach you with your lunch. She sat the plates down before you both, telling you to call her over if you needed anything. With a thank you from both of you, she was on her way again.

“I hope you know that you’re so much more than just that, Utah.” Danny spoke again, taking another sip of his coffee. “You’re a million things to me, and that’s not even one that’s on my list.”

How you wished you could express how badly you wanted to be everything to him for the rest of your life.

You began to eat in silence, sneaking glances at him every few minutes as you digested the weight of his last statement. You wanted to respond, to tell him how grateful you were that he loved you so well, but you seemed to be at a loss for words, bested again by your fear of opening your heart to another. Taking a sip of your drink, you reached for the wrapper that once held the straw. Carefully folding it in your fingers, you continued to lose yourself while staring at him, your heart racing just because you were the lucky one to sit next to him. After a few moments, Linda made her rounds with the coffee to refill his cup. You studied every detail and mannerism, the kindness in his eyes, the sweetness of his ‘thank you’s’, and the rosiness of his cheeks from the heat of the building. He took his time peeling the top off of one of the creamers, tilting it a little too far and accidentally pouring all of it into his cup by mistake. Caring little about it, he discarded the plastic container and stirred it in, unbothered as usual. You wondered if he noticed it as much as you did, the lightness of the beverage in comparison to how he usually drank it. You wondered if the small details meant as much to anyone, if they meant even a fraction of what they meant to you.

You could feel the word dancing on your tongue, so desperate to be released it was cracking your teeth and tiring your jaw. You wanted to tell him so badly, to free yourself from the chains that so often shackled you, to love him freely and openly, without restraint or worry. Loving him was the easiest thing you had ever done, the most pleasant adventure and welcome surprise. It was all you wanted to do for the rest of your life, to spend your days with him and try to show him how much you cared for him, but you thought it a little silly to wish for such things when you could not even harness enough courage to say it aloud.

You were nearly there, so close to letting it slip that your lips were parted and you were drawing air into your lungs specifically to announce it. Then, his eyes flickered to you, catching you amidst your staring contest and shattering every bit of confidence you had managed to find. Instead of chastising you for your blatant gawking, he flashed you another blinding, breathtaking smile, happy to be the focus of your attention and the thing that occupied your mind. Instead of speaking aloud, you swallowed back the confession, finding it stuck in your throat as you tried to force it back down.

Instead of speaking, you tossed the balled up straw wrapper in his direction, saddened as it bounced off his cheek and landed on the table. You wanted him to think that was your plan all along, to kill the awkwardness that came with your cowardice. Thankfully, he laughed—the sound so sickly sweet that it nearly made you dizzy. He picked the wrapper up and tossed it back in your direction, playing along with a game he knew you didn’t truly want to partake in.

You never wanted to go a single day without hearing his laugh. You hoped you had all the time in the world to tell him you loved him, because something felt so strongly should always be expressed openly. You hoped he continued to have the patience for your brokenness, for your mending heart and tired mind. After all, he was the whole reason you found the energy to try again, that you found the courage to keep going.

You were stupid for ever thinking he would let you down, and even more of a fool for believing you could ever let him go. You knew when the summer came to rest, when the sticky August heat turned into chilly autumn mornings, he would still be the only thing your heart desired. When the leaves changed color and fell to the ground, your heart would not join them. You hoped that in some twisted trick of luck, you would be sat next to him in some apartment in Nashville, ready to start over for the last time.

You had never been a forever kind of person, but when you looked at him, forever was all you could see.

After twenty four years of being stuck at a crossroads, the path was more obvious than ever before.

The two of you finished eating, taking advantage of the staff discount as you paid for your food. After Daniel slid a bill under his plate, a tip nearly as generous as the one he gave you that fateful day, you both stood to meet Dylan in the parking lot. With his arm slung round your waist, you broke back out into the warm afternoon, the sun shining brightly on the two of you as you approached his car.

“Thank you for being fantastic, Michigan.” You whispered, leaning closer to him as you walked. “I’m really lucky to have you.”

“Think I’m the lucky one, Utah.” He said, stopping in his tracks to turn and face you.

His palm raised to your cheek, so soft and gentle in its welcome embrace. As he leaned down towards you, the tip of his nose brushed yours, sending jolts of electricity straight through you. You wondered if it would always feel like that when he kissed you, or if the amazement would wear and turn into happy comfortability.

