#something something being haunted by the living

[grlpartdoll]

Something something

141 boys in a tiny mountain lumberjack town that has a total of 30 people in it and Price basically runs it all because he's the one that keeps the economy going (he has a lumber business and most of the people in town work for him) and Ghost is the hunter / butcher that is freakishly big and somewhat haunting looking and that you can't seem to catch ever because you see him for a split second, catching his masked face in the pub, and next think you know he's gone.

Johny is that bartender who keeps the local pub and the community warm, fed and mostly drunk. He talks too much and is known to be a lady's man, if not also a man's man, at times. Despite that, he has a sweet soul and the kindest eyes and won't hesitate to rattle off a loud "aye, s'on da house, mate! No worr'ies!".

Kyle is the boy next door, who, yes, is the town's mayor's son, but the mayor title in this time is really just a technicality. Because everyone knows deep down that the ones who run this town are the people, not a singular entity. Anyway, he's that sweet, boy next door who truly cares for everyone, and never hesitates to give a hand here and there and especially at Price's business. (His father hates it. But Kyle loves it, and he appreciates being John Price's (sort of) apprentice.)

Comes in, you. Sweet, sweet angel come from above — a pretty wounded bird — all but crashing into their town.

You pretend that everything is fine. Pretend that your crazy ex (who is a police officer) isn't actively running after you.

You come with the clothes on your back and enough stuff to fill a backpack. And somehow inherit the bookstore of the old, grumpy gossip lady that's too tired to keep it in shape anymore.

It's not surprising that your sudden appearance intrigues people, but it's really your reaction to the attention, that gets them even more interested.

You're cagey. Bitey. Hissy. You cock an eyebrow at people more than you speak to them. Raise your nose up haughtily at things, pretending as though you believe yourself too good for most things happening in town.

You walk always with a purpose, and an eye over your shoulder. You're hyper-aware and all riled up like a live wire, ready to snap at the boys as they try to catch a feel of your current situation and mood

And Johny can't help but think, as you simply scoff at him and walk away from his flirting, that he knows exactly who to call, when it comes to feral little things begging to be caught and handled properly.

Part 2 / Part 3

[shybluebirdninja]

Marked By Claws

Summary: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett had fought in wars, faced down enemies, and lived through more lifetimes than most could imagine. He was used to being alone. Until she came along—a regular human, fragile but captivating. Logan tried to fight it, convincing himself it was just instinct to protect someone so vulnerable. But soon, that protectiveness turned into something darker, something possessive.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader

Genre              : Fluff, Angst

The rain poured down in sheets outside the bar, casting a dreary haze over the darkened streets. Logan sat in his usual spot, hunched over his glass of whiskey, but his mind wasn’t on the drink. His thoughts were elsewhere—on her. The woman he couldn’t shake from his head no matter how hard he tried. The one he watched every night as she walked home from work.

It started innocently enough, or at least that’s what he told himself. She had an air about her, something that drew him in, something different from the countless others who passed through this crumbling town. But it wasn’t her scent or her face that haunted him—no, it was something deeper, something in the way she moved, the way she existed in a world that would chew her up if given the chance.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he stared out the rain-streaked window. She was late tonight. That wasn’t like her. She always passed by around this time, her coat pulled tight against the wind, her pace brisk. But tonight? Nothing.

The rain tapped harder against the glass as if mocking his rising tension.

Where the hell is she?

Logan grunted under his breath, shaking off the thought. He had no right to care. Not really. She was just some human. Fragile. Helpless. The kind that needed watching in a world like this. That’s all it was. He was just keeping an eye out.

Yeah. That’s what he told himself.

His fingers twitched, the edge of his claws tingling beneath his skin.

Relax, Logan.

But he couldn’t. Not with her out there somewhere, vulnerable and exposed. He drained the last of his drink, pushing back the itch of frustration. His mind wandered again, replaying the first time he saw her. She had been crossing the street in a hurry, nearly getting clipped by some jackass in a truck. Logan had stepped out of the bar just in time to see her stumble back to the curb, a look of startled relief washing over her face. He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Hell, people nearly got themselves killed every day in this shitty town. But something about her stuck with him. Maybe it was the way she barely reacted, like she was used to near-misses. Or maybe it was the way she held herself—quiet, careful, like someone who had learned how to stay invisible in a dangerous world. Whatever it was, Logan had noticed her. And he hadn’t stopped noticing her since.

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You were later than usual tonight, your shoes splashing in the puddles as you hurried down the familiar street. Work had been hell, dragging on longer than it should have, and now you were paying the price by walking home in the pouring rain. The chill in the air cut through your coat, making you shiver as you pulled it tighter around yourself.

The bar you passed every night was still open, the neon sign flickering in the downpour. You barely glanced at it as you walked by, too focused on getting home and out of the wet. You didn’t notice the eyes watching you from the shadows.

Logan leaned against the brick wall outside the bar, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He had already spotted you the moment you turned the corner, his gaze following your every move. You were soaked, shivering, clearly exhausted from your day. His instincts told him to step forward, to offer help. But he stayed where he was, watching. Always watching.

You were close now, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of your skin beneath the rain. His hand twitched, wanting to reach out, wanting to touch.

“Evenin’,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

You jumped at the sound, your wide eyes snapping to his in surprise. “Oh… I didn’t see you there.”

Logan shrugged, pushing himself off the wall. He took a drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing dimly in the gloom. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You offered him a faint smile, though the tension in your shoulders told him you were still wary. Smart girl. In a place like this, you couldn’t afford not to be.

“I’ve seen you around,” you said, awkwardly breaking the silence. “You’re always at the bar, right?”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. Guess you could say it’s my second home.”

He watched you carefully, noting the way your eyes darted toward the road, clearly eager to keep moving. The rain was coming down harder now, drenching your clothes. You shivered again, and Logan’s brow furrowed.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden concern. “Oh, yeah… it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Don’t look fine,” Logan muttered, stepping closer before he could stop himself. His eyes flickered down the street. “You gotta walk far?”

“Just a few more blocks,” you replied, taking a step back instinctively. “I’ll be fine.”

Fine. That word again. You weren’t fine. You didn’t have a clue how dangerous it was out here. And that guy from the other night—the one who’d been walking with you, laughing, trying to get close—that asshole didn’t sit right with Logan. Guys like him didn’t just walk women home out of the goodness of their hearts. He could smell the bullshit from a mile away.

Logan’s jaw clenched. “You alone tonight?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh… yeah. Why?”

He took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That guy from before. The one with the umbrella.”

“Oh, Mike?” you said, realizing who he was talking about. “He’s just a coworker.”

Logan grunted, his gaze sharp. “Coworker, huh? He’s lookin’ for more than that, trust me.”

You laughed softly, though there was an edge of nervousness in it. “No, it’s not like that. He’s harmless.”

Logan’s eyes darkened. Harmless. He’d heard that line before. It was never harmless. Guys like Mike? They took what they wanted, one way or another.

“Listen,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “guys like him, they don’t give a shit about bein’ nice. They just want somethin’ from ya. You should be more careful.”

You frowned, clearly taken aback by his intensity. “I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself.”

Logan’s grip on his cigarette tightened, the ember flaring brightly before he flicked it to the ground, grinding it under his boot. He wanted to argue, to tell you how wrong you were, how naïve. But he held back. Barely.

“Yeah, well, just… watch yourself,” he muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

You nodded slowly, still unsure what to make of him. “I will. Thanks, Logan.”

Hearing his name from your lips sent a strange jolt through him, something primal, something possessive. He watched as you turned to leave, disappearing into the rain once again. The pull was stronger now. Each time he saw you, each time you spoke, it tightened like a noose around his mind.

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Days passed, and Logan found himself drifting closer to you without meaning to. He’d catch himself waiting by the bar, his eyes scanning the street, searching for that familiar form. Every time you walked by, something inside him shifted, grew darker. He knew he was crossing a line, but the beast in him didn’t care. You were his to protect, to watch over. Even if you didn’t know it.

He trailed you one night, his footsteps silent as he kept to the shadows. You were walking home, same route, same hurried pace. But this time, something was off. You were on edge, glancing over your shoulder every few steps. Someone had spooked you.

Logan’s senses kicked into high gear. His nostrils flared, picking up the scent of someone else. Someone nearby.

His claws itched beneath his skin, ready to tear into anyone who thought they could mess with you. He didn’t care if it was Mike or some other lowlife. Whoever it was, they were gonna pay.

He stayed a few steps behind, watching as you quickened your pace, clearly feeling the unease. But before he could make a move, you stopped, turning suddenly as if sensing him.

Your eyes locked with his, wide and startled.

“Logan?”

Shit. He hadn’t meant for you to see him. But there was no going back now.

“Hey,” he said, stepping out of the shadows, his voice casual despite the tension crackling in the air.

You stared at him, clearly unsettled. “Were you… following me?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. “Nah. Just keepin’ an eye out.”

“Why?”

His gaze darkened, the protective edge creeping back into his voice. “Because you need it.”

You stood there, staring at him like you didn’t know whether to be pissed off or scared. Logan could tell. It was written all over your face—the way your brows furrowed, lips pressed tight, trying to make sense of him. Of why a man like him would care about a woman like you. Hell, even he couldn’t explain it fully.

“Look,” you said, exhaling a shaky breath, “I don’t need a babysitter, Logan. I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” Logan scoffed, stepping closer, his boots splashing through the puddles. “You’ve got no clue what’s lurkin’ out there. This ain’t about handlein’ yourself—it’s about survivin’.” His voice was gravelly, laced with the kind of warning that only someone who’d lived through hell could deliver.

