#so I just know this scene will be so chilling ..

[aventurineswife]

Heyy it's me, 🤡 anon <333

Can I request Aventurine, Jiaoqiu, Sunday, and Dr Ratio (seperate) getting into an argument with reader who is an ice element and they unleashed sharp icicles at the men out of frustration? It's like the scene in Frozen 1 when Elsa revealed her powers to everyone in the ballroom

Reader did it by pure accident, so they start apologizing profusely after realizing it

(Would be nice if there's some comfort at the end, I can't handle pure angst 💔)

I just know you're gonna cook like always with this one

Shards of Silence

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Angst with Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Argument, Accidental Injury, Ice Elemental Reader, Guilt, Apology, Fluff, Protective Behavior, Relationship Tension, Vulnerability, Character Growth.

Warnings: Emotional Conflict, Raised Voices, Accidental Harm, Brief Panic, Minor Injury (Non-Lethal), Reader Feeling Guilty, Touch-Starved Behavior (Sunday), Slow-Burn Comfort.

A/N: You have too much trust on me lmaoo 😭🙏 but thank you! 🤭💖

The argument had been brewing for a while. Aventurine, with his usual smirk, had been pushing buttons, playing with words, treating the entire situation like one of his high-stakes gambles.

"You never take anything seriously!" you snapped, arms crossed as you glared at him. The tension in the air was palpable, the frustration simmering beneath your skin.

Aventurine chuckled, tilting his head. "Oh, come now, sweetheart. You wound me. You know I always take things seriously—just in my own way."

You gritted your teeth. He was deflecting, as always. His voice was light, teasing, but you could see it—the way his eyes flickered, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his side. He was keeping up his act, refusing to let you in.

"I don't get it," you continued, voice trembling. "Why do you do this? Why do you make everything a game? Why can't you just be honest with me?"

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. "Because honesty is boring, darling."

That was the last straw. The frustration, the hurt, the overwhelming need to break through his mask—it all surged at once. A sharp, icy force exploded from you, shards of ice materializing in the air before launching toward him.

Time slowed.

Aventurine’s eyes widened as the icicles streaked toward him, their crystalline edges gleaming in the light. But at the last moment, he shifted—fluid and practiced—dodging with a grace that seemed almost effortless. One shard nicked his cheek, drawing a thin line of crimson.

You gasped, horror crashing over you like a tidal wave. "Oh no—oh my god, Aventurine! I—I didn’t mean to—"

But he was already grinning again, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. "Now that was unexpected," he mused, inspecting the crimson streak on his fingers. "A little warning next time, sugar?"

Tears welled in your eyes. "I'm so, so sorry—I didn't mean to—I just—"

His expression softened, and before you could spiral further, he closed the distance between you, gently tilting your chin up with two fingers. "Hey now, don’t look so devastated. If anything, you just made things interesting." His voice was quieter this time, lacking its usual theatrical bravado.

You swallowed hard. "I—I could've really hurt you."

"But you didn't," he pointed out, his gaze steady. "And even if you had, well—I've been through worse. A little ice isn’t going to shatter me, love."

His hand moved to yours, squeezing it lightly. "Besides, if this is how you show your feelings, I think I should start annoying you more often. Maybe I'll get a lovely ice sculpture next time."

Despite yourself, you let out a weak laugh. He always knew how to ease the tension, even in moments like this.

"You're impossible," you murmured.

"And yet, you’re still here," he teased.

His fingers brushed over yours, warm despite the lingering chill in the air. "Don't go freezing me out just yet, darling. I'm quite fond of this little game of ours."

And for once, you allowed yourself to believe him.

Sunday had never raised his voice at you before. Not once.

But tonight, his usual soft, measured tone was edged with something unfamiliar—frustration.

"You don't understand," he said, eyes dark with something unreadable. "I am not asking for your approval. I am telling you that this path leads nowhere."

"Why do you always act like you know best?" you shot back, voice trembling. "Like you have all the answers, like my choices don’t matter?"

Sunday exhaled sharply, his wings fluttering behind him, his hands clenched at his sides. "Because I have seen where this road ends," he murmured. "And I do not wish for you to walk it."

His words struck a chord—one that made your chest tighten with resentment and sadness all at once. The weight of his gaze, his presence, his unwavering belief that he was protecting you—it was suffocating.

"You can't control everything," you whispered, voice cracking.

Sunday hesitated. And in that moment, the emotions you had been struggling to contain surged outward.

A sharp chill swept through the air.

You barely had time to register the way ice crystallized around you, how jagged shards of frozen energy shot toward him in a burst of raw power.

Sunday's eyes widened, but he didn’t move.

The ice halted midair, hovering inches away from his form, before slowly dissipating into harmless flakes. He had stopped it—his power, his will, had overwritten your accidental outburst.

Your breath hitched.

"I—I didn’t mean to—" You took a step back, horrified. "Sunday, I’m so sorry, I—"

His expression had shifted. Gone was the frustration, the authority. In its place was something gentler—something almost sad.

Slowly, he stepped forward, raising a gloved hand toward you. You flinched, but he only rested it lightly against your shoulder.

"I know," he murmured.

You blinked up at him.

"I know you did not mean it," he repeated, his touch steady despite the way your body trembled. "And I know this power—this weight you carry—is difficult to bear."

Tears pricked your eyes. "But I—"

"You are not alone," he whispered, his golden halo casting a soft glow around him. "No matter what you may fear, you are not alone."

Something inside you cracked—not like ice breaking, but like something fragile giving way to warmth.

And when he pulled you into his arms, wings folding around you in a shield of silent comfort, you let yourself believe him.

"I expected more from you."

Ratio’s voice was sharp—calm, but cutting. The words stung more than you cared to admit.

"You think I don't care?" you snapped, fists clenched. "Just because I don’t think the same way you do—just because I don’t approach things like some cold, calculated formula?"

Ratio sighed, rubbing his temples. "That’s not what I said. But if you continue to act on impulse, if you refuse to analyze before you react, you will only cause unnecessary damage."

Something in you snapped.

Ice burst outward, an involuntary response to the storm of emotions inside you. Sharp icicles materialized in the air, hurtling toward him before you even realized what was happening.

Ratio barely flinched.

With precise, fluid movement, he raised a hand. A calculated counterforce met your attack, shattering the ice before it could touch him.

The room fell silent.

Your breath came in ragged gasps. "Oh my god," you whispered. "Ratio—I—"

He held up a hand. "I know."

You swallowed hard, shame settling deep in your gut. "I didn’t mean to—I just—"

A pause. Then, Ratio took a step forward, his intense gaze studying you, assessing every minute detail of your expression.

"Your emotions overwhelm you," he observed. "That is not a weakness."

You blinked. "What?"

"Your power is tied to your feelings," he said matter-of-factly. "That is not inherently a flaw—it simply means you must learn control. Recklessness will not serve you, but neither will self-recrimination."

Your hands trembled at your sides.

He reached out then, carefully taking your wrist. His grip was firm, grounding. "Next time," he said, voice softer, "tell me when you're reaching your limit."

The words were unexpected. But as you met his gaze, something unspoken passed between you.

And somehow, that was enough.

[luigisleftshoe]

Dating Luigi Headcanons

How it starts:

Yall probably meet at like one of three places; some activity like surfing (you get a sneak peek of him shirtless in board shorts), at a bar and your trying to play pool and he’s like “ actually 🤓 you need to hold the stick like this” (man was actually just trying to flirt with you and he didn’t know how to), or HEAR ME out like a random niche gym class you both signed up for and your both just there like 🧍‍♀️🧍

First date I feel like is like slightly unhinged actually?? Like this man wouldn’t go straight for like “let’s get dinner together” the man wants to do an escape room to see how compatible you guys are at solving puzzles together ? Yall will progress to dinner tho

Also like I look at his Virgo moon and Aries Venus and I’m just like I feel like Luigi would lowkey play hard to get. Not in like the he likes to be chased way but more of a he’s like very anxious in commitment. Like it takes a lot for this man to be like yes ! Were bf and gf! Ya know like he really has to be warmed up to the idea

Anyways!

He takes a stupidly long time to actually confess that he likes you too! Like you’ll be there 3 “friend dates deep” and haven’t even held hands. But once he does it’s very heartfelt and dramatic and you know he’s using his hands a lot to try and convey how he feels. Definitely would prefer a friends to lovers type beat

That’s also not to say he hasn’t had his fair share of hookups bc look at that man who wouldn’t want him. But like he’s not just gonna bring anyone home to his mom ya know. Also italian-Americans boys are massive mamas boys imo so if he’s bringing someone home HES BRINGING HIS PERSON HOME. Like Look, Luigi would treat introducing you to his family as basically a marriage proposal ok. Not everyone gets to be brought home to his family and he will be stressing about it for weeks beforehand like it’s a final boss battle.

Being together:

The man loves being domesticated??? Legitimately it’s his favorite thing. Grocery shopping? A date! Washing dishes together? A date! Fixing a leaky sink together? Basically foreplay.

Bro he would love it if you hopped in the cart while grocery shopping and just directed him around and what to get. he’ll love pushing you around, but after like 5 minutes he’s dramatically like,“Okay my turn, get out. It’s my turn” And man would be a sassy king about it too.

Like you’ll reach for a random olive oil and he’s already behind you like,“No. We get the good one. That one’s disrespectful. Put it back.”

He’s surprisingly (not at all) very bossy but not in a jerk way, more of a him putting his hand on the small of your back and steering you left in the grocery aisle because “Babe, trust me, the good bakery section’s this way.”

Also he would be constantly glued to you when your at home together. Like everything is a group activity. You’re trying to wash dishes? He’s behind you, arms around your waist, doing absolutely nothing helpful but insisting, “No I’m helping, moral support.” You’re folding laundry? He’s throwing socks at you and laughing when you miss.

OHMYGOD he would be so serious about home improvement projects. Full engineer mode. It doesn’t matter that his engineering is not at all close to the project you're doing. He's got out his protractor and man is hard at work. And he would fully try and reenact like a porno trope of OHMYGOD the sexy maintaince man has come to service you 😏😏 while waggling his eyebrows.

Busts out unnecessary tools just for the aesthetic. You’re hanging one (1) picture frame and he’s got a full toolbox laid out like a weapons montage scene in a spy movie. Leveler? Check. Protractor? Check. Stud finder? Beeping it against his own chest like “guess I found one.”

OH and he will INSIST on doing it shirtless “because he’s sweating.” And it’s like sir you unscrewed two screws why are you shirtless. No ones complaining ab it tho.

He has absolutely zero chill once you praise him. You say one thing like “Wow you’re so handy,” and he short circuits. Immediately ten times cockier. “You know I could totally redo the whole kitchen. Build you a greenhouse. Knock down a wall. Babe we could have an open floor plan in like two weekends.” Man would be threads deep in Reddit that night trying to figure out how to rebuild your entire house just the way you want.

I feel like once this man is in he’s in and he’s absolutely whipped. Man is so obviously down bad for you and he doesn’t even care he’ll own every time his friends give him shit for it. Like “stay pressed you can barely get a tinder date”

Would insist on you stealing his clothes. Would purposely leave a hoodie draped over your couch like “Oh nooo I guess you have to wear it now, crazy how that happens.” But also the man like rotates the same closet from 8th grade so lowkey he starts running out of clothes v quickly if you steal them.

Gets quietly obsessed with your hobbies.You start painting? He’s randomly showing up with watercolor sets. You like baking? He’s researching recipes to try with you. Literally acts like whatever you love is now his life’s purpose too. He would absolutely die on the spot if you expressed interest in his too he’d be so happy.

Will never, ever, EVER forget anniversaries, milestones, or inside jokes.

Also just wanna say the man likes to argue for the sake of arguing. Like to be fair he probably is right but when he isn’t he doesn’t stop bc he just loves the debate. Lowkey gets turned on by it if it’s a good debate

Also idk why I have this feeling but I just know this man loves to get high and fuck up overcooked with you.

“Babe, trust me, I’m cracked at this game. I’m basically Gordon Ramsay.” 20 minutes later he’s screaming because he’s accidentally thrown a pot of soup into a trash can.

He gets high and turns into a full-blown Overcooked tyrant. Barking fake orders like “YOU’RE ON TOMATO DUTY, MOVE MOVE MOVE!!” Running around in circles on the screen shouting “WHERE’S THE PAN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?! WHO BURNED THE ONIONS?!” (It was him. He burned the onions.)

He absolutely BLAMES YOU for everything that goes wrong. “Babe you’re supposed to be dicing! Why are you just standing there?!” Meanwhile he’s throwing chopped lettuce at a plate that’s already on fire.

He’s losing every level but he’s like “One more time. We’ll get three stars this time. I have a new strategy.”(His strategy is yelling louder.)(I’ve never met a quiet Italian man in my life)

Afterwards he cuddles you and swears you’re a terrible teammate but he wouldn’t want anyone else. He’s laying on you like a weighted blanket, mumbling into your shoulder, “You’re the worst line cook but the best girlfriend. You can’t teach that kind of loyalty.”

Hes way more protective than he possessive

Like Walks on the street side of the sidewalk without thinking about it. Steps between you and a guy being weird at a bar. Double-checks your locks without even saying anything. Notices when you’re tired or uncomfortable before you even say anything and adjusts.

If a guy flirts with you? His vibe would be less “blow up and make a scene” and more “laughs coldly, stares daggers, and tightens his grip on your hand.”

Below the belt:

He’s way more dominant than he acts day-to-day. He’s playful and flirty outside the bedroom. But once the tension tips over? He’s heavy, needy, in charge, and a little mean (in a sexy way). “You’re not getting away from me tonight.”

Man is a golden retriever by day but night is a different story

Grips your hips, manhandles you easily, but with that slow patience — dragging it out because he likes hearing you beg a little

Slow build king. As he should be tho. Foreplay lasts forever if he has his way.

Kisses down your chest like he’s savoring a wine tasting flight. Hands everywhere — mapping you out like he’s learning you on purpose. Whispering stupid cocky things between kisses like “you’re not even ready for me yet, babe.”

Really into control( we’ve all seen how big his hands are you know he likes to put them around your throat)lowkey would love to sleep spooning with his hand around your neck. Loves when you tug at his shirt, moan for him, grab at his arms.The second you show him you want him to take it further, it’s over.He switches into that possessive slow dominance mode instantly.“Good girl. That’s all you had to say.”

He’s a growler, not a moaner. When he gets frustrated (aka you’re teasing him too much)? You’re gonna hear him low-growl “quit playin’ with me.” It’s half warning, half promise, and it always ends with you absolutely wrecked.

HES A MUNCH. I KNOW A MUNCH WHEN I SEE ONE

Will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him. Turns it into a game — how long can he keep you trembling, gasping, falling apart on his mouth? Spoiler: longer than you can handle

[jo-dyy]

It’s a first for me, I usually prefer to read everyone’s theories about the game and just enjoy, but after playing the Touchstarved 2.0 demo; I couldn’t hold it anymore. SPOILER AHEAD!

——————————————————————————-

So for more context, my favorite character has always been Leander from the start, a close second would be Kuras and I can’t even express how happy I am with the new portrayal of their characters.

Everyone has been reworked (I think), some more than others, but I really enjoyed the nuances added to our lovely love interests.

Kuras

They made him more playful; OG Kuras appeared to be quite aloof, and while I enjoyed the stoic doctor charm; I actually prefer this silly side we were able to witness. Especially at the end when you chose to go for him, the scene where we follow him around feels more mischievous and it’s just Kuras annoying the Senobium cleric (simply cause he can). He gives us a little tour, and the new background is soooo pretty. The moment at the end before we part, and fall in his arms is even more heart fluttering. Also keep in mind that if you want the red option for Kuras you’ll have the play as the Unnamed origin.

Ais

Ok, so I have to admit, I always had a soft spot for Ais, he’s just a chill guy, and I feel like we would vibe a lot together x) In the new demo he seems slightly more cold when we meet him (maybe it’s just me). But his solo scene is one of my favorite, I’m just a sucker for people who compliments my laugh 🤭 This moment was just so sweet and he appeared much softer thanks to it .

Mhin

What a cutie patootie… They made Mhin way more likable in my opinion, while they’re still our blushing tsundere, I loved how we were able to see a more vulnerable side of them.

•Vere

We don’t have to die anymore 🥳 More seriously, I didn’t mind the death part, but it’s still nice to have a chance to put foxy in his place (blushing Vere?!) Overall he appeared more relaxed as well, which make sense; if he wants us to trust him, he would have to be more relatable and try to get on our good graces.

Leander

Oh my goodness. Correct me if I’m wrong but I feel like they reworked Leander’s dialogues the most. I don’t mind the name change (from Bloodhounds to Adderstones) even though I would like to know why they removed the "as above so below" slogan. Can we talk about how more INTENSE Leander is in this new version? It was more subtle in the past one, but here, he clearly appears as a cult leader, kinda out of reach even, which is why the MC would feel more special to get his attention. We still don’t know how exactly the Adders operate, though it seems you can’t just barge in and talk to the high and mighty Leander… (we were able to do so, only after mentioning Kuras). I was relishing on every scenes we had with this guy. At the end when you chose him especially, this is where you can clearly tell he’s a manipulative bastard. The "I’m jealous" comment? The joke on having us on a leash?? (for our safety of course haha 😃) The love bombing? He’s so unhinged and I love that. The cherry on top is truly the way he told us he had informations regarding the curse, and is the one proposing to talk about it in our room. LOCKING THE DOOR, of course he’s observant and notices MC being uncomfortable, and manipulate us into urging him to stay. He knows at this point that we’re hopeless, and use it to his advantage to have us exactly where he wants. Things get slightly heated and when MC is reluctant; he just apologies and LEAVES??? Um sir, what about the infos you were supposed to give us? I literally had goosebumps reading this passage, and I think MC felt the same way, I love the way they portrayed the realization settling in, like "Wait a minute?"

——————————————————————————

This is it for my little rambling… English isn’t my first language; so I apologize if I’m not making much sense. Of course, I’m aware that my observations are not rocket science, I just really wanted to take this out of my chest 🙂‍↕️ I can’t wait for the game full release, and love reading all the fan theories!

[cressidagrey]

(This is so long I’m so sorry) I was the pls don’t explode anon but OH MY GOD THE NEW CHAPTER ????? BELLE WITH HER BOMBSHELL DROP AND A HALF ????? THEYLL ALWAYS COME BACK HELLO ?????? MAX “my wife wants to see her horse” VERSTAPPEN ?????? Oh im ill rn w love for them my god. I hope that whole family is sick to fucking death rn I’m so serious.

The only one I have mild sympathy for is Arthur just because like, I can understand from a younger sibling perspective like the guilt of knowing you should’ve said something but at the same time being just as young as them or younger. I however am gonna box pascal because WHY ARE YOU LYINGGGGGG LIKE YOU COULDNT EVEN TRY TO MAKE IT LESS OBVIOUS ??? I hate her so bad.

And the way Charles reacted in the restaurant ?? Holy shit dude get OVER YOURSELF 😭😭😭 Like fawkkkkk the whole point is it’s not about the damn horse it’s the fact you couldn’t even be assed to learn about your sister, like all of you failed her because you literally just assumed it didn’t matter anymore and she’d move beyond it, like no all you did was make her feel like her wants, dreams, and aspirations were useless and minuscule no wonder she didn’t care anymore. You took her one true love away, made it about yourself, then basically spit in her face since you just didn’t care. Like they literally stripped her bare of what made her, her. Especially to lose something that’s your entire world at such a young age is devastating and something that was living, breathing, tangible ? That’s so tragic, like I get loosing racing sucks but something that’s alive ? That loves you ? I can’t even imagine the guilt she felt over it even though it’s not her fault because she probably assumed that Blanche felt like she was abandoned by somebody who loved her and that’s just awful.

God I want to bomb their house, like the wrongful assumptions about her character ??? It just feels like they’re finding any reason to berate her and pick apart her choices because then to them it gives them some type of morale standing and ground they can have since they had the rug pulled under them. This whole chapter reminds me of the one song “you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me” because genuinely her whole world shattered when she lost that horse and her entire family either didn’t care or want to know. Like it feels like they’re have this deep need to be this picture perfect family but that’s not how they’re supposed to be and since belle can’t be that ideal perfect sister and daughter they just started to shape her to be the mold they wanted and not who she really is.

