#so being haunted by their screams is weighing on him AND HE WANTS OUT

[nightshades-hq]

people use this as an argument that tyler meant what he was doing. that he meant to cause harm. no where did he say he knew what was happening while in hyde form. only that he remembered after the fact. maybe he liked it. i doubt, i believe him saying this was just to tell wednesday what she wanted to hear. “you want me to be the badguy fine i’m the badguy” tybe beat. a mask. a tough guy act. if she’s afraid of me she’ll leave me alone. or maybe it isn’t even him but the hyde part of his brain, something similar to split personality.

but let’s say for the sake of argument he means it when he says he likes it. i don’t think he means he likes killing people. i think he just likes for once in his life having power over others instead of the reverse. he’s a little revenge drunk, taking out pent up anger from years of neglect and bullying. and that’s not necessarily excusable but it is entirely understandable and explainable outside of “murderous psycho” it’s ‘curable’. hurt people hurt people. hurt people can heal. but again i think it’s less about liking to hurt people and more about a sense of relief.

as tylers #1 defender i do believe he absolutely has issues. i think thats why he and wednesday get along so well. even if it’s enjoying causing a little fear because he enjoys exerting power over others; its fucked up but not something to hold against him perse because wednesday is exactly the same in that regard. he was never the innocent boy next door archetype. he was the twisted, hurt, complex boy not next door.

"I'm in. And no charge. Consider it a freebie."

"Why?"

[Tyler Galpin had no control over who manipulated Hyde. He had no idea or any sort of training in controlling his own powers. As a normie he was neglected by his father and found solace in the lies Thornhill fed him. If his dad had ever tried to communicate with him rather than being scared of what his son would become, he'd be in a different place. What he was made to do was not his fault. He did not choose to kill people. He was just a teenager trying to be a better person, trying to live his life peacefully. He was haunted by the pain of the people Hyde killed, and when he's telling Wednesday about it, you can see the mask almost slip. And that's all I have to say.]

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, desperate starved reader, God!Gojo

gn reader

based on this by @hawnks

He's worshipped, but worship alone doesn’t make those who pray by his shrine his belongings.

Even pets run away when they don't like the food.

He could take lives, which suppose some of his fellow gods might view as ownership, but right when he ran out of places to wash the blood off his hands, he’d sooner found it to be an empty pastime bearing no merit.

After all, taking lives doesn't mean they belong to you—it just means they’re dead. 

He'd come to realize that the power to take is a far cry from the prospect of actually owning something—something he can truly call his. He could level a forest and everything in it, crush mountains to deserts, drink the entire ocean dry—but it wouldn’t make any of it his.

It leaves him feeling stingy when yet another measly human comes before him—on your knees with your forehead bowed in the dirt, skinny hands shaking while laid flat out before you, cracked lips crying his name.

With his chin propped in his palm, he yawns while listening to you, and with jaded eyes, he nearly dismisses you altogether. But there’d been a question he’d been mulling over lately—one that had found its way to the tip of his tongue.

“What do I get in return?”

You’re only asking for very little—one of the humbler humans who still bother praying to him. You might see it as greedy of him to ask you for something in return—a poor soul with nothing but your sorry name. But what you don’t understand is that you and he are the exact same.

Dirt poor.

In many ways, he has it a lot worse. You could die. He could not. Infinity would pan on forever and drag him with it as if with a ball and chain—and he’d remain destitute and alone for the entirety of it all.

Which is why…

“You can have me, I guess…”

It sounded so sweet—like a vow.

You say it with such defeat, as though you’ve already accepted his rejection—as though you’re about to offer yourself to the forest next—as though you're worth nothing more than returning to soil again. 

You don’t notice the new light in his eyes that threatens to swallow you whole, nor do you hear the growl in his gut like a beast awoken from a deep slumber—starved to death if he only could. His tongue swells with sweetness, it nearly runs over and spills down his chin.

Your offer hangs still in the air, poised and waiting for him to grab it, brighter than a star. It nearly frightens him—how much he wants it—how desperately he yearns for it. His fingertips buzz with thrill as he reaches out. He’s never held something like it before—soft and warm and flickering with something fleeting and precious. It almost feels wrong for him to hold it in his blood-soaked hands. Eyes all but blacked out as he looks down at it.

“Mine, you say?” 

You feel it, too, but it’s not close to the same sense of elevation—how he reaches into your chest and scribbles his name on your soul. Each letter is heavier than the last and leaves you curling in on yourself in agony, screaming before you fall silent.

Panting once you look up, you clutch your chest, only to see his sneer gone, replaced by something worse—something haunting.

The regret is palpable. You pick yourself up and take to running away—but by then, it’s too late. You don’t make it more than two steps before something has you tugged right back—this time into his embrace.

“I accept your generous sacrifice, little human.”

His words weigh awfully heavy while you shudder in his lap. His skin is like marble—shimmery and cold as his hands wrap around you, holding you tightly as he puts his lips to your neck.

"I'll take precious care of you..."

You feared he’d bite, but the kisses that commence feel no less like a collar being fastened snug around your throat. As well as his promise—like being sentenced to spend eternity right there, hand-fed under that awful smile on his face.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[countlessimagines]

Downfall [ Five Hargreeves x Reader ]

Summary: No matter the timeline, you and Five never get your chance.

A/N: well I think I can agree with everyone that season four was not good… so my way of coping is making angsty imagines for it… I’m trying to cope with the fact this is the last time we will ever see them ): This is also super short, apologies

Warnings: Season Four Spoilers

MASTERLIST LINK

-

Five had seen multiple timelines with Lila throughout their time spent together. And in almost every single one they saw, you were dead by the hands of him or vice versa. Eventually it became normal to see you mourning Five or him taking revenge for you.

Lila could see how distressing it was for him to see every timeline play out the same for the both of you.

Fate never seemed to be on your side, and even in your timeline, Five never had the courage to tell you his feelings. Despite spending six years by his side, being his roommate, helping him with cases, being there emotionally for him… he never seemed to catch on to the fact that you held feelings for him, too.

On one of their multiple train rides, Lila tried to address what the two of you meant to each other, but Five didn’t want to acknowledge it.

Because he feared the moment he’d open up, fate would play it’s cruel trick again and guarantee he would never see you again.

So he buried it deep within himself so it would not haunt him.

-

For you, it was mere hours you had last seen Five. You had helped Allison and Claire rescue Klaus from being buried alive, and had found your way to Lila and Diego’s home.

Everything seemed to be alright, and although you could sense something was wrong with Five, you didn’t have the energy to ask, simply from the long day you were all having.

However, you didn’t fail to notice the looks Lila and Five were sharing. It made not only you suspicious, but Diego as well. It was started to grow more and more tense as he pried information from them.

It almost felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, being stomped on by the universe, as Five and Lila confessed of their infidelity.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to console Diego or slap Five.

You decided on the latter before storming out of the house. Diego tried to stop Five from chasing after you, but Five was quicker and blinked to your side.

“Let me explain.”

“Get away from me!” You screamed as you exited the house. Nobody followed the two of you, so you only assumed Lila was in the hot seat.

“(Y/n)! Stop acting like a child and listen.” Five grabbed your arm and whipped you around to face him. He was close now, his breath fanning your face.

“How could I listen to the fact you and Lila shared such an intimate relationship while I have been waiting years for you to do the same with me.” You made sure to throw your words in his face, making all of your emotions clear as day. Pretending to not hold feelings for him was beginning to weigh you down, so you needed to let go of those weights now.

“All we did was kiss,” Five said it like it was the most simple action in the world. “One kiss and we realized our mistake immediately. We got wrapped up in our own little bubble and forgot the important things. I just… I couldn’t handle seeing you die anymore…”

“What?” You pushed away from him. Had he seen a timeline with you dead?

“I… we don’t get a happy ending in any timelines. No matter what we do, we fail to be together.” Five sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I lost hope that even if we got back, it would lead to our demise.”

You didn’t know what to say to him as your heart began to beat uncontrollably.

He looked into your tear filled eyes and said, “I want to be with you, but I don’t want to kill you.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who, after forty years in the apocalypse, couldn’t even keep his heart on one person for seven years. It doesn’t matter if you realized your mistake, Five. I’ve been here the whole time waiting for you. I took care of you when you came home bloodied. I stayed up with you while you had panic attacks. I made sure that you had coffee brewed every morning.”

Five felt ashamed he had let everything you had done for him go to waste with his one mistake. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Maybe I’ll be the bigger person and actually forgive you, because I know deep inside I am that person. And I for sure know you aren’t because you kissed your brother’s wife, Five.” You scoffed and wiped away your tears. “Good luck with that.”

You began to walk towards your car without another word, and Five just watched as you left.

He was smart enough to know that if he chased you, it would lead to a grave.

And not too long after, he would sacrifice himself with his family, his last thoughts only consisted of you and how much he failed your relationship. Some selfish part of him hoped that he’d come back, to be able to see you again.

But the more rational side of him knew that he would never touch you again.

Because for once, you would be able to live in a peaceful timeline without him there to cause your downfall.

[sv5hive]

all's well that ends well | lh44

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

content warning(s): suggestive content? (like one little comment nothing outrageous

word count: 2,107

note: this is a part two to this fic! thank you to the anon who gave me the idea otherwise i would have been stuck for ages!! so happy so many of you enjoyed it and i hope you enjoy this one just as much 😚🫶🏻

(masterlist!)

you let out a shallow sigh as you gently pushed the door closed with a click. last night's fight had plagued your mind and haunted your dreams meaning you had gotten almost no sleep at all. you just wanted to get all your stuff and find a small place to rent while you looked for a more permanent place to stay.

but lewis had other plans.

"hey, baby-"

"don't call me that, lewis. i thought i made it clear last night that it was over. i thought i also made it clear that i didn't want to see you again."

"ok, ok. i'm sorry. i just, i know i fucked up. but i can make it right again. i promise."

"like how you promised we would have a normal life together? i don't want to wait anymore, lewis. i told you this already. now please, let me just get my stuff and leave."

"no, just, just hear me out on this. i can't imagine how you felt while waiting for me to finally catch up to what you realised a long time ago. but i have been in love with you since the day i met you and if i let you walk away again i would never be able to live with myself."

despite what you had said earlier, you didn't hate him. and lewis could see you weighing up the idea in your head.

"saying it is but proving it is another. otherwise your apology means nothing."

"ok. yeah, ok i can do that."

he grinned at the possibility of winning you over.

"but, i need space. so, i will be getting my stuff and leaving."

"wait! you can stay here. i'll go, it's only fair."

"don't be silly, lewis. i still have my hotel room booked don't worry about it."

"no, no, please stay here. this house is yours as much as it is mine. don't worry, i can find somewhere else to stay. i know how you get sleeping in a bed that's not yours."

he knew you too well.

"ok. uhm, thank you, lewis."

"you don't need to thank me. i'll see you soon?."

