#so maybe ben's one was projection

[fablexdreams]

Rip Ben Finn, you would have loved eating cereal at 3am.

Rip Page, you would have loved debate club.

Rip Walter Beck, you would have loved the found family trope.

Rip Jasper, you would have loved the Scrub Daddy.

Rip Reaver, you would have loved red carpets and glambots.

Rip Sparrow, you would have loved a fucking break.

Rip Theresa, you would have loved The Sims.

Rip Logan, you would have loved Lexapro.

Rip HoBW, you would have loved pop music.

[velolceraptor]

Me thinking about Ben: teehee he looks like such a silly goofy guy °v° He's kinda dumb but that's okay :) and hee hoo hee hoo silly silly little redheaded fellow tee hee!

Also me: Ben looks like he gets verbally beaten by his family for his low intellect and probably has a lot of pent up rage while dealing with it in unhealthy ways. He also seems like the type to fear falling behind and whenever he's showed up (embarrassed; put to shame) he takes it in the worst way possible since he's dealt with it so many times, quickly growing tired of it. But he's also probably insecure about himself and was probably shamed for it so for most of the time like school, family, and after school clubs, he probably puts on a face and lies about everything, trying to suppress his emotions and not make a scene. He probably and maybe constantly tries to prove his worth but ends up mucking things up and making things even worse than before. And another thing is-

*GETS SNIPED*

Me, now a ghost: hee hoo silly sad ginger boy

(sorry I listened to 'I bet on losing dogs by mistake while thinking about him')

[fieldsofbone]

one of my advisors emotionally eviscerated me in my dissertation meeting this morning and made me cry in front of him and my school dad (my other advisor). i know that some people have the “you doubted me and i’m going to prove you wrong so you can eat your words” instinct when they receive criticism but instead i was cursed with the the “internalize it until i feel worthless and the last five years of my life in which i’ve been studying toward this goal i deserve but have had many undeserved obstacles to feel pointless” reflex

[godhasforsnakenme]

BOOK REVIEW 📖

Last year I kept track of the series & films I watched; this year I've decided to keep track of whatever books I read! So this one is for the month of January – I'll share these sometime after the month is over, or if I read more than one book during the month, I will do their reviews as soon as I finish the book :)

[luke-shywalker]

let me know if you need anything

“Hey, Solo!”

Ben looked up. The sudden motion triggered a dull ache in his right eye—he winced.

“Uh—sorry.” Amalia came to a halt in front of him in the grass. The tall, bulky Togruta girl always looked like she was going to barrel right into you, but always managed to stop a few inches short. Back when they’d hated each other, Ben had thought this was some kind of intimidation tactic. But now that they were something like friends, he realized that she was just…well…awkward as heck.

Amalia peered at him and at his covered eye, then tapped her own cheek. “You look like one of the deep space pirates.”

“Wow,” said Ben, deadpan. “I’ve only heard that about five hundred times since I came back to Jedi school.”

“What’d they do to you, huh?”

Ben juggled the air with his hands, trying to figure out how much detail to go into. “Uh…they cut my eyeball open, and sewed a synthetic band into it to hold it together and make it stop falling apart. Basically.”

“Whoa. Sounds gnarly, dude.” Amalia paused. “…Can I see?”

Ben laughed. “Bro. Do you want to see?”

“I mean? Kinda? Will you like, die if it’s exposed to air?”

“Listen, I’ll show you, if you want to freaking see so bad.” He lifted the patch. He had to manually pry his eyelids apart—they were still swollen. He closed his left eye, just to see how well he could see her��everything was sort of a bright, slanted blur.

Amalia made a face. “Ew. It’s all red. Is that blood? Nasty. I see a coagulated mass of—something. There is straight-up slime in your eye, dude.”

Ben put the patch back on. “Yeah—I’ve been trying to, like—cry it out, but I can’t think of anything sad enough to make me cry. I dunno. I’ve had a hard time feeling emotion lately, in general.”

He said it, and then realized he hadn’t wanted to say it. He backtracked as quickly as he could.

“But now that you’re here, Mal, all I gotta do is look at your ugly mug,” he quipped.

Amalia rolled her eyes so hard she pretty much just rolled her whole head. “Hardee har har. Have you looked in a mirror? Geez, Solo, you can’t say shit like that to girls.”

“Oh—you’re a girl? Oh my Force, I didn’t realize. Sorry, miss.”

She wound up and punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Bruh. I’m already injured.”

“Well, you weren’t injured enough,” Amalia huffed. “Fixed it for you.”

“I’m telling Uncle Luke.”

“Yeah, go run and tell your Uncle Luke. Pissbaby.”

Ben tried to think of something clever to retort, but then his eye started hurting again, and he felt kind of sick. He hissed and lowered himself down into the grass, which seemed to initiate a truce.

Amalia leaned down. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah—fine.”

“Are you still allowed to train and stuff?”

“I’m not supposed to do any ‘strenuous activity’ for four weeks.”

“Well, you were never getting any, anyway,” Amalia snickered. “Now you just have an excuse.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “Ew. No, I mean…”

“Does lifting rocks with the Force count as strenuous activity? You’re not technically lifting them physically.”

“Eh. I always give myself headaches when I do that normally, anyway, so…maybe just littler rocks.”

“When are you gonna be able to see again?”

“Out of this eye?”

“Yeah, well, which eye do you think I’m kriffin’ talking about, dumbass—“

“I don’t know.”

“…Damn.” Amalia sat down next to him. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, I mean…I know it’s gonna be months. Maybe a year. And I don’t even know if it’ll ever be the same. Probably not.”

Amalia twitched her lips to one side. “Does it bother you?”

“Like, what, the pain? Or…”

“No, like…losing your vision. Like, coping with the loss.”

Ben shrugged. “…I dunno. Sure ain’t the biggest thing I’ve lost. It’s hard, I guess, knowing you’ll never be the same, but…I was already never gonna be the same, so…” He trailed off.

Amalia nodded at the horizon, picking a blade of grass apart with her fingers. “Yeah…I get how that is.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. A low breeze came and rustled the grass.

“…Maybe I’ll gain some kind of extra Force sensitivity,” Ben said hopefully. “To compensate. Or something.”

“Yeah,” said Amalia. “Or…maybe you won’t, and you’ll just be half-blind.”

Ben threw her a tired glance. “Thanks, Mal. You’re a real pal.”

“What can I say? I try to offer a realistic outlook on life.”

“Hm.”

“But, for real though…let me know if you need anything. Okay, Solo?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Another punch in the arm?”

“Well, yeah, if you need that, I’m your girl. But, uh, seriously. Like if you need to talk, or…” She gestured vaguely at nothing.

“No offense, Mal? But you are not great at talking.”

“Hey. Never said I was. Just said that I would. Or if you wanna, like, just go throw rocks in the pond together, or something. Go look for weird bugs. Climb that cliffside Luke said not to climb. You know?”

Ben smirked. “Ha. Okay. Yeah. Gotcha. And then I’ll bang my head real hard, and knock out my other eye.”

“Exactly. You get me.” Amalia stood up and dusted the grass off her tunic. “Well…I’m on kitchen prep with Fannie and Meliko tonight, so…guess I gotta go. Do an extra meditation for me, will ya? Fannie drives me nuts.”

“Really? She’s so nice.”

“Yeah,” Amalia scoffed. “That’s what drives me nuts.”

Ben snorted. “Well, okay, Mal. See ya at dinner, then, I guess.”

“Will you see me though?”

“Dude, shut up!”

[felassan]

The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard preview pages Part One, under a cut due to spoilers. Preview pages come from Google Books.

[Foreword]

[Part Two]

Life in the Tevinter Imperium.

Part One: Post-Inquisition

Top: Returning to Rivain with a precious quest object. Middle: Exploring Par Vollen, the home of the Qunari. Text: Halfway through the development of Dragon Age: Inquisition we created a series of illustrations we called “beat boards” (intended to cover a major moment or “beat”, they are more polished than a storyboard). They proved to be helpful as we brought the game together. As Inquisition was coming to a close, and a sliver of attention was being paid to the next game, we wanted to try doing beat boards right at the start of the game, rather than the middle. With a few general ideas like “We’re going north” and “Maybe there are Titans” and a sense of story momentum, we started creating exploratory beat boards, asking ourselves the simple question: “What would be cool?”

Top: On a secret mission in Tevinter. Bottom: Receiving an assignment from the Inquisitor

The Red Bride's grave.

Top: An old Warden that was avoiding the Calling. Bottom: The first attempt at designing Weisshaupt Fortress. Text: Northern Thedas - Designing the cultures of northern Thedas was like a fun speculative-archaeology project. We were starting with fragments. There were occasional props, characters, or journal entries that hinted at these cultures, and we had to reverse-engineer living, breathing societies from those fragments. The most important aspect was to design them in a way that respected our fans’ engagement with the material but also attempted to exceed their imaginations (or at least do them justice).

Top: In an ancient magical city, some buildings that would have collapsed centuries ago are kept frozen in time. Bottom: Infiltrating the Archon’s throne room.

Middle: One of the first ideas for a player base was a secret lair in Minrathous’s forgotten undercity. Bottom: The very first concept art of Minrathous. Trying to capture the elegance and pride of the Imperium.

Top: The Divine sends out ships to hunt Solas in the hopes that his capture will restore peace to Thedas. Bottom: A Tevinter magister, a Chasind witch, and a Ben-Hassrath commander plot against the player.

Top: A war room in the captain’s quarters. Bottom: We explored making the player base mobile. It would give us water access to most of the regions in northern Thedas.

Top: Early on we explored the return of the griffons – in this case, using them as mounts to hunt dragons. Bottom: Something in the depths has scared the dwarves enough that they’re fleeing to the surface by the thousands.

A coastal town in Rivain.

Top: Elves from all over Thedas answer a mysterious call to Arlathan Forest. Bottom: Exploring a possible endgame scenario where Solas has summoned a Titan in the middle of Minrathous.

Top: Solas returning like a regal figure out of the distant past. Bottom: What if we return to the Fade and rescue whoever was left behind? How would their time in that alien landscape change them, and what insights could they offer into Solas’s plans?

Top: The part runs into their Tevinter counterparts, and they have to work together to survive. Bottom: Solas interrupts your mission, wiping half your team off the board and forcing you to make an unlikely alliance.

Top: Your ship is stolen, and you have to sneak into enemy territory to get it back. Middle: Journey to the heart of darkness to find Colonel Kurts… er, Solas. Bottom: We created piles of sketches and line work to explore story beats. We could iterate quickly and throw things away if necessary.

Top: There are multiple factions in Veilguard. To make sure they were always recognizable, from their buildings to their belt buckles, we began with shape.   Middle: We had explored Tevinter’s shape language in Inquisition, so in their case, it was a matter of expanding on what was established. Some shapes just felt right (like Wardens and the pointed arch). Bottom: A residential Tevinter interior.

Various captions on this page: An upward-pointing triangle for the mages’ college. We explored some sturdy shapes for the dwarves. The Wardens’ pointed arch could be turned upside down into a shield. Rivain has a been a neutral faction, so the circle worked well. The Necropolis factions started with a half-circle “crest”. A downward-pointing triangle for Tevinter. Ben-Hassrath started with an X shape language.