I have soooooooo many thoughts but I love max down badddddddd rn like defend ur wife fuck yeah !!! I literally love how you write your scenes out and how you show belles grief, like genuinely. The fact that she’s at a place where she can share something she held so much anguish over is so nice to see and I love watching her work through everything on her own terms, like I don’t think we ever fully get over our grief, we just learn to hold it differently over time and I’m glad she’s finding her footing in that. Healing isn’t linear like I had said and grief loves to find us in the street on a sunny day but I’m glad she’s figuring it out. Seriously I love your writing though i want to it, it literally swung a bat into my ribs and made a home there in its wake, I love u pls never explode 💘💘💘💐💐💐

THIS. MESSAGE. 🥹 First: never apologize for sending long thoughts — this was beautiful and you captured Belle’s whole arc so perfectly it gave me chills. Seriously, you put so much heart into this that I’m honored you trust me with your emotions like this.

You're so spot-on:

It was never just about the horse. It was about how little her dreams mattered to the people who should have protected them most.

Arthur does deserve a sliver of sympathy — he was young too — but Pascale? Oh no. Full boxing match energy.

Charles can't stand realizing he hurt her so deeply because it would mean he has to actually change — and that’s harder than pretending she's the one being difficult.

You understood it perfectly: Belle’s family didn’t just ignore her. They rewrote her into a version that was easier for them to live with. And that devastation — of being forgotten while you’re still right there — it leaves scars that don't just fade away.

Also... Max being her safe place? "My wife wants to see her horse" MAX VERSTAPPEN?? You get it. 🥹

And you said this so perfectly:

We never fully get over our grief, we just learn to hold it differently over time.

I’m tucking that into my soul forever, thank you. 💛

[zepskies]

Aww thanks, Beth!! I had a lot of fun putting together this epilogue. But you know what they say. If you keep them wanting more, then you're doing your job right! 😂❤️❤️

Yes more Smoke Eater! Just a little drabble check in with those two (love that Breakfast Club gif!).~

I was too engrossed to take any notes, but I love how you touched on Benny. I’m so silly though because the whole time before you revealed that it was Andrea, I was wondering who the lovely lady was. Secret. It took me quite a few chapters to realise who Andrea was in Smoke Eater, too even though you mentioned her name so many times before I had. It’s like the whole Benny on the boat episode is wiped from my mind. Probably has a lot to do with the Amelia storyline

Oh yeah, I think we all wish the "Amelia" of it all was wiped from our brains, but Benny was a great addition to S8! I always thought his story with Andrea was so freakin' sad and tragic. It hurt my hopeless romantic heart, especially at the fact that Dean ultimately had to kill her in canon. 😭 In a way, Benny lost her twice. 💔

But YES, happiness for Benny in this AU (and in Smoke Eater lol)! 🥰

The whole scene with Robbie was super sweet, especially with how she in particular handled the questions. Alex - do you have any other parenting tips I could learn from, because I would be stuck on what to say and have been in a similar moment before lol

Aww I'm so glad you liked that part because it's definitely a favorite scene of mine. Girl, you're more experienced than me since you actually have kids. (I do not) 😂 But the way the reader handles that situation by waiting on Robbie to process, I actually drew from my own experience with my specialist doctor who's been helping me through an issue I've been dealing with for a year (3 surgical procedures later and still not 100% fixed). Every time he has to give me bad news, he sits and waits for me to process, work through my emotions, and ask whatever questions that come next. Not in a bored way, but in a patient and kind way. ❤️‍🩹

And the bathtub, warming their tootsies and her comments on the dress ❤️❤️❤️

hehehe considering your one-shot about Dean and reader on their wedding day, it doesn't surprise me that you like that little scene! I just loved the idea of them having a chill moment together where they touch base after getting newly married. ❤️❤️

That baby is way too old, but we’ll just ignore that. What a way to end it all on a perfect birthday present! And thank god he was present this time around and not dealing with all that kerfuffle in the halls. I forgot to mention up top how impressive it was for them to admit and be so open with their own feeling and each other about what happened with Lisa and Benny. And now their family is complete? Thank you for showing us more of these too ❤️

haha still, I love it! 🥹 Plus love both uses of "present!" 😝 Dean got to do it right this time with the reader. Also, I'm really glad you liked how they opened up to each other about what happened with Lisa and Benny. Their biggest problem in this series was lack of honest communication, so it felt like the best way to show how they've matured from the experience and mean to do better by each other and the people around them. 💕💕

You're so welcome! And thank you for sticking it out with me on this angsty ride lol

IF I STAY - Epilogue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: By popular demand, I wanted to come back to these two for a hot minute, clear up some loose ends, and answer some questions Part 2 might have left behind for you. 😘

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Major fluff, some spice, angst, hurt/comfort, family feels

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Epilogue: Soul Surrender

The low familiarity of Arrested Development playing on the TV is the only sound filling your bedroom…other than your giggles. They come out in short bursts even though your body doesn’t stop shaking, twisting away from nimble fingers.

“Dean,” you plead. Your cheeks hurt from laughing but no matter how you try to escape, he follows you. His broad frame and strong arms curl around your waist from behind. His face buries into your neck, and you feel the shape of his smirk there while his fingers slip higher under your shirt and map a constellation across your ribs.

Well, it’s actually his shirt, the white buttoned-down hanging loosely from your frame. It barely covers your ass, and he likes it that way. All the better to tease you with a playful smack of a nice round cheek when the fabric rides up.

Your squeal morphs into more peals of laughter. Involuntary tears well up in your eyes, and one slides down into the pillow underneath your cheek.

“Baby, please—can’t fucking breathe,” you manage to say, panting and wheezing all squeaky-voice.

Finally, his long fingers fall still against your skin. His head perks up, and his smirk softens into a grin.

“Baby?” Dean repeats, quirking a brow at you.

You pause. While you catch your breath, your gaze lowers in an uncertain shade. You shift onto your back, where Dean is only better able to loom above you. Staring up at his handsome face like this still feels a little unreal. Just a couple of hours ago, you were a crying mess in this very bed.

Then there was a knock on your door. When you found Dean standing there looking stressed and desperate, you just couldn’t turn him away; nor could you deny what your heart had been trying to tell you for far too long.

“Uh, sorry, it just came out,” you say with a chuckle.

Before you can ask if it’s too soon for cute pet names, Dean leans down to capture you in a kiss. It’s slow and thorough, sparking a tendril of heat down your spine as his hand slides along your neck, framing your jaw. He thumbs at your chin after he pulls away.

“I like it,” he says. His eyes hold a cheeky gleam.

Your smile gradually reaches beaming proportions. He moves his hand down to your waist, and you squirm a little. You’re still sensitive from how much he teased you before. You grab his hand and bring it back up to your cheek instead.

“You’re more ticklish than Robbie,” Dean remarks. His smirk is back.

“He probably gets it from me,” you confess. Though your hands do some wandering of their own, slipping under the man’s arms and prodding a tuneless sonata along his sides. “But I’m thinking you’re just as bad, tough guy.”

Just as you suspected, Dean flinches and laughs on reflex. “H-Hey! Foul move!”

His deep voice runs higher, full of censure, but it just makes you grin harder. Seeing this big man crumple like a wad of wet paper has you mounting a full-scale attack of revenge. You manage to get Dean twisting over and onto his back, where you take full advantage of his weakness and straddle his lap.

He grabs you by the wrists and pins them together while he pants for breath. You grin down at him victoriously. He chuckles just at that look on your face.

“Think you’ve caught me, huh?” he says.

“I hope so,” you reply.

You soften at your own admission. Dean does too, releasing your wrists so he can get a comfortable hold of your thighs wrapped snug around his hips. You dip down to kiss him just as nice and slow as he treated you, sweet even.

You soon find yourself tumbled down to the bed, rolling to his left side. You huff a laugh at his manhandling, but you let him hold you close and savor the feeling of being here with him. It all happened. It’s still happening. He’s yours.

But…

“What do you think Robbie’s gonna say when we tell him?” Dean asks.

You pull back far enough to see his face, and you stroke his cheek. It’s a little prickly with stubble, but you don’t mind. Actually, the rasp of it against your fingers reminds you of other places it had tingled against your sensitive skin. Your cheeks begin to warm up.

You try to break out of those thoughts, concentrating on answering his question.

“Aw, he’s gonna be happy,” you say. The kid had already been asking the hard questions.

Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together? Is Benny gonna move in with us instead?

You do sigh though. “We have to think about how we’re going to tell him. Benny’s been in his life since he was born.”

Dean breathes deeply through his nose, and he nods. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, a touch that returns the softer smile to your face.

“Dean, we need to do better,” you say. “From now on, we need to be honest with each other, or we’re not going to get through what comes next. We’re going to keep hurting the people we love, including each other.”

After a beat, he nods solemnly in agreement.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“So,” you grasp his hand in both of yours. You draw enough courage to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind, ever since the haze of fraught emotions, lust, love, and passion began to ebb from the forefront of your mind, calming into a resting state of happiness and content. You stare up into Dean’s eyes.

“You said that you’ve loved me for a long time,” you say. “If that’s true, why were you with Lisa so long? Why didn’t you ever talk to me about this sooner?”

Dean hums low in contemplation, almost a rumble. He squeezes your hand, and he sighs.

“Aw, sweetheart. I was so fuckin’ stupid,” he chuckles half-heartedly. Your lips twitch.

“I was, what, twenty-six when we met?” he says. “You were even younger.”

“Twenty-two,” you supply knowingly. You and Sam had just graduated from college with Eileen and a couple of your friends. Sam had been about to start law school, with you starting at your first elementary school as a first-grade teacher.

“Yeah. In my case, young and dumb,” Dean says, with a shake of his head. He pauses in contemplation. Finally, he finds the courage to meet your eyes.

“All right, here it is,” he says. “After I thought you turned me down the first time, I met Lisa. Sam had mentioned some things that started to turn my head around on how I was living, all the hookups, the boozing, that kind of thing. I knew I’d screwed up with you, not calling you after we had our thing. So, I wanted to see if I could try something steady with someone, you know?”

He takes in a deep breath. “But after you told me you were pregnant, it all just fucking hit me, the way I’d totally changed your life, and mine. I was reckless. It made me want to grow the fuck up, I guess.”

You begin to rub his arm in comfort. “I was there too, you know. It wasn’t all on you.”

He smiles at you a little. You know he sees your point, even if he still feels responsible for knocking you up.

“The more I tried to make it work with Lisa, the harder it was.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Well, that part you know. Looking back, it was probably because I still wanted you. But every time Lisa and I broke up for some stupid shit, I felt like more of a fuckup. And every time I thought of you and me, and what that could be like, I uh…I guess I was afraid of being turned down again. Or worse, afraid of fucking up your life even more.”

Your frown trembles, with the sting of fresh tears in your eyes. Dean gives you a rueful smile.

“Vicious cycle, huh?” he says. “When you got with Benny, I thought I lost my chance for sure. So I guess I just…gave up. Settled for where I was.”

Another sigh falls from your lips, along with a couple of tears that bubble over and slip down your cheeks. You sit up in bed and take Dean’s face into your hands, a gentle hold, but a meaningful one.

“Well, first of all, I want you to understand something right now. I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it one more time so you don’t forget it.” You look deep into his eyes. “You didn’t screw up my life. I’ve never looked at it that way, and I never will. Our son is best thing that could’ve happened to me, and I’m thinking to you too.”

After a moment, he nods. “Yeah.”

You nod as well. Glad to have that settled, you let go of his face so you can wipe the tear from your cheek.

“The last few years haven’t been perfect for me either,” you say. “But I love you, Dean. I want this to be the real deal, more than anything.”

Dean grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. He’s tempted to drag you down for a heated kiss and a hell of a lot more—maybe a nice sequel for what you guys did on the couch, and two more times in your bed an hour ago. However, something you said strikes a small bell in his mind.

“You mean to tell me it wasn’t all Brady Bunch with Mr. Rogers?” Dean says, only half joking.

You give him a censuring look. “Hey, Benny doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve…any of this.”

Dean sobers. He knows you’re right, even if he has to stamp out a stab of jealousy. He feels sorry for his friend too…even if part of him selfishly can’t feel that sorry about getting to be with you.

But you rub at your forehead, a fresh load of guilt dumping over your shoulders. You know you’ll have to talk to Benny too. As incredibly happy as you are right now, you still feel horrible for how this all shook out. You never meant to hurt him or lead him on. From the beginning, you had really appreciated his help so much after Robbie was born.

“In so many ways, he was the kind of man I wanted. Kind, reliable, honest,” you say. Dean sits up with you now against the headboard. He listens intently, no matter how his stomach twists.

It takes you time to find your words, but you begin to explain.

You had loved Benny. You still do. But you realize now, only much too late, that you hadn’t been in love with him.

While your relationship with him had always been supportive and perfectly pleasant, a secret part of you had craved more. He wasn’t one to open up so easily about his day or his work, no matter how much you tried to coax it out of him. In fairness, you know he sees a lot of things on the job that aren't meant for civilian ears, but there are only so many monosyllabic answers you can deal with.

You, on the other hand, are a talker. You always have been. You just got the feeling, sometimes, that Benny was zoning out on you when you tried to connect with him. He even admitted once that you were a bit "too much" for him.

So you talked less. You bottled most of your thoughts inside…until they eventually spilled out with Dean. It’s always been easy to talk to him. On the whole, he’s seemed interested in your stories, even the ones from school. You feel comfortable sharing all the little things about your students that have made him smile, or laugh, or furrow his brows when you admitted your concerns or your fears for them, and especially for Robbie. Even if he was fixing your leaky sink or patching up a hole from when your son attempted some indoor practice with a slingshot made out of Lego and a tube sock, Dean listened.

He understands you. You appreciate that about him.

However, you know that you’ve been unconsciously comparing him and Benny in your mind.

No relationship is perfect, you often tried reminding yourself over the past three years, even through some of the tougher moments.

…Like in the bedroom. Benny was a patient man, and a generous lover. Of course there had been sparks between you two, certainly in the beginning.

However cliché it is though, you’d just never felt…fireworks. Electricity under your skin. The Godfather Thunderbolt kind of sexual connection that sunk into your blood and made your insides quiver.

Kind of like now. You’re blushing down to your neck trying to explain this part of it to Dean. He has a hand resting casually on your thigh, but once he works past his jealousy of even the thought of you and Benny between the sheets, the reality of what you’re saying finally hits him. A smirk slowly grows across his lips.

The way he brushes a thumb back and forth across your sensitive skin—it makes the hair on your arms raise and elicits another tingle down your spine.

“So what you’re saying is,” Dean says, his voice deepening like black velvet as he draws closer. “No one makes you come like I do.”

You snort, biting your lip in blushing embarrassment, as well as the prickle of arousal trembling in your core. Wetness blooms between your legs just at the sound of his voice. You can’t quite bring yourself to answer him, but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes give him all the confirmation he needs.

Dean lures you back into his arms, and into his kiss. He guides you onto your back and blazes a sensuous trail down your body, mapping every lush curve all over again with his mouth, tongue, and fingers, until you’re a writhing mess beneath him.

The next day, Robbie is confused when you and Dean go together to pick him up from your parents’ house. You called them ahead of time for a very important reason.

You sit Robbie down in the living room there in front of your parents, who are trying not to give away the punchline with their smiles (your mom stifling her tears). You take the spot beside him on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Robbie asks, looking from you to Dean. There’s wariness and confusion in the boy’s eyes, just a couple shades of green off from his father’s. You and Dean share an amused look. The kid is so intuitive.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says. He kneels down in front of him so that he’s eye-level with his son. “You know that your mom and I care about each other, right?”

Robbie quirks his head, but he nods. “Yeah. You’re friends.”

“Well, turns out…” Dean shares another look with you, this time a gentler smile as he takes your hand in his. “We realized that we want to be more than just friends.”

Robbie blinks a few times. He takes the information in faster than you would expect for a six-year-old, giving you his furrowed brows of confusion, suspicion…and hope?

“O-Oh. Really? Buuuut what about Benny?” he asks.

Again, smart kid. Dean looks over to you for guidance on this one.

You proverbially step in with a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. You take a steadying breath, but you explain in terms you know he’ll understand.

“I know how much you love Benny. I care about him too. I care about him a lot, actually…but he just wasn’t the guy for me,” you admit. You glance over at Dean, squeezing his hand. “Your dad is the guy.”

Robbie sits with his hands in his lap and visibly processes, his little face scrunched in thought. You don’t blame him for being confused, but you remain patient, softly smiling while you rub his back. You give Dean a guiding look, warning him with your eyes to wait for Robbie to ask whatever question he has next. You can see it brewing.

“Wait, so you guys like each other?” Robbie asks. “Like, like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Dean chuckles. “To start with. I’m thinkin’ more like husband and wife.”

Your face falls into shock. Dean bites the inside of his lip. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s already out of his mouth. Can’t put that toothpaste back in the tube, can I?

Robbie gapes at his dad, and then his mom. He looks at your joined hands.

Uh oh, Dean thinks. Did we break him?

Suddenly, Robbie’s lower lip wobbles, and he starts to cry. Your eyes widen further in surprise, and now dismay along with Dean.

…Until Robbie surges forward into his dad’s arms. Dean immediately wraps his arms around his son and soothes a hand over his head.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s wrong?” he asks.

Robbie sniffs. “Does this mean you’re gonna come live with us?”

Dean’s worry breaks—into abject relief. He smiles. When he looks up, he finds you smiling in relief as well, albeit with tears in your eyes. He holds Robbie closer and presses a kiss on the top of his head.

“You want that, huh?” Dean asks. “Want me to come live with you guys?”

Robbie nods, burying his face in Dean’s shirt. But there’s no hiding the way his little body shakes with quiet sobs. Dean’s own eyes are suspiciously glassy, even though he smirks at the way your lower lip wobbles too. He beckons you over with a hand.

You slip off the couch and kneel on the floor too, allowing yourself to get pulled under Dean’s arm. You rest your cheek against his shoulder and bury your weeping face into his neck. This moment is everything—everything you could’ve asked for.

Your parents come around the couch as well, with your mom lovingly squeezing your shoulders and your dad resting a fatherly hand on Dean’s.

Dean can’t help but smile, so hard that it nearly cracks his face. He didn’t think his heart could ever be this full.

Well. For once, that went better than I thought.

You tap your fingers around the wide cappuccino mug nervously. You sit in what you think is the most secluded corner of the café, a strategic choice. Your eyes flit to the door again when it jingles open, but it’s just a young blonde woman with a little Pomeranian tucked under her arm. She makes her way to the barista and places her order of a lavender matcha latte and an unglazed donut.

An unglazed donut? What’s the point? you think.

You shake your head and force yourself to expel a deep breath. You wish you could’ve done this over a week ago, but you respected Benny’s wishes. He’d needed more time, and really, that was the least you could do.

A few minutes later, the little bell above the door chimes again. The familiar footfalls of heavy boots alert you to the even more familiar black jacket and jeans combo. Benny comes into view, his eyes finding you across the room in mere seconds. His face remains stoic as he approaches you.

Even now, you have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he going to be icy toward you and not say a word? Is he going to shout at you, berate you, accuse you of wasting three whole years of his life? You would probably just sit here and take it, whatever it would be. You feel like you deserve it.

Instead, he just lowers into the chair opposite you at the table. He takes a breath and rests his elbows on the table. For a moment, he just stares back at you and takes you in, from your face, lightly done with makeup, to your pretty blouse, jeans, and ankle boots.

“You look good,” he says, his tone rueful. “You don’t gotta be scared though. Not like I’m gonna start cussin’ you out in front God and everybody.”

Your lips hint at a smile. His dry brand of humor briefly lightens you.

“You know me. Overthinking is my thing,” you say. Biting your lip, your gaze lowers to the way you toy with your fingers in your lap. “Look, Benny. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me. You can even hate me if you want.”