"ok, yeah. see you soon."

you thought sleeping in your own bed would help you get a good night's rest but you seemed to toss and turn for hours on end. looking to your left, the digital clock on the bedside table screamed some unreasonable time in blinding red. you huffed before realising that maybe it wasn't just the bed. after all, all those years you slept in this bed you weren't sleeping alone. eventually, you did manage to fall asleep at some ungodly hour after scrolling on your phone mindlessly. but not without pondering how lewis was planning to change your mind.

the next morning you were awoken by a knock at the door. rolling your eyes, you readied yourself to turn lewis away but instead you were met with a bouquet of flowers on the doorstep. you peeked your head out to see if the person who dropped it off was still around but it was like they had disappeared into thin air. bringing the bouquet to the kitchen to place in a vase your eyes caught notice of a note gently tucked into the leaves.

thank you for giving me a second chance. you won't regret it.

he was making it hard to stay mad at him. you pulled out your phone and sent him a quick text.

thanks for the flowers.

anything for you. and i meant what i said.

read 9:26 am

humming along to the radio, you plated up your lunch and made your way to sit at the counter to eat. the recent weather had been unusually pleasant with the sun shining all day, and you thought about going for a run outside when a text popped up on your phone.

do you have any plans tonight? it read.

you debated lying to him but you had already finished with your work that day and you found yourself wanting to see him again after a little bit more than a week of being apart. you typed out your reply after a couple of seconds.

depends. what do you have planned?

it's a surprise.

you grinned.

i'll pick you up at 6.

oh and can you wear that black dress again? the backless one?

read 12:46 pm

you felt your face go warm at the reminder of what happened the last time you wore that number. god damn it. no matter what he would always have that effect on you. looks like you had something to look forward to tonight.

you smoothed away imaginary wrinkles while obsessively checking your entire appearance over in the mirror. it felt like you were doing too much but then again, you had to show lewis what he would be losing out on if he couldn't convince you. before you could check the time there was a knock at the door.

you calmed yourself down and opened the door to come face to face with lewis.

lewis swore he felt his world stop spinning.

"you- wow. you look...as beautiful as ever. seriously, why were you ever dating me?" he eventually managed to get out, audibly breathless.

your giggles filled the air as you hoped your makeup meant he couldn't see your entire face going red.

"you look, ok." you were lying straight through your teeth. he could make a trash bag look like a designer outfit and you both knew it. he found it funny enough to let out a chuckle though so maybe it was the right move.

"oh and uh, these are for you." as he remembered the bouquet of baby's breath, white chrysanthemums and blue hyacinth in his hands that he painstakingly put together himself.

"oh they're lovely. thank you. i'll just go put these in a vase and we can go."

he couldn't mess this up now. not again.

"ok, do you plan on telling me where we're going now or is it still a surprise?" you asked locking the front door and heading towards the car.

he opened the passenger door for you as you got in.

"y'know there's a saying that goes something along the lines of 'good things come to those who wait'. you ever heard of that one?" he retorted before getting behind the wheel.

"hmmm, i don't know. doesn't really ring any bells for me."

"that's too bad because i'm still not telling you."

"fine, be that way."

he looked over at you staring out the window refusing to spare him so much as a glance. you always have been a stubborn one he thought. shaking his head with a smirk, he began driving.

you were definitely surprised when you two arrived at the restaurant you raved about months ago - you didn't think he had been fully paying attention while getting ready for bed. now sat down at the secluded booth, you couldn't help but grin at the fact while in awe of the decor. all lewis could do was admire the pure joy and glee present on your face.

"what? why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?"

"y'know, like that."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

all the other patrons must have been irritated by the way you two couldn't stop chatting and laughing as the bottle of wine dwindled down over several courses of delicious food. but if it meant he could see you so happy after everything he put you through he was ready to pay for them all to leave.

"so i've been thinking, and, i'm ready to take the next step with you. don't worry, i'm not about to get down on one knee right now, but i just thought you should know."

"what changed your mind?"

"i should've listened to you but instead i was an idiot and i let you leave. i'm sorry for that. and everything else. i guess seeing you walk out really brought me to my senses."

"yeah? well i'm glad it did."

"and i am absolutely ready to retire and start a family with you-"

"what?" you almost spat out your wine.

"i've thought about it and i want a family with you more than anything."

"no, lewis, i won't let you do that. you love racing. you said it yourself it's your whole life!"

"not anymore. i want to be there for you and i can't do that if i'm away driving every weekend."

"i can travel while pregnant, lewis. i'd follow you until i am physically unable to and we would be waiting for you until you come back home. i know how much racing means to you and i will always support you. besides, wouldn't you love to have your kid cheer you on in the garage?"

you two were cheekily grinning now at the prospect. he couldn't believe how lucky he was to find you.

"are you sure? it's not going to be easy."

"yes, of course i am. i've been sure for years, lewis. you were the one who wasn't ready."

his smile faltered a little as he wished he could go back in time and tell himself to get his act together. he couldn't change the past but he was damn well going to change your future together.

"ok."

"ok."

to everyone else in the restaurant, it seemed like a normal date, but if lewis kept his word then it meant the start of a completely new chapter in your relationship.

"you ready for this?" you were in awe of the man stood in front of you.

"more than ready."

"stay safe, ok? we want you back in one piece."

"of course. anything for my two favourite girls."

he placed a kiss on your forehead before taking the toddler from your arms.

"you ready to see daddy race? hmm?"

lewis nuzzled his nose against hers and placed gentle kisses all over her face, prompting an endless symphony of infectious giggles.

he had been absolutely petrified when you told him you were pregnant. he wanted nothing more than a family with you but babysitting nieces and nephews was very different to having your own child. even after all the baby books, birthing classes and packing dozens of hospital bags, lewis still almost passed out when your water broke. and if you weren't in excruciating pain due to your rapidly growing contractions, you would have teased him for his panic.

soon enough, his daughter was placed into his arms for the first time and all of a sudden there was nothing to be anxious about. he could still visualise the moment perfectly and yet somehow failed to describe just how he felt looking at the little one's face. she was the perfect mixture of the two of you.

"i'm so proud of you, my love. you know that right?"

season after season, he was left fighting in the midfield when he was finally given a championship contending car to restore his former glory. it was clear to everyone that lewis was more motivated than ever and that he just needed a car good enough to take him back up to the top step. all the late night meetings and simulator runs had finally paid off, as the legendary eighth world championship was won just a few races ago.

now, as you helped him prepare for his final race in formula one, you looked fondly back on the beginning of your relationship. you had everything you always dreamed of and you wouldn't trade it for the world.

"i couldn't disappoint my biggest supporters!"

"even if you didn't win we would still be your biggest supporters! isn't that right, my sweet girl?" you tickled your daughter as she curled back into lewis' neck to evade your hands.

"thank you."

you looked back at him with furrowed brows while fussing over the toddler.

"what for?"

"for everything. for taking me back, for making me the happiest man in the universe. twice, by the way."

you beamed from ear to ear at the reminder of the wedding that awaited you next year. he had proposed to you just before you found out you were pregnant and it felt like your life was falling into place at last. studying his face, you felt content knowing that you were truly meant for each other. nothing else mattered more than what lied ahead of you and you couldn't wait to experience it with the man you had fallen in love with years ago.

"i would do it all over again in a heart beat."

note: omg. it's literally 1 am but i had to finish this before my random streak of motivation ran out. i didn't think so many people would want a part 2 like i was so shocked at how many people enjoyed part 1!! never thought i'd get 10 notes let alone 100+ you are all tooooo kind 🥹

[lovebugism]

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life. 

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode. 

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings. 

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself. 

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm. 

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring. 

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater. 

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house. 

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them. 

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now. 

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you. 

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

[elizaleclerc]

epiphany 📠 ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

"just one single glimpse of relief / to make some sense of what you've seen"

summary: fem!reader and javier deal with the aftermath of a traumatic mission

song: epiphany by taylor swift

word count: 2.6k

author's note: first javi fic yippie. hella angst / nightmare trope / mentions of death / hurt/comfort / 18+ but no smut just fluff / established relationship / DEA agent reader / translated spanish

The car ride back to your apartment was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of grief hanging heavily in the air. The familiar streets flew by as Javier drove, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the images burned into your mind. As a DEA agent for over a year, you had seen your fair share of horrors, but never before had you witnessed something so gruesome right in front of you. It was easier to read about these things in paperwork, detached and removed from the reality of it all. But now, the memory of it all was haunting and raw, replaying in vivid detail with every passing second.

Your head felt numb, as if a thick fog had settled over your thoughts. Your whole body felt heavy and weighed down, as if invisible chains were holding you back. The sensation in your stomach was nauseating, like being on a rollercoaster that never seemed to end. Even though you wanted to vomit, you knew it would be futile - your body was too weak to even try. Even Javier, known for his stoic demeanor and ability to handle tough missions, was uncharacteristically quiet. The only sound filling the car was the low muttering of the engine. Not even the radio provided any source of distraction or comfort in this tense moment.

Javier expertly parked the car in the driveway of your shared apartment, the smooth engine purring to a stop. The dim yellow glow of the streetlights illuminated his face as he turned to you, concern etched into his features. But you didn't move to get out of the car, your gaze fixed on something far off and unreachable. Javier's gentle touch on your hand jolted you back to reality. "Hey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "let's get inside where it's warm." His words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the depths of your thoughts. He understood the weight that was pressing down on you - he was carrying it too.

You nodded, and languidly pushed the car door open and scooted out of the passenger seat. Your legs felt like noodles, weak and wobbly from the energy you exerted on today’s mission. Javier put his arm around you, his thumb delicately circling the top of your shoulder.

Javier's keys jingled in the lock as he turned the handle of the front door, and the familiar scent of the apartment enveloped you like a warm embrace. After hours of feeling disoriented and disconnected since returning from the mission, this was the first sense of comfort that washed over you. The office had been a blur, with memories of sitting at your desk attempting to file paperwork but unable to even type on the typewriter. But now, as you lazily walked into the apartment, everything slowly started to feel real again. Javier set his keys down on the sleek kitchen island, and you followed him aimlessly, your mind finally starting to settle from its chaotic state.

“I’m gonna assume you aren’t hungry?” He asked, his voice still soft. You shook your head no. He nodded, “What do you need?”

As you lifted your gaze to meet his, you couldn't help but notice the deep brown pools of concern gazing back at you. But beneath that concern, you could see a deeper turmoil brewing - the weight of today's mission and countless others weighing heavily on his shoulders. "I don't know," you croaked, your voice hoarse from screaming and covered in dust. You weren't even sure if Javier could hear you over the ringing in your ears. Tears welled up in your eyes as flashes of today's horrors replayed in your mind like a never-ending nightmare.

“Listen, you have to talk about what happened today,” he said urgently. In his experience, keeping everything bottled up inside only made things worse. He leaned across the counter, his elbows propping him up as he reached out to hold your hand in his. His touch was warm and comforting. “Tell me, cariño, what's going through your mind right now?” His dark eyes searched yours with concern and empathy as he waited for you to open up to him.