[no captions]

A wealthy Tevinter mansion. To show off, most of the house is built on top of a floating stone slab veined with lyrium. Visitors try not to think about what would happen if the magic was interrupted.

Slice-of-life illustrations like this weren’t prescriptive, but they helped to explore the feel of certain regions we had only ever heard references to.

Rivain is a trade center. It’s one of the places where you’ll see the greatest overlap of cultures.

[no captions]

Tevinter is a complicated place. While there are lofty towers and powerful magisters, we also wanted to explore what the daily life of Tevinter might be.

Top: Peaceful beginnings, gentle giant gardeners, and curious spirits. Middle (1): The spirits saw the dwarves as they tended to the Titans, and they wanted to try making bodies for themselves. Middle (2): The spirits made physical bodies for themselves from the “flesh” of the Titans. The first elves were born, and the first war began. Bottom: A brutal war raged on between the elves and the Titans, only ending when one elf (Solas) rendered the Titans “tranquil”, capturing their souls.

Top: The elves brought a powerful war trophy home. Middle (1): With the Titans rendered tranquil, dwarves lost their connection to magic. They fled into the bodies of their fallen homes. Bottom: With the power that came from the captured Titan souls, the elves built the greatest empire Thedas would ever see.  

Top: Solas fought against the self-proclaimed gods, earning the title “the Dread Wolf”. Middle: The gods drew upon the power of the Titans’ souls to gain more power. The imprisoned souls became twisted with rage. This became the Blight. Bottom: To contain the Blight outbreak, Solas performed a desperate blood-magic ritual. He bound up the magic of the world behind a Veil and powered it with the blood of the evil gods. Text: Black Codex – There was a top-secret document on BioWare’s network that contained the objectively true history of Thedas called the Black Codex. Each culture had its perspective, its own emphasis and style, and over time more was added and taken away. It was decided to reveal a lot of truth in this game, so early on we wanted to illustrate the Black Codex. This would help to act as a visual guide to the events that formed Thedas as we know it.

Top: What remained of the elven empire collapsed. The early human empire of Tevinter discovered it in shambles. Bottom: Eons later, the Blight reached out to power-hungry Tevinter magisters through their dreams. They were lured to the Golden City, but the magisters found it already blackened by the Blight.

Various captions on this page: At this stage, just about anything goes. Writers and artists both have ideas for what kind of characters they’d like to try, so we dump them all out on the table. We created some comics to explore the tone of the story. Some of these characters were designed specifically for that purpose. The Heir of Andraste: Finding the last living descendant of Andraste, a rough-around-the-edges warrior living among the barbarians. The Gladiator: A Tevinter gladiator that has earned her freedom. Her arm’s protected by mail made of keys from all the slaves she has rescued. She wears her former shackles as rmor: a reminder and a threat.

Various captions on this page: The academic and the mage college scholar forced into the field. Initially we work from very simple premises, often only a couple of words, like “happy necromancer” or “Qunari assassin”. An awakened darkspawn mercenary. Text: Early on we thought about creating a new set of advisors for your ship. It’s satisfying to revisit characters from previous games, especially if time has passed. It’s a chance to try and make their story visible. In this case, we see a Morrigan that has embraced her new gift, who can offer insights into the mysteries of magic and the ancient elven world. This version of Dorian is like Mathis from Casino Royale, someone who can advise you through all the ins and outs of Tevinter culture. Smuggler Admiral Isabela can get you into and out of just about any port in Thedas.

Book art credits:

BioWare art: Matt Rhodes, Ramil Sunga, Albert Urmanov, Christopher Scoles, Nick Thornborrow, Steve Klit

Volta art: Gui Guimaraes, Stéphanie Bouchard, Akim Kaliberda, Alejandro Olmedo, Alexey Zaryuta, Julien Carrasco, Maksim Marenkov, Marianne Martin, Mariia Istomina, Marion Kivits, Matti Marttinen, Mélanie Bourgeois, Pablo Hurtado De Mendoza, Rael Lyra, Rodrigo Ramos, Thomas Schaffer, Tiago Sousa, Tristan Kang, Vladimir Mokry, Yintion J, Joseph Meehan, Stefan Atanasov, Julien Carrasco

Additional art: Marc Holmes, Thomas Scholes

[iifoundjoy]

BEAR WITH ME.

warning: spoilers for ep 75

i was just scrolling through tiktok and then the thought occurred to me that everyone grew up together (minus ben and aiden) and basically never interacted until the group project. yeah, duh, that's the whole premise of their strange group at first, but it just strikes a cord to think that these kids who have become so inseparable were so close to each other this whole time without even knowing it, without even knowing that they needed each other.

because why now, after all these years, would they? after all, they were just strangers who occasionally saw each other in the hall or during class, strangers that they could never understand, right? they were just too different.

i mean, just think about how taylor says she's always noticed ashlyn since they were kids and how she was always on her own. she didnt understand how ash could be content with that, isn't it lonely?

tyler is most likely, lets face it, pretty popular. when we're introduced to him and taylor they're in this huge group of typical jocks due to tyler being on the baseball team. ashlyn and logan must've known him before due to that, seen them parading through the halls. and seeing as how neither logan nor ash like loud noises or crowds very much they probably wrote him off as a loud jock and went about their day. maybe saw how cold and angry he was with everyone but his sister and thought he must be unpleasant to be around.

as for logan, he, like ash, is pretty obviously very much a background character in everyone else's lives. most likely a loner just like ashlyn, very shy. if the rest of the gang ever noticed him it was probably nothing more than a glance. because logan at the time was nothing more than barrons stereotypical nerd that does his homework because he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't.

it just makes me ILL that these people who would grow to care so much about each other were all so close without knowing it, hell, they probably passed each other in their towns grocery store multiple times before. maybe seen tyler play in one of his games with taylor yelling above everyone else because that's her brother, saw ashlyn perform and dance, saw logan reading in the astronomy section in the library.

and yet they didn't know they'd ever learn to trust these strangers with their lives every night. that they would learn that tyler is more than just a loud, angry jock. he loves and cares about his sister, took up being basically a parent from a very young age, and doesn't truly have any friends because they are just a distraction.

that taylor is every bit as friendly as she let's others believe, but if you mess with her brother or her friends that sun can cloud over so quick.

that ashlyn likes to be alone but given the time and patience, she would love to be alone with you. that she doesn't want to, but if she's needed, she will step up and be the leader you need. sure, she isn't good at "friends" and she'll make mistakes, but she owns up to them because she tries and she cares.

and finally, logan, who at first is so shy and unsure, yet is quick-witted and brave enough to make hard choices and learn where he fits in with a group. to stand up against someone who bullied him and threatened him daily and help someone else from going down the same path he did.

AND PLEASE don't even get me started on ben and aiden.

those two have been practically alone their whole lives until they met each other. all aiden had was the dark room that reeked of molding food and people he hung around just to pass the time because he knew they weren't permanent, nothing ever was with his parents.

and ben's only friend before aiden being the music he could create before it was taken away from him, and all he had left was the broken melodies that he tried to find in every punch he threw.

they were both so, so alone and seeking something that would stay, something that would last because everything else that made them happy seemed to fall just out of reach now.

but just one move away, one final move to a small town in georgia held everything that could hurt and heal them all in one. they were all what everyone needed, even if they didn't know it and it drives me insane that if these kids hadn't been put through hell, they never would have found each other.

and they're more than willing to claw their way out together, not because they have to to survive, but because they want to so that they can live.

red what have you dooone 😭/pos

[janeyseymour]

Share Your Address

based on Ben Platt's "Share Your Address", and my rendition of the song is attached! Please enjoy!

Summary: Melissa is intoxicating. It might be too soon, but you want everything that has to do with her.

WC: 5k

You had never planned on meeting Melissa Schemmenti, much less falling for her. But just like that, she waltzed her way into your life just a month ago at the bar. As you’ve learned, she’s also someone who almost never lets her guard down. The same would go for you- always guarded and hesitant to let anybody into your life. It’s done you wrong before. For someone who always had your walls up around you, you fell hard for that redhead. You’re not quite sure you could pin any one thing that made you fall for her as hard as you did, and you’re only continuing to fall. There’s just something about her that’s so intoxicating. Maybe it’s her sweet and somehow simultaneously musty perfume, or the way that her shiny red hair always perfectly frames her face. It might be the way that she has that sparkling Hollywood smile without even trying, or the fact that she is quite literally everything that you’ve always dreamed of- hardheaded, not afraid to speak her mind- she’s always got that hint of sarcasm and fire to her. Or maybe it’s just that she’s Melissa, and she has an absolutely addictive personality. Whatever it is about the second grade teacher at Abbott Elementary, you can’t get her out of your head. 

Darling you might think it’s too soon, but I can’t get you out of my head now. Picturing myself in your room, and I wanna be with you ’til I’m dead now. 

It’s been a month, and in that month, you and Melissa have been practically inseparable. After work, you’re with her and cooking dinner or treating her to a nice night out on the town. You end up in her bed quite a few times. On Saturdays, the two of you will go out to the club and relieve what you truly believe might’ve been the highlight of your life- meeting her. On Sundays, you soak in the peace and quiet, taking every breath and mentally preparing yourselves for the next week.

And if you aren’t together, you’re texting. You tease Melissa about the fact that she should probably be teaching her students, but she dismisses your concern and promises you that they’re working on an independent project- they’ll get her attention if they need her.

The truth is, you just can’t get the redheaded second grade teacher out of your head- you’re falling for her, and you’re falling for her fast and hard. It might be too quick to judge, but there’s something special about her. Just like when you were younger and more naive, you picture yourself in her room. You daydream about the things you would do to her if you were with her at the moment. And when your imagination becomes a bit over the top, you have to leave your cubicle and take a few laps around the building to cool down those rather steamy thoughts you’re having. But then, of course, she texts you again- and once again, you feel like you’re on fire.

You want Melissa Schemmenti until you are no longer on this earth. If you spent your last few breathing moments with her, you’re fairly certain it would be worth it- a life well lived.

I want your friends to be my friends. I’ll make you breakfast in your bed. I want it all with you. And if I’m coming on too strong, it’s ‘cause I’ve waited far too long for someone just like you.

It’s only been a month, but here you are with Melissa, and you’re making breakfast that the two of you are planning to enjoy in bed. Now, usually she would never condone that- it took her long enough to begin eating on her plastic covered couch (and you’ve somehow managed to convince her to take it off… sex on a couch covered in plastic is not something you ever wish to experience again). But she’s willing to make an exception for you; you seem to be the exception to everything she ever thought she knew in life.

“You’re so sexy when you cook in my clothes,” Melissa wraps her arms around your waist and kisses the slope of your neck. Her right hand swiftly trails down your body to grab your ass. “God.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckle quietly. “I’m sure you look way hotter in it.”

You feel her rather than hear her refute that claim as she shakes her head into your back.

The two of you settle on her bed with a wonderful spread of breakfast and coffee. Somehow, she’s managed to fix your cup of coffee to perfection. Of course she knows how you prefer your coffee- it’s one of the first things she learned about you.