Benny crosses his arms on the table, contemplating. He eventually gives you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

He shakes his head, and he sighs.

“Truth is, Dean and I think a lot alike,” he says. His blue-eyed gaze meets yours. “Because the moment I met you, I liked what I saw. I just had the bad luck of him getting to you first.”

Your face burns with a blush. Once again, you bite your lip.

Benny huffs a wry chuckle. “This week, I’ve been thinking…maybe I shoulda seen this coming.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Believe it or not, I noticed things. Things, I didn’t want to at the time,” he says. His eyes fall away from you after a moment. “You remember when you were pregnant with Robbie, and you came to the firehouse with some cookies for everybody?”

You blink at that. “Yeah, sure.”

That was the day you thought that…well, you got a hint that Benny might like you. You’d dismissed it at the time because you were so damn pregnant, waddling and sliding around like a parade float. You had wanted to test out your latest recipe of chocolate chip cookies on Dean, and the rest of the guys at the firehouse.

“Well, I knew you went there looking for Dean,” Benny says. “I saw the way your eyes lit up when he finally came by. And I saw the look on his face when he saw it was you and me together, laughin’, havin’ a good time.”

He shakes his head. “I saw that look again when I went to visit you at the hospital, the day Robbie was born… Come to think of it, this all could’ve ended that day.”

You leaned forward in your seat, now hooked on his every word. A frown pulls at your lips, while a wry one tugs at his.

“If a man wants something, he fights for it. That’s something I’ve learned, what I’ve always known to be true,” Benny says. “I thought I’d lost my chance with you before then. But when you told me you were afraid of being alone, and I saw the way Dean was all wrapped up with Lisa…I thought, shit, I could be the man you leaned on. Why not me?”

The man pauses, as if sorting back through the catalogue of memories, feelings, thoughts. He meets your sad gaze.

“But I was selfish,” he admits. “I should’ve gone to my friend and knocked some goddamn sense into him, tell him to talk to you if he really wanted you. To be the man you needed him to be. To truly be there for his family. Now, here we are.”

You fold your hands in front of your lips as you process all of this, trying to figure out what to think, let alone what to say. You do know that this is the most you’ve ever seen Benny open up.

“So if I blame you, ‘cher, I gotta blame myself just as much. At this point, all we can do is move on,” Benny says. He becomes contemplative, rubbing his bearded chin. “I gotta ask though. How’s Robbie doin’ with all of this?”

You brush a couple of tears away from your cheeks, swiping under your eyes for good measure. God, when will I be done with all this damn crying? But you take a sip of your coffee just for something to delay your answer. You knew the question would come eventually, but it still hurts you, knowing it’ll probably hurt the man in front of you.

“He misses you,” you say.

And it’s true. Your son loves Benny too—a strong, solid presence in his life since the beginning.

“You’ve told him…everything?” Benny asks. “About you and Dean too?”

You nod. “We told him last weekend.”

Benny snorts. “Y’all didn’t waste no time.”

“We didn’t want to keep it a secret. I think that would’ve been worse.”

“Nah, I get it,” he says. He drums his fingers on the table in contemplation. After a while, his blue eyes meet yours. “The kid’s happy though, isn’t he?”

You nod, giving him an honest answer. Dean is already living with you. He’s just in the process of moving his stuff out of his and Lisa’s apartment. She’s going to finish off the lease in a few months, then move out of there herself.

However, through all of the adult chaos and logistics, Robbie is all beaming smiles and excited chatter when his dad comes home. The three of you eat dinner as a family. You and Dean get to tuck in your son together at night, and wake up together the next day, sharing more than just a bed and a morning cup of coffee.

“He is,” you say. “But look, you can come by and see him, if you want to.”

“I’d like that,” Benny nods. “Just to say goodbye.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever,” you say. Once again, guilt threatens to eat you alive. “You and Dean were friends long before I came into the picture.”

Benny’s lips hint at a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That might well be,” he says, “but there are some things that are best left put to rest.”

You know then that he means more than just your relationship.

After a beat, he stands from the table. You attempt to take in a steadying breath as you get to your feet along with him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Benny says. He takes your hand and gives it one final squeeze. Neither of you say goodbye.

It may not be the last time you see each other. It’s a small town, after all. But there’s a good chance that this will be the last time you and Benny will speak for a good long while.

A few weeks later, Benny’s cart crashes into something solid in the spirits aisle of the grocery store—another cart.

That bumps into a young woman’s ass, making her yelp as she loses her balance. The merlot she was considering slips out of her hand and shatters in a plummy spill across the linoleum.

“Aw shit,” she grouses. Her head swivels over her shoulder to find a wide-eyed Benny with a glare. “Bro! Are you serious?”

He snaps out of his reverie and immediately goes over to try and help. He pushes his own cart away goes over to her, mindful of the glass under his boots.

“I’m sorry, 'cher. My bad,” he says, reaching out a hand to her. Shards of glass surrounds her in her heeled wedges. They go nicely with her blue slacks and crème-colored blazer…which is now flecked with wine.

She accepts his helping hand, albeit with a raised brow. “Cher? What, the 'do believe in life after love' lady?”

Benny pauses, but embarrassment isn’t the only thing that makes him falter. He can’t help but notice her smooth, bronze skin, her hazel eyes, her shiny brown hair coiled in a soft wave. She’s beautiful. Her clothes are expensive. She’s entirely out of his league.

“Uh, no, ma'am. Just a token of where I’m from,” Benny says. He gestures to the spill at their feet while she manages to step away from it. “Here, I’ll pay for that bottle, plus another one for you.”

Her lips twitch upward. Cocking her head, she turns and points at the price tag under the bottle she’d grabbed up.

“You wanna buy me a $50 bottle of wine?” she says. Plus the one he spilled.

Benny smiles. “And dinner to go along with it, if you want.”

She blinks, her mouth parting in surprise. But he finally wins her smile too. She takes a $15 bottle off the shelf instead.

“Believe me, this one’s better,” she says. “Where are you from, exactly?”

“Louisiana,” Benny replies.

“Hmm, interesting,” she says.

He arches a curious brow. “You?”

Her eyes take on a playful gleam. “Greece. Yes, I’m new in town. Yes, there’s a semi-interesting story behind it. We’ll save that for dinner though.”

Benny chuckles. “Well, all right.”

When a grocery store employee comes over to assess the damage, Benny promises that he’ll cover it. He and the young woman make their way to the checkout together with their carts.

“So, uh, what’s your name?” Benny asks.

She glances at him with a smile. “Andréa.”

Six months later, Eileen tearfully accepts being your Maid of Honor. You go about asking her cautiously, knowing Lisa is still her best friend. Eileen is gracious though. She admits to you that she advised Lisa to break things off with Dean more than once in their “five-year rollercoaster.”

“She just had an idea of what she wanted for her life, you know? And she’s stubborn about it. She thought Dean was the One,” Eileen tells you that afternoon. You two sip from your wine glasses on her sofa while Robbie and his three-year-old cousin are with Sam and Dean, out at a baseball game.

“I told her that Dean seemed…well, divided. At least when it came to her,” she says. “But Lisa swore that he just needed time. Time to get the hang of balancing his job, Robbie, and his relationship with her. As much as I love Lisa, I just think she didn’t want to see the signs that he wasn’t in love with her. Not enough to make him stay.”

You feel conflicted for more than one reason. On one hand, you do feel sorry for Lisa. On the other hand, you wish she would’ve just let Dean go after the first time they had that blowout argument that got them kicked out of the local Denny’s.

You hesitate before you ask, “How is she doing?”

Eileen smiles, and she signs as she speaks, knowing you’ve been practicing your ASL.

“She’s good actually. She met a guy at a yoga retreat out in Sacramento. She’s moving there in the fall. Not really for him, but because she wants a fresh start.”

“I could see that,” you nod. It’s hard to move on with your life in a small town like Lawrence, Kansas, where everybody knows your business. You’re honest when you say, “I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”

Eileen nods in agreement. Then, her eyes shift with a conspiring gleam.

“So, did you hear about Benny?”

Your eyes widen. “No, what? Is he okay?”

“Oh, I can’t believe you don’t know.”

“Girl, what?!”

“He eloped with that girl from Greece. Sam told me. They’re on a plane right now, headed to meet her family in Kalamata!”

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands. You laugh, mostly out of shock. Eileen laughs just at the look on your face. The two of you giggle and finish your gossip along with a bottle of wine.

You’ve never met Benny’s girlfriend…excuse you, wife. Your shock turns into concern, just for a hot minute. But the more you think about it, you know that the man isn’t impulsive. It’s not in his blood. So you also have to believe that he hasn’t made this decision lightly.

From the bottom of your heart, you’re happy for him.

You almost choke on a laugh when Dean doesn’t quite get the whole chunk of complimentary chocolate into your mouth.

“Come on, baby. I know you can open wider than that,” he teases.

You laugh harder, covering your mouth so you don’t drop anything. You have to set down your champagne glass on the edge of the tub, however precarious that might be.

“Babe, if you make me get anything on this dress, I may just have to kill you,” you say. Though your threat doesn’t have much effect with your shoulders shaking with laughter.  

You wiggle your toes in the hot water that’s risen up to your ankles in the tub while you and Dean sit on the edge. You’re severely regretting having a winter wedding, or at least just the part where you had to trudge through the snow on the way to your husband’s ’67 Chevy. Thank God it had just been a few minutes to the hotel.

For the sake of unfreezing your feet, the white satin and lace of your dress is bunched up high on your thighs, since you’re not quite ready to take it off yet. Dean has his slacks rolled up halfway to his knees while his feet warm up beside yours.

He looks edible himself. His suit jacket lies strewn across the edge of the king-sized bed, leaving his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. His tie is gone too, leaving quite a few buttons by his collar left open, and a tantalizing strip of tanned skin visible to your wandering eyes.

“What does it matter? Are you really ever gonna wear this again?” he says as he fingers the soft hem of your skirt. He then brushes the back of his hand against your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. You smile and lean into his hand.

“’Course I am. Whenever I wanna feel all pretty and bride-like,” you say.

Dean’s smile crinkles the corner of his eyes. He cups your cheek and brings you closer, but he stops just shy of your lips.

“Well, for one thing, you’re already beautiful. Two, you’re always gonna be my bride.” He punctuates that uncharacteristic cheesiness with a kiss that warms you down to your toes. You grab ahold of his collar and breathe into it, humming softly.

You part from him, just to tell him something that’s been burning on your heart.

“Can you promise me something?”

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, flashing you a little smirk. “Depends.”

Your lips press together, but you can’t help the smile trying to break through. You catch each button on his shirt with your nails to undo the rest of them, one by one.

“No matter what comes next, whatever arguments, fights, drama, all of it, promise me that you’ll remember right now. Tonight,” you say. “Remember that you’re my best friend. My love. The father of my kid. None of that ever changes.”

Dean pulls you in even closer by your waist. His long fingers run along the small round buttons lacing down your spine. Already he’s calculating how he’s going to pop every one of them open without ruining your pretty dress.

“It’s a promise, sweetheart,” he says. And just like the vows he made in that chapel, he means these words with every conviction. “None of it ever changes.”

Well, there are some things that change. They have to, after all.

One of the biggest ones happens almost a year to the day after your winter wedding. Your daughter is born on January 25th at exactly 12:05 A.M.

Dean calls her the best belated birthday present he’s ever gotten.

He wipes at his watery eyes when his brother steps into the hospital room, where only Dean and your mom had been allowed in during the delivery. (He wanted to avoid the clusterfuck of commotion that happened the first time you were in labor. You had wholeheartedly agreed.)

While Eileen stays behind for now with their son, Sam guides Robbie inside by his shoulders. The kid had been ambivalent about the new arrival when you and Dean first told him you were going to have another baby, but in the nine-ish months since, the eight-year-old has begun to come around to the idea of having a little sister. He approaches your bedside, encouraged by your tired smile.

“Hey, baby. Meet the baby,” you joke.

Dean welcomes Robbie over with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing warmly. Robbie hesitates, but he leans up on his toes to peer at the bundle wrapped in your arms. He considers her little face peeking out of the downy crème blanket. She wears a little pink cap to keep her newborn head warm.

“She’s beautiful,” Sam says, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“She’s so tiny,” Robbie says. 

“You were just like that,” Dean says, “’til you sprouted up outta the ground like a stalk a’ wheat.”

Robbie gives his father an indignant look. “I didn’t pop outta the ground!”

You shush him softly, despite your shoulders shaking with laughter. Sam thumps his older brother’s back. The two share a look that’s suspiciously shiny, full of nostalgia.

Dean soothes a hand over Robbie’s head.

“You’re a big brother now, son,” he says. “It’s a big responsibility. Think you can handle it?”

Robbie looks a little uncertain. His gaze leaves his dad and falls on the baby. The more he stares at her peaceful sleeping face, the more she looks kinda cute to him. He smiles.

“Yeah,” he says.

He reaches out and gently touches her cheek. Her skin is soft and delicate. His fingertips are slow and careful.

You and Dean glance at one another. Your eyes blur over with tears, but your husband is there to lean in and press a kiss to your forehead.

“We still gotta decide on a name,” he whispers.

That, you know. It hasn’t been any easier picking your daughter’s name than it was your son. Sue you if you refuse to name your child after another rocker, no matter how badass Stevie Nicks is. 

You bite your lip, leaning your head on Dean’s shoulder as a giddy laugh pours out of you.

“Game on, baby.”

AN: And there we have it! We went a little deeper into some things that were implied and touched on in Part 2, but hopefully it feels like a more complete ending to this version of Dean and the reader's story, along with everyone else in between! ❤️❤️‍🔥❤️

In a couple of weeks, for those of you who read Smoke Eater, there will be a little sequel drabble that sees that version of firefighter!Dean getting another big piece of his dream...

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

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Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @redhoodieone

[jude457]

Sensitive Content Warning

Expanding a little on my ask, I have another Dead Dove: Do Not Eat WIP in the works that reimagines how the unmasking scene between Inho and Gihun could go.

After the rebellion, Inho finds himself trapped. The VIPs are furious, and they demand a price. They want to make an example of Gihun, break him in ways far worse than death. They want to degrade him, make him a symbol of their power. Inho can see what they plan to do, and it makes his stomach turn. The VIPs don’t just want to kill Gihun, they want to destroy him, strip him of every last ounce of dignity before he dies.

But Inho can’t let that happen. He can’t let Gihun be reduced to a toy for their twisted amusement, a puppet in their game. Inho knows he’s been the one holding the strings up until now, but this—this is different. In his desperation, Inho offers a twisted solution. Instead of letting the VIPs kill Gihun outright, he suggests keeping him alive—but not as a player. No, Gihun could be useful to the games in a new way. There’s value in him, more than just another expendable body. There’s more to Gihun than just being another casualty. Inho doesn’t care about the implications; all he cares about is keeping Gihun close, making sure he doesn’t vanish from his grasp.

The VIPs are intrigued by the idea. But, as always, nothing comes for free in their world. They listen, but their calculation is sharp. One of them leans forward, his voice laced with a cold amusement. The question comes, sharp and direct: “Are you willing to take his place, then?”

Inho’s heart lurches, and his breath catches in his throat. Inho knows that in this moment, the only way to keep Gihun alive is to give up everything. His body will be the cost, his submission the price. There’s no turning back now, no escaping the consequences. He agrees, without hesitation. His words come out hoarse through the modulator, but resolute: he will do anything to keep Gihun alive, even if it means surrendering everything.

The VIPs move quickly, with their usual cold efficiency. Inho feels their hands on him before he has a chance to react. The mask is ripped from his face, the sensation of its removal more painful than he expects. It’s not just the sudden exposure to the room, the stripping away of the identity he’s built. It’s the feeling of being completely unprotected—fragile in a way he never allows himself to be.

Being unmasked is unbearable, but it’s nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Gihun’s reaction. The confusion that flickers in his eyes, followed by the betrayal that comes crashing down, is more than Inho can take. He doesn’t even have time to explain, to justify, or to make Gihun understand the reasons behind his actions. It’s all too much—too late.

Inho’s heart sinks as the VIPs force him to his knees, pulling him further into the role they want him to play. They strip him of his dignity, piece by piece, pulling him out of the carefully crafted armor he’s hidden behind for so long. They make quick work of it, their hands unbuckling his belt and unfastening his clothing, and Inho can feel himself being exposed in every possible way. The chill of the air bites at his skin as they remove his final layer, forcing him into a raw, vulnerable state.

He can’t look at Gihun. He knows what lies in those eyes—the anger, the betrayal, the absolute destruction of the bond they once shared. But more than that, there’s another fear that roots him to the spot, making it impossible for him to face the man he has wronged. Inho is ashamed, not just because Gihun will never forgive him, but because of what Gihun will see if he looks into his eyes.

Inho doesn’t want Gihun to see him like this. Bent over, utterly exposed; ready to be taken like a dog in heat. For a brief moment, Inho considers closing his eyes, hoping that if he can shut out the world, the pain might ease. The silence in the room is deafening, and just when Inho thinks he might break under the pressure, one of the VIPs steps forward. Without hesitation, the man grabs a fistful of Inho’s hair, yanking his head up with brutal force.

“Look at him,” the VIP sneers, his grip tightening as Inho’s head is forced back. “Look into his eyes. You’ve made him suffer. You owe him this much.”

And Inho does. He has no choice.

Their eyes meet—locked in a moment so crushing it nearly stops his breath.

He expects rage. He expects disgust. He expects the look of someone who finally sees the monster behind the curtain. But instead, what he sees in Gihun’s eyes is something far more unbearable.

Pity.

It flickers there, through the confusion and devastation—so faint, so fragile, but unmistakably present. Inho can barely process it. Even now, after everything, Gihun looks at him not with hatred, but with something gentler. Something that reaches into the hollow parts of Inho he thought he’d sealed off long ago.

And that mercy—that goodness—cuts deeper than any blade.

Then the pain hits.

Blinding, unrelenting.

There was no warning, no time to brace, no effort to dull what was coming. Inho’s body lurches forward from the force of it, the violence of being used without care or consent, of being treated like an object. The agony is immediate, sharp, and it does not stop.

He tries to breathe through it, tries to steel himself, but there’s no space for composure now—only the sheer reality of what he’s enduring.

Inho is crying before he realizes it. Not just from the pain—which is consuming—but from what Gihun sees. What Gihun is forced to witness. And somehow, impossibly, Gihun is still watching. Still seeing him. Not the Frontman. Not the traitor. Just… Inho.

And that, more than anything, undoes him.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither does Gihun.

Somewhere behind him, another VIP shifts, the sound deliberate, cruelly anticipatory. Another round is coming. More pain. More humiliation.

Inho’s vision blurs. His body shakes. Something deep inside him fractures, maybe for good.

And still—Gihun is there.

Watching.

Seeing.

Forgiving?

Or maybe just enduring, in his own way.

Inho doesn’t know.

He just knows this isn’t the end.

Not yet.

But what’s waiting on the other side of this—if anything—is a question neither of them can answer.

Not now. Not like this.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Would you do headcannons for poly lost boys with formerly involved in mafia reader? TIA

Yes, of course! I hope you like this 💜

--------------

The boys have been around for a long time, so they have seen people in all shapes and forms, from all backgrounds - so when I'm telling you they knew you weren't as innocent as you claimed to be - they knew.

It wasn't necessarily that you didn't act convincingly, no, anyone else in the boardwalk - including Max - definitely thought you were just a young twenty-something year old, looking for a new start.

The boys, however, noticed. They noticed you had a way of getting things to go your way. They noticed some people were somewhat scared of you for seemingly no reason. They noticed that you walked as if you were hiding a weapon - which you most likely were.

They were subtle things, and they wouldn't necessarily know exactly what it was you were lying about, but they knew you weren't just coming to Santa Carla for a fresh start and the carefree life the town seemed to offer.

They knew you were running from something.

Obviously you had seen them around, you knew they were following you, you talked sometimes - but you didn't really know them yet.

That only happened after they saw you made a kill. Someone from your past followed you to Santa Carla and threatened to expose you to the cops. Obviously, you couldn't have that. You shot him, once, straight through the forehead.