More images flashed through your head. Your throat burned trying to hold back more tears. “I should’ve done more to save them…”

He sighed, “Mi amor, you can’t think that way. You and I both know we did our very best today. The ‘what ifs’ will only haunt you if you let them.” Javier’s voice was persistent yet comforting. This wasn’t his first rodeo, so you knew he was probably telling the truth.

“How do we go to work tomorrow like nothing happened?” Your voice cracked out, and Javier squeezed your hands.

“Everyone in that office apart from the damn secretaries have experienced days like this. They know what we’re going through. We take as much time as we need to get back into the swing of things, and we persist. That’s all we can do, querida.”

You stood in silence, the words caught in your throat as Javier moved around the spacious apartment. The soft glow of golden lights flickered against the dark walls, casting shadows across his face. He poured two glasses of whiskey from a crystal decanter, the sound of clinking ice cubes filling the room. He slid one glass towards you and you reached out to take it, feeling the coolness of the glass against your fingertips. You brought it to your lips and took a slow sip, letting the warm liquid spread through your body and soothe your racing thoughts. In the background, Javier shuffled around the living room before the smooth melody of an oldies music vinyl began to fill the air.

As you made your way into the room, the smell of Javier's cologne mixed with the remnants of cigarette smoke enveloped your senses. You could feel his warmth radiating from the couch as he sat there, whiskey glass in hand, waiting for you. As you slouched down beside him, your body immediately relaxed, finding solace in his comforting presence and scent. The tension in your muscles began to melt away, and silent tears escaped your eyes once again. The weight of the day's events was finally settling in, and you were now more aware of your memories and surroundings than ever before. With each passing moment, you were forced to confront the aftermath of the mission and all that it entailed.

You sniffled as Javier scooted you closer to him. You laid your head down next to his chest and he caressed the side of your arm. “I know, I know.” He whispered as your tears wet his shirt underneath you.

He wasn’t just saying that to comfort you, he really did know. His own memories of tough missions flashed through his head. He remembered when he witnessed his first death on the job. He knew the feelings of regret and guilt that now lingered inside of you. He had gotten better at coping with the aftermath and trauma of missions, but that’s one thing that the DEA doesn’t teach you.

Once most of your tears had subsided, your mind was back to feeling blank. However, you recognized the song that was now playing from the record player. It was a soft oldies song that you and Javier once slow danced to. You thought it was cheesy at the time, but Javier convinced you to dance with him. He could persuade you to do just about anything.

Javier shifted and got up from the couch, your body sinking into the cushions slightly with his absence. You looked at him curiously as he held out his hand, “Dance with me, amor.”

You almost huffed out a laugh, but couldn’t muster up the energy. “Really, now?” He simply nodded in response. You sighed, and slowly got up from the couch.

You moved closer to him, relishing the warmth and strength of his embrace. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in close as his fingers traced gentle patterns on your back. You closed your eyes, sinking into the feeling of being held by someone who loved you. In the background, the soft melodies of the song played, transporting you to a distant memory. It was the first time you had heard this song, dancing with Javier in this very apartment. The room was filled with cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked, but Javier was too eager to set up his treasured record player. A fond smile graced your lips as you swayed together, lost in each other's presence.

“Te quiero mucho (I love you so much)” Javier muttered as he placed a kiss at the top of your head. His hands slowly moved up your arms, holding you tightly to him. It was as if he was so worried he could’ve lost you today that he didn’t want to ever let go of you.

“I love you too Javi,” You rested your head onto his chest. You were finally feeling a sense of peace, a sense that you could go on tomorrow and be almost okay.

“Cmon, let’s call it a night.” Javier sighed and you looked up at him and into his brown puppy eyes that held so much love for you. His lips placed a soft kiss onto yours. A kiss that wasn’t meant to lead to anything else. A kiss that stated he was here, just for you to love.

As the minutes ticked by, you both showered and changed into fresh, cozy clothes. Finally, you found yourselves snuggled up together in bed, with Javier's strong arms wrapped around you from behind. His soft lips pressed against your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine. The soothing tempo of his breathing next to yours was like a lullaby, easing you into a peaceful slumber.

That was when the nightmare started. You were back inside the shabby house from earlier. Windows were broken and wooden boards were rotted. You couldn’t believe that anyone actually lived there. You held your gun down tightly by your thigh, just the way that Carillo had taught you. Javier was leading in front of you, and Steve was following behind you.

You heard a glass shatter from upstairs and immediately turned your head towards Javier and Steve, knowing looks shared between the three of you. Your mind seemed to fast forward this awful dream. There were three small children being held as hostages, and two men who the DEA had been trying to track down for months. You had your gun pointed at one of the men, Javier and Steve pointing theirs at the second man. Steve was trying to reason with them, but this was an impossible scenario. Your mind was racing but also laser focused. How could you get them to surrender to the DEA and also let the children go? From what you could tell these children were just pulled off the street, their innocent souls only being used as collateral for a scheming drug cartel.

Before you knew it, guns were firing and you lunged back behind a piece of furniture. You heard the voices of Steve and Javier yelling and trying to fight the men, but it was too late. You stood up and scanned the room, your eyes shifting from Javier to Steve, who were trying to catch their breath, then to the three small bodies lying on the ground.

Your own blood-curdling scream tore through the silence, jolting you awake. In an instant, Javier's strong arms enveloped your trembling body, soothing and comforting you in his warm embrace. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths and tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to regain control of your emotions. "Shh, it's okay, I'm here, you're safe," Javier murmured tenderly, gently stroking your hair and rubbing your back. Gradually, your breathing slowed and your heart rate returned to normal as the nightmare faded away. But the fear lingered, a palpable presence in the air. It took several minutes before you could calm yourself enough to speak.

You sat up and put your head in your hands. Javier rubbed your lower back as he sat up with you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, and you thought for a moment.

With teary eyes you looked over at him. “They were just kids, Javi. They didn’t do anything wrong.” Your throat burned and more tears fell. Javier pulled you into him so that your head laid on his chest.

“I know. We are gonna do everything we can to get the bastards who took those kids from their families.” He massaged the side of your arm.

“Javi…” You whispered slowly and moved away to look him in the eyes. You grabbed his hand, running your fingers lightly across his knuckes. “You always talk about raising a family. I always loved imagining a bunch of little Javis running around,” a smile tugged at your lips but disappeared in an instant, “but after today…” Your voice trailed off but Javier was waiting for you to continue. His sad eyes were locked onto your face as you stared at his hands in yours. “I want a family, I really do. But I just think about those kids today. What if those were our kids. Kids who just wanted to play out on the street, and now…”

“Oh angel,” His voice was raspy and you looked up to see tears in his own eyes. “I love you so much, and I know your pain, because it’s mine too. Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about our future, about our family. When we get to that point, where we’re ready to settle down, I’ll take an office job. I won’t care what I’ll do at that point. We’ll move anywhere we want, as long as I have you, and any little ones we bring along.” He smiled lightly as his hand came to rest on your jaw. His words brought tears to your eyes. You didn’t realize how much Javier thought about the future between the two of you. He had a plan for every scenario; he would quit his job tomorrow if it meant having you by his side.

“I love you Javi,” You whispered and planted a small kiss to his cheek.

“Eres mi vida (You are my life), I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He moved his hand down to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was so gentle, like he knew how fragile you still felt. His lips felt like the softest silk and the warmest blanket. “Let’s get you back to sleep now.”

“I’m sorry- for waking you up,” You apologized as you laid back down on your pillow. Javier laid facing you, his arms shifting you closer.

“You didn’t wake me. I remember my first nightmare from a mission. I wanted to be awake to help you through yours.” He explained in a low, tired voice. He sacrificed his own sleep just so he could console you when yours was interrupted.

“Oh,” you muttered. You wrapped an arm around his torso. God, you thought, you would be totally lost without him.

You saw Javier smiling to himself, “You’re stronger than you think querida.”

You just shook your head, “I don’t know that I did to deserve you Javi…”

His hand lightly massaged the side of your hip, “You’ve got the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, cariño.” He kissed the top of your head, and before you knew it your eyelids felt heavy and you were pulled into sleep again.

Javier sighed to himself, “Dulces sueños mi amor. (Sweet dreams my love.)”

[flowercrowngods]

felt like letting mike and steve work through some shit again

cw: descriptions and imagery of them being lost and self-sacrificing, left alone with trauma they have no means to work through, could read as suicidal tendencies or intrusive thoughts

🤍 also on ao3

“What do you want?” Mike asks when Steve sits down beside him, gravel crunching, their feet dangling over the dark and endless abyss that is the quarry at night.

Steve doesn’t answer right away, doesn’t really know what to say now that he’s here, now that he found him. He looks so small, now more than ever, and it reminds Steve so painfully that he’s still just a child. He was always just a child, and children shouldn’t—

It feels like they got their rights at a childhood revoked years ago, and then they were just… supposed to be okay with it. It was expected, it was implied when nobody came to talk to them after.

When all they got was one NDA after another. When none of the professionally trained adults took one look at the children that they were, and asked, Are you okay? What do you need to be okay? I will talk to you once a week and make sure you learn how to be okay again.

Steve feels like a big brother to most of the kids now, sure, but he’s not their shrink, and he sucks when it comes to actually talking about shit. He can be there to drive them anywhere, can provide an evening of distractions and as much of a sanctuary as a house as haunted as his can be.

With everything else, though, he’s helplessly lost. So he says nothing, weighs his words to make sure they come out right — especially for Mike, who’s always just waiting for him to say something wrong and throw it back in his face with the sunny disposition of a feral, rabid cat.

“Hey,” Mike says then, irritated again; but his voice is hoarse, too. Tired. No heat behind it after that stupid fight with Dustin and Lucas earlier tonight that made him snap and leave Steve’s house in a frenzy. “I said, What do you want?”

Steve shrugs, looking ahead into the darkness that feels endless and alluring and deeply terrifying.

I miss my friend! My best friend, Mike!

“Making sure you’re okay.”

You’ve changed, you know that? You’re not the guy who would jump off a cliff for me anymore, I don’t think I even know you anymore!

Dustin’s voice echoes in Steve’s mind as it undoubtedly does in Mike’s, too, and he can only imagine how much that hurts, especially if he’s shivering like that even though the night is warm for early September.

“I’m okay,” Mike says, sounding endlessly annoyed about the fact. Steve almost huffs out a humourless laugh. Yeah, right.

“Sure you are,” Steve says, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Mike’s shoulders without a comment, half-expecting him to just throw it into the darkness below. But Mike doesn’t move, is eerily still beside him, pretending not to notice that Steve’s watching him.

“But you know it’s, like,” he starts again and trails off, looking for the right words because this is unfamiliar terrain and the ground beneath his feet is quite literally nonexistent. “It’s fine if you’re not, right? It’s actually really fucking normal to be more than a little fucked up after everything, all that crazy shit. Or just… in general.”

You were twelve, he wants to say. You were twelve and you jumped off from here. You were twelve and you were going to die. And not because of those monsters, not yet. Just because… you were twelve.