It’s a warm, still somewhat sleepy haze that you’re in when her phone begins to ring. She glances at the caller ID and sighs before flipping her phone over on the nightstand. You had just so happened to catch a look at it, and you know her work wife won’t be too thrilled if she doesn’t answer.

“You can answer it,” you say through a mouthful of eggs. “It’s okay, hun.”

The redhead quirks her lips to the side but relents, although she makes it quite clear to you that she’s not appreciating the fact that your little bubble has been burst. She does pick up the phone though.

“What, Barb? It’s nine in the morning.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Melissa,” the kindergarten teacher quips. “I was just calling to see if we were still good for lunch today?”

Green eyes look over to you. You nod with a smile before mouthing, ‘Hang out with Barb. It’s okay.’

“We are,” the redhead grumbles. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Oh, you were still asleep! I’m sorry; I just figured you would already be up,” Barbara apologizes.

“I’ll see you at noon,” the redhead next to you sighs out. “Bye.”

Melissa hangs up the phone before placing her phone back down. She turns to you. “I forgot about lunch with Barb,” she admits quietly, knowing that the two of you had made plans to walk around the city today.

“It’s fine, hun,” you promise her. “You deserve to go have fun with her. Although…” you trail off as you debate whether you want to voice your thoughts or not.

“What?”

“I would love to meet her, and the others in your group,” you tell her softly. “I- I know it’s soon, but I have a feeling this could be something, and I would love to be able to meet them.”

The redhead gives you a warm smile- not what you had expected from her. “I think that would be nice. How would you feel about joining me an’ Barb for lunch today?” 

“Really?” you ask softly. “You’re up for that? I was- I was nervous that I was coming on too strong.”

Melissa pulls you in for a soft, sweet kiss. “What you feel for me, I feel for you. An’ I don’t know why, but I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

“Good,” you sigh with relief. “I’m sorry if I come off as too strong, but I- I’ve waited far too long for someone like you to come into my life.”

“A hot mess?” the redhead teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone who is as beautiful and as sexy as you while having a quick and brilliant mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You do. Breakfast is forgotten until after you shut her up.

And so you join your… well, she does introduce you to her work wife as her girlfriend- you join your girlfriend for lunch. And Barbara is nothing but elegant and kind to you, just as Melissa said she would be- she ensures that you’re always a part of the conversation while Melissa fills in the missing pieces of their stories and conversation for you. 

And come a week later, on a Friday, you’re able to leave your own place of employment an hour early to meet your girlfriend at her coworkers’ favorite bar for happy hour.

The Abbott crew welcomes you with open arms, just as Melissa had told you they would.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s been two months now that you’ve been seeing Melissa. And you can only find yourself falling for her more and more. It’s not what you had expected in the slightest when you first met her at the bar. In all honesty, you were expecting a one night stand at best, not to still be here with this beautiful woman two months later and officially dating.

You spend more time in Melissa’s house than your own apartment at this point- the redhead’s house feels more like home to you than your apartment ever has. You have a drawer reserved for you, a toothbrush for the nights that you spend with her, and you’ve made a little space for yourself on the nightstand on what you think of as your side of the bed.

The second grade teacher is out and grocery shopping by the time you wake up on this lazy Saturday. You know she’s already out, because there’s an index card propped up on her pillow that tells you exactly where she is, when she expects to be back, and it’s signed with a heart.

You’re exhausted from this week. but you know that you should probably get out of bed for the day. By the time you make your way down the steps, the aroma of the coffee that your girlfriend had made has you practically running for the pot.

Once you’ve finished your coffee, you glance around the living room, and there are various articles of both of your clothes from last night’s escapades. Your cheeks flush at the mere thought of what had taken place last night, and a dopey smile washes over your face.

With a sigh, you begin to pick up both yours and Melissa’s clothes, following the trail of pants, shirts, and undergarments back into the bedroom. You can’t help but chuckle at how desperate the two of you were after you got back from the bar. You toss them into her laundry basket and bring it down the steps with you on your hip. As you’re emptying the things into the washing machine, you see a glimmer of something hiding behind the big piece of metal. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you look. It’s a club- of course it is. Leave it to your girlfriend to think about needing a weapon if she was ever doing her laundry. You roll your eyes in good nature before depositing detergent into the machine and turning it on. 

As you make your way back up into the living room, you can’t help but notice the abundance of pictures that the redhead has in her house, all in beautiful frames. There’s something about it that makes you want to be in her photographs. You’re sure you’ll get there someday, maybe when you share an address with her.

You’ve just settled onto the couch when you hear Melissa fiddling with the front door. In an instant, you’re back on your feet and letting her in before heading out and managing to juggle the last few bags from her shopping trip.

“Thank you,” your girlfriend smiles at you when you return. She’s already unpacking the various bags when something catches your eye. It’s a picture frame that she just bought.

“That’s pretty,” you comment quietly. “Whose picture is going in there?”

Melissa smiles and then pulls out an envelope. “Ours.” 

Your heart swells in your chest. “I- I know it’s a bit soon to be saying this, and I don’t expect you to say it back, but: I love you.”

You’re immediately pulled into a warm kiss. “I love you too,” she murmurs as she rests her forehead against yours.

I just wanna stare at your face, and spend quality time with your mother. We can over drink at your favorite place, and we can waste the whole next day to recover.

You meet the Schemmenti family about six weeks into dating. And Melissa’s mother is an absolute delight. It’s clear as day who your girlfriend takes after in both looks and personality. Mathilde, but she insists you call her Tillie, is a lively woman with a bright personality and a tendency to be sarcastic and fiery. And while she has that bite to her, much like your girlfriend, she has a softer and warmer side that she shows you once she sees how in love you are with her daughter- you rarely take your eyes off of that bright and happy face now that she’s in the comfort of her mother’s home. She’s- she’ stunning; there’s no other way to put it.

Melissa is in the bathroom when Tillie finally asks you, “Why my Melly?” 

“I should’ve known you would ask that,” you chuckle as you sip your wine. “She’s home. It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s funny,” the older woman breathes out. “Melly said the same about you.”

From that day on, you and Tillie spend a lot of time together. From Sunday dinners with the Schemmenti family, to a nice lunch if you have a day off, you find that you and your girlfriend’s mother get along quite well. It doesn’t take long for her to quietly confide in you that Melissa is head over heels in love with you- something that she’s never seen before, even with her ex-husband. 

The act of over drinking at her favorite place takes often more than you’d really care to admit. But there’s one night where the two of you end up absolutely obliterated, and you truly have to take all of Saturday to recover from your wicked hangovers.

It all started when Jacob suggested that the Abbott crew go out for a happy hour on a Friday. And for some reason, Barbara agrees and convinces your girlfriend to tag along. Because the two of you were supposed to go out tonight together, she begs you to join the school crew for a few drinks.

A few drinks turns into a crazy night. It starts out tame enough, a beer or two. But then Ava shows up, claims that the place that you’re at is far too boring, and she escorts all of you to a skanky dive bar- the one that the two of you met in actually.

“This is our bar,” your girlfriend nudges you. “Who woulda thought that Ava would like a place like this.”

“The stickier the bar, the better,” the principal tells her, having heard the redhead’s comment.

You don’t even remember how you got back to Melissa’s house. The last thing you can somewhat string together is dancing with your girlfriend and giggling as Barbara brought over another round of shots for your group. That one did you in.

You wake with a groan. God, your head is pounding. And if you’re feeling this way, you don’t even want to guess how Melissa is feeling.

Your stomach turns, and you bolt for the bathroom. Before you know it, your girlfriend is right there with you, emptying the contents of her stomach into the trashcan beside you.

“Oh my god,” you groan out as you flush the toilet. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” Melissa whines as she closes up the bag and reaches for the mouthwash. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Neither am I,” you grumble as you reach for the bottle once she’s finished with it. 

With a few grunts, you manage to pick yourself up off the floor before assisting your girlfriend up too. The two of you just barely make it back to bed before your hand dives into the nightstand on your side and you pull out the Advil. You shake a few pills into your hand before offering Melissa the bottle. She follows suit, and then you’re swallowing them with the little bit of water that still remains in your water bottle.

You spend most of the day asleep, and it takes you until approximately four in the afternoon to even slightly feel like a human. Your girlfriend drags you to the couch before she sluggishly makes her way into the kitchen. She comes back with a plate full of food.

“Lis, if I eat now, I will hurl again.”

“Just eat, she grumbles as she takes a bite of a cracker. “Soak up the booze with carbs.”

“I’m never drinking again,” you grumble as you force yourself to eat a few pieces of toast.

“Neither am I,” Melissa promises herself.

Of course, the next weekend, you’re out at the bars again. 

I wanna watch you while you sleep. I know I might sound like a creep, but I can’t help myself. And it’s so easy to forget that we’ve barely even met, but I want no one else. 

It’s one of those rare days where you wake up before Melissa on a Saturday morning. Her soft snores fill the room, her hair is splayed out underneath of her, and there’s a hint of a smile dancing on her lips as she dreams. You only hope that she’s dreaming of you.

You know it might come off as a little creepy, maybe odd, but you find yourself just studying her face as you lay there with her. She’s like an angel- your redheaded, fiery, angel. Her eyes open slowly, and she blearily blinks away the sleep. Warm, green eyes find yours.

“Good morning,” you whisper as you kiss her nose.

She giggles just slightly before pulling herself closer to you. “It is a good morning when I wake up with you.”

You just continue to hold her close to you and drink in the wonderfully delicious haze of this sleepy morning.

In that moment, you realize that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. In bed with your beautiful girlfriend- the one, you think quietly to yourself. You know that the two of you haven’t been together nearly long enough to fully know if she’s the one you want to be with for the rest of your life. They say that if a couple stays together for more than two years, they’ve hashed it all out, and that seems to be the threshold that a lot of couples seem to struggle to make it to, but there’s a gut feeling that you have about her. You have a feeling that you’ll make it to that two year mark, and then a long while after that if you’re lucky.

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s a Thursday that you’re supposed to go to your girlfriend’s house for dinner when she calls you while you’re clocking out of work.

“Hey, babe,” you answer with a smile.

“Hey.” You can tell immediately that Melissa is not in a good mood. “So, I know we’re supposed to have dinner tonight at my house.”

“But?” you prompt quietly, and you can’t quite hide the sadness in your voice.

“One of my kiddos, Sharmia, her mom is gonna be late picking her up. By like… three hours- won’t get back into the city until six at the earliest, and that’s if she doesn’t hit any traffic.”

“Oh,” you sigh softly. “Hey, that’s okay. I know you want to be there for her, and she’s more important.”

“Thank you for understanding,” your girlfriend says quietly into the phone. “I knew you would.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her. “What if I stopped by the school and brought dinner for all of us? And then I can just come over with you once she’s picked up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” the redhead says, although she’s hoping you insist. Today has been rough enough as it is, and now she’s stuck in the school for longer than she’d like to be.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” you promise. “I can’t say that Wawa's will be nearly as good as what we were going to cook up tonight, but… it’s something.”

“Thank you.”

You pull up to the school just a little while later with hoagies and drinks in hand and call to let her know you’re at Abbott.

Only about thirty seconds later is your girlfriend and her student pushing open the door for you to enter.