The boys saw.

And they were impressed.

When you noticed they were there you immediately turned your gun to them, not wanting to have any loose ends, but David stopped you before you could shoot.

"Nice shot."

"I should fucking kill you. How much did you see?"

"Enough to know that we do a better clean-up than you could. Need a hand?"

And that was that. Initially they didn't ask what you were or why you shot that man, but when it happened a third and a fourth time you decided you kind of owed them to tell the truth. Besides, they'd told you what they were. They'd felt the need to explain why they knew so much about cleaning up crime scenes.

They are surprisingly chill about it. David doesn't care, as long as you are safe now.

Dwayne wants to know more of what kind of work you did within the organisation, mainly so he knows whether you might have any subconscious triggers or traumas he needs to look out for.

Paul just thinks it's cool, and offers to get you some more weapons that fit your vibe ans aesthetic more.

Marko is the only one who is not even a little surprised. He has known since the first time he saw you, and no one believed him one bit. He saw the edge of a tattoo of yours, recognised the symbol, and that was that. He is now on a mission to figure out what your name was - simply because he wants to know if you were more badass now or back then.

You get free clean up if you make a kill.

They are way more chill and relaxed with you because you have proven over and over that you can in fact handle yourself.

Also, you got yourself four very protective bodyguards if you'd ever get threatened.

Staying at the cave means you are living off the radar for the main part, meaning hardly anyone can find you.

Finding a home where you can just unapologetically be who you are. It's awesome.

[vesipha]

love maze, one | jeon jungkook

summary: it started with a misunderstanding, a lyric sheet, and a look. the rest? history, scandal, and one hell of a playlist. genre: famous idol au content for this part: angst ♡ 1057 words

You told yourself you weren’t nervous. A bald-faced lie, if there ever was one. 

You’d changed outfits three times that morning, cursed at a mascara wand like it owed you money, and your phone was still open to a Google tab that read: how to act normal around global superstars when you're just a laid-off art director with a freelance tax disaster and delusions of being chill.

“Just be your usual charming self,” Nicole had told you. “And maybe don’t wear those boots that make you look like an indie film villain.”

So, naturally, you wore the boots.

Your translator gig? Supposed to be a quick fix. A financial Band-Aid while you figured out how to turn art and anxiety into rent. You didn’t expect the first name on your assignment list to be Jeon Jungkook.

Yes, that Jeon Jungkook. The one whose face you may or may not have cried over in 2019. In your defense, your boyfriend at the time had dumped you via text, and Jungkook's voice was the only thing that made sense in a world where grown men broke up with emojis.

Now, he was a client. And you were the woman tasked with making sure he didn’t accidentally tell a New York producer that his lyrics were about “hugging his ego” instead of “healing his soul”.

And now here you were—standing outside a Manhattan recording studio like the opening scene of a movie you didn’t audition for.

The studio was warm in that manufactured way, like expensive lighting and stress-sweat. You adjusted the strap on your tote and walked into Studio B with the confidence of someone who knew she was good at her job—even if it wasn’t originally her job.

Jungkook was already there, standing beside Jimin. Beanie jammed low, sleeves rolled high, hoodie crumpled like he’d slept in it and still looked like a Calvin Klein ad. He turned as you entered, eyes landing on you like they were scanning for weaknesses.

Something flickered behind them. Not recognition. Not interest, exactly. Just...a shift. Like he wasn’t expecting you to be you.

You ignored it. Or tried to.

“Hi,” you said, aiming for cool and professional but landing somewhere between I have a crush and I’ve forgotten what English is.

Jimin waved. “You’re Nicole’s friend, right?”

“Yep. That’s me.”

Jungkook's eyes narrowed, slow and considering. Like you were a painting he couldn’t decide if he loved or wanted to set on fire.

“You?” he said.

You blinked. “Me.”

“She’s Nicole’s friend,” Jimin repeated, like maybe Jungkook had forgotten how words worked. “Art director before she started translating.”

“Oh,” Jungkook said. Like he’d just been told the forecast was thirty percent chance of regret.

The booth was small. Soundproof. Oppressively intimate. He slid in next to you, close enough that your knee grazed his thigh when you sat. You crossed your legs with unnecessary flair. 

The first ten minutes were polite. Neutral. Then came the lyric check. His focus was surgical, and every time you spoke, he looked at you like the sound might cut him open.

It was almost annoying how good he was.

Annoying how aware you were of it.

Annoying how much hotter he got every time he looked confused by a metaphor and then got it seconds later like he’d never doubted himself in the first place.

“Wait, what does ‘moth in the hallway light’ mean again?” he played with his piercing, pen hovering over the margin.

“It’s not literal,” you said, looking up. “It’s about being drawn to something that might hurt you.”

“Oh.” He held your gaze.

You didn’t know what was happening, but it felt like being slow-danced around a campfire. Beautiful. Dangerous. The kind of thing that left ashes.

The longer you worked, the more the air changed. Charged, heavy. Every time you leaned in to point something out, your shoulders almost brushed. Every time he sang and looked over to see if you approved, your pulse betrayed you.

The you leaned over to note another change, and your finger brushed his.

Electric.

You didn’t flinch. He did. But only barely. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’d just remembered something interesting.

“You’re very precise,” his head tilted ever so lightly.

You arched a brow. “Is that a compliment?”

He shrugged, eyes still on you. “Unexpected.”

You smiled, tight-lipped. “My whole life is a series of unexpected things.”

He didn’t laugh. But he watched you like he wanted to. And then didn’t.

Tension? Thick. Banter? Borderline flammable. He pushed back against half your suggestions. You challenged every one of his metaphors. It wasn’t arguing. It was art. Somewhere between creative friction and foreplay.

Jimin left halfway through. You didn’t notice. You were too busy daring Jungkook to explain why he’d used the word "echo" five times in the same verse.

Later, when the session ended, you could have left it there. You should have. But of course, the charger.

You’d made it all the way to the elevator before remembering it, and by the time you crept back into the studio, the door to the booth was cracked and the conversation already happening.

“She’s probably another one of those fans-turned-hires,” Jungkook was saying, frustrated. “She glared at me half the time.”

“Maybe that’s just her face,” Jimin offered.

“No, it’s—she thinks she’s better than this. Like we’re wasting her time.”

You stood in the hallway, phone cord in your hand, lungs doing this weird stutter-step thing.

It wasn’t the worst thing anyone had ever said about you.

But it hurt. Because he’d been right about one thing.

You had looked at him like that.

Because it was easier to be unimpressed than to admit you were already a little bit undone.

You left before they saw you. And you never corrected him. Because people like Jungkook didn’t want to know they’d knocked the air out of you in a single glance. And people like you didn’t admit that kind of thing. Not when you were already struggling to find where you fit in a world that only ever saw the edges.

The next time you were in a room together, you didn’t smile.

But he still looked at you like you were a problem he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve—or maybe one he absolutely did.

𓂃˖ ࣪♡ part two

special thank you to: my lovely friend @acheronsociety for making me this amazing header ♡

[kidspawn]

Thoughts on Zutara?

Ah. Zutara.

I have to be honest, I need to tread on careful ground here because the last time I spoke on Katara shipping wars I got, essentially, drawn and quartered on live TV. In fact, I think the person who went after me wanted to send me into the 50th Quarter Quell Hunger Games to watch me die slowly, brutally, and in 4k.

Yeah, so I ship Zutara! I actually quite enjoy it thematically, and I can't put my finger on what draws me to it. In terms of just... chemistry onscreen - there's a genuine draw those two characters have to each other, and much like every other ship in the fandom it has an appeal to me when written well.

What made you ship it?

I think there was a buildup to it I always found very appealing? I can't think of a major "clicking" moment, because I made a very notable effort to stay out of ATLA ship wars so I just never engaged in Zutara content? Then, once again, 2020 I rewatched it and I went... "Oh. I get it now." And I think the biggest moment for me is in "The Southern Raiders." I find them most interesting when they bring good things out in each other - Zuko, for instance, really recognizing what Katara needed in that moment and how to give that to her, was what really sold it to me? I'm not too into the "oh my god he's like with the fire nation and she's water tribe oooooooooooh" but I do enjoy it for when they make an effort to connect due to their similar past experiences with the Fire Nation. I think, at its base, I really enjoy it from a thematic and a technical standpoint - it's a well-contructed and logical ship, and I think from a storytelling perspective its the most interesting and fitting for the story's themes.

(Also the Netflix adaptation marketing and the actors have fantastic chemistry.)

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I mean, I am confident enough to admit it's got an edge to it I adore in the early seasons? I love ships with nuance and intrigue, and I'll be the first to admit that scenes like the necklace scene in book one is... wow. Yeah. I didn't even know drawings could have that much chemistry. What the hell. It's interesting to me. I like that it works alongside Zuko's conflict to become good? Like, a majority of the Book Two ending angst involved him rejecting the lifeline Katara was giving him, creating a sense of betrayal and hurt.

AND THEN the journey to healing that is so beautifully crafted, oh my god. Much like I enjoy Sokka not really handling Zuko with kiddie gloves and joking around with him, I love Katara calling him out and countering him every step of the way. I find it fascinating, because Katara is so fiercely loyal and devoted to the people she loves of course it'd take a lot to heal that hurt. So, Zuko really had to do something valuable and noteworthy to regain her trust - and that arc is literal perfection, in my opinion. When she hugs him at the end of "The Southern Raiders" I genuinely get chills. They manage to go from "I hate you you are everything I have been told to hate and/or fear and you are the representation of all my past traumas" to standing side by side in a fight against the person who has the deepest hurt aimed at Zuko? Like, they work alongside one another to heal and fight their deepest childhood hurts? Like...? Damn?

(I am also perfectly content with them remaining platonic, and I see a lot of value in their platonic relationship. Because that's usually where the appeal of Avatar lies to me - in the found family dynamic. But I enjoy this ship for its narrative relevance.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I enjoy it more in-universe than I do outside. Because thematically its beautifully written. I don't dabble much in alternate universe writing, but the canon development is the most appealing aspect of it for me. God I cannot stress how, from a storytelling perspective, it is fundamentally gorgeous. The dynamics of it are built from the original cartoon's story beats, and I just think it adds that extra oomph. That KAPOW. That WHAM.

send me a ship

[irlnorthshaw]

supa strikas scenarios: LETS HIT THE STRIP CLUB 🪩🍸

was thinking abt what i should post on this blog and recently ive been on a rambling kick. whenever i obsess over a group-centric media, i ALWAYS think of random scenarios. so i will post more of these!! just lemme know if u guys enjoy it hehe 😎

despite the setting, none of the things i wrote are suggestive!!!

also disclaimer that due to the NATURE of this setting, dancing rasta and big bo wont be participating!!!

they win against cosmos and want to explore what vegas has to offer. BUUUT their captain and goalie is alr mentally checked out (smth abt “being too old for this”)

so where do they go? club maybe?? or the casino??? no. they all go to a strip club for the shits and giggles

VIP BOOTH. CHECK. BOTTLE SERVICE. CHECK. NOW TO HAVE FUN!!!

shakes would spend 10 minutes enjoying the vibe and music… and then pull out his switch to play games bc he cant be assed

he does get a lot of the dancers attention bc he’s “cute” and dont get me wrong. he is flattered and flustered

but also at one point he cant stand it when they keep nudging him for service, he goes: “LISTEN LADY I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!!”

cj is inspecting the place like he’s taking notes for his own club’s improvement but occasionally gets distracted. i mean hot ladies all around? who wouldnt be!

but most of the time he’s just relaxing with a drink in hand, chatting w the other guys while bopping to the music

tips well. respectfully

him and tiger?? huddled up together in the booth just judging other people’s lack of decorum

cj: five minutes and that guy’s getting thrown out

tiger checking his watch: im giving it three

tiger may be reserved but with good music and good drinks? he’s living it up!!!

treats it more like a regular club, so he tries his best to avoid any offers. he’s just there to enjoy time with friends

el matador… well. he might just hop on the stage and start stripping himself

they’d lose him in the crowd and somehow find him fighting w a dancer claiming he can do her job better— cue blok picking him up and dragging him away from the scene he caused

speaking of blok. everyone keeps mistaking him for a bouncer bc he’s just a silent, stiff brick wall. arms crossed and everything

when he’s offered something, he politely declines (they don’t understand brislovian but they get the hint)

spends most of the night trying to stop el matador

WHEN SOMEONE OFFERS KLAUS BOTTLE SERVICE? GIVE HIM WATER WITH EXTRA WATER. THAT MAN IS SOOOO NERVOUS AND OUT OF HIS ELEMENT

extremely apologetic, which the dancers find super endearing

klaus: “wow! you’re doing a great job, you should be very proud of yourself!”

this unfortunately makes him extremely susceptible to scams so he, for some reason, ends up buying the most expensive champagne (he doesnt even drink it)

north pretends he’s very chill but he’s soooo awkward and antsy buuut its nothing a couple shots cant solve

idk. he somehow ends up gathering a lot of dancers to… lore drop?? he goes on and on abt that one giant octopus story

he also goes on another tangent abt his himalayan crystal necklace… THEY ALL LOVE IT!!!

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Chapter 98

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Today was a lot more chill than yesterday and for that I am grateful.

For this chapter I have a dirty chai latte!

Let's get into chapter 98:

Buddy's already unwell and then falls into an empty grave p173

Hua Cheng ghost fire is ruining me. He's burning himself up trying to keep Xie Lian warm :(( p175

This entire scene adds a new perspective as to why Xie Lian doesn't drink p176

This spiral is so real. Xie Lian feeling shame so he intentionally harms his cultivation because he doesn't feel he deserves it. Which then in turn- causes more shame. p179

Oh no. Him running into officials who saw him attempt to rob that guy. p183

Noooo! AND the officials making the whole thing worse by threatening to tell other officials about Xie Lian p189

Oh man, the self destructive behaviour. Xie Lian attempting to fight 30 officials. p190

uuuuuugh Hua Cheng also trying his best to help, but then the officials thinking it's Xie Lian using dirty tricks. p191

Goddamn. This is the second time I've cried this chapter. The altercation with Mu Qing :(((((((((((((((((((((((((( p195

Man. White no face has been with him for so long. p199

I cannot with this arc

This has been too much emotionally. I hate seeing the complete unraveling of a character. This has just been Xie Lian dealing with shame, public humiliation, and systemic violence- in perpetuity.

I am also fucking deeply upset with Mu Qing!!!!

Just a life pro tip: If being in a club requires you to be a terrible person, it's not worth it.

[st4r-th0ughts]

Oh its you, that I lie with.

masterlist

Aventurine x gn bodyguard (ex assassin) reader

As The World Caves In (Matt Maltese) ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 2:42

ׂ╰┈➤

tw/cw: Some Penacony spoilers, not proofread so some spelling mistakes, we die, I love this blond to death but I need to torture him, reader’s a ex assassin so there’s thoughts of violence etc, it’s more introspective than anything on how reader handles emotions, no happy ending cause I hate happiness 🩶

note(s): I kept procrastinating on this, I’m so cool…. /jj +tagss: @walpurg @rxzennia @sh1-n0bu tripled the angst bc yall wanted a tag 🎀, Penacony focused part is inspired by my moot’s fic , I FINALLY LEARNT COLOURED TEXTT

summary: even after death, the human brain replays its best memories for 7 minutes.

ׂ╰┈➤ [𓏵]- your name

> Smell is the first sense to go when dying, as your breathing halts. Sight is the next sense to die, as vision goes black when blood leaves the head from heart failure. Touch starts to fail when blood drains from the skin and limbs, and lastly, hearing is the final sense to go, as ears will carry sound into the dead head till the brain finally ceases life.

——

Your body is still warm, your hands still gripping gloved hands that hold onto you desperately even when the last of your breath leaves. Eyes open, though there’s no spark in them as gold trickles down the corner of your mouth. The last few seconds of your life had been agony as you felt the dull ache slowly fade with your life, the world going black.

Life has not been kind to you at all. You, a poor child who was blessed by the Ruin Author, destined to be always played, to be a pawn, to be a puppet, and ultimately, a vessel of pure chaos. Your fate can never steer its path no matter how hard you have tried. Perhaps that charming blond was your sole escape as your life ran its course.

You aren’t breathing, your chest has stilled amidst the movement of time, of words and of actions, but your mind flashes through scenes that play rapidly before your eyes. The world may have been bleak and meaningless, but amidst that, there was colour that made your heart beat ever so faster.

ׂ╰┈➤ (0 minutes.)

“Go, assassin. Spread the seeds of destruction across every corner of the galaxy.”

Those were the Duke’s parting words to you as you were sent on your next mission, the chilling warmth of the mansion bidding you farewell. Ever-Flame’s mansion’s greatest and deadliest assassin the galaxy has seen in its billions of life cycles, the most ruthless planets have ever had the displeasure of knowing about. Poison, bullets, blades, what came into your hand was either used to destroy, or destroyed.

The next target the Annihilation Gang set their sights on were the IPC. A rich corporation striving for galaxy wide peace, and the most dedicated followers of the Preservation, the complete opposite of the people who have nurtured your nature.

Your specific target was a particular blond. No pictures, no voice memos the Duke could give you, but he told you it would be obvious when the time came. The only issue was that the man, Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts, was far too difficult to assassinate swiftly.

Most of your targets were people who opposed the ideals of Destruction, or those whom Everflame Mansion held personal vendettas against. You don’t ask, you don’t pry, you just move within the shadows and strike. It doesn’t matter if they were innocent nor evil. That was your purpose, your only purpose in this miserable life. They were for the most part, easy targets, no power to hire protection, no idea that they were going to take their last breath as they sipped poison or had a bullet crammed solid in their skull.

But Aventurine… so you’ve heard, is rather difficult to locate and pin down. Elusive, a tough task it would be, to try and take him out without knowledge of the places he goes, the tasks he deals with. So your next option? Undercover job to get close to him. In other words, a bodyguard.

It wouldn’t be the first time. But this would be a different playing field. You’d need to wait, play the long game while you slowly chip away the layers upon layers that the Stoneheart would have most definitely built around him, and strike him when he’s at his lowest. You never got attached. Attachment, relationships, love, was a weakness. That moral of that you were taught at a young age. This is a game with only one winner.

There were soft whispers and gasps around you as you strode down the hall. You didn’t think you looked too remarkable, rather, it was the reason you were there that sent waves through the gossip columns. Diamond, hiring a personal bodyguard, for one of the strongest people the IPC has ever had in their system.

It drove the point across, that no matter how powerful you were, there was no guaranteed chance you were untouchable. The people in the elevator, despite their black and gold plated face masks covering their expressions, kept a slight distance from your form. A normal person would feel uncomfortable, but you simply pretended they didn’t exist. Missions always require you to stay on the target.

Finally, the lift bell chimes behind you as you strode out of the lift, your feet touch the glassy, marbled floor of what you knew was Diamond’s office. Nothing super flashy, just enough to show off his wealth, but not enough to be considered gaudy or over the top. And there he was, standing in front of Diamond, whom you immediately knew was Aventurine.

It was as if the world became muted around you when you made eye contact with him. Blond, charming smile that you saw on most targets, and those eyes. Purple, with the most dazzling, breathtaking, blue to accompany his diamond shaped pupils. New experiences were hard to come by for you due to the nature of your job and by extent, your life, but this slotted into that category perfectly.

“Ah, so you must be the bodyguard Diamond personally hired to accompany me, hm?”

That voice, smooth as butter, and the undertone of cunning. You stiffen, though your hand still reaches out to shake his. He’s like all of them. You have an idea how he truly operates, manipulation being his obvious habit would be a give away if everyone could read emotions as well as you did.

“Yes. I am [𓏵]. I will be your bodyguard, for what I presume is the foreseeable future.”

Aventurine laughs, it’s a fake, light laugh you see through instantaneously as your hand pulls away before his own does. Manipulative, cunning, a textbook definition for at least 75% of the people you’ve gotten their blood on your hands before.

He was the lone mouse in the desert, while you were the prowling lion, hungry for prey. For blood.