Mike doesn’t say anything, but the gravel crunches once more as he reaches for a handful of stones to throw them into the darkness one by one, the void beneath them so enormous that they don’t even hear the noise of impact.

You jumped.

The longer Mike remains silent, the more Steve wants to scream, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to make him see and understand that Steve knows about the scars a decision like that leaves, especially when you live to deal with the consequences.

He gets seizures to deal with the consequences. His ear is fucky, his eye is twitchy, his head is aching constantly, he gets migraines that knock him out for a day or two, all because he wanted to protect his friends. All because he did protect his friends. It worked. They’re safe.

But they’re also unaware of… of everything. Of the horrible stillness as clarity dawns and all signs point to the one way that always seems to work. The one easy way out, and still the hardest of them all when the plan goes wrong and he makes it out alive. When It’s gotta be me is the only thing to say, but later turns into an angry It never should have been me because the world looks different when it’s smeared with your blood.

And it’s always the lost boys who make decisions like that. Steve wonders, some nights in cold sweat, what happens if he makes these decisions without immediate danger. What happens if he just… decides to jump. Decides to run. To give the world more of his blood. Without saving anyone.

It’s not like he wants to — but he’s terrified that it’s just who he is. Who he’s turned into, terrified that his friends will forever expect him to.

And he’s even more terrified knowing that Mike jumped before he learned about monsters. Before he learned about fighting and surviving.

You were a kid, he wants to say again, but his throat is closing up on him.

“I don’t think that’s okay actually,” Mike says after a while, tearing Steve away from his fears. They’re still both looking ahead rather than at each other, but it’s fine. They’re still here. “Like, people say it is, but it feels so empty when they do, you know? Like, sure, yeah, I’m not fucking okay, but what the hell do we do about that now? Oh, right, I know! Let’s throw it in my face that I’m not good enough for you anymore now that there’s no monsters to kill anymore. Now that I’m just Mike, who’s not even enough to be that anymore, sure. Right. Yeah. Let’s pretend it’s all fine, Steve, let’s pretend it’s okay to hurt all the fucking time!”

Mike is shaking now, violent tremors running through his body, and Steve’s first instinct is to reach out and pull him close, to keep him from that edge and take him to his car; turn on the heating and talk there. But Mike seems to need the darkness, seems to need to be faced with endless depth to give voice to his thoughts.

“What Dustin said was messed up. He shouldn’t have said that.”

Mike shrugs, throwing more pebbles into the darkness, though his motions have lost their vigour. “He’s right, though.”

Steve sighs, though not unkindly. “No, he’s not. Hey, listen to me.” He waits until Mike turns to meet his eyes, and he leans forward. “It’s not okay. It’s not right what he said. You don’t deserve to have that shit thrown in your face just because Dustin is a tactless little douche bag.”

Taking a bullet for someone is not the baseline for friendship, he wants to say, and it occurs to him once again how fucked up their perception and idea of friendship must be, now that they’ve all bonded over the most horrific shit and actual grief they never learned how to work through.

It’s not even Dustin’s fault, not really. They’re all just collateral damage to something Bigger, and all they have is each other, leaving them in a vicious cycle that is so, so fucked up.

“Why’d you jump?” he asks eventually, quiet in case the darkness tries to listen in. “Back then, why did you jump?” And do you wish El had let you? Do you sometimes wish that? When your room is quiet and it’s only you living with all those silent, terrible decisions?

Mike shrugs again, but there’s not much fight left in him, Steve can see that, can feel it in the air between them.

“Will was gone,” he says like it explains everything— and it sort of does. Steve has seen the way these boys look at each other when the other’s not looking, he has seen the hurt and the anger and the gentleness stored there, the words unspoken and the fear that, despite interdimensional monsters, kinda goes unmatched.

Because they have each other. They only have each other. And if someone’s suddenly different than what they thought they knew, if someone’s suddenly different, then… Everything might just fall apart.

And Steve wants to grab him again; wants to pull him close and say, I’m the same. We have the same scars. We have the same!

Slowly, carefully, he does lean over now, weaving an arm around Mike’s shoulders and pulling him into his side.

“I get that.”

Mike swallows heavily and exhales shakily. “I don’t think you do.”

“No. I think I really, really do. But it’s okay, Mike. You won’t be alone with this, okay. I’m on your side, you little shit.”

A pause, a beat, a moment’s respite. Then, “Why?”

“Because,” his heart is racing, his mouth trembling around forming the words for the first time, but he knows it’s the right thing to do. Knows it’s important.

Knows it might just save a life.

“Because I fell harder for Eddie Munson than I ever thought possible, and once i found out what was happening, I kind of wanted to jump off a cliff, too. But I didn’t, because I had someone with the same fears as me, and instead of stupid shit we just… Cried together sometimes. Screamed into our pillows. Laughed with and at each other, calling ourselves hopeless, and— I don’t know. It’s really fucking scary, and that doesn’t go away just because you have someone to talk to. But it‘s… better. It’s so much better.”

He huffs, swallowing around the lump in his throat, smiling into the darkness.

“So I’ve got you, okay? Whatever it is, whatever makes you feel like it’s not fucking okay, I’ve got you. You come to me, yeah? Lucas does, Dustin does, even Max does. This is your official, standing invitation and whatever, okay, dickhead?”

Mike shoves at him lightly, still not parting from the rather awkward side-hug they’ve got going on, and Steve is glad for it.

“Okay, okay, geez,” the little shithead says, rolling his eyes which Steve can see even in the dark, and it feels like the edge has moved away from them, like they have solid ground beneath their feet again.

Steve doesn’t say anything more after that, just waiting for Mike to stir to lead him back to the car, load in his bike and take him wherever he feels like spending the night.

But Mike doesn’t move for another long while, and it makes Steve feel like something big has just happened between them. Like they finally have found the common ground that Steve’s been suspecting they had for months now, even years.

Eventually, as they make their way to the car and Mike goes to grab his bike, he speaks up again, but more subdued now.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Does… Does Eddie know?”

“About what?” My tendencies to take a leap off the edge?

“You. Being…”

“Oh!” A smile as he unlocks his car and opens the back door to squeeze Mike’s old bike in there with minimal smears of dirt. “I’d hope so, we’ve been dating for months.”

“You’re dating?! You? Eddie’s dating you?”

“Yeah, listen, do you want me to just leave you here or would you rather be thrown out in the middle of nowhere?”

Mike grumbles something unintelligible as he climbs into the front seat, waiting for Steve to start the engine before he speaks up again.

“It’s just, you’re so… How did you even do that?”

Steve laughs at that, disbelieving and all, because, “Trust me, I have no idea. Must have been the ol’ Harrington charm and all that.”

Mike rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest, sinking lower in the seats to pout. “You’re so lame.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over how much I have a boyfriend and you don’t.”

If his heart skips a beat because it still feels like a forbidden truth saying the word out loud despite the playful banter, then he’s ignoring that in favour of revving the engine.

“Asshole.”

“Dickhead.”

“Grow up,” Mike says, but Steve can see the smile he’s not even trying to hide, and he mirrors it with his own as he turns on the radio catching the final tunes of Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark.

They’re not okay, none of them. But the car is warm, the cliff’s edge is behind them, and they’re not listening to the same ten songs anymore.

They’re getting better, step by tiny step.

[bucksdaffy]

tommy really doesn't like halloween. any reason? well, plenty, actually.

first, the spooky theme just isn’t for him. horror movies? no, thanks. his day-to-day life is already stressful enough—he doesn’t need to add fake scares to the mix. when tommy sits down to watch something, he wants to relax, to get lost in a good story, not be on edge. why would anyone choose to make themselves anxious for fun?

second, people act really fucking reckless on halloween. the streets are full of kids pulling pranks, and half the time, it feels like common sense goes out the window. that means tommy and his team get stuck responding to ridiculous emergency calls all night. it’s just unnecessary chaos.

third, the whole dress-up thing. finding a costume is a hassle, and once you’re in it, you’re stuck sweating all night. and for what? to pretend to be something you’re not? tommy’s spent enough of his life pretending—he doesn’t see the appeal in doing it for fun.

fourth, halloween has always been tied to painful memories for him. it’s a bit embarrassing, but when he was little, his mom told him a terrifying story, trying to appease his insistence that he was brave enough to handle something scary. it backfired spectacularly, leaving him with nightmares that still haunt him as an adult.

but the worst part? halloween was his father’s favorite holiday, and when his dad celebrated, the entire household paid the price. tommy can still hear his mother’s screams and feel the bruises forming under his father’s fists. to him, halloween wasn’t just spooky—it was a time of danger and fear.

so, yeah, tommy hates halloween. if he could, he’d lock himself inside and wait for the madness to pass. unfortunately, his shifts often fall on halloween, forcing him into the chaos, so he can't always avoid it. but this year, he got lucky. his plan? stay home, avoid everyone, and spend the night alone.

that’s why, when buck invites him over for a halloween movie night, tommy hesitates. buck loves halloween just like everyone else, doesn’t he? tommy’s not sure he can handle that. but still, he agrees. after all, it’s evan—maybe it won’t be so bad.

but when tommy arrives, he’s immediately overwhelmed. buck’s apartment is decked out in halloween decorations, and the stack of horror movies buck’s excitedly prepared feels like way too much. tommy’s stomach churns. he tries to push through it because he really, really likes evan, but the longer he sits there, the more agitated he becomes. the decorations, the movies, the memories—they all weigh heavily on him. he can’t focus on buck; his mind is racing. he fidgets, feeling more trapped by the second.

buck notices and asks what’s wrong, but tommy is too overwhelmed to explain. instead, he resorts to passive-aggressive comments, hoping to deflect. but when buck presses for more, tommy finally snaps. he blurts out in frustration that he really doesn’t like halloween and doesn’t even know why he showed up; he should have told buck that before accepting the invite. without elaborating, he stands up, apologizes, and leaves. tommy knows he’s being selfish, but at that moment, he just can’t handle it.

buck is left confused and hurt, not just because tommy left so suddenly, but because he didn’t say anything sooner. tommy clearly had a bad time, but instead of talking about it, he shut down. buck doesn’t know whether to give tommy space or reach out, but he knows one thing for sure: he wants this relationship to work.

after talking it over with maddie and josh, buck realizes that he needs to let tommy know he’s not going anywhere. tommy doesn’t have to open up if he’s not ready, but he can’t keep shutting buck out.

so buck shows up at tommy’s door. he apologizes, but more importantly, he asks tommy not to give up on their relationship just yet. he tells tommy he’s here for the long haul, that he wants to be there for him, even if tommy’s not ready to talk about what’s bothering him.

and tommy’s eyes well up, and he pulls buck into a tight hug, not wanting to let go. after a few moments, he opens up a little, mentioning how his childhood and halloween are deeply intertwined with bad memories. buck’s heart breaks for him, but he holds tommy closer, pressing gentle kisses to his head.

buck promises that from now on, they’ll celebrate halloween their way—no horror, no stress. just the two of them, baking tommy’s favorite cake, watching romcoms or silly animated movies, creating new memories that have nothing to do with fear.

and tommy doesn’t realize it just yet, but maybe halloween won’t be so bad anymore. in fact, with buck by his side, it might even be something he can actually look forward to.