Sharmia’s mother ends up coming to the school at 6:30, apologizing profusely for keeping the two of you at the school and waiting for so long. Melissa just waves her off, telling her she would do it if it meant Sharmia was safe.

They leave, and then you and your girlfriend are walking out of the school hand in hand. You pull up to her house in record timing.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t just let yourself in,” Melissa tells you as she unlocks the front door and pushes it open.

“Hey,” you get her attention quietly with a squeeze to her hand. “It’s no big deal. I still got to spend time with you.”

“Yeah,” Melissa sighs. “But I’m sure you would’ve rather been able to come here and relax with a glass of wine instead of sitting in Abbott with me eating Wawa.”

“You know I’m a slut for a good Wawa hoagie,” you joke. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Still,” your girlfriend sighs as she drops to the couch. She kicks off her shoes. “Jesus, I’m exhausted.”

You hum your agreement. 

It’s an early night for the two of you, in bed and asleep by nine. Her chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, your arms keeping her against you to keep warm.

And come Saturday, the two of you are doing your rounds of shopping. She stops in front of the key making machine and inserts her key.

“What are you doing?” you furrow a brow.

Melissa smiles at you. “I’m making you a key… that way if I have another late night or you need something and I’m not there, you can just let yourself in.”

Slowly, your things make their way to Melissa’s house, and it’s fair to say that you practically live with her. You do still have your apartment though, in case something goes awry between the two of you and you need a place. 

But your clothes intermingle with hers, you picking up her clothes and tossing them into the laundry with your own. 

It warms your heart to know that there isn’t much your girlfriend hides form you at this point. You know where most of her weapons scattered around the house are- you always discover them with a chuckle. 

More pictures of the two of you begin to litter the flat surfaces in the house, and you’re included in a few family photos with the entire Schemmenti clan. There’s even a picture of the Abbott clan with you in it.

The longer that you stay with Melissa, the more you become fairly certain that you truly will end up with her in your life forever, and this house will become yours too.

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

“Do you really have to go?” you ask your girlfriend after she tells you about the upcoming PECSA conference.

“I do,” Melissa sighs softly. “But it’s only for a weekend, and I’ll be fine. Other than that one PECSA weekend, I’ve been fine.”

“What happened at this one weekend?” you ask with an amused smirk.

The redhead’s cheeks tint pink. “I may have broken my wrist after I took a tumble.”

“Melissa!”

“It was a couple years ago, and I’m fine.”

“Mel, if something like that happens again,” you take her hand gently in yours.

“You’ll be my first call,” she promises. “Well, after Barb if she ain’t with me.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Just please… try not to break another bone, especially if I’m not already with you.”

“Trust me,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes. “I’m really going to try to not break another bone. That shit hurt like a bitch.”

She pulls out her phone, and after a few taps, you’re listed as her emergency contact on her phone. “See? You’ll be the first person to be called if I can’t call myself.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you fold your arms with a loving smile.

Melissa shrugs. “Yeah, and you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.”

When PECSA weekend rolls around, you hate how alone you feel. You attempt to keep yourself busy, but it’s weird not being with your girlfriend. She’s constantly texting you about all of the fun things that she’s doing though, and it makes you happy to know she’s having a good time. Even though she told you that you were more than welcome to stay at her house over the weekend, and you do, it doesn’t feel like home the way it does when she’s with you. Home isn’t her house, you realize with a soft sigh. Home is wherever she. When she doesn’t end up calling you because she broke her wrist again, you sigh a breath of relief. And as soon as she walks through that front door and pulls you into a tight hug, you feel the energy in the room shift. You’re home again. 

I wanna be your emergency contact. You can put me down ‘cause you know I know you best (I know you best). It doesn’t matter where I go without you I’ll never be home. I wanna share your address.

You’re sitting at work when you get a phone call from your girlfriend. That’s odd- she should be standing outside at recess duty, not calling you.

“Hello?” you answer, voice laced with concern.

“Hun,” Melissa’s voice sounds a bit panicked. “I- I took a fall out on the recess yard.”

“Shit, are you okay?” you ask, although it’s clear from her tone alone that she isn’t.

“N-no,” she stutters out. “Barb’s gettin’ ready to take me to the ER now, but I- I wanted to let you know.”

“Shit,” you mutter as you close your laptop and begin to gather your things. “What hospital?”

“Jefferson,” she gasps out. “I- I definitely broke my ankle, hun.”

“Okay,” you sigh into the phone. “Okay, hold tight, babe. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” she whispers out.

“I love you,” you tell her before hanging up. You march yourself down to your boss’s office and let him know you’re heading out- family emergency. He just nods, and that’s all you need to sprint out of the office and out to your car.

When you get to the hospital, Barbara heads in your direction. “She broke it. They have her pretty drugged up right now, just a warning.”

You just give her a tight lipped nod before making your way into the room they have Melissa in.

“I told ya I’d call if I ever got hurt,” the redhead smirks, although her words are quite slurred.

You roll your eyes and make your way over to her, kissing her softly. “What the hell were you doing that you broke your ankle?”

“Janine challenged me to a monkey bar race,” your girlfriend tells you. “Hey, have I ever told you how beautiful you are, mi amore?”

“Idiot,” you grumble, but there’s a smile on your face. “You can be so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Melissa grins dopily. “Stupid in love with you.”

I want a key to your house. I wanna pick up your clothes. I wanna clean up your mess. I wanna know where you hide things, wanna be in your photos, wanna share your address. I know, I know it’s too soon, too fast, but this could last. I wanna share your address. I know, I know it- it feels like love, so let’s shack up. I wanna share your address. 

It’s only a year into dating that Melissa asks you to move in with her officially.

“Really?” you ask her.

Your girlfriend gives you a look that tells you she’s being serious, and you’re ridiculous for even questioning it. “Hun, you practically live here as it is. You have a key, you’re rarely ever at your apartment anymore, all of your stuff is here. I hav nothing to hide from you, your picture is all over this house. Why don’t we just…spare you the rent and share an address?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? Too fast?” you ask her. You know that the two of you have thrown caution to the wind throughout most of this relationship, but still- moving in together officially is a big step.

She shakes her head. “If I thought we were moving too fast, do you think I would’ve asked you to move in?”

“If you’re serious, then yes. I’d love to actually move in with you.”

“Can I ask you one more question?” your girlfriend asks.

“Shoot.”

“So if we’re sharing an address, do you want to share a last name too?” Melissa drops to her knee. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[em-ontv]

What you wanted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Summary: you were the newest member of Payback, and despite everything, you stayed, wanting to prove yourself to them, to Soldier Boy. And in the end, you did get what you wanted.

Warnings: angst, violence/death, cursing/language (x2), emotional distress, toxic dynamics with a change of heart, not proofread, english is not my first language

Word count: 1.5k

…

Payback was like a hierarchy, everyone tearing each apart constantly, and you were at the bottom.

As the newest member of the team, you were hopeful, bright-eyed, and eager to prove yourself. Help people, it's what you always wanted, and when given a chance to Payback, of course you took it.

Yet, it didn't take long for reality to strike you.

In the beginning, it was small things. A jab at your ability, mocking your power set. While others on the team could incinerate enemies, bend steel, or slice a man in half with the flick of a wrist, your gift seemed... underwhelming.

You had the ability to project shields, barriers that could defend, you were meant to protect. No one cared about defense in Payback. You weren't flashy, weren't vicious, and most of all, you didn't fit into their mold of what the "perfect supe" in this world should be.

At first, you tried to laugh along with their teasing, play it off like it didn't bother you. But it did. Desperately. You wanted to fit in. You thought joining Payback meant you'd finally have a family, that maybe your powers would be seen as useful. Heroic, even. But they viewed you as weak. Pathetic. Worthless. A "nothing" supe, as Swatto called you during one of their endless group training sessions.

But it wasn't just words.

They'd shove you around, put you in dangerous situations during missions just to watch you squirm. When you tried to prove yourself—tried to show them what you could do—they'd turn their backs or laugh harder. They didn't care how hard you worked, how many times you had thrown yourself into the line of fire, hoping for even a shred of respect.

And Ben?

Ben was different. He barely looked at you in those early days, unless it was to sneer at your constant smiles, your relentless optimism. It grated him. You were too... happy. Too soft for this world. Trying too hard. He couldn't stomach it.

The first time it happened, you didn't even see it coming. A punch, swift and hard, sent you sprawling to the ground. You remembered the words he said to you. How could you forget? "You don't belong here."

You tasted blood in your mouth, your brain disassociated with the world after that. You couldn't hear what he said afterwards.

You felt your vision starting to blur, your eyes starting to sting, but you refused to let him see you cry.

The tears came later, in the dark corners of the compound, when you were alone. You wiped them away, but more took their place. You told yourself tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, you'd do it. You'd earn his respect.

That tomorrow never came.

Day after day, you were waiting for that tomorrow—when that look on his face would be replaced with something else. But it never happened. And in the worst moments, when his anger flared and he got violent, you didn't scream, didn't fight back—and didn't know how to. You just looked at him. He didn't understand it, but it just seemed to enrage him more. How could someone be so stubborn? So stupid?

But after a while, something changed. Ben started getting used to you. You were like an annoying fly buzzing around—always there, always smiling, even when he put you down, when the team put you down. Those injuries you soothed yourself. He couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand why you stayed.

But you stayed, no matter how many times he tried to break you.

And that did something to him. Slowly. Painfully.

He started to notice things about you. How you could take a punch, but never once raised your fist in return. How you didn't flinch anymore when he shouted orders, your eyes not wide with fear but some kind of... trust. When he lashed out, you didn't look at him like he was a monster. You just looked like you saw something more. Maybe you found something, maybe you found nothing. But you tried. And for the first time in a long time, Ben felt something crack in that cold heart of his.

Maybe he wasn't as invincible as he thought.

But as much as his feelings shifted, his behavior didn't. Not at first. He still pushed you away, still spat insults. And yet, you remained. The team still treated you like a joke. But Ben? He started seeing you differently. There were moments, brief as they were, where he'd find himself watching you, wondering why you still showed up every day. How you hadn't given up yet. It would be so easy to just walk out the door. But no, you didn’t.

What was it about you?

One night, after a mission, you were sitting in the dark, nursing bruises and scratches, trying to stitch up a nasty cut. Ben had found you, watched from the shadows as you silently worked the needle, slow inhales and exhales of your breath in the air.

"Why are you still here?" He muttered, and for the first time, he didn't seem angry.

You looked up, slightly startled by his presence, but you smiled—of course you did. "Same reason as everyone else, I guess. To prove I belong somewhere in the world."

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. "You don't belong here. Not with us."

Those words again. You should've been hurt by that, should've let the words cut deep like they always did, but instead, you just chuckled under your breath, sounding a bit tired. "Maybe not. But I'm not leaving."

Ben didn't say anything for a few seconds, and it seemed like he might just turn and walk away. But instead, he sat down nearby, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. You didn't ask why he stayed, didn't bother to question it. You just continued stitching yourself up.

The turning point happened during a mission. It was supposed to be a simple operation, nothing Payback hadn't dealt with before. But as with most things, nothing went according to plan. Not this time.

The enemies had been waiting. They were ready—prepared with weapons designed to hurt supes, and they were gunning for Soldier Boy. The leader, the face of the operation.