“I look forward to working with you.”ׂ

╰┈➤ (1 minute.)

Long game it was. It took six months to find a crack in Aventurine’s armor, to find that weakness amidst all the walls he’d put up around himself, and even then, it took a extreme amount of patience and putting up with his antics almost every day for this moment to happen.

You know his inner workings, for the most part. Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts was a senior manager of the Strategic Investment Department at the IPC. And he was filthy rich, seriously, you dont think you’ve seen anyone spend so much money without a care. Richer than many, if not, all the people who have been felled by your hand. A man of such high caliber, you’re surprised no one has tried to backstab him sooner.

Aventurine has a fondness for spending money on you. It is slightly flattering, as it was rare that your undercover jobs had your targets treating you kindly, but that was at the start. Eventually, it became obvious that it was mostly to… buy your loyalty. It was as if he already knew you weren’t actually there to protect him.

Aventurine also has a fondness for casinos and poker games. That was made abundantly clear when during the first night of your employment, he’s already dragging you to one of the most famous casinos in a planet you’ve forgotten the name of, and it seemed, from the gazes of other patrons, you knew he definitely reaped the fruits of his luck every time there.

You played the role flawlessly. Staying by Aventurine’s side, looking like a menacing threat to whoever shot a glare that was too nasty for your taste, making sure those he played against didn’t come too close for your liking, and essentially, doing your job as a bodyguard. With your stature and the way your lips purse into thin lines almost every hour, it wasnt hard.

That night, after half a year of patience, of prowling the darkness, slowly, meticulously chipping away parts of the confident and suave man you ‘guard’, you found a peek in the cracks. During the initial start of your employment, drinks that Aventurine took were always in his line of sight, even as he cracked jokes with the women and men who are getting a bit too handsy for people he doesnt know, as he playfully tried to convince you to take a shot.

“C’mon, [𓏵], lighten up! You’ve been such a great bodyguard, take a break.”

His voice, though was annoying at first, you’ve grown used to the way his words roll off his tongue, flawless and almost rehearsed as he slid a glass of whiskey towards your hands that were crossed on the table, and you remain silent as you shake your head, though you swirl the brown liquid in a attempt to appease him.

It does the trick. You watch as he gets up and pushes past the people fawning over him, his drink left behind on the bar table as he seats himself comfortably on one of the sides of the poker table. The small bottle of thallium sits in your suit pocket, and your hands slip into it to wrap around the bottle.

But you hesitate. You’re not fixated on the drink, you’re fixated on Aventurine. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way his smile is infuriatingly charming, how he smirks when the person across him loses for what you’ve counted was the ninth time in a row that night. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way his rose tinted glasses hide that breathtaking shade of his eyes.

This… this isn’t how you are supposed to feel. Hesitation was not in your nature. If this was any other person, you’d dump the thallium in the drink, wait for them to down it and pretend to worry and be concerned when they start to convulse on the floor and vomit violently, then make your escape. That was how it always was. That was how it was supposed to be.

But your hands don’t move, they clench around the small bottle, fingers trembling ever so briefly as you gaze at the half finished drink, and you recall the irony of the situation you find yourself in.

“I presume the mission is underway, [𓏵]?”

“It is. It shall be done tonight.”

That was your reply to Duke Inferno mere hours ago. And you have never gone back on your words. The consequences if you do are never pretty. Your hand leaves the pocket, and it finds the communication earpiece, not the IPC issued one, but the one you have to resume contact with Ever-Flame mansion. Your hand opens it as you toss it into your glass of whiskey, watching as the device sunk into the brown liquid.

Your footsteps thud silently across the carpeted floor of the casino, making your way to your place beside Aventurine, and the man who was about to get up and presumably spew insults at the gambler sat back down, hesitantly gazing at your subtle scowl as your eyes trail his movements.

“Ah, so you finally decided to stop moping around, hm?”

Aventurine grins mischeivously at you, crossing his leg over the other as he shuffled the cards in his hands, and his smile makes your heart flutter just a bit that makes you stiffen at the unfamiliar feeling, opting to nod instead of giving a verbal response.

In this proximity, you can usually tell what perfume Aventurine has decided to wear that day. Perhaps it’s luxurious, a way of flaunting his wealthy by assaulting your nostrils, or it’s a subtle, sweet fragrance, one that he rarely uses but you know he has somewhere in his closet.

But in this particular moment… you cant figure out the scent as you continue to stand still beside him.

ׂ╰┈➤ (2 minutes.)

Aventurine, for a man who only claims is your boss, and nothing more, is surprisingly open to spoiling you to his heart’s content, despite the fact half the time the items he gets you are because they caught your eye for more than a millisecond, or it’s because he ‘feels like it’.

Refusing them gets you nowhere, he’ll sneak them in front of your room when you’re showering or doing something else within his penthouse. Trying to return them? Oopsies, the receipts are either mysteriously gone or the shop is coincidentally not accepting refunds!

Today is no different. Though it isn’t in your job description, it seems being a personal bag carrier for the Stoneheart will be one of your main tasks. It’s not a hassle from the weight, the items he buys during spontaneous shopping sprees are usually clothes to fill his overflowing wardrobe.

You’ve always paid close attention to detail. You see the way his hands are always clasped behind his back, how his left index and thumb always fiddle with the watch situated nicely upon his wrist. How the area below his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled at the receptionist. How he laughed when you refused any gifts he bought for you, no matter how much the gifts appealed to you.

Walking alongside Aventurine is therapeutic, it’s as if you really signed up for this job out of free will. Since you threw away the communication device connecting you to the Annihilation Gang, there’s a nagging worry at the back of your mind. Anxiety that plagues your very dreams when you slumber, fear that the family who nurtured your nature will take the person who has started to trickle colour into your life.

It’s not like you feel this way. You aren’t supposed to feel this way. Emotions hinder your job, they make you weak, make you vulnerable. When you look at him, you’re supposed to feel nothing, you’re supposed to only see him as a target. Staring at his face while he talks about something that goes right over your head makes you gloss over the fact he’s dragged you into a jewelry store.

“Now, now, [𓏵], lighten up with that frown, will you?”

Aventurine grins as he lightly taps your forearm, taking your hand as he guides your fingers to the box that was sitting snugly on the glass display. The diamond adorned necklaces, the bracelets resting an opal on the centres, the sapphires that make you raise an eyebrow at how gaudy the blue clashes with the gold.

Your hands reach out to gently clasp the box, fingers, used to destroy, used to cause destruction, gently open the cover as you gaze curiously at the earring that is seated on the velvet cushioning. The first thing that immediately catches your eye is how it looks like an exact replica of the earring Aventurine adorns on his left earlobe, a three pointed, turquoise coloured piece of jewelry that resembles a peacock’s feather.

“I can’t help but notice that you seem to be a bit… lackluster, for a loss of better words, dear bodyguard. I cant have someone working for me looking like that now, hm?”

Its a lie that you dont bother to point out. He’s got at least a thousand employees, maybe even more, considering how buttfuck big the IPC is, and taking into account his positon as one of the most powerful and influential people, why would he take the time to get a replica of the earring for a simple bodyguard that was expendable? Replaceable, like you always have been.

You have asked yourself this many times. The earring was the only particular jewelrly that you took willingly, and even wore without much of a argument or attempts to return to the store. First thing in the morning when you wake, you fumble around your bedside of the earring, place it on your right ear lobe, and the last thing you do before going to bed is take it off.

The reason is something you cant pinpoint. Perhaps it’s guilt, guilt for continuing your charade and lies that you had no initial motives to sign up for this job, perhaps its a sense of loyalty, afterall, youve dedicated almost a entire year to be at this man’s side, to keep him safe, to take bullets for him. Or perhaps, it’s the way you yearn to see the smile on his face one more time.

Death has never made you fear doing what you do, what you have done. Your death was something you knew was inevitable, as all living beings find themselves passing to the other side eventually, one way or the other. What you found sightly pleasing about death was how physical items gave you a accompanying comfort, as if a final tie to the life you had when on the plane of the living.

That earring had broken into pieces during the events leading to your death. Even the feeling of blades stabbing into your flesh, making you gag and choke on the molten gold that had replaced your life essence as you stared at the shattered, shining bits that you cherished. The feeling of passing in sorrow, unable to hold onto the one object that you prayed you could bring with you in death was indescribable.

ׂ╰┈➤ (3 minutes.)

“Funny, isnt it?”

How you ended up in this situation, you have absolutely no clue. Aventurine, in true fashion, had tempted you with a simple two truths, one lie game. Tell two truths, one lie, and if the other guesses all three correctly, the party who came up with the truths and lies take a shot. And in true Aventurine luck, he had successfully guessed all of your truths and lies.

You kept it simple, truths of mundane things you have done before, but nothing about your job before meeting the blond, and small tweaks to the truths to make it a technical lie. Two truths and one lie were childish games that you thought yourself to be above, and games you thought Aventurine to be above, you’d have expected him to make you play a game of dice or poker.

Aventurine guessed every single one of your lies, your truths, and the amount of whiskey you have downed at 9pm on a Thursday night is making your head start to spin. A normal human would have been passed out drunk on the island countertop, but you weren’t a normal human, therefore, you are groggy but remain standing.

It is then that the gambler before you starts to open up. Through blurred vision and muffled hearing as you stared at him tap his right index finger on the marble, his eyes gaze at what you presume is his own reflection in his whiskey, and he gives you a half hearted smile while tilting his head up.

“Well, it’s my turn, hm? Let’s begin.”

“One, I’ve ordered another custom suit for you, dear [𓏵].”

Truth, no doubt, this was rather predictable for him. But something else briefly snaps you out of your hazy state.

It’s the way he says your name, but with the word ‘dear’ right in front of it. You’ve listened to most of his terms of endearment, ranging from ‘stone wall’ to grumpy cat’. The last one is one that he used to describe you rather than call you directly, though in your fuzzy minded state you’re not really sure if that counts.

“Two, I’ve lost a game in the casino before.”

A very obvious lie. Not only have you accompanied him around to know that he has never lost a single game, you also know, from asking around with IPC employees who once saw Aventurine play before and by consulting logs from casinos he’s frequented before your employment, that he has won every game.

There’s a silence after he speaks, and you can see him gazing fondly at your half drunken state, his hand clenchinga round the cup as he chuckled softly, sounding hesitant as he took off his watch, setting it on the countertop before speaking.

“Third, I was bought for 60 copper coins.”

There’s a pause as the words fail to register in your mind for a few seconds as you shoot your head up before it smacks the marble corner, staring wide eyed at Aventurine as you realize he isnt able to meet your gaze. The way he stares at his own reflection in the honey brown liquid, how his hands tremble as he struggle to continue his words.

“I may have money too much for me to spend now, i may have bank accounts full of gold and riches people can only dream to possess a fraction of. But the truth is, I was once one of these very possessions.”

Typical Aventurine. Only opening up to you the only way he knows how. Through a game, and he doesnt even elaborate on what he tells you.

“This branding on my neck? It’s a sign of my past. It’s a sign that no matter what, I will always be a pawn in a bigger game, and that is something I’ll never be able to run from.”

The way he speaks, it’s bitter, almost empty. So dull and so… vulnerable, unlike the man you know that signs your paychecks and drops gifts at your room door. This was a man who was broken, with no life left in his eyes, no true purpose as he wanders aimlessly in the confines of his own mind, unable to face his demons.

“...Perhaps… we should stop, sir. You have a long day tomorrow.”

You haven’t guessed out loud the truths and lie, but you croak out the words nonetheless, grunting with effort as you push your weight off the countertop, trying your best to not stumble over your own two feet as you wobble over to Aventurine, hesitantly inching out to take the glass away from the gambler’s hand, though your a bit surprised when he shakes his head and holds onto it tighter.

“One more game. Tell me your truths and lie.”

There’s a weak smile on his face, and there’s a sort of emotion that blazes wildy in his beautiful purple eyes, it takes you a few seconds to register what it was.

Fear. Fear that you’ll leave and never look back, disgusted by his past.

A sigh escapes you as you stand gingerly beside him, grabbing his whiskey glass as you gaze at him, though you’re pretty sure if you stand upright any longer you’ll kiss the ground.

“Of course, sir.”

You finally soldier up and fight the increasing hazy drowsiness as you blink rapidly, gazing at Aventurine’s face. But you find yourself unable to remember how he looks. The view of him, despite being seated right beside you, is blurred, hazy and a mess of colours.

ׂ╰┈➤ (4 minutes.)

Your feet carry you through the park with frightening speed as you push past the people who have come to clamour around the theme park’s entrance, enteirng the area to find the Astral Express standing in the rain, the Galaxy Ranger who now has grey instead of a purple shade of hair, and the screen that has a ominous, red slash cutting clean through it, merging in with the sky, with the man who had threatened Penacony nowhere to be seen.

You had feared this sort of outcome. Aventurine was a man who would forever be at least ten steps ahead of everybody, no matter if in the moment, it seemed as if he would be dealt the losing hand, therefore, despite your many attempts to dissuade him, he went ahead with the plan anyways.

But even an avid gambler has thier losses.

It was a stupid idea, letting him go to Dewlight Pavillion by himself, you never trusted that purple haired man enough to temporarily take your place, but Aventurine had said it was for the plan to work best. You’d though he was pleased with the outcome, but he didnt come back to the hotel room.

You’d texted him with a phone you barely use, probably spammed more messages than necessary, and you didn’t even receive a reply back for nearly two system hours. Thousands of things that could have gone wrong, have gone wrong, race your mind, keeping your heart pounding as you had scrambled through the streets of Penacony’s Golden Hour, narrowly avoiding cars and drunk people as you try to find a glimpse of him.

There’s a overwhelming relief when you finally see him, conversing lightly with people who’ve had too much Soulglad or are simply just in Penacony to find their footing, and you almost run to bring him in for a hug, only for you stop short, hesitating as you wonder whether you truly deserve such proximity, settling for simply standing in front of the gambler. There’s a brief bout of laughter somewhere, but it goes over your head as you barely acknowledge it,

Aventurine doesnt look exactly pleased to see you, in fact, he gives you a almost pitiful smile that could make a usually bold man like him laugh at his state.

“Ah, have you been worried for me, dear bodyguard? You’ve been texting me like a desperate employee needing approval for time off.”

It’s a weak joke, one that has you raising your eyebrow at the odd way his voice cracks when he speaks, and he shushes you before you can ask what the hell went on during that meeting.

“Nevermind that. I need you to go back to the real world and find Topaz. The Family’s planning something, and I need to stay here to make preparations. The doctor will be waiting for you outside your room.”

You’re genuinely reluctant to heed his words for the first time during your employment. First of all, he hasn’t explained what happened to make him look like a kicked puppy, and secondly, he is your employer, not Ratio nor Topaz, so why wasn’t he accompanying you? What could be so important in Penacony that he must remain yet you cannot?

He doesn’t relent. He doesn’t give you an answer, avoiding your questions as he orders you to return to the real world. You know he’s lying, you’ve been by his side for a few years, it would be impossible for you to not tell when he’s lying and when he’s not, and considering his hand is hidden behind his back, you know what he says has something hidden to it.

Yet, you follow Aventurine’s order. You stupidly decide that this time, you’d close one eye and pretend he’s telling you the truth. When you turned to leave, he grabs your wrist, and his mouth was open, as if his true words were stuck in his throat before he lets go, smiling sadly.

“Good luck, [𓏵].”

That was fifteen system hours ago. Returning to the real world, there’s a sense that the Mundanite is not telling you something you should know, the way Topaz gives you slightly pitiful glances as you’re busy trying to text Aventurine your updates or questioning his status and whereabouts.

It isnt until a certain lady in a veil comes up to you to give a ominous but cryptic words of how a person who has taken risks will finally see to it that their final gamble pays off, that you finally decide enough was enough, you were returning to drag Aventurine back by the collar of his shirt even if it meant getting fired.

There’s not a way to describe the way your world stops as the sounds of the Express’s navigator and the man with glasses come up to you to try and pull you away from the destruction that was once the man who gave you world colour, the way you feel your vision get blurry as you realise you were crying for the first time in years.

The woman that had caused the red slash was gone in the blink of an eye. Then there’s a bubbling rage that overwhelms you momentarily, and you feel your main instincts come back into play, to let your teachings take over and allow blood to stain your hands once more.

But you stop yourself. Because no matter if you decided to slaughter the Astral Express members who stand in front of you to offer words of comfort, to slaugher Sunday, the Family, for taking him away from you, to go toe to toe with that woman and watch Destrcution burn her alive, there will be nothing that can bring Aventurine back from his demise.

So without a word, you wander aimlessly around Penacony, and you briefly hear the pink haired girl’s words of wanting to follow you to cheer you up, and the black haired male’s voice stopping her fade behind you. Your legs carry you throughout the Golden Hour, blending in with the drunken, blissed and the gambling tourists as you slide against a wall in a alleyway, where the darkness embraces you.

Perhaps, this was what grief was. To feel the person who you have faithfully dedicated your life to, your entrie purpose to, gone. Not a trace of him left for you to even hold, and there were so many things that you had left unsaid. Perhaps this was the final emotion you had never truly felt in all its miserable glory. The chilling laughter you heard earlier briefly makes you look up at the night sky of Penacony, before you drift into a sweet dream.

Aventurine has taught you how to feel, whether intentionally or not. He’s taught you how to smile, no matter how forced it looks, he’s taught you to care, locking you in rooms with the three cake creatures who smother you affectionately, and he’s taught you what it feels like to be starstruck and how to feel like the world has erupted in a symphony of hues of joy.

When you next open your eyes, there is Aventurine trying to shake you awake, and you feel his warm body embrace tightly around yours. Your neck is sore from slumping into a very uncomfortable position in your slumber, but feeling the man’s arms drape over your shoulder, feeling the coolness of his rings against your neck, the pain is momentarily forgotten as you register his presence in your stunned state.

Grief and joy are two very different feelings. One makes your head spin as you try to process the utter feeling of devastation and the feeling of your life crashing down upon you and the other makes you feel like life has given you their greatest treasures and blessings one could ever ask for.

This is joy, you think as you gingerly embraced Aventurine, watching as beautiful lights shoot through the sky, and a warm feeling spreads through your body inexplicably, but comforting nonetheless.

But there’s something wrong about the way you cant feel his body against yours, how his warmth is replaced with a numbness.

ׂ╰┈➤ (5 minutes.)

The alcohol has made your tongue loose as you stand beside Aventurine hesitantly, fidgeting with your sleeve as you coughed, running a hand over your face that was burning up, groaning at the fact the ceiling was starting to look like it was wobbling.

“Ah… truth..”

You mumbled, trying to find another truth, a stupid one. Maybe the time you decided it was a good idea to try to prank the Duke, only to end up having to clean the mansion top to bottom? No, you’ve already said that one, minus the Duke inclusion.

There’s a silence that encases your mind as you realize that you’ve run out of something surface level to tell Aventurine, whether it’d be a cleverly concealing of your past, or a simple way to subtly jab at his habits that make you roll your eyes.

But he just lowered his final defense agaisnt you. He’d just given you a snippet, a piece of his true past, instead of whispers that float through the halls of the IPC or through records you have hesitantly combed through, only to put away from the guilt of prying.

“One… I signed up for this job out of my own free will, not because of any ulterior motives.”

You murmur, your gaze flickering to Aventurine’s face, watching his eyebrow raise slightly as he smirked slightly, though it’s clear it’s just a reflex. You know when his reactions are coming from his heart or if they were coming from years of conditioning himself to put on a image that was never real.

“I’m tempted to say it’s a lie, dear bodyguard… butI’ll go with truth.”

Uh, okay, ouch, he wanst even supposed to guess yet. You’re pretty sure the whiskey has made you loose some control over your emotions, because Aventurine’s smirk visibly dampens as he searches how your face twists into a frown. You would have never let his words affect you, well, visibly at least, if it was any other normal day.

You won’t deny he was right. You wee lying about not signing up without ulterior motives. The guilt that weighs on you, the guilt you have been carrying for many months is starting to make you crack.