Whichever it was, you were okay with it. If anything, you would be just happy to stick around and find out.

As his lips connected with yours, you couldn’t help the smile that took hold. Every moment spent with him was joyous, every touch filled with glee. The only regret you had about kissing him was that it couldn’t last longer, that it could not last forever. The sweetness of his lips and the intoxication of his love was something you wished to live within constantly, never having to worry about anything other than him. When he pulled away, there was a melancholic feeling as much as there was a blanket of peacefulness hanging over you.

You didn’t say the word aloud, and neither did he, but it was abundant in your gaze, so profound that speaking it might even take away from it.

You did not get the chance to think about it for too long, because the sound of wheels on pavement grabbed your attention and forced it elsewhere. Stepping away from each other and turning to face the road, you were pleasantly surprised at the sight before you. Stepping out of a car that had been out of commission for nearly a year, was Dylan and a bag full of shit you thought you might never see again.

“Well, would you look at that?” You grinned, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed up the vehicle. Although it was still in poor shape, it was working, and as his best friend, you were there to celebrate every victory.

“Right?” Dylan laughed, his eyes red and heavy-lidded. “Finally got the bitch to work. Spent all week underneath’er… s’pose Doug helped too, the bastard.” Doug, his neighbor, who also doubled as a back alley mechanic was Dylan and Vincent’s saving grace when it came to their constantly broken down cars. He placed a proud slap on the top of the cab, flashing you a toothy grin to show how proud he was of the achievement.

“What was wrong with it?”

“God, what wasn’t?” He slammed the creaking door shut, having to use a little extra force to get the lock to latch shut. “If this don’t last, I’ll set the damn thing on fire and find another headache.” As he approached you, you took in the whole sight of him and his slow swagger.

The pitch black t-shirt, littered with holes that never seemed to phase him. The short sleeves seemed to stretch over his biceps, obviously too small for him now even though he refused to buy any new clothes. The dark ink of his patchwork tattoo’s caught your attention the most, standing so prominently against his tan skin (maybe even more so because you knew your initials were hidden within them, secret to most anyone unless you knew exactly where to look. He had let you do it yourself after one long and reckless night of poker in his living room, taking loss to a whole new level. Still, even if he did it for a bet, he always seemed awfully proud of it). The summer always took to him and Vincent much better than it ever took to you, leaving you a bit envious of their sun-kissed skin and golden glow. His gray sweatpants were stained with dust, likely from his gravel driveway that he had spent all morning laying upon.

His normally buzzed dark hair was growing out much longer than he usually liked it, falling over his forehead and irritating him every time he noticed it. His sharp jaw and tired eyes tied the whole picture together, giving you an everlasting sense of home. When you had nowhere to go and no one left to turn to, he would always be there, waiting to break the fall.

“Got your stuff, doll. Think that’s everythin’ you was lookin’ for.” He handed you the bag, watching as you slowly took it from his hand. “Hey, man.” He nodded at Danny, seemingly nervous as he avoided eye contact and shifted on his feet.

“Hey, how are you?” Danny offered the formality, sending him a half-smile.

“Good, good.” He hummed, letting his hand rest in his pocket, his fingers tightening around his lanyard that held his keys.

“You want me to give you a minute?” Danny asked, his hand on your lower back as he whispered the words into your ear. You have a subtle nod and a sympathetic smile to him, figuring it was for the best. You and Dylan had yet to discuss anything after the blowout at the diner, and when you had seen him at work the weekend prior, you both knew it was better not to mention it with Vincent in the building.

With a kiss on the top of your head, Danny retreated to the driver's door of his own vehicle, wasting little time climbing inside to give the two of you a bit of space.

“You… uh… you want my key back, too?” Dylan asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face.

“What?” You nearly laughed at the question, wondering why he thought that in the first place. “F’course not, Dyl. That’s yours to keep.”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, trying not to let you hear the sigh of relief that passed his lips. “I just thought… yeah.”

“Come on, honey. You know you didn’t do anything wrong.” You consoled him, reaching out and placing a loving hand on his arm to reassure him of the fact. The tension that he was carrying dissolved immediately, feeling better just from the sound of your words and immediately uplifted at the feeling of your touch.