The moment you saw the explosives, something inside you snapped. This was your moment. Your chance to finally show Ben—and the whole team—that you could be more than the punchline they saw you as.

The explosion was coming, fast and unforgiving, and Ben was in the line of fire. He was distracted, too busy ripping apart enemies to see it. But you saw it.

You acted without thinking. Your powers flared to life in an instant, the energy surrounding him like a shield just as the explosives detonated.

The impact was unlike anything you'd ever felt. The force of it knocked the wind from your lungs, and you could feel the burn tearing through your skin, shredding your body. But you held on. You had to.

Your shield absorbed the brunt of the blast, protecting Ben, keeping him safe while it tore you apart. The pain was blinding, sharp, every nerve in your body screamed, but you didn't let go. Not until the danger had passed. Not until he was safe.

And then... the world went quiet.

When he turned around, it was too late. You were on the ground, body broken, barely even recognizable anymore. But even then, your hand was still outstretched, fingers curled as if still trying to shield him. His eyes widened, a strange panic rising in his chest. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering over your form, unsure of what to do.

You weren't breathing.

His chest tightened, his throat dry. He could barely speak.

"Hey... come on, get up," he growled, but his voice faltered. "Get the fuck up right now."

You didn't move. You didn't answer.

Ben's heart pounded in his chest, he felt something close to fear. His voice wavered. "Don't you fucking do this to me… I didn't ask for this.”

He grabbed the front of your suit, shaking you, but it was no use. Your head lolled back, your face bloodied, eyes that were once bright now dull and lifeless.

He stared at you, the weight of it crashing down on him, crushing him, and he felt like he was suffocating.

You had saved him. You—a supe with the power of protection, a supe who Payback thought was nothing. You, who had stood by him even when he'd treated you like nothing. You, who had looked at him with those stupid, trusting eyes. You had proven yourself today, hadn't you?

But you were gone.

The world around him faded into the background. The shouts of his team, the chaos of the mission—everything disappeared. There was only you, lying there, your light extinguished. And as Ben stared at you, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe death wasn't the one that took your light.

Maybe it was him.

And he would have to carry that weight with him for the rest of his life.

In the end, you got what you wanted. You had proven yourself. You had shown Ben—shown everyone—what you were capable of. You saved him, protected him like you always did. But the cost had been your life... and you weren't here to finally see the acceptance that you were a part of the team, a part of Payback. And a part of Ben's heart.

[jaicey]

Hidden Desires

Oneshot

Summary: You come home late after hanging out with Lonnie and she's jealous.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: angst? Idk, not proofread and unresolved feelings. Doesn't follow the descendants plot, let's all pretend they all still share dorms okay pookies?

A/N: made this in 3am when I randomly got a brain fart, 10 yr old me would be so proud of embracing my gayness for Evie, also so glad the fandom is alive again.

The cool night air nipped at your skin as you tiptoed towards yours, Evie's and Mal's dorm—though, considering Mal mostly slept at her boyfriend Ben's dorm, it might as well have been yours and Evie's. But Tonight, you prayed for her presence, a silent plea to the universe to spare you Evie's wrath for your tardiness. Holding your breath, you gently turned the door handle, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. You nearly sighed in relief when you found it unlocked, but your efforts to sneak in quietly went to waste as the door suddenly swung open, blowing stray hairs out of your face. Your heart pounded as it revealed, Evie. Her striking blue hair seemed to amplify the icy coldness of her expression

"Where have you been?" The dark blue-haired woman spoke in a flat voice, her expression stony. You knew what this meant.

Or did you?

Your body went slack under her intense gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

There was a strange contrast between her imposing figure and the ethereal glow cast upon her by the moonlight filtering through the window. She looked... Hot breathtakingly beautiful- You're doing it again! A wave of heat flushed your face as you shook your head to clear your thoughts and quickly averted your gaze to look over her shoulder, spotting one lit lamp and no sign of the purple-haired girl. You cursed under your breath and looked back at Evie. Your breath hitched as she tilted her head, eyes half-lidded, expecting an answer.

You sighed and finally gave in. "Me and Lonnie were hanging out at her dorm... and I didn't realize how late it got."

"Of course, you were at her place again." Evie rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"You were supposed to help me tonight. You promised." she reminded you, and you missed the slight quiver in her voice.

"I'm so, so sorry, Vie! I got really caught up in—" your mind raced, trying to find a plausible excuse. 'You got really caught up in ranting your growing feelings for Evie to Lonnie,' your inner voice taunted.

Crossing your arms against the chill of the hallway, you wondered if it was the cold seeping into your bones or Evie's icy glare that made you shiver, or maybe both.

As if sensing your discomfort, she grabbed your arm and dragged you into the room, slamming the door behind you. Your body gradually warmed, but Evie's cold stare remained fixed on you.

She turned away with a sigh, heading towards her bed. There, she grabbed a stylish blue jacket accented with black before returning to hand it to you. Hesitantly, you slipped it on, finding solace in its warmth and the lingering scent of her.

"I can still help," you offered, your gaze wandering over her surprisingly tidy desk. It was odd. Usually, it was a chaotic mess of patterned papers, colorful threads, and half-finished projects. She always cleaned up the next day.

Weird.

"It's fine. You should rest. You look exhausted from whatever you and Lonnie were up to," she said, her voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. You didn't notice it though, of course you didn't.

Had their fencing match really been that intense? You attempted to fix your hair, though you doubted it made a difference. A vivid memory surfaced of your earlier debacle with Lonnie, where you’d spent the entire session hitting her with the blade while rambling about Evie, all on the misguided advice that it would help.

Clearly, it hadn't.

"Vie, are you okay?" You ventured deeper into the room, her eyes holding an unreadable emotion.

"Yes,"

"Are you sure? You don't look it. If it's about not being able to help you like I promised, I'm really sorry, Vie. I'll make it up to you, I swear! I'll even make Lonnie—"

"Yes! I'm sure!" she interrupted, plopping down on her bed. "Sleep."

"Alright...if you say so," you muttered, letting the matter drop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you flopped onto the bed beside hers. You rolled onto your back, facing Evie's turned form.

Five minutes later, sleep remained elusive. You tossed and turned, counting imaginary sheep to no avail. Frustration gnawed at you. Opening your eyes again, you found Evie still restless, her body shifting as she searched for a comfortable position. With a creak of the bed, you gave up and stood up.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you leaned towards her seemingly sleeping form. A gentle tap on her shoulder was your next move. This couldn't be weird, right? You two had done this countless times as kids. You're doing this platonically, Right?

"Can I-" Your words were cut short as a strong hand yanked you onto the bed beside her. She rolled over, facing away from you, a muffled "yes you may" escaping her lips. Relief washed over you as you slid under the covers. Her warmth was comforting, a familiar sensation that brought back memories of countless childhood nights spent huddled together against the cold. This was how it was supposed to be, you realized. You'd do anything to preserve this moment, even if it meant burying your growing feelings deep down. For now, this was enough.

Evie turned to face you, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched you sleep. Your mouth was slightly open, and you were snoring lightly. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, a dangerous impulse to kiss you. But it was quickly dismissed as she reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. a gentle gesture that belied the turmoil within her.

Her mind raced back to earlier. Why were you so insistent on spending time with Lonnie? What could she possibly have that Evie didn't? She was prettier, smarter—well, at least in her own mind. And yet, you'd broken your promise to help her with her shop, a lie she'd made just to keep you close. It was a desperate plea, a transparent attempt to cling to your presence. Was she jealous? The thought was absurd. She didn't like you...or did she? No, it was just protectiveness, pure and simple. If only you knew how she truly felt.

Her gaze drifted to your lips, and she found herself tracing their outline with her thumb. A wave of fear washed over her. What if you left her once you discovered her feelings? The thought of losing your friendship was unbearable. She would do anything to maintain this fragile balance, even if it meant burying her emotions deep within.

I might or might not make a part two idk

[louisupdates]

By Ed Power | Sat Nov 30 2024 - 05:15

During the pandemic the songwriter and producer James Vincent McMorrow would rise early, go for a run and write songs for Louis Tomlinson, of One Direction.

“I actually made half of a record for him,” he says. Tomlinson’s team “had a lot of songs but maybe not a lot that he was as into as he wanted to be. I think they were maybe looking for a weirdo. So they reached out to me. I love him. He’s a fascinating human being. I absolutely loved making that album,” adds McMorrow, who is about to start a tour of Ireland.

When it comes to potential collaborators with a boy band megastar, McMorrow’s name is not the first that springs to mind. He’s an indie songwriter whose open-veined, falsetto-driven pop has been compared to that of folkies such as Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens. But Tomlinson was a fan of the Dubliner’s beautifully wrought music. He wasn’t alone: Drake famously sampled McMorrow on his 2016 track Hype.

One of the tracks they wrote together, The Greatest, would serve as the opener to Tomlinson’s second LP, Faith in the Future. As is often the way with the music industry, the rest are in a vault somewhere. Still, for McMorrow the opportunity to work with a pop star was about more than simply putting his craft in front of a wider audience. The call from Tomlinson’s team had come at a low point for the Irishman, who had become mired in confusion and doubt after signing to a major label for the first time in his career.

Executives at Columbia Records had recognised potential in McMorrow as an artist who bridged the divide between folk and pop. The fruits of that get-together would see daylight in September 2021 as the excellent Grapefruit Season LP, on which McMorrow teamed up with Paul Epworth, who has also produced Adele and Florence Welch.

The album was a beautifully gauzy rumination on the birth of his daughter and the muggy roller coaster of first-time parenthood. It went top 10 in Ireland and breached the top 100 in the UK. Yet the experience of working within the major-label system was strange for McMorrow, who at that point had been performing and recording for more than a decade. He didn’t hate it. But he knew he didn’t ever want to do it again.

“It was a weird time. I stopped touring in 2017. My daughter was born in 2018. I signed with Columbia Records at the same time and made a record that ... There were moments within it I was proud of. But fundamentally, I think if I was being very honest, I would say that I definitely got lost in the weeds of what the music industry wanted for me rather than what I wanted for myself.”

[…]

McMorrow grew up in Malahide, the well-to-do town in north Co Dublin; as a secondary-school student he suffered debilitating shyness. In 2021 he revealed that he had struggled with an eating disorder at school, ending up in hospital (“Anorexia that progressed into bulimia”). He was naturally retiring, not the sort to crave the spotlight. But he was drawn to music. “It was definitely a difficult journey,” he says. He wasn’t alone in that. “The musicians that tend to cut through and make it ... A lot of my friends, musicians that are successful, they’re not desperate for the stage.”

The Tomlinson collaboration was part of his strange relationship with the mainstream music industry. It went back to McMorrow’s third LP, Rising Water, from 2016. A move away from his earlier folk-pop, the project had featured engineering from Ben Ash, aka Two Inch Punch, a producer who had worked with chart artists such as Jessie Ware, Sia and Wiz Khalifa.

That was followed by the Drake sample in 2016 and by McMorrow writing the song Gone, which was at one point set to be recorded by a huge pop star whom he’d rather not identify.