You bristled, clearly not in the mood for whatever this was. “Surviving? You make it sound like I’m living in some warzone.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “You are, sweetheart. Just ‘cause you don’t see the bullets flyin’ don’t mean they ain’t there.”

You blinked, clearly not expecting that kind of response. “What are you talking about? This is just—”

“Just what?” Logan interrupted, his voice gruffer now, his temper flaring. “You think people in this town are all playin’ nice? You think that guy, Mike, your little ‘coworker,’ ain’t lookin’ to get somethin’ outta you?”

You clenched your fists, the frustration rising. “He’s not like that. Not everyone is out to hurt me, Logan.”

He let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so damn blind, y’know that? Guys like him? They don’t just walk you home outta the kindness of their hearts.”

You took a step back, your gaze flickering with uncertainty. “You don’t know him.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took another step closer, his presence towering over you. “I don’t need to know him. I know his type.”

There was silence for a moment, just the sound of rain and your uneven breathing. You looked torn—part of you angry, part of you unsure, like maybe, deep down, some part of you knew Logan was right.

But you wouldn’t admit it.

“I’m going home,” you muttered, turning to leave, your voice shaking a little. “I don’t need this right now.”

Logan’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you stop in your tracks. He felt the heat of your pulse under his fingers, quick and erratic. His grip was firm, but he kept his claws in check, just barely. He could feel the beast inside him gnashing its teeth, wanting to drag you back, to keep you right there where he could watch you. Protect you.

“Logan,” you warned, your voice low. “Let go.”

He didn’t. Not right away. He couldn’t.

For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something—he didn’t even know what. Maybe he was looking for a reason to stop. Maybe he was looking for permission.

But all he found was your fear. That familiar mix of terror and curiosity. And God help him, it did something to him. Made him want to pull you closer, claim you, make sure no one else ever laid a hand on you. He could protect you better than anyone. He needed to.

But then your voice broke through his haze. “Logan,” you whispered, softer this time. “Please. Let go.”

That word—please—it cut through him in a way he didn’t expect. He blinked, his grip loosening until you slipped free, taking a step back as if putting distance between the two of you could fix whatever the hell this was.

“Go home,” Logan muttered, turning away, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets to keep from grabbing you again. “Get inside before someone else finds you out here.”

You hesitated, standing there in the rain for a moment longer, watching him. Logan could feel your eyes on him, but he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. He was too close to snapping. Too close to letting the obsession inside him spill out.

Finally, you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Goodnight, Logan.”

And then you were gone, your footsteps retreating into the distance, leaving Logan alone in the rain with nothing but his thoughts and the dark, gnawing hunger that came with them.

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Logan didn’t follow you home that night. He stayed rooted where you’d left him, letting the rain wash over him until it felt like it could scrub the wild thoughts from his mind. But it didn’t. Nothing could.

She’ll come around, he told himself. She has to.

But days passed, and you didn’t. You didn’t pass by the bar as often, didn’t give him more than a quick nod or an awkward wave when you did. He knew you were avoiding him, and that only made the itch under his skin worse. He wasn’t stupid—he knew he’d scared you. Hell, maybe that was for the best. Maybe if you stayed away, he wouldn’t have to deal with this… this thing inside him.

Except you didn’t stay away, not completely. And Logan couldn’t help but keep tabs on you.

It was a couple of weeks later when things started going south. He noticed it one night while he was out on a run—your apartment lights were on later than usual, shadows moving across the windows. At first, he thought you had someone over. Mike, maybe? His gut twisted at the idea, a low growl rumbling in his throat. But then, he caught a different scent. One that didn’t sit right with him.

Fear.

His instincts flared to life, sharper than before, and without thinking, Logan was on the move, crossing the streets with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a guy his size. He slipped into the alley beside your building, the rain-soaked bricks gleaming under the streetlights. He crouched low, his ears straining to hear anything unusual.

And then he caught it. A muffled shout. Your voice.

Logan didn’t even think. His claws slid out with a metallic snikt, and in seconds, he was scaling the fire escape, his senses guiding him straight to your apartment. The window was cracked open, just enough for him to push it aside and slip inside without making a sound.

The scene in front of him made his blood boil.

You were backed up against the wall, your hands out in front of you, trying to ward off a man who was way too close. Mike. Of course it was fucking Mike. He was drunk, that much was obvious. His hands were on you, grabbing at your arms, slurring something Logan couldn’t make out over the roar of rage in his ears.

“C’mon, babe,” Mike was muttering, leaning in way too close for comfort. “Don’t be like that…”

You tried to push him away, but he wasn’t having it. He grabbed your wrist hard, yanking you back toward him. That was all Logan needed to see.

Before Mike could even react, Logan was on him, grabbing the bastard by the collar and throwing him across the room like he weighed nothing. Mike slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, his eyes going wide as he tried to process what just happened.

“What the fuck?!” Mike gasped, clutching his head in pain as he tried to scramble to his feet.

Logan didn’t give him the chance. He was across the room in an instant, his claws gleaming in the dim light as he stood over Mike, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Touch her again, and I’ll rip you apart,” Logan snarled, his voice barely human.

Mike’s face paled, his eyes darting between Logan’s claws and the murderous look on his face. “Jesus, man! I didn’t—”

“Get. Out,” Logan growled, his claws twitching dangerously close to Mike’s face.

Mike didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with terror as he bolted out the door, stumbling down the hallway. Logan didn’t watch him go. His attention was on you now.

You were standing there, your back pressed against the wall, your breathing shallow and uneven. Your eyes were wide with shock, staring at Logan like you didn’t quite know what to make of him. Like maybe, for the first time, you were seeing the monster everyone warned you about.

Logan stepped toward you, his claws still out, his breathing heavy. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through him, the beast inside still roaring for blood, still wanting to tear Mike apart for even daring to touch you.

But then he saw the way you were looking at him—the fear in your eyes, the trembling in your hands—and it stopped him cold.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, trying to pull himself back. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. You were still in shock, still processing everything that had just happened.

“I didn’t mean to—” Logan started, but he cut himself off. What could he even say? He hadn’t meant to scare you, hadn’t meant to make things worse. But that was the thing about him. He always made things worse.

You took a shaky breath, your eyes flickering down to his claws, still extended, still sharp. “Logan…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Your claws…”

Logan blinked, realizing he hadn’t retracted them yet. With a grunt, he forced the metal back into his hands, the familiar sting reminding him of what he was. A monster. Something that didn’t belong in your world.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, stepping back, giving you space. “I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, cutting him off. “No… no, I’m glad you were here. He… he wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know what to do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “You don’t ever have to deal with that. Not as long as I’m around.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, like maybe you were starting to understand. Like maybe you were starting to see him for what he really was—someone who’d do anything to protect you, no matter how ugly it got.

And that was dangerous.

But for now, you were grateful. For now, you needed him.

And for Logan, that was enough.

You were still shaking, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Logan could hear it, the way your heart was racing, the fear still pulsing under your skin. But there was something else now—something different in the way you looked at him. Not just fear.

Trust.

And that was enough to make him stay, to not walk away from this mess he’d created. He could’ve left—should’ve left. But instead, he lingered in your apartment, watching you try to catch your breath, your eyes darting from him to the door where Mike had fled.

“I’m sorry,” you finally whispered, rubbing your arms like you were trying to shake off the whole thing. “I didn’t think—”

“Don’t,” Logan interrupted, his voice gruff but softer than usual. “Don’t apologize for that piece of shit.”

You looked up at him, your eyes still wide, searching his face. “I just… I thought he was a friend. You know? I didn’t think he’d…”

Logan’s jaw tightened again, and he fought the urge to go after Mike, to track him down and finish what he’d started. But that wouldn’t help you right now. That’d only make things worse.

“He’s not your friend,” Logan muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Guys like him? They’re never just friends.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the ground like you didn’t want to admit he was right. Like maybe you’d known all along but didn’t want to believe it.

“I feel like an idiot,” you said finally, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “God, I feel so fucking stupid.”

Logan shook his head. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… too damn trusting.”

You looked up at him again, a small, bitter smile playing on your lips. “That a bad thing?”

“For most people? Yeah. For you? It’s gonna get you hurt.”

There it was—the bluntness, the gruff honesty that Logan couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard he tried. And even though you looked like you wanted to argue with him, you didn’t. You just nodded, like you understood. Like maybe you were starting to see the world the way he did.

Logan let out a slow breath, running a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the tension that still coiled tight in his muscles. He wanted to stay close, make sure you were safe, but he didn’t want to scare you any more than he already had.

“I’ll stay outta your way,” Logan muttered, moving toward the window he’d come in through. “Just… lock the door after me, alright?”

You blinked, surprised. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, his back to you now, already halfway through the window. “I ain’t gonna crowd you.”

Before you could say anything, he was gone, slipping out into the night like he hadn’t just saved you from a man who could’ve hurt you. Like he hadn’t just shown you a side of him you weren’t sure how to feel about.

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The next few days passed in a strange blur. You went back to work, went about your life, but things didn’t feel the same. You kept looking over your shoulder, half-expecting Mike to show up again, but he didn’t. Logan had taken care of that.

You hadn’t seen Logan since that night, though you’d felt his presence more than once. You couldn’t explain it, but you just knew he was around, watching from the shadows, keeping an eye on you. And part of you should’ve been creeped out by that—should’ve wanted him to back off.

But you didn’t.

In fact, it made you feel… safe. Safer than you had in a long time.

Which was why, on the third night after the incident, you found yourself standing outside the bar where Logan usually hung around, staring at the door like an idiot, wondering why the hell you were even here. You hadn’t planned on seeing him again, hadn’t planned on… whatever this was. But something in you pulled you here.