[deafeningfanlight23]

"Building Just A Place Where Suns Deserve A Home."

This oneshot is based off THIS episode, "Moon FINDS DARK SUN", and about this sentence referenced in the title that Dark Sun said!

ENJOY MY FELLOW TSAMS FANS! :D [And I'm sorry it's poorly written kinda IT'S ALMOST 4 AM FOR ME OKAY 😭🙏]

And this is btw the Sun from the other dimension who beat HIS Moon to death so don't get confused ^^'

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

TRIGGER WARNINGS - ROBOT GORE (?), DEATH

„Die, Die, DIE!“

This was the only thing Sundrop had been hearing from his mouth for a long time that felt like skipping a minute backwards whenever his aching fist would ram against the metal. First, it was a shout driven by the history of violence and abuse that had pushed him towards his breaking point, had carved their markings onto his mind and body that now began to gush out with blood, but now, it turned almost into a begging of closure. A closure that wouldn’t arrive, no matter how many times he would hit, scream, kick, slam. Each time he felt how his wound, ripped-open knuckles met the harsh surface of metal whose icy cold shot throughout his body, it only fed into this insatiable desire for revenge, to see him beaten down and rotting forever as this corpse that would never be a part of his life anymore. He wanted him erased, not just his body – But the memories that were attached to his voice, appearance, gestures, even mere name. Just flickering his gaze towards his soulless, black sockets and oil-caked face made him shake in both anger and fear. It felt like he relived each moment where he was screamed at, scolded, name-called, beaten, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing individual who would do anything to please to avoid any potential anger.

His knuckles ached. His chest felt like being constricted as strained, shaky breaths escaped his clattering mouth. He could feel how the oil between his joints dripped through and spilled upon his fingertips, staining his face whenever he would take momentum and shoot his fist towards the thing he attacked. But now, it took more effort to even bring his fist to move, and the thuds caused by the impact weren’t as strong as before.

He grew tired.

Exhaustion swept over him and weighed him down.

Just like the slowly creeping feeling that he might do something so terribly wrong that he could never take back no matter how much he tried.

And now, he doesn’t know anymore.

He braced his hands against the ground as he straightened his back. He took a closer look.

His blurry vision only revealed a shadowy frame that laid underneath him. Lifelessly. Like a corpse whose chest cage was ripped open, turned into a mere pile of wires and an empty metal shell.

It was his brother.

His brother Moondrop.

And now, his brother doesn’t even live anymore.

He is dead.

He is fully gone.

But why does he still haunt him, why is he still stuck in his mind?

His fingers curled inward his palm. They pressed against the ground.

DOES NOTHING WORK?

IS EVERYTHING HE DOES USELESS?

His head sagged down. Those thoughts tormented him. It felt like someone screamed directly into his ear, the voices just there to make his life a LIVING hell growing so loud that they broke through the bounds of his internal world and entered the outside one.

WHY DIDN'T THEY TURN QUIETER ALTHOUGH HIS BROTHER WAS DEAD?

Maybe he needs to do more? Maybe more efforts?

Maybe beat him even more until his face is unrecognizable?

Sundrop choked on his sobs. His fingertips roamed the floor until they stumbled upon a barrel.

He snatched it as if his life depended on it.

Just do it.

Hit him.

Hit him until he is only a bloody pulp.

DO IT, COWARD.

And Sundrop tried. He lifted his arm, the barrel tightly held in his hand, just wanting to go through the motion to finally escape, to finally have this relief and peace he has been looking for his entire life.

But he stopped.

Because something so... warm suddenly entered the room. As if the sun's warm rays poured over him and engulfed him.

Sundrop dragged his gaze up.

He was blinded by a light from which a person split apart. A hand was stretched out in front of him. Hesitantly, he looked from the person to the hand - The oily tears glimmering in his eyes telling the tale of suffering and hopelessness that defined his whole existence.

But maybe, this... person can rescue him. Save him.

Maybe, he is his savior.

Sundrop laid his hand in his. He looked up again.

The outlines of the person got clearer.

"You've suffered enough, Sun. It's time to go to your new home."

They had... rays.

[author-of-oddities]

hello.. i have no idea how to be as formal and fancy as you are here but id like to humbly request Stanford with electrocution for the Bad Things Happen bingo !! ! !!! if u need any ideas for it in specifics, maybe the aftermaths of Weirdmaggedon?? or possibly having nightmares about it on the ship with stan?? again, just if u need ideas !!! :-)

Ahhh yes!! Absolutely! I present to you...

Aftershock

Trigger/content warnings: descriptions of canon-typical violence and its aftermath A/N: Written for @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Electrocution Word count: 1,263 Summary: Even after months have passed, Ford is still haunted by the events of Weirdmageddon.

Also on Ao3!

The electricity hit him with brutal force, an invisible lightning that seemed to erupt from nowhere, locking every muscle into an iron grip. His limbs twisted involuntarily, teeth clenched so tightly it felt as though his jaw might shatter. Beneath his skin, an intense, burning current pulsed, sparking along his nerves like fire spreading through dry brush. He couldn't breathe; his chest felt trapped, crushed by an unbearable weight, as though every fiber of his being was locked in a silent scream. It was all-consuming, a brutal takeover that left no corner of him untouched by the raw and relentless force of the shock.

“C’mon, Fordsy,” Bill’s biting voice rang throughout his mind as his body went limp. “One little equation will save you from this, y’know?” Every inch of his body hurt in ways beyond imagination- thankfully, the searing sensation that clawed its way inside out seemed to relent in the same fashion. Still, the burns on his wrists remained, only worsened by every subtle shift, every scrape of skin against the unforgiving shackles. For a fleeting moment, he considered the offer. What was one simple equation compared to the immense physical trauma that he had already and would continue to endure? Ford shook the thought from his mind as quickly as it came, reminding himself of the stakes that weighed solely on that one equation. The world, the universe, the galaxy, and the entire dimension could be ripped apart if somehow, Bill worked the right numbers into their exact places.

He raised his head, grimacing at the pain that shot through his shoulders with the movement, and pried his eyes open, meeting Bill’s with an expression that portrayed unwavering bravery. “Never,” he croaked, voice betraying the impression his look had given. Whether or not he’d admit it, Ford was on the edge of breaking. It was just a matter of what would be the first to give: his body or mind?

Then he decided. “Not until the day I die.”

Body it was.

Bill’s laughter echoed through Ford’s mind, a twisted, taunting sound that rippled like broken glass across his frayed nerves.

“Oh, Fordsy, you’re adorable,” he sneered, floating closer until his voice felt like a whisper wrapped around Ford’s own thoughts. “You really think you can keep this up? That little resolve of yours is as flimsy as a wet tissue. You’re not built for this.”

He drifted around the Fearamid, turning to face his audience, then back at his victim, eye glinting with a disturbing glee. “But, hey, keep playing hero if you want. I can do this all day. Every minute you hold out, you’re just giving me more time to savor your pain. This is fun for me. Can you say the same?”

Ford only sneered in response. Any more than that and he’d certainly be sick. Even at that, Ford had clenched his jaw until he tasted blood, even his method of distraction wearing his body to its limit.

Suddenly, there was a shift in his attitude. Logically, Bill was aware of just how close he’s pushed his captive to the brink of death, even having contorted his power to make sure he didn’t overdo himself. Now, though, Bill knew. “I’ll give you one more chance to end this,” Bill purred, “just say the word. It’s not that hard. Just one equation, Sixer.”

He knew, as much as Bill did, that the fight wasn’t just physical. Bill was tearing at his mind, prying apart each mental shield he’d built to protect himself. Regardless, this was his last chance. It would end one way or another: if he lived, his universe died.

“Suit yourself,” Bill finally sighed, feigning disappointment. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”

A guttural scream tore from Ford’s throat as another wave of searing electricity ripped through him, a savage torrent of agony that felt like it was unraveling him from the inside out. His vision blurred, his pulse thundered in his ears, and for a terrifying moment, he was certain this was the end—that this time, Bill’s relentless torture would be the thing to leave him as a lifeless shell.

Suddenly, it all stopped.

No more pain, no more grating laughter.

Ford’s chest heaved as he struggled to draw breath. Each gasp came in shallow bursts, quick and desperate, matching the thunderous echo of his heartbeat in his ears. For a moment, those were the only two things that existed- his breathing and heartbeat, both working in harmony to remind him that he did it. He survived.

But there was always more, this time being no different. Sheets had tangled around his legs, the mattress dipped under where he lay, and some foreign pressure pushed on his shoulder. As he calmed, Ford noticed a sound. At first, it was just a muffled noise, almost drowned out by the frantic drum of his pulse. But as he took a shuddering breath, his senses sharpened, and he realized what it was—a voice, rough and familiar, calling his name over and over.

“Ford! Stanford, wake up!”

He jolted upright, eyes flying open as the world came crashing into place around him. Stan dropped his hands from his brother's arm, relieved he didn’t need to spend any more time trying to shake him awake. The loss of contact seemed to startle the older twin further, his breathing quickening again.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Stan tried to reassure, returning his hand to where it’d unknowingly been grounding the other.

Ford nodded, frantically, and it became obvious that he was trying to convince himself that Stan’s words were true. “It…” he held his hands in front of himself, examining the skin around his wrists. Scars mirrored the cuffs that once held him captive, but they were healing, fading slowly—a reminder that it was all in the past.

“It still feels so real,” he murmured, fingers tracing the marks. A strange, tingling sensation pulsed beneath his skin, different from the older scars on his chest and back, which had long since numbed. But this—this was real.

“Hey, Poindexter,” Stan tried softly, successfully drawing his brother’s attention away from his thoughts. As Ford faced him, he continued, “It’s okay. It was just a dream. Look around–” Stanley gestured to the small room around them, just large enough to fit a desk and chair at the foot of the bed. 

Ford took in his surroundings, eyes quickly sweeping the books on the shelf above the desk, the papers from his journals that littered the few surfaces they could, and the quilted blanket that was draped over him. His heartbeat gradually steadied, the familiar objects grounding him more than he’d expected. The gentle sway of the boat beneath him, the faint scent of old wood and sea salt—all of it reminded him of where he truly was, and more importantly, who he was with. Each item was a piece of the life they’d built, of the second chance they’d somehow managed to carve out. This was real, not some fleeting illusion conjured by his mind or a nightmare waiting to collapse. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. He was on a boat– their boat. The boat of their dreams, even.

He let out a sigh of relief, then let himself fall against Stanley, his head resting on the other’s shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered.