“Gone is the red herring of red herrings in my entire career. I wrote that song for other people. I didn’t write it for myself. The whole reason I signed to Columbia Records and I had all these deals was because of Gone. I was very happy tipping away in my weird little world. And then I wrote that song, and a lot of bigger artists came in to try to take it,” he says.

“I won’t name names. There were recordings of it done. It got very close to being a single for someone else. I would go in these meetings with all these labels, and I would play it for them – just to play. Not with any sense of ‘This is my song.’ And they were, like, ‘You’re out of your mind if you don’t take this song. This is the song that will make you the thing that is the thing.’ And I was, like, ‘You’re wrong.’ For a year I basically was, like, ‘I disagree.’ And if you go in a room with enough people enough times and they tell you that you’re crazy ... I loved the song, but I did not love it for me. I never felt I fit. There was a little part of me that wanted to believe.”

As he had predicted, Gone wasn’t a hit. He received a lot of other strange advice, including that he cash in on the mercifully short-lived craze for NFTs by putting out an LP as a watermarked internet file. All of that was swirling in his brain when Tomlinson got in touch. To be able to step outside his own career was exactly what McMorrow needed.

“With Louis it was like boot camp. I had a very limited time with him. I had to wake up every morning, go for a run, write a song in my head, go to the studio. We made songs all day long. It lit a fire in my head again. I loved the process. I like sitting and talking to someone like Louis, who’s had this unbelievably fascinating lifestyle – so much tragedy in his life,” he says. Tomlinson’s mother and sister died within three years of each other, and his 1D bandmate Liam Payne died in October. “So many things have happened to him. I chatted to him and then write constantly. That was a lovely process.”

Because life is strange and full of contrasts McMorrow ended up working with Tomlinson around the same time that he was producing the Dublin postpunk “folk-metal” band The Scratch, on their LP Mind Yourself. “Totally different animals,” he says. “The Scratch album was an intense period in the studio of that real old-school nature of making music. A lot of fights. A lot of pushing back against ideas. A lot of different opinions. And you have to respect everybody’s opinions and find the route through.”

During his brief time on a major label, McMorrow was reminded of the music industry’s weakness for short-term thinking. In 2019, the business was obsessed with streaming numbers and hot-wiring the Spotify algorithm so that your music posted the highest possible number of plays.

“Everyone was driven by stats. ‘This song has 200 million streams.’ ‘That song has 400 million streams.’ I went into my meetings with Columbia Records ... the day I had my first big marketing meeting was the day my catalogue passed a billion streams, which, for someone like me, who started where I started, was a day where I should be popping champagne corks. Instead they immediately started talking about how they have artists that have one song that has two billion streams. So by their rule of thumb I was half as successful as one song by one artist on their label.”

Five years later he believes things have changed. He points to Lankum, a group who will never set Spotify alight yet who have carved a career by doing their own thing and not chasing the short-term goal of a place on the playlist. They are an example to other musicians, McMorrow says.

“I was in Brooklyn, doing two nights, a week and a half ago. In the venue across the road from where we were, pretty much, Lankum were doing two nights and had [the Dublin folk artist] John Francis Flynn opening for them. Those are two artists that, if you were to look at their stats, you wouldn’t be, like, ‘These are world-beating musicians.’ You start aggregating to this stat-based norm and you miss bands like Lankum, bands like The Mary Wallopers, people like John Francis Flynn.”

McMorrow is looking forward to his forthcoming Irish tour, which he sees as another leg of his journey to be his best possible self.

“The last two, three years have been a process of building it back to a version of me that actually made me happy rather than making me cry at night-time – a version that was making music because I liked it. Within this industry there’s so much outside noise. It’s quite overwhelming. I was overwhelmed. It’s been nice to reset the clock.”

In November 2022, McMorrow posted this now deleted Instagram post:

Text: late 2021 I got a phone call asking me if I wanted to come to London to meet @louist91 and possibly write some songs. A few years ago he released a statement talking about changing his path musically, instead of the immediate search for hits, he’d start with music he genuinely loved and see where it got him. Seems like a simple and obvious thing to say, but considering the amount of people just chasing hits with little regard for vision or artistry, a statement like that struck me when I read it. So I was excited to meet him and see what he was about. First day we met we all wrote Common People, second day we wrote Lucky Again. In December of last year we went back in again, finished those ones, wrote and produced 3 others that are also on this album. It was the studio line-up of dreams, @mrfredball @jmoon1066, @riley_mac. Shouts to Louis for letting us do our thing, letting a dork like me come write some weird lyrics and weird melodies, trust us to shape the vision that he had. These last few years were dark at times, but it was moments like that where I remembered why I’m obsessed w music and why it’s all I’ve ever understood. incredibly proud of the work, Holding on to Heartache is genuinely one of my most favourite songs I’ve ever been a part of.

Also I was reading something about the album and it mentioned something about the gospel choir on the bridge of that song… nah man thats’s just 200 stacked of me singing super super high in the studio out back of Fred’s house😂]

[fanofseabassanddorito]

Dear Chris Evans,

I’ve waited and watched. I’ve gone back and forth with Real vs PR. I’m just a fan, of your work, but I also because of what you seemed to stand for and acted like a real person. I think I’m done now.

There has been questionable ‘sightings’ even though you claim to want to be private. Your friends and hers have posted the two of you. You have posted her twice yourself. But then you seem to hide her. That isn’t a good look. If you are in love with someone, you don’t hide them because you want to be private yet leak photos and hints to keep your fans spiraling when you know how some can be.

We all know celebrities use social media for what they WANT fans to see. Why? Because they want privacy, as they should, to separate their work world from real life. I completely agree with doing so, BUT I don’t agree with going back and forth. You owe fans nothing except maybe the respect that goes both ways. After all, your fans have been the reason you have your paychecks. I think we deserve a little bit of respect not to be played by what you say in interviews vs. what you show yourself to be through your actions.

There are so many examples of couples being private but NOT hiding significant others like they are embarrassed to be seen. A real private couple does things together but do not post montages on their socials, like scare videos and couples pictures. People do not call paparazzi unless they want to be seen. A real private couple does still go to things together, they don’t hide but they don’t bring attention to themselves. Real private couples do not let things drop during a special date for something else. One example, the NYC pap walk on the day that Warrior Nun season 2 dropped right after SMA.

Tabloids run on things they are given. There have been more articles about you and this girl than Harry and Meghan, Jennifer and Ben, etc., etc., etc. your reps have never confirmed anything. IMDb does not list her as your wife. Your mother liked a tweet about the girl being racist.

I had no issues at first, thinking you wanted privacy, which I thought was a great idea, given your fandom. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a good while. But then it seemed like her friends and yours, her mom, along with the likes on IG, proved this isn’t private. Certain social media sites have been the only ones to randomly get these pictures that are nowhere to be found. It’s only a few, and they usually come at specific times when there is doubt. Friends posted from Lisbon, Avengers in MA, and the wedding rumors began. I’m sorry, but when there is an NDA, then the wedding news should not have leaked because the NDA would cover that. And if you have to ask people to turn in their phones to attend, that’s rude and you’ve invited people you don’t trust.

Showing up to a convention, with a ring on but you can’t say her name. Just ‘Go Portugal!’ And then go on about Dodger.

Let’s not even get into photoshopped or not photoshopped because I don’t even know anymore.

I could go on and on but it saddens me. I cannot be a fan of someone just because of their projects, and that’s just me. I have kept quiet, because it’s none of my business what you do with your life. What is my business though, is who I give my hard earned money to. Barely getting by on what I make, medications and food for my kids continue to rise in cost, but they also enjoy Captain America because he seemed like a good guy in real life too. Now they come to me with things they’ve seen online like Captain America’s new wife nude in the shower. They have seen people posting about her friends and their previous tweets, and things they’ve said. Why? Because you have played games with your fandom and they got pissed and exposed things. Let’s be honest, kids get online and see things even if they aren’t supposed to. Luckily they didn’t see your ‘slip’ up, because your fans cleaned that for you quickly, but the shower pictures continue to be passed around. They also said in some of the pictures they saw you post that they thought you had a daughter but found out it was your girlfriend.

I would make sure you don’t have any more slip ups because I feel like your fans are limited at this point. The ones that see your work the day it comes out. That’s one reason why Ghosted flopped. Before this, your fans would have said you did wonderful even if you didn’t.

After the new picture of the two of you at the Globes after party, I CHOOSE to not be a fan and hand you my money. I know it isn’t much, but I will choose to spend it on a different movie or person at a convention. Maybe I just won’t have a favorite anymore because it seems like a lot just tell fans what they want to hear.

I don’t know if it’s Real or PR and don’t care but it’s the game you seem to be playing that I don’t like. I don’t care what people think of my opinion and have not posted anything about a side. I just know you look like such a hypocrite and lose fans by the hour now. So many blogs and pages that are team PR or Team Real and they argue over who is right and wrong, because you and everyone around you are playing with them. You are using them for free publicity and that is sickening. I didn’t believe it was happening and you were just trying to protect your love life. But, eventually, it was just so obvious with the tiniest bit of things creeping in on the same sites and coincidences on dates. Mostly, I just don’t want to watch all the drama that has become part of being your fan. I like to escape the real world by looking at my favorite celebrities and what they are up to or their movies etc. I don’t want to see the gross mess you have become. She looks like your daughter, so I choose to leave. You don’t know me or care because I’m just one fan, but I do know who you want people to see you as now and I don’t like this version. Be private or just don’t hide. Look happy, not miserable. Treat her like your love and wife, because I would never allow my boyfriend/husband treat me the way it appears you are treating her. To the public, she looks like a mail order bride that jumps as soon as you tell her too. It’s gross.

So, it’s been a long, fun ride being your fan until now. Enjoy traveling back and forth and wear sunscreen to the beach, because boy are you white. Research the word ‘privacy’ and maybe get those NDA’s to the people leaking things if you want privacy or take their phones from them when they are in your proximity. Invest in energy drinks next, she’s a lot younger and likes to travel and have sex (maybe check out her soft porn). Let Buddah know she did a film with a demon having sex with her. Maybe purchase a plane and get a pilots license, because older dogs don’t travel as well as they age and that’s a long ride to Portugal. Remind your wife to keep her clothes on and keep your 🍆 in your pants because I think Team Real is even over this mess and don’t want to see it. Thanks for the laughs and smiles over the years. I wish you luck and hope you’re happier than you actually look.

Sincerely,

An Ex-Fan of Christopher Robert Evans

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please do newt (platonic/familial) with a younger sibling who makes/mends close and personality wise is similar to Luz from TOH? Thank you! :D

yesyesyesyesyesywsyes omg please keep the maze runner requests coming I'm very very fixated atm kdk how to function, PLEASE SPAM ME W TMR REQS RJNENE ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; post writing robin here, I tried with the personality like Luz but I struggled for some reason so I'm so sorry about that LMAO

NEWT ; clothing maker/mender

summary ; you make and mend clothing around the Glade, and Newt is somehow always there to help

warnings ; language, Newt is still a runner so pre-injury era

genre ; platonic fluff

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

The day you came up in the box, you were frightened and felt like you didn't fit in with the other kids of the Glade. You were socially awkward and didn't know how to talk to people, although being a people pleaser.