Maybe you just wanted to say thanks. Maybe you just needed to know he was still watching over you.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell of beer and cigarettes hit you immediately, the dim lighting casting shadows over the bar, the low murmur of conversation filling the room. And there he was, sitting at the end of the bar, a beer in front of him, looking like he hadn’t moved since the last time you saw him.

You hesitated for a moment, watching him from the door. He hadn’t noticed you yet—at least, you didn’t think he had. But then, without even turning his head, he spoke.

“Gonna stand there all night, or you gonna come over here?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Of course, he’d sensed you. Logan wasn’t the kind of guy you could sneak up on.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to him, slipping onto the barstool beside him. He didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on his beer, his jaw tight like he was waiting for you to speak first.

“You always know when someone’s watching you?” you asked, your voice light, trying to break the tension.

Logan let out a low grunt. “Call it a survival skill.”

You chuckled softly, though the sound felt a little forced. “Guess I don’t have that skill. Not like you.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “You shouldn’t need it.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of the conversation. You hadn’t really thought about what you’d say when you came here. Now, sitting next to him, you realized you didn’t just want to thank him—you wanted to understand him. You wanted to know why he felt so… protective of you. Why he’d risked so much.

“Why are you doing this, Logan?” you asked quietly, your eyes on him, searching for answers. “Why do you care so much?”

He didn’t answer right away. He took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes distant, like he was lost in thought. Then, after what felt like forever, he spoke.

“You ever have somethin’ you just… couldn’t explain?” he muttered, his voice low, rough. “Somethin’ that got under your skin and stayed there?”

You frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Logan finally turned to look at you, his eyes dark, intense. “That’s what you are, darlin’. You’re under my skin.”

The air between you felt heavy, charged with something neither of you could quite name. You stared at him, your heart racing, unsure of what to say. What did he even mean by that? Was it obsession? Protection? Something else entirely?

“You’re just… under my skin,” he repeated, his voice softer this time, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. “And I can’t shake it.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. There was something raw in his voice, something vulnerable that you hadn’t expected from a man like him. It wasn’t just about protection. It was more than that.

And that scared you. But it also drew you in.

“Logan,” you whispered, not even sure what you were going to say.

But before you could finish, he stood up, draining the last of his beer and setting the bottle down on the bar with a heavy thud.

“Forget it,” he muttered, his voice gruff again. “I shouldn’t have said nothin’.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “Wait, what? Logan—”

But he was already walking away, heading for the door like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Like he was running from something.

From you.

You stared after him, your mind racing, your heart pounding in your chest. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected any of this. But now that you knew—now that you understood what was going on in his head—you weren’t sure how to feel.

But one thing was for sure: Logan wasn’t just some protector. He wasn’t just looking out for you out of some sense of duty or responsibility.

He was obsessed.

And now, you had to figure out what the hell you were going to do about it.

You sat there in the bar, still processing Logan’s words, the way he had looked at you—like you were something he couldn’t escape, something tangled up in his very being. The intensity of it left you breathless. And the way he had just walked out? Like he was scared? That didn’t sit right.

Without thinking, you stood up and followed him, pushing through the bar’s door into the cool night air. The street was quiet, lit by the dim glow of streetlights, and you could see him walking away, shoulders hunched, his pace faster than usual, like he couldn’t wait to disappear into the shadows.

“Logan!” you called out, your voice cutting through the silence.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. For a moment, you thought he might just keep walking, leaving you standing there. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed and turned to face you, his expression hard to read.

“What do you want, kid?” he grumbled, though his tone was softer now, not as sharp as before.

You swallowed, your nerves buzzing. “I want to know what the hell you meant back there.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” you interrupted, stepping closer. “I’m not gonna forget it. You said I’m under your skin, and then you just walked out. That’s not fair, Logan.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable. It was like he was struggling, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. And for the first time, you realized how hard this was for him. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to feeling like this.

“I ain’t good for you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You deserve better than… this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Better than what? Someone who’s saved my ass more times than I can count? Someone who cares about me? Logan, I’m not scared of you. Not after everything.”

He let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “You should be. You don’t know what it’s like—what I’m like. I can’t give you a normal life. Hell, I don’t even know what normal looks like anymore.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding, but you didn’t back down. You weren’t scared. Not of him. Not of whatever this was between you two.

“I don’t want normal,” you said softly, your eyes locked on his. “I want you.”

That stopped him in his tracks. Logan froze, his eyes widening just a fraction, like he hadn’t expected that. Like he didn’t know how to process what you were saying.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin',” he muttered, but there was no conviction behind his words now. “I’m a fuckin’ mess, darlin'.”

You smiled a little, despite the tension. “We’re all a mess, Logan. But that doesn’t mean you get to shut me out.”

There was a beat of silence between you, the night air heavy with unsaid things. And then, before you knew what was happening, Logan closed the distance between you in two strides, his hands gripping your arms as he pulled you closer, his eyes burning with that same intensity that had left you breathless in the bar.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he growled, his breath warm against your skin, his face inches from yours. “You don’t know what this is.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, your heart hammering in your chest. “Show me, Logan.”

For a moment, you thought he might pull away again, that he might let go and walk off into the night. But then, with a low, frustrated groan, he closed the gap between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and full of everything he’d been holding back.

You gasped against his mouth, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands clutching his jacket as you kissed him back, feeling the heat of him, the raw power that simmered just beneath his skin. His hands slid from your arms to your waist, pulling you even closer, like he couldn’t stand the space between you, like he needed you as much as you needed him.

The kiss deepened, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, trying to be gentle even though you could tell he didn’t want to be. His claws didn’t come out this time, but you could feel the roughness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid he might break you.

But you weren’t afraid.

“Logan,” you whispered against his lips, your voice soft but sure. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That seemed to snap something in him. He kissed you harder, his hands gripping you tight as he backed you up against the brick wall of the alley, his body pressed against yours, trapping you there in the best way possible. It was intense, overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. You’d never felt more alive, more wanted, than you did in that moment.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, trailing rough, heated kisses along your skin, his breath ragged, like he was barely holding himself together. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was as close to falling apart as Logan ever got.

But you didn’t care. You wanted all of it—all of him.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against your neck, his voice rough, desperate. “Tell me to walk away, ‘cause I don’t think I can.”

You shook your head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “I’m not telling you to stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

Logan let out a low, almost pained sound, his hands gripping your hips as he kissed you again, slower this time, but just as intense. There was no hesitation now, no pulling back. Just him and you, wrapped up in each other like nothing else mattered.

The world outside, the fear, the danger—it all faded away. It was just Logan, his touch, his heat, the way he made you feel safe and alive all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard, you could feel the shift between you. Something had changed—something deep and unspoken, but undeniable.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You smiled, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your body still pressed against his. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t leave.

Instead, he kissed you again, slower this time, softer. And for the first time, he let himself believe it. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a mistake.

[respectthepetty]

Haunted by the Past

Upon the conclusion of episode five of Peaceful Property, I just want the record to state that in regards to Home x Peach being a couple,

I now ship it HARDER.

I know what Home did to Peach was messed up pero like . . .

I'm into it.

I like GMMTV's non-BL BLs with Tay in them where one of the leads directly causes the other's death.

Something about these men's recklessness causing unintentional harm, yet somehow they get a second chance when the ghosts of the past make them confront the secret they tried to bury just really pleases me.

It brings a nice little "restorative rather than punitive justice" vibe to the narrative that sits well in stories about ghosts.

Because these men can't change the past.

But the ghosts are there to make sure they don't repeat it.

And the beauty of it all this is the ghost story doesn't actually begin until the one they 'killed' reappears and fate forces them to work together to rid themselves of all the other ghosts.

Because these men aren't really being haunted by the ghosts. The ghosts are there to help them along their journey to redemption. What they are being haunted by is their pasts and now they are tied to the one person who constantly reminds them of it. And the best part of all this is they are haunted by a living and breathing human who has no idea just how badly these men hurt them.

Unlike the ghosts who just need one final deed done to give them justice so they can move on, it's not that simple to atone for the wrongs done to these living and breathing humans. They already died once.

And then they came back.

But not for revenge or even for justice.

So maybe that's why I'm willing to mess with los espookys in these stories because it all seems so romantic that even though one was killed by the other, not even death could keep them apart and that the reason they came back from the dead was to keep the other from continuing down a horrible path. It's a story of healing, it's a story of forgiveness, and most importantly, it's a story of liberation.

And it's all because Death decided both of them were worth saving.

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky blurbette.

in the glow of the orange and purple lights he put up, you both lay quietly on the sectional. your head on a squishy throw pillow over his feet, both of you covered in blankets — two kindles glowing in the dim light.

you hadn’t expected reading together being such a thing, but you both end up doing it every now and again. eddie hated the idea of a kindle, but when his eyes started getting tired even with his glasses the text adjustment feature called to him. for you, it was just cheaper to get books this way.

your book is spooky, in honor of the season. you stopped being a big reader until you got into horror and thriller lit. some crime lit. you said ‘crime lit’ to eddie once and he said ‘haha, crime lit — clit for short.’ he thought he was so funny — ‘you reading some clit?’

but tonight you weren’t — it was spooky. it was scary. enough that every time the apartment settled with a quiet creak, or the rumble of a neighbor vibrated beneath you, your gaze would wander. cautious into the dark corners of his place.

maybe the book was manifesting the haunt.

eddie likes to tease you when you’re scared. smirking every time he hears you shift at a sound that goes bump in the night. you wouldn’t even open the closet yesterday after you both heard something fall in there after you’d both settled into bed.

“baby, it’s probably my weekend bag from when i came home from chicago,” he hums with his eyes closed, “i just sort of threw it on the high shelf. prol’ly fell.”