You sigh as you almost slump forward, your vision blurring as you seat yourself upright again, ignoring how Aventurine’s hand briefly shoots out to hold you, before it shrinks back as you shake your head, making sure you’re okay by the sheer willpower of his eyes.

“Mm… aha. I’ve stolen candy from a girl when i was younger before for kicking my chair during class.”

It’s a lie you came up on a whim, it’s random to bring up something so insignificant during what is a serious moment, but it’s childish and petty enough that anyone would have believed it without a second thought. Who hanst been at least petty to someone once in thier lifetime before?

You raise a hand to stop him from guessing, gazing at his expression, watching it shift into one of slight confusion as he heeds your gesture. Perfect. You clear your throat, taking a chug of the whiskey that glistens under the kitchen lights, smiling to yourself sadly.

“Third. I…”

The words are caught in your throat as you stare at the pristine glass cup as you sigh, leaning back as you turn your eyes to look outside the kitchen of the penthouse, gazing in wonder at the stars that litter and dot the skies in tiny white lights. You swear that one of them, in the far far distance, form a small heart.

“I didnt actually accept this job under the pretense of wanting to protect someone. Or money.”

You decide to change what you were about to say. You can’t bring yourself to say it, not when you can feel the room swimming around you, when you know you’re half inbreviated and it will seem as if the words you utter out, especially ones that should be saved for the right time, which was certainly not now.

“I know.”

His voice is soft, with surpirisngly, no edge to it. Your gaze snaps up to stare at him, blinking incredulously at his words. He knew? He knew you were…

“Your wanted posters took a lot of money to take down you know.”

Oh fuck. He does know. He knows you’ve killed innocents, you’ve shed blood all in the name of a monster who groomed you into the being you are now.

But that… that didnt change anything. Contrary to what you thought, he didnt look angry. He didnt look betrayed, he looked… almost amused and perhaps slightly relieved. He doesnt look at you like you thought you did. Aventurine chuckles lightly at your flabbergasted expression on your presumably flushed face.

“I did feel hurt at first. But honestly, [𓏵], considering you’ve betrayed the person whom you’ve always followed, i guess my luck really is true afterall to have been the one to earn your loyalty instead~.”

The relief comes crashing over you in a tidal wave. You’ve been dreaming of this for nights, hoping to find the time to admit your true origins, to not have to keep lying to the man who perks you up every morning as you watch him pet the creatures that pounce on him while drinking your coffee. You were ready to accept he’d probably never want to see you again, he’d turn you in.

And for the first time in a long time, you smile.

ׂ╰┈➤ (6 minutes.)

Secrets are hard to come by from him.

Aventurine is a master deceptor. That also means he has many secrets. Even now, after you’ve peeled away what you think would have been all the walls keeping his true self hidden, there’s still so much more to unravel.

Even now, as you accompany the Astral Express, touring them around your planet because it just so happened to be their next stop after Amphoreous, you find that, perhaps you’ve shared more secrets, more of the little things about yourself than he ever has with you.

It’s a little disheartening, but you ignore that feeling when you think about the fact that he’s changed a lot since when you first met him, when all you thought of him then was a easy, predictable and snobbish target, rather than a scarred man that hides his wounds away with loose bandages of bravado and arrogance.

In the home you once lived in, dusting away the thin layer of grey that has settled over the barren furniture that you haven’t laid eyes on for years since you lost your identity to blood, Aventurine whistles as he trails after you, tapping the surfaces of the wooden table, the leather chair that sits forlornly in the corner of the room.

“Y’know, this place is terribly dreary. I can see why you don’t like coming back here often.”

He jokes, and you find yourself chortling internally alongside him. After working for the Duke, you’ve forgotten who you were before all that. Were you living a good life? Was it a terrible one? Was it unremarkable, therefore you don’t remember what it was?

It doesn’t matter. That life is one you wont ever return to. Not when you’ve found a place at last.

The rest of the day is a blur as it’s mostly the pink haired girl and the grey haired friend of hers that follow you through your planet, while Aventurine strolls alongside you while buying them anything they set their eyes on. You’re sure the vendors are very happy with the sudden mass profit.

The night that follows is quiet and serene, and you are sitting in the living room of the abandoned house, staring at the wooden boards of the floor as you fiddle gently with your sleeve. It’s close to midnight, and you cant sleep, because there have been whispers that the planet is possibly being targetted by the Annihilation Gang.

You wont admit it, but it feels like the space is closing in on you, as if all your nightmares are coming true. There was a Stellaron sealed deep in your planet, somewhere where no man has ventured deep enough to locate, which is the reason the Astral Express is here to begin with.

The people who cultivated almost your entire purpose and life, growing you like a delicate plant, who definitely swore revenge on your defiance, is coming to your planet to destroy it, and the only person you would give your life for is on this planet as well.

That is also only comfort that is preventing you from going over the edge is the fact that Aventurine is sitting right beside you, leaning back as he scrolls through his phone. You’re surprised he isnt complaining about how tattered the couch is from years of neglect, as you breathe in slowly and exhale, calming your racing heart.

“[𓏵].”

The gambler’s voice comes out soft and hesitant, as he sets his phone down, your eyes trailing from the gold casing that you were never going to admit was tacky, to Aventurine’s eyes, watching how he stays silent for a few moments too long.

“I have a secret I want to share with you.”

The words make you raise a eyebrow. Aventurine has many secrets. Sometimes, the secrets aren’t even secrets at all, he just says the words so he can keep you hooked on what he was saying. Sure, it’s not like you dont hand onto every word that leaves his mouth half the time, noo.

The silence stretches between the two of you, but before he could tell you what he was trying to desperately to utter, a loud explosion booms through the streets, the windows of your shabby house shattering as you instinctively jump to cover Aventurine to shield him.

They are here. And from the distinct sounds of the Duke’s children, you know they are 100% here for you.

“Go, the back door is a right down the hall. Find the trailblazer and the girl and tell them what happened.”

You brush off the glass, wincing at how the sharp, thin edges slice through your palms, ignoring the pain as you turn to leave, your hand on the door knob, pausing as you feel Aventurine’s hands grab your wrist, turning back to meet his wide, almost desparete gaze.

“[𓏵], what are you doing?”

He hissed lowly, gazing at you as he tried to pull you back, back to him, back to where he at least will have the comfort of knowing you’ll at least be by his side if the time for him to perish really does come, the moment his luck runs out.

“I am looking out for you, sir, like always. I’ll come back.”

You mutter softly, though the words are uncertain, hesitant, because you know that you won’t make it back. This will be the last time you’ll see Aventurine, but you offer the reassurance anyways, because it makes your heart ache, the way the gambler is so unwilling to let you go.

“But I—”

You chuckle, gently prying the man’s hands off your wrist as your weak smile wavers ever so slightly, there’s a pounding feeling in your chest, but it doesnt reach your eyes as you instead, take his hands into yours. The raw fear that courses through you is unlike any other emotion you have felt in your life. Your death is inevitable, yet you cant seem to accept it yet.

“I will come back, sir. And when I do, you shall tell me your secret.”

The lie rolls off your tongue smoothly, leaving your lips as a definitive statement. The racing beat of your heart slows as you see Aventurine’s expression slowly morph into one of acceptance, and you watch with a heavy heart as he gives you brief smile before stepping backwards, his shoes crunching on glass as he leaves through the backdoor.

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare at his silhouette dissapear, though despite the pain that almsot seems to swallow you whole, as the sounds of the people who have come to take your head draws nearer, you smile bitterly as you know, the last thing you’ll remember is his smile.

The sounds of the world muffles around you as the door splinters, as your vision fades to black.

ׂ╰┈➤ (7 minutes.)

Footsteps echo through the wrecked streets of the planet that has suffered the fiery wrath of the Anihhilation Gang. The memokeeper’s heels come to a stop in front of the body that is slumped agaisnt the wall, gold liquid seeping from their wounds as the molten blood bubbles and burns through the stone pavements. There’s a cracked piece of jewelry scattered near the base of their feet.

“I hope that at the very least, these echoes of the past bring you some form of comfort before you meet your maker.”

Her hands gently find their face, two fingers closing the vacant, lifeless eyes. There’s a smile on thier face, even if ever so small. Perhaps even in death, those memories embraced them as the world around grew cold and empty. Perhaps, they won’t feel the weight of regrets of having left so much unsaid.

fin.

© st4r-th0ughts 2025, I don’t allow reposts, reuploads, translations, or copies.

[essie-essex]

WoD OC Meet Cute:

"Only When We Run Do We Become Prey"

My entry for the World of Darkness OC Meet Cute Event. Thanks so much to @crownedinmarigolds @porcelainseashore and @vampemoqueen for organizing this! This was super fun!

I was paired up with @calyshine and their VTM OC R.C. You can find their amazing art contribution of our OCs' antagonistic meeting here: https://www.tumblr.com/calyshine/782127023456976896/wod-meet-cute

Meet? Yes. Cute? No.

Amid a backdrop of tension between the Anarchs and the Camarilla, R.C arrives to The City as part of a road trip in search of someone from their past. After meeting the local anarchs, they organize a race along the deserted nighttime streets, attracting a variety of racers and spectators. All proceeds as normal, until R.C is approached by a mysterious Kindred, looking to join the race.

Asha Mariam crosses into anarch territory in pursuit of information about an attack on a Tremere Regent. Of course, the anarchs will not trust a member of the Camarilla, but in disguise, perhaps R.C will tell her the names of the Regent's assailants. If not, then there are other ways of persuading them to give her the answers she needs.

R.C should have known that something was off when the woman approached them. The bulk of the group attending the street race had assembled by the starting line, surrounding the columns of cars modified especially for the occasion. They conversed in a mashup of voices along with the hum of idling engines. The young Toreador had broken off from the rest of the crowd, finding a spot farther back on the road, underneath a streetlight. R.C, as the organizer of the event, filed through all the steps in their head, various requirements for running a successful street race. Road blocks had been set up in all the necessary places, and the route selected. Racers had started to arrive, rides rigged for speed and style.

It was the click of her heels on the hard ground that alerted R.C to the woman making her way towards them. She approached with a casual saunter, her boots clapping out a sluggish rhythm that echoed down the empty section of road, and her shadow followed silently, stretched along the black pavement. R.C didn't recognize her, but she locked eyes with them, clearly wanting to talk.

“Hey,” she said, moving out of the darkness and into the halo of light from the lamp above. “How's it goin'?” She smiled.

R.C effortlessly mirrored her grin.

“Hey, you, uh, need something?”

R.C studied the woman's face, noting that what had at first seemed like a genuine smile lost a bit of its shine as she closed the distance between them. She reached up, lightly brushing a few locks from a cascade of curls behind her ear.

“You the one who organizes these races?” she asked, her dark eyes peering out from under thick lashes.

“Yeah, for the next few nights, at least,” they responded, their enthusiasm apparent. R.C had just arrived two nights ago, stopping in the city as part of their cross country road trip, the reason for which, well, was both looking for and running from someone. R.C had no intention of staying in the same place for too long. A few nights was all they needed to hit some of the local bars, check out the anarch scene, and organize a few street races. If any word of the Kindred they were looking for surfaced, they would know before it was time to leave.

R.C hadn't met this particular woman before, but it was nothing out of the ordinary with the limited time they had spent in the city. Still, a strange chill trickled up their spine as they made eye contact with her. Something about her vibe, R.C thought. It didn't match what they expected from an anarch. They figured it was probably nothing, but the woman made them tense nonetheless. Chasing their doubts from their mind, they assumed a friendly demeanor.

“I'm R.C,” they said with an upward nod of the head.

“R.C,” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Call me Mara.”

“Wassup?” They greeted her, their hands shooting finger guns before pointing at the gathered crowd. “You here to bet? There's a few people taking wagers over there.”

“Actually, I was looking to race,” said Mara. Her white fangs, although retracted, displayed sharp tips as she spoke.

R.C rubbed the back of their head, jostling their green-tipped half ponytail before giving the woman an awkward smile.

“Aw, we've already got our racers for tonight, but I can totes put you in tomorrow's race,” they offered. “What kinda ride you got?”

Mara recited a description, listing all the customizations she had made to her car.

“Awesome, sounds like a sick rig,” said R.C, a sparkle in their eye. “Can't wait to see it. You park here?”

“Uh, no. I left it a few blocks away. Figured I wouldn't be racing tonight, so I just came to watch.”

“Nice, the race is gonna be hella dope. You come here solo?” R.C's arms rested at their side, thumbs gripping the striped black and green straps hanging from their belt.

“Yeah,” Mara answered, a nervous chuckle escaping her throat. “I, uh, don't know too many folks around here, you know?”

“Ha, me neither. I just got here—only planning on staying a few nights—so most of the folks I've met were at that bar, what's it called?” R.C took a moment to think before Mara chimed in.

“Coarse & Crass.”

“Yeah! Coarse & Crass. You go there a lot?”

“Not really,” she answered with a shrug. “I might stop by for the occasional gossip, get to know what's going on around town.” She paused for a beat. “Speaking of which, did you hear about that crazy fight a few nights ago? I heard someone managed to injure a Tremere pretty bad.”

R.C had heard of the event from more than one of the local anarchs, three of whom had boasted about taking part in the attack. The ones who had faced off against the solo Tremere had burst into the bar, unaware of R.C's presence, loudly declaring themselves the victorious warriors against tyranny and defenders of justice before the others yelled a variety of phrases, all of which basically translated to: “shut up, you idiots.” Personally, R.C didn't see the point in provoking the cammies, especially the Tremere, but it wasn't like anyone would care about the opinion of someone just passing through town. Still, in the short time they had spent in the city, they had managed to gain some trust from the anarchs. R.C wasn't about to give up info on them to a stranger. Especially one with... weird vibes.

They studied Mara as she stood before them. Her outfit seemed strangely formal, her legs wrapped in a knee-length black skirt and heeled boots of the same color on her feet. At least the sweater was more like what R.C would expect in the alternative scene, holes of various sizes ripped into the fabric, giving it a worn look. Under her curly black hair and pencil lined eyes, her mouth was accented by a silver hoop around the right side of her bottom lip. R.C 's tongue automatically moved to their own snakebites, nudging each stud in turn. Really it was only the skirt that bothered them. It seemed almost inappropriate for the occasion. Like she tried to dress in a style that her closet couldn't quite accommodate.

“Nice 'fit,” said R.C, changing the subject from the battered Tremere. “Prolly not the best to race in, just f.y.i., but y'know it's your choice. I'm not about to tell you what to wear.” They chuckled briefly, rubbing the back of their neck. R.C couldn't quite figure out why Mara made them uneasy, but they stood on edge, ready to move at a moment's notice.

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind,” Mara said, a curious impatience in her voice. She veered the conversation back to the previous subject. “Can you imagine getting to beat up a Tremere, though? Must have been awesome. You know any details about it?”

“Nah, like I said, I just got here,” R.C repeated.

“Right, of course.” Mara laughed, slapping herself lightly on the forehead. “I'd love to hear about it though. Do you know the ones who fought him?”

Maybe it was her posture. The way she stood, back straight, hands folded in front of her. Also, her manner of speaking. It was casual, but behind her words, her tone almost seemed practiced. As though she were acting. Plus, why was she so interested in the fight with the Tremere? R.C, once again, changed the subject.

“How'd you hear about the race?” R.C asked, doing their best to mask their intentions. Mara didn't seem bothered, the same fake casual smile scrawled on her face.

“Through Kat,” she answered, referencing a bartender at Coarse & Crass. R.C hadn't been in town for long but knew that the anarch hangout was the place to go if you were looking for information about the local scene. The night bartender, Kat, knew almost all the kindred around town, anarch or independent. Of course, she stayed out of Camarilla business, but it didn't hurt to at least know who they were.

“You ever race before?” R.C asked, crossing their arms.

“Of course,” Mara replied, the confusion in her voice apparent.

“You ever win?”

“Me? No,” Mara said, chuckling lightly. “Never.”

“What place did you come in for your previous races?��

She paused, her mouth twisting as she wiggled her lip ring with her tongue.

“Here and there. Doesn't matter.”

“Doesn't matter?” R.C repeated, clearly skeptical.

R.C doubted that this woman was here to race, but they had no proof. If they wanted to uncover her rouse, they were going to have to ask harder questions.

“How long you been racing?” R.C inquired. They leaned back against the light post, assuming a casual stance, but still ready to move if needed. The Toreador's eyes flitted towards the area where the racers were gathered. If they needed it, help was only a short dash away.

“On and off for about a year now. I've only been in a couple of races,” Mara answered. “I'll race every now and then, but not enough to really be known for it.” She made eye contact with R.C, seemingly amused by their attempts to trip her up.

“You're racing on a rainy day. Short Ram intake or Cold Air?” R.C asked. Mara replied quickly.

“Short Ram.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Works better in wet conditions since it won't take in water and hydrolock the engine.” She crossed her arms, a smug grin forming on her face.

There was no doubt in R.C's mind. Mara was thoroughly enjoying their little trivia session.

R.C considered using Auspex. It wouldn't hurt, would it? They would at least get an idea of who she was and maybe determine if she was lying. Concentrating, they expended their blood, reaching out to Mara's energy field for a clear view of her aura. However, they were instead sucked into a vision.

Finding themself in a hallway, they confusedly pivoted in place, attempting to get their bearings on their surroundings. The long corridor consisted of red carpet and white walls, lined with an alternating pattern of wooden doors and ornate golden lamps. R.C had no idea how they had gotten to this place when all they wanted to do was view Mara's aura, but maybe they had accidentally accessed her mind, and this was some sort of space within it. If they were correct, then it was possible that they would be able to find something that would tell them more about the strange woman. They needed to explore. Choosing a way to go, they walked down the hallway until it branched into other hallways on the left and right. R.C turned a corner, coming to another intersection.

“What the... ”

R.C could easily get lost in this place, which they perceived, branched out into countless halls and doorways. Not wanting to advance any more than they already had, they focused on the nearby doors, noting that each one had a symbol engraved into it.

“Okay, just pick one,” they told themself. Choosing a random one on the right, they turned the handle, opening the door to a room filled with objects and furniture. It didn't look out of the ordinary. The only odd detail they noticed was that there were no matching items. The lamps were different shades and sizes, chairs, various colors and styles. On a wooden desk, sat a jar of pens, each one unique. R.C approached the desk, picking up a pen and holding it in their hand, but all that came to them was a detailed render of the pen, which they could study closely, pivoting and flipping it, and zooming in and out at will. They replaced the pen, feeling various objects around the room, only to produce the same result. Returning to the hallway, they tried a different door, which led to another room, but still the objects refused to surrender their secrets. It was the same for any room they tried. Any item they touched. Defeated, R.C left Mara's mind, only to emerge from what they realized was a trance. They found her standing before them, a shrewd gleam in her eye.

“Get anything?” she asked.

Mara's expression alone nearly activated their fight or flight instinct. R.C managed to suppress it for only a few seconds before quickly excusing themself and heading back toward the race. They weren't running away, they reasoned, they just needed some backup. If this Mara, or whoever she was, had dark intentions for them, she would have to fight off a bunch of pissed off anarchs too. R.C slipped their phone from their pocket—a burner, flip phone, only to be used for the few days they planned on spending in the city—and texted Kat.

R.C: u knw a mara? rcr

Kat texted them back quickly.

Kat: Rcr?? R.C: racer Kat: No never heard the name. Pic? R.C: 1 sec

Mara had followed R.C to the mass of people gathered near the start line and now passed them to join the bulk of the group. The street, a dark river between the mountains of high-rise buildings, reflected the rear lights of customized vehicles, glimmering red under the crowd's feet. Various racers hung out by their cars, chatting up the onlookers as others placed their bets. Mara mingled among them, starting a conversation with a group near a bright yellow car. They seemed to get along fine, Mara smiling and laughing easily. R.C crept forward, aiming the flip phone at her and discreetly snapping a photo just before a line of people pushed past them, blocking the view. Reviewing the picture, it was a bit dark and blurry and also showed her at an angle, but they could still make out most of her face. It would have to do. R.C sent it to Kat and waited for a reply, receiving a text a few seconds later.