Despite it all– forty years apart, fights in between, and the near-end of the world– they did it. They were here, together at last, sharing a peace they’d fought their whole lives to find.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 23: never as lost

"I'm not ashamed to own my pain, never as lost but I found my way, always knew I'd show my scars one day." -Black Sheep by Dorothy

Regent Masterlist A03 Mundane Macabre Part 22

Jason could keep a secret from his family, that was a given, but he would sooner let Titus use him as a chew toy before he kept something so wonderful from his grandfather. 

It was as if Gotham herself felt his happiness, the shadows embraced him with warmth where there should have been fingers dragging down his spine. No, it seemed the Lady of the city he loved was happy for him too. 

(He loved the Lady, for all she sacrificed to bring him back.) 

(Without the pit clouding his mind, he could find it in himself to be grateful for his chance at life.) 

He wanted to scream the news from the rooftops. 

His love, his soulmate, is having their baby. 

A blend of the two of them- Jason’s fortitude, Jazz’s strength of will. Her determination to protect those she loves, the lengths she would go to made him ache with his love for her. 

That wasn’t to say that they were without fault, no they were flawed beings that would make mistakes in the future. But Jason knew in his bones that any kid of his would be offered the chance to make mistakes without a fatal outcome. To be a kid before having to grow up. A luxury so few got to have. 

Jason decided to call Alfred, unwilling to leave Jazz for longer than he had to. She wasn’t ready to leave her haunt quite yet. 

The private line rang once, twice, three times before the familiar accent answered.

“Wayne Manor.” 

“Hey Alf.” 

“Master Jason! It is good to hear your voice.” 

“You too, Alf.” Jason paused for a second, giddiness bubbling up in his chest before he squashed it down, “I have some great news, but the bats can’t know just yet.” 

“I will not share whatever it is you wish to tell me.” 

Oh yes, his grandfather was the greatest man he would ever know. 

(Suck it Bruce.) 

Jason let the giddiness rise up, just a little, “I’m gonna be a dad.” 

There was a gasp on the other end, “Oh Master Jason that’s wonderful news! Congratulations!” 

“Thanks Alf. I wanted you to know before everyone else.” 

“Thank you Master Jason, I’m honored.” 

“I’ll let everyone else know soon, but it’s not safe right now. I’ll keep you updated, but I have to get back to Jazz. Love you,  Alf.” 

“Love you too, my boy. Whatever you need-“ 

“I have your number memorized. Bye Alf.” 

“Goodbye, Master Jason.” 

She hadn’t been able to hold down much food, morning sickness striking with a vengeance now that she’d been forced out of her cluelessness. 

When Jason stepped outside for a minute to call his grandfather, Jazz had tried to choke down some yogurt to no avail, but it only made her retch into the sink. Jason tied her hair back and made her sit on the couch with her favorite blanket as he made her some soup, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he moved to the kitchen. 

It was…domestic. 

(She wouldn’t say that their lives together hadn’t been domestic, but it was in the way two vigilantes could orbit around one another.)

(They were two halves of a whole.) 

(Both vengeance and protection.) 

Their child would be born of the most liminal being in existence, the Regent bearing the Crown, but would its fragile heart be able to bear the burden of liminality? 

It would break hers if she lost the life she now carried. 

Perhaps she was meant to be pregnant now, to defy the odds she’d been given, if only to bridge the gap between her existence as Danny’s protector and as her own person. A person who would be a mother to a child born to a couple who had blood dripping off their hands- maternal grandparents murdered to protect their uncle Danny. Paternal grandfather a Kevlar-clad vigilante who was born into tragedy. 

(Perhaps, she and Bruce had something in common.)

(Other than Jason, of course.)

Jason had the sin of the Pit weigh on his soul, held down down down by rocks in his gut to the bottom of the harbor. A bright soul meant for more than what he had been given. In another life, Jason might’ve been a different man. Not better or worse- different in all aspects, all his rough edges that she loved. 

(If she can love his broken parts, why couldn’t he love hers too?)

(He did.) 

No amount of redemption could ever wash away the blood. It was a fact they would have to contend with for the rest of their lives. 

(In another life, Jason Todd would never meet Batman in that alley.) 

(He would never die at the hands of the clown.) 

(He would find his faith in the Catholic Church.)

(Father Jason.) 

(He would never meet Jasmine Nightingale.) 

(Not better or worse.) 

(Just different.)

“…about seven, eight weeks along.” 

If Jazz did the mental math, she would come to the conclusion that her child had been conceived on the same day the Anti-Ecto Acts had been demolished. 

However, this wouldn’t come until far later in the day as both Jazz and Jason watched, enraptured, by the strange black and white image on the monitor. 

Their child. 

The undeniable mix of two souls, two vigilantes, two death-claimed- was visible right there. 

If Jason hadn’t been squeezing her hand in an iron grip, Jazz would’ve convinced herself she had fallen prey to a Dijon. Her buried dream of a family, of children, rested underneath her heart safe and sound. 

“Alright mom and dad, got some pictures printing out. We’ll see you back here in a month for another checkup, alright?” The nurse gently prodded the couple, a knowing smile on her face as she walked them back to the waiting room. 

A month. Four weeks. Jazz would be eleven or twelve months along. 

This was really happening.

With how toned Jazz’s frame was, given her rigorous training and vigilante schedules, any differences to her body was rather noticeable. 

She had to be in shape for the armor to fit properly, because it was crucial for her vital organs to be protected. 

With her pregnancy about to surpass the second month a small slightly curved bump had been her reward. Just above her waistline and obvious to a trainee eye, Jazz had taken to wearing her least restrictive clothing around the apartment. When in the presence of others (bar Jason), her layers were doubled using the approaching winter season as a reasonable excuse. 

As for Jason, he had been supportive of Jazz’s choice to wait until the second trimester to reveal the pregnancy to their loved ones. 

(Jazz had heard Jason on the phone with his pseudo-grandfather.)

(She had no qualms with him telling the patriarch he respected so much.) 

It had taken Danny walking into the living room a few days after her appointment for him to know. 

His head cocked to the side as he came to a standstill, a confused look on his face as he appeared to be listening intensely to whatever had caught his attention so suddenly. 

“Danny?” Jazz sleepily called, book open on her chest where she’d fallen asleep reading it. She stretched out her limbs from where she’d been laying across the couch, taking a moment to rub at her sleep-encrusted eyes before focusing on her little brother. 

The teenager in question offered no sign of having heard his sister, his gaze stuck to the far wall as his head remained cocked to one side. 

“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked, moving to stand, but Danny stopped her with a fervent ‘shh’ motion. 

Shrugging, Jazz leaned back into the couch and sighed. Late night patrols were not the best idea with a passenger leeching energy. Should she still be patrols  by? Probably not, but she wasn’t going out unarmed or un-armored- short of driving a tank, Jazz was as protected as she could be and the Ridge needed to see her out and about alongside Phantom before they got any funny ideas. 

Danny’s neck made a sickening sound as his head snapped towards her direction.  “What the fuck is that.”

[A/N: Happy Holidays! This ended up a lot longer than I intended so I cut it off right with Danny there. Its not quite angst, but the undercurrent is there, but way subtle. (If you haven't picked up on the "mix of the two" hints...) Anyways, the next part will be a while, considering I'm working on a new one-shot I promised for 700 followers and I rewrote the ending of Regent again. If I don't post for Christmas, consider this your present. Stay safe out there and keep warm!] Thanks for reading!

[zephyrrr101]

Faster

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warning: TVDU inspired Vampire Aemond, blood drinking, manipulation (compulsion), Aemond being practically bored, Aemmy is also slight delulu, suicidal thoughts, angst? Could be.

A/N: I thought Aemond wearing Ewan’s CCXP outfit while writing this. Wipes off the drool Tagging @hotd-bigbang for giving me miraculous push for finishing the last part for the road prompt 24. Love you.

Masterlist

Run.

Someone said.

Run.

You could feel your limbs giving up. Every time your bare feet hit the ground, you could feel the dry twigs and leaves poking and piercing them. Each step now made you feel as if your legs will give out and you’d fall or either they will tear off. You even feared your bone breaking, cracking any moment.

Run.

You wanted to run.

You didn’t want to run.

You should run.

You didn’t want to though.

You want to stop.

You cannot stop.

But why?

Why couldn’t you stop?

You felt yourself slowing down but the very next moment you again gained speed.

Faster.

Something in you was telling you.

Why? You thought, your breaths coming in pants, your mouth open as your body called for more oxygen for energy to run. Why am I running?

You heard a sound going off around you. It was pleasant, for sure, melodic. But it felt just as haunting in the dark night with just a half moon to show you light. You wished it was either a full moon or no moon at all. You’d see something or you won’t be seen too but it was this night you were running.

The branches of the trees around you were not any helpful, you felt them scratch your arms and face every now and then.

You were so tired. So tired, that you hadn’t even seen the root of tree and trip over it, your body slamming into the tree right in front of you. You couldn’t make out what did you hit but your shoulder was throbbing, you could feel your hasty pulse through the flesh.

Thump

Thump

Thump

You wanted to yell, cry out as loud as you could, but all that came out of your mouth was a gasp.

You couldn’t even scream.

Why?

Where did your voice go?

What was even going on?

There was no time for it. You stood up, pushing your hand against the rough tree trunk, you felt it’s bark cutting through the soft skin of your palm, but it didn’t stop you.

You had to run.

You took a step forward almost ending up face first into the dry leaves on the ground if it wasn’t for the tree that had tripped you, you had taken a hold of it as soon as the sharp pain shot through your ankle.

You had hurt your ankle as well as your shoulder.

There was something stuck in your chest. Something heavy that wanted to be let out but you couldn’t. The burning and weighing down on your chest that almost made you fall but you held onto the tree more than that and dragged yourself ahead to whatever direction it.

You had to run.

“Well, this took a boring turn.”

You felt as if you’d pulled a muscle in your neck with speed you turned around as pain struck you. Or was it your shoulder? You weren’t sure.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore.

In front of you was a man, leaning on a tree, you couldn’t see much of him because of the darkness but the pale skin of his hands and face, half of which was covered in something dark, and the golden silver tresses pulled back that seemed to shine in the darkness of forest on it’s own self and an eye. A vibrant violet eye, that stood out most of him.

And it came to you.

It came to you like water rushing into a river, so fast that it would flood places around it.

He told you to run. He told you not to make a sound. He told you to not slow down. He told you to never stop, even it your legs break. Never. Stop.

He, your captor.

Aemond. A whisper from your mind came. His name is Aemond.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, holding onto the tree for your life. “please.”

You remember now.

He promised you that he’d let you go.

You could leave if you didn’t stop, didn’t make a sound until you made it out of the forest.

He promised. And he promised that if he found you before it... Well you knew what would happen.

Again.

You held your breath as he started to move and you pushed yourself into the tree, it’s bark scratching your open back, you felt a branch in the back of your shoulder, it felt like embedding in it.