“still…” you say, eyes glued to the dark oak door, a sharp gleam on the center from the moonlight through thr windows. like a beacon beckoning you to try out your bravery.

“can you just check?” you whisper.

“you’re being such a baby,” he sighs, a soft snicker as he peels himself out of bed. he trudges to the door and puts his hand on the knob but stops, turning to you, “hey wait, shh.”

“what?” you whisper.

“hold on, hold on shh,” he presses his ear to the door, finger tips holding steady against the wood, “can you hear that?”

“what ed?!” you whisper yell, heart starting to thud.

“something’s…breathing…” he says slowly, turning to you with horrified eyes.

tears prick yours, stinging the corners of your eye lids while you scramble off the bed to the bedroom door. stopping short when you hear eddie laugh and open the closet with ease.

“see baby, i told you, just my weekender,” he laughs, light pooling into the room when he clicks on the overhead light inside. you sniffle, stepping over to see the leather bag on the ground — contents pouring out of it.

“you’re such an asshole,” you snap, wiping your eyes while you make your way back to bed.

“i know,” he giggles, “want me to sleep on the couch?”

when he flicks the light off again, the darkness sends that small crumb of fear into a small bloom again. you shake your head no.

“i gotcha, sweetheart,” he teasingly coos, getting back into bed, “whose scarier than me, huh?”

tonight, on the couch, you take another look around at the sound of the fridge hum lessening in energy saver mode. eddie giggles under his breath.

“stop readin’ it baby, if it freaks you out,” he says, nudging your head with his foot from under the pillow.

“it’s fine,” you shake him off, “i’m okay.”

later that night, still chest deep in the silence of the living room, a loud thud sounds on the roof. one right after the other. like footsteps.

eddie perks up, head lifting straight to the source, sitting up straight, “i don’t like that.”

your eyes coast from the kindle to his chest, his concerned face coming down to look at you.

“don’t worry about it baby,” you mock in a version of his cool tone from last night, “it’s probably just your weekender bag.”

[nqueso-emergency]

Would love to know your spec on what the bucktommy drama will be!! What do you think we’ll learn about tommy? How do you think it’ll drive their relationship forward?

**This ask is fully asking your thoughts and speculation, and in no way asking for spoilers!! Felt the need for a disclaimer there 😂

Good news! I don't have any idea what the drama is lol so all I CAN do is speculate!

I definitely think whatever it is will revolve around Gerrard and Tommy's past at the firehouse. Last season Lou did an interview and he said something to the effect of, "if Tommy dies, he dies." And that has stuck out to me since I read it. I don't know if anything was planned long term at the date of that interview but I'm thinking maybe Tommy went through a point in his life where he decided he was done living a lie.

I've always thought Tommy being the only one to pass out in Chimney Begins was odd. Maybe he made a decision that day. Maybe he thought that no one cared about him. And then Chimney saved him, someone he had been completely dismissive of, but he still risked his life for Tommy.

So, maybe Buck saving Gerrard from that saw will bring up that conversation?

OR

Maybe Tommy made decisions on the job while working under Gerrard that haunt him to this day. I can see Gerrard picking who to save, if you catch my drift.

OR MAYBE

It's nothing like that. Maybe they just start discussing their future and there's hesitation on certain topics.

Whatever it is, I'm excited for it because when 911 puts its couples in situations like that. They always come out stronger on the other side.

[ficsonpost-its]

reuniting with pitfighter!vi headcanons

cw: alcohol abuse, blood, general angst

‣ From the perspective of someone who knew Vi before The Incident, the stark change you see in her is downright shocking in a heart-breaking, tragic way. But at the same time, oddly predictable.

‣ This strong willed girl who loved so, so fiercely, who taught other downtrodden kids how to stand up for themselves, who would sooner punch first and ask questions later, was now reduced to a shell of her former self.

‣ You had heard news of a hot-and-ready new combatant in the underground pits deep in the heart of Zaun and something compelled you to check it out. Somehow, could it be her? After all this time?

‣ When you managed to find your way into one of these underground fighting rings (not a small feat at all) it took you a long time to actually recognise her, but when you did, your heart dropped.

‣ Had she dyed her hair? She blended in with the rest of the riff-raff with the dark hair, almost black, with barely a streak of her signature pink to be seen.

‣ There was an energy to her that you couldn't quite place, but it was nothing like the Vi you used to know as round-cheeked kids.

‣ Finding her after she won the fight was difficult, but you managed. Not recognising each other upon first glance was mutual at first, and then she heard your voice

‣ The way she stared at you was almost haunting. Really - she looked like she was seeing a ghost. She was in an awful state now that you were up close and taking in her features after so long.

‣ Her nose was crooked from being broken you dreaded to think how many times, and cuts and bruises were dotted about her face - obviously she still hadn't learned how to block properly, you allowed yourself the one humorous thought.

‣ Her lips were cracked, and a bloodied scab adorned the plump curve of the middle of her bottom lip, near to the now faint scar. Sure you had seen her lips chapped, had felt them at some point when there was a budding development between you both. Before life was upturned and you were ripped apart.

‣ You wondered why she had colored her hair the way she did. How hurt was she inside that she had to resort to a life like this? What had happened too her? You felt a pull, you wanted to make things right for her.

‣ There was something you could smell. A faint whiff. It was faint enough it could somewhat blend into your surroundings, but as you stepped hesitantly closer to your childhood squeeze, you could pinpoint the tell-tale smell of alcohol. How often was she drinking? Those that drank don't just dull pain, they dull and dumb down joy, self control and whatever personality they had too - they live in the cage of the primitive brain. Imagining Vi like that, imagining what drove her to this path in the first place, was almost too much to comprehend.

‣ There was a pause before she said your name, More like breathed it. Just like you she was in disbelief that you were here, in front of her, and very much real. It took you a few moments to respond.

‣ "It's me, Vi. I'm here."

sorry these are short!

[majoruyeda]

[ LORE Migi ]

"Even with words, touches, and gestures of comfort and love, Miguel still struggles to accept his new reality. Not because he finds it bad, dull, or anything negative of that sort; on the contrary, having Gio in his life has been one of the few good things that happened to him. However, the fear of not being enough for her weighs on his mind and heart when insecurity haunts him. For Miguel, while moments of quiet and comfort bring him feelings of peace and protection, doubts also arise about being deserving and worthy of such tranquility, after the traumas he has endured and the responsibilities he has taken on. He still fears hurting his beloved wife and not being able to lead the Spider Society in the best way. But despite all the insecurity, Miguel can no longer imagine his life without Gio and his Spider friends."

🕸USELESS FUN FACTS AND HEADCANONS 🕸

🕸 The frog plushie wasn't a gift from Miguel; Gio already had it long before, back when she lived in the lower city (I'll call it the lower city, but in the comics, they call it the Underworld), and it's her favorite plushie. The frog doesn't have a name; they just call it frog. 🕸 When Gio leaves the house and Miguel stays at home, he sleeps hugging the frog. He keeps the frog under his arm when he's relaxing, like sitting on the couch watching something on TV, reading, etc. 🕸 Miguel sleeps without underwear most nights, even if they're not getting intimate. 🕸 In this art, I drew his phone, and he uses a picture of her as both his lock screen and wallpaper. His favorite picture is one he took of Gio at the park. (I used the same image of her from another artwork lol). 🕸 He loves being the big spoon. But do you think he would ever let her be the big spoon one day? 🕸 Many times, Miguel wakes up with Gio stuck to his body because she has the spider power to stick to any surface (Like Peter, gwen, Miles...). She's usually stuck to his chest or back.

[stolenviolet]

I saw in your baby death au story explanation that Harry can't sleep alone unless he has the doors open (correct me if I'm wrong). If I'm correct, does that mean Voldemort and Harry sleep in the same bed sometimes? And if not, how did Voldmort notice the specifics something like that?

Ah, good question!

He can sleep alone, but not very well (the door being open helps a bit but overall he just needs someone there with him). Even when he got his own room at the Dursley's, he had Hedwig to keep him company.

And like I said, there's no 'sleeping' together for quite a while, so how DID Voldemort notice?

The short answer:

They live in the same house (an agreement that was reached by the two of them, more for convenience sake, as they raise Thomas) so it would be odd if Voldemort hadn't noticed it eventually.

The long answer:

During the first two or three years of living under the same roof, Harry never slept anywhere besides the nursey. At first, Voldemort chalked it up as some sort of paternal instinct to protect Thomas. (most likely from Voldemort himself) However, while retiring to his own chambers in the evening, he always found it curious that Harry would leave the door slightly cracked.

'Would it not make more sense to have the door closed?,' he thought, 'The sound of it opening would surely be enough to wake him if someone were to enter the room...'

He shook his head, 'Perhaps the boy was clever enough to cast the appropriate spells to do so instead.'

He tested this theory once by walking into the room late one night and standing directly by the crib. Annoyingly, Harry never did stir from his slumber on the chaise lounge he had claimed in lieu of an actual bed. Both him and the baby remained fast asleep, completely unaware of the powerful wizard looming in the darkness so close by.

Voldemort honestly didn't know whether to be insulted (as he was clearly not viewed as a threat) or disappointed in the fact that there were, indeed, no protection or alarm spells in the room.

A problem he quickly remedied himself for the sake of the spawn's well-being, as it appears his 'Ma' would not be roused if an intruder were to somehow break past the home's already impressive wards.

And so Harry continued to sleep in the same room as his son, with the door slightly ajar, until Thomas was old enough to have his own bed.

This is when Voldemort began to notice that Harry did not take well to sleeping alone at night.