Talking was just hard for you, but luckily, Newt understood. He tucked you under his wing and tried to help you fit in with the others, but to no avail. Nothing was sticking out to you, it wasn't like jobs were supposed to be enjoyable but you truly couldn't fit in anywhere. The fifteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was there for you, though, reassuring you that actually becoming a Glader, even after remembering your name, took time.

Becoming a Runner was off the table at day one, you had zero stamina and could barely run for shit, let alone your life, you and Newt, and Alby, Minho, and the other Runners quickly agreed upon that. Being a Builder was quickly eliminated as well, because you didn't want to deal with obnoxious assholes like Gally, Hank, and Alec all day long. Plus, you knew nothing about "structural integrity" or whatever the hell they were talking about anyways, wood to hammer to nail was all you saw.

You quickly gained a friendship with Winston after a month or two in the Glade, but no way in Hell were you joining the Slicers either. You'd gain an emotional attachment to the animals much too quickly to then watch them die, the emotional despair would be a bit much at the moment. Bagger was also off the charts, leaving Med-Jack and Track-Hoe on the table for you.

Newt wasn't going to let you become a Slopper, considering you weren't bad at helping people nor farming, you just had to find your thing that you'd be comfortable doing. So, you settled on Track-Hoe as they needed more help in the gardens and you wouldn't mind getting your hands dirty, with dirt, that is. No blood.

You found, or maybe relearned, your nick for sewing one morning as you needed to repair your shirt, and ran straight to Newt with your new talent. After seeing it himself, Newt quickly bounced to Alby's side to ask if you could make mending and making clothes your job. You hadn't had any luck finding a job out of the many in the Glade, clearly, so this might've been your luck turning.

The next coming days were slow. Thankfully, Alby approved your idea of a new job, considering you and Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and it'd be a great convenience to have you around for something as necessary as clothing. The builders graciously built you a little hut next to the Homestead to give you your own little place to go and work, instead of working around the Glade and potentially dirty-ing the clothes you fixed and made.

The hut consisted of a table, a loom, a hanging rack for finished projects, and a little chest system organized by all the threads, needles, etcetera. Alas, Newt was the one to help you with your new job on days when he wasn't running out in the maze. Minho switched him out with Ben or George on those days as per his request, as to help you learn how to talk to and understand the Gladers, whom you didn't understand too well yet.

But, by the time the next Greenie, Henry, arrived, you were right on track. You modeled and measured and patched and sewed your days away, finding peace in the seemingly boring activity. And by this time, Newt had become your brother figure and your best friend, considering how much he understood and supported you and helped you get some great opportunities around the Glade. And now, you were the Keeper of the Seamers, the only worker, but still the Keeper.

After a long day of running in the maze with Minho, Newt jogs to your expansion of the Homestead, desiring your help.

"Hey, Shank" He warmly smiles, closing the door made of sticks behind him. "How's your day been?"

You shrug in response. "Slow. Need me to fix anything for you?"

He awkwardly smiles and nods, looking down at his knees. His cargo pants are ripped, and the skin beneath painted a light red in comparison to his pale complexion, rug burns covering his kneecaps.

"Tripped and fell out in the maze" He explains, "Just don't want them falling apart because it kinda trailed 'round to the back" He says, tracing the little rips around his knees.

You nod. "I mean, the best solution would be keeping them like that or turning them into shorts for hot days. But I know the maze is cold and stuff, so, your call. I don't wanna ruin your running pants but I can always scrounge up new ones, and the next Greenie will be up in two days so it wouldn't be that long of a wait-"

"I'll just keep them ripped" He lightly smiles, cutting your rant off.

He knew damn well to not let you spiral over something so little, so he developed the radar to sniff out when you were about to rant about small things for an hour out of panic. He pats your shoulder before sitting down next to you, looking over at the rack of finished clothing you'd patched up and finished making.

"Oh, were you able to finish that shirt you were making for yourself?" He asks, running a hand through his hair.

Lord, he needed a haircut, although the best method of that was knives, which made it all choppy and blunt. Hopefully, WCKD would send up some cutting shears or something soon. All of your hair needed a cut desperately.

You nod, setting your needle and thread down to go grab it. You pull it off the rack and hold it to your chest. A simple, thin, off white, long sleeved shirt rests against your torso as you cheesily smile at him.

"Looks good"

"Thanks" You put the shirt back on the rack, deciding to put it back in the Homestead near your hammock later.

Newt was usually very supportive and went out of his way to show appreciation and reassurance for you, though making it casual to actually feel real for you. Once he found out that he needed to speak with you like that after reassuring that you'd live without rain, he learned the lesson.

Before you can speak again, Ben runs in, looking for your help.

"Y/n, I ripped up the sleeve of my shirt, can you fix it?" He asks, holding the grey-blue shirt up for you to see

"Yeah, sure, leave it on that table" You reply, pointing at the table in front of you.

"Thanks, you're the best!" He says, setting the shirt on the table before leaving.

Newt looks up at you and smiles, "You're getting used to talking to people, I see"

You nod, catching his infectious smile.

"Welcome to the Glade, Y/n/n"

[rockrosethistle]

A list of Nightmare Time episode ideas that I thought of and I think would be cool:

1.) Mr. Chasity has been trying to sell the old Waylon Place for far too long. After trying and failing over and over, he decides to take matters into his own hands by going in himself to see what all the fuss is about. But nothing could have prepared him to meet the real ghosts of Waylon Hall. And boy oh boy do they have shenanigans in store. (The episode would be called 'Unholy Ghost') .

2.) It's been a few months since Hatchetfield was destroyed in that awful 'accident'. Emma and Paul have been living under the aliases Kelly and Ben Bridges. (there can be a joke where Emma doesn't even pretend to care about her alias and Paul cares too much.) They live in Colorado now. Emma's finally started her pot farm, and Paul is working in marketing. For the most part, they have a good life. Only Paul's acting a bit different lately. Emma caught him humming company jingles, tapping his foot to a beat she can't hear. Maybe those spores he inhaled had some effect on him. It's probably nothing, but he's never sung in the shower before...(I don't have a name for this one yet.) .

3.) Max Jägerman is failing remedial algebra. In fact, he's doing so poorly that his dad shells out and hires him a tutor, PJ. (Bryce's nerd from 'Literal Monster.) He reluctantly lets her help him. At first it seems to work and his grades are rising steadily, but as PJ lets her guard down, Max starts to notice some things. Strange symbols scribbled in the margins of her notebook, almost like...jagged smiles? Weird stains on her hands, when she gets too close she smells like roadkill. And there's this white spider that keeps showing up in his room. Sometimes he feels like it's trying to tell him something. Or warn him. Without knowing what he's gotten himself into, Max has to evade getting his soul swallowed by a hungry god of darkness. (The episode is called 'Dirty Dude Soup') .

4.) Charlotte Sweetly is jealous. Her church friend, Carol Davidson, has exactly the kind of life she wants. Charlotte's seen the way her boss talks about his wife, and would give anything for Sam to feel that way about her. One day, Charlotte finally gathers her courage and asks her how she does it. Carol takes pity on her, and decides to reveal an important secret: it's all the product of a ritual, an ancient spell she stumbled upon on a trip to an amusement park. She claims that ever since she did it, her husband can't get enough of her. "I am all he sees. He calls me the apple of his eye." Charlotte doesn't believe her at first, but Carol gave her the instructions, and why the hell not? She tries it. Unfortunately, Charlotte messes up the wording. The spell still works, but not quite as intended. And an all-seeing police officer could be a good thing, but Sam is not a good police officer. (maybe let's call this one 'Omnipocop'. But that's awful to spell so suggestions are welcome) .

5.) While trying to be an assistant, Steph accidentally botches one of Pete's science projects. He forgives her, but she still feels bad even as he assures her it's no big deal, throwing the mix of chemicals out his window just to prove it. What he doesn't know is that the last family that lived in the Spankoffski house buried their dog in the backyard, and Pete's chemical slurry just brought it back to life. On a probably unrelated note, Paul has been trying to ignore the damage he's finding in his apartment. He's been chalking most of the tipped over garbage cans and torn apart cushion up to rats--giant rats?--or maybe a squirrel. But when a decades-old "missing dog" poster shows up on his doorstep, he can't ignore the truth for any longer. (the episode would be called "Patches' Revenge" and I thing it would work because it's just the right amount of weird. It would end with Paul teaming up with the nerds to defeat undead Patches with science.) .

6.) To his utter delight, Miss Holloway finally agreed to go out with Duke on a proper date. Nothing huge, just some ice cream and a walk on the beach. They're both enjoying themselves when Miss Holloway hears something. Duke can't hear it, but he still follows her down the shore to some kind of cave grotto, where she claims the noise is coming from. She tosses a pebble into the water, testing how it might react. A few moments later, the pebble come flying out again. Duke is stunned, but Miss Holloway tosses her ice cream cone. Sure enough, a few moments later is comes flying back, perfectly dry. They've clearly discovered something, and over the next few days, Duke and Miss Holloway experiment and try to learn about the grotto and the water in it. It's too deep to see the bottom, so their tests mostly involve tossing different things to see how they'll react. Little do they know, there was a reason Miss Holloway could hear a noise coming from the cave. There's a reason it drew her in, too. There's something singing to her, something that lives at the bottom of the grotto. And with each thing they feed it, it becomes a little bit stronger...(and then it's called something unassuming like "Wavecrest Cave")

So that's Nightmare Time season four all lined up. Please tell me if you have a good name idea for episodes 2 and 4. Also if anyone wants to use these as writing prompts, be my guest (just tag me so I can read them)

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

tags: @k-slla

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part II: Silence is Peace

The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.

The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.

His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.

"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.

"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."

He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."

"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.

Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.

"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.

"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."

He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.

"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.

"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."

With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.

"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.

"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.

His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.

"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.

"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."

He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.

"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"

He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.

"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.

You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.

"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."

"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.

"Novichok definitely is."

He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.

"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."

He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.

"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.

"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.

"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."

"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.

He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.

"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."

If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."

"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."

"Time of death 9:41 a.m."

The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.

You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.

And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.

"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.

"Thanks."

Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.

You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.

Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.

You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.

You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.

"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.

"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."

Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."

"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."

"No. We need you to focus on this."

"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."

"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"

"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.

"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"

[the-lonelybarricade]

Breaking & Entering - (1/2)

Summary: Before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door. It followed her all the way to the House of Wind. And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Or; A slightly angsty telling of how Elain discovered that Lucien sleeps naked

Read on AO3・ Part II

-

Being a seer was not without its complications.

In fact, Elain would argue that being a seer consisted only of complications. Of muddled thoughts, and twisted, tangled truths that she could spend a lifetime unweaving and still not fully comprehend.

But worst of all was the blurry line she walked between reality and prophecy. One moment, she was sipping her tea at the breakfast table, and the next she was standing in a busy marketplace, uncertain which was the illusion until she was vaulted back into her physical body, blinking as her heart settled and her vision returned.

“Elain?”

Feyre leaned over the table, palms pressed into the dark wood, hovering as close to Elain as the barrier would allow. From the thin line forming between Feyre’s brows, Elain had the impression this was not the first time Feyre had called for her.

“Yes?” Elain said, straightening her back and lifting her teacup as if nothing had happened.