“Yeah…” he whispered, seemingly having a hard time believing it. “Are you okay? I mean, you know… yeah.” You had to laugh, finding his nervous rambling amusing enough to diffuse the tension of this particular conversation. Usually he was so self assured and carefree, and rarely ever did you see him so uncertain in himself. As he awaited your answer, he raised his hand to your neck, almost pained as his fingers trailed over the remaining discolouration on your skin. You had given up on covering it with makeup just that morning, knowing it was nearly faded enough to avoid the brunt of the stares and questions. “Jesus, doll.” As if he didn’t want to believe it was as horrible as it truly was, seeing the marks that still lingered sent him straight into a down spiral of reality. You could see the light shift in his eye, as if he was overcome by anger just by the memory of the incident.

“Yeah, m’okay, Dyl.” You nodded, noticing the warmth of his hands immediately. He pushed your hair out of the way, getting a better look at the damage that still remained. “Look a lot worse than I feel, now.” He gave a slow nod and a sad smile, retracting his hand as if he felt like he was overstepping, slipping it back in his pocket and pretending it never happened. “Thank you so much for bringing me this stuff. I just couldn’t… not yet, anyway.”

“You know I’d do anything for ya, doll. Don’t be actin’ like it’s a big deal.” He promised, his gaze still lingering on your neck.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever want to talk to him again, honestly. I mean, we’ve had our fair share of fights, but that… that was too far. Too much. I don’t think I could ever let it go.” Although he didn’t speak, you could tell just by his eyes that he understood everything you were saying. “I gotta take care of myself, for once. Even if I do love him, I think he proved he doesn’t feel the same about me. No more midnight phone calls, no more cleaning up after him… I can’t do it anymore. It’s not good for me, and I don’t think it’s helping him anyway.” He was silent for a long time after you spoke, making you wonder intently what he was thinking. Dylan was not a man with profound emotions—he liked to laugh, he loved not caring, and he lived his life that way with no intent to change. Seeing such a somber expression take hold took you by surprise.

“You know how fuckin’ proud I am of you?” He asked, his tone strong and attention grabbing.

“What?” You chuckled, unsure what you had done to earn such a grand confession from a boy who had never cared much for confessions at all.

“Don't play dumb with me, angel.” He shook his head, dismissing you entirely. “After all you been through, before you came here, after you got here—“ he stopped himself, taking his face in his hands as he applied a fair bit of pressure. When he dropped his arms, he took a deep breath and looked up towards the sky, giving a slight shake of his head and a sniffle. “Baby, you fuckin’ amaze me. So much more than you think you are, all the damn time.”

“Dyl,” you warned, feeling your throat start to tighten and your eyes begin to blur. “Don’t do that shit.”

“Ah, get over yourself, doll. Think you know by now love ain’t nothin’ bad s’long as you love the right people.” When his head turned down to meet yours, you felt your chest ache when you noticed tears in his eyes too. “M’so fuckin’ sorry, Y/N. I know it ain’t never gonna make up for it, but you gotta know how sorry I am.”

“What the hell are you sorry for? Dylan, you saved my fucking life.” You stressed, taking a step towards him.

“Ah, what does that matter? Never shoulda got that bad to begin with. Shoulda stopped that dumb prick before he ever had the chance to put his hands on you.” He rambled, silently cursing himself out. You had no idea he felt so responsible, that he held so much guilt on behalf of a grown man who made his own decisions. If you did, you would have had this conversation much sooner. “I defended him for too long… shoulda made him quit a long time ago. Shoulda told you to pack your shit and get the hell out of here, but I was too selfish to do that.”

“Hey,” you whispered, rapidly blinking away tears forming in your eyes and accumulating on your lashes. “Not once, not even for a second, did I ever blame you. You are the only good thing this place ever gave me, and I mean that.”

“Well, not no more.” He chuckled, nodding his head to the Jeep where Danny sat. You gave a sad smile, trying to understand if it was a genuine statement, or if there was some hidden emotion behind it he wouldn’t let loose.