He would often find the 'boy-who-lived' looking quite dead on his feet, with heavy bags under his eyes, constantly drifting in and out of conversations.

After a good two or so weeks of this, Voldemort had finally had enough and decided to confronted him. Unsurprisingly, he was quickly brushed off, and the subject was changed almost immediately. No matter how many times he tried, he was always met with the same sort of response.

'Why do you even care?'

'Yes, I'm getting enough sleep. Stop asking, it's weird.'

'So what if I get nightmares, your probably the cause of most of them anyway!'

'I'm fine! Don't you have an animal or person or-or something to go torture other than me? Just-...just leave me alone...'

Needless to say, this was getting him no where and apart from drugging the boy with a sleeping draught every night, Voldemort was almost at his wits end.

That was unit one morning Harry came down from his room for breakfast looking fairly well-rested with a chipper-than-normal attitude.

Voldemort was puzzled.

What had changed? Did he just have one good night without anything haunting his dreams? Surely that was bound to happen at some point, but it was unlikely to be a regular occurrence.

However, weeks ticked by and Harry's eyes seemed brighter and his mood rapidly began to improve. He even started to engage in somewhat pleasant small talk when the two found themselves alone for more then five minutes at a time.

It was all very welcome and highly suspicious.

So, being the curious man that he was, Voldemort decided it was once again time to lurk about in the middle of the night for the cause of this sudden change in behavior.

And what he found, as he stood in the threshold of Harry's room, took him by surprise.

There, on the plush four poster bed coiled up next to his sleeping prophesized enemy, was Nagini.

Sensing his presence, she raised her large head to regard her master, who remained fixed in the doorway.

'Master's mate was in dire need of comfort. Nagini has decided she will be the one to provide it.'

Voldemort did not correct her, too busy trying to determine what exactly he was feeling in that moment to give her a proper response.

'...He is also very warm and a far better cuddler than master.'

That snapped him out of his thoughts long enough for him to huff out a quick, 'Don't be rude, Nagini.' To which she replied with a series of hisses that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

He sighed, and foolishly hoped she didn't notice the darkening of his cheeks.

'Very well, you may continue to provide...comfort. Thank you, my Nagini.'

She nodded once and went back to resting her head next to Harry's on his pillow.

He stayed in the doorway a while longer, observing the last two pieces of his soul huddled close to one another, before finally turning to walk silently back to his own room.

--

Nagini: you suck at cuddling and you're a terrible mate.

Voldemort:

--

Thanks for the ask, anon! ❤️

[itz-pandora]

Guys watch this before clicking read more

I have so many thoughts

THE PARALLEL BETWEEN MARIA'S WOUND AND THE DESTROYED MOON?!!! OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY. MY GOD. That's the entire reason I started writing my thoughts down because that's way past important. Where's that post about the symbolism and correlation between Maria's name and the moon because that's all I can think about

AND I LOVE how they're choosing to portray Maria recently, excited and eager for everything, even though it hurts her. Also how fascinated she is with earth makes me happy. I love the idea she'll just endlessly ramble to Shadow about Earth. Also her VA does a good job at letting you know how out of breath she is and how she's still all upbeat even tho she's literally about to pass out

Also ?!!! I AM GOING A BIT CRAZY AT SHADOWS PORTRAYAL!! I'm so hyped to see how he's interpreted in Generations. He seems so confused, and like each time period he's in impacts his personality heavily, like he's still with them on the ARK. He wants to save everyone even though he knows he can't and I'm SCRATCHING AT THE WALLS because of it. I think the way that they'll try to portray him going into the past is with him being only half-aware of everything, OR, HE'S TRYING TO LIVE A LIE TO MAKE HIMSELF FEEL BETTER. Ohmygod the second one makes me feel ill because he just wants to be happy, he wants to keep his little family together and safe, but he knows that the fate is inevitable, just wondering if he could've stopped it. It's haunting to him. The feeling of not being in control is present throughout the entire episode, where he's constantly dragged through each event, each one being more exhausting than the last. Everything is happening to him, he's not the driving force, and that's the sad part, he had an entire game about defining his identity, and still, he's always been a puppet to someone else, bent to their will.

I'M SO CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE PLANNING WITH GERALD BECAUSE ITS DEFINITELY SOMETHING. SHADOW WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU??? Shadow had to PHYSICALLY CLASP HIS HEAD BECAUSE OF THIS. I NEED TO KNOW.

Dude is this supposed to be Shadow's second traumatic flashback regarding the ARK, since in the hero story of SHTH, there's an entire level about the ARK where he plays with Maria as his sidekick, and it was triggered by hearing the sirens of the ARK (which I LOVE btw. Of COURSE he'd associate the noise with events since it's been drilled into his psyche before the amnesia)

I LOVE how scared he is at the end. He's sooooo panicked. I love how they give him the sparks when he's overwhelmed, it makes me feel so happy.

Who is HE?! It can't be Shadow before his memory loss, that guy did NOT SURVIVE. Also idk if they're going to return to the "pre and post amnesia Shadow are different people" thing they implied, because I think it'd be best to have it be like his memories are fragmented, and it's all about remembering, and THEN WE GET A NEW INTERPRETATION OF SHADOW?? Pls? Like not new but somewhere in between SA2 and after that, but with more little brother energy because MARIA IS HERE!!!!

GUYS WHAT ARE THOSE FLOWERS AT THE END AND WHAT DO THEY MEAN. PLEASE TELL ME SINCE THEY PROBABLY HAVE SYMBOLISM

This is so disorganized sorry I'm not normal at all

And ofc Eggman's piss was still on the moon. We love continuity

[merwgue]

One day, Nesta was staring into the mirror, running her fingers through her long hair. It felt heavy—like everything else in her life lately. She casually mentioned to Cassian over breakfast that she was thinking of cutting it. It wasn’t a huge deal to her, just something new. But Cassian? Oh, Cassian lost it. His voice shot up, accusing her of wanting to “erase herself” or “run from her problems” just because she wanted a haircut. His tone wasn’t concern—it was anger. She could feel the control in his words. He didn’t want her to change anything about herself that he liked.

Cassian’s words hit her like a slap in the face. “Why would you do that? Are you trying to push me away? You’re beautiful like this, Nesta. Why ruin it?” His insecurities about their relationship bled into everything, and instead of being supportive, he turned her choice into a personal attack. Every time Nesta tried to explain it was just hair, just her decision, he pushed harder, making it about how she was hurting him by wanting a change. It was suffocating.

That conversation haunted Nesta for days. She didn’t say anything, but it gnawed at her. The way Cassian had taken something as simple as a haircut and twisted it into his issue, made her feel like she had no autonomy. His control over her life, her choices—it was becoming unbearable. And this was the breaking point she didn’t know she needed.

The next day, Nesta walked into a salon in Velaris without a second thought and asked for a pixie cut. She watched as her long strands hit the floor, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders with every snip. It wasn’t just about the hair anymore—it was about taking back control. When she left the salon, she looked into the mirror and saw her for the first time in a long time, not the version of herself that Cassian wanted her to be.

She braced herself for Cassian’s reaction when she returned to the House of Wind. And of course, the moment he saw her, he snapped. He yelled—actually yelled at her about how she had ruined something beautiful, how she’d done it to hurt him, to spite him. It wasn’t about the hair at all. It was about his fragile ego. Nesta stood there, staring at him as he raged, telling her that she was making everything worse, like her hair was a symbol of their entire relationship falling apart.

But Nesta had had enough. The more Cassian yelled, the more she realized that this wasn’t just about hair. It was about the way he controlled every little part of her life, how he never actually listened to what she wanted. Every time she made a decision for herself, he twisted it into how it affected him, how it damaged his ego. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she packed a bag and walked out the door without looking back. She was done.

Nesta needed space, and fast. So, she went to the only place where she knew she could find it—the Spring Court. Tamlin had been quietly keeping his distance, but he had always extended a quiet invitation for her to visit. So she took it. And the moment she arrived, she felt something she hadn’t felt in months—freedom. Tamlin didn’t bombard her with questions or try to fix her. He just offered her a place to stay, no strings attached.

Tamlin was no saint, but in this moment, Nesta found him to be more understanding than anyone from the Night Court. He let her be. He gave her space, didn’t demand answers, and simply allowed her to exist. It was the first time in a long time that Nesta felt like she could breathe.

Nesta and Tamlin formed an unlikely bond. They were both damaged, both struggling with their pasts, but they didn’t push each other. Tamlin respected her independence and never tried to control her. They spent time together, not as allies or lovers, but as two people who understood what it meant to lose control of their own lives.

Nesta began helping Tamlin rebuild his court. She didn’t do it out of loyalty or duty but because it gave her a sense of purpose. Tamlin, in turn, gave her the space to grow. There was no pressure to perform, no expectations, just... freedom. And that’s what Nesta needed most.

One night, Nesta and Tamlin found themselves at a quiet tavern in the Spring Court. Nesta needed a distraction, and a drink or two wouldn’t hurt. That’s when she noticed him—a quiet Illyrian male sitting alone, reading a book at the bar. He wasn’t like any of the Illyrians she had known before. He wasn’t loud, brash, or arrogant. He was... shy, gentle, with kind eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.

Nesta, intrigued by this anomaly, struck up a conversation with him. His name was Theren, and unlike Cassian, he didn’t try to dominate the conversation or impress her with bravado. He listened, asked questions, and treated her with the kind of quiet respect she hadn’t experienced in a long time. He wasn’t intimidated by her sharp edges or her power—he saw her for who she was, not what she could be for him.