Feyre’s shoulders slackened, and she drew back into her seat with a small sigh of relief. But Elain knew that after the concerned sister, came the curious High Lady. She watched, face still ducked into her teacup, as Feyre pressed her lips together, thinking so loudly she might as well have used her magic to project her thoughts. Not that it mattered, not when her questions were obvious, and already evident in the way those blue-grey eyes searched her face.

Tea sloshed against Elain’s lips, uncontrolled, inelegant. Her hand was shaking. Though the vision had been mild, even pleasant, compared to others, that flash of red hair had unnerved her. The way it always did.

She set the teacup down, ignoring how it rattled against the saucer. How Feyre flinched.

“Lucien’s on his way,” Elain said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

A knock sounded at the door, cutting off Feyre’s response. Elain patted her lip with the napkin, skin tingling from the too-hot liquid, and stood up from her chair. “Before you answer, would you mind taking me to the House of Wind?”

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

There was an accusation in that question. Subtle, even a little gentle, but an accusation nonetheless. Elain crossed her arms, as if doing so could deflect from her sister’s judgment. She knew what Feyre wanted—for Elain to stay, to make nice with Lucien and ask him about his latest trip to the mortal lands. She wanted Elain to get to know the male she was eternally bonded to so that they might one day find the happiness that Feyre and Rhysand found in each other. Even Nesta seemed to be encouraging it these days.

“He doesn’t need to know I was here,” Elain said. “Besides, he’s come to see you.”

Feyre raised a brow. If there was sharpness in those words, Elain hadn’t meant them. Or maybe she had. She was frustrated that her sisters had already made up their minds about what was best for her, and that despite the agency she craved, she couldn’t even flee to the House of Wind without Feyre’s help.

They stared at each other for a long moment, a clash of stubbornness that was sometimes the only thing that connected them.

“Fine,” Feyre said, coming around the table and reaching out her hand. “But you should try talking to him one of these days, Elain. He’s a good male.”

He was a good male. Elain knew that perfectly well. And before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door.

It followed her all the way to the House of Wind.

And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Elain sat up in bed, clutching her chest. Beneath her clammy skin, she could feel her own heart thundering beneath her fingers. But its golden echo, the one she felt like a string around her rib, plucked day and night by a tireless musician… It had fallen silent.

A dream, she thought. A vision. Any moment now, she’d blink and find herself sitting in the library, wondering at the Cauldron’s strange meaning. But as she laid on her back and watched a dark cloud slowly creep across the starry sky, she felt the seconds prying for her attention with growing urgency. And suddenly she couldn’t breath as a terrible, gnawing panic seized her throat. The next thing she knew, she was rushing through the corridors of the House of Wind, hair and nightgown flowing behind her.

He answered the door on the first knock. She knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, even at this hour.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, hazel eyes sweeping over her, assessing if her panic was the result of any injury on her person. “What’s wrong?”

Ordinarily, she might have taken the time to be embarrassed by her state of undress. But all she could hear was the silence in her mind. The vast, roaring emptiness that was usually occupied by life and light.

Elain took a moment to compose herself, trying to swallow past the sickening feeling in her gut, but the words all escaped in a rush regardless of her efforts. “Can you take me down?”

“What?”

“Downstairs,” she clarified. “To the Rainbow.”

His gaze darted to the ground. To her bare feet. “Dressed like that?”

“Please,” was all she said.

Azriel didn’t press any further. He simply led her to the nearest balcony and did precisely as she asked, hesitating only once they landed in the empty marketplace, and she shivered when he set her down on the cobblestone. He removed his jacket, and the evening was cold enough that Elain didn’t object when he placed it over her shoulders.

But she did shake her head as he said, “Whatever you’re doing, let me come with you. To make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, pulling the jacket closer when she noticed the way his eyes wandered to her neckline. Maybe he was concerned by the attention her attire would attract, a fear she might have shared if Lucien’s apartment wasn’t just across the street. And she had a feeling that regardless of what she said to Azriel, he’d be lingering to ensure nothing happened to her.

“I’ll stay here, then” Azriel said. “So that I can bring you back up when you’re ready.”

Sensing that was the most she could convince Azriel to stay out of it, and not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Elain nodded and dashed off toward Lucien’s apartment. A place she’d never visited before, though she’d seen it in enough visions to recognize the stepping stones of the front garden as if she’d been the one to arrange them.

Of all the times she’d thought about coming here, of bracing her hand around the iron knocker and letting fall to the front door, she’d never imagined it would be the middle of the night. And that the knocker would bounce once, twice, until it vibrated into stillness. No shuffle on the other side, no footsteps. No answer at all.

In all her imaginings, she’d certainly never thought that she would need to sneak into his back garden and mount the trellis to his balcony, battling against the climbing roses that snagged at her dressing gown. She hissed as more than a few scraped against her legs, as if the garden were fighting back against its intruder.

“Lucien?” She called as she came level with his balcony. Leaning over, she could see no light in his room, and it occurred to her that she could be reading too much into the quiet. He could just be sleeping, and maybe his heartbeat quieted when he slept and she’d simply never noticed. This was her last chance to turn away without looking like a lunatic.

Lucien? She tried, searching internally for the kernel of light that lived inside her, warm and lovely and achingly absent. There was no response. No stirrings at all on the other side of their muted bond. She grasped, helplessly, for something to pull, for the golden thread he’d once tugged all those years ago. When she found nothing, she pulled herself onto his balcony and yanked on the handle to his bedroom.

Locked.

Through the glass, she could see his red hair against the pillows. His face was turned toward her, eyes shut, expression so soft and unguarded she barely recognized him. Elain stilled for a minute, the ache in her chest growing tenfold as she admired the sight of Lucien polished in moonlight.

She rapped her knuckles against the glass. First, with all of the bashfulness of someone who expected his eyes to snap open, where she would need to explain what she was doing on his balcony, undressed and bloodied. Then, with increasing urgency as his eyes remained shut, oblivious to her panicked fists slamming against the glass door not a meter away.

If she’d let Azriel come with, he would have known what to do. And perhaps he would have come up with a far less destructive solution than Elain, who turned to examine the items Lucien kept on his balcony and found a small potted plant that she immediately hurled towards the door. Any faerie would have woken to the sound of the shattering glass. Even one having a particularly nice dream.

His neighbors might even be awake now, coming to their windows to watch Elain push her arm through the jagged hole and unlock the door from the inside. Maybe tomorrow there’d be news articles about Velaris’s new, sloppy midnight burglar. As long as tomorrow’s news was about her, and not the deceased son of Autumn, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care even as the glass cut into her feet, not as Lucien remained unresponsive to it all. Unaware of his intruder. Unaware that his mate was bleeding and panicked and desperate. It was all wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Lucien?” She called, his name strangled in her throat.

In her mortal life, she might have cared about dripping blood onto his sheets, or how she was climbing into a male’s bed in only her night gown. But now she was High Fae and this was her mate—her mate. And all that mattered was getting to him.

Elain cupped his face, nearly sobbing when she felt that it was warm to the touch. Warm. Not claimed by death—not yet. And his lips were parted, expelling air with every rise and fall of his chest. Alive, alive, alive.

Despite the evidence, when Elain pressed her fingers to the pulsepoint on his neck, she was surprised to find a heartbeat as familiar as her own. Steady, healthy, yet still absent from where it once resided in her mind. And he still wasn't awake.

Was it magic? Some kind of spell, or poison? Without thinking, she ripped the bedcovers from his body to see if there was some ailment she was missing. A bite wound, or an arrow puncture, or…. Lucien’s uninjured, perfectly healthy, and obscenely muscular naked body.

Elain yelped, immediately covering him back up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, though he couldn’t hear and was unaware of the violation she’d just committed.

It was then that her eyes wandered toward his bedside table, bearing all the things she would expect from Lucien: a pile of books with loose papers atop them, a leatherbound journal, a dagger with a jeweled hilt, and… a small, empty vial labeled sleeping tonic.

She recalled the vision she’d had that morning, of Lucien navigating his way through the busy marketplace. How he’d paused before a tonic shop, intrigued by their wares. She hadn’t thought anything of it, besides that it meant Lucien had returned to the city. And now she examined the glass shards littering his bedroom floor, the soil spilling out of the broken plant pot, the blood on the floor, the sheets—oh god, it was on his face, too.

“Elain?”

She turned her head, finding Azriel standing on the balcony, looking far more concerned for the state she was in than the unconscious male beneath her.

“Is everything okay?” he prompted.

What did she even say, to answer for all of the reckless, impulsive things she’d done this evening?

All she could do was point to the vial and croak, “The tonic he bought at the shop… will it wear off?”

Azriel squinted through the glass to read the label, then huffed a laugh under his breath, as if he was familiar. “Those tonics will leave you all but dead to the world. The last time I took one, I woke up with a mustache painted on my face.”

That certainly sounded like something his friends would do. Elain couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “So he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for his balcony door, though.”

Elain’s cheeks burned. “Will you take me back? And forget this ever happened?”

The shadowsinger watched her carefully. “Of course. It can be our secret.”

Azriel kept a lot of those. She trusted he would keep this one, at least from Lucien, but even so she couldn’t find it in herself to meet his eyes as he stepped into Lucien’s apartment and lifted Elain from her mate’s bed. They flew back to the house in silence, the stinging in her feet becoming more and more intrusive as her adrenaline wore off.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he said once they landed on one of the many verandas.

“No.”

“Elain—”

“No.” She didn’t mean to snap. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d use that tone with anyone. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Azriel was only trying to help. That he’d been indulging her foolish impulses all evening, expecting nothing in return. “Just take me back to my room, please. I can deal with it.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but he did as she asked.

Only once he left, and she heard his door shut down the hall, did she release her hold on the tears that she’d been repressing from the moment she realized Lucien was okay. Picking the leftover pieces of glass from her feet was preferable to anguishing over the fool she made of herself tonight, though she managed to do both.

What had gotten into her? She’d always felt a measure of the instincts that came with the bond. The pull, the wanting, the need to claim and protect. But they had always been passive, easily brushed aside. What she’d felt tonight had gripped her with such violence that she’d been blinded to everything else, any sense of reason or reservation. What would Lucien think when he woke in the morning and saw that someone had broken into his home? And how would she be able to look him in the eyes, now that his naked form was imprinted in her mind, lingering no matter how she tried to banish it. It was wrong. It was stolen. It was… making the ache feel raw again.

Worst of all, despite Azriel’s assurance that Lucien was unharmed by the tonic, she found she couldn’t go to sleep while his side of the bond remained a torment of nothingness. She turned over restlessly throughout the night, replaying it all in her head, torturing herself with the anxious thought that maybe Azriel was wrong. Maybe the tonic wouldn’t wear off, and her mate was in danger. She should have stayed, at least until she knew he was okay.

Lucien would have stayed.

That thought, more than anything, kept her awake. Kept her debating all night whether she should face the ten thousand steps just to break into his house again. It was only the cuts on her feet, and her own shame at explaining to Lucien how much she overreacted, that kept her in bed, turning restlessly.

It wasn't until the sun came up that the familiar metronome of his heartbeat returned.

And by the relief of its steady, soothing rhythm, Elain was finally able to fall asleep.