“Babe, you gotta give yourself more credit. Not just for that night, but always. You're always the one taking care of me, making sure I'm okay… defending me, cleaning up after him when he fucks up just as much as I do. Dylan, I wouldn't have survived this place if it weren’t for you. You're the best friend I’ve ever had, and I'm so lucky to have you.” You had his arms in your hands now, making sure he couldn’t back away or denounce the truth behind your words. Now that he could not cover his face, you saw the emotion begin to crack through the tough exterior. His eyes, not red from anything other than tears, and his normally stony face now showing all of the sadness he had in his heart. “Come here.” You whispered, pulling him into a hug without a second thought. As soon as his arms were around you, his head landed on your shoulder and you felt the pool of tears soak through your shirt. With a hand on the back of his head and another wrapped firmly around his torso, you let it be known that whatever he felt was safe with you.

It was extraordinarily difficult for you to see him in such a state, not just because he was normally the rock that kept you tied to the ground when things got out of control, but because such an emotionless man ravaged with sadness made you realize how horrible the truth really was. To see him weak, vulnerable and unafraid to show it broke your heart into a million pieces, for you and for him, for what once was and what would never be. Life was changing, rapidly and unpredictably, and you were trying your best to stay afloat even if you were fucking terrified. Losing everything you’d ever known for the second time around was almost more difficult than the first, because it let you know that you hadn’t broken the cycle yet, that you had not completed the very thing you set out to do.

“Do you know how fuckin’ scared I was, doll?” His low tone sent a shiver down your spine, speaking so closely to your ear that nothing else existed for a moment. “I thought that fuckin’ idiot was gonna kill you, that I was gonna lose the best thing that ever—the only girl that ever fuckin’ mattered.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” You managed a small laugh, feeling moved by his sudden sentiments. “Nobody knew it would get that bad, Dyl. You were doing what you thought was best, just like the rest of us.” As you consoled him, you felt tears drip down onto your own cheeks, unsure if it was because of the memory of feeling that same fear, or because of how grateful you were for him.

“When I tried ta’ pull him off, for a minute I really thought that was it. I couldn’t fuckin’ get him to let up.”

“But you did.” You hummed, feeling a sob shake your shoulders as you understood he was the very reason you were able to stand there, to draw that horrifically painful breath into your lungs and move on. “You did, Dylan. You saved my fucking life.” At the audible confession, you felt the whole world crumble down around you again, throwing you right back in that same position as you were that night. The harrowing emptiness, the growing nothingness, the worthlessness, and the gratitude. The man before you was more than a friend, more than a break from the suffering of life—he was everything, the very reason you lived to see another day. You owed him everything, and the unfortunate part about owing was that you never once felt like the debt was truly repaid.

“I’d do it every single time, angel. This world wouldn’t be nothin’ without you in it.” As he drew back from the hug, he took your face in his hands, getting a good look at the rosy skin and the sad eyes. Even if tears stained your cheeks, you were alive and well enough to shed them, and that was the most important thing to remember. He used his thumbs to swipe the tear stains away, finally feeling good enough to give you a smile. “I’m lucky to have you around, doll. Thanks for not blaming me. I’d get it if ya did.”

“Never.” You returned his smile, even if it was laced with a little bit of sadness. If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that the blame was never his.

“And don’t you ever feel bad for askin’ me for anythin’.” He added, his voice a little bit steadier than it was moments before. “You pick up that phone and you call. S’what im here for. Just what we do.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You gave a defeated sigh, wishing you could rid yourself of the constant worry of being a burden.

“God knows I do it.” He laughed, dropping his hands back to his sides and taking a step back. “I’m glad you’re okay, darlin’. I’m glad he’s got your back, too. Deserve the world.” He casted a lazy finger in your direction, hoping you would believe him as he said it.

“So do you.” You stressed the point, wishing he didn’t sell himself short so often.

“We all get there when we’re supposed to.” He wiped his face clean with the palm of his hand, almost ashamed that he showed such weakness to anyone, but happy that it was you there to witness the break in character. If it were anyone, he would always want it to be you. “You better not keep him waitin’. Go home, and don’t you be worryin’ about me.”

“I always do.” You chuckled, walking between the two cars to the passenger side of Danny’s Jeep. Dylan opened his door first, one hand on his hip as he slung his other wrist lazily over the top of the door.

“And just so you know, he got what was comin’ to him.” Dylan said, smiling to himself for a moment as he recalled the incident. You were sure Vincent got his ass handed to him outside of the diner that night, and when he got home, and still to that very day. If you had to guess, he was probably in much worse shape than you were. “I can take a lotta’ his shit, but never any disrespect t’wards you.”