Over time, Nesta realized that the Spring Court, with its quiet freedom and open spaces, felt more like home than the suffocating, controlling atmosphere of the Night Court ever had. She didn’t have to constantly fight to prove herself here. She could simply be. And Theren? He was everything Cassian wasn’t. He didn’t need to control her, didn’t demand that she conform to his idea of who she should be.

Nesta began to understand that not all Illyrians were like Cassian. There were good men out there—men who didn’t see women as possessions to be tamed or controlled. Theren showed her that there was kindness and gentleness in the world, that not every relationship had to be a battle for dominance.

Eventually, Nesta knew that the bond with Cassian had to go. It had never been about love—it had been about control, about his insecurities and need to possess her. And she was done with it. With Tamlin’s help, Nesta severed the bond. She didn’t feel regret or loss—she felt free.

Cassian had never been the partner she needed. He had never respected her autonomy or allowed her to be herself. Cutting the bond wasn’t just an act of rebellion—it was an act of self-preservation. For the first time, Nesta was in control of her own destiny, her own life, without anyone trying to pull her strings.

In the Spring Court, Nesta found something she never thought she would—peace. She wasn’t the cold, bitter woman everyone had labeled her as. She was herself, finally. And with Theren by her side and Tamlin’s friendship to ground her, Nesta was ready to move forward. She had cut the toxic ties that had bound her to Cassian and the Night Court, and now, she could finally live the life she deserved—one where she was truly free.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Thank you for the role you play in this fandom, I don't know what we would do without Aziraphale's fic library

Today I wanted to ask if you knew fics where Aziraphale and Crowley are bitter exes who end up realizing later that they haven't stopped loving the other.

Thank you 💛

Hi! We have #getting back together and #reunion tags you can check for plenty more fics like this. Here are more to add...

Even Now, I Still Love You by Zakani_Donovan (T)

It had been 6 years since Crowley had last spoken to Aziraphale, and considering their nasty little breakup, he hadn't expected their next conversation to start with them suddenly being neighbors.

Down to the River by CemeteryAngel725 (E)

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Crowley walked out of Azi’s life and broke both of their hearts. Since then, Azi has been living in suspended animation, working in the army/navy surplus booth he inherited from his dad and writing horror novels. Now Tony is back from the city, flush with success and wanting to catch up with Azi. Should Azi risk his heart and try to reclaim what they’ve lost? Or is it too late to start over?

Reason Enough by ffonippop (E)

Crowley and Aziraphale’s entire relationship spanned just a little under eleven months. If dissected, the entire affair can be categorized very neatly into three parts: a rocky beginning, a rocky middle, and a rocky end. It devastates Crowley, how something that was so promising and held so much potential could end in such a shitstorm. Diminished to nothing but a hungover, sad, and lonely stain on his couch, Crowley is left to wonder if it was always going to end this way— or if it’s ended yet at all.

Like a Martyr, Not Enough (The Decoy Bride) by vines_and_vellichor (M)

Author Aziraphale Eastlowe had been a dutiful son for the entirety of his life… mostly. After a bout of teenage rebellion, he learnt that disobedience only brings misery and heartbreak to those he cares about; it’s better for everyone to toe the line and make the most out of the plan that has been laid out for you by your family and God. When a courtship with the famous Christian singer Gabriella Archer presented an opportunity to exit the dog-eat-dog world of city life, the last thing he expected was an existence plagued by writer’s block and a wedding so enticing to the British press that the privilege of a private ceremony was tantamount to successfully teaching a duck to play the accordion. In desperation, they turn to Taddesfild, a remote island in the Outer Hebrides, to marry. Things go south when a convoluted plan by Gabriella’s agents culminates in hiring local resident Anthony J Crowley as a decoy bride to put the paparazzi off the scent. The very person Aziraphale distinctly remembered dumping nineteen years ago. The situation is less than ideal: his fiancee is missing, the island is infested with bloodthirsty photographers and he has just accidentally gotten married to his ex.

Borrowed Words by sunrisesinthesuburbs (M)

Anthony J. Crowley, best selling author, has writer's block. He could blame the Accident, but deep down he knows his block started way before. He hasn't written anything in too long, if we choose to ignore the dozens of unsent letters addressed to the angel he lost two decades ago, when he moved to New York City. When his best (and only) friend convinces him to take a little vacation in a small town in Connecticut, he expects peace and quiet. He doesn't expect to see the smile that still haunts his dreams again. Apparently, small towns are full of surprises, and how late is too late? The world stops spinning on its axis or, at the very least, Crowley stops breathing. This is absolutely impossible. He forces himself to swallow, to take a deep breath, as he doesn’t want to scare this girl off. Muriel, who is still smiling, all bright and wide and just like- Oh, God. “A bookshop, you said?” He chokes out. This is impossible, and he’s being ridiculous. He is in London, this is just a sick coincidence and his stupid brain playing stupid games. “Yes, you can see it if you turn around.” Crowley doesn’t move. “It’s called A. Z. Fell Books.” Now, the world definitely stops spinning.

Sinking Ships by AppleSeeds (E)

The world is practically on fire and it feels like nobody's doing anything about it, but Crowley's outlook brightens considerably when a new member arrives at his local climate action committee. Crowley is immediately smitten, and is thrilled when he and Aziraphale become fast friends, although he can't help but hope they might one day become something more. When all of his wishes come true, Crowley starts to feel like life couldn't possibly get any better. He can picture exactly what his future is going to look like, until something happens that feels like a powerful bolt of lightning has struck and split Crowley's life right down the middle, with everything before that moment on one side, and everything that is to come - scorched, lifeless and devastated - on the other. With the help of a counsellor, Crowley begins the difficult journey of picking up the pieces and working through what's happened. When Aziraphale unexpectedly comes back into his life, Crowley finally has the chance to get some answers, revealing that the truth is very different from what he was led to believe. Now he just needs to figure out whether that changes anything.

- Mod D

[archivequinn]

Closure — Eddie Munson.

warnings: angst, depression, grief, mention of the death of a family member (his mother), nightmares, pain, sad themes, broken heart, smoking, illness, mention of his father's terror at home, grave, longing and tiredness, crying. (Please let me know if I forgot something)

Eddie adjusts leather jacket, takes a drag on cigarette, exhales slowly. The house stands like a skeletal remains of memories past, its once-white walls now faded to a dull grey from years of neglect. The windows are boarded up, the shutters hanging crookedly like broken wings. A thick layer of dust coats every surface, making it hard to distinguish between old furniture and mere shadows.

A sheet drapes over the worn-out couches and chairs like a shroud, as if trying to smother the last remnants of life within those walls. Cobwebs cling to chandeliers and lampshades like macabre decorations. In the corners, shadows writhe and twist like restless spirits trapped between worlds.

The air inside is heavy with stagnation and decay - stale air that's been locked away for decades, now reeking of rot and mildew. The floorboards creak underfoot with each tentative step, their groans echoing through the empty halls like ghostly whispers.

''It's a haunting sight, really…'' takes another drag. ''A testament to love lost, dreams faded, and lives that once echoed through these rooms but now lie silent as the grave."

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. He pushes the creaking door of the house and goes in. "Oh man… looks around the room with a mix of nostalgia and pain This place… it's like stepping back into my childhood hell. The memories come flooding back, but they're all bittersweet.

As I walk through the front door, I'm hit with the same stale air that's been trapped inside for years. It smells like decay and forgotten dreams. The once-vibrant colors on the walls have faded to dull hues, just like my mom's smile after she passed away.

I wander into the living room, where we used to spend hours together as a family. My eyes land on the old piano Mom taught me how to play on. It looks dusty and worn out now, just like our relationship with Dad did in those final years. I can almost hear Mom's gentle voice guiding my fingers as I played, but it's drowned out by the echoes of Dad's yelling and belittling.

I move into the kitchen, where we used to have family dinners that always ended in arguments. The same old table is still there, covered in a thick layer of dust. I remember how Dad would sit at the head of the table, his eyes cold and unforgiving, while Mom tried to keep us all together with her warmth and love.

Upstairs, our bedrooms are just as they were when I left this place behind. My childhood bed looks like it hasn't been slept in since then - unmade and dusty. It's hard to believe so much time has passed since those sleepless nights filled with fear and anxiety because of Dad's nightmares.

As I walk through these rooms again after all these years, I'm hit with a mix of emotions - sadness, anger, and nostalgia. It's like reliving the same pain all over again. But maybe this time, I can face it head-on and find some closure."

He pauses, eyes widening in surprise "Whoa… he gets down on his hands and knees to grab the box What's this doing here? I haven't seen this thing since… rummages through the contents of the box.

It's a bunch of old stuff from when I was a kid. There are some drawings I made, some notes from school, and… pulls out a small guitar pick with my name engraved on it. Oh man, Mom gave me this. She said it would bring me good luck with music.

And there's also a letter addressed to me. It's from Mom. He unfolds the letter and begins to read.

''Dear Eddie,

I know things have been tough lately with your dad being so mean all the time. But please remember that you're loved no matter what. You're an amazing kid with a heart full of music and kindness. Don't let anyone ever make you feel like you're not good enough.

I'm so proud of the person you're becoming, even if it's hard to see right now. Keep playing your guitar and singing from your heart. You have a gift that can bring joy to others.

With all my love, Mom''

His hands tremble, feeling a lump form in his throat "Man… clears his throat I had forgotten about this letter. It's like she knew exactly what I needed to hear back then.

As I sit here surrounded by these old memories, I feel a mix of emotions - sadness because things didn't work out between Mom and me before she passed away, but also gratitude for the time we had together and the lessons she taught me.

This box is like a time capsule from my childhood, reminding me of the good times and the struggles I faced. It's a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is always hope and love to be found." smokes his cigarette in silence for a moment before speaking again.