Kat: What did u take this with? A ducking potato? R.C: ya

There was about a fifteen second gap before Kat texted them again.

Kat: Gimme a sec R.C: k

Directing their attention back to Mara, they noted that she was still busy conversing with the small group of anarchs, but the mood was much different from before. The others were not smiling anymore, the atmosphere growing tense. Soon, they all turned, leaving to speak with one of the racers. They eyed her suspiciously as she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on R.C.

Flashing them a wide grin, she waved. This time, R.C's face did not mirror hers, and they turned away, reluctant to interact with her again. However, as the time dragged on, they found themself wondering if they had possibly overreacted. Maybe Mara was just a bit strange. Nothing to fret over.

Finally, Kat texted back, but relief turned to dread as R.C read the note.

Kat: Thats the fuckign tremere regent

Puzzled, R.C replied.

R.C: da 1 tht got jumpd? Kat: No thats his replacement. Asha marie or smth. Got here after the fight. Heard shes got a rep for being dangerous. Get out

R.C's stomach fluttered as they snapped the phone shut and tucked it back into their pocket before turning to search for Mara. She had disappeared. If they could put out an announcement, warn everyone, she wouldn't be able to hide among the crowd anymore. They headed toward the bettors' table, eyeing a megaphone placed on a chair behind it.

Suddenly, Mara's persistence in asking about the attack on the Tremere made sense. She was here to figure out what happened and identify the culprits. The Tremere weren't known for doing things halfway. If she managed to find out who the Regent's attackers were, they were dead. R.C pushed past a tightly packed group of people next to a flame-painted car. They were almost to the megaphone.

“Looking for someone?” R.C jumped, startled as Mara appeared behind them. They turned, locking eyes with the Tremere as she began to speak again. “COME WITH ME,” she ordered, dominating their will until all there was left to do was obey.

Together, the two left the main crowd, heading out and away from the race.

It wasn't difficult for Asha to obtain the anarchs' text messages. Her hacker ghouls had cracked their network nights ago, remotely installing Thaumaturgically-enhanced spyware and leaving the opposition's texts open to Regent Mariam and the other members of the Camarilla who sought access through her. So, when she went to make contact with them one night, hoping to gain the advantage by pretending to be new to the group, she had no worries. If the local anarchs wouldn't talk to her, there was another option. A new anarch had come to town, hanging out at various Kindred hotspots and organizing street races, and Asha hoped that the newcomer would simply assume that she was another one of the sect and speak to her openly. If her plan worked, obtaining the information she needed would be simple and quick.

Asha had only just arrived to the city less than a week ago, an emergency replacement for the Regent of the city's chantry, Lemuel Dominguez, who had been badly beaten by a group of unruly anarchs, falling into torpor. Her superiors had demanded a full investigation into why the Regent had traveled into anarch territory and the identities of his assailants.

Honestly, the story wasn't that complicated. It started with a missing novice. Dominguez had sent some of the apprentices out to search for her, but when they returned without the neonate, the Regent took it upon himself to make contact with the anarchs, believing that perhaps they had seen her. Unfortunately, his presence was not well-received, and he ended up in a physical altercation with more than one anarch goon. Asha felt that it was truly a cowardly act on the anarchs' part, pitting several against one. Dominguez was a very competent sorcerer, but his specialty was in scholarship, magical alphabets and lore. He was barely able to make it back to the chantry before collapsing in the foyer.

Of course, the missing novice returned on her own. She hadn't left the building at all, but had inadvertently walked into a pocket dimension created by a journeyman apprentice. The journeyman claimed that his leaving the portal open was simple oversight, but Asha suspected that it was no accident at all. How better to test out the stability of one's artificial dimension than to have a novice walk into and subsequently get lost in it? By the time the novice had found her way out, she was near frenzy, stressed to her limits and desperately hungry, but after feeding and taking some time to recover, she was no worse for wear, having returned to normal, with the exception of her newly-acquired phobia of walking down chantry hallways alone.

Now, Asha needed to complete the second part of her investigation: finding the culprits behind the attack on Regent Dominguez. However, once she had made contact with the other anarchs, and then R.C, she realized that obtaining her objective would not be so simple. The anarchs refused to talk about the attack with her, and the newcomer was sharper than they seemed. Despite the Toreador's easygoing demeanor, they were still aware enough to question her assumed identity.

It was a mistake on Asha's part, underestimating R.C, and now that her cover was blown, she would have to confront the anarch in a more direct manner. She suspected that they had no intention of submitting to her, and if it came to that, they would not make it easy. They were a fighter.

She had taken her captive to an abandoned garage, far enough away from the race to not be heard. Still, the fluorescent lights surrounding the meeting of racers, bettors, and spectators were visible in the far distance, and the sound of roaring engines reached the two faintly in the light breeze. However, in the immediate area, aside from the light in the garage, darkness surrounded them. Even the streetlights seemed to glow dimly, their light unable to penetrate the thick void. They shrank back towards their source, as though in fear.

R.C had backed into the far corner of the structure as Asha entered and stood in front of the only open exit. The Regent eyed the anarch before her, the two contrasting like a passionflower next to ash. R.C's facial piercings and chain link necklace glittered under the glow of the single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, complemented by the blues and yellow-greens of their outfit.

Asha cleared her throat.

“As I'm sure you've figured out, I am not here to race, and the name I gave you was false,” she started.

“Yeah, no shit,” R.C said, crossing their arms.

“If you would allow me to introduce myself again?” The Tremere stood with her back straight, hands folded in front of her.

“Like I really have a choice?” Their tone flat, R.C faced down their captor with a defiant glare. Asha stared back, lips pursed, on her face an expression given only to the most pitiful of creatures.

“I suppose not,” she answered, continuing on to her second introduction. “My name is Asha Mariam. I am currently filling in for Regent Lemuel Dominguez after his encounter with a group of anarchs that left him incapacitated. Please understand that I have no intention of harming you. I'm just here to figure out what exactly happened to Regent Dominguez and find the perpetrators of this spineless attack.” Asha spoke softly, keeping her distance from the Toreador. “You anarchs have become more than just a nuisance lately. What would you say is behind this sudden increase in violence? Dominguez meant no harm when he crossed into anarch territory. Why start a fight when all he wanted to do was talk?”

“If anyone started anything, I'd suspect it was the cammy,” R.C spat, the agreeable smile wiped from their face. “I'm just here to race. I don't know shit about the anarchs' business, and I don't wanna know. I hang out, I race, I have fun, and then I leave. That's it.”

“Maybe you've heard rumors. About the perpetrators. That's all I really want to know.”

“Even if I knew, I tell you, and they're goners.”

Asha paused, shadows in her eyes, as she faced R.C.

“I know you're lying to me,” she murmured. “I truly don't want to hurt you, R.C. I just want names.”

“You can't hurt me. By the time you got over here, I'd have my blade in your neck.” R.C reached toward the knife on the back of their belt, freezing as Asha spoke.

“That would be a mistake. It would take only seconds for me to have you engulfed in flames,” she threatened.

“Not if I get to you first,” they said, grinning darkly. Before Asha could stop them, they briefly reached their right hand into the large pocket of their blue cargo pants, a wooden stake appearing in their grip. The Tremere stayed in place, eyeing the object in R.C's hand.

“You just keep that with you?” the Regent said flatly, moving her hands to her hips.

“Hey, doesn't hurt to be prepared, right?” R.C answered with a shrug.

Asha nodded, regarding the Toreador with calculating eyes as she went through scenarios in her head. She could attack: Raise her hand, a quick scratch to release the blood, establishing the connection to the element of fire, its symbol seemingly forming before her eyes, injecting her vitae into the stream as fuel, and then... ignition. To someone less skilled, it may have seemed like a fair number of steps to achieve the final product, but the Regent knew the spell intimately. The steps, she could execute consecutively, without thought, a rapid succession of cause and effect.

But, would it be the best action for her to take in this situation?

Meanwhile, R.C waited, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their blood buzzed, adrenaline accumulating within them. Any sudden movement from the Tremere, and they would be on her in an instant.

Come on, they thought. Make your move. Just give me an excuse. No one dominated them against their will and got away with it.

The Beast clawed at them from the inside, creating butterflies in their stomach, a savage intensity building within them, showing in their eyes. They almost seemed to glow. Saliva filled their mouth, as though their Beast were a starving dog, a feast of meat set before it.

The Toreador waited in anticipation while the Tremere's cool demeanor masked her racing thoughts. She really should have had one of the apprentices take care of this business. Asha was far too old to be confronting anarchs herself. They could be temperamental and unpredictable. However, selecting the right apprentice for the job was difficult when she had hardly gotten to know them. She was sure that this would have been a good teaching moment for some of the novices, but obviously, it was too late for all of that now. She was here, and she would have to decide what to do.

Attacking R.C physically would be a bad idea, she concluded.

She would have to talk to them.

“Tell me,” the Regent started. “Why did you come here?” She hoped to throw her opponent off by asking a personal question.

“No offense, lady, but that's none of your business, plus you're hella uncomfy to talk to. You gonna let me go or what?” R.C held up the stake, ready to move.

The Regent didn't answer right away. Instead, she examined them. She looked them from head to toe, noting their stance, the tension in their muscles and face. She peeled away the mask, gazing deeper, under the hard shell.

Asha's face softened, pity in her eyes.

“Perhaps this is how the situation went with Dominguez, as well,” she considered.

R.C blinked.

“What?”

“I mean, the anger, the threats. This doesn't have to be an unpleasant exchange,” Asha said, trying to appeal to R.C.

“You're the one making it unpleasant,” they countered.

Taking a moment to carefully construct her next sentence, the Regent spoke softly.

“Is it usual for you to stay only a few nights in one place before taking off again?” she asked, concern in her voice. “Why is that? What are you running from?”

“I said, none of your—” R.C started, but a sudden chill ran up their spine, silencing them abruptly.

Asha sighed.

“You know, I deal with many Kindred much younger than myself. I teach them how to successfully navigate through unlife. One of the many things that can lead to our undoing is running from our demons, because no matter how fast or far you run, they will always catch up with you, and by that point, they've had time to grow. To become powerful. More powerful than you could ever be so long as you continue to flee.”

The Tremere's words resonated somewhere in R.C's mind, bringing forward memories of the life they left behind.

“It's complicated...” they started, trailing off into silence.

“We are predators, R.C. Only when we run do we become prey.” Asha's voice had become richer, smoother. Almost calming. “So, will you at least tell me where you come from? Surely, it won't hurt to share just a bit of yourself with me.”

R.C seriously considered her words.

“L.A.,” they said finally.

“What do you know,” answered the Regent. “I lived in L.A. as well. As a neonate.”

“For real?” asked R.C. Asha nodded, and they locked eyes, both sharing a secretive but genuine smile.

“I have fond memories of it,” Asha shared, her gaze growing wistful. “I still visit occasionally. Maybe I was there when you were. We were unlikely to meet, of course. Different circles and all.” She paused. “Were you familiar with the more prominent anarchs?”

“Uh, not so much.” R.C tugged at their turtleneck with their left hand, wooden stake forgotten in their right. “I was a—I mean, I...” Should they really tell her this? It wouldn't hurt, would it? “I got involved in a car theft ring. It was pretty great for a while, y'know? The thrill and all that, but it was dangerous at times. Things got a little too... real. It, uh, really drove a wedge between me and my partner.”

“I see.” Asha nodded sympathetically. “Is it your... partner you're running from?”

“Yeah.” Rowan. The name echoed through R.C's mind. “It just... it sucks that things went so bad, y'know?”

“A very common theme among Kindred, I'm afraid. Maybe there is something inherent in us that eventually sours all of our relationships.” The Regent projected genuine concern. “It's best to focus on the good times you had.”

“Honestly, I just can't. I try not to think about him at all.” They shook their head, as though trying to fling their thoughts from their mind.

“And how's that going?”

“Real shitty,” R.C answered, they and Asha briefly chuckling.

“Your demon,” the Regent warned. “Will only get stronger if you continue to run from it. I've seen it before. We have to turn and face them, and either accept their judgment or fight.”

Icy fear gripped R.C's heart. Face Rowan? And then what? Surely, it would end with one of them dead, and R.C had no desire for either outcome.

“Your care for your partner makes you fear confronting him,” the Tremere stated. R.C couldn't help but agree.

“Yeah.” R.C looked the Regent up and down, truly seeing her for the first time.

“There was a time when I wanted to run,” Asha admitted, her voice quiet.

“Really? Did you?” The Toreador's posture had relaxed significantly, and they idly reached their left arm behind their shoulder to play with their hair.

“No. However, I wasn't given the chance. I was made to take responsibility for my actions. My punishment, it was unpleasant, to say the least, but it was justice.” Her eyes connected with R.C's, a rueful smile on her face. “Do you believe in justice, R.C?” Asha asked.

“Of course.”

“So, why are you so against justice for Lemuel Dominguez?”

The name snapped R.C back to the reality of the current situation.

She's nice for a second, and you turn it into a damn therapy session, R.C scolded themself.

“I—dammit.” Anger built up within the Toreador's body, and they clenched the wooden stake, still present in their right hand. “You're good,” R.C admitted. “I, for real, believed you weren't a soul sucking Tremere for a second. You done playing me? I meant what I said. I'm not telling you a thing. Last time for you to bail before shit gets real.” They brandished the stake, the point facing Asha who still stood on the other side of the garage.

She glared at them with an expression that could only be read as treacherous.

“Or what?” she replied. “Do you really think you're going to get me with that stake? Think of the odds. If you're untrue in your aim, even just a bit, you'll be standing inches away from a very pissed off, non-paralyzed sorceress. I don't think you want to die your final death tonight. I know I don't.” She paused and then added, “and I probably won't.”

R.C realized that they truly despised this woman. So far, she had done nothing but lie and manipulate them. And she was so... arrogant about it too. Time to turn the tables. Physically, R.C had the advantage, and Asha knew it. That's why she had insisted on talking.

“Let's find out,” R.C hissed, a gleam in their eye. Activating Celerity, they crossed the vacant space and reached Asha in less than a second, thrusting the stake forward and jamming it into her...

She shifted, the stake entering just below her rib cage, and then stumbled backwards.

“Shit...” R.C froze, unsure of what action to take next as they both stared at each other, Asha gripping the stake protruding from her abdomen. She yanked it out with a grunt, clutching it in her right hand as blood dripped from the point onto the cement floor.

“Uh,” an awkward smile formed on R.C's face in the silence that followed as they searched for the correct words that would help them out of this increasingly sticky situation. Unfortunately, the only thing their mind could conjure was : “Sorry.”

A few more seconds passed, Asha seemingly stunned, before she moved, hurling the stake at R.C's chest. The Toreador dodged it right before the Regent started towards them. They clearly had no intention of waiting around to be roasted by an angry Tremere, and activated Celerity once again, sidestepping Asha and exiting the garage. Leaving the light of the building, the night seemed to engulf them as they ran. They picked up speed, aiming to get back to the crowd at the race, as the Tremere followed, falling increasingly behind. A blossom of blue flame erupted to R.C's right. The sudden heat only motivated them to move faster as they swerved towards the left. They then veered right, more fire to their left side altering their course. Only after dodging the third fountain of flame did they realize the Regent's intent. They were being herded straight towards a circle of blood smeared on the dark asphalt. R.C tried to stop, but it was too late.

As soon as the Toreador entered it, a ring of sigils appeared around its circumference. R.C smacked into the circle's edge, as though hitting a solid wall. They fell back to the ground, blood running from their nose before they were able to direct their vitae away from the injury, and ran their tongue along their teeth, hoping they hadn't broken any. As for the pain in their face, arms, and knees, there wasn't much they could do for it, especially right now as Asha caught up to them and approached the invisible cage.

She flashed them a mocking smile, pacing the edge of the circle as her hand moved to the hole in her abdomen. “Guess luck's on my side, tonight,” she said, wiping blood from the open wound with her sleeve. The Regent stopped and folded her arms, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “Now, why don't you tell me what I want to know? All I need are the names of those who were involved in the assault of Regent Dominguez.”

“I'm not telling you shit, cammy.” R.C rose to their feet, determined to keep up the fight, despite being trapped.

“So, you admit you do know something,” Asha surmised. “What is your allegiance to these Kindred? You arrived here but a few nights ago, correct? Surely you haven't found solid allies in that short of a time. So, why protect them?”

“'Cause we don't give in to bullies like you.”

Asha paused, considering her words before speaking again.

“Bullies,” she repeated. “The Kindred you protect ganged up on a member of my clan, several against one. His arm was torn off, head cracked, bones broken.” Her voice grew more intense as she continued to speak. “He is now in torpor after being mercilessly beaten with no provocation. So, tell me, in this situation, which one is the bully?”

“I don't snitch to cammies, period,” R.C answered. “You done asking me the same question over and over again? 'Cause I'm about zonked from all that running, and all I wanna do now is get outta here.”

The Tremere's eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps a different approach, then. You've already breached my mind...” Asha started.

“Yeah, gnarly trick you pulled on me with that hallway thing,” R.C said flatly.

“...So, it wouldn't be inappropriate for me to do the same to you.”

R.C's eyes widened.

“Oh, come on, I didn't even mean to do that. I just wanted to view your aura. You're the one who pulled me in!”

“Doesn't matter. Anyway, you practically project your thoughts. I won't have to go far to find the ones I need.” Despite R.C's protests, Asha breached the barrier of their mind, taking care not to delve in too deep. The information she needed would be towards the surface, the subject fresh among the Toreador's thoughts. She came to a memory. A bar, faces, all bragging about how they defeated the Tremere who had trespassed into anarch territory. Asha could view the image, but she received no names.

Another thought came to the forefront, a strong one. Asha detected longing, regret. A name: Maverick. It bounced through R.C's mind and was clearly something they thought of often. Only after further examining the thought did the Regent realize what she had captured.

If R.C truly didn't know the names of Dominguez's assailants, then maybe they would be willing to find out. For the right price, of course.

“You're not just running from someone. You're searching for someone, too. Your sire... what's his name? Maverick Sutton,” Asha started. R.C suddenly stilled, their eyes darting to hers. “You're here looking for him, aren't you?”

“I—” R.C stopped themself from confirming her question, but their body cues gave the answer away immediately.

“I see.” Asha stepped partially into the circle, seemingly unaffected by the invisible wall. “Your sire wasn't too happy about your decision to become a car thief, was he?” The Regent paused, noting the guilty expression on the Toreador's face. She grinned thoughtfully. “What if I could give you information on his whereabouts?” She took another step forward.

As soon as the Tremere crossed the barrier, R.C didn't hesitate. Throwing all caution to the wind, they leapt forward, grabbing the Regent by the front of her sweater.

“What do you know?” they hissed, pulling her towards them. “Tell me!” R.C held Asha in place, lips curled back and fangs bared. Their sire's face flashed before them, followed by a cascade of emotions. Anger. Regret. Frustration. So far, their quest to find their sire had been fruitless, but now the Tremere standing right in front of them claimed to know the information for which they had desperately searched.

Asha cleared her throat, gaining R.C's attention. Clearly displeased, the Regent stared down at the Toreador's hands as they gripped the fabric of her black sweater.

“First,” she said calmly, the slight edge in her voice betraying the rage beneath her words. “Unhand me, please.”

R.C came to their senses, letting go of Asha's sweater and stepping back.

“Right, I just, uh—what do you know?” R.C repeated in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “About Maverick?”

Asha straightened her sweater before answering.

“I have many contacts in various cities. You give me the names of Regent Dominguez's assailants, and I will give you all the information I can find on your sire. Perhaps I'll even be able to locate him for you.”

R.C swallowed, a sensation building up inside of them that they hadn't felt in a long time.

Could it really be? Hope.

“I—” they said, hesitating. “I know who they are, but not their names. I can find out, though.” If they gave up the names of the Kindred who attacked the Regent, the anarchs would discover R.C's treachery. They would turn on them. Asha would kill the ones they named. Still, this was a chance to finally find their sire. Wasn't that what truly mattered to them? “Okay,” R.C answered, finally. “I'll do it, but I want info first. Then I'll give you names.”