“I know, Dyl.” You had to laugh too, even if was quiet and barely there. If there was anything you knew for fact, it was that Dylan had your back. Never once did you think Vincent did not face any repercussions for his horrendous behavior.

“See ya Thursday, baby.” He climbed back in his car without another word, and only once you said it back did he close the door.

As you climbed into the car with Daniel, he immediately welcomed you with a smile and a hand on your leg. As you noticed a few stray tears still wetting your cheeks, you understood that you always had more than you ever realized. You had the entire world, everything you ever asked for, and they were both sitting in the parking lot with you at that very moment. Feeling the love surround you, slowly but steadily filling the emptiness that often took hold of your chest, you knew that you would never need money to be able to consider yourself rich. What you had in that moment, some people never experienced in an entire lifetime.

If that wasn’t enough to make you happy, you weren’t sure anything ever would.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco @aintthatapity @dont-go-home-without-me @dyslexicchild13 @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama

[the-white-soul]

*Flowey looks at the souls everyone is being offered with wide eyes. He’s practically shaking with excitement. When would be the next time he gets an opportunity like this? Why doesn’t he just take all of the rest? It’d be quick. No one would be able to stop him. His vines are itching to grab everything for himself and let himself go mayhem. He reaches forth slowly, almost mesmerized, and…*

*Takes a single red soul.*

*He’s squeezing it tightly like a stress ball, seeming to be in disbelief. It’s not disappearing in his clutch or anything. And there’s no cache. Flowey absorbs it readily.* Really? This is mine? This… this is amazing.

*He suppresses his form to stay exactly the same once he takes it, hiding his power completely.* Heeheehee! We wouldn’t want those meanies to suspect us now, do we? We need to appear casual and then hit them with surprise. Of course only if they attack us first, yeah, yeah. Then Noelle’s Snowgrave can be used specially for our buddy Clover!

*He chuckles and taunts Noelle a bit condescendingly.* It’s okay, you don’t have to do any more than that. Just sit back and let your abilities charge while the others do everything else. Poor Noelle, only able to fire one attack before she’s done… Golly, really makes me wonder where all that high talk comes from!

Heh… anyway, these souls don’t have consciousnesses, do they? I don’t need anyone talking to me in my head or fighting back, and I’m sure no one else wants that either.

(Kara) "Oh thankfully not. They can rebel if mistreated unless you have seven which is why being a god is more important than just getting 6 souls but if they're used correctly they'll be fine. Anyways let's go to the sur... wait how are we going to get up there. Lesser dog is dead."

(Mo) "Ya think that's the only way I've invented a new invention..."

(Noelle) "Why are you repeating yourself?"

(Mo) "I can tell your little police girl here is the type of the grammar. You want true new things look at my new invention I call it two sticks and 100 bars. Or as my friends call it 200 bars."

(Noelle) "That's litteraly a ladder."

(Mo) "And for yer kind, I'll be generous. 8000 g."

(Papyrus) "But I'm the king shouldn't I get..."

(Mo) "You're right. I forgot to add king taxes 90000 g."

(Undyne) "*Has a spear to his throat* Listen either I get it now or I take it by force."

(Mo) "Really, threats don't work on me. Well except the time old Cloves went ahead and robbed me for no reason. This is just my way to get back to the top. To be a big shot."

(Kara) "Fine we'll take it *Gives the g's* but only because you came up with the excellent idea to put guns in pies."

(Mo) "Great here you go. Mo out."

*He runs up and out of sight*

(Kara) "Why is he so cool?"

(Noelle) "Let's just get to the ladder."

(Kara) "Oh right everyone up one by one."

*Meanwhile at the omega dimension*

(Layer)"I hope they're having a good time."

(Arak) "Yes they will, won't they? They'll win the day and prove me right."

(Layer) "What?"

(Arak) "Some people are beyond saving. By the time they slaughter Clover while Clover is evil I'll go down there and kill all of them."

(Layer) "Not if I..."

Arak punches them in the face 15 times. Layer can't feel pain so it doesn't bother them as a player but as there character grew weak they could feel they have less and less control.

(Arak) "You know what I've got a better idea, if they prove me right I'll punch you until you disconnect. If they do redeem Clover I'll personally apologize."