He finds a photo in the box. This photo is like a punch to the gut. I remember this day so clearly. Mom was already sick by then, but she still had that spark in her eyes when we took this picture.

She's sitting on the hospital bed, and I'm hugging her tightly around the waist. Her arms are wrapped around me too, holding me close like she never wanted to let go. We're both smiling for the camera, trying to be brave even though we knew things weren't good.

Mom looks tired and weak in this photo - her skin is pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep or medication or whatever it was they were giving her at the time. But despite all that, she's still got that momma bear strength in her arms, holding me close like she's trying to protect me from the world.

I remember how scared I was that day. I didn't understand what was happening to her, and I knew it wasn't good. But Mom always tried to reassure me, telling me everything would be okay even when it didn't feel like it would be.

This photo is a reminder of the last time we were together before… pauses Before she left us. It's hard to believe so much time has passed since then.

Looking at this photo now, all these years later… sighs It feels like a punch in the gut all over again. The pain and sadness come flooding back, but also the memories of our time together as a family are more vivid than ever.

I get up from the bed and make my way downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. The stairs creak beneath my feet as I descend into the darkness of our old living room.

When I reach the piano, I hesitate for a moment before lifting the dusty lid. The keys are yellowed and worn out, but they still have that familiar feel to them. plays a few tentative notes

The sound is rough and rusty at first, but as I play on, it starts to come alive again. It's like no time has passed at all - like Mom is sitting right there beside me, her fingers dancing over the keys in perfect harmony.

I play some of our old songs together - Chopin's Nocturne and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. They're still as beautiful and haunting as I remember them to be. closes his eyes, letting the music wash over him

As I play, all the emotions come flooding back - the joy we shared when Mom was well, the fear and anxiety during her illness, and finally, that devastating loss when she passed away without ever coming home.

But amidst all that pain… opens his eyes There's also this sense of peace. Like Mom is here with me now through this music we created together. It feels like a way for her to stay close even though she's no longer physically here.

So yeah… smiles softly Playing my childhood piano again after all these years… it's like a homecoming, man. It's like I'm finally coming full circle and finding closure."

written with inspiration and assistance from ai

[destinationtrekk]

Something a little sad. Re5 Wesker, where Reader feels less and less seen and loved, she understands that Wesker has a lot of work and a world to conquer, but she still needs him, no, she doesn't want his credit card or a dinner that Wesker abandons within minutes.

She is tired of waking up in a cold bed next to him, of only arguing with Wesker the few moments she sees him, tired of giving everything of herself to receive nothing in return.

What changes everything is Excella, seeing her flirting with Wesker breaks her heart, insecurities haunt her for days, weeks even, reader thinks Wesker notices, but he doesn't, in an argument she can't take it anymore.

"You're so used to me always forgiving you and being there for you, you haven't even noticed how little love you've given me. I'm tired Albert, tired."

it would take a serious loss for re5!wesker to realize something like this. he manipulated excella for his own benefit and then killed her just because it bought him some time, so if anything i think he'll be really annoyed you're calling him out. it's not that he wants to manipulate you too, he DOES care deep down.

when excella flirts with him he's annoyed by that too. he wants to snap and push her away but for the sake of his plan he can't do that. he tries to explain to you what he has going on and whats at stake, but you hit him back with "our relationship is at stake."

this makes him pause. he had never even considered losing you. he sort of felt bad about the nights he spent away and all the times he cancelled on you or just totally forgot, but he thought that was what couples did. people forget things sometimes, especially when they're as important and busy as a Wesker.

you have to sit with him and have a serious conversation about your happiness and maybe even threaten to leave. it's a little toxic and you feel bad, but you feel worse about living in a big cold house while being ignored by your partner.

hopefully this makes him realize what he's done, but he won't immediately fix it. he does try harder to answer your texts and calls and be home in time to fall asleep with you, but i think he's a very hard man to love at this point in his life and you'll have to stick it out to make things work

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 2 of D-16 carrying Sentinel’s sparkling please?

Your wish is my command, anon! I had a lotta people asking for this, so many messages! Ya'll are so sweet, I really appreciate it, so thanks for that! Let's get right into it ^-^ part 1 is here!

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devastated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do. 

Orion numbly wraps his arms around Dee, letting his chin fall onto his shoulder. His arms slowly tighten, til he’s clinging with near-denting force, and his optics begin to sting with tears too. It hits him later than it did D-16, what exactly Sentinel did to them. That he intentionally got them drunk and lied to them, he lied, lied, lied about them being special and lied about caring for them, all so he could make them pop their panels. It sinks in, slowly, exactly what he took from them: he robbed them of their first time, something that should’ve been one of the tenderest, loving moments of their lives. He used them and threw them away just because he could. He ravaged their bodies selfishly, under false pretenses, without a care for how it would effect them. He touched their sparks. He raped them, both of them, and a sob suddenly flies past Orion’s lips. It hits him all at once, with a feeling like a train has just plowed into his chassis full-force, and all he can do is cling onto D-16 and wail. They cry together, desperately holding onto each other there on the cavern, weeping with all the force of their broken, disgusted sparks.

Alpha Trion stands vigil over them, observing in sorrow, letting them mourn and grieve all that they’ve lost. His spark aches for them. Poor, poor children… they’re so young. Too young to be forced to weather something like this, such an egregious sin… he watches Elita approach them with a haunted look on her face, B-127 wandering closer in her shadow, and she reaches a trembling servo to gently rest on Orion’s shoulder. He grabs onto her wrist like a lifeline, face angling up to look at her lost and broken, optics shattered and expression void of all hope. She bows her helm, mouth pressed into a thin line and lips trembling. Struggling not to cry for them. B-127 creeps closer and, after hesitating for a moment, pads forward to glom onto D-16’s arm. He’s silent as the bigger mech cries, patting at his arm and trying desperately to think of something he can do. But there’s nothing, not really, nothing in the universe could ever soothe a pain like this.

They cry until they can’t shed any more tears, til their bodies have completely exhausted their optical cleanser and lubricant stores, and they’re left dry sobbing and shuddering in exhaustion, slumping against one another and barely upright. It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

“...little one,” Alpha Trion gently addresses D-16 at last, stepping forward and flicking the last of his tears off his face. “I cannot undo what has been done to you, but I can offer to relieve one of your burdens.”

D-16 sniffles miserably, still huddled close to Orion where they’re now sitting side by side on the floor. Orion is cross-legged, face in his servos, with Dee snuggled close against his side, his helm cradled on the blue mech’s shoulder. “Wh…” his voice creaks like a rusty hinge. “What do you…?”

Alpha Trion steps back and raises his palms to the sky, optics closing and exhaling a great puff of air. “ONYX!” his deep voice echoes through the cavern like a clap of thunder. “Onyx, my brother, I beseech you. Speak to this child in my place!”

A warm wind blows in from nowhere, with such force it disturbs the magnetic sand all around them. It begins to swirl, lifting from the ground and into the air to form a funnel, billions of grains chasing one another around and around and forming a curtain around Alpha Trion’s body. They cluster around and seem to consume him, rushing over his plating and molding to his form like a second coat of paint. His helm drops back so his face is parallel to the ceiling, then he gasps as his optics fly open. No longer blue, but a warm, crackling orange-and-pink, like a freshly lit hearth.

He stumbles forward, unsteady on his pedes, taking to one knee and his left palm touching the floor as he stabilizes. “Oh…” when he speaks, it is not Alpha Trion’s voice. He’s… a bit higher pitched. Warmer. Even gentler. “Mother… mercy…”

He shakes his helm and the sand stubbornly clings, before at last he raises his face, zeroing in on the frightened, confused quartet.

“Oh…” he straightens up, optics drifting from each of their faces before focusing wholly on D-16. His expression slips from bafflement to a sort of pained compassion. Not quite pity, but if the way his mouth turns down and his optics narrow with sorrow are any indication, his spark aches for them. “Oh, dear…”

“D-Did he say-” B-127’s optics are impossibly wide, and he’s frozen on the spot, unable to move his pedes. “O-Onyx Prime-?”

“Indeed,” he nods in affirmation, straightening up. Though he remains in Alpha Trion’s body, the sand constructs his visage, shaping around the crests of his helm and fanning out on his back to take the form of his wings. Wings that were missing from his corpse. “Though I wish our meeting was under less dire circumstances, children.”

“Y- You’re-” Elita is starting to frown, inching in front of her group with one arm out. “You’re… th-the god of death-” Oh, Primus. Is he here to reap their sparks? Has Alpha Trion channeled him here to take them away?!

“Do not fear, little one. Peace,” Onyx holds up one servo, and his optics glimmer with warmth. He smiles, gently, hoping to put them at ease. “I mean you no harm. I shepherd over the dead, those who have already passed on. I help them find their way home to Primus, and assist them in seeking rebirth, but I am not here to be your reaper. Please… do not be afraid.”

He approaches them and kneels down just before D-16, looking deep into his optics. “Brother Alpha has called me here to speak to you, child.”

“M-” Dee is clinging tight to Orion, spark pulsing in fear. This- This is death incarnate! They said his hands could bleed a spark from it’s frame with a single touch! They said he lorded over the afterlife and knew everyone’s date and time of death to the millisecond. Having him here, specifically to speak to him, made his throat threaten to close in panic. “Me?”

“Yes,” Onyx Prime’s servo gently touches his helm and he yelps, they all do, flinching away. But after several seconds he realizes, wait… he can still feel everything. He can still feel Orion beside him, can still feel the warm gush of his vents. Actually… he feels better. Physically, anyway: his frame is already beginning to lower it’s heightened temperature back into the green zone, the insistent, horrible pain in his tanks is abating. His optics peak open, and finds Onyx still there, smiling kindly at him. “Please… you needn’t be afraid. I swear to you, upon my graves, I shall not harm you.”