There was a pause as an overly sweet smile bloomed onto Asha's face.

“Of course,” she said, her voice taking on a pleasant, almost motherly, quality. However, soon her tone dropped, a heavy darkness settling in the air. “But, we bind this agreement in blood.” The two stood facing each other under the moonless sky, Asha eyeing R.C expectantly. “Your knife,” she clarified, as the Toreador stared back at her in confusion.

“Oh,” they breathed, slipping the knife from their belt and offering it to Asha. The Regent held it by the handle, running the blade along her palm. Blood swelled from the cut, the flow controlled at her will. R.C took the knife from her, cutting their own hand before wiping the blade on the side of their pants and slipping it back into their belt.

Asha held out her hand, and R.C gripped it in return, both feeling the sensation of their vitae mingling. R.C knew that whatever kind of deal this was, there had to be some sort of trick to it, but it was all worth it, right? To find Maverick.

The Tremere locked eyes with R.C, iridescent pools flowing in her dark irises.

“I am so glad that we were able to come to a resolution. Our agreement is sealed in blood,” the Regent recited. “Let it be so.”

[feral-ferrule]

Choy and Una’s GAR Goth Night Out, part 2 (part 1)

CW: alcohol consumption and drunkenness, some bodily functions, jealousy and undressing

Word count ≈2970 ( it kinda got away from me)

Main pairings: clone trooper Veetch/OC Choy/tbb Echo (and a lil bit Kix)

@skellymom’s OC Mad/tbb Hunter, @lonewolflupe’s OC General Lupe / ARC trooper Fives @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf’s OC Tahny/Crosshair

More cameos from across the GGN au including Jedi padawan Eo and Owl Squad

I hope no one minds my fic intrusion into their doings🫣☺️

This also includes an interaction as requested by the lovely @skellymom

Some background setup

The scene opens on the dance floor with this song

Listen on YouTube

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

“Mind if I cut in? *hic.”

Choy’s ears pricked and her heart skipped at the familiar, gravelly voice. Veetch stopped swaying and circled his arms possessively around Choy’s back. He scowled over her shoulder, as a driving beat with a darker edge played out the previous song. Choy turned to peek and caught her breath.

“Meshla,” Echo slurred, “you, you’re ver pretty t’night.” He had filled out more since she last saw him and his physique was accentuated by the mesh shirt stretched over him. He swayed back catching himself and overcompensated forward. Choy spun around out of Veetch’s embrace, caught him and held him up. He reeked of booze and his ports were sticky. He nuzzled her ear, “I missed you.” Choy staggered in her high heels and felt her dress slipping down under his weight.

“Echo,” Choy squeaked, straightening him up and looking into his unfocused golden eyes.

“Hey,” Veetch elbowed in front of Choy, pushing her back, “she’s with me, pal, borg bar’s 200 levels down.”

Choy bristled at the slur.

Echo summoned enough focus to draw himself up. “I’m not your pal, ya wook.”

Choy swooped back in between them, they both grabbed at her waist, she slid them apart with some force use, a hand on each of their chests, “It’s ok Veetch he’s a friend I’ve got this,” she said, feeling his temper settle down as she focused soothing energy toward him. He backed down a little and she rounded on Echo. “How many drinks have you had?”

“What are you doing with him?” Echo leaned around her to scowl at Veetch. “We just, *hic, friends?” he asked with hurt as Choy swam in his vision.

“You left, Echo, there’s no we.” Choy blinked back tears and Echo’s eyes softened as he cast them down. Choy felt a jumble of emotion off him.

“Hey, Echo, don’t run off on me like that, the boys wanted another round.” A cheerful teasing voice said behind them. “Why’d you take off-ohhh.”

“Fives?” Choy’s temper flared, figuring who he must be by his tattoo and exactly who he meant by ‘the boys.’

“Oh heyyyy, you’re Choy, yeah, Echo talks about you all the time. Wow how’d you land one like that, brother?” He flashed her his most charming smile realizing she was mad.

“Did you tap that keg- with Echo??”

“Yeah, they’re down a bartender so we took control of the situation.”

“Control?? You call this control?” She caught Echo again and pushed him up and towards Fives. “His blood volume is half of yours, you could have killed him.”

Fives looked stricken and swallowed, considering what Choy just yelled at him over the music and finally noticing how impaired Echo was. “Help me get him over to the couches,” Choy barked.

“Geeze if I didn’t know better I’d ask if you were related to Kix.” Fives hooked Echo’s arm over his shoulders and Choy supported his other side. She looked around, Veetch was gone. Just as well she figured, didn’t have to deal with all of them at once. They half dragged Echo to the side room which was outfitted with several seating areas, soft lighting and soothing instrumental music. There were couples cuddling in various corners around and a few people just chilling and scrolling on holopads. Choy pointed to a larger couch and Fives guided them over to it. They plopped Echo down and Choy sat next to him. “Honey, let me see you,” she cooed, taking his hand as he laid his head back.

“Uhhhg, ‘s all sssssspinning,” he said weakly, looking ashen with a thin sweat breaking across his brow. Choy clasped his hand in hers, it felt clammy. She felt his pulse, it was rapid and weak. His breathing was shallow and he was starting to shiver.

“Fives go get water and bring Kix back with you,” Choy said while resting her hand on Echo’s forehead.

“Oh yeah sure be right back,” Fives said and dashed away. A silver haired woman in black cargo pants intercepted him just outside the room. Choy recognized her, a Jedi, Plo Koon’s pupil? she tried to remember. A woman with an impressive head of dark hair with an undercut appeared at her side. They spoke together as Fives left and looked in at Choy and Echo.

Choy refocused on Echo, “Hey I’m going to try something and I don’t know if it will feel weird for you.” She squeezed his hand and rubbed circles on it with her thumb. He groaned weakly in response. Choy had no way to actually filter his blood of the alcohol metabolites that were turning his blood into a toxic soup so she figured she’d try to speed up the process of breaking them down. She brought his head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, focusing her mind in on his remaining bioengineered implants. She knew they were capable of producing enzymes to break down toxins like a network of livers throughout his body. She just had to turn that on. As she sent her mind through him with the force she tuned the rest of the world out and didn’t notice Fives come back with water, a large backpack and Kix, trailed by the women Fives spoke to. She felt her way through Echo’s system, willing the remaining implants to ramp up this function. Finally satisfied that she had done all she could, she withdrew her mind and came back to herself.

Echo took some deeper breaths against her, “That tickled.” He sat up and regretted it, the room still spun and he flopped back against the couch.

Choy looked up, noticing Fives and others standing looking at her with a mix of curiousity and astonishment. “How are you glowing?” Fives asked.

“She does that, it’s the force,” said Kix beside him.

“Oh kark it, I’ve been keeping that under control so well,” Choy grumbled looking at her hands. They glowed like a red tide at night except gold and green. She closed her eyes, willing the glow to fade, then held her hand out for the glass of water Fives had. She held Echo’s head up, softly saying, “Echo drink this and keep drinking water, you can rest as soon as you get two glasses down.” She looked up at Kix and narrowed her eyes, “Did this one explain,” she asked, flicking her eyes at the sheepish looking Fives.

“Yeah, all up to speed on the questionable decision making,” he leveled a gaze at Fives. “So how’s the patient?” he asked, dropping to a knee and feeling Echo’s pulse, pressing his eyelids open and opening his mouth in a rough field once-over.

“I activated his internal implants to speed up his metabolism of the alcohol, but he’ll need to drink alot of water if he doesn’t get an infusion. He will need to be kept awake and hydrated and helped to the ‘fresher frequently to flush his system.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Good work, and I have just the man for the job,” Kix said as he stood and clapped Fives on the back. Fives looked back at the women he’d spoken to before and then back at Echo and sighed, slumping his shoulders, “Yeah of course I’ll stay with him, it’s my fault.”

Choy held the glass to Echo’s lips again and helped him drain the rest of the water. She met his eyes, they were better focused now and she felt herself melt a little. “Yaiyai’ika,” he slurred. She looked away quickly, blushing. Fives and Kix glanced at each other, wondering if the other knew why he called her that. The dark haired woman also caught it and gave them a knowing look. She leaned over to a confused Lupe and whispered something to her. Lupe mouthed an ‘oh’ and glanced at Choy an Echo quickly, noting his loopy gaze at her as she regained composure.

Choy cleared her throat, “Fives go ahead and take him back to the ‘fresher now, I’ll get more water from the bar.”

“Come on brother, let’s get you right,” Fives said, hauling Echo up by his forearm and scomp. They staggered towards the refreshers. Choy watched them go with a sigh.

“You ok?” Kix asked, kneeling down, his stern expression gone and his eyes warm and gentle.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Choy said, casting her eyes down at the glass in her hand.

“Oh no, that bad, huh?”

“I just feel-“ she sighed, “it’s complicated.” She swallowed her emotions and took a deep breath. “I’m going to go get more water from the bar, be right back.”

“I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind?” Kix asked, regarding her with concern and helping her up.

“Thank you,” Choy smiled, and hooked her hand around his offered arm. “I do want to stop by the fresher myself. I’ve got Echo port booze on me.” She touched the sticky spots on her dress and Kix made a face.

They left the quieter chill out room and passed the women who had been curiously eyeing the whole ordeal and were back out in the main bar room with some others. Choy nodded to the Jedi who’s name she didn’t know. [[sorry to be mean to Fives, but he had it coming]] she said through the force. The Jedi raised an eyebrow and looked across the room at Fives and Echo as they disappeared into the men’s ‘fresher. Choy smiled at the woman with dark hair who was being pulled onto the dance floor by a woman of a species she’d never seen before. Choy craned her neck to watch them disappear, mesmerized by her gravity-defying head of colorful tendrils.

Kix smirked, “That’s Commander Eo, she’s a Mikkan. These fellas over here are her squad.” He nodded to their other side. Choy looked over in time to see Crosshair throw the woman who was attacking Hunter earlier over his shoulder and stalk off as she fumed at him. She’d been on the table the squad stood around. Choy watched as they reacted to her tantrum over Cross’s shoulder. Then felt a little shimmer off of a couple of them. They seemed to feel her eyes and looked over at her, their force signatures strengthening. Yep force sensitive clones, she mused, well waddayaknow? She smiled and gave them a [[Hey]] before catching some curiously familiar energy off the bald one. She looked away with a blush after noticing just how handsome they were.

They reached the fresher. It had a poster stuck over the gender sign that said “GOULS” with a vampy woman silhouette. Choy handed Kix the water glass and went inside. It had a large lounge and vanity area. It was the cleanest Choy had ever seen and was decorated with large backdrops of gothy styled interiors and swags of cloth and more of those silly paper bats. Choy was surprised to see an attendant droid with a tray of toiletries. “Do you have anything to get sticky booze out of my dress?” Choy asked her.

“Oh yes there is a customized laundry droid for just this reason that the event planners brought in for the evening. Step over here and we will get you sorted out.” She brought Choy over to the back of the lounge where the cylindrical droid with several spindly cantilevered arms was cleaning the flowy floor-length skirt of a woman with a crown of silver and black hair, black tattoos and bra. She looked over at Choy who was watching whatever substance was on her skirt disappear as the droid passed its steamer extractor arm over it. Their eyes met.

“You don’t want to know,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Whoever hired this droid in for the night was a genius. Gotta say they really went all out. How about you? Standard party foul?”

“Not exactly,” Choy said, “some of the 501st tapped a keg with one of their own.” The woman looked confused. “One of the troopers is basically a cyborg and had the right augmentation to be a keg tap apparently.”

The woman looked taken aback then it dawned on her, “Do you mean Echo?”

“Yes exactly, they tapped him in and ran half the keg through his ports before he-“

“They were drinking booze that ran through his, his body??”

“Yeaaaahhhh,” Choy responded, sharing an icky grimace with the woman as the droid announced it was done cleaning her skirt. Choy took her place and the droid gave her dress a quick scan.

“Could you please remove your clothing so that I may do a thorough cleaning?”

Choy sighed and asked the woman if she could help with her zipper in the back.

“That, that doesn’t really surprise me about those boys.” She considered, “So how did you get involved?”

Choy stepped out of her dress and handed it to the droid, catching her reflection in the mirror. She was in her one set of pretty underwear. Her Twilek-made balconette bra and the lacey panties that exposed her belly stretch marks. She ran her fingers along those sadly reminiscing her old life. “Well, long story short he came over to me and was about to collapse from alcohol poisoning so I helped him out and he’s recovering now, but his ports leaked whatever that booze was all over me.”

“Helped him out, how?” the woman asked, eyeing her curiously already suspecting she knew the answer.

Choy smirked and decided to try something. [[My name’s Choy by the way]] she said through the force. The woman’s eyes widened so Choy held out her hand.

[[Mad]] she grasped her hand firmly and looked Choy square in the eye. [[He came to you for force healing?]]

[[Oh no, no he was jealous]] Choy huffed a laugh, and took a deep breath. Mad quirked an eyebrow.

“Ma’am your dress is clean,” the droid beeped.

Choy stepped into and pulled the dress back on. Mad helped her with the zipper again. “Thank you, Mad,” she said and checked her hair in the mirror nearby, fixing her bangs and coaxing the length smoother with the force. Mad adjusted a few things on herself and they left the fresher together, plunking some credits in the attendant droid’s tip jar.

Kix’s face lit up at seeing Choy emerge. Just off to the side Hunter appeared, wearing an outfit everyone either tried not to stare at too much or couldn’t take their eyes off of. Choy gawked. “WOW Hunter, I never thought I’d see you in something like that!

“Choy! Hey, good to see you.” He looked at Kix, “Kix,” they nodded heads to each other and shuffled in place as Kix tried to not stare openly at Hunter. Mad looked between them all curiously.

[[These two have a little awkward history]] Choy told her, then aloud, “Mad, it was so nice to meet you, thank you for your help.”

“Of course” [[and I can see why Echo was jealous]] she added winking.

[[Wellll he was jealous of someone else]] Choy bit her lip and looked aside.

Mad raised an eyebrow and Choy smirked a sad little half smile before walking away with Kix. She wondered what had happened to Veetch. And wasn’t sure how she felt about him after all. She chided herself for letting her heart get carried away.

As they wove their way closer to the bar they noticed some commotion on the dance floor. A crowd had gathered around some dancers. The Mikkan and human ladies were showing off some flirty roadhouse type moves, And, yes, yes that was Una and Tech coordinating something like a lockin and poppin robot robot dance. Their arms undulating in a wave together. They looked so happy. The music changed and so did the dancers. Mad and Hunter swirled and flowed around, her skirt sprouting wings she held high as she belly danced around Hunter. Tup reappeared. Again the music changed and a whole row of rather large commando troopers performed something that reminded Choy of a haka. They were shirtless, which seemed to be inspiring more patrons to shed shirts and more as the room became warmer.

“We need some more water, please,” Kix asked the bartender.

“Oh yeah sure, doc,” said the man in a finely meshed black shirt and pants that were barely hanging onto his hips, “anything else?” he added, looking between them.

Kix looked down at Choy who seemed a little down from her ordeal with his brothers. “This one could definitely use a pick me up. If you catch my drift.”

The bartender looked at Choy who turned to Kix to protest. “I don’t need a drink, it’ll just make me sleepy.”

He gave Kix the slightest hint of a wink. He went down the bar and deftly started mixing up juices in a silver shaker. He opened a drawer with several decanters of various colored liquids and selected a couple gold and hot pink ones and set them on the counter. With a flourish he pulled out a fluted stemmed glass, poured the contents of the shaker in and a few drops each of the pink and yellow elixirs. Gave it a stir, popped in a straw and added some kind of exotic looking flower. He brought it over setting it on a little cocktail napkin in front of Choy. “On the house.”

“You're stealing my thunder, man,” Kix joked, passing him a couple credits.

Choy sat on a barstool and eyed the drink which was a brilliant orange and sparkled and swirled with iridescence as she stirred the straw. “What did you put in this?” Choy asked.

“You’ll like it, trust me,” was all he said and went down the bar to help another couple.

“I’m going to take this back to Echo and make sure Fives is following orders,” Kix said, indicating the glass of water.

Choy was taking a tentative sip on her drink. It tasted like sunshine and fresh flowers.

“Good, right?” the bartender was back and startled Choy a bit. She swiveled to face him.

“Yeah, I already feel better, thank you for whatever this is.”

He nodded and disappeared again. She slid off the stool to go with Kix who picked her up by her waist and set her back on it. Her skirts fluffed up in front of her and around Kix’s arms. He kept his hands on her waist as he leaned in, “I’ve got this, meshla,” he murmured in her ear, “I know it’s hard for you. Besides,” he squeezed her a little and kissed her temple while looking behind her, “I think someone wants to talk to you.”

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

So, who do you think wants to talk to Choy? Who’d you like it to be?

A stolen tag list is being stolen @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @eobe @foxwithadarkside @fiveminutetrash @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @sunshinesdaydream @noblelightfighter @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @gars-weaponeer @leenathegreengirl @vodika-vibes @headphones-ct-09978 @thecoffeelorian @bad4amficideas

[cece693]

If you happen to be taking requests for bruce banner I would love to see him x reader where reader keeps messing up something and calling themselves dumb and he’s just like no don’t say that (does that make sense, I really hope that makes sense)

HOW DID I MANAGE TO FORGET JUST HOW FINE THIS MAN WAS? LIKE, HONESTLY, HE LOOKS LIKE A BIG SOFTIE AND I WANNA CUDDLE THE FUCK OUTTA HIM...Anyway, I get what you mean and I hope you enjoy how it turned out :) Even if it is kinda short...

You Can't Badmouth Yourself

pairing: bruce banner x gender neutral reader tags: short work, but I really like how it turned out, kind and supportive bruce, comedic elements, you can't badmouth yourself, bruce doesn't let you

You’re sprawled on the lab floor, knees scuffed, surrounded by a crime scene of fallen circuit boards and scattered micro‑screws. The prototype gamma sensor you and Bruce spent two evenings building lies in pieces between your sneakers, still blinking in pathetic little sparks.

“Great,” you mutter, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Way to go, dumbass—can’t even hold a screwdriver the right way.”

From behind you comes the soft scrape of loafers and the gentle jingling of Bruce’s ID badge. “Hey,” he calls, voice light but firm, “let’s cool it with the name‑calling.”

You shoot him a sheepish look. “I’m not calling anyone names but me.”

“Exactly,” he says, crouching beside you. His cardigan sleeve brushes your arm, warm even in the AC‑chilled lab. “And that’s not allowed around here, remember?” He plucks a resistor off your shirt like lint. “You’re my partner—you don’t get to bad‑mouth my favorite scientist.”

“Pretty sure Stark’s got that title locked down,” you mumble, cheeks hot.

Bruce smiles, slow and lopsided. “Tony’s a different category. He’s chaos wrapped in a metal tux. You’re…” He gestures vaguely, searching for language precise enough. “You’re the reason I remember to eat lunch.”

Your laughter comes out half‑embarrassed, half‑fond. “Lunch is important.”

“So is the way you talk about yourself.” His tone dips, earnest now. “I spent years hating who I was. Trust me: once you start saying those things, it’s easy to believe them.”

You swallow. “But I literally broke our sensor.”

He twirls a tiny screw between thumb and forefinger. “And now we know the torque spec on these casings is too low. Scientific discovery through glorious disaster.” His grin widens. “Besides, I like building things with you twice. Means I get twice the time with you.”

You can’t fight the smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“Only statistically improbable,” he counters, leaning in to brush a strand of hair—oil‑smudged—out your face. “Tell you what: we’ll rebuild together. You hold, I solder. Then later I’ll cook. And if you insult my partner again, I’ll be forced to unleash the Other Guy’s most terrifying weapon.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh?”

“Relentless affirmations,” he deadpans. “‘You’re brilliant!’ Smash. ‘You make the best coffee in the compound!’ Smash. It’ll be carnage.”

You snort. “Okay, okay—I surrender.”

“Good.” He presses a quick kiss to your lips; he tastes faintly of peppermint tea. “Ready to give it another go?”

You exhale, rolling your shoulders back. “Yeah. Together?”

“Always.”

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in