“Sh.. it’s alright. It is not your fault.” His voice was soft, just like it was when he brushed your hair this morning and gave your sheer, white shift dress to wear, the same dress that was now coated with dust and leaves, torn at some places. He had smiled at you just like this after that, telling you how you both would have fun tonight, before feeding you all of your favourite delicacies. “You are but a foolish human. That’s why I take care of you. My sweet foolish doll, always making me go to lengths to take care of you. Look how dirty you got yourself.”

His hands reached up to you, you flinched as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks, you sniffled at the burn that caused.

You face cradled in one hand, he pulled away the other, the thumb glistening slightly before it disappeared behind the veil that were his lips.

Your tears. You were crying.

The thought made you sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please! Let me go—”

“Quiet!” He glared at you. He looked angry and offended. You immediately wanted to apologise, ask for forgiveness. Last time he had looked like this, you had been in pain and he hadn’t even healed you, reminding you every moment that it was your punishment for the hurt you caused him. You wanted tell him how sorry you were. If only you could speak. “What have I said about this? Did we not have this useless conversation before?” His hand that was giving you the utmost comfort at your cheek now was gripping your jaw so hard that you thought it would snap. Your hand clutched at his dark clothes. He was blending with the darkness of the forest. Like he was one with it. “What have I said? Tell me!”

“People... People are bad. They... They will hurt me.” You stuttered out, some words unclear but you were sure he understood it.

“Yes.” He hissed, his grip on you tightening even more, you wanted it to be over, you wanted to tell him to get off you but it would just further anger him. He leaned in, his nose tracing your earlobe, you felt him take deep breath, taking in your scent like a hungry man taking in a feast presented to him. You weren’t any less if you could say it.

He spoke again, this time his voice softer. “Why do you make me do it again and again. Can’t you see I just want to keep you safe.” He pulled away from you, his hands were back on your jaw, he softly caressing the silent tears away from your cheeks which now had stopped flowing. “Why must you do this to us? Look what your stupid wish led to. A broken leg, your shoulder too probably.” You wanted to tell him you had just asked to just let you see what was out of the forest just once, but silence was better, you remembered now.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled and croaked, throat dry, you’d do anything for something to wet it. You just wanted it over. How you didn’t know but you were tired. So, so tired. “please, forgive me.”

He looked like what you would imagine a prince from fairy tales to be like. The one who would kill the evil in the world and save the princess from it, make her his wife and with whom she would live happily ever after.

His eye, his violet eye, so out of world. Something that made you forget where you were. You felt his hand on yours before he placed it on his neck. A smile gracing his deep pink lips. “Of course. It is alright. As I said you are foolish.” His hands, the skin of his fingers and palm always got you confused. How could something so calloused feel so soft on your cheeks. As if silk.

How could someone so beautiful could be cruel?

Before you knew, you back in your room, in your bed, and he was rubbing away at your skin with a wet cloth. You found yourself in another one of your shifts. This time in a blue one.

It seemed he was contend with what he had done, thrown away was a cloth. Was that what you looked like after he was done with you?

You couldn’t help but move a little away from him when his hand neared your face, but you stopped immediately. His eye had went hard and it felt like she was staring into an amethyst, hard, cold and lifeless. Just like the sapphire in the empty hole which would have been his other eye.

“Tis alright,” he caressed your head, weaving his way through them and he pulled you on his lap and his hand stopped, right at tha base of your neck. You felt the other on your thigh, fingers drawing circles on them. You knew what was coming. You felt your eyes wetting.

“Please, I’m sorry.” You whispered, you hand going to his chest, clenching the dark fabric in your hand. “I will never—”

“Hush now.” He kissed your forehead. He was so tall, even while sitting on his lap, you were a good inch smaller. He said he liked it. How you were so small, almost like a doll. “Be a good doll, now. You did something you shouldn’t have. You knew punishment would follow, didn’t you?”

He looked expectant. He was asking an answer. The only appropriate answer. And you gave it to him. You nodded.

“Look at that you’re already learning,” He smiled, it was so cruel. This care, this affection, that smile, if only you never knew how cruel he could be. “You’ve been such a good girl. Perhaps I will make it easy for you.” He caressed your cheek and then grabbed your chin. His beautiful violet eyes boring into yours. “Don’t be afraid.” The his iris dilated and you felt calm wash over.

You were still sad over what was to come but not scared anyone. You were a little weirded out by the veins that came upon his face, rising from the eye lids and vanishing as they went down his face to neck, eye turning a deep shade of red, almost black but the candle light in your room was enough to know the difference. You watched him pull his hand away from your thigh, biting into the wrist, pointy tooth, fangs, protruding out as they tore away at his flesh. You felt surprised that he didn’t even flinch while doing that. He brought it to your lips, you looked at him, his lips covered with some of his own lips. You knew the drill after that.

You didn’t like it. The blood was metallic, you could never tell like what for sure. But you had gotten used to it. You gulped down each and every drop you could before the wound closed on it’s own and while that you hissed, you felt the bone in your ankle and shoulder getting better and on their place. You could breath better now.

His head dipped down, hand going back to your neck, pulling your head away a bit, you felt his soft lips brush your neck, littering kisses over your neck. You also felt the his blood on your neck.

And you held on tight onto him, bracing yourself.

Everything was hazy afterwards. You didn’t even remember screaming, but you had heard something. The world was turning into a blur.

‘Please end this tonight.’ You thought.

And you felt the weight lift off you, through your hazy view you saw him. He was hovering over you, dark liquid coating his chin and lips, dripping down his neck.

Your blood.

He leaned down and you felt his lips caressing yours, devouring you like a lion would his meal.

He pulled away again and you heard him whisper. “Not so soon, doll.”

[peskyautumn]

Further post expanding on my Listener!Jimmy headcanons, you might need to read my Solidwood post for a little bit of context,

before we get started I wanna mention a TW of body horror as I talk a bit about it, I apologize deeply in advance

As mentioned in said Solidwood post, Jimmy's wings change when he becomes a Listener. Prior they're kind of small, especially compared to other hybrids. If you were to compare Grian's, (after EVO, he didn't have wings prior) his wingspan would engulf Jimmy's. That doesn't mean he can't fly, he definitely can but it takes him a little to get them going, he tends to be a bit clumsy with them sometimes but when he gets his balance he's good as golden.

Jimmy's wings are a bright and deep sky blue tapper into black, a gorgeous color and a beautiful sight

Jimmy loves the feeling of flying, even if it's in short bouts (He tends to get distracted usually by another player (sometimes it's because he's admiring Martyn from above)) and ends up with him suddenly crashing into something or losing his balance/consternation. Jimmy usually flies with his arms up a lot like Wonder Woman, taking in the feeling and revealing in it, enjoying it, sometimes even closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in it.

Uh

After isn't so happy... Heh...

TW: BODY HORROR SKIP NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ

During the ritual to become a Listener (ooo minor lore drop) Jimmy went through... Several painful transformations but we'll focus on his wings for today folks. (Hint hint I'm still figuring out and writing out my Watcher and Listener lore) The bones of his wings snap and break as more bone started grow, shifting and growing larger and larger in size, feathers slowly started to change hue, some even falling off as more grew, his wingspan becoming much bigger, his back and wings feeling like their on fire as the pain throbbed through out them, causing haunting and painful screams to pour from Jimmy himself.

Afterwards his wingspan is much larger, now far more comparable to Grian's own, compared to a normal yellow canary hybrid's, Jimmy's wings look off. The once beautiful blue wings now a bright overpowering yellow, while oh so beautiful, they come across as almost... Unnatural. It's a jarring sight to anyone's who's known him before the change, something he can't really hide but instead beats the bush around, an uncomfortable look on his face when the topic is brought up...

Jimmy doesn't fly too much anymore either, his wings being far bigger then they originally were, are now too big for his body, almost too big to balance himself just standing. They weigh heavy on his back to point they hurt at times, almost mocking him for vow he took. When he spreads them out, he always hit's something or someone, no longer being able to control them that well.

And while his wings can more easily support his body weight in the sky, Jimmy can barely get too far without started to nose dive down one side, his wings growing too heavy and dragging him down until he crashes. Flying becomes more and more of a painful memory, the days where he would stretch out and feel the world around him long gone.

Even if he wanted to fly, The games don't really allow the time or space to do so, the area always too small, the height limit always too limiting. Jimmy can stretch his wings as many times as he wants, stare up towards the sky with a mission, a want, a dream. It doesn't matter when he takes off, tries to stretch his hand as far as he can, pushing forward harder and harder, desperately trying to ignore how gravity pulls him down, how easily his horribly cursed wings give up.

Jimmy will never be able to feel the taste of the sky and the clouds between his fingers again

[valkyrieromanoff]

👻GHOST OF YOU: FORCE GHOST! ANAKIN X YOU (day 11 of 31)

synopsis: Navigating the mourning of Anakin's death, you find an artifact that could change your course.

warning: angst, a bit sad, honestly, a lot sadder.

a/n: Hello there, so apparently I'm a masochist, and I love suffering,  hope you like it💖

ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ ɪᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴅᴏ

ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴏᴜʀ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ

ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ

Grief is a funny thing. It twists your mind into knots, filling your heart with endless waves of sorrow. At first, you deny it, not wanting to believe that your loved one is gone—that you will never see them again, never hear their voice, never feel their warmth. Your last conversation becomes a haunting echo, the final words exchanged between you now tinged with regret. You start to think of everything you could have done differently—every 'what if' becomes a trap, a never-ending spiral of guilt that consumes you.

You had been on the other side of the galaxy when Order 66 happened. For better or worse, you were on a mission, far away from your battalion, meeting a Jedi informant under the guise of hunting down a lost lightsaber. There were no clones around. When the news came, you didn’t know what to feel. There was guilt—guilt for being so far, for not being able to save your men, for leaving them to the clutches of Palpatine’s orders. But deep down, you knew it was for the best. You wouldn’t have had the strength to fight them, to defend yourself from their blasters. They were your comrades, your family.

But then came the news from Master Kenobi. The message was brief, but its impact shattered your world: The Jedi Order has fallen. Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith. Anakin is dead. 

The ground beneath your feet crumbled, and the universe itself seemed to collapse in on you. Denial was your first refuge. No, it can’t be true, you thought as you discarded your Jedi robes, blending into the Coruscant crowd. Anakin couldn't be dead. He’ll contact me, you told yourself. You held onto that hope desperately, needing to believe in something. You waited, clinging to the idea that he would find you—that he was alive and would come for you.

But the comlink remained silent.

Days passed, and then anger set in. A white-hot rage bubbled within you, burning under your skin. Why had no one told you the full truth? Why did everything seem to fall apart, with no one giving you the answers you needed? You threw the comlink across the room, watching it shatter into pieces. The sound of it breaking was satisfying, but fleeting. You screamed into your pillow that night, cursing the universe, cursing fate for taking Anakin away from you. It was irrational, but grief always is.

The anger subsided, but only to give way to bargaining. You combed through your memories, replaying every conversation, every interaction with Anakin, searching for a reason, an explanation. Maybe he’s hiding, you convinced yourself. Maybe he survived, and he’s waiting for the right time to return. You clung to this hope, promising the universe—promising yourself—that you would do anything, anything, to get him back. He couldn’t be dead. Not Anakin, not the Chosen One. You told yourself that if there was any chance, you’d find a way to bring him back.