“Wh…” Elita gulps. “Why are you…?”

His optics drift lower, to D-16’s chassis and abdomen. His expression saddens. “You've been forced to endure something terrible… oh, you poor, poor thing…”

The Prime pulls his servo away from Dee’s helm, though not before giving him an affectionate pat. “Listen to me, little one. You are young, you are hurt, and the journey ahead will be very difficult regardless of the path you take. Forcing you to bear this sparkling forced upon you would be a great cruelty if it is not your choice to do so. If you would like, I will take them and return to the Allspark.”

D-16’s spark slams to a stop in his chest. He stiffens, and Orion sits up straighter beside him. Elita’s mouth falls open.

“Wh… What are you…”

“It won’t cause you nor them any pain. They will be safe, and you shall not be punished for it,” he nods down at him. “I know this one, as I know all of them. They are a good spark, they will not resent you if you don’t wish to birth them. They will love you just the same, just as I will, and just as Primus will. The choice is entirely yours, little one.”

Dee’s audials start to ring, and he presses both palms to his chassis. It’s warm, overly warm as it has been the last several decacycles, and before he’d thought it was the heat of fever, but now he knows it is because he hosts an infant soul anchored to his.

He feels frozen in place. He- he could… Onyx Prime would…?

He sobs again and covers his mouth, bowing his helm. “I- I don’t-” he chokes. “I d-don’t know! I don’t know, I- I dunno, I-”

Does he want this sparkling? Does he? He doesn’t know! When Alpha Trion had announced his state, he’d been so happy. Over the moon in fact, beaming with pride and so excited to share the news. They were living proof of his and Orion’s tryst with Sentinel, proof that they were loved and important, and they were so indescribably precious. Now, though… now, they’re… they’re…

Primus, he doesn’t know what they are! He wants to curse them, wants to rip them from his spark chamber and toss them away so there’s no evidence of what that monstrous false Prime had done to him. He doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want a constant, hideous reminder of the worst thing to ever happen to him.

But… the part of him that was previously excited wars with the other half of him. He doesn’t know that that’s what this sparkling will be. He’d been so excited, so happy, and now in it’s place there’s sadness and horror, and yet another part of him is so angry and repulsed and… and…!

He sobs again, clawing at his helm. “I DON’T KNOW!” he shouts, grinding his denta. “I don’t know, ok?! I don’t know!” how can he? Everything is such a mess in his helm, emotions at war and raging back and forth, grappling for dominance and all trying to shove the other down. He’s scared. He’s hurt. He’s sparkbroken. This is his first sparkling. Perhaps once he’d dreamed of this day, but pictured it so differently, hand in hand with someone who meant more to him than anything else, both of them with transformation cogs because they were good and hardworking and had been rewarded for their efforts. Perhaps he had dreamt of a home, with- with someone special, and a family with one or even two precious sparklings. It was a dream that was supposed to be achieved far into the future. Now, broken as he is, he worries it never will. Never can. It would be an impossibility, as he is now… if he kept this sparkling, he would have to look at it every day knowing he did not love the sire, and never could. He would have to look upon them as their only parent and know that his dreams of a happy life died long before they were even born.

But… if he lets them go, if he lets the god of the dead pluck them from his chest, he might never be fortunate enough to conceive again. What if this first sparkling is his only sparkling, and in letting them go, he loses his one chance? It’s too soon, it’s too early, and circumstances are dire, but… is he prepared to let them go? Knowing this could very well be his only chance?

D-16 sobs again, and Orion’s arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him close against his chassis. Dee’s face burrows into his neck, whole body shaking as he whimpers again and again that he just doesn’t know!

“...peace, my little one,” Onyx Prime’s voice is rife with sadness and empathy. “You need not make a choice now, or even today. I… I apologize for bringing you further distress, but please know,” he places his right servo over his spark in oath. “The Primes are with you. When you make your choice, utter a prayer to me, and I will come to you if you require my aid.”

With a sigh, all of the sand suddenly falls from Alpha Trion’s body with the whisper of countless grains trickling to the floor, and when he blinks his optics become blue once more. “Ah…” he takes note of their distress, and shakes his helm sadly. “Poor children… rest. You are weary. Rest, and I will feed you.” once they’ve eaten and had time to process, he can reveal more to them, but that can wait.

They have suffered enough for one day. 

...

And that's where I'm gonna cut part 2! Poor, poor Dee... this is the worst day of his life, but at least he has Orion to support him. I hope ya'll enjoyed this angst nugget :3 if you want part 3, ya'll know what to do. Abuse the crap out of my ask box lol. Gimme your thoughts or predictions as well, that's always fun

[the-kr8tor]

I saw someone else on here talking about medusa Hobie and I'm just on the floor sobbing because there're so many cute (and angsty) ideas running in my brain for it.

1. Reader is blind and cannot turn into stone. (But the potential angst of reader calling out for him, their beautiful loving partner as they desperately walk the forest ground alone before finding themselves hitting a new statue. Wondering what happened for Hobie to make another statue as they feel at the face of the carved human like stone, immediately feeling the dips of his face. Feeling and seeing him as they cry, not understanding why their lover is now one of the many other statues that haunt his forest.)

2. Reader is blessed by the gods! (Plot armour I know) But imagine it means they're chased around by despicable suitors only to find themselves in the safety of the one person who terrifies them. Now safe in their little lives as the village believes whatever wicked tale they've invented about your disappearance.

3. Reader is a demigod? Mainly just an interesting take but I'm unsure how Hobie would rock with that.

4. You're an everyday person, just a villager promised to him as a "sacrifice". Sacrifice he did NOT ask for so he practically just asks you to go back or something and reader has to explain to him how they would mock them for being a coward and not doing their job.

-🪦

AHHH YEESS I LOVED THAT AU!! (And dare I say perfect for octobie Halloween 😉)

OMFG THE FIRST ONE WIZNQLKZNW THE ANGST THE ANGST POTENTIAL IS THROUGH THE ROOF

Gasp is Hobie R's saviour? If so that's chef's kiss right there

I give you pjo au where R is a forbidden demigod of one of the big three and Hobie's the son of Dionysus or apollo who's desperately trying to save his love from the deadly prophecy you were given and were tasked to do alone

YOOO I love love that trope!!! It's like r is a stray cat who Hobie didn't want at first but got too attached to lol

I would kill to read a fic of either one of these! I'd write them but my wips would beat the shit out of me 🤣

[onyxgabriel]

Murder Drones: The Drone Behind the Slaughter

Sung by Tessa:

I dunno what I was thinking,

Leaving my child behind,

Now I suffer the curse and now I am blind

[Tessa sat on the bloodied floor of the ballroom, traumatized by the massacre Cyn made by using the other Worker Drones, even J, to kill everyone.]

With all this anger, guilt and sadness,

Coming to haunt me forever,

I can't wait for the cliff at the end of the river,

[Shakily she stood up and stumbled out to the halls aimlessly. While Cyn was too busy relishing in the bloodshed.]

Is this revenge I am seeking,

Or seeking someone to avange me

Stuck in my own paradox I wanna set myself free

[Tessa thought about taking revenge, but felt it was hopeless.]

Maybe I should chase and find

before they'll try to stop it It won't be long before

I'll become a puppet

[She just wondered what Cyn was going to do to her.]

It's been so long,

Since I last have seen my son

lost to this monster to

the drone behind the slaughter

[Her thoughts drifted to N, her favorite little Drone, her son, and what horrifying things Cyn did to him.]

Since you've been gone

I've been singing this stupid song

So I could ponder

The sanity of your mother

[Since her arrival, Cyn and N were close, almost as much as V and herself. She remembered the two hugging and swore she saw something behind Cyn, a shadow of claws and tendrils close to N. Since then she started to be paranoid and afraid of Cyn.]

I wish I lived in the present

With the gift of my past mistakes

But the future keeps luring in like a pack of snakes

[She walked to the library, where her end goal was the basement. She noticed three books on the floor, one of them being a book about dog breeds. She picked it up and smiled sadly. She remembered N, V and herself reading this occasionally.]

Your sweet little eyes, your little smile,

is all I remember

Those fuzzy memories mess with my temper

[She entered the basement and was horrified by the things she was seeing. Drone limbs, oil, blueprints, scribbles on the walls. And to her horror, N was strapped to a chair, decapitated, and a broken visor.]

Justification is killing me

But killing isn't justified

What happened to my son, I'm terrified

[She shakily walked to her son's dead corpse. She picked up the head and caressed it. She choked a sob.]

It lingers in my mind and the thought keeps on getting bigger,

I'm sorry my sweet baby,

I wish I've been there.

[She hugged N's head close to her chest and apologized. She was interrupted when a tendril wrapped itself around her, separating N's head from her. It slammed her against the wall.]

It's been so long,

Since I last have seen my son

lost to this monster to

the drone behind the slaughter

[It was Cyn, in her eldrich-like body. To Tessa's horror, more tendrils grabbed N's head and body from the chair and brought a mangled corpse of a human. She had a front-row seat to what was going to happen.]

Since you've been gone

I've been singing this stupid song

So I could ponder

The sanity of your mother

[The next hour was absolute visual torture, seeing Cyn experiment on N's corpse, taking apart both the human and her son's dead bodies. It ended with N being put back together with different Drone parts. He was distinctly different now and was given a trenchcoat and a hat. He snapped awake with a familiar yellow [X] on his visor.]

This has been on my mind for a long-ass time. I replaced an obvious part of the lyrics as well.

Note: This is before the reveal of Tessa actually being Cyn and dead