But as time went on, hope withered. Depression settled over you like a thick fog, weighing down every part of you until it became impossible to move, to think, to feel anything other than the crushing emptiness. You cried until your eyes were red and swollen, but the tears didn’t stop. They became your constant companion, a reflection of the hollow ache in your chest. The pain was suffocating. It felt like you were drowning in your own grief, and there was no way out.

Months passed. Then years. You isolated yourself from the world, locked in your little rented room, next to a bar where you spent your nights drinking to numb the pain. You were a shadow of your former self, carrying the weight of loss and regret everywhere you went. Anakin was gone, and so too was your will to live.

---

It was Halloween today. Not that you’d have known if a plastic skeleton hadn’t slapped you in the face when you stepped out of the boarding house. The streets were alive with festive crowds, but the joy and excitement felt foreign to you. Pulling your cloak tighter around your chest, you walked quickly through the sea of people. You had one goal: buy your monthly supplies and retreat back into your self-imposed exile.

The soft chime of bells announced your entrance into a small, mystical shop. The air inside was thick with incense and the strange, shimmering energy of crystals and floating tables. You had no interest in the artifacts, no faith in anything supernatural since the day you lost your connection to the Force.

Your fingers absentmindedly trailed along the shelves until they brushed against something familiar—cold, smooth metal. A holocron. You stared at it for a long moment, memories of your Jedi training flashing in your mind.

“See something you like, dear?” An elderly Togruta behind the counter asked kindly.

You quickly pulled your hand away, shaking your head. “No, just here for the usual.”

The Togruta smiled gently, her knowing eyes scanning you as if she could see straight into your soul. After packing your supplies, she held your hand for a moment, her grip warm and firm. “Sometimes, what you’re looking for is already inside you.”

Her words sent a strange ripple through your chest, but you dismissed the feeling and left the shop, quickening your pace. As you reached into the bag, your fingers brushed against something that wasn’t supposed to be there—the holocron. Frowning, you pulled it out. You hadn’t bought it. But somehow, it was yours now.

Back in your room, sitting on the tiled floor of the small bathroom, you held the holocron in your hands. You hadn’t connected with the Force in years, but the muscle memory was still there, buried beneath your grief. Slowly, you let yourself open to the Force, its familiar warmth spreading through you. It was like coming home after years of wandering. The holocron flickered to life, revealing coordinates.

You didn’t know what drove you to follow them. It could have been a trap, or a meaningless lead. But it didn’t matter. You used every last credit to buy a ship, and set off, clinging to a sliver of hope you didn’t fully understand.

When you landed, the planet’s atmosphere felt strange—like the Force was alive here, more intense than anywhere you had been. The cold air stung your face as you stepped out of the ship, following the path of a golden glow that seemed to beckon you. You ran faster as it danced and spun, pulling you deeper into the snowy landscape. Finally, you stopped in front of an imposing wall of ice. The glow was gone.

You punched the ice in frustration, your knuckles stinging. “Dank farrik,” you muttered, falling to your knees. “I’m always alone.”

"That's pretty pessimistic. Master Yoda would have a few words about that."

You froze. That voice—his voice. Slowly, you lifted your head. There, standing before you, was Anakin. He smiled, that familiar mix of charm and warmth filling his expression.

“What’s wrong, my dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, his voice soft and teasing.

Hot tears ran down your cheeks before you could stop them. You stood, rushing to him, your arms wrapping around his solid, warm body. He was real. He hugged you tightly, his chin resting against your head as he inhaled the scent of your hair.

“I thought you were dead,” you stammered, words tumbling out as you clung to him. “Obi-Wan said... the Order... the Empire—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his hand stroking your hair. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

You sobbed against his chest, years of grief and pain spilling out as you let yourself feel again. Anakin didn’t pull away. He held you until your tears subsided, letting you find solace in his arms.

After a long moment, you pulled back, gently cupping his face in your hands. His skin was warm, just as you remembered. You kissed him softly, as if trying to prove to yourself that this moment was real. His lips met yours with the same tenderness, a reunion of souls long separated.

But when you pulled back, he didn’t move to stand. His expression shifted—soft, but resigned. “I can’t go with you,” he said quietly.

Your heart sank. “What do you mean? I came all this way for you. You can’t leave me again.”

Anakin’s gaze held a mixture of love and sorrow. “I don’t belong to your world anymore.”

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What are you saying?”

“When I died, I became one with the Force. This is where I belong now. It’s my role to maintain balance in the galaxy,” he explained, his voice calm but filled with sadness.

Tears pricked your eyes once more. “But… it’s not fair. Please, Anakin. Just come back with me.”

He smiled gently, placing a hand over your heart. “I never left you. I’ll always be with you, right here.”

You sobbed, the weight of his words crashing down on you. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“We don’t have to say goodbye. We still have time together, right now,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms once more.

You kissed him again, pouring all your love and sorrow into that embrace, holding him as tightly as you could, knowing that your time was short. The hours passed in a blur of stolen moments, each one bittersweet, filled with the love you had for each other and the knowledge that it wouldn’t last.

As the sun began to rise, Anakin walked you back to your ship. “Is this goodbye?” you asked, your voice breaking.

Anakin smiled softly. “No. It’s see you soon.”

You boarded the ship, watching him through the viewport as he waved to you one last time. The ship lifted off, carrying you away from the planet’s surface, away from him.

Your heart still ached, but something had shifted. The grief that had consumed you for so long now felt different. You had accepted it. Anakin was gone, but he wasn’t lost. He was part of you, part of the Force, and though you would never forget him, you knew you had to keep living. For him. For yourself.

As the ship soared into the stars, you smiled faintly, feeling the weight of grief begin to lift.

Acceptance.

It didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean letting go of the love you still had for him. But it meant living again. Moving forward, with the knowledge that Anakin would always be with you, even if he wasn’t by your side. And for the first time in years, you felt ready to take that step.

To live again.

[adore-laur]

GOLD RUSH: PART TWO

— part one

——

Harry doesn't want to let go. He hasn't been this close to you since what feels like a lifetime ago. After a grueling year of separation, considerate greeting hugs and instinctual touches that respect boundaries can't hold a candle to this moment. 

He can feel your heartbeat. The organ that once beat fiercely for him is now pounding against his own, its unsteady pulse fueling him with love. 

Who is he kidding? He has always loved you. Even when you screamed at him on the other line, poisonous words creeping into every crack of his heart, he still couldn't bear the thought of never having a place in your life again—even if that place wasn't beside you anymore. 

You told him you were proud of him a mere minute ago. It was a simple statement, but also a diminutive glance into your mind. What do you think about when you're pressed against him, aware of his hands on your back and the kisses left on your head? What feelings do they ignite? All Harry wants is to spread you open, lay your cards on the table—both the good and the bad ones—and just talk to you. He only sees you a handful of times a month, so the questions that have been piling in his throat beg to spill out. 

He fears his patchwork heart would also spill out onto the floor, and you'd see how miserably he's been coping. Mentally draining months were spent mending the broken relationship. Yet, the last and largest shard that couldn't piece it together again was the one that was simply the dying relationship itself. 

A year should be enough time to get over someone, but when that someone is his ex-wife and the mother of his beautiful child, he reminds himself that time never stops in moments of hurt. His personal life and career had to chug along even when the train constantly veered off the tracks. 

The regret he feels for not putting his family first kills him inside every time he opens your door to take his daughter for half a week. It's never enough time, and to see you for much less weighs heavily on his soul. The haunting supposition of being unable to notice every tiny detail about you one day is the nail in his coffin. He remembers opening the door a few months ago to find you with shorter hair. It shouldn't have affected him the way it did, and he couldn't help but think that you probably would've asked for his opinion on it if you were still together. 

He also hasn't kissed you or had sex with you in over a year. There have been no romantic dates or nights cuddled in bed, limbs tangled like the wilting vines of your love. He has not held your hand or watched you be a mother except for fleeting moments. He doesn't want those things with anyone else, so why can't you forgive him? Why can't you revive your love for him? 

Harry knows asking for a revival of love is irrational. 

"When do you need to be on stage?" Your voice reaches him, warm like melted honey and gentle like a balm that heals his wounds. 

"It doesn't matter," he says, fixing the twisted strap of your dress. "I can be a little late." 

You step away from the hug, and he feels an ache in his chest due to the loss of physical contact. "No, you can't." 

He tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Says who? It's my show." 

You narrow your eyes dubiously, but they slowly soften when they drift downward and take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't plan a revealing outfit just because you were coming. 

"You look handsome."

Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends a tidal wave of shivers rolling across his body. 

"Thank you. You look lovely, as always. How've you been?" 

"Fine. Work keeps me busy." Something nearby clatters to the floor, and you nod your head toward the culprit, who has a guilty expression. "Her too." 

"You're not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it. 

"Not as much as you. I still worry about you with all this traveling." 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets while moving closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?" 

You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn't shy under his gaze. "But the videos I see ease my worries. I know you're safe and having fun." 

He clears his throat and asks, "What videos?" 

There's a heavy lull of silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on social media all the time. You're pretty famous if you didn't know." 

He ignores your teasing because he's grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?" 

"Yeah," you say, nervously touching your earlobe. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You point to your daughter and add, "She loves to watch them too." 

Harry roughly swallows and curls his hands into fists. Your admission makes the ache in his heart grow tenfold. He never would have guessed. 

Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!" 

With a sigh, he heads over to the connected bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching in front of his daughter. "Hey, Dad has to go," he tells her. "Gonna stay with Mama and watch me?" 

She nods and lifts her arms. He picks her up before setting her on his hip and swaying her. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs. 

"Mm-hmm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest. 

"Good." He kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, all right? Dance your heart out for me." 

She impatiently squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought, and then moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell that tonight is going to be one of his favorite shows, and it has everything to do with the fact that his two favorite people will be in the audience.

After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art gallery. All of his vulnerable belongings are out in the open and on display—his shirts you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he had delivered earlier today in case you forgot or ran out. 

Most vulnerable, however, is his wedding ring sitting right next to the microphone that you're about to grab for him. It's the same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having gotten rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him. 

You freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from Harry’s face as he stands there, dreading your reaction. 

"Harry..." Your voice is weakened by a certain sadness that could break him if he let it. 

People gather in the room, trying to get him to start heading to the stage, but he's stuck in place. Paralyzed by fear. Everything is a blur around him, and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick up the damned ring that was cursed from the beginning. You set it in your open palm, then stare at him with a slightly parted mouth and confusion swimming in your eyes. 

Harry then makes a stupid fucking mistake. 

He rushes toward you, grasps your cheeks, and smears his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows pinch painfully, and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return the kiss. Your hands push against his chest, making him stumble back. 

There's no time to apologize since he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway toward the stage. He wants to look back, but he knows the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know. 

You don't love him anymore